#i spent well over 5 hrs straight on this

[annerly-san]

Love and Deep Deadlines | A LaDS Corporate AU - Chapter 4

Summary:

Amidst the cut throat culture of Onyxion Enterprises where cutting-edge innovation is overshadowed by corporate chaos, no one talks about how hard it is to be an intern.

Alongside Caleb, the sales department smooth-talker; Zayne, the cold and unflappable CTO; Xavier, a director who might as well be an intern himself; and Rafayel, the overly dramatic Creative Director who brings his own flair to every meltdown, our intern is just trying to survive the workday. Oh, and don’t forget Onyxion’s very own CEO, Sylus, a walking HR violation who gets off on terrorizing his employees.

In this company, will love bloom before the deadlines run deep, or will the company go under first?

Chapter Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | ?

Alternative AO3 link:

The next week came faster than I was ready for, and I spent the morning frantically reviewing my notes, making sure the script and key points were flawless. Everything had to go smoothly; there's no room for mistakes. But the real challenge wasn’t in the content, it was facing Zayne after that awkward interaction with him the other week.

A notification popped up on the bottom of my laptop screen.

[Zayne]: "I’ve reviewed the email. Let’s meet today at 3 p.m. I’ll be in Conference Room B."

I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I was trying to think of a reply that wouldn’t betray how rattled I felt.

[Me]: "Sure, sounds good. See you then."

That was cordial enough for work, right?  I hit send, then sat back in my chair, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding.  As the clock ticked closer to 3 p.m., my nerves didn’t ease up one bit.

I arrived at Conference Room B a few minutes early, setting up my laptop and pulling up the materials for the interview. My hands shook slightly as I adjusted the microphone and camera, trying to steady my breathing.

The door opened.

Zayne walked in.

He entered the room with the same cool air of confidence he had back during the all-hands, his movements precise, his gaze focused on me for the briefest moment before shifting to the materials on the table.

��Are we ready to start?” he asked.  His voice calm and curt, offering no warmth or familiarity.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.  I handed over the neatly stapled documents containing our agenda and speaking points to him, putting my full effort into stabilizing my hands and prevent them from shaking too much.  “Yeah, I’ve prepared a script for the interview, and we’ll go over the key points you wanted to highlight.  I know you're busy, so I've kept this short and concise.”

Zayne glanced at the script I handed him, his eyes scanning the page before he gave a short nod. “Yes.  We'll do that.”

The camera started to roll, and I settled into the professionalism of my role, asking the questions in the exact order we’d planned.  Zayne answered each one clearly, his tone authoritative and precise.  But as we continued through the laid out speaking points, the dynamics of the conversation changed.  Where it had started off with a brisk question and answer format, his responses spoken with a few short words without additional elaboration or commentary on it, Zayne gradually provided more elaborate responses and would take the time to explain out the more difficult concepts of the technology he was working on.

It reflected in his body language, as he settled more into his seat with a more relaxed stance than his previously stiff and upright posture.  Rather than staring straight into the camera with a stoic face, not sparing a glance at me once since we first started, he started looking at me directly when I asked him questions, maintaining eye contact and smiling politely here and there.  The longer the interview went on, the more I found myself drawn into the conversation; it was no longer a singular exchange of words and answers, but an actual conversation between the two of us that went both ways.

By the time we wrapped up, it felt like I was talking with Zayne just like when we were back in school; I was always asking him questions on difficult topics that I didn't quite understand, and he would patiently explain things and sit with me until I was able to grasp my head around the topic I was hoping to learn about.  I caught myself smiling as I turned off the camera, feeling as though I had been swept up in lost times.

Zayne stood up, gathering his things. “Good interview,” he said, his voice more relaxed than it had been the entire time.

“Thanks,” I replied, the weight that had been pressing on my chest since the start of the meeting finally lifted.

Zayne glanced at his watch and I panicked at the realization that the interview went longer than I had anticipated.  I was mortified.  The words he spoke to me when we first met rang out in my head like alarming bells.  He was a busy man.  And I was just someone that was taking up time in his day unnecessarily.  “S-sorry that we ran over!"  I stammered.  "We’ve been at this a while,” I noted, glancing at the time myself.  5:00 p.m.  It was the end of the day already.  “I’m really sorry if you had something else planned for today. I know you’re probably really busy-”

"Don't be," Zayne interrupted.

I looked up at him, confused.  Instead of looking rushed or upset, he seemed completely relaxed and at ease.  “I cleared my schedule for this.  Don’t worry.”

“Wait, really? You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine.” he cut me off smoothly, his eyes locking onto mine. “I wanted to.”

My heart skipped a beat.  The way he said it felt so familiar. It wasn’t laced with the cold distance intended to keep me at arm’s length.  It was spoken with the subtle warmth and patience he used when it was just the two of us back then. His gaze lingered on me a moment longer before drifting casually to the window.

I nodded slowly, pulling myself back to the present. “Well, I appreciate it.  Thanks for taking the time for this today.  Caleb’s probably coming to pick me up soon though. I should text him and head back.  I don’t want him to wait on me.”

The mention of Caleb’s name made Zayne’s expression flicker for just a second. He didn’t say anything at first, but I noticed the subtle tension in his jaw—almost imperceptible, yet one of those traits I’d become all too aware of after knowing him for so long back when we were kids.

“Caleb still insists on chauffeuring you around?” Zayne asked, his voice neutral, but I could sense that there was an unpleasantness there.

“Yeah, but it’s Caleb.  He’s like that,” I admitted, chuckling lightly, trying to defend him.

The corner of Zayne’s lips twitched up, but his face remained otherwise stoic and unreadable. “I can text him for you, let him know he doesn’t need to bother.”

I hesitated, surprised.  Did Caleb and Zayne keep in contact all these years?  The thought of being left out from their continued friendship sent pangs of hurt running through my chest, but I tried to stamp out the thoughts to keep my composure.  “O-Oh, but we finished up, I can just head back—”

Zayne stood up, picking up his phone with a casual swipe of his fingers. “But we’re not done yet.”

I blinked, confused. “...We went through all the questions though.  Everything we had in the script and agenda was recorded.  The interview’s finished.”

Zayne gave me a pointed look, his tone deceptively calm as he slipped his phone into his pocket. “You asked me to dinner the other day, remember?”

My heart stumbled in my chest. “Wait, that was—”

“You asked. I’m accepting,” he cut in smoothly, stepping past me toward the door. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come out.  This was beyond my expectations—especially not after the cold reception earlier.  “I just didn’t think you’d actually want to...” I trailed off, glancing at my phone again. “But Caleb... Caleb's waiting-”

Zayne didn’t look at me as he tapped at his phone. “I’ll let him know the meeting ran longer than expected and I can drop you off back home.  He doesn’t need to wait.”

I hesitated, watching him for a second, as the doubts that Caleb would agree to heading home by himself plagued my mind.  Locking eyes at Zayne, who seemed to be assured in his actions made those thoughts quickly disappear.  “Oh... well, okay.”

Zayne typed something quickly and slid his phone back into his pocket. “All set.”

Zayne picked up his things, and we left the conference room together, the silence between us not awkward but filled with a strange kind of anticipation.  As we made our way to the elevator, my mind raced with thoughts.  Was he being distant unintentionally?  Was he just stressed with work?  Maybe he was trying to keep things professional at work?  Maybe... were we still friends after all this time?

The elevator ride felt longer than it actually was, and even though neither of us spoke, the tension lingered in the air. When we finally reached the lobby, Zayne led the way out of the building, holding the door open for me as we stepped into the fading daylight. The cool breeze of early evening hit my face, refreshing but doing little to calm the nerves bubbling under the surface.  Zayne’s car was parked just outside, sleek and understated, much like him. He opened the door for me, and I slid into the passenger seat, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence as we drove through the city streets.  I glanced out the window, watching as the buildings blurred by, trying to piece together my scattered thoughts. Should I make small talk? Or would that just add to the awkwardness? Before I could decide, Zayne spoke.

“Do you still like that Italian place on the corner of 5th?” His voice was even, almost casual, but it caught me off guard.

“Yeah, actually... I haven’t been there in years,” I admitted, surprised he remembered something like that.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, barely noticeable, but it was enough to ease some of the tension building inside me.

When we arrived at the restaurant, Zayne parked, and we headed inside. It hadn’t changed much over the years—the same cozy atmosphere, the same soft clink of glasses and silverware filling the space.

We sat down at the table, and an awkward silence settled between us. The clink of silverware on nearby tables filled the air, but neither of us spoke. The tension was palpable, and I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. Zayne flipped through the menu with casual ease, his expression unreadable.  I cleared my throat, trying to break the ice. “Uh, maybe we should start with an appetizer?”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the menu. “Sure.  How about the... fritter platter?” he suggested. “I remember you liked those.”

Surprise flickering across my face.  “You remember that?  But... this one has carrots in it.”  I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “And you hate carrots.”

Zayne looked up, his expression softening for just a moment, something akin to nostalgia in his eyes. “And you still remember that?”

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Yeah, I do. It’s been a long time, but... some things stick.”

He nodded slowly, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were back in time—just two kids who used to know everything about each other. The weight of the years that had passed seemed to lift, if only slightly.

We skimmed through the rest of the menu, finally agreeing on an appetizer that catered to both of our tastes—something simple, reminiscent of the flavors we used to enjoy as kids.

As we waited for the food to arrive, we made small talk.  Nothing too deep, just the basics. He told me about his work, how intense things had been lately at Onyxion, and I shared a bit about my internship, carefully avoiding the awkwardness of our earlier interactions.

I picked at my food for a moment, then, without really thinking, I blurted out, “I missed you when you moved away.”

Zayne’s hand froze mid-reach for a piece of food, and he looked at me, his expression unreadable again.

I felt a nervous flutter in my chest and quickly tried to laugh it off. “I mean, you never wrote back to my letters. I figured I must’ve been annoying back then.”

‘Maybe I still am.’ I forced a smile, that last thought remained unsaid.

Zayne frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Wait... what? I did write back.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You did?”

He shifted uncomfortably, his usual composed demeanor cracking just a bit. “Yeah... I... I remember writing to you a few times. I thought you were ignoring me.”

My confusion deepened. “I never got any of them.”

Zayne leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “I sent them. I... thought maybe you didn’t want to talk to me anymore, so I stopped after a while. Caleb would reply, though. He’d mention you so I figured you were doing well, but... I just thought you-”  The sentence trailed off there and I watched as Zayne shifted about as he tried to find the word for it.  He cleared his throat.  “I supposed you didn’t want to keep in contact anymore.”

The air between us shifted, tension thickening with unspoken words. A million questions raced through my mind, and I was about to tell him that what he said couldn't have been further from the truth. I opened my mouth to speak, but a familiar voice cut through the moment, interrupting me.

“Well, well, well—if it isn’t my favorite duo having dinner without me.”

I looked up in surprise as Caleb strolled over to our table, his usual playful grin stretching across his face. Zayne’s expression instantly shifted, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he watched Caleb approach.

“Caleb?” I blurted out, trying to keep my voice light, even as nervous laughter bubbled up in my chest. “What are you doing here?”

Caleb gave me a feigned and exaggerated look of hurt, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “I can’t believe you two went out for dinner and didn’t even invite me. The betrayal!”

Zayne sighed beside me, clearly less than thrilled by Caleb’s sudden arrival. “You don’t even like this restaurant, Caleb,” he said, his voice flat.

Caleb slid into the seat beside me with a grin, completely unbothered by Zayne’s reaction. “That’s where you’re wrong~!  I love this place... especially when I get to eat with my two favorite people!”

I could practically feel the tension radiating off Zayne, but Caleb seemed completely unfazed, casually motioning for the server to bring him some utensils.

“I was waiting for you, by the way,” Caleb said, turning to me. “Almost called the police when I couldn’t find you. Thought you were kidnapped or something.”

I blinked, suddenly remembering. “Oh! I thought... Zayne said he texted you?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, his gaze sliding over to Zayne. “Did he now?”

Zayne didn’t respond, instead folding his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable. “I must have forgotten to hit send,” he muttered, not meeting Caleb’s eyes.

The server stepped in before Caleb could press further. “Are we ready to order entrees?” she asked, placing a glass of water in front of Caleb.

Caleb smirked, clearly sensing the shift in Zayne’s mood. “You know what? How about that grilled chicken dish with a side of glazed carrots for Zayne here? It’s his favorite.”

Zayne’s jaw clenched slightly, about to interject when a smile, mirroring the one that Caleb had on his face, tugged at the corner of his lips. “That's fine.  Then how about the sesame tofu dish with the cilantro lime rice for my old friend here?  Please tell the chef to add extra cilantro in it.  Extra.”

Caleb’s grin faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly. “Sounds... delicious,” he said through gritted teeth, not wanting to make a scene in front of the server.

As the server left to place the orders, I shook my head, barely holding back laughter.  “You two are impossible.”

Caleb leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Just keeping things interesting, Pipsqueak.”

Zayne said nothing, but his gaze flicked briefly to me before settling back on Caleb. “Speaking of interesting,” Zayne began, his voice deceptively casual, “what ever happened to those letters?”

Caleb’s grin faltered. “Letters?”  he laughed.  “What are you talking about?  What letters?  You’re a CTO, Zayne.  We’re in the digital age.  It’s emails now.  Was I supposed to send you something at work?”

“I'm talking about the ones from back when we were kids.  The ones I sent the both of you back then,” Zayne glared at Caleb in annoyance.  “When I moved out.  What happened to them?”

Caleb’s posture stiffened slightly as a few moments passed by.  But then, as if a switch flipped, his usual grin reappeared and he raised a dramatic finger to harken his recollection. “Ooooh!  Those letters. Right, right, right.” He scratched the back of his head, laughing awkwardly.  Caleb glanced strangely at Zayne with a smirk on his face.  “Man, you know, I always meant to ask you about one of those...”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed, and I could see the tension ripple through his body. “Ask me about what, exactly?”

Caleb leaned back in his chair, trying to seem nonchalant. “Well, there was this one letter... and, uh... I’m not gonna lie, Zayne. It was kinda... It was kinda …”  He paused, a devious twinkle in his eyes.  “It was kinda zesty , my guy.” He wiggled his eyebrows with exaggerated flair, a chuckle bubbling out. “I didn’t really know what to say, bro. I thought maybe you were going through something.  But hey, I was all for it.”

Zayne blinked, momentarily thrown off his guarded composure. “What are you talking about?”

Caleb waved his hand dismissively, but his grin never faltered. “I mean, you know, I get it. We were all kids back then, right? But that letter, man... That first one when you wrote that you missed me, but it was, uh... a little... a little too much, if you catch my drift.” Caleb winked at him, throwing in his usual playful swagger. “It sounded like you were ready to run away with me or something.”

Zayne’s expression shifted, and a faint flush appeared on his cheeks.  He let out a small cough to clear his throat, eyes narrowing as his gaze flicked toward me before settling back on Caleb. There was a brief pause before he responded in a measured tone, “That... that letter wasn’t for you, Caleb.  What about the others?  I sent a couple others.”

“Oh-  OH-!”  Caleb flailed about dramatically and laughed, voice tinged with embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his head.  “Oh shit-!  Damn…. Dude…”  Caleb gave me an apologetic pat on the back.  “Ok, for the others, and I swear this only happened twice!  I guess I might've... uh, accidentally opened them thinking they were for me." He gave a sheepish grin, shooting me an apologetic look. "You know how I am, Pipsqueak. Attention to detail isn’t exactly my strong suit."

I blinked, glancing between them, feeling a little lost. "Wait... so Zayne did write to me?"

Zayne’s expression didn’t soften, but his eyes narrowed slightly, catching on to something that Caleb wasn’t saying outright.  I could sense the tension building up between the two of them as their eyes met- a silent standoff hanging between them.  There was a silent anger that was boiling up behind Zayne's eyes, and a strange knowing look of defiance and challenge that was behind Caleb's.  There was something more to this miscommunication than I was let in on, and there was rising apprehension in me as I sensed that the two of them were about to break into a fight.

Zayne broke the deadlock between the two of them first.

"I only wrote a couple, Caleb.  But I stopped writing since I thought she didn’t want to talk to me anymore."

I could feel the weight of the world crashing around us at the declaration.  There was a sound ringing in my ears as the world seemed to grind to a halt around me.

Caleb's eyes widened, any semblance of his previous gripe with Zayne vanishing.  "W-what, really?"

Zayne looked over at me.  I felt my heart sank as the realization hit.

All this time, we both thought the other had just... moved on. “Zayne, I—"  The words choked in my throat.

“O-oh shit..." Caleb clasped a hand over his mouth and looked guiltily down at the table, occasionally peering up at Zayne and wincing as he stared back.  Caleb glanced over at me and then looked back down at the table in shame.  "Oh dude- Shit- Oh fuck- I'm so fucking sorry, Zayne-  I'm so sorry-"

There was a heavy air that hung over the three of us as the realization of what had actually happened back then dawned upon us.  It was a misunderstanding.  A mistake.  One that fractured our friendship for years.

I caught sight of Zayne looking over to Caleb- who had flopped his head down onto the table with his hands hiding his face in shame.  Zayne's expression was evidently conflicted between retaliating his frustration and anger at Caleb for what he did, and wanting to let bygones be bygones in the face of a careless mistake that was done by a kid.

The moments that passed between the three of us felt like an eternity.  But I finally met Zayne's eyes and his gaze softened.  The boiling tension and anger subsiding enough for rational thought to flow through as Caleb finally decided to look up at Zayne, face scrunching up in the realization of his wrongdoings.

Caleb spoke first.  “I’m sorry, man. Really. I'm really, really sorry.  I never meant to mess things up between you two."  He sighed.  "...It was a careless mistake on me back then."

Zayne’s jaw relaxed, and the tension in his shoulders eased, though he didn’t say anything at first. There was a long, heavy pause, the air between the two of them thick with unspoken words.

Finally, Zayne sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at the table. “It’s... fine. We were kids. Things happen.”

Caleb nodded, straightening up and rubbing the back of his head as he shot Zayne an apologetic look laced with underlying gratitude.

There seemed to be an unspoken message between them as they came to a conclusion in silence.  Zayne let out a breath, his lips twitching into a faint, reluctant smile. “I guess some things never change.  You've always been an idiot, Caleb.”

Caleb feigned indignance, grasping at his heart dramatically.  “Ouch!  Ok, ok!  I deserved that."  He looked over at me with the puppy eyes that he would always make when he was trying to make me less upset.  "Forgive me, pipsqueak?"  He poked my arm gently as he tilted his head to the side.  “No hard feelings for your big brother being a bit stupid back then?”

Instinctively, I slapped Caleb on the head, immediately feeling the annoyance leave my body at the act.  "Stupid Caleb."

Caleb cried dramatically and I could hear Zayne chuckle off to the side.  I looked between them, feeling the tension slowly dissipate. There was still a part of me that ached for all the years we’d lost, but seeing both of them willing to put it behind us made it easier to breathe. “It's fine,” I agreed softly, smiling at Zayne. “It's not like you got any less stupid as we got older either.”

Zayne actually laughed for once.  He met my eyes, something warmer in his expression now, and nodded. “I can say that's for certain.”

Caleb looked between us with his jaw dropped.  His finger pointed between us accusingly wanting to bite back at the insult before he let out a frustrated sigh and a pout as he accepted the punishment for his actions back then.

Right in time, the server arrived with our ordered food and set the plates of glazed carrots in front of Zayne and cilantro-laden rice in front of Caleb.  The thick, emotion-laden air between us receded quickly as the petty quarrel between the Zayne and Caleb came back swinging.  The childish banter that the two of them had with one another -- the same as back then-- resurfaced.  Zayne poked at the carrots with clear distaste, while Caleb eyed the rice with barely concealed frustration.

I couldn’t help but break the silence.  “So... are we going to eat, or are you two just going to stare at your plates all night?”

Caleb sighed dramatically, lifting his spoon to poke at the cilantro-covered dish. “Fine, but just know, Pipsqueak, I’m only doing this for you.” He took a tentative bite, his nose wrinkling at the taste of cilantro.

Zayne smirked slightly, but it was short-lived as he begrudgingly took a bite of the glazed carrots, chewing slowly, as if they were the worst thing in the world.

The tension between the two of them was palpable, but there was an underlying playfulness to it—like old friends who had never quite grown out of their rivalry.  I laughed as they both suffered through their respective dishes, deciding to swap entrees with one another after not being able to make it through the second bite.

When the bill came, Caleb snatched it up before either of us could react. “I got this,” he declared, flashing a mischievous grin in Zayne’s direction.  “Payback for my fuck up with your letters.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “How generous of you,” he muttered dryly. “I’ll get the next one.”

“Next one?” Caleb’s grin widened. “So we’re doing this again?”

Zayne didn’t respond directly, but the way his eyes flickered said enough. There was a begrudging acceptance there—something that hadn’t been there earlier in the night.

As we left the restaurant, walking into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth settle in my chest. The three of us weren’t kids anymore, but at that moment, it felt like we had regained something that had been missing for far too long.  I stared at our shadows casted onto the sidewalk by the setting sun, three friends reunited once more.

[raven]

i feel like the tipping culture in my country might be different than in yours so i have a question (in good faith, i hope it comes across this way): why does tipping seem to be “reserved” only for waiters? why isn’t tipping for example cashiers a thing?

yeah im not super in the know on why tippong originated but heres my perspective as someone whos worked counter service cashier jobs and food retail and as a server

tipping is not reserved for waiters it's for people in the food industry, including cashiers, baristas, delivery drivers, etc (& support staff at restaurants get tipped out too) as well as for people giving services like hair dressers, masseuses, tattoo artists, taxi drivers, etc. like many people (stupid) wont tip cashiers and many places (fast food) wont let you tip their cashiers (they do get paid regular minimum wage though, while server minimum wage is 2.35 but it's weird to me to not allow tips). I always tip on to go orders bc the workers are doing the same amount; my restaurant doesnt have to go orders really but my old one did and tips on to go went straight to the support staff. but basically, its just how it is. why not tip retail? thats just not how it is. I dont know. Sorry. I havent really worked retail (i worked food retail and didnt get tips, but people would sneak me cash since i was doing some barista stuff) but it's kind of just that you are less in control of a customer's experience, generally. Like if you get your bra size measured, would you tip the person who did it? Idk. I'll have to check this out when i get my size measured soon. Idk, i try to tip as much as possible lol. Cashier, barista, etc. i buy something for $5 leave a $5 tip because it feels bad to leave just a dollar or two... theres also a retail store that allows tips at checkout and idk what it really goes to but i tip every time, i guess i could ask. and there's other services you tip for like hairdressers or masseuses or tattoo artists or taxi drivers like i mentioned before. at least thats just how i and others do it. because these people spend time, even several hours with you helping you and are probably not paid enough is my guess. (definitely taxi drivers are not paid enough especially if its uber/lyft...) Do you tip car repair? I need to get my car repaired, I'll look into it...

For why servers are prioritized in conversation: The bottom line is that it has been ingrained into american culture down to LAW that servers get paid less because they get tips. love it or hate it, by not giving tips you are not showing you disagree with a system, you are just fucking over a worker. You still spent the money at my restaurant, it will stay open. Many servers are also against passing laws to invoke minimum wages to lessen tipping because they would be paid way less, and i cant blame them. Like, my restaurant cant afford to pay me $60/hr. I got paid $60/hr tonight. I felt like i was going to die, but i would feel the same way if i was getting paid minimum wage by my employer, and i would be getting 1/4 that amount. Like serving simply isnt really worth it as a job because of the toll it takes on your mind and body to deal with customers, stand on your feet all day, carry heavy plates, clean the restaurant, etc, if we are not getting lots of money. At least for me since im disabled and killing myself with this job lol. But i have no college education and i LOVE feeding people good food! (I've also worked counter service not fast food, complicated , we did a lot of takeout, i mostly cashiered, never got a ton of tips, it was definitely much easier than being a full server in a full service restaurant. you should still tip people there thoughh)

[the-firebird69]

Shared route

Shared route

From Lake Mendota to Alvin via US-151 N and I-41.

5 hr 42 min (324 mi)

5 hr 42 min in current traffic

1. Head west on Lake Mendota Dr

2. Turn left onto Edgehill Dr

3. Turn left onto Shorewood Blvd

4. Turn left onto University Ave

5. Keep left to continue on Campus Dr

6. Turn right onto N Bassett St

7. Use the middle lane to turn left onto W Wilson St

8. Turn right onto S Broom St

9. Slight left onto John Nolen Dr

10. Continue straight to stay on E Washington Ave

11. Keep right to continue on US-151 N/E Washington Ave

12. Take exit 148 for WI-26 N toward Rosendale/Oshkosh

13. Continue onto WI-26 N/WI-26 Trunk N/I-41 ALT

14. Turn left onto the US-41 N ramp

15. Merge onto I-41/US-41 N

16. Keep right to continue on US Hwy 41 N

17. Arrive at location: Marinette

18. Head northeast on Hall Ave toward Ludington St

19. Turn right onto Eggner St

20. Turn right onto Wells St

21. Turn right onto Main St

22. Turn left onto Hall Ave

23. Slight right to stay on Hall Ave

24. At the traffic circle, take the 1st exit onto WI-180 Trunk

25. Turn right onto US-141 N/Main St

26. Turn left onto US-8 W

27. Turn right onto Co Hwy U

28. Turn left onto US-141 N/Central Ave/U.S. Rte 2 W

29. Turn left onto Crystal Ave/U.S. Rte 2 W

30. Turn left onto NF-16

31. Turn right onto Smoky Lake Rd

32. Turn left onto Kinner Dr

33. Arrive at location: Alvin

For the best route in current traffic visit http://maps.google.com/maps?saddr=Lake%20Mendota&daddr=Marinette%20to%3AAlvin&geocode=FduTkQIdNVOr-g%3D%3D%3BFdArsAIdutzG-inlu3Y71ahSTTEn5iOyMEiISQ%3D%3D%3BFSf9vgIdrA2z-g%3D%3D&dirflg=d

Haley this trigger is the bridges over Madison county movie and a few others like fargo. And the two states are acquired Wisconsin and Minnesota and we are moving eastwards the cities are still somewhat yours there encapsulated and surrounded and if you step outside it in the wrong way the wrong direction you get hit. Soon we will be passed the second lake and the evacuation is growing there are many more people leaving and today we have reached the northern wall and Southern Wall and encapsulated the remaining five cities which are evacuating about 3 hours they'll be empty. The new territories have five cities that are encapsulated we estimate they'll be evacuated by the end of the day and they will flow out and we are putting up a wall now we put up a wall last night

Thor Freya

We do hear what they're saying and we're going after them and they're not going to do a damn thing for our son anyways and they're spent

Olympus

We'll try not to be and we have a fight and we always have and it's always hard everything and he's a big headed jerk but that's how it goes and pretty soon we'll probably get into it he knows about my fight and it's terrible and it is like his clan but we're hoping we're bigger and we can do it

Ben Arnold

I sort of get how it is and keep on insisting people give up their lives for me they don't want to. I'm going after you Mr Arnold and our fit crazy friend here if you persist on bothering me all night long yeah that's right Billy z is going around harassing people and asking for it like you do Jesus Christ you're annoying

Mac daddy

[meet-my-stories]

MLP|Cutie Mark Story|Novella White

This is a cutie mark story with 2,500 words. I accepted the request made by @segasister after they donated at my PayPal.  -My little pony (MLP) -Bullying -hella long

“Heading to school, mum! Be back later!” A small cat-like pony yelled over her shoulder to her mother, Eagle Shield. Her whiskers twitched waiting for the quiet ‘Okay be safe, love you.’ in return. The small cat-pony gently shuts the door to her home and head towards the school. She was running a bit later but at least she wouldn’t be noticed as she slips into the classroom to her seat. This thought makes her slow down just a bit more, it sucked being the only cat-like pony in this city. No one liked how she looked so she got bullied, often, but she had her mother backing her always.

Slowly trotting up to the doorway, she hears the other fillies shushing each other and quietly giggling. What could be so funny, she thought. Nudging the ajared door the rest of the way open, she is suddenly soaked and something hits the top of her head, hard, causing her to let out a cat like yell and hiss. Then the laughter erupted throughout the whole classroom. Not looking up, shivering and shaking holding back tears, she sees the bucket rolling away from her.

“Hah, Novella White? More like kitty kat wet!” Novella looking up, sees two boys get up from their seats and trot over. They weren’t the brightest but that didn’t make them any less mean.

One of them picks up the bucket smiling around it while the other splashes Novella with the puddle on the floor. She squeaks and backs up into someone else. Looking behind her, expecting another bully, seeing Sugar Song, the teacher.  

Frowning down at the three fillies in disappointment, “I see you three decided to clean the floors before class.” She says. Novella opens her mouth to protest but the filly with the bucket speaks around it, “Yeah, Novella tripped and fell into it while we were cleaning, right Novella?” The two fillies glare at Novella, silently daring her to speak the truth. Instead, she simply nodded and lowered her head, her cat-like ears slipping back in defense.

Ms. Song looks between the three of them, “Then I will make sure all three of you clean the entire floor after class. Now one of you clean up this mess and the other two go sit down in your seats. I have some exciting news to share with the whole class!” She walks away expecting her demands to be met.

The boys toss the bucket and a towel at Novella before going over to their own seats snickering at her. Picking up the towel between her hoofs she sits down and starts to dry herself off as Ms. Song starts the announcement.

Ms. Song pulls out a stack of fliers out of her saddlebag and gives a few to each pony in the front to pass back. “As you can see on these fliers, there is a story competition starting today! You may sign up after class at my desk and it ends in a few months. It is for all kinds of stories told through the paper, a drawing or writing either one. As long as you express your story on your piece of paper!”

Putting the bucket and towel away in the closet, Novella takes a seat at her desk in the back of the room, looking down at the piece of paper that lands on her desk. Her whiskers twitch as she reads over it and taking in the information Ms. Song says. Novellas ears perk up in wonder, should she sign up? This seems really fun to do and no one else would read her story so she can’t get made fun of it if it is dumb.

By the end of the class, she had to help the bullies clean the classroom while Ms. Song graded papers. Novella kept glancing at the sign in sheet on Ms. Song's desk not sure if she should sign up, what if she doesn’t win even 5th? The humiliation, the shame, oh don’t forget the bullying! Her mind was whirling with the negative outcomes that could come with it, but it came to a dead stop when she started thinking of the positives. What if she stopped the bullying when she does win? What if she even gets her cutie mark?! With that mindset, she starts to slowly walk over to the sign-in sheet when one of the boys stops in front of her.

“Are you thinking about signing up for that stupid contest?” Shyly fidgeting away, she nods and quietly whispers a, “well… yeah…” The bully lets out a quiet snort of laughter. “Like you could win anything, let alone write anything.” He flicks her horn, causing her to flinch away and rub her horn, “You can’t use your magick very well like everyone else,” he points at her flank, ”you’re a blank flank,” then he finally holds up one her paws, ”and you have wee lil fragile kitty kat paws. You might as well not even show up to the contest.” He turns away from her, lightly hitting her with his tail, going up and signing into the contest. As he does so he glares back at her, smirking. Novella looks down at her hooves, they are just like his, right?

By the time they were done, Ms. Song finished grading and followed them out. Novella quickly ran home, going into her small home and shutting the door with her hind hoof. “Novella?” Her mother, Eagle Shield, says from the chair in the main room. “You alright honey? Your home later than usual..” Novella timidly nods and slips her saddlebag off of her back, sighing. “I had to help clean up after class... Sorry, mom..” Ms. Shield looks surprised, “You got in trouble?” Novella kicks at the ground before going and sitting down next to her mother. “Well no… Some other fillies spilled some water on me while they were cleaning and I had to help them after class.” A quiet ‘oh’ came from her mother as quiet calm silence fall over them.

“What’s that coming out of your saddle bag? You got homework you need to do?” Ms. Shield walks over and dips down to snatch the paper out of Novella's saddle bag. Novella, feeling confused, looked up, “No I don’t ha-have school work-” It was the contest flyer. “What’s this?” Ms. Shield looked at the flyer, holding it up with her magic now, scanning through it. She perks up and looks at Novella. “Why didn’t you tell me about this Novella?? Have you signed up yet? Have you thought of a story yet, oh Celestia this is so exciting!” Novella giggled at her mother's overly hyper attitude towards this contest. “No, mother calm down, hehe.”

Novella getting up and looks up at her mother, “I haven’t signed up yet or thought about it really…” She looks down at her hooves, remembering what the young colt told her. Ms. Shield looks at her daughter, noticing her nervous habit quickly. “Oh, Novella, you have such a beautiful imagination. Why haven’t you signed up for the contest?” Using her hoof, Ms. Shield lifts up Novella's head to look up at her, softly smiling down at her shy daughter. Novella eyes welling up with tears from today she lets out a pitiful sniffle, “The kids said that cats can’t write... We have fragile paws…” Ms. Shields eyes widened in disbelief, what is up with these ponies and someone different?

She sits down in front of her daughter and holds Novella close. “It doesn’t matter if your ‘paws’ are fragile, you still have your imagination, your determination, your beautiful features. If you want to sign up for that contest then by Celestia sign up for it! Don’t let some snubs tell you what you can and can’t do!” She stomped her hoof on the ground next to them. Novella just nods into her mother's chest unsure how to react, other than be happy that her mother has her back. “Now you eat some dinner and head to bed, think up ideas for your story and I will come to school with you tomorrow before I go to work and sign up with you, alright?” Novella happily nods and goes off to do what she was told.

The next morning they did just as her mother said they’d do. Ms. Shield took Novella to school and signed in with her. While Novella nervously signed in, her mother talked with Ms. Song. The bullies came in after. At first, they were heading towards Novella, but when they saw her mother they went to their seats instead frowning almost pouting that they couldn’t tease Novella today. As if it was the highlight of their day.

During the whole class, she couldn’t focus on anything but what story to write. Should she do it on her mom or the teacher? Maybe a fairy tale based on a kitten princess? She doodled up some ideas and rough drafted a few times, till class was over. She rushed out and went to the library to get some ideas. They all had things similar to her ideas but she wanted it to be unique. Then she saw this dusty book in the back, she dug it out and it was the tale of the two alicorn sisters.

Then it clicked. She’ll write a story about the alicorn sisters! Novella couldn’t help but let out a quietly excited purr before quickly walking up and checking out the book, then dashes back home, ideas whirling quicker than ever.

Novella runs into her home and goes to her bedroom. She pulls out multiple pencils and pens and papers. Writing one idea then the next, late into the night till her mother made her go to bed. All weekend was the same, and the same throughout the rest of the next two and a half months. Novella lost some sleep and her mane was getting frizzy but she finally finished. Yawning and looking at the time she realized, turn-ins ended in an hour!

Without thinking about her appearance, she snatches her story off of her home desk and throws on her saddlebag and sprints to the school. She bursts into the classroom and drops her story into the turn in bin, her mouth dry and her mane worse for wear, but worth it. Novella turning around to take her seat sees everyone staring at her. Her throat closes up, her ears lay back against her messy mane, and her tail tucks in as she practically crawls to her seat. That will be more embarrassing than losing the contest.

The next two months was just full of the jitters for Novella, while the judges read over the stories and entries, she was nervous. It didn’t help that the bully bragged about having some famous author write his story for his entry. She was sure to lose now.

Here it is, at long last, judgment day. Novella shakes her head, her mane well braided her tail matching, her ears fluffed up with the rest of her pelt in nervous energy. No not judgment day, just contest day, the day that determines the rest of school for her. They had everyone that turned in their stories and art standing on stage. One side was the artists and the other was the writers, she was with the writers of course. Novella, of course, was with the writers.

Looking up as the judges came in, and there stood the very princess she wrote about. Everyone gasped in awe, Celestia herself was standing in front of all the fillies of the Elementry School of Manehattan. Her pelt color drained off onto the stage as she looked at the princess in great horror and fear. Celestia... The princess of all of pony kind… Read Novella's story... About her...

Novella wanted to run for it. Celestia, seeing all the little fillies expressions, giggled, “Now, my little ponies, we are going to call some ponys name and that some pony with go off stage.”

And that is how it went till there were only ten fillies left. Five on the artist side and five on the writer's side. Novella can’t believe she was still standing on stage, on the edge of fainting in front of the very princess that she wrote about. It did not help that the bully was standing right next to her smirking the entire time. Another one of the judges, Ms. Song from school, stood up and came on to the stage, “Now I will call your names one by one and you will come up and claim your prize.”

Ms. Song called the bully up first, “Onyx Armor,” here it comes... He got first place... Novella bowed her head as he went up to claim his prize, proudly strutting up, “, you got 5th place.” Novellas head snapped up faster than Rainbow Dash could make the rainboom, and Onyx just stood there in shock as the teacher put a dull green ribbon around his neck. “Congratulations, now please go join the rest of the class in the back.”

Names continued to be called and ribbons passed out, Novella was shocked again, name after name, ribbon after ribbon, till she was the only one on stage. Princess Celestia stood up and came onto the stage herself and stood in front of Novella. With a quiet and calm voice, Princess Celestia said to her, “Novella White, you, my little pony, won first place. The story you wrote about me and my dear little sister was beautiful. It felt like I was reliving my foalhood again... Thank you.” With that, Celestia put the blue ribbon on around Novella's neck smiling down at her. “Congratulations.”

Novella welled up with tears and thanked the princess and judges before running off stage excitedly bouncing around and purring. She won! She actually won!

“Whoa... Novella congrats on the prizes.” She stopped her miniature mental party to see Onyx standing there. She crouched down embarrassed and a little frightened. Onyx was never nice to her, what's different now? Wait, did he say prizes? Onyx stepped closer and pointed at her flank, she looked down at it waiting for his blank flank teasing but to her surprise, it wasn’t blank at all! It had the perfect cutie mark, an inkwell with a crown resting on top of it.

[vaspider]

Can I ask why it's difficult for a business to add plus sizes? Since most fatphobic clothing companies use "well we include plus sizes when we can but it's difficult" whenever they're confronted, I just started to assume that it was entirely bullshit. But now I'm wondering if maybe there's a legitimate barrier.

I can't speak to all businesses, but I can speak to ours:

We are reliant on other companies to produce some of our products. We don't manufacture shirts, for example, or develop the actual patterns for our clothing's construction. We create the graphics and coordinate with the various companies who produce for us and ship to our customers.

So, like, I can't make Next Level produce femme-cut tank tops in sizes bigger than 2X or LAT un-discontinue the plus-size scoop-neck tops that we used to carry, nor can I make MWW add sizes 3X-5X to the leggings we get through them. I can only keep looking for options with the size range I want to carry.

Now, I do this full-time, so "looking for good printers" is something I can spend a lot of time on, but if someone is selling their designs as a part-time thing, I can't expect them to put literally weeks of time into finding printers. (It is impossible to overstate how much time I spend looking through New Printer Sites and discarding most of them bc they all carry the same 5 things we already use, or they don't carry anything over an XL, or... )

So for small to medium sized businesses like ours, or any business selling t-shirts, it can be hard to find shirt blanks or printers which offer larger options. (We especially had an issue last year in getting 3X-5X black Gildan 5000s, EVERYONE was out of stock at all our printers.)

Then ofc there's the difference in cost. A 5X skater dress costs $10+ more to produce than an XL, and like it or not, we have no say in that. For a while we offered differentiated pricing, but that sucks, so we did some mathematical shenanigans to figure out how to provide one price and not end up losing money on the sizes we actually sell. Most sizes went up in cost, and the 5X went down. But. The difference in cost is very real.

The other part of cost is people cost. At one point, before they were discontinued, we did have leggings that went from 2X-8X. I spent a lot of time putting them up on the site, like a solid 50 hours, and made a lot of noise about it, and in the 6 months we had them up, we sold... one pair.

50 hours X $30/hr = $1500.

And I made $15 of that back.

So unless it's XS-8X, experience has told me adding "plus size only" items is a big loss of money. It sucks, but that is the reality, and I have payroll to make these days for people who count on their $$. I can't afford to put a lot of hours in on things that don't sell, so I generally only add things if they include "straight sizes" as well as "plus sizes."

Like I said, I can't speak to any other companies, only companies like ours. I don't know the nitty-gritty of Target's buying process, only what it looks like for us when we make decisions on what we're adding going forward. It sucks that it's like this, and my fat ass wishes things were different and easier, but we are where we are and we do the best we can.

I hope that makes sense. :)

[elysianslove]

mornings ; haikyuu boys

synopsis; waking up next to the haikyuu boys 

pairings; bokuto kotaro x reader, matsukawa issei x reader, kageyama tobio x reader 

genre; fluff

warnings; hints at suggestive themes like once

bokuto kōtarō

bokuto’s so high energy all the time but yk what that entails?

crashing at some point

he’s v clingy omg

like staying the night during the winter is heaven bc he just radiates so much heat

but in the summer ur like pls bo PLEASE

anyways u get to decide if y’all did the sexy or not 😏

waking up next to him is the sweetest thing ever

bokuto’s such an active lover

like he will always make u feel loved 24/7

you’ll wake up and he’s already up

staring at you like youre the moon and the stars

he smiles so brightly and he’s so gentle in comparison to what he’s usually like throughout the day

“hey pretty baby”

he pulls you so close and straight up suffocates you 🏃🏻‍♀️

you just

you love him okay so it’s fine

but you cant breathe rn ��

he plants two long, wet kisses on your cheeks and pulls back so that he look at you

“wanna make breakfast w me”

proceeds to burn down the kitchen

he’s extra loving in the morning

and extra clingy

you two head to the bathroom together

you pee while he washes his face

and then you alternate

romance 😻

brushing your teeth together

“bokuto stop being so aggressive ur teeth will fall out”

“no 😡”

hes so cute i want to kiss him

when your teeth are brushed he kisses you fully on the mouth

“hehe u taste minty, baby”

u can never wake up in a bad mood thanks to top 5 ace bokuto kōtarō

matsukawa issei

sleeps like a log

seriously he might as well be dead

doesn’t cuddle all the much while sleeping But !

he will always be touching you and it’s v endearing

somehow you always wake up fully on top of him

matsun is so big

like in every way

😏

anyways

what i meant to say is ur like v small on top of him he just dwarfs u sm size kink

he doesn’t necessarily like embrace you while sleeping but he will have an arm around you steadying you holding you close

but when he wakes up and looks down at you and sees you like all cuddled up on his chest, fist grabbing @ his shirt (or hands resting on his warm skin hehe) he just

his heart gets all warm and fuzzy

he lifts his other arm to wrap it around you and just hugs you close, breathing easy and reveling in the feel of the morning soaking into the room with you in his arms

eventually you wake up and kinda squint up at him

he wont tell u but he thinks u look so fkn cute rn

once u register that he’s staring back u huff and go “five more mins”

bc he loves u he agrees

also he’s lazy

5 mins turn to 20

turn into an hr

breakfast in bed with issei reeeeeee

you don’t make it u literally just order it 😹😹😹😹

morning showers with him <3

he makes the water freezing cold just to piss you off lmfao

mornings with issei are very slow and gentle, yes they are

kageyama tobio

i think he like unintentionally falls asleep over at your place

and he just looks so peaceful and so fkn cute sleeping you didnt have the heart to wake him up

so you just tuck him underneath your blankets

you wake up first and kinda just admire him

bc kags has like some kind of sixth sense he feels you staring at him and sits up awake so quick

you have to laugh lmfao

ur like “babe whats wrong”

“this isnt my house”

you sit up and hug him from behind, explaining how he passed out last night

you can feel him relax underneath your hold by the second, and he just leans into your touch as your rest your head against his back

slowly, his hand comes to rest on your hands and he just hums as he runs a thumb over your skin

you sit up more and rest ur chin on his shoulder, tilting your head to ask “wanna go somewhere for breakfast before school?”

and when he nods you kiss his cheek and shuffle away to go freshen up

baby’s so flustered from that simple kiss on the cheek omghwvjwkwhw

you get breakfast together and walk to school hand in hand

his hand feels different in yours than usual

more comfortable somehow

when he drops you off to your class he, surprisingly, gives you a small peck on the lips

his cheeks and ears are so red tho oh my god bless his pure heart

and just goes “can i spend the night again?” bc he loved the domesticity of it all and who is he to lie and say he didnt love seeing your face first thing in the morning???

weekend nights are always spent together after that

mornings with him are always filled with lingering, soft touches, and the steady welcome of comfortableness and domesticity

end note; this idea was v random but omg i just wanna do it for all the boys. anyways whats stopping me lol. also im sorry im only posting headcanons theyre just so fun ill post a real thing soon hvhshfghd

[faelune-home]

FFXIV Write 2021 #5: Crag (Freebie day)

(a/n: I’m still relieved that the 24-hr deadline isn’t in effect yet, because trust my attention span and creative juices both to only start co-operating 30 minutes before the deadline time :’)

In the end, Baleful didn’t work for me though, so I wanted to try and do a freebie day instead. I looked through old FFXIVWrite prompts for years I didn’t do, since I didn’t start till 2020, and I took Crag from 2018 to do an interpretation of Fhara’s fight against Titan.

Definitely a lot of artistic liberties taken here since a lot of this won’t be possible in game with the actual fight. XD If you get hit by a landslide, you’re going off, you can’t climb back from it. But since I was writing this as though it were a solo fight, I couldn’t very well have her fall off and that’s it. I’ve always wanted to write this kind of moment, her climbing back up to keep trying.

It does get a bit extravagant as a fight, but in the end, it could easily be a bit of embellishment from whoever is telling her tales later on ;)

Word count: 585)

Fhara stumbled a few times in her fight against the Lord of the Crags. Her frantic weaving to avoid rockfall or jolting spires being part of her attempts, another being that Titan’s very footsteps felt like a centralised earthquake on the slowly shrinking platform. She spent more time half collapsed on a knee than she did with her bow prepped to take aim. Which was another problem.

The primal’s rocky armour was tightly packed in most places, yet had gaps to the weaker interior in others, yet every attempt to loose an arrow into his weak spots was thwarted everytime.

Her aim being thrown off by another quake. Titan turning suddenly and the arrow pinging off uselessly. An arm flying up and swatting away another arrow. Her quiver was almost empty by this point. 3 arrows left.

Fhara made to move, hoping to come up with a plan as she kited the primal around the arena, when a boulder that she had ignored earlier in the fight suddenly exploded in front of her middash. Though less fire and heat, the shrapnel stung her front, poking through her thinner fabric armour more suited to the forest. She fell back, winded.

What little clarity she had only just registered the unexpected wave of rock rolled up from the ground toward her, letting her rush out of the way, pulling an arrow from her quiver, preparing to nock it-

Titan pounded his fist on the ground, the sheer force running her off the cliff edge. In her shock, her voice couldn’t even leave her throat.

As Fhara fell, she swung her arms wildly, looking for purchase on the rockface. She grabbed hold of a crevice gap, stabbing her arrow into the wall for extra stability, and came to a thudding halt against the crag, knocking the breath out of her.

She took her moment of respite to calm herself, staring straight at the rock wall in front of her lest she lose her nerve at the further drop that awaited her below. Titan roared above her. Panting and quivering, she gulped, legs shaking at the prospect of climbing back up and continuing the fight. Yet she found a foothold anyway, and that moment felt like a burst of strength to keep going.

Y’shtola was counting on her, awaiting Titan’s defeat so that Limsa Lominsa would remain safe. That the people on La Noscea would be safe. And if Fhara fell here, what then of the rest of Eorzea? Of the Ascians that incited the beast tribes to summon their gods? What of Minfilia and the other Scions? Distant though Fhara still felt to them, still so new to their group, she had a job to do, and she wasn’t going to let them down.

She reached the top of the wall, and peeked over. Titan had grown still, as though waiting for her. He breathed steadily, the rock making up his body moving with each breath. And in the centre of his chest, the cracks parting with each intake, was a glow.

She had one chance. A quick glance down told her that the rest of her arrows in her quiver had fallen out during her tumble. Just the one in hand then.

A breath in to steel herself. And out.

She pulled herself up onto the ledge. Titan stirred. All he could do was roar and prepped to start the fight anew-

She loosed the arrow through the cracks in his chest and straight into his heart.

[king-finnigan]

Play With Fire - part 4

Masterlist!

***

He sits there for a while, his own spend sticky and dry on his skin, staining the fabric of his jeans. He knows he should get up, knows he should wash it off and change into something clean, but he can’t move, frozen in his spot, head in his hands, sweat cooling on the back of his neck.

His phone is still on the table next to him, the screen black and lifeless. He half expects it to light up with another call from Jaskier, half expects the murderer to never call him again. 

He sighs, when something twists in his gut at the thought of never hearing Jaskier’s voice again.

He finally gets up, as anger courses red-hot through his veins, lighting a fire beneath his skin. He strips, throwing his dirty clothes in the laundry basket in the bathroom. He turns on the shower, turning the temperature way down, shivering as he stands under the cold water, letting it run down his back as he leans his hand against the shower wall.

It does little to douse the fire beneath his skin, does little to alleviate the anger and the last remnants of arousal in his veins, but he doesn’t turn the temperature up. He doesn’t care that his muscles will probably be cramped up in the morning from the cold.

He shouldn’t be doing this - having goddamn phone sex with a murderer, shouldn’t even be answering the fucking phone, at the very least. And he definitely shouldn’t be feeling like this - attracted to the man, looking forward to the next time he calls Geralt, apathetic towards the lives Jaskier could very well be taking right now.

He shouldn’t. It’s against everything he’s ever stood for, against the law, against his morals and principles.

And yet.

And yet, he can’t deny the glances he steals of his phone through the glass wall of the shower, can’t help but feel a little disappointed when the screen remains black and lifeless, can’t stop himself from imagining what Jaskier is doing right now.

Is he asleep? Is he watching television? Is he playing around on his phone, considering calling Geralt? Is he bringing himself to climax again?

Or is someone else?

And, oh, god, he can’t deny the sharp jab of jealousy that carves against his insides. He shouldn’t be feeling this, shouldn’t be considering calling Jaskier back to ask what he’s doing, he shouldn’t. And yet.

He sighs again, turning the temperature of the water down as far as it can go, shivering in the cold stream that runs down his back, making his muscles contract painfully. Good, he thinks, I deserve it. 

---

He doesn’t sleep that night. He tosses and turns, sheets tangled around his legs, half his pillows on the floor. He looks up from time to time, staring at the ceiling, watching as the moonlight shifts slowly but surely, as it rises and starts to set.

He looks at his phone. So he knows what time it is, he tells himself, but he can’t help but feel slightly disappointed every time he sees no incoming calls or texts - althought he doubts that Jaskier is the kind of person to text. He’s too dramatic for that.

One or two or five times, he opens the ‘recent calls’ tab, thumb ghosting over the unknown number. Every time, without fail, he scoffs at himself, closing the app, almost slamming his phone down on his bedside table. 

He tosses and turns and watches the moonlight shift across the ceiling. He looks at his phone, he puts it down again. 2 am. 3 am. 4 am. 5 am.

His alarm rings at 6, and he turns it off within a second, wiping his hand over his face as he groans. He’s unbelievably tired, and he’s not ready for another long shift at the prison. But he has to go, now that he still has a job.

---

As soon as he enters the building, one of his coworkers tells him they’re expecting him in the boss’s office. Whoever ‘they’ are, and whoever the new boss is - if there is one - she doesn’t tell him, and his stomach sinks to his kneecaps when he catches the grave look in her eyes as she turns away from him.

He sighs, gathering himself, before walking through the long, identical hallways to the office. He knocks, swallowing thickly when a woman tells him to come in.

He enters, and he’s immediately greeted by a petite woman, standing behind the desk. Her stature may not impress, but her posture does. She clearly is used to being in charge, she knows she’s good at it, too, and is unafraid to show it. 

Next to her is a balding man, beard twitching as he smiles at Geralt.

He nods back, shaking both their hands, before taking a step back, hands folded behind his back, head raised. He knows what’s coming, can tell it from the look in their eyes, and he braces himself for it.

“Mr. Rivia,” the woman says, voice stern and authorative, her hands resting on the desk, and though she’s looking up at Geralt, she’s also looking down on him, at the same time. 

“My name is Ms. De Vries, I’m the new prison director. This here” she nods at the man next to her “is Stregobor from HR. I think we all know why you’re here.”

Geralt swallows thickly, nodding, and she turns her computer screen towards him. It shows the list of badges used, ten days ago. She points to a highlighted line, showing that Geralt’s badge was used to open the door to the emergency exit, an hour after his shift ended. 

“I don’t think I need to explain what’s going on here, anymore,” she says, grey eyes boring into Geralt’s. He shakes his head dumbly, clenching his jaw. “Go home, Rivia. Get your things in order, say goodbye to your family, explain yourself to them, whatever. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen, but two people are dead because of your inattention, so I’m giving you two days before I send the file to the police department.”

He nods, swallowing around the knot in his throat. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

“I’m going to be honest, Rivia. It’s not looking good for you. You’ll definitely get convicted for involuntary manslaughter - the evidence is irrefutable, and you’ll be lucky if you only get a few years of jail time. I just wanted to warn you about what’s coming.” She sighs. “You are dismissed.” Despite everything, she genuinely seems unhappy that she has to do this, but he knows that she has no choice - she can’t just cover for him, that wouldn’t be right.

He nods again, leaving the office, heading straight back to his car, ignoring the inquisitive looks the other guards give him as he walks out of the door.

---

Fifteen hours and god knows how many glasses of whiskey in some dingy bar later, he stumbles into his house, kicking off his shoes. He slaps his hand against the wall, partially to hold himself up, partially to try and find the light switch.

He can’t find it, so he curses to himself, stumbling through his dark and empty home, hitting a piece of furniture and a few doorways here and there, but overall making it to his room unscathed.

Two days, the prison director gave him. Two days to get his shit in order, sell his house, what-fucking-ever. Say goodbye to his family. He scoffs. What’s left of his family is spread out across the globe, so he doesn’t really have to worry about them. Though, he’s not looking forward to the moment they probably see his face on tv in connection to Jaskier’s escape. 

He groans, wiping a hand over his face as he looks up to the ceiling, head swimming. Two days. One of which he just spent drinking himself half to death. So one more day left. To what? Ponder his imminent arrest? Think about the consequences of his actions?

He snorts, shaking his head slightly, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness washes over him. Fuck. He’ll probably wake up with a hangover tomorrow, anyways, so that’s another half day wasted.

He sighs again, eyes drifting close as sleep pulls at his limbs. Well at least I’ll get a decent night’s rest, he thinks, before falling asleep.

---

When he wakes up, his head is, surprisingly enough, not pounding, as he had expected the night before. He does feel heavy, though, as if something’s weighing him down.

He frowns a bit, slowly opening his eyes. The fog of sleep immediately clears from his mind when he sees blue eyes above him, and realizes he feels so heavy because someone is sitting on top of him, straddling his lap, nimble hands on his chest.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Jaskier says, grinning down at him.

***

Tag list: (if you want to be tagged as well, give me a heads-up! Send me a dm, or an ask, or leave a comment)

@just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard, @dandelionslute, @weakforjaskier, @the-blondey, @shipwrecked-nawtali, @bygodstillam, @rum-cream, @random-nerd-3, @allthethingshappening, @agentlewomanandascholar, @tschulijulesjulie, @noobtiedoo, @foddle-the-fiddler

[joycecarolnotes]

Inside a fog

Here’s a little thing I wrote a while back but never posted. It’s pretty much a bummer, set during SV season 5.

--

Since you lost her, you exist inside a fog. Your joy comes from difficult places. It’s been months since you have really seen a bird.

You eke some small pleasure from the words “I find him intimidating.” Words that have never been spoken—not about self-effacing, accommodating Jared! not about you, that is to say—before. It is a novelty, this being feared by someone, and it thrills you the way all new things have. Like telling your first joke (age 19), your first Halloween costume (age 26), the first time you swore in front of someone (age 33, and certain you’d be struck dead on the spot). It feels good, transgressive, dangerous.

It is short-lived, though, this hot spike of joy, alight like a brief candle. Then, back to wringing your delight out of an old, bone-dry dishrag. A taste in your mouth like dirt.

--

“And you are the applicant’s... grandson?”

“No relation,” you amend. “I’m a friend.”

“A friend!” Mr. Dodson chuckles. He leans back in his chair and rests his feet up. Easy, casual. The room reminds you of many others you’ve spent time in: the psych 101 textbooks, generic motivational art, the lovely crocheted doilies. “I’ll be frank with you. We don't get too many of those around here. Friends, I mean. Not lobbying the way you are.”

You see an in here, a sign, something only you might see, something almost imperceptible. “If you'll forgive me, I don't mean to sound too forward, but whatever it takes to get Muriel into your facility... I’ll beg if I have to. It’s just - gosh, you come so highly recommended. If there's anything I could offer. If there's anything I could do. Sir,” you say (you know they like that). “Anything.” 

You pause there, feeling foolish, feeling your face flush as it is studied and considered. Perhaps you’ve been too long off the corner, perhaps you’ve gone too far, presumed too much, overlooked some crucial sign or gesture.

Mr. Dodson sets down his clipboard. He reaches a hand up and loosens his bowtie. “You’d beg, huh? You sweet thing.”

Yes, yes. Relief courses through you. So you still know what power looks like, in the hands of a man who would abuse it. At least you have that in your favor. 

Muriel wasn’t like the others. She never tried to take anything from you, didn’t want to see you give any more of yourself away. From the moment you met—the lobby at the cardiologist’s office, where she pointed out your copy of the National Audubon Society digest—you and Muriel looked after each other.

She wouldn’t like it, if she knew how it was she got bumped up the waitlist. But do you regret it? No. A part of you has always liked this, and a small part of you likes it now. You like giving. You like sacrifice. You like the rugburn on your knees. Nothing feels quite real until you’ve lost for it.

--

You catch yourself in Richard’s doorway, hanging around, waiting for scraps like a hungry dog under the table where you’re not wanted. How you long to tell him all the things on your mind. To talk about your fears, your dreams, to talk about Muriel, mostly. It’s a disgrace, you know: this selfish impulse to prattle on about yourself. The way you’ve never been able to stop telling these stories. As if sharing fragments of them will somehow make you whole.

You miss her. You miss him. You miss the taste of friendship, savored like chamomile with honey on your lips. You miss being a friend to someone, having something to do with your feelings, a target to focus your friendship on. You miss that maybe most of all.

--

With so little left to love, your love hardens into something harder.

You see Holden across the room. You watch with disdain as he struts around the office, as if he believes it’s already his own. You hate how little he seems to care, how little he has worked or lost for, how little he appreciates the unfathomable opportunity that’s fallen straight into his privileged lap.

This could be your chance: to find out if you have power, if confidence could ever be a color that suits you, in spite of what your fourth grade teacher said. You try them on, the harsh words and withheld compliments. You even put on a splash of the cologne that Gavin wore. The scent turns your stomach. It puts you in the proper mindset.

--

“We’re going to need some additional support staff. At least a couple more folks in operations, marketing, government relations.”

You’ll take care of the interview process, you say. The on-boarding, an extensive, three-day affair you’ve been excitedly planning for weeks now, replete with all the team-building exercises and safe space charades and trust falls usually reserved for your most decadent fantasies. The new hires will report directly to you. That much, at least, you as COO can happily take off your diligent captain’s already over-full plate.

“Yeah, ah. Jared. About that.” Richard glances around the room, careful not to make eye contact, as if he’s searching for an emergency exit, for some sort of shortcut out. 

“Yes?” you ask. Sometimes that’s all it takes, you know. A gentle prod. A little course correction. It’s so easy with Richard. You rest your hand on his delicate shoulder and nudge him the right way.

“They - look - the HR department. They said they can't have you involved with all that.”

You laugh—“ha!”—a squawk, joyful and full-throated. “How silly! And what did you tell them? Why on earth would they say a thing like that?”

Richard scratches at his neck. You can sense he’s nervous and, with that, panic begins to rise inside your chest. “There’ve, well. There’ve been complaints. About the way you were with Holden. Jared, you’re just - I’m sorry, man - you’re not a good supervisor. And we’re gonna need to, uh - to keep you away from the new hires.”

Not good. Not good, Donald. You feel the blood in your ears. Your heart hammers. Not good not good not good.

“Are you saying”—you pause here, breathe and swallow, your fingers twitch into a fist—“that indolent - slothful - that Holden issued a complaint against me? Because I swear to god, Richard, I - ”

“No,” Richard says. “Not Holden. I did.”

--

It used to frighten you so, to think that you might become one of them. Perhaps if you let your guard down, failed to be sufficiently vigilant, if you let the darkness creep just a little too far in. You hadn’t meant to do it, not exactly. But perhaps you were always going to do it either way. Violence was a seed planted inside you, putrescent and rotten. Over years and in the thrall of different leaders, it took root. Chipping and chipping away, just as you were chipped and chipped away at, all the wounds and cuts and scrapes. The thing that lived inside you, put there by someone else. 

--

Your hand is shaking. Your voice is shaking. You feel your face about to crack in two, in spite of your valiant effort to prevent it. You fall onto your knees, onto the floor in front of Richard. Your soft cheek rests against the rough of Richard’s jeans.

“Oh Richard,” you say, and it feels good, at last, to confess it. “How I resented him! How he got to be close to you when I didn’t. I was so lonely. Muriel, Gloria. Goodness, I missed you so much. I couldn’t bear to see it, how ungrateful he was, how he didn’t even know how lucky he was to serve you!” You sob, miserably, into Richard’s slender thigh.

“You know,” Richard almost laughs, “that’s not what everyone wants here? To ‘serve me’ or whatever, right?” He clambers, indelicately, out of the CEO chair and joins you on the floor. 

You feel him draw close. You nod, press your eyelids closed, and await the punishment that must be duly meted. You deserve them now: every back that will turn toward you. And you would almost enjoy it, yes, it might almost feel good, knowing you could spin this—like straw into gold—to be about your grief and then, in turn, punishment for your selfishness. 

And do not resent his rebuke, you think.

Your foster mother used to say that.

“Do you see now,” Richard says, “how trying to practice ‘emotional abstinence’ or whatever on me didn’t help? Fuck, Jared. It hurt us.”

“I’m so sorry, Richard.” You wipe your nose, indelicately, on the back of your large, pale hand.

“Jared,” Richard says, and you expect to hear get out of my office, to hear you're fired, to hear you selfish, treacherous, treasonous ingrate, I never want to see you again.

“Can I hug you,” Richard says, instead. 

Outside, a bird perches on the windowsill. The fog begins, slowly, to lift.

[ijustneedtowhine]

I realized I don’t want to work, so I won’t.

I feel like I‘m going to be judged for what I’m about to say. But I’m going to say it anyway. I kind of always wanted to be a housewife. Let me start by saying, I hate the term, “housewife”. It sounds like I’m a human pet or something. But moving past the stupid word, I always pictured myself homemaking, married or not. In school, growing up, when we would have to say what we wanted to be when we grew up I never ever meant what I said. I could not for the life of me think of a job I ever wanted to do. It sounds “lazy” but I never wanted to do anything. Don’t get me wrong, there were things I liked to do. I was a very active kid. I did a million different clubs, stage crew and color guard all throughout high school. I enjoyed it all. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that the second I thought about those activities turning into jobs, I lost all interest. Something about turning my hobbies into means of production, swiftly sucked all the joy out of it. I realize now that it was weird we were being taught to aspire to become workers. I just have no interest in living my life that way (doesn’t mean I didn’t try though).

In the beginning I did try to force my round peg into some of the square holes provided by our capitalist society. I went straight to college after high school. My second year in, I decided to turn my hobby of stage crew into a career path. One very big thing ruined this for me. In order to take the classes I needed like; stage lighting, stage makeup, and the opportunity to work on the crew, I had to major in theatre and take all of the acting classes. YEAH. You read that right. I had to freaking act. I have ZERO interest in acting. Very much not my thing you guys. The program director's excuse was that we needed to understand what the actors did as well. These classes were some of the most uncomfortable times in my life and I really wish I had never done it. Needless to say. that only lasted one and a half semesters for me.

One thing I feel like I should inform you of is that 2 weeks before I dropped out of college, my big sister, my absolute favorite person in the world, passed away suddenly. She had small children and an ex unfit to take care of them. My family and I were dealing with custody fights and a new life no one in my family ever wanted. Looking back now I know that it was incredibly traumatic for everyone involved and played a huge roll in why I left school.

Another hobby I tried to turn into work was makeup and skincare. I went to beauty school right after I dropped out of college. You see, even though I was able to convince my parents to let me leave school, they still wanted me to be working towards a career of some sort. So I enrolled into beauty school not fully understanding what I was getting myself into. Like I said, I am only interested in makeup and skincare. But here, at my school you had to also learn to do hair. My naive 20 year old ass trusted the enrollment lady when she said that I wouldn’t have to do much hair and that the program was pretty evenly distributed. LIES. Hair was 90% of what we did there. I fucking hated it you guys. I of course liked certain parts of it. The material was interesting, the tests were a cake walk, I made some friends, and even dated a girl I met there for a short while. But when it came to graduating to the salon and doing real customers hair for 8 hours a day (before going to my job where I worked 5-6hrs a day 6 days a week I might add) I was fucking over it. This on top of my ever blooming anxiety was a real recipe for me to avoid, avoid, avoid. My attendance was piss poor by the end. I got kicked out because of this. I wasted $20,000 on something that turned into nothing and ruined my self esteem. I felt like such a loser for not being able to finish. I could not for the life of me understand why I couldn’t get myself out of bed and go. Why would I cry at the thought of having to walk through those doors? I knew I had to, but I physically couldn���t after a certain point. So after beauty school I just kept working a shit-ton. I got a retail management job that I was at for a couple of years. I liked it well enough. Management was fun and I was good at it. The day I put in my two weeks notice I walked into the back to put my stuff away and my store manager and district manager were there with balloons ready to surprise me with the good news that I was being promoted. That was a pretty awkward conversation to have needless to say lmao. And to be honest I only left because I wasn’t making anywhere near enough money.

 The job I left for is where I met my favorite person alive, my sweet husband. We were in the same department and we started talking when I was new and had no clue what I was doing. He would help me out when I needed it but was too stubborn to ask. We would stand around and talk when there wasn’t much work to be done. I could tell he was really kind and funny, so one day I just decided I didn’t want to stop talking to him. I offered him a ride home that morning (we worked overnight). We went to a park to watch the sun rise and we literally haven’t spent a day apart since. He’s truly the loveliest person I’ve ever known. I can confidently say our relationship is the only good thing that came out of my first couple of years of adulthood.

This job is where I hurt my back, Christmas 2019. I was working 7 days a week 12 hr shifts and I was fuuuckkinggg exhausted. I lifted something wrong and that was that. My back hasn't been the same since. I’ve gone to chiropractors and nothing helps. I can’t even do the dishwasher without having to take a break. So obviously I had to stop working there. I lasted until august 2020 though! I used a back brace and took lots of days off lol. At the end I just could not do it anymore. My last shift I spent the last three hours of  my shift crying in pain and taking breaks to sit every 5 minutes. I walked out the second my shift was over and never went back in. I felt like I was ripping my body apart. My now husband, then fiance, and I decided that I should look for something to let me sit. I did that. It sucked. Depression and anxiety got the best of me once again and I stopped going. I don't know what happens to my brain but it feels like it starts to attack me with words, fears and feelings of despair. I shut right the fuck down. I’m not strong enough to push through. And I don’t think that I have to be that strong. Once I had enough break downs about being too scared to leave the house my husband and I decided I would stay home as long as it takes me to get better, physically and mentally. I love him so much for being on board and understanding that I needed a break. 

It’s been a couple of months now and I’ve had a lot of time to try and connect the dots in this pattern of my life. I think that I spent a really long time fully convinced that being a housewife in this day and age was out of the question. Deep down I knew it was the only thing I could ever picture doing and being happy with. I loved organization, lists, cleaning, and cooking. Growing up I always felt really good about myself when I cleaned and organized my room. I would sit around and day dream about what my home would look like and how I would decorate it. But none of that mattered when I was being told that I should aspire to do a job and love it enough to do it until I’m in my 60s. Like what? I don’t love anything enough, besides my family, to do it for decades of my life. When I finally admitted to myself that taking care of a home and a family is truly what I aspire to do, the thing that feels like it gives my life meaning, I felt a sense of relief, and then quickly after, some anxiety. I started to get scared of what people would think of me. I know that there are a lot of feminists out there that actually understand the ideal of feminism. They would never down a woman that is doing exactly what she wants (as long as she isn’t hurting anyone). But on the other hand I have encountered so many people, men and women that are really nasty about women that are or aspire to be housewives. So many of the people I grew up with joked about people they didn’t like ending up bored housewives. I know I shouldn’t have but I laughed along. Knowing deep down in a locked away place, it was the only thing I pictured myself doing. I just don’t see what’s wrong with homemaking if that’s what you truly want. 

Finally, I’ve come to realize that I shouldn’t be ashamed of doing exactly what I want to do. It works for my husband and I, and that’s the only thing I should truly care about. I picked the side of things that felt like home. Like they fit. The part that brings me satisfaction, joy, and the space to move at my own pace.

[backtobackbakubabe]

Baby its Cold Outside (PART 9)

Bakugo x Reader 

Have you seen this man

**** Warning**** This chapter has a bit more graphic violence than the others. 

Words : 2810

PART 1 HERE, PART 2 HERE, PART 3 HERE PART 4 HERE PART 5 HERE , PART 6 HERE PART 7 HERE PART 8 HERE PART 9 HERE PART 10 HERE PART 11 HERE PART 12 HERE PART 13 HERE PART 14 HERE

*****************************************************************************************************

You actually got pulled to duty today, so naturally you just had to be feeling under the weather. Any other day of the week you could sit at your desk or hell just lay on one of the many couches in the break room, but nope. Not today. Today you need to go assist in a bank robbery. It was a simple call. They just needed you to pop in and get the hostages out. Piece of cake. From what you understood there was only four hostages and only two villains. Walk in the park.

But because you were already having a bad day it would only make sense if it got worse from there. So you arrive on scene and guess who’s already there? Bakugo. And guess who is yelling like the mad man he is that you don't need to go in there? Again Bakugo. 

“Nope. No. I don’t think so! This feels all too familiar. Nope. Cant do it. Go home. I think I can hear Zuko crying from here. You should probably go check on him. I can take care of this...” He probably didn't even know he was doing a full on Deku rant but you weren’t about to point that out to him right now. 

“Ground Zero... I appreciate your concern but I was called here specifically. I assume because they knew you’d blow up the building. I’ll have them out in five minutes. Now you can either help me or pout. That part is totally up to you.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, probably not appreciating be called Ground Zero. But you were in pubic and trying to be professional. “Okay Adsum..” He threw a little extra sarcasm on your name. “What do you want me to do?” 

You gave him a victorious smile, “I’m glad you asked. I can do this a lot faster if the villains are distracted. So do what you do best. Yell at them, blow things up, get their attention. And once I’ve got them all out you can go Lord Explosion Murder all over the place... Sound good?” 

He ground his teeth, “Yeah whatever just hurry...” 

Before the accident Bakugo wouldn't have bated an eyelash at you doing something like this. Now it was like pulling teeth. 

You ended up pulling everything off flawlessly. Only minor damages but that’s only to be expected when Bakugo’s involved. 

You endured the strobes of flashing cameras as the press yelled praise and questions. But neither you nor Bakugo paid them any attention. In fact you wanted to get as far away as possible. You started to feel light headed and you thought you were going to vomit any second now. Once you were far enough away you bolted towards a trash can and emptied your breakfast. 

Bakugo was at you in an instant holding your hair and rubbing your back, “Oi... you okay? You pushing yourself too hard again? I don’t care how small she is, I’ll fucking fight Dylan.” 

You pulled a tissue out of your pocket and wiped your mouth. “I dont think it’s Dylan. I think I’m just sick. I wasn't feeling too hot before I even came in today. But now that I think of it, We did have a harder day yesterday than we usually do. She had me pushing myself to see how many times I could teleport in under a minute.” You gave him a proud smile, “I got all the way up to 30. Thats once every two seconds.” 

He brushed a few hairs out of your face, “As proud as I am of you, you need to take better care of yourself. I know you say she knows your limits and everything but I still dont think there’s a chance in hell she knows your limits better than you do.” You went to protest but he gave you a pointed look, “Can you please take the rest of the day off? Just go home and get some rest. You clearly need it. ” 

“Ugh, fine... but only if you bring home some ice cream later...”

He laughed, “You and your damn ice cream. Yes I will bring you ice cream. Cookies and cream or chocolate chip cookie dough?” 

You gave him puppy dog eyes, “Both?” 

He smirked, “How could I say no to that. Alright you got yourself a deal. Now get out of here before I throw you over my shoulder and drag you home myself.” 

You wagged your eyebrows, “Oh yeah?” 

He thumped you between the eyes, “Oi! We are at work women! Contain yourself.... you also just threw up...soooo I will give you a professional hand shake goodbye.” 

He held his hand out and you just rolled you eyes. You held your hand out as well but before it met his you popped behind him and smacked his ass. “Report me to HR... I dare you.” And then you popped away in the direction of your apartment before he could scold you. You ended up ditching the costume and packing it away in your backpack. You called a cab because you really were not feeling well. 

You didn't know if the cab driver was staring at you periodically because he recognized you or if he thought you might throw up in his cab. Either way he didn't make any attempts at conversation which you were thankful for. 

You quickly took a half ass shower and brushed your teeth before going straight to bed. You passed out a soon as your head hit the pillow. 

You woke up hours later to the loud ringing of your cell phone. You checked the time before you answered. It’s a little past midnight, Katsuki should have been home by now. 

The caller ID said Kiri and your heart sank. With shaky hands you clicked answer, “He..” You cleared your throat, “Hey Kiri? What’s with the late night phone call? You wouldn't happen to know where Bakugo is would you?”

“That’s actually why I’m calling! I’m on my way to get you. I’ll explain everything when I get there. Just get dressed and get ready to go. Zuko too! Dont answer the door for anyone who isn't me!” 

He hung up before you could ask what was going on. Truly panicking now you jumped out of bed and started digging around for clothes. You were pulling on your shoes while simultaneously trying to locate Zuko’s leash when a loud bang came from the other side of the door. 

“Hey Bitch! Open up the damn door! We know you’re in there! Dont make me break this shit down!” 

Zuko started growling as you looked through the peephole. You gasped, it was the cab driver from earlier. He did recognize you. And he brought a friend. 

“Your little boyfriend aint here to protect you now is he! Not like he was the night he killed my brother! My brothers dead because of you!” 

You had no idea what the mad man was talking about but it was enough to send chills down your spine. You didn't want to risk having to fight them one on one. You still felt too sick for that. You knew Kiri was on the way so you could wait util he got there... *CRACK*

They had started kicking at the door now. “Shit...” 

“We’re going to make you pay for what you did you little bitch!” 

*CRACK*

“Then when we’re done, we’ll take out that that little shit stain Ground Zero!” 

*CRACK*

“Then we’ll track down every girl you saved that night!”

*CRACK*

You ran to the kitchen and took one of Bakugo’s really expensive knives. Surely he’d forgive you for fucking it up. You returned to the door that was only about one hard push from coming off the hinges. You focused really hard as you squeezed the knife in your hand. Then there was a slight pop and the knife was gone. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” You looked through the peephole again but this time the cab drivers buddy had a knife... Bakugo’s knife, the one you were just holding, lodged in his chest. You did it.... You had teleported the knife through the door.

Before you had a chance to back away from the door, the cab driver threw his shoulder into it, effectively taking it off its hinges and throwing you to the ground. “Fuck!” You tried to scramble to your feet but he caught your ankle. 

You kicked him in the face twice before he let go. You had barley gotten to your feet when Zuko lunged for him. Bakugo spent a lot of time training him... so it didn't surprise you when he went straight for the throat. But watching as your dogs teeth sank into another man’s throat... it was hard to watch. 

The man cried out in alarm but Zuko just dug deeper and growled. You eyes went wide, “Zuko! No! Get back here!” 

Zuko let go and ran back to you. The man’s blood was pooling around him now as his eyes began to droop close. 

You sat down in shock staring at the scene before you. Two dead men. Blood. so much blood. Your breathing was starting to get shallow.

“Holy shit! What happened to don’t open the door for anyone but me?! Y/N! Are you okay?” 

Your eyes slowly met Kirishima's, “Where’s Bakugo?” 

He grabbed your hand and started pulling you out of the apartment and down the hallway. “I’ll tell you in the car... Come on Zuko!” 

You sped off with Kirishima checking his rearview mirror periodically. He didn't ease up until he was almost to the agency you worked at. “Okay so here's the deal. So as you just discovered some quirkless cabdriver found out where you and Bakugo live. He sent a threat along with some pictures of you walking into the building to Bakugo.” 

You gasped but Kirishima wasn't done, “Yeah but what's worse is he also sent it to the league of villains. Told them you were the one who messed up their human trafficking deal and Bakugo was the one who blew up some of their best men. You both have pretty big targets on your back right now. And Bakugo being Bakugo... he....” 

Your hands gripped the leather armrest, “Kiri don’t tell me he went off on his own... KIRISHIMA WHERE IS HE?!” 

He gave you a sad look, “We don’t know. He called me and told me to get you out of the apartment and then hung up... That was an hour ago.” 

Your eyes welled with tears. He’s so stupid. always yelling at you for not waiting for back up and now he thinks he can just show up alone to fight the League of villains of all people! 

“Where are you taking me?”

“Technically I’m supposed to bring you to the agency while we wait this out... but...” 

You leaned forward, “But what?”

“But we’re going to meet up with Deku, Todoroki, and Denki and where going to go get him.” 

“I thought you said you didn't know where he was?”

He gave you a shit eating grin, “I dont. But we happen to know where all the League of Villain hideouts are. All we need now is for you to teleport to each one. Find him and report back. They’re all within a few miles of each other. I know it’s kind of pushing it but Bakugo told me you once teleported 15 miles.” 

You nodded, “By accident sure, but my range has gone up! Its almost to three miles now... He’ll kill you for this you know? He won't want me involved in this at all.”

He rubbed his neck, “Well that's a risk I’m willing to take to get his dumb ass home.” 

Half an hour later you along with the others were huddled around a map with all possible locations circled. Todoroki pointed to a spot almost exactly in the middle if the others, “That’s where we are right now. This spot is about 5 to 10 miles from all possible locations. Y/n. We need you to teleport to each of them until you find them. When you do, do not engage. Teleport back to us. You’ll take me first, then Midoriya, them Kaminari, and lastly Kirishima. Do you understand?”

You nodded, “I’m going to be honest.. I don’t know how efficient Ill be. I’ve only been working on this kind of thing for a month or so. I’ll likely have to teleport two or three times to get to each location. Do you have pictures?” 

He shook his head, “No I apologize we do not. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

You cracked your knuckles, “Which one first?” 

You popped in and out. Running into trees, and ponds, and whatever else was in your way. You had to stop to throw up nice or twice, but you never did it in front of the other heros. They didn't need to see you were sick. You were on to the fourth location when you made a mental note to thank Dylan profusely when this is all over. Without her intense training you don’t know if you could have done any of this.

This stretch only took you two teleports to get there. You were breathing heavy with a sweat soaked shirt when you heard it, the familiar sound of an explosion. “Katsuki?” You were hiding in a couple of trees that surrounded a barn. You teleported to the top of the closest tree and look down. Sure enough there he was. You were itching to go to him. To drag him out by his ear. But you had a job to do. You took one last look at his blonde head. Hoping he would still be here when you got back. 

In one long stretch that made your muscles scream in protest you teleported back to your friends, “I found him now lets go. We need to hurry!” 

Shouto stepped up and you spat a quick, “Hold your breath.” And you were off. You dropped him by the same tree you had just stood under and pointed in Bakugo’s direction, “Hes that way. Just listen for the yelling and the explosions.” 

Without waiting for a response you went back to get Midoriya. When you dropped him off you started to feel dizzy. Not good. You leaned on a tree and gripped your head. Through gritted teach you made it back for Kaminari.

When you came for Kiri you couldn’t help it. You threw up. 

“Shit Y’n are you okay?” 

“Yeah I just have the flue or something. Just give me a minute.” 

A minute turned to twenty and you could still hardly pick your head up. Kiri came and knelt next to you. “Hey they made it out okay. They took him kicking and screaming, but they got out. I just got off the phone with Midoriya. What do you say we get you to a hotel room and get you something to eat huh? My treat. It’s the least I can do after I basically volunteered you for this.” 

You wanted to protest but your stomach gave you away. You hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and you had thrown that up a long time ago. “Yeah I could really use some food. I’m fucking starving.” 

You called ahead and ordered a room as well as enough food for a small family. Kirishima got the room next to yours and told you to let him know if you needed anything. 

You opened the door and the smell of pizza, chicken nuggets, and mac and cheese hit you. You couldn't decide what you wanted so you had ordered it all. You needed a little comfort food. You deserved this. 

You had devoured the mac and cheese and was about to dig into the pizza when you heard the click of the door.

You grabbed your fork tightly as you stepped over to see who it was. 

“They didn't have cookie dough, so I could only get you cookies and cream.. I hope thats okay..”

You dropped your fork and flung yourself at him, “You’re so fucking stupid you know that! You cant do that to me. I was so scared!” 

He slowly wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his nose through your hair, “I know. I’m sorry. I just.... I saw red. I couldn't let them get to you. The only thing on my mind was to protect you.  And then Kirishima told me they went to the apartment anyways. SHIT are you okay? I heard you stabbed a guy..?”

You flinched, “Well not exactly. I teleported the knife through the door... Zuko handled the other guy. Speaking of which he needs a bath... He has blood in his fur...”   

He cupped your face in his hands, “Later when were both not emotionally exhausted I’d like to talk about how badass and impressive you are. But nows not the time.” He looked to Zuko who was wagging his tail at his feet, “Thank you for looking out for our girl.” He gave him a quick pat on the head

You pulled away from his embrace and ran to the bathroom and threw up for probably the fifth time today. 

“Damn Y/n I’m sorry. I was the one who asked you to take the day off and then you had to go and work so fucking hard just so you guys could find me. I’m such a dumbass. I’m sorry.” 

You leaned against the tub, “You're not a complete dumbass. You still remembered the ice cream.” 

[alluringoneirataxia]

Long Winding Road Stay Strapped My Dude

By: Astoria Cathryn Andromeda

Alrighty, this is a long one boys. So I touched briefly on this in my Welcome to Literally Everything post. No worries I'll recap you, so you don't have to switch back and forth. I just diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, and then ADHD when I was 18 years old, and even then I had to fight for it after countless hours of research. See, there seems to be a wee bit of misogyny in the neurodiverse diagnoses. When I say a wee bit, I mean that scientists used to think that only boy could be autistic or ADHD. They only studied autism in males. Fortunately, nowadays we know that girls can be autistic and/or ADHD, but we present the traits differently than boys, and a lot of our traits are played off due to gender roles in society. For example, being overly talkative in girls is called chatty, whereas boys who can't sit still are sent off for testing immediately. This also causes problems for the boys, because little Johnny gets put on Adderall at the ripe age of 6 years old, just because he can't sit still for 8 hours straight, which by the way should not be expected of any elementary school kid, By the time, he's 25 he's 1) completely dependent on amphetamines 2) his body will stop producing dopamine due to being on the medication for so long. Nicht Gut. Generally, boys who are on the spectrum get picked out earlier due to late speaking, or lack of social skills. This is the one thing that girls happen to do better than boys. Girls are good at masking, which is basically taking social traits, phrases, personalities, demeanor, and copying them. In public, they put on a mask and at home, they have a meltdown. Girls are still not picked up as being on the spectrum, because shyness is called being 'ladylike' and 'dainty', and having a meltdown is just because :( girls are oh-so emotional, boohoo. Anyways tons of women do not get diagnosed with autism until they are well into their adulthood, I actually can be considered lucky to have technically still been a teenager when we finally got all the pieces together.

Alright, let's start with I don't know me as a baby. I did not speak until I was 2 years old, and then it was immediately full sentences from then on. I didn't do the babbling thing, which I don't know how impactful that really is to the topic. I was a very shy little girl. I was teeny tiny, we didn't know I if I was going to make it to 5 feet tall until I had a big growth spurt in 7th grade. I am 5'2 now and definitely done growing in case you were wondering, so not that short anymore. I did not like talking to adults, especially strangers, especially men. I did not look anyone in the face, and I will always hide behind my parent's legs when they would try to introduce me to people. I am an only child, and I spent a lot of time entertaining myself. I always had seasonal affective disorder, where my grades would dip in the winter. My parents knew I had a timer, they had 45 minutes from the moment they stepped into a restaurant before I would start breaking down. If I got off schedule as a toddler in any form, it was a catastrophe. Or this is what my parents and family tell me. I didn't really notice. I did not like being out in public a lot, I was a very picky eater, and I was extremely hyper. I was a very eccentric child, I only had 1-2 close friends and they were always a very well-liked outgoing girl who I just followed around. Looking back, I don't know how we missed it. I was shy because I didn't understand how social interactions worked, I was anxious about it because I didn't understand, I had sensory overloads, routines, and a very bland diet with a safe food which was ketchup. I put that shit on literally everything, eas, apples, mac and cheese, pizza, all meat, anything something forced me to eat that I did not like. But because I could sit still in class, and because I could zone out and daydream all day through school and still make A's nobody ever flagged me for anything and how I was supposed to know that not everybody just copied other people, scripted things before they talked, and could never pay attention. My mom always required me to be in a sport, and I was a gymnast and a swimmer for a long time, two very high-intensity sports, to help lower my energy levels, and because my mom has mild depression and she knows that exercise does help. Skip to middle school, my mom tells me I'm being bullied at church. It's not that I wasn't observing my surroundings I knew I was being excluded, but I didn't understand vindictive behavior, I thought it was my fault. I had zero friends in 8th grade until I sat down next to a random acqutaince I had gone to school with since I was 4 and the same gymnastics place. Then we were immediately attached at the hip after that. She is my best friend due this day and definitely got me through high school. Led me through so many social situations without either of us knowing. I had a very close friendgroup in highschool, all of them were on the drumline which I met through my best friend, and my first boyfriend was my best friend's neighbor. I ended up playing bass guitar for my high school's indoor drumline, and it was the best experience ever. I love my friends, but I had really bad depression when I was 15-now:) jk It's better. I didn't really realize I was depressed, I just didn't want to go to school, or swim practice, or do anything so of course, my mom noticed, and then once it was pointed out to me it got worse. My severe anxiety spiraled with my depression. Senior year of high school, my boyfriend and I were like toxic star crossed lovers, hurting each other over and over again without meaning to. My friends and I were self harming, all my close friends gad some demon going on. I finally decided to try therapy again after the disaster of being forced to go when I was 15 and the lady told me I wasn't depressed because I had a boyfriend and good grades. It helped a bit, I was able to get my panic attacks under control. Then I went away to college and stayed dating my senior high school boyfriend, we were just up and down as always, but with slightly better communication. My freshman year of college I joined a fraternity, a research lab, and my first hs boyfriend/ex/best friend and I went to a Christian campus place. By second semester, I had a lot of people who knew me and talked to me, but I didn't have any close friends, and even less close friends who were girls. All my close friends who were girls were at another college. My parents were worried about me, so they made me rush a sorority, which I knew was never my scene, but my parents made me join and I found a few girls I liked. Soon I was going to 6 classes, fraternity chapter, research lab meetings, christain crash group meetings, soriorty pledge meetings all on every Tuesday. I was different person at each of these events and wore a different mask. I was having what I know now were autistic burnout meltdowns every single day on the phone in my crusty dorm's stairwell. It was not cute. His mental health had always been bad too. Finally I decide I need to try a psychatrist and go back to therapy, and then he broke up with me. Then I made my first close friend, a guy who was in 3 of classes, and I took him to my fraternity's formal, and then coronavirus happened.  Rona kinda saved my grades, and mental health by sending us home event though it did suck. I got on anti-anxiety meds and things went up, but I was still having what I thought were panic attacks, they were austistic meltdowns. My psychiatrist, he's kinda an asshole, he diagnosed me with Obessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. I'll insert definition here: (OCPD) is a personality disorder that's characterized by extreme perfectionism, order, and neatness. People with OCPD will also feel a severe need to impose their own standards on their outside environment.> Basically hr told me I had rules for everything like how everyone drives on the right side of the road, but nobodythinks about it andwhen I broke one of my rules I got depressed, and when wasn't perfect I got depressed, and when I made an A I was relieved not proud. The diagnosis seemed to fit really well, and my therapist and I started working finding my rules, and getting rid of the bad ones, and making the others less harsh. I had thought every once and in a while in my life when I was really upset, what if I'm on the spectrum, because I just felt so hopeless for social interactions and I didn't understand. I always felt like I was a very specific person, but after the ocpd I started thinking more and more, and I saw a tik tok of a girl with lae diagnosed autism basically describing me and ranting about the misogyny. I did more research and I decide, yea I'mm gonna bring it up to mypsychatrist well he's a dick, so he was like um you don't act like sheldon cooper from the Big Bang theory,and I was like wellI just I have always thought I might have adhd like be neureodiverse, and he was like your grade point average in hs was a 97.8%, you're not adhd. I immediately cried, because I can't handle when anyone says anything in a even a slightest stringent tone. I'm baby, I know lmao. It made me angry though because I felt like he just brushed away all of my struggles I had in my whole life. I spent hours researching and typed up a 47 page document on evidence for why I was on the spectrum, and had my parents help will some of checklists to make sure I was getting outside perspectives. I rally my parents to be my back up and next psychiatrist appointment we actually talk about it and he asked my parents questions about when I was young and such and finally he was okay you're on the spectrum. I felt so validated and like I could start being myself. I slowly got more and more confident, changed my style of clothing, and researched more about adhd pushed to be tested, and oh look at that I also have ADHD. So basically discourse: "I feel like as a child I coded a machine to do life for me so I didn’t get bothered except I didn’t know about the machine I thought i was the machine and now I’ve become self aware and I have to learn how to read the code and rewrite the code because it’s dysfunctional because I’m not functioning well as a human being. I was really shy as a child. I would turn beat red when people talked to me or looked at me so I think I started cookie cutting situations and using them over and over again because they worked until I accidentally hard wired these expansion rules and expectations for myself. I didn’t may attention is class ever I just day dreamed and if I got good grades i wouldn’t be bothered i could just stay in my head and if I did my sport well my parents didn’t bother me. I was never asked if I did my homework I just did it so I wouldn’t be asked and have to deal with that situation. I would cookie cutter situations in class that would draw the least attention to myself.

I feel like i don’t have friends I just fulfill the expectation like a side quest on video games" I wrote this down pre autism confirmation when i just thought I had ocpd. Now I don't directly identify with ocpd, but I definitely think I developed that personality disorder a bit from living with undiagnosed autism. I am linking below the very informative Tik Toks by the lovely Paige on autism in girls. The imposter syndrome one really hit home. I had had so many panic attacks about thinking I tricked people into being my friend, or thinking I was smart.

I highly suggest watching these short tik toks, you'll definitely learn something

https://vm.tiktok.com/wVvcYA/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wqRRUf/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wnqhvX/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wqeyYg/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wnoE7u/

https://vm.tiktok.com/Kas6gB/

https://vm.tiktok.com/owM9hs/

Imposter syndrome

I am also linking an article about Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory and Autism that explains why my psychiatrist was wrong, and also I am a girl and the spectrum is called a spectrum because it's a fucking spectrum no two autistic people are exactly the same it's like a color wheel.

http://www.autismsupportnetwork.com/news/problem-sheldon-cooper-and-cute-autism-387783

Here is a fun comic about the spectrum and how to view it.

https://the-art-of-autism.com/understanding-the-spectrum-a-comic-strip-explanation/

I am still learning about myself, and how to be me, and how to be myself but without breaking bad social rules. It's quite humorous though because I'll learn something is related to autism and I'm like oh shit again, like still, like, we're still discovering things.

"Tu ne me manques pas"

Bis später,

Astoria.

[yourcoffindoor]

Paper Pushers

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Summary: This is a fluff/angst fic that ended up longer than I was anticipating. You work in the same office as Gerard, but you’ve never really noticed him until you end up working together on one of your assignments. Pre bullets era. Feedback is welcome!

Word Count: 1,787

If you had to scan one more document, you were going to go insane. Somehow the role of administrative assistant meant ‘dump any work you don’t want to do on me’ to every other employee in the office, and since you were relatively new and friendless, you didn’t quite have the courage to say no.

The task of archiving all documents from ‘97 to '01 was monumental, and despite your best efforts, the boxes of unorganized paperwork seemed to multiply each day. It was also isolating—until it was complete you spent 5 out of your 8 hour days trapped alone in the archiving room. You were just about ready to create an imaginary friend when someone gently knocked on the archiving room door one Wednesday morning.

“Come in!” you shouted from behind a mountain of paperwork, hoping desperately that  it wouldn’t cause an avalanche and bury you alive in sheets of A4.

The door opened, and the dark haired boy from a few cubicles down, Gerard, poked his head in. “Y/N?” he called out.

“Follow my voice!” you shouted jokingly, “And leave a trail of breadcrumbs or you’ll never find your way out again.”

You heard him laugh softly as he approached, and before you knew it he was right in front of you.

“I finished some of my other work early and thought I might be able to help. Judging by your comments, you could use the extra hand.”

You looked up at him to respond, but got caught off guard and paused. You never really noticed just how pretty he was, and you couldn’t help but admire his round hazel eyes and the thick dark lashes that seemed to frame them perfectly.

“Um. I’d love that.” you said, your sudden nerves making you noticeably less eloquent.

He smiled. Shit. His smile made him look even better. Why were you just noticing this now?

“Awesome. Tell me where I can start so I don’t royally fuck things up for you.”

You pointed to an open box to your left. “You see those papers there? They need to be sorted into planned or reactive work-orders.”

Gerard eyed the formidable stacks that awaited him and tucked a stray strand of black hair behind his ear. “I think I can handle that.”

 “Sorry you got stuck helping with all of this,” you said after a few minutes of silence, “I know there’s probably other things you’d rather be doing.”

“Don’t sweat it. Besides,” he said in a soft, almost bashful voice, “I uh, asked if I could help you out.”

You felt a blush settle on your cheeks, but you played it off. “I don’t blame you. I mean, who could resist the fast-paced thrills of paper filing.”

He laughed, making you wonder if it was possible to get addicted to someone’s smile. It had only been a few minutes but you couldn’t get enough of it.

You and Gerard spent the next hour getting to know each other, and every week afterwards you looked forward to his appearances. He would stop in whenever he was free, and you talked and laughed so loudly that you worried what other people outside the archiving room must be thinking.

He told you about his family and his brother Mikey, as well as his dreams of doing something important with his life, the possibility of staring a band, and his love of comic books.

“Hey listen,” Gerard said one afternoon after sorting through a stack of ledgers, “are you going to that after work drinks thing on Friday with a few other people from the office? I don’t usually, but I thought it might be nice to hang out outside of this room.” He looked down at his shoes, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Normally you would pass on a work outing, since it would almost guarantee awkward small talk, but you weren’t about to say no to more time with Gerard.

“I’d like that a lot.  Where and what time?”

“Cloudland at 6:30. I’ll save you a seat.”

“I’ll be there.”

*** *** ***

You rushed straight home from work on Friday, and spent so long getting ready to meet Gerard that you didn’t have time to eat dinner. Or maybe you were too nervous to eat, you weren’t entirely sure.

Once you made it to Cloudland, you scanned the busy venue for any sight of your coworkers. You spotted Gerard sitting at a large booth with a few other colleagues, and he waved you over.

“You made it!” His face lit up with a wide but crooked smile.

“Just in time for Janice’s amazing vocals.” you said, looking over to the small karaoke stage where Janice from HR was drunkenly delivering her off-key rendition of 'I Will Always Love You.’

“You look nice,” he said, grabbing you a beer, “you should get out of the archiving room more often.”

“You clean up pretty good yourself.” You teased back, and you felt butterflies as he peeked at you through a stray strand of hair that covered one of his hazel eyes.

You spent the evening  drinking and talking, forgetting that not only had you not eaten, you were a notorious lightweight when it came to alcohol. And the more beer you drank, the bolder you became.

“You should get up there,” you blurted to Gerard as another inebriated singer finished screeching onstage, “You should sing. You told me you wanna start a band right? Show me whatcha got!”

There was no denying you were very drunk as you playfully punched Gerard in the arm. He protested initially, but got up to appease you when he realized resistance was futile.

Once on stage, the strobe lights on the ceiling painted him a rainbow of colors, making him even more beautiful. Gerard cleared his throat into the mic.

“This one’s dedicated to Y/N,” he said with a wink, pointing in your direction. “She’s the one who made me do this, so if you don’t like my voice, she’ll be handling all complaints.”

The familiar sound of 'Life on Mars’ began to play. As Gerard began to sing, you were shocked by just how good his voice was, and how natural he looked onstage, as if he was meant to do this. As he hit the chorus, he made eye contact with you, and a realization hit you like a truck. You loved this man.

Sure, you thought he was funny and cute from the moment he walked into the archiving room, but there was no denying what you felt tonight. And you were drunk enough that you were going to let him know.

Gerard finished the song to a smattering of hoots and applause, and left the stage. You shot up out of your chair a little too quickly as he approached the table, and he rushed to help you maintain your balance as you wobbled like a newborn deer.

“Woah, I think that’s enough drinks tonight.”

“Hey that was amaaaaazing!” you slurred excitedly.

Despite his concern at your state of sobriety, he was also clearly amused. “You sure? Or is that just he booze talking?”

Your eyes widened. “Honest! But listen. I really needa tell you somethin’. Can we go outside?”

Gerard nodded, putting your arm through his. “Some fresh air would probably be a good idea.”

The two of you found a quiet corner on the balcony, and you wasted no time in making your confession.

“So what’s on your–”

“I love you.”

A muted expression crossed Gerard’s face, but you weren’t in the right state of mind to decipher it.  Was it surprise? Embarrassment?

“Y/N, I–”

“I have for awhile, but I didn’t know it till now.” you interrupted. You didn’t want him to speak. You were afraid now, afraid of what might come out of his mouth. “And you’re so talented  and a good singer and you need to follow your dreams, OK?” you implored without taking a breath, and you wavered back and forth like a sheet of paper in the wind.

Gerard opened his mouth to speak. This was it, you thought. This is where I get let down easy.

“I need to tell you something too.”he said softly.

And then you vomited.

Right before Gerard was about to respond, you hunched over and spewed on the ground, splattering his white converse sneakers. You could feel tears of embarrassment well up in your eyes.

“I am sooo sorry!”

Gerard put an arm around your shoulder. “You alright? How bout I help get you home.”

You nodded pathetically, and he gathered your belongings.

*** *** ***

You could remember Gerard helping you get into bed, and found a glass of water and aspirin beside you when you finally woke up. You groaned as your head pulsed and downed the pills, hoping they’d take care of your regrets too.

Gerard didn’t contact you all weekend, and you were too afraid to reach out. Instead, you hoped that you could go back to what you had before.

Come Monday, you found yourself once again entombed in the archiving room. Hours went by before you heard a familiar knock on the door.

“Y/N.” Gerard’s voice was gentle and hesitant, as if he were afraid you might break. “How’s that head of yours?”

You smiled, relieved that he made a joke. Maybe we can go back to the way things were after all.

“Fully recovered thanks to your valiant efforts. Thanks for your help.”

“My shoes send their regards, by the way.”

You cringed before laughing dismissively. “Yeah, I have a few regrets from that night. Things I did,” you averted your eyes, looking at the ground, “things I said.”

“Hopefully not everything.” Gerard sounded crestfallen.

You got up out of your chair and starting shuffling papers in an attempt to quell your anxiety. 

“I hope things don’t have to change between us.” you said in a low voice,your throat starting to ache.

“I think they have to now.” he said, and you turned your back to him as you felt yourself fighting back tears.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, look at me,” Gerard said, voice calm but serious. He turned you to face him. “You didn’t let me respond that night.” 

“Well?” you said, bracing yourself for impact, “let’s hear it.”

Gerard wiped a tear away from your face, placed a finger under your chin, and gently raised your head. Suddenly, his lips were on yours. Butterflies returned, fluttering wildly in your stomach. 

He broke away after a moment and smiled. “I didn’t want you to be drunk when I did that.” 

You basked in the wave of relief that washed over you. “So I guess things really can’t go back to the way they were before Friday.”

He wiped another tear from your face. “Afraid not.” 

“Good,” you said, leaning in for another kiss, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

[sibyl-of-space]

havent angsty long-posted on here in a while lol it’s like i am in 3rd year of college all over again

Well, no thanks to fast and reliable testing, I am at least fairly sure I actually do have Covid. I still haven’t gotten my test results and it’s been a week, but I have a headache typing this because I over exerted myself by performing the highly taxing tasks of... taking a shower, cooking something, and sitting upright instead of lying in bed (as I have been largely doing for the last 2 weeks). So at the very least I’ve been able to communicate with my workplace and am now at an understanding that I should just take this week off too because if sitting upright for extended periods of time makes it hard to breathe, that is perhaps, slightly concerning.

So instead my anxieties now are about the fact that literally contracting Covid was actually in the long run beneficial for my mental health because I’ve been able to just... rest, and play some video games, and rest some more, and sleep, and edit photos, and watch other people play video games. I’ve gotten to just. Relax. I haven’t had the chance to relax since before the pandemic started, because I work at a nonprofit that helps homeless people and that shit doesn’t stop being necessary in a crisis. And it’s compounded by the fact that I work in IT and we had to basically throw together enough band-aid and duct tape solutions to get everyone set up to work remotely, which was hard as fuck to do, and now we are still going in part of the week to help serve meals shifts because we don’t have any volunteers.

(That is like 90% definitely how I contracted it, a few weeks ago I worked a meals shift with someone who was not-so-subtly coughing into his mask next to me and it was not the phlegm-y cough but the ‘ah i am just clearing the old airways’ cough. Why are you working a meals shift to serve the homeless if you have symptoms OH MY GOD. Anyway.)

My workplace is not organized in the best of times, which made it interesting but lively and was largely endearing even if it was somewhat frustrating. But now, it is just driving me up the wall. I have felt at the end of my rope mentally for about 2 straight months with no end in sight. And now the more literature that comes out indicates it could be YEARS before the USA is able to approach anything resembling normal because of this, and I do not think I am mentally capable of handling this kind of environment for that long.

My team is GREAT. I love them. This organization put out the only legitimate IT starting position that did not require 3-5 years of previous experience, paid me MORE than a fair starting wage, and is just all around great at treating me like a person and I’ve learned so much from them. I am so thankful. But the organization as a whole is managed like, well, basically a shit show that makes me honestly miss the well-oiled shitty corporate bureaucracy that was my first job out of college. I’ve been considering applying elsewhere for ages now, but... well first of all I feel like I need to at least have worked a full year here before moving on (it’s been about 7 months presently) for it to count for anything, and also, well it has been very nice actually being treated like a person in a 9-to-5:30 office position and I don’t know how much I’ll be seeing that if I sell out and work for some tech startup or whatever the hell.

Up until now I have had a sort of... promise I’ve kept to myself, where if I am not fulfilled and start to actively dislike and resent my job when I wake up for it in the morning, that I will move on from that job. I have held on to that. My first job out of college was an excellent source of stability for me as a recent college grad, but when it reached a point it was stressing me more than it was supporting me, I moved on. I then worked minimum wage (note: minimum wage was $15/hr at this point so my income was only actually decreasing by $4/hour because administrative assistants do not get paid what they are worth. Now bay area cost of living is fucking stupid, but minimum wage in this circumstance was actually livable for me with the bonus of having my parents’ health insurance.) at a fabric store - I stayed there for 2 years, longer than I’ve ever held a position, and while partly I left because I had more or less finished learning what I had hoped to learn from my coworkers, the store was transforming away from that kind of community DIY vibe it started out as and turned into a kind of etsy wine mom vibe that didn’t click with me as much anymore, and also I was turning 26 and would lose my health insurance through my parents.

So I took the next several months taking my first real break from constant responsibilities/employment since pretty much ever, focused on speedrunning Tales of Symphonia and eventually started studying for a baseline IT certification so I could try and get a job that was more appealing to me than administrative bullshit, which I hated so much. My closest friends I made in my first corporate job out of college were people in QA and IT, so I decided to try and make that a reality. I studied my ass off for a couple solid months, took both tests for the A+ certification, passed, and started applying to jobs. And now here we are.

My frustration stems from the fact that I want to continue working with the people who took a chance on me when I was very green and had no experience, just 2 tests under my belt and a willingness to learn. I really do want to continue learning and growing here. But the environment, through no fault of anyone’s, has been just grating on me. I honestly believe that if I quit they would all completely understand, but I don’t WANT to - I want to stick it out, partly out of pride (this organization has such high turnover, I have already outlasted over half of the new users I’ve onboarded.....), partly to repay the team that has invested in me and treated me like a human being, and partly because I know more experience is necessary if I want to land another job anywhere else.

But boy, am I drained. I was literally hoping I had Covid because it meant I could get 2 weeks off work. And here I am, finally got Covid, am taking 2 weeks off work, and yet I still feel bad about it because a damn test hasn’t come back making me feel validated about it and I’ve still partially convinced myself I’m being a drama queen.

And this break from work is just making me dread the prospect of YEARS of this kind of uncertainty. It’s been so nice just kind of being able to do things at my pace, but it took me actually contracting The Plague to actually get this kind of relief.

Anyway, a few bright sides... first, my tortoise is adorable and doing great, so there is that. (Just looked over and saw her doing something cute. I love her.) Second, I will continue to rest this full week, and next week there is a good chance I will feel more empowered to tackle a workday with the perspective of fresh challenges as opposed to just some monotonous daily grind, after having this time off. Third, if I continue to feel nothing but dread and frustration regarding work, I think I should stick to that promise to myself and give a deadline to when it’s time to start looking elsewhere and move on, because no organization is worth my mental well-being. And lastly, I’ve re-visited OoT for the first time in a really long time (handhelds are about all I can do at the moment), and that was really special.

I’m still fucking pissed that there is pretty much no chance I’ll be able to go to France this Christmas with my roommate and girlfriend. I was so excited to have a paycheck where I could afford to do something not just for myself but for the people closest to me, I routed our flights so we had layovers that would let us connect on the main flight together and paid extra so we could sit together, I was SO excited about this because I spent almost EVERY Christmas in France as a kid because of my family and I miss it SO MUCH, I was so so so excited to share these intimate memories with people I really care about, but the USA is a fucking dumpster fire shit show so who knows when I’ll be able to actually do that now. I haven’t cancelled the flights yet but I’m coming to terms with the fact I’m going to have to do so. Hopefully I can get a refund and we will just have to go next Christmas, but I’m still really fucking upset.

Not even going to comment on how much of a shit show the USA is in general. I feel completely helpless. Another 4 years of Trump is literally a catastrophe we can NOT permit but the current DNC platform looks like it is going to fix about, oh, FUCK ALL, so at this point it feels like there is no hope unless we literally start busting out the guillotines. Every time I see an Elon Musk fanboy on Twitter some of my remaining faith in humanity crumbles. Then I think about how people have been protesting EVERY SINGLE DAY for the right of Black people to LIVE and NOTHING is being done about it. It’s both exhausting and terrifying.

In conclusion, I would like to stop living through a major historical event, please and thank you.

[crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons]

Why am I stressed? Well..

I live with emotionally abusive parent who never went to therapy for their own issues and now me and all my siblings are paying for it

My lil brother has a bad fucking drug addiction, he spent €2000 on coke alone since fucking March!, and decided to take 5 fucking Xanax last night in the space of an hour and a half. It's been 18 hrs since then and he's still struggling to walk straight and not fall into things. And he lives in the attic so he has to take two flights of stairs to get to his room. So yeah that's been a fun time.

I'm behind on almost everything in college and I hate nearly everything about my course, especially the causally homophobic, transphobic, racist shit "memes" some of my class post in the class group chat.

I only got diagnosed with ADHD earlier this year so learning all the shit I do that I never understood about myself and all the things I was shamed and scolded for was perfectly normal for a child with ADHD has been... don't wanna say traumatic but certainly really emotional

Dealing with ableist microaggressions towards austitc people

Dealing with ableist microaggressions towards disabled people

Dealing with homophobic microaggressions

Dealing with buried trauma

Dealing with body pain and weakness due to my disability

Dealing with guilt over not keeping in touch with people and constantly battling this terrible urge to isolate myself that stems from never having friends in school as a child and just accepting I'm alone for the rest of my life

My phone got stolen so I've lost 3 yrs worth of pictures and notes because I never fucking back up anything and that had so much important college notes and things that help me emotionally so that's fUcKiNg GrEaT

Dealing with guilt over not sending one of my best friend's a birthday text because I didn't remember their birthday because I always have a reminder on my phone and that got fucking stolen, and I have a fucking card and present ready for them to send but I have yet to fucking send it because either my adhd and/or anxiety is fucking with me. And I know they would understand and not hate me because of me forgetting their birthday but I feel so fucking bad about it or I feel nothing.

I either feel nothing or everything and it's fucking terrifying but not as terrifying as feeling and that's horrible

Dealing with medical trauma that I never was able to deal with emotionally while said trauma happened

Never feeling able to say no to things or have control over my own body and or body anotomny due to said medical trauma

Knowing I will either have to lie to future employers and hope they don't find out about my disability and nuerodivergency and fire me for it or be completely honest during the interview and risk being mark unhirable due to that

Knowing that I have to hide so much of myself just to attempt to survive in late stage capitalism

My fucking college assignments which are due and I haven't even started them

I fucking hate this life I'm living and I feel completely trapped

I'm tired

I'm so fucking tired

And I trying, I swear to the gods I'm trying to stay soft but I'm surrounded by spikes and I'm tore to pieces and I don't know if I have enough safety pins to keep myself together

[hmel78]

In conversation with Keith Emerson ...

Keith Emerson (02.11.44  – 11.03.16)

The Father of progressive rock; the man responsible for the introduction of the Moog synthesiser to the ears of the unsuspecting music lover in the 1960’s; and without a doubt one of the 20th and 21st Centuries (to date) most prolific and talented composers of modern classical music.   In a career spanning 6 decades, which has earned him notability as a pianist and keyboard player, a composer, performer, and conductor of his own music alongside the World’s finest orchestras; as well as achieving super success with “Emerson, Lake, and Palmer” - 2014 has been no less eventful for Keith Emerson! With his 70th Birthday approaching, Helen Robinson caught up with him for a very ‘up-beat’ chat about (amongst other things) the re-releases of his solo records, a brand new album with Greg Lake “Live at Manticore Hall”, his favourite solo works, and his memories of the times spent writing and recording with ‘The Nice’, and ‘ELP’.

HR : This has been a busy year for you so far Keith!   KE : Yes! I’ve been up to allsorts! [laughs]

Music wise – what can I tell you?   Cherry Red , Esoteric, have re-mastered and re-released 3 of my solo albums – “Changing States”,  another which I recorded in the Bahamas called “Honky”, and a compilation of my film scores which consisted of  "Nighthawks”, “Best Revenge”, "Inferno”,  “La Chiesa (The Church)”, "Murderock”, "Harmagedon” and "Godzilla Final Wars”.

HR : That must have been a difficult selection to make based on the number of scores you’ve written! Do you have a particular favourite genre of film to write a score for?

KE : Favourite genre?  Boy, well, I just love film score composition, you know? When I first started I had been touring with ELP for some years, and we’d toured with a full 80 piece orchestra but it was just too expensive – we had to drop the orchestra and continue as a trio, which was very upsetting for me.   I was entranced by what an orchestra could actually do, and found that with doing film music I could work under a commission and have the orchestra paid for by the film company!

It’s always a challenge. I think a lot of composers like to write dramatic music. I like writing romantic music as well – I’ve also written for science fiction where you can let your musical imagination go pretty much where you want, but generally you have to cater specifically to the film. First of all I like to get a good idea of who the producer and director is, and who is likely to be cast as playing the lead roles.  I like to read the script – which helps prior to meeting up with the director and producer. When I wrote the music to Night Hawks I was sent, by Universal films, news of a new film to be made by Sylvester Stallone, a new guy at the time called Rutger Hauer, and Billy Dee Williams, also Lindsay Wagner.   It was basically a terrorist film – not the terrorism that we shockingly see today – but back then it was the beginning of terrorism and was quite mild by today’s standards, however it was still sort of ground breaking as far as writing the score was concerned.  

It’s about vision with film score work.

Although really it’s all about vision with anything you’re writing, and I suppose many of the disagreements that ELP had during their time – of course a lot of it came to wonderful fruition – were not seeing eye to eye because we had such different tastes in music. Ubiquitous I would say – we bounded from one thing to another. Just when you thought it was getting serious we’d want to have some fun and do something light hearted but I’ve always maintained that variation is essential.

I think that’s what helped ELP quite a lot – especially live - in any particular set you had the heavy stuff like “Tarkus” and “Pictures At an Exhibition”, for the guys in the audience, and for the females who attended reluctantly - dragged along by their boyfriend or husbands and just sit there -  I mean, I didn’t sit, I was standing and leaping around [laughs] but you couldn’t help notice the glum looking females in the audience wondering when all this was going to be over.

I think when ELP were together as a unit, we managed to meet everybody’s needs. Greg came up with some really great ballads which sort of got home to the feminine heart, like “From The Beginning” – the feminine heart goes “aaah aint that nice” [laughs] and then suddenly you get the bombardment of something like “Karn Evil 9” and it’s like “Oh GOD”!!

HR : I’d like to talk more about ELP, of course, however there’s so much more outside of that unit , which you have been involved with, that has had quite an influence on modern music.   You’ve got an extraordinary and fairly extensive discography, which we can pick whatever you’d like to talk about, but I’d like to start with ‘The Nice’  -  “Ars Longa Vita Brevis” ...

KE : Ah Yes ‘’Art is long, life is short” - Lee Jackson came up with that title - he’d studied a bit of Latin ... [laughs]

Going back to the 1960’s then – I suppose it was ‘66 when ‘The Nice’ formed – originally as a quartet. Drums, bass, Hammond organ or keyboards, and guitar player.  After the first album we decided to move on as a trio, although I did try to find another guitar player.   I actually auditioned a guy called Steve Howe, who was considering getting together with Jon Anderson, and Chris Squire and forming a band called “Yes”.  Steve was much more interested in getting with the “Yes” guys, so meanwhile ‘The Nice’ continued as a trio with Lee Jackson on bass, Brian Davison on Drums, and myself on Hammond and keys.   It was during this time that I was introduced to a new invention designed by Dr Robert Moog, which became the moog synthesiser, so I was the first to introduce that into live performance.  

With ‘The Nice’ we had come out of an era called the underground / Psychedelia.  

I was very friendly with Frank Zappa and the mothers of invention, and they were really far ahead of their time.

Frank approached me one day, because I was composing and playing with the London orchestras even then, and said ‘’Keith - how do you deal with English orchestras? They’re hopeless!”

And I said ‘’Well, they’re very conservative Frank. If you really want to make it with the London Symphony, or the London Philharmonic - if you really want my advice, I think you should try and change some of the lyrics of your songs. If you’re going to get in front of the London Philharmonic and sing stuff like ‘’Why does it hurt when I pee?’’ obviously these guys are not going to take very kindly to it!” [laughs]

I’d actually done Bachs Brandenburg concerto #3 with a chamber orchestra and had a degree of success in the English charts-  around about the same time ,  Jon Lord  [Deep Purple, Whitesnake] was writing his concerto for orchestra too. I’d already written the “5 bridges suite” which I had recorded with ‘The Nice’ at Fairfield hall in London. So basically Jon Lord and I were kind of both struggling with Orchestras and moving along into what came next musically for the both of us –   Jon was a very good friend.

I think round about the turn of 1970, I had noticed what Steve Howe was doing and it was very harmonic, whereas ‘The Nice’ - well we were a bit more bizarre, and I listen back to it now and I suppose I have a slight bit of embarrassment about how ‘The Nice’ were presenting themselves.

And back then I’d started looking at bands like ‘Yes’, and there were a lot of other bands too, who were really concentrating on the tunes and the vocal element, so that’s when and why I formed ‘Emerson Lake and Palmer’ - in 1970 - and endorsed the whole sound with the moog synthesiser. It sort of took off, and became known as what we know today as “Prog Rock”.  We didn’t have a name for it at that time, we just thought it was contemporary rock. I mean it wasn’t the blues, it wasn’t jazz, but it was a mixture of all of these things, and that’s when we went through.

The first album of ELP, [Emerson, Lake, & Palmer] recorded in 1970; we were still learning how to write together as a unit, so consequently when you listen to it, you’ll hear a lot of instrumentals; mainly because there were no lyrics and there was a pressure on the band to get an album out. For some reason there was an extreme interest in the band - We were to be considered as the next super group after ‘Crosby Stills & Nash’, which we certainly didn’t like the idea of.   That album went very well.   Unfortunately the record company decided to release “Lucky Man” - which was a last minute thought – as a single, and it took off. My concern was the fact that, OK yeah the ending has the big moog sweeps and everything like that going on – but how on earth  do we do all the vocals live? Thousands of vocal overdubs over the top and neither Carl nor I sang.   You know - I sing so bad that a lot of people refuse to even read my lips!   And as far as Carl Palmer was concerned he had “Athletes Voice” and people just ran away when he sang! It was a hopeless task of actually being able to recreate “Lucky Man” on stage, so eventually Greg just did it as an acoustic guitar solo.   It was that one sort of Oasis, in a storm of very macho guy stuff, where the women just went [in a girly voice] “Oh I like that, that’s nice”.  [laughs]

So, inspired by that we got more grandiose and put out ‘’Pictures At An Exhibition” – another bombastic piece based upon Mussorgsky’s epic work. For some reason Greg wanted it released at a reduced price because he said it wasn’t the right direction for ELP to go. So we released it for about £1 and it went straight to number 1!  Then the record company called up and said ‘’what are you doing? This is a hit record and you’re just selling it for £1??!!’’, so I said ‘’well yeah it’s a bit stupid isn’t it?” – so when it was released in America it was at its full price and ended up nominated for a Grammy award! ELP had a lot to do to create the piece you know?   We disagreed on lots of issues but in order to keep the ball rolling we just moved on with the next one, which was in fact “Trilogy”.

I thought it was about this time in ELPs life that we had learned how to tolerate each other, how to write together, and how to be very constructive. “Trilogy” is a complete mish-mash, you go from one thing to another; there’s a Bolero, and then ‘Sherriff’ – which is kind of western bar jangly piano playing on it.   I don’t think you could find such a complete diversity buying a record like that these days. We were very much inspired by our audience accepting that.  

Actually Sony Records are going to re release it in 5.1 – they’re doing a wonderful package with out-takes and everything – I’ve just competed doing the liner notes.

We moved on again then, and started the makings of “Brain Salad Surgery” which was a step further.  

After that I worked on my piano concerto played by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, and actually it’s still being performed all over the world - Australia, Poland, and in October I’m going to East Coast America to do some conducting – Jeffrey Beagle, who’s a great classical pianist, is going to perform it then, and I’m going to perform some other new works of mine.  

HR : Are you likely to release a recording of it?

KE : Yes I guess it might be ... I’ll let you know. It’s a dauntless compelling challenge. I have conducted and played with orchestras before and I’m very thankful to have classical guys around me who are able to point me in the right direction.   I was never classically trained. I started off playing by ear and then having private piano lessons, and then basically teaching myself how to orchestrate. I’m still taking lessons in conducting and I don’t think I’ll ever get to the standard of the greats like Dudamel or Bernstein – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to conduct Wagner, but so long as I’ve written the piece of music I think I’ve got an idea of roughly how it goes!  [laughs] Thankfully I’ve worked with Orchestras who are very kind to me.

HR : Do you enjoy the performance as much as the writing?

KE : Actually I enjoy the writing more than the performance. I know I wrote an Autobiography called ‘’Pictures Of An Exhibitionist” but that’s the last thing that I am really.   I’m pretty much a recluse. I’ve got my Norton 850 and I’m happy ...

HR : I was going to ask you about the Theatrics on stage – Why Knives and swords? Was there something which influenced the decision to include that as a part of your performance, or was it purely born out of frustration from working with Carl and Greg?

KE : [laughs]  Well you see in the 60s, I toured with bands like The Who, and I watched Pete Townshend; I toured with Jimi Hendrix too, and I thought that if the piano is going to take off then the best thing to do is like really learn to become a great piano or and keyboard player, but I also thought “that aint gonna last with a Rock audience in a Rock situation”, mainly because the piano or Hammond organ  - well from the audience you look up on stage and it’s just a piece of furniture! Whereas the guitar player can come on stage and he’s got this thing strapped around his neck, he can wander up and down the sage, check out the chicks, and he’s the guy that has all the fun.   The organ player meanwhile is just seated there at a piece of furniture like he’s sat at a table.   So a lot of what I did was for the excitement of it, and I suppose to exemplify the fact that I could play it back to front. A lot of my comic heroes like Victor Borg, Dudley Moore – they all came into the whole issue too.

I’ll tell you this ok? I once went to see a band at the Marquee club when it was in Wardour Street in London, and I can’t remember this guys name now, but he played Hammond organ - he was a very narky looking fellow, and went on stage wearing a schoolboys outfit which caused a lot of the girls in the audience to chuckle.   I stood at the back of the Marquee club and watched his performance - a lot of the stops and things were falling off his organ, so he had a screwdriver to keep holding certain keys down, and then suddenly the back of his Hammond fell off – and I don’t think it was intentional, because he looked really quite distraught, but he caused so much laughter from the audience. I went away thinking “there is something there, I’m going to use that” ... I actually thought it would be a great idea to stick a knife into the organ, rather than a screw driver -the reason for this was to hold down a 4th and a 5th , or maybe any 5th, or say a ‘C’ and an ‘F’ or a ‘G’, whatever, and then be able to go off stage, take the power off the Hammond, so that it would just die away -  it would go ‘’whoooaaaaaaaoooooh’’; and  then I’d plug it back in and it would  power back up and create like the noise of an air-raid siren, and of course the drummer and bass player would react to that.  It got really interesting. We actually had a road manager at the time by the name of ‘’Lemmy’’ who went on to be with Motorhead.   He gave me 2 Hitler Youth Daggers and said [best Lemmy impression] “here! If you’re going to use a knife, use a real one!”

So that was the start of all that, and people loved it, and actually Hendrix loved it too –  somewhere in his archive collection there must be some footage of me almost throwing a knife at him [laughs] .

The phase for it was my objection to the 3 assassinations they had in the USA -  JFK, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King -   I’d been to America once and seen how quick the Police were to pull out their guns to a woman parking her car illegally – so bizarre.  The 2nd amendment will not go away, as much as they want it to. I’ll reserve further comments on that but that was really the whole objective. I was banned from the Albert Hall for burning a painting of the Stars and Stripes, which took some time to get over, but everything worked and they allowed me live in California now. [laughs]

HR : What about the Manticore Hall show, also released this year, presumably you kept burning paintings off the agenda there? Was it good to work with Greg again? and then the complete ELP line up with Carl at High Voltage?

KE : No! [laughs], and Yes ... Actually that was recorded in 2010 and was an idea set up by a manager associate of mine, and an agent in California. I met up with them and they asked how I felt about doing a Duo tour to lead up to the High Voltage Festival in London.   They convinced me that it was a big festival ... and the idea was to have ELP on the Sunday night there. So the lead up was a duo tour with myself and Greg because Carl was off with Asia at the time.   It had its ups and downs, but it did eventually work very well and it was a very good warm up to doing that Festival date as the 3 of us.   I don’t think there was any intention of us going any further with it. I think the resulting “ELP at High Voltage” was good and also I think the album ‘’Live At Manticore Hall’’ - although it wasn’t released until this year, because Greg initially didn’t want it to be released at all - is good stuff too.   These things happen with bands, it takes a while for us to appreciate how good what we do is, sometimes.

HR : You’d had quite a break from ELP at that point, KE : [interrupts] I wouldn’t say that I ever take a break, if I can put it so lightly, and it’s not lightly, as to say that it’s kind of like a hobby – if I feel so inclined I will go to the piano and will write a piece of music. If that piece of music seems to warrant being augmented by anyone then I find the right people to do it.  I had a great experience last year of going to Japan and hearing the Tokyo Philharmonic play the whole of “Tarkus” – a 90 piece orchestra – I’ve never been so blown away. I worked with a Japanese arranger on the orchestration, and actually used it on an album which I recorded with Marc Bonilla, and Terje Mikkelsen called “Three Fates Project”,  which actually didn’t make it anywhere and I don’t know why. It’s a great album, very orchestral – I did the version of “Tarkus” on that complete with the Munich symphony orchestra. I changed it around slightly – I had Irish fiddle players coming in – I suppose, really you could refer to it as being World Music – it’s probably a great example of that.   It’s not based upon the ELP solo piano composition that we did on ELPs first album. I don’t think the record companies knew how to market it you know? Was it classical? was it rock? It has the complete amalgamation of group and orchestra. Wonderfully recorded. It really is quite mind blowing. Not that I want to blow my own trumpet!   Maybe if the art work had been a little more dynamic then it would have caught people’s attention. I agreed on it, but you see our names and they’re really small - I don’t think people realised who’s album it was.

HR : Have you any plans to perform it in the UK, or other parts of Europe? Scandanavia, for Blackmoon fans? Any tour plans at all?

KE : The thing is, first of all, that the direction that I am going at the moment is very orchestral. And that does take an awful lot of planning. As I say I’m going to play with the South Shore Symphony on the East Coast of America, but touring with an orchestra, as I learnt back in the late 70s with ELP, is very expensive.  It doesn’t make any money if I’m perfectly honest. If someone was to come up with the cost of shipping the instruments about then ...  but it’s not like dishing out the orchestral charts to an orchestra and then have The Moody Blues come on and play, and the strings do all the backing stuff, you know! This music is the music which I’ve written and really demands quite a lot of practicing.

For instance when I was recording “Three Fates” with the Munich Symphony, in Munich, I was interviewed during the break after the first day by a radio station, and they asked ‘’how do you think its going?’’ and I said “well if the orchestra are still here with me in 5 days time, I should be very surprised” [laughs] .   I remember on about the 4th day , one of the members of the orchestra had obviously heard the radio broadcast.   As and I walked out into the garden at break time, I passed one of the Trombonists who was smoking a cigarette and he said ‘’well we’re still here”...

There is an awful lot that can go wrong, of course, especially with orchestras. The copyist can sometimes write a b natural rather than a b flat, or they can get a whole load of other things wrong – and that’s what happened this particular recording.  

Marc Bonilla actually came up to me on a break and said “I think you should go up to the control room, and look at the score mate, something doesn’t sound right”, so you can imagine the look on my face! So off I go I’m up in the control room; radio through to the rehearsal room and start going through the score and sure enough it was wrong. I don’t know why I hadn’t heard that before, but it was down to the copyists – its the same with writing a book and you give it away to the editor – they can still mess it up – as copyists do with music. And sometimes you’ll get the orchestra, and they’ll just play what’s written rather than put their hands up and say “that doesn’t sound right”, for fear of retribution I suppose – so it is frustrating, but it’s very rewarding.

The Mourning Sun, taken from “Three Fates” 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PcOI8nDDeU

It’s been quite funny with some of these albums that Cherry Red are rereleasing. I happened to give one to my eldest son. I gave him ‘’Honky’’ and he came up to me and he said ‘’here Dad I’ve been listening to the Honky album and it’s really really good!’’  He and his friends are in their 40s now and they’ve all complimented me on it, so that’s the biggest compliment I could have really.

I was recording that album when he was about 4 years old. [laughs]

HR : Is that your favourite then? Honky?

KE : Oh yeah – I had so much fun making that album and I think it shows in it’s humour. It was great. The objective behind it was that I wanted to record with all the local bohemian people - I was living at the time in Nassau in the Bahamas. I didn’t really experience a lot of problems with the black bohemians –  I got on great with them all. There were some great musicians, and I wanted to do a very ethnic album to bring to the attention of the world that we can all get on! I used to drive around Nassau in a limited edition Jeep and kids would run out and yell at me ‘’Honky!’’ and I’d wave thinking ‘that’s kind of fun’.  Then, when I worked in the studio I noticed that the black musicians would all greet themselves with the ‘’N’’ word – we can’t say that now - says in an accent “Yo N ...” – so I thought ‘well if they can do that I am going to call myself a Honky!’ And they were horrified!!  [laughs] So I bluntly spoke to them and I said “listen you guys call yourselves ‘’Ns’’ so I’m calling myself a Honky, and damn it I’m going to call the album that too!” [laughs].  It was a lot of fun.

*** Honky - a derogatory term for a Caucasian person.

HR : We must get something down about Blackmoon – given that this is the title of the Magazine!

KE : [laughs] ELP, Blackmoon.  *sighs* Well  ... I remember from this time that Carl Palmer and myself wanted to have a different producer.

It was all well and good that Greg produced all the other albums but – I don’t think it’s a very good idea for any band ; if they’re involved in the writing and the playing, and then one band member decides he’s going to be a producer too.   You need someone objective to come in and say that they think it’s too long, or whatever ... whereas if you have a part in writing and playing, its obvious that you’re going to pay more attention to it, and Carl and myself really wanted an objective opinion about how to make it work. The producers that we auditioned were very familiar with ELPs work and were really considerate in how they constructed it.  The main consideration - and I think really it was a difficult time because Greg could see that his role as being a former producer of ELP was going to be taken away from him. Whereas for me I felt that Greg’s attention should be more on the writing and the lyrics and other aspects. There is so much that one had to pay attention to when running a band. There are the legal, accounting, and everything else – and above all you have the creative aspect and you really cannot go into a studio and become the producer and wear all these different hats. It doesn’t work, I don’t allow that even on my own music writing.  I’m quite happy to go in and play my music as long as I trust that the guy behind the music desk, and the mixing desk,  are on the same page, know who I am, and what I’ve done before – so at least there is a rapport where the engineer can see what you are trying to do and he will say – “ah you know what, why don’t we try and go for that you did on Trilogy - lets try it!” You have to work with people who understand you and then you can just sit back and work on it , accept a good idea, be pushed to your limits. The thing is with Greg - he felt that he had been removed from the situation which he had most power and pride in. Whereas I think most pride he should keep as the fact that he s a damn good singer and has written some great music. If you want a great team you have to designate to the right person.

That’s why I had Lemmy as my roadie.  If I hadn’t had Lemmy the knives wouldn’t have come out [laughs]. We owe Lemmy a lot! HR : Absolutely.  You two should record a duet!   Which Instrument would you choose? Moog, Melotron, Hammond?

KE : Hmmmmmmmm.  Piano. I’ve always written on the piano. I do have a mandolin hanging on the wall here, which is out of tune at the moment. You wouldn’t want to hear me play this mandolin ...

HR : Because it’s out of tune, or just in general?

KE : [laughs] because it’s out of tune but even if it was in tune I don’t know if it would work. It looks great hanging on the wall though ...

© Helen Robinson -  June 2015 Originally published in Blackmoon Magazine.

[Keith and I were great pals - I miss him <3]