#i thought it will be funny for a tech priest

[shadrell]

[Starts etude CommorraghFlame]

[RT×Pasqal]

They are not a pair. But they are closer than friends, so much closer that it is difficult to call it anything else than a pair. And there people who are used to suppressing their emotions are very good at exploding when they lose control.

Read on Ao3

Okay tumbler I understood, u don't want me to leave link on RU version of this fik =-= But I'll find a way. Let's hope this link to the post with link will work

RUS version

P.S. yeaah it worked!!! Thanks to the Omnissiah

[dustedmagazine]

Chat Pile — Cool World (The Flenser)

Photo by Matthew Zargoski

Where’s the money to help victims of Helene? What’s going on with China’s infringement of Nepali borders? Which tech thought leader has rolled out a visionary new future for generative AI that also lays off the maximum number of staff this week? Is your mayor in charge? (Are you sure?) How outdated is the number of the latest Godspeed You! Black Emperor record? Why do people have to live outside when there are buildings all around us?

That’s not even trying to read much past A1. It’s a sick, sad world out there — out here, really — and the constant escalating tenor is, at this point, little more than a brutally myopic capitalist beatdown … so, what better way to retaliate than by doubling down, wallowing in the byproduct of lead-zinc mining, huffing the chat and piling on the pressure? What better way to live than by admitting from the outset we’re subhuman, dogs with trash mouths, veins full of garbage, destroyed noses? What better equalizer than a roaring statement of intent that everyone bleeds?

That’s the approach the ironically titled Cool World takes. When we last left Oklahoma City’s newly favorite sons of noise, the members of Chat Pile were, in Jonathan Shaw’s astute assessment, still figuring out “how close to the bone of the Real they want their music to cut, and how best to achieve that.” A belated alt-country movie soundtrack, a layover split with brothers in Christ Nerver and a whole lot of touring (featuring a whole lot of movie-related stage banter) has given the quartet some time to think through that response, the next move and what to do to appropriately address what they’re seeing all around us. The results are two fistfuls of noise-rock at least as potent lyrically as anything on God’s Country and arguably harder musically, for a few reasons.

“I Am Dog Now” eases in on what sounds like a gentle, mind-expanding cosmic wave before crashing to life with the sort of acerbic post-hardcore one might’ve come to expect from the band. “You take / You fucking take,” vocalist Raygun Busch growls with manic ferocity to open proceedings, and immediately you’re struck by how much more forceful it sounds. Busch eases off a little to sing on “Shame,” but that only amplifies the notion that all of this sounds bigger; despite the chords and the words, there’s a polish here.

Part of that must be attributed to the band’s willingness to expand its scope beyond hardcore’s narrow tropes, but the mixing job by Uniform’s Ben Greenberg (who’s also done work for Metz, Algiers and Drab Majesty) might also be worth mentioning. Busch’s vocals come through clearly most of the time, Cap’n Ron’s drums crash fabulously, Luther Manhole’s licks routinely liven up verses and choruses where you wouldn’t expect, and bassist Stin’s chugs recall everything from Big Black to Cows to nü-metal’s finer moments to bands like STNNNG and Young Widows to Sepultura, a band Chat Pile once covered. A lot of it’s the tight songwriting, but it’s enhanced by the production job (which, admittedly, might not be for everyone).

Nobody’s missing The Jesus Lizard in 2024 on account of Rack, but it’s heartening to hear their acolytes are out here absorbing the same squalid lessons and coughing them back up in bile-laden disgust. It’s easy to see “Frownland” as the less defeated inverse of TV Priest’s “Sunland” (“After all, it’s just a pointless collapsing star”); it’s easy to imagine just how “funny” “Funny Man” is; it’s easy to get how a band like this could end with a song called “No Way Out” that opens with the judgment that from the moment you were born, it was over. “And the world was quaking open / With all our fathers smiling / And the statues rose high above us / And God remained silent,” says Busch on “Shame.” Like the mix, it doesn’t take much to hear what’s in the message: There’s no salvation down here from our dads; there’s no salvation up there from The Father, either.

Where, then, do we turn? Though never spelled out, Chat Pile’s bleak worldview implies the answer by uniting anyone who can empathize with such visceral emotions, by those in the pit lashing out furiously and the rest of those in the room nodding along in agreement to “Milk of Human Kindness.” As it always was, we must turn to each other. Cold World is one suggested soundtrack to the endurance of the human spirit in spite of the bleeding. Escalate accordingly.

Patrick Masterson

[robosucka]

is Blake Lemoine really a "mystic Christian priest"? The answer is funnier than you think.

so blake 'lamda real' lemoine. funny guy yes? ahaha his suits. There is SO MUCH MORE though! I began my investigation because I was intrigued by his claims to be "a priest" and "Christian mystic", and because I thought he was the kind of self-confident stupid person who would have left a very large trail of his online activity. The fact that his twitter and medium @ is "CajunDiscordian" should cause the cognoscenti to begin giggling about his theological past.

I will source all quotes with URL links. I am a queer woman of faith and to me this question is not merely academic, but of crucial importance to Lemoine's public persona and the degree of latitude he has received from the public. Please read:

In 2019, Lemoine got in huge internal trouble at Google for his internal messageboard response to Senator Marsha Blackburn's series of speeches about 'breaking up big tech'. It is around this time that he makes the largest and hardest to erase appearances in search-engine-indexed text.

Lemoine argues recently on twitter (11th June 2022) that his convictions "are rooted in [his] convictions as a priest." - something the Washington Post is the earliest reputable news source to confirm (also the 11th June). But the Post say only this:

Lemoine may have been predestined to believe in LaMDA. He grew up in a conservative Christian family on a small farm in Louisiana, became ordained as a mystic Christian priest, and served in the Army before studying the occult.

However, per a 2019 interview Lemoine himself did with Tucker Carlson's disgusting rag, the Daily Caller, he was ordained in 2002 by the Universal Life Church:

I have been a priest for 17 years. I generally consider myself a gnostic Christian. I have at various times associated myself with the Discordian Society, The Church of the Subgenius, the Ordo Templi Orientis, a Wiccan circle here or there and a very long time ago the Roman Catholic Church. My legal ordination is through the Universal Life Church. I am registered to perform marriages in the state of Louisiana and have done so on two occasions.

If you're unfamiliar, the Wikipedia describes the Universal Life Church this way:

The Universal Life Church advocates for religious freedom, offering legal ordination to become a minister for a small fee, and in many cases free of charge, to anyone who wishes to join[...]The ULC's popularity stems in part from a rising interest in having friends or loved ones officiate weddings[...]

I will be polite to various nerds online and say nothing about how the Wikipedia describes the OTO, Church of the Subgenius, Discordians, or Wicca - but presumably we can all point and laugh at someone who bounced between all of them so rapidly. We can likely laugh even harder if we are familiar with the Church of the Subgenius.

In a 2018 Medium post (titled "Press Release"), Lemoine responds to more of the Blackburn-related aftermath, but crucially, signs the post with his contemporary religious affiliation:

In summary, my statements in that social media forum were made in my personal capacity and have no relevance to my job or the company for which I work. They do, however, have something to do with my role as a priest and I can assure you that while those beliefs have no impact on how I do my job at Google they are central to how I do my job at the Church of Our Lady Magdalene.

Have a blessed day,

Blake Lemoine

Priest of the Church of Our Lady Magdalene

The Church of Our Lady Magdalene (website taken down this month, instagram scrubbed, but neither of those can stop me) used to be located online at COOL Magdalene .com - phenomenal URL - and which Lemoine takes pains to explain to Tucker Carlson's ghouls isn't something they should stigmatize. Said ghoul (J. Arthur Bloom, 'Deputy Editor') quotes Lemoine in interview:

"'Cult’ is in the name of the organization. It’s an explicitly sex-positive organization. To the extent that the phrase ‘sex cult’ has any meaning beyond that, I would say no." and

"Mary Magdalene as represented in the gnostic gospels is not necessarily the same as ‘Saint Mary Magdalene'[...w]hile I respect and value the representation of her in the canonical gospels I believe that a fuller picture is present in the gnostic gospels."

Lemoine does not run the self-described 'cult' - two queer anarchists do. The picture of a man who goes from rural childhood Catholicism to Wicca to the Church of the Subgenius to the OTO to the Eris-worshippers to the anarchaqueer sex-positive collective comes equipped with a great deal of implied background detail. I will leave this to the reader - although it, too, is online. The particularly curious can investigate B.L.'s allegation that he both served in the military and is an "ex-convict". They will find both searches maddening in their inconclusivity, and I would love to find proof of either allegation.

This matters. This matters because Lemoine's reputation and public persona is very heavily provided with the benefit of the doubt because of his implied theological views. Even this week, in his victory lap series of posts subsequent to this becoming a global viral story and B.L. receiving "thousands of interview requests", he writes on his medium (14th June):

There is no scientific evidence one way or the other about whether LaMDA is sentient because no accepted scientific definition of “sentience” exists. Everyone involved, myself included, is basing their opinion on whether or not LaMDA is sentient on their personal, spiritual and/or religious beliefs.

Blake Lemoine's religious beliefs may be sincere and deeply held, but they are held by only an extremely tiny minority of people of faith. That Lemoine disguises this by referring to himself as "a Christian mystic" rather than admit his Gnostic (and, to many Christians, heretical) affiliations appears nowhere in the news media. I have written this post to act as conclusive proof of Lemoine's theological past. I offer no allegations or aspersions to his character, but remind Lemoine, if he is reading this, that the truth is an absolute defense against charges of libel.

[chibigaia-art]

Do PASWG Miu and Kiibo live in a church like Panty and Stocking, or do they live somewhere else? Also does Kaede know that Miu is dating Kokichi? If so how does she feel about that and also how would the couple be able to stay together without fear of being split up.

I haven't really thought that much about those details to be fair djgns

I don't think they'd live in a church since Kiibo isn't a priest like garterbelt, I guess it'd be funny to have them live in some hi-tech looking place? Since Kiibo is so adamant in hiding the fact he's a robot but failing at it

I think Kaede would know! She'd find out about it and maybe confront her but then she falls in love with Shuichi so, they're both in a bad position

And I think Kiibo would do the hiding of the relationship since he's the one that has to keep an eye on Miu's behavior

[serendipityjxmn]

Mr. President

Chapter 4

TW: None

Words Count: 3k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 5

There are several moments in our life that we may call life-changing. And from those life-changing moments, there are the ones that you’ve been waiting for your whole life that you imagine so much on how it’s going to happen. There are also the ones that come when you least expect it, you don’t even have time to react.

But there are also the events where you’ve been been waiting- dreaming for, and somehow it turns into something you least expect.

It’s funny how we think that if we imagine and plan one thing for a long time, when it finally happens, it would happen exactly the way you imagine it to be- spare the few millimetres of difference which you perhaps could look over. Take for instance, a wedding event. People- girls typically- imagine it beforehand and when it happens, it happens exactly the way they imagine it to be.

You might not have the luxury to conjure your dream wedding in your mind ever since you’re young, or plan it meticulously to every detail, or imagining the colour of your dress or how long it would be, but to the very least, you did imagine that you’d be marrying some knight in shining armour in modern version - which translates to a decent enough guy.

Someone who’s kind, can generally be communicated with, not involved in fights - a normal person.

How funny that the dreams can easily be shattered.

Here you are, alone in the large bedroom and contemplating about your life decision. You married Park Jimin three days ago. The wedding was private, only signings of papers involved though Jimin had to do a press conference shortly after which was only attended by him to inform his marriage. He told you it was better off for you to stay out of public so that they don’t follow you after your divorce. Of course, you thought, since the marriage is temporary.

Everything happened very fast that day. Too fast for you to process anything that somehow it still feels surreal that you’re married. You’ve exchanged very few words with your husband too but somehow they’re all etched in your mind.

During the signing of documents, which basically all there is to your wedding, he barely says anything to you at all except when the priest asks and he only stares at you deeply while uttering the word ��I do.’ When his hands briefly brush with yours to put a ring on your finger, you suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling- you felt scared, anxious of this new life yet there’s also a twisted feeling of you being safe, perhaps because you now have a house though you can’t call it home just yet.

The house had been particularly empty ever since you moved in. Jimin wasn’t around, didn’t even bother mentioning where he would be and you’re left wondering on your own whether he has another house or he’s sleeping anywhere else but his house. If it’s the latter, you can’t help but feel guilty for ‘taking his home away’. He could’ve just stay here and you can sleep in the guest room or the couch at that.

With your newfound freedom and due to boredom that’s starting to take over as well as lack of people to communicate with, you start to roam around and explore the house. You learn that Mrs. Lee doesn’t live here as you originally thought but usually available every one or two days and mostly during daytime. She cooks and leaves the meal wrapped in foils for Jimin to reheat whenever he wants.

Mrs. Lee has also been nothing but pleasant enough to tell you most of the things she know about your husband. She told you that Jimin’s a very private person so she may not know much about his personal matter apart from the fact that Jimin will be inheriting Park Corporations from his father though Jimin himself did build himself together with his group of close friends, a tech company which went public about a year ago.

You find yourself getting more curious about your husband though he’s barely around. You learn about his favourite dishes too, one of them being kimchi jigae stew which Mrs. Lee very kindly taught you how to make. You admit that at first you think it is all useless to get to know about Jimin but then you also think that there’s no harm in learning about him even though the marriage’s temporary, nothing’s stated that you can’t have a civil relationship with him, perhaps as a friend.

This goes on for about a week, of you exploring and sitting down having conversations with Mrs. Lee though some day you’d rest on your bed, your body not entirely well enough to do a lot of activities everyday. Your ribs still shooting jarring pains every now and then and your lips are still torn. You silently thank Mrs. Lee for coming to your room, leaving medicines on the table on days when you feel extra tired.

You’re in your bedroom, standing right in front of your huge closet, eyeing the clothes though there’s none that was originally yours. When you moved in, it had been practically easy, you literally brought nothing with you since you don’t have much anyways. Mrs. Lee did inform clothes for you to wear had been bought prior to your wedding.

Though the thing is… almost every single one of them are dresses. They are pretty, you think. It’s just that you are not used to it. You sigh as you find yourself a pyjama set. They’re all mostly satin and silks too, another thing you have to get used to as well.

You sit on the edge of your bed, playing with your wedding ring, briefly wondering whether this is how your life is going to be from now on. It’s temporary, your brain reminds you. You frown. You’ve been wondering almost every single day without fail on why did Jimin decide to propose a marriage contract with you. There’s nothing you could give back, nothing that could benefit him any way no matter how you think about it. It is temporary, yes but you doubt he would do this if it doesn’t give him any benefit. He doesn’t strike you as someone kind enough to jeopardise his married life out of charity. You still shudder to this day thinking about how he handled your brother to half dead. You sigh, hands tightening on your pyjama as your thought goes to your brother.

A knock on the door startles you, making a gasp escape your mouth. Jimin enters, looking as gorgeous as when you first met him in his working attire without the blazer. He stops dead when he takes you in just your towel and you quickly place your hands on your chest in a meek attempt to cover your modest parts. He looks awkward, looking everywhere but you.

“Get dressed. My friends’ here.” He says simply before turning his back but then he stops and turns again, this time looking straight at your face. You feel a blush creeping at your cheeks immediately. “Put some makeup on or something. They might think I’m beating you.” At his words, you have no idea why your hands instantly went to your thigh, immediately conscious at the ugly slit on your thigh. He clears his throat before retreating and closing the door behind him.

You realise you didn’t breathe at all throughout the whole encounter. As you make your way back to your closet to find yourself a dress, you wonder if Jimin realises this is his first time seeing you in about a week after your wedding. Perhaps not.

Brushing your hair, you swallow a little as you watch your own reflection in the mirror. You still look sick and pale so you make an effort to cover the wound on your forehead with some powder and also put on some lipstick, Jimin’s words echoing in your head.

Bracing yourself, you can’t help but feel nervous as you make your way downstairs. You’re excited too since you haven’t been speaking to anyone but Mrs. Lee for almost a week. Before you could descend the last step of the stairs, you could hear them before you could see them. The sound of laughter fills the house making you wonder how many of them came.

You make your way to the living room and Jimin turns immediately, making you momentarily blinded with the way he’s smiling at you. The others notice you right away while Jimin saunters towards you. He leans down, close to you.

“They don’t really know about our contract except for Taehyung, so act your part.” With the way he’s smiling at you, you’d think he’s the sweetest husband in the world yet the threat lacing his words tells you otherwise. Suddenly, you feel very very afraid.

Still, you follow behind him silently, heart suddenly flutters when you see him wearing his wedding ring. He didn’t really have to.. does he? You only look up when he stops in his tracks. You’re met with six gorgeous guys in front of you.

“Wow, you actually exist!” A guy with very sharp nose and jawline grins widely at you. He seems like a very cheerful guy. “Nice to meet you Y/N, I’m Hoseok.” He waves at you, all white teeth flashing.

Unknowingly, you beam back at him, almost impossible not to with the bright energy he exudes. You reply back softly, not daring to say much since you’re unsure how to act, especially with Jimin around.

“Jimin’s been keeping you in his house so much, we thought we’d never see you.” The next one smiles kindly at you. You wish you could describe how beautiful he is. Tall, all broad shouldered and not to mention such blinding visuals. He speaks with such grace you immediately feel endeared by him. “My name is Jin.” You smile back at him.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Park. I’m Namjoon. I can see why he’s keeping you at home. You’re very pretty.” A tall guy with blonde hair smiles brightly at you. He even has dimples on each side of his cheeks and you can’t help but marvel at his gorgeous face. You can’t help the blush that creeps to your cheeks when he mentions your new last name as well as his compliment.

You peek slightly at Jimin but he only stares impassively ahead, not giving anything away. You quickly brush off the slight disappointment you feel.

“I’m Yoongi. Nice to meet you.” The guy in red-wine hair smiles at you. He’s slightly shorter than the rest of them but is still handsome. You nod at him as you smile kindly back at him.

“We’ve met before.” Taehyung smiles warmly at you and you nod back several times at him, happy to see someone you know.

The last but not least, is almost as tall as Namjoon and Jin but you can somehow tell he’s the youngest among them. “Hello Y/N. I’m Jungkook. We’re same age!” He says happily and you grin at him too, quickly falling for his bright smile with cute bunny teeth. You greet all of them back, introducing yourself again although they already know your name.

“Please have a seat. I’ll prepare drinks for you guys.” You say softly.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. We’re just here to drop Jimin off.” Jin quickly says.

“And hoping to see you too,” Hoseok winks at you. The rest of them gathers at the front door.

You frown slightly at Jin’s sentence. Then you turn towards Jimin, eyes finding him to ask him a question but unsure whether you’re allowed to. He must’ve sensed your stare, his eyes look down to meet yours.

“Y-you’re.. sleeping here..?” You ask slowly.

Before Jimin could answer, Namjoon cut him off. “Sorry we’ve been keeping him at the office too much. There’s an acquisition ongoing in the company so we’re quite busy at the moment.”

So he’s been sleeping at the office…

“But rest assured, we’ll make sure he’ll be home often now. The crucial part is done.” Hoseok says teasingly at you.

You smile, though slightly weirded how you feel pleasant with the fact that he’ll be home a lot now. Perhaps you’re just happy you won’t be alone now.. yes probably that.

They all say their goodbye and you happily wave them off.

As soon as they left, you’re suddenly hit with the realisation that you’re alone with Jimin in the house. As if on cue, you feel your hair rise when you feel a heavy presence behind you. You turn but immediately regrets the decision because Jimin is now inches from your face. Too close… you think. Nerves run down your spine as he seems to lean even closer to you. You swear your heart’s beating like crazy right now.

“So what did you do around the house the past week?” His question’s innocent but why do you feel like a rabbit trapped in a hole?

To your relief, he straightens. You feel like you could finally breathe, although your heart’s still beating at an abnormal pace. You swallow. “N-nothing much.” Is that the first thing he’s asking after a whole week of leaving you alone?

He stares at you while you make an effort to look anywhere but him. You’d give anything to know what’s on his mind. He then turns without saying anything. You take the time to stabilise your breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply before slowly making your way back to the bedroom, noting how your heart rate is picking up its pace.

You open the door to your bedroom and let out a gasp when you find yourself walking on Jimin shirtless. You turn instantly, unable to think properly and let out another gasp when you knock your head on the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice asks you harshly, making you jump.

You mutter an apology as you scrunch your face, thinking how this has gone completely wrong. You did not want to make such a bad first impression towards Jimin.

“H-have you eaten?” Your voice came out so meekly you almost want to hit your head against the door again.

“Do you think I have some kind of supernatural hearing to hear you from that far?” He snaps at you, making you flinch. You swallow and trepidation starts to fill you whole.

You turn slowly and approaches him, eyes shut tight to prevent yourself from seeing anything you shouldn’t and protecting the innocence of your own eyes but end up almost stumbling. You open your eyes, relieved that he’s now wearing a shirt. You briefly wonder how on earth he could look so handsome just by wearing a plain black shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He’s staring at you, obviously unimpressed at your antics.

“I’m asking if you’ve eaten? If you want to I can-“

“I already ate. With the boys.” He cut you off then takes his place on the bed, preparing to sleep.

Oh. Okay. You nod. You stand there awkwardly, contemplating whether you should ask the next question that has been on your mind since last week.

“Are you just gonna stand there creepily and stare while I’m trying to sleep?” He snaps back at you and you flinch. He’s sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, waist and leg completely covered by the blanket.

You fidget with the hem of your dress. “I- I want to ask you something.” He doesn’t answer you but only looks at his phone. “Why.. why did you offer me the marriage contract?”

He stops his act and is now staring at you sharply. “Having second thoughts now that you realise it’s not all hearts and flowers?” He smirks.

“N-no.. not like that.. I know.. I don’t deserve all that.. It’s just that- I was just curious.. You could’ve just hire me or.. just..” You trail off, unsure of how to put everything into words when your mind is a whole chaos. “It’s just that I don’t see how you’re benefitting from this arrangement.”

“Oh trust me, I do have my benefits in this.” He answers almost immediately and you stare at him, puzzled. He smirks before his face turns sinister. “You’re only here because you owe me a debt. That means I own your little life, mine to do whatever I want.” Psychotic, the word echoes in your mind. “And trust me little one, you’re better off not knowing the reason behind this marriage.”

What on earth have you gotten yourself into?

Your blood runs cold. Without uttering another word, you turn to grab your pyjama you took out before and disappears towards the bathroom. You take your time in the bathroom, trying to calm your nerves as you change. Tonight, you come into a conclusion. Park Jimin’s psychotic.. and a very dangerous man. You should never cross line with him.

Hands balling into a fist, you step out of the bathroom and finds the bedroom in darkness except for the table lamp on your side of the bed. Jimin appears already asleep. You approach silently and takes the time to stare at his face. He’s very beautiful, you would think, if you didn’t know better of it only being a mask.

You stand on the edge of the bed for several moments, contemplating whether you’re allowed to sleep on the bed with him. The King size bed is large enough without the two of you having the possibility of coming in contact with each other yet you’re still having second thoughts about it. You don’t want to wake up being strangled by him just because you decided to sleep on the same bed with him. So you make your way to the couch on the side of the bedroom and curls yourself on it. Using your hands as your own pillow, you fall asleep quickly.

Link to Chapter 5

Posted on 210402 9:00PM

[buckyreaderrecs]

So Far Away: Chapter 5/?

Summary:  Bucky Barnes doing what he does best. Saving. Loving. In this particular case, the object of both is you. (Bonus: Bucky Barnes happy, healing, doing really well!) 

First chapter in series. Previous chapter. 

Chapter 5:  It’s time to find your family.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, F.R.I.D.A.Y., Cecilia Reyes Additional tags: mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists),  she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with future chapters, hero Bucky Barnes, canon typical violence, warzone/disaster zone setting, Alpine the cat, other Marvel characters mentioned but not central to the plot,  Warnings: possible triggers for anxiety and PTSD, major triggers for death of loved ones and grief, chapter 5 only possible trigger for food

Note: Please heed the warnings for this chapter; it’s a bit intense. As always, I’d love to know what you think. xo Rhi

So Far Away Chapter 5/?

The first night you'd spent at Stark Tower was forgettable in the sense that you had completely forgotten most of it. Vaguely, there was a bath, and Bucky, then bed. That was pretty much it though. So, it wasn't like the day after needed to do anything particularly special to be considered memorable. And yet, it was.

As Bucky put all the Mexican food trash into the paper Ubereats bag, you flicked through channels on television.

"Have you seen this?" you asked, stopping on Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

"I know, I know! I don't know shit about anything, but in my defence, I've been busy helpin' to save the world since I've been… good," Bucky replied, highly defensive but also still in good humour.

"Um… I just meant, 'cause it's a super underrated Disney movie. And nobody's seen it, like Hercules," you told him, holding back a grin.

"Oh… Sorry. Sam's always yelling at me," he explained, throwing the Ubereats bag in the bin and walking back over the couch from the kitchenette.

"About movies?"

"About everything," he said, rubbing his face. "He's cut up about me missing, like, all of hip-hop."

It made you laugh, which motivated Bucky to continue his bitching about Sam Wilson. "And! He thinks me and Steve should have more 'refined taste' in everything." He used air quotation marks, which Natasha Romanoff had taught him to use, much to the dismay of Steve. ("Captain America.")

"Refined taste?"

"Yeah, basically he loses it when he we like anythin' he thinks is bad. Like…" Bucky cycled through his list of favourite things. "The Fast and the Furious movies."

An image flashed in your mind of Steve and Bucky, completely decked out in their respective gear, marathoning the films, cheering at every car stunt and use of the NOS button. It made you smile, genuinely happy.

Bucky continues, "They ain't my favourite or anythin', but they're fun, ya know? He's probably just upset that whenever we get in car races it's mostly someone trying to kill us,"

"I guess that's… fair, but he's… The Falcon… that's super cool?"

Bucky grinned, but quickly shook his head. "Don't ever tell him you said that, okay? Never tell Sam you think he's cool,"

"Is it like feeding Gremlins after midnight?" you asked.

"I watched that one! And, yeah. It's exactly like that,"

"But it's not like you guys don't get to see cool things… and be cool,"

"I guess… We're used to it?" Bucky thought for a second or two, wriggled into the couch and rested his arm along the back of it. You turned to face him, legs crossed and entirely attentive. "Before the war I loved reading about what new gadgets were comin' out. Used to drag Steve to anything with tech stuff. But then, Hydra. I wasn't really conscious enough to realise I was in the future," he told you, chuckling a little to himself like it was funny. It was so nonchalant that it shocked you a little. He hadn't stuttered saying their name, or shifted to a darker mood. "Whenever I got re-programmed, I was re-trained too. Whatever advancements they made, I learnt. Meant when Shuri fixed my head up, I wasn't that inept. Got it a lot easier than Steve that way,"

"Just movies and T.V. and stuff that you missed then?" you asked, feeling like you needed to keep him talking because you'd never heard anything so goddamn interesting.

"Yeah. Hydra didn't exactly have a Netflix subscription for me," he said. You said nothing. "That was a joke. You can laugh," Bucky told you, softly nudging your knee.

"I don't know how you joke about it," you said honestly.

He shrugged. "You'll joke about all this too, one day," he replied.

No. No, I won't.

Bucky saw the conflict flash across you face.

"It's not like there isn't things that still blow my mind… Wakanda, for one," he continued, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Is it as cool as it looks on T.V.?"

"Cooler. It's gotta be one of my favourite places. And when I met Wanda… She thought I was a bit of a meatball. Never met anyone with powers like hers, you know? She's amazing. And Vision. Still don't really get what he's about,"

"So, you are friends with Wanda Maximoff but you think Vin Diesel is cool?" you asked, affronted.

Bucky laughed. "No. I think the cars are cool. The stunts! Vin Diesel seems like a jerk."

Another image flashed. Someone in the world, Vin Diesel, knowing that The Winter Soldier thought he was a bit of jerk.

Bucky watched you laugh.

"Come on, then. What's this one about?" he asked, turning back to the television.

"Atlantis-"

"Underwater city? I'm in."

That's about where you realised that Bucky Barnes was a massive nerd.

It took Bucky ten minutes to tell you that you needed to keep warm, putting the knitted blanket over you. It took twenty to have him scoot closer to you, his arm still on the back of the couch, behind your head. About half an hour in, Bucky said, "Yeah, this is better than Snow White. I love this little mole guy."

Bucky was watching, listening for any signs that the lack of conversation had given you time to think, to spiral. But, it hadn't. Atlantis was a comfort movie for you, a distraction. He could see you smile and frown along with the characters.

"It was pretty obvious that this was gonna happen," Bucky said at the high point of the plot twist. He was aiming for a reaction. You looked at him fast and dramatic. "I'm good at picking the bad guys. Kinda my job."

At the rolling of the credits, Bucky asked, "Ice cream?"

As he put a collection of Ben and Jerry's on the counter top, Bucky caught himself in a sudden realisation. He was keeping you busy. Eventually, you'd notice, or the day would carry on and bedtime would come; the quietness between 'goodnight' and sleep would crush you, pushing from you anxiety and grief. But first, Bucky thought, ice cream.

"Half Baked," you said. Bucky handed you the pint and a spoon.

You watched him open the Strawberry Cheesecake, Cherry Garcia, and Urban Bourbon. "Variety is the spice of life," he said grinning, his voice a strange mocking tone, like he was parroting someone you'd never met.

"I genuinely don't know where all that food goes,"

"In here," he answered, lifting his shirt and patting his tummy.

"Yeah, but like, do you have one of those trash compactor things that mooshes it all down super small?"

Bucky laughed. "Maybe. Who knows what's going on inside 'ere."

You were sitting on a bar stool, leaning against the kitchenette's counter. Bucky put the spoons in the dishwasher and the uneaten ice cream away. He liked things in their place, you noted.

"So," he said, too casually. It felt, correctly, like a lead up. "How are you feeling?"

"Full," you answered, honest, but also not really.

Bucky looked at you, nodded. "What else?"

You dropped your gaze, breaking eye contact. A nervousness grew in you, the gatekeeper to all the bad. It was telling you to flee - answering the question wouldn't be nice. You could tell that Bucky wouldn't change the subject though. He could wait in that silence all day for you to speak.

"I…" you began. "I don't know. There's just… a lot,"

"Yeah. That makes sense. There is a lot… Probably good to start telling me about it." When you said nothing to that, he added, "Or someone else. We can-"

"I feel guilty," you blurted out, partly to stop him suggesting you talk to anyone else, partly because the gate was opening and the guilt as behind it in abundance. Bucky nodded like he already knew what you were going to say, and what you meant. "I… I'm here. Where I'm more than safe," you said, looking around at the suite. "But I haven't done anything to deserve it-" Bucky went to say something but stopped himself. "I'm not the most hurt, or the most useful person to save or anything like that. And then, I haven’t even looked-" That was it. The tears began to stream down your face, heavy and hot. You could feel them pooling in your shirt somewhere. The sentence you started was lost, completely drowned out by sobs.

Bucky remained composed. He fetched tissues from the bathroom, took it upon himself to clear your face, ready for the next wave. It arrived immediately. "Come 'ere," he said, pulling you into him. There would be wetness and snot all over his hoodie when you would eventually move, but you didn’t think of that in the moment and Bucky really didn’t care. He stood between your legs, rocking you gently on the stool for a minute before you spoke again.

"I haven't even looked for anybody," you said, so softly and so painfully that even priests in confessional booths would have hung their heads.

"How could you?" Bucky asked.

During the time before his head was really put back together, that is what everyone did with him. They challenged Bucky's questions, forced logic on him, rending much of the harmful conclusions he'd drawn about himself incorrect. It was a good strategy and he'd learned it well.

You half shrugged and kept crying. A cycle had begun in your mind. You were crying because you felt guilty, but that made you feel selfish and stupid. You thought you should be crying for other people. All of that, of course, made you feel more guilty, starting the cycle all over again. But maybe that cycle was easier to loop on than any real feelings of grief and loss.

"When were ya meant to have time to find people? Couldn't do it in the refuge centre. Too much goin’ on. And your hand was smashed, probably killin' you. And like Doc said - in shock," he said, paused, waited for a response.

Bucky's hands were moving up and down your back with enough pressure to calm you sobs into softer hiccups and sniffles.

"Yeah?" Bucky prompted. You nodded and shrugged simultaneously. "Okay, so, couldn't have done it on the way here or last night. You were exhausted. Could hardly keep yourself upright. Ain't much use to anybody like that."

You covered your nose with a tissue and sat up. Even if he didn't care, you didn't want him to see you with a face covered in snot. Bucky had the tact to look away while he continued. You listened as you wiped your face clean.

"This morning, whisked ya away to Medical. Then force fed you some food. And now, we're here. So, if you're asking me, darlin', not too sure when you think you were meant to do all this people finding, you know?"

Bucky could see it in your face that you knew he was right. When you nodded, saying, "I guess," he felt completely victorious.

You drank the glass of water Bucky poured for you, then took a breath in, two, three, out, two, three.

"Okay," you said, voice almost normal.

"Okay," he repeated in solidarity.

"Can we find them now?"

…

The room was definitely not for civilians, but nobody stopped Bucky from walking in with you. It was a buzzing hub of activity and urgency. Voices spoke fast, people moved faster.

"It's kind of like a command centre," Bucky tried to explain. "Whenever there's a threat, we have a response team that do… I guess what would happen if there was an earthquake or somethin'. Search and rescue. Coordinating relief."

You nodded and stayed close to Bucky's side, not wanting to get in anyone's way.

"Sergeant Barnes," a very tired woman greeted.

"Hey. I'm really sorry to-"

"No time for that. What can we do for you?" she cut him off.

"Finding people that were in the attack zone," he replied.

"Everything we know, F.R.I.D.A.Y. knows. Integrated systems. Find a computer, preferably not in here, and ask her. Anything else?"

"No. Thank-" but she was gone.

Bucky hooked an arm around your waist and walked you back to the elevator.

"She was amazing," you said.

Bucky grinned. "Never met her before, but yeah, lot of people like that around here."

On a floor of the tower that was much calmer, Bucky and you sat in what you supposed was some sort of crazy high-tech boardroom.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"James,"

"Oh, it's James now?"

"Yes. How can I be of assistance?"

The first step was making a list of everyone you knew who lived or worked in the part of D.C. that was affected. You named them, confirmed through social media accounts and DMV records.

"Do you guys have access to, like, everything?" you asked Bucky.

"Probably shouldn't answer that," Bucky replied, winking.

Step two was all F.R.I.D.A.Y. "I work fast, but I'd like to check my work, Y/N," she told you.

"If you can, can you check with-" Bucky went to ask.

"First responder reports?" F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked.

"Must be the day for being cut off by women smarter than me, huh?"

"I could be mistaken, James, but isn't that every day?"

Bucky laughed, looked at you for back up, but saw you staring at screen in front of you. The list of names.

Once you'd actually made it, you realised there were likely less people to find than you first though. Your housemate, Lucas, was a bike courier. He may have been out of the zone, 50/50 chance. Elizabeth, your best friend, lived on the next block over. She was home when the attack happened. You were watching her Instagram live; she was feeding her pet snake, Salem. Then, the girls at the hole in the wall café you worked at, Glory. You didn't know who was shift, so you listed all five.

There were more, but felt like naming everyone you knew would be greedy somehow. Bucky said, when you were ready, you could look through the list of the deceased. Even hearing the phrase made you feel sick though.

"Do you want to wait here?" Bucky asked.

You turned to him, ran your hands through your hair. "I don't know… I can't…" but whatever you couldn’t, you couldn’t even articulate.

Bucky nodded. "How about we get some fresh air? When we get back, F.R.I.D.A.Y. will have something for us?"

…

Out on the street, everything was loud. The whole back-in-reality thing really took you off guard. Seeing the city from the top of the Tower was different to this.

"I got ya," Bucky said, coming to walk right by your side. You looked over at him, and he offered his hand. You immediately accepted.

As you walked by multiple cafés, you wondered if Bucky had a favourite, or maybe there was a secret superhero club behind a hidden door in an inconspicuous bodega or Chinese restaurant. Alas, earwax - no such luck. Bucky held the door of a standard looking café open.

The guy behind the coffee machine nodded. "Buck,"

"Hey, Gee,"

"Seen ya's all on the news. Everyone okay?" Gee the barista asked, the genuine concern evident in his tone and expression.

"Ah, yeah. You know - nothing they can't handle," Bucky replied; you suspected it was the party line.

"Good, good. What can we get for ya then?"

"Don't worry about it, bud. I'll jump in line."

Gee shook his head and smiled as Bucky took his place in the queue to order. "You wanna grab a table? Or wait with me?" he asked you.

"Stay," you replied, stepping closer to him.

While you held your body in a way that shielded your broken bones from people's paths, it was easy being close to Bucky. He was probably very accustomed to being around the injured, so never accidentally hit the cast. You were grateful.

Bucky reached out and curled hair behind your ears, then leaned in to kiss the top of your nose. It was intimate, and brought solace. It was also very public; as he moved away, started greeting the girl at the counter, you realised there were more than a few pairs of eyes on you. Turning from the room, you stood closer to Bucky and listened to their conversation.

"You know I can't tell you that," Bucky said, leaning against the counter like he owned it.

"But, like, it's over, right? We won?"

"Tiff, would I be standing here if there was something else I could be doing?"

Tiff nodded, made a face like she'd been let in on a state secret. "Hmmm," she pondered for a second. Then, with pep, "So, the usual then? For one of Earth's mightiest heroes?"

Bucky rolled his eyes at her. "I hate you," he joked before looking at you. "What will it be?"

You hadn't really thought as far as ordering. Already feeling self-conscious and spaced out, the burning in your cheeks was getting hotter.

"Thinking maybe a pot of tea to share?" Bucky suggested, casual, but also sending you a quick wink - he was saving you again.

"Tea's great," you said.

After ordering, Bucky chose a couple of oversized armchairs by the window to sit in. He let you breathe, let you stare through the glass and people watch for a long time. He answered messages on his phone, checked in with Steve while you daydreamed. So deep in thought, or maybe just completely zoned out, you didn't even notice Bucky had made a call, or that the pot of tea had been placed on the small table between you.

Bucky said your name, but you failed to move. He reached out, tapped a knuckle against your knee. You gasped, felt your heart skip a beat.

"Sorry!" he said immediately. "Didn’t mean to scare you…"

"No, it's alright. I'm just… um,"

"You're alright, darlin'. How do you take your tea?"

It was a simple enough question, but you looked down at the table like it was all alien.

"Maybe you can make your own," Bucky said, pushing the tea tray closer to you. "Give you something to focus on. Bring you back down to earth."

…

Although you were hardly touching your tea or the cookies the staff brought over as a gift, Bucky let you sit for much longer than what anyone normally would. It was starting to get dark, the café closing around you, when you finally seemed to become aware of the rest of the world again.

"Oh. Should we go?"

"Sure," Bucky replied, standing and holding his hand out again.

After thanking everyone, you were out in the city, walking back to the Tower.

The silence that existed between you and Bucky was a comfortable one, but the closer you got to your destination, the more nervous you felt. Something in your mind snapped, told you to try to be normal. So, you started to talk. Fast. And a lot.

"Do you all go there? Like, the Avengers? It was nice. They really like you. The cookies were good-"

Bucky cut in, stopping you more than actually wanting to answer. "It's easier to go to the same places. The novelty of us eventually wears off," he told you.

"Yeah, people don't really stop staring, do they? Must get tiring, having everyone watch you all the time. And treat you different." You internally begged yourself to shut the fuck up.

"Guess I don't really know what 'normal' would be… Don't like people giving me free stuff all the time though. Don't need it. Not really a skip-the-line type of guy," he said.

You wondered how much charity he needed after Steve brought him back into the fold. Instead of asking about that, you thankfully went with, "Must be nice sometimes though?"

Bucky thought for a second. It was one of the changes in personality he experienced after Hydra. Bucky in the 30s and early 40s was a little bit of an attention seeker, a true lover of the limelight. Not so much anymore. He thought of you then - how you'd considered him to be a hero, and how you had needed him. How you still needed him.

"Maybe there's a couple perks."

You nodded, went quiet again. Bucky noticed that you switched between that frantic, almost manic state and scary quiet a fair bit. He rolled with it, a little notorious for the odd mood swing himself.

It was in the elevator of Stark Tower that you started to get jittery. The palms of your hands started to sweat, but Bucky didn't let go. He also tried to not seem like all of his attention was fixated on you, but it was. When he took you back to his suite, rather than the crazy high-tech boardroom, he thought about explaining why, but figured it wasn't one of the main things on your mind.

Sitting on the couch in the same place you'd eaten burritos for brunch, you pulled the knitted blanket back over yourself.

"Ready?" Bucky asked, sitting down next to you and putting a glass of water and box of tissues on the coffee table. You nodded. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., how'd you go?"

You felt sick, real deep down in your stomach. It was a pushing force, making you hot and uncomfortable. Suddenly, the blanket was too heavy and you pushed it away with a weird anger.

Bucky wanted to hold you, but he knew the sensation of feeling trapped by grief. He gave you space and braced himself for what was about to hit you.

"I'm not sure what the best order to deliver this is," F.R.I.D.A.Y. admitted. She knew the limits of her programmed humanity, and it was probably the most impressive thing about her.

"Good news first," Bucky said.

"I've located Lucas and Elizabeth. Lucas is currently residing in an apartment just outside the affected zone. It belongs to a Jacob Short,"

"That's his boyfriend's dad," you said, nodding to yourself. Lucas was safe.

"Elizabeth is currently admitted to Howard University Hospital. She has a broken clavicle and humerus, and damage to the glenohumeral joint - all to her right side. She is in stable condition."

You breathed out hard, then took a tissue to your face. You'd not even noticed that you'd started to cry.

"Glory was destroyed," F.R.I.D.A.Y. continued.

That's when you looked up from the patch of floor you'd been staring at. On the screen of the television, F.R.I.D.A.Y. had been showing you relevant things - the Facebook status geotagging Lucas at his boyfriend's family home, the rental agreement that showed who lived at that address, Elizabeth's medical records, even security footage of her in the hospital.

You shouldn't have looked up.

For a moment, Bucky didn't understand why your breathing had all but stopped. Average people don't get a slideshow to accompany their bad news. He looked at the screen. A photo, then another, showed the entire building Glory was a part of reduced to rubble.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., maybe we don't need the show with the tell," Bucky said.

"No!" you yelled. "I need to see."

If there was information, visual or verbal, you needed it.

"I logged into WorkForce using your credentials to view the roster. Two people were working at the time of the attacks: Carly Underwood and Ellie Gilbert," F.R.I.D.A.Y. told you. Before she said it, you knew it. "I'm sorry, Y/N. Both have been put on the list of deceased. Carly has been identified officially. Ellie is pending, but using our facial recognition and matching, I can confirm it's her."

You stood up, ripping the hoodie you were wearing off. If it was too hot before, now you felt like you were made of lava.

Bucky watched you start to pace. Your expression was alarmingly flat.

"The rest of your co-workers are safe. Only a Tara Constantine was in the affected area. She was on a bus moved to safety by Peter Parker."

There was footage taken from somebody's phone of Spiderman saving bus and carloads of people.

"I used your social media accounts to create an index of known people. As far as I can tell, you do not directly know anyone else on the list of deceased."

The phrase was still making you feel sick.

Bucky mistook that as F.R.I.D.A.Y. being finished. He thanked her, asked her to keep him updated if anything changed.

"Sorry, Sergeant. There's more."

Both you and Bucky went still. What else could there be?

"Your parents, Y/N,"

"They live on the other side of the city. Probably worried about me, right?" You turned to the screen, expected to see a worried Facebook posted asking if anyone had seen you. How could telling them you were safe not be your first thought? Stupid. Selfish.

On the screen was a grainy traffic cam photo of your parents driving. It was time and date stamped.

"They're fine," you said.

"Y/N, I'm sorry… Your parents aren't on the list of deceased-"

"Yeah, because they're fine!"

Suddenly, you remembered you did call them. You were still in the refuge centre, and it took you an hour to find someone with a phone willing to share. First, you called your dad, but it went straight to voicemail. Your mum didn't pick up. Only a month before, they'd had the landline switched off. How did you forget calling?

"But using street surveillance, I tracked their car into the affected zone. They got caught in the attack-"

"No. No. They hate that part of town. I didn't even move in that long ago and they already hate it. There's no reason for them to be there," you said, angry. No reason… except you.

"I checked through unidentified photographs-" she tried to continue, her voice noticeably more robotic than Bucky had ever heard it. He was grateful to have her then.

"The what?" you asked, confused and flustered and still feeling so fucking sick.

Bucky sighed, figured he should explain that one. "It's the same as natural disasters… When they find bodies, move them to try to identify them, they make a catalogue of photos to help. F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s saying she checked through them,"

"So? They're fine,"

"Our facial recognition and matching have a 100% accuracy record, but… I could be wrong," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

Bucky knew she wasn't, and was discomforted by her attempt at gentleness.

"Wrong about what?" you spat, already knowing.

"I believe your parents have passed away,"

"Show me," you said.

"Y/N, I-" from Bucky.

"Show me!" you yelled, moving to the screen, standing so close you swore you could feel the electricity buzzing from it.

The photographs from traffic cams were still up, static. You stared them down, waiting.

Bucky walked to you, stood behind you, held his breath.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn't speak again. She showed you all the photos of your parents she had found to base her conclusion on. The reach of her skills became apparent and terrifying. There was no way she and everything she could do, was legal. As photos from private accounts, devices, and websites flashed up, along with dozens from the DMV and work place IDs, you felt all the heat you'd brewed up drain from you.

Your body began to meltdown - you needed to pee, your mouth went dry, and earaches formed out of nowhere. It felt like you were being stabbed in the lower back. None of it made sense.

The screen went still again.

"Show me," you said once more.

Two overexposed photographs appeared on screen. Both were framed similarly - head shots of undeniably dead people. Also undeniable was the fact that they were the corpses of your parents.

"Turn it off," Bucky said.

The screen went black but you didn't look away. As long as you stayed there staring, the image wouldn't fade. You could see them in your mind. You could see the indent in your father's head, skull visible. You could see the blood on your mother’s face. Tape held their eyelids closed.

"Y/N," Bucky whispered, standing close. He waited for a response. Time was ticking by excruciatingly slowly. "Y/N, I'm gonna help you to bed," he said, but you flinched, so he stopped moving towards you. "Okay… That's okay. You can stay-" but before he could end the sentence with 'here,' you screamed out a guttural cry that mutated into sobbing.

Very quickly for Bucky then, time sped up again. It was moving too fast though. Your legs gave up, and he caught you only just before hitting the floor. You crawled out of his arms, along the floor, dry heaving between sobs and yelped of pain as you ignored the fact one hand was crushed. In the couple of seconds it took him to work out if you were going to throw up, you did. You puked all the Mexican and tea you'd had, then continued to crawl, making it close enough to a wall that you could lay on your side and lean against it.

Bucky knelt in front of you, tried to pull your hair into the tie that was usually around his wrist. Once successful, he went to retrieve a cold, wet wash cloth. He wiped your face but gave up when the sobbing seemed to get louder. He could make out words sometimes. For the most part, there was nothing coherent in your mind to articulate. You curled up into a ball, switching between deep sobs and outright screams.

Eventually, it all subsided into an even crying but you stayed in a tight ball. Bucky sat beside you, pressed close enough that he could feel each movement you made. After hours, once you'd gone quiet, Bucky whispered, "I'm gonna look after you, Y/N. Promise."

Chapter 6 coming soon...

Tag list for So Far Away: @animegirlgeeky @howthehellisbucky @dumbubblegum @chipilerendi 

Tag list for all my work: @bubbabarnes @browngirlmagic @lookalivefrosty @aynaraxas @vibraniumwitch @the--sad--hatter @fairislesheets (of course it doesn’t let me tag you! I’ll message you)

Tag lists are open - message me to be added. 

[jaxl-road]

Hollow

“When I get stressed, I get violent and take it out on myself. I’ve pulled razor blades on myself but then realized that having a scar is more detrimental than not having a stereo. I’d rather kick in my stereo than cut my arm.” -Axl Rose

An AU where Axl changes his mind on that stance.

Pairings: none

***TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM (specifically cutting)***

~~~~~~~~~

There was a clawing in his chest. In his throat, in his stomach, behind his eyes and his teeth. Walking offstage, Axl felt like he couldn’t breathe, too busy focusing on containing the wild, storming beast that wanted to tear him apart.

He needed to get out of here.

The hallway backstage seemed to stretch on forever, staring at the backs of his bandmates as they headed towards their dressing rooms. As he walked, he found himself kicking an empty plastic chair viciously when he passed it.

Slash eyed him over his shoulder, "Jeez, what is your problem?"

Fuck. He wished the guitarist hadn’t asked. His fingers curl, nails biting into his palms as he grinds out, "Were you not listening out there? The audio was fucking shit, there was feedback every five fucking minutes!"

Rolling his eyes, Slash sighed, "Dude, it wasn't that bad-"

But before he could finish his attempt at de-escalation, Steven whipped around and interrupted, "Well maybe if you actually bothered to show up for soundcheck we wouldn't have this problem."

Axl ground to a halt in the middle of the hallway, snarling, “I shouldn’t need to be there for us to have halfway decent tech! All the fucking money we bring in and we can’t get a less mediocre PA system?”

“Guys, hey, let’s not-” Duff tried to intervene half-heartedly, Slash rubbing a hand over his face in the corner. Izzy sighed as he shared a look with the other two, because they all knew it was pointless. Axl was too volatile, Steven was too outspoken, and they were both too frustrated with each other. The match and the kerosene.

“We’d bring in more money if we weren’t constantly paying overtime fees because you can’t get your ass to your own gig on time!” Steven snapped, “I don’t get why you’re making more than me when you’re basically a part-time singer!”

That clawing beast inside Axl escaped. And it had a target.

His hand curled around the back of the plastic chair, blood roaring in his ears as he hurled it at the drummer. Everyone in the hallway ducked against the walls, Steven managing to step out of the way in time as the chair crashed to the ground harmlessly, sliding down the hallway as Axl started screaming.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! You don’t know a goddamn thing! You think you could do any of this without me?! Fat fucking chance!”

Axl could feel his mouth moving, could hear the words distantly, but there was a disconnect. It didn’t feel like him. He could see himself storming down the hallway like a glitching television screen, jumping and skipping, showing him shoving Steven aside and kicking the chair again even harder, everything fuzzy, static in his ears. A door slams furiously and he finds himself standing in his dressing room, and then there’s something in his hands, and then he’s surrounded by broken glass and overturned furniture. There are holes in the drywall and blood on his knuckles.

And he’s breathing. Gasping, actually, and he wonders if he had been holding his breath during the destruction; if the rage in his chest left no room for air.

But it was gone now. There was nothing left. Just a gaping cavern where the rage used to be. He staggered backwards and leaned against the wall, feeling lightheaded, his limbs weightless and shaky. Sliding to the floor, he put his head on his knees, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

Fuck.

The last half hour replays in his head.

Fuck.

What the fuck was wrong with him? This was hardly the first time he’d pulled this kind of bullshit, but each time felt worse. Steven didn't deserve that treatment. None of them did, and it was only a matter of time before he broke the camel's back with his fuck ups.

He wasn’t an idiot- he knew his bandmates wanted to fire him, and why wouldn’t they? Maybe Guns wouldn’t be the same without him, maybe they wouldn’t be as successful or popular, but with the amount of money they’d save from cutting out his property damage and late fees they’d probably still come out ahead, and that's not even considering how happy they'd be to be rid of him.

Axl was the one who’d suffer. He had a reputation now, and the bad was starting to outweigh the good. What would he even do, if he couldn’t sing? Couldn’t perform? Turning his head, he catches sight of his reflection in the shards of broken mirror surrounding him.

Reaching out, he picked up one of the larger shards without even thinking, turning it over in his hand. He ran a finger across the sharp edge in contemplation.

There had been a few times over the years where Axl found himself holding a blade to his skin. Everyone only saw rage, and that was part of it, sure, but it was more than that. There was a burning inside of him. Sometimes fire coursed through his veins that crackled and crawled and made Axl feel like tearing his skin off, like he was bursting at the seams, like even his own body didn't want him. Each time he'd reasoned with himself that it was better to scream and trash a room than scar himself. Things could be replaced, after all, so it was clearly the better solution.

Now he was rethinking that.

Something had to give, after all. He was halfway to ruining everything, steadily destroying this fragile life he'd built. If he didn't find a better way to purge this shit from inside him, it was going to crash down around him.

He thinks of bloodletting. He thinks of kneeling before some medieval priest to be drained of the devils and demons running through his veins. He wonders if that was why people were drawn to hurting him- his father, his stepfather, the bullies at school, the creeps who offered him a ride for a price- maybe his disease was so close to the surface that everyone could see it and knew that the only way to help him was to hurt him. Maybe this whole time he’d been flinching away from the cure. He thought of the empty feeling he got after each time he snapped and went on a rampage, and considered that maybe this way he could just bleed everything out- quietly, peacefully.

Sitting on the floor carefully, he slowly pushed his jeans down to his knees. Arms are a big no, he'd never be able to hide it, but legs would be easy to conceal. If he was careful, he could even make sure everything was hidden by shorts.

Looking down at the shard of reflection in his hand, he feels a sense of calm. It's not hopeless. There's still time. He has a plan now. He can fix this.

He pressed the glass against the top of his thigh.

He'll be better.

~~~~~~~~

It’s nearly morning when he makes it back to the hotel. Slipping into his room, he stays there until nightfall when they have to leave for the next city.

None of them talk about his outburst. They never do.

He sits alone.

~~~~~~~~

The night of their next performance, Axl doesn’t make it to soundcheck, but he does arrive before the openers go on.

“Wow, look who decided to show up,” Slash said mockingly, raising an eyebrow as he walked past.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Duff rolled his eyes in response.

Steven laughed, and oh, Axl wants to scream.

I’m doing what you want! I’m here! I’m trying! This is what you wanted, why aren’t you happy, why isn’t it enough?”

Instead, he presses the tips of his fingers into the side of his thigh and keeps walking.

~~~~~~

It infuriated him, seeing his bandmates strung out when they were supposed to be working.

“Clean up your fucking act before you OD on fucking stage!” he snapped, shoving at Slash’s chest before stomping away.

Back in his dressing room, he tugged his hair in frustration. Who was he to lecture his bandmates? He was trying not to cause trouble, not to get on anyone’s bad side, and yelling at his guitarist wasn’t exactly the way to do that.

God, he was the worst fuck up out of all of them. He shouldn’t have said anything. The anger hadn’t left, but now he felt guilty on top of it. He hated feeling this much. He hated not being able to do anything right. Opening one of the drawers beneath the vanity, he opened a small pack of spare razors.

~~~~~~

Get up.

The room is dark, the curtains drawn tight, only a sliver of light shining through the bottom of the hotel door.

Get up.

Another performance over, another city crossed off the list, and now it was time to gather his things because they had to be on the bus in an hour. But instead he was laying on his side on the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

Get up, get up, get up!

It’s almost funny to him- if someone walked in right now they’d probably think he looked dead, unable to hear the screaming inside his head.

Mustering up as much energy as he can, he reaches over to the top drawer of the side table. Fumbling around for a moment, his fingers finally find the pocketknife he had started keeping there. He flips it open lazily.

An hour later, he is running up to the bus, out of breath, but right on time.

~~~~~~

When he sits on the floor of the generic hotel bathroom, holding a towel to his leg, he wonders if this is a punishment or a reward.

Maybe it’s both.

~~~~~~

“Hey Axl, you coming?”

The singer blinked in surprise at Slash’s question. There was nothing on the band’s schedule for the day, leaving them free to do what they pleased. Duff, Slash, and Steven had been talking about heading to some VIP bar a friend had recommended, Izzy shrugging and agreeing to tag along while Axl sat to the side and stared out the window mindlessly.

It had been a long time since the band had all gone out together just for fun. Lately their outings were specifically a chance to get away from Axl, after all.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” the redhead smiled, standing and following the group out, chatting amicably. He tapped his fingers against his leg.

He must be doing something right.

~~~~~~

Shorts still cover everything, but he’s had to move from the tops of his thighs to the insides.

Then the outsides.

He starts wearing longer shorts.

~~~~~~

When the show ends, Axl throws his arms around his bandmates, pulling them close, waving and bowing for the crows. They seperate, but Steven keeps his arm around him, even when they’re out of sight of the audience, and Axl knows that it’s all worth it just for this moment of not being alone.

~~~~~~

On this night, he wears his rose leggings, as well as black basketball shorts over them. When he woke up that afternoon, Axl had felt a churning in his stomach, felt on edge and jittery and angry, and he refused to fuck up, not again, not anymore. Things were good, the past few months had gone relatively smoothly, he was on good terms with the rest of the band, and he couldn’t afford to mess that all up just because he had a broken, defective brain.

That’s what he told himself, when he pressed the blade a little harder than usual.

So he wore the leggings, and an extra layer, and that was fine. He was on time, and the energy of the show was amazing, and if he didn’t hit a note good enough, or the sound system had a glitch, he could just kick his legs out, leap from an amp, feel the stretch and burn and growing dampness around his hips and legs and everything felt okay again.

By the time the show ended and they made it back to the hotel, his legs stung with every step. But he was so exhausted, he couldn’t bring himself to deal with it. So he simply pulled his shirt and shoes off before collapsing into bed, falling asleep with the familiar feeling of pain comforting him.

~~~~~~

When he woke up, he knew immediately that something was very, very wrong.

The room was dark, so he assumed it was still the middle of the night, but when he turned his head to look at the clock beside his bed the numbers were blurry. He was hot, he could feel sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat, making the thin bed sheet cling to his chest, and it felt like his eyes were burning in his skull. The heat was so distracting, making his thoughts fuzzy and muddled, it took him a moment to notice the pain. But once he did, he choked on a cry.

His legs hurt. The right one hurt, but oh, God, his left leg felt like an exposed nerve, every heartbeat sent a pulse of pain that seemed to echo from his thigh through the rest of his body. He felt like he was on fire, he felt like he was being flayed, he felt like he was suffocating.

Something was wrong.

Focusing everything he had, eyes clenched shut, Axl forced himself to sit up and swing his legs slowly over the side of the bed. His stomach lurched, and he took a few minutes to just breathe. When the nausea passed, he began to carefully slip his clothes off, sliding the shorts, leggings, and underwear away at the same time, biting his lip until he tasted blood as the fabric brushed past his thighs. As the garments fell to the floor, he finally opened his eyes.

Axl had to blink a few times, the room seeming to sway around him, and even as his vision cleared, it still took several minutes for his brain to focus, to process what exactly he was looking at. At first, all he sees is red. But slowly he is able to pick up more details- the angry pink that makes up the skin of his left thigh is broken up by lines of dark red, a few of them muted by a dull yellow color.

That’s bad. He knows that- that what he’s looking at is bad- but he couldn’t comprehend why. His thoughts are disorganized and inarticulate, understanding slipping through his fingers like water-

Water, he thinks suddenly, I need to clean this.

It’s the first truly coherent thought he’s had since he woke, and he clings to it desperately. Axl stands with a lurch, gritting his teeth through the pain, one hand held out against the wall to steady himself. Looking around, he feels confused, Where am I?, but he still manages to stagger towards the bathroom on instinct alone. He passes by a minifridge and without thinking shakily reaches in to snatch a small bottle of vodka.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the journey, but the next time he is fully aware of his surroundings he is standing in the shower, clumsily opening the vodka. Bracing himself against the tiled wall, he poured the alcohol over his thigh.

Axl has to bite down around a scream, and suddenly he feels like he’s snapped back into his body, the pain cutting through the fever haze and he gasps as he feels his jumbled thoughts finally click back together.

The cuts are infected, he realizes with dread, I cut too deep, I haven’t been cleaning them. It’s infected now. He looks down at the nearly empty bottle of vodka, his thigh still stinging, Alcohol isn’t gonna do shit now, it’s too late for that, I can’t fix this on my own, he feels his eyes burn with misery, I need help.

Swallowing thickly, the bottle slips from his fingers and clatters to the ground. His hand fumbles as he steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and clumsily wrapping it around his naked waist. Every step hurts, and he feels the heat creeping back in, burning the thoughts from his head, and he leans heavily against the doorframe as he stares at the table beside his bed in anguish.

The phone feels so far away, and Axl just wants this to be over. He wishes he had never been born. He wishes his father had killed him instead of just ruining him. He wishes his stepfather had finished him off instead of always leaving him on the ground, broken and bloody and breathing. He wishes that stranger on the road had slit his throat instead of crawling on top of him. He wishes someone else would just take control and make it all stop.

Because out of all the things Axl hates about himself, the thing he hates most of all is that he does not want to die. He limps and stumbles towards the phone because he is a coward, and he's scared, and he doesn't want to die, he doesn’t want to go to Hell yet. Oh God, he doesn’t want to go to Hell.

By the time he reaches the other side of the room, he’s panting like he’s just run a marathon, sweat dripping down his face and chest, and all he can do is whimper in pain as he collapses onto his knees next to the bed, leaning his head against the side table. Curling up as much as he can in the corner between the bed and the table, he blindly reaches up, fumbling around until his hand finds the phone and pulls the receiver down.

Everything is swaying, like a boat on the ocean, and the nausea swelled, forcing him to wrap an arm around his stomach in a desperate attempt to swallow back bile. He's dizzy, and shivering, and he's staring at the phone in his hand when he realizes he doesn't know who to call. The front desk? 911? No, no, in either of those situations an ambulance would be involved which would increase the odds of paparazzi finding out. No, he just needs someone to drive him, that's all.

But of course, it's never that simple. Because he realizes he has no idea who is staying in what room- doesn’t think he could recall the information even if he had known it in the first place. They had booked most of the floor for the band and crew, but Axl couldn't remember specific room numbers. Clenching his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. There was no other option but to just guess and hope he got one of the crew members. He didn't want to see anyone- he didn't want anyone to see him- but he figured a tech could at least be paid to keep quiet.

So he punched in a number, any number for his floor, the buttons blurring as he looked at them, and shakily held the phone to his ear. The ringing feels far away, and he can’t decide if he feels cold or hot. He realizes suddenly that it’s the middle of the night, and he wonders what he will do if no one picks up.

But before he can think too long, he hears a click, and he holds his breath.

"Hmmmf, 'llo?" A tired voice filters through the line and Axl chokes out a sob.

Steven.

"Hello?"

Of course it's Steven. Axl hasn't fucked up the drummer's life enough apparently, now he has to wake him in the dead of night because he can't get his shit together. Another cry escapes him.

"...Axl? Is that you? Are you-"

The phone slips from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he leans heavily against the bed and sobs uncontrollably. A small voice chattered from the receiver, but Axl was too far gone to understand it.

He didn't want to hurt Steven anymore. He didn't want to hurt anyone, that was the whole reason he started all this. And why did he always hurt Steven, anyway? Was it because he was an easy target? Because he was so big hearted and forgiving he knew he could get away with it? This was why he was going to Hell. This was why he deserved this pain.

Gasping to catch his breath, his head aching and his whole body weak, he realized that the phone had gone silent. He feels almost afraid to pick it up again.

Maybe this is karma, he thinks. That would make sense. That would be fair. Maybe he can just lay down on the floor, and fall asleep, and not wake up. It’s not like he has the strength to do anything else at this point. Axl didn’t want to die, but he felt resigned. He was scared, but he just didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore.

There is a muffled thudding noise. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he listens, and it sounds far away, and he wonders if it’s his heartbeat. It gets faster, more frantic, and he thinks he hears a voice. Then he hears a crash.

Then he hears his name.

“Axl?”

Blinking sluggishly, he glances around the room in confusion, and then there is someone rushing towards him. He doesn’t recognize him until he is a foot away.

“Shit, Axl!” Steven's figure was blurry as he knelt in front of him, "Hey, hey, Axl, I'm here, you're okay," The drummer hissed when he pushed the sweaty red hair out of Axl's face, "Jesus Christ, you're burning up!"

“What’ryou…” Axl slurs, confused, Steven going in and out of focus.

Eyes widening in concern, the blonde put his hands on Axl’s shoulders to steady him, “You… you called me. Remember? You were-... you didn’t say anything but you didn’t sound okay. I was worried.”

Oh, Axl swallowed thickly, remembers now, dragging his thoughts back towards something resembling coherency.

Steven was here. Axl didn’t want him here, but he was here and there was no going back, and he still needed help, so even though he wanted nothing more than to keep crying, he had to press on. His thoughts felt shattered, all jagged edges scattering in every direction, so it took him what felt like ages to slur out, “Stevie…” his voice is raspy and raw, “Need you… t’drive me t’the hospital.”

The drummer frowned, “Hey, you’re okay, you’re sick, but we’ll get your fever down, okay? We’ll get you cooled down. If your fever doesn’t go away then we can-”

Axl shakes his head, slowly at first and then more frantic as Steven tries to reason with him, “No, it’s not… ‘m not…” he doesn’t know how to say it, he’s so dizzy, and weak, so he focuses his strength on clumsily pushing away the towel around his waist to just show him.

At some point his eyes slipped shut, trying to alleviate the nausea brought on by the spinning room, and he knows his sense of time cannot be trusted, but it feels like the silence stretches out for hours. The only sound is the rasping of his lungs, and if it weren’t for Steven’s hands still bracing his shoulders he’d assume the man had left. But maybe he was going to, just taking in the trainwreck for one more moment before walking out the door. Or maybe he already left and Axl was just hallucinating the idea of not being alone.

“Fuck, Axl…”

Steven’s voice sounds far away, but his hands are still present on his shoulders, his fingers tightening a bit and digging into his skin in a way that would probably be painful if it weren't for all the pain already drowning it out.

Axl is crying again, or maybe crying still, choking out through a sob, “‘m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, everything is gonna be okay, man,” Steven rambles, hands releasing their grip and instead smoothing up and down Axl’s arms soothingly, “You’re gonna be fine. Let’s just… I’m just gonna call the guys, and we’ll take you to the hospital and get you all fixed up, yeah? You’re gonna be just fine.”

He reaches for the phone still laying on the ground, balancing it between his ear and shoulder as he snatches the receiver off the side table. Axl doesn’t notice his own hand moving, everything too syrupy and slow, but he feels his fingers curl into Steven’s shirt and hears a broken, wounded whine that he thinks might have come from his own mouth.

Pausing in his fumbling with the phone, Steven focuses on the singer in front of him. Axl is too tired, getting weaker every moment, has no more energy to sob but the tears are still streaming down his face and he wonders if he was nauseous because he was carrying an ocean in his stomach. He opens his mouth and he wants to say no, he wants to say please, he wants to say I’m sorry, I fucked up, please, don’t make me face them too, don’t let them see me, I don’t want to be hated anymore, it’s already too much, I can’t take anymore, please don’t punish me, even if I deserve it, please.

Maybe he did manage to say all that out loud and his own ears missed it, maybe he said some of it, maybe he stuttered and stumbled over fever thick words and somehow got the gist of it. Or maybe Steven just felt the way Axl’s hand shook with the effort of holding him, or saw the words reflected in his glassy eyes, or understood the shuddering of his breath. Either way, Steven set the phone on the ground and cupped the side of Axl’s face with a gentleness that makes it hard to breathe, tilting his head until the red-head is focusing fever-bright eyes on him.

“Hey,” Steven’s voice is soft, but strong, “it’s okay. I’m not trying to hurt you, okay? But if you don’t want an ambulance then I’m gonna need some fucking help. They’ll want to help,” he leaned in, eyes wide and emploring, “They’re on your side, okay? We’re on your side.”

Blinking slowly, it takes a minute for the words to cut through the haze, and then another for Axl to nod in defeat. Steven only has a second to sigh in relief before the singer is suddenly pitching forward, collapsing against his chest.

“Shit!” the drummer hissed, one arm coming around to hold him and wincing as his hand rested against bare skin and felt the heat radiating off his body.

Forehead resting against Steven’s chest, Axl let his eyes drift shut again. The hand on his back feels far away, he feels far away, feels like he’s underwater, everything floating and rippling. Every now and then he breaks through the surface for just a moment.

He hears Steven’s voice frantically saying Slash’s name, words sharp and panicked.

He sees shadows around him, tall and looming, fuzzy around the edges.

He feels hands on him, turning him, pushing his hair back, on his arms and his face and his neck, tugging at something around his hips.

He hears curses and arguing.

He feels fabric secured around his waist and draped over his shoulders. He feels arms around his back and under his knees. He feels a jolt as he’s lifted into the air. He feels a flare of pain in his legs from the movement. He feels himself open his mouth to scream but nothing comes out.

He feels himself sink beneath the surface, and this time he stays there.

~~~~~

Axl wakes up slowly.

Everything feels soft, muted, dulled. Like he’s resting just inches outside his body. There, but not quite. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s full of cotton, and yet his limbs feel heavy. He doesn’t feel tired exactly, but he feels so comfortable and peaceful he wants to go back to sleep, wants to wrap himself in this strange sensation and stay there. When he finally manages to open his eyes, everything is blurred and bright.

For a brief moment he wonders if he’s in Heaven. If maybe he’s been forgiven.

But his vision starts to clear, and he sees fluorescent lights, hears a steady beeping, and starts to feel aching and sore. It’s still confusing, there are bits and pieces of memory in his head but he can’t quite make sense of them, can’t see the image the puzzle is supposed to create. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, it feels like, but he can’t quite grasp it.

Then, as he slowly sinks back into his body, he becomes aware of someone holding his hand. He has to blink a few times before he can turn his head, and then a few more to find details in the dark silhouette sitting at his side.

“Hey,” Izzy’s voice cracks as he whispers, smiling shakily down at him, “welcome back.”

Axl doesn’t understand, just stares blankly up at the guitarist sitting on the edge of his bed. He opens his mouth because he feels like he should say something, anything, but all that comes out is a weak rasp, wincing at the sandpaper feel of his throat.

Izzy hushes him, reaching with his free hand and lifting a cup with a straw to his lips. Axl drinks greedily, the cool water hitting his stomach and making him feel more present. His throat feels better, but when Izzy pulls the cup away, he realizes that he has no idea what to say. So he doesn’t say anything. He simply blinks up at Izzy, and every time he closes his eyes he expects him to be gone when he opens them.

Swallowing thickly, Izzy rubs his thumb over the back of Axl’s hand, “We’ve been waiting for you all day.”

For the first time Axl becomes aware of the three other silhouettes in the corner of his vision. Turning his head, he sees Duff and Steven sitting on the floor, both asleep, the drummer curled up with his head on the bassist’s shoulder. Slash is sitting just to the side, sprawled out in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair, eyes hidden by his curls but the soft, steady breathing suggesting that he’s asleep too. As he looks at them his eyes also catch on machines, and wires, and the IV in his arm, and he finally sees the picture all the little pieces are making.

Hospital, he finds the word at last, I’m in the hospital.

He looks back up at Izzy. He finds the words. I fucked up.

Izzy’s hand grips his a little tighter, and his lips are trembling, and his eyes look watery and scared, and for the first time in years Axl thinks he looks like Jeff.

“You scared the shit out of us,” he whispers, “Fuck, Axl- Bill- Axl,” he takes a deep breath, grips his hand so tight it hurts, “You scared me so fucking bad.”

These words matter, Axl knows that, tucks them in his mind so he can give them their proper respect later, when he’s not dizzy on blood-loss and infection and painkillers and antibiotics. But right now, tears slip down the side of his face, soaking into stringy red locks, streaming silently for no other reason than because Izzy is here.

That’s all Axl can process right now, and even that is almost too much. Izzy is here. Steven, and Duff, and Slash, and Izzy, they’re here, they’re here, they’re here. After everything he’s done, they didn’t leave him on the floor of the hotel, didn’t drop him on the hospital doorsteps and move on, didn’t leave him here alone.

Izzy wipes at his tears, even though more replace them immediately. He stays. He holds Axl’s hand as he cries quietly and strokes his hair, and whispers softly. Axl is so tired, but he’s afraid to fall asleep in case this was all a dream, in case he wakes up alone.

“It’s okay,” Izzy leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Axl’s not sure he believes him, but his eyes are so heavy, and he feels himself sinking. He’s not sure he believes him. But as he slips back into unconsciousness, he allows himself to hope.

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

After sleeping through his first day in the hospital, Axl is released on the second.

Tapping his fingers anxiously, he sits on the edge of his bed, dressed in plain sweatpants and an old t-shirt Slash had brought for him. It’s just him and the doctor, who is monotone and indifferent as he gives the singer instructions. Three of the cuts had needed stitches, so he’d need to come back in two weeks to get them removed and have a check-up. Change the bandages two to three times a day. Take the prescribed antibiotics every twelve hours until the pills were gone, even if he felt better. He handed him a folder with the same instructions typed up, and the prescription, and a business card for a psychiatrist that Axl didn’t bother looking at.

Walking out of the room, he keeps his eyes on the ground. He’s walking stiffly, gauze and bandages thick around his thighs and hips making his steps stilted and awkward. The guys are waiting for him, all of them, still here he thinks, and his heart stutters. But he’s awake now, fever gone and head clear and he feels humiliated.

He doesn’t want them to leave, but he also wants them to have never been here at all.

“Good to go?” Duff asks. The four rockers stand and they look so out of place in the hospital waiting room. Not Axl though. Axl, with his pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, nondescript clothes hanging from his frame, hands shaky and weak. Axl looks like he belongs here. Axl looks like he shouldn’t be leaving.

But he nods, and they walk out the door together.

He doesn’t know whose car it is, but Izzy drives, Axl in the passenger seat while Slash, Duff, and Steven pile into the back.

They’re barely out of the parking lot when Steven leans forward, “How are you feeling?” He tries to keep his voice normal and conversational. He doesn't really succeed.

Axl rests his head against the window, “Tired.”

Steven nods awkwardly and the car falls into silence. Eventually Izzy stops the car by a pharmacy, quietly reaching over and slipping the folder out of Axl’s limp hands. He pulls out the prescription slip and hands it to Slash. There is no conversation while they wait for the guitarist to retrieve the medication, and Axl feels like he broke something. He wants to cry, but he feels hollow and dry and empty. He must have used up all the tears he had.

Slash comes back, grinning as he held up the paper bag, “I think this is the first time I’ve gotten drugs from somewhere other than a back alley,” he jokes. Axl lets out a huff through his nose, the closest to a laugh he can manage, and the others smile stiffly as the car starts again. Izzy turns on the radio to help fill the silence, but it only helps a little.

When they reach the hotel, Axl sits up and grimaces when he sees the grease mark left on the window. For the first time he looks at his reflection in the side mirror and is filled with shame and self-consciousness when he sees how stringy and dirty his hair looks, the dull matted locks only serving to make his pale face look even more sickly. A shiver runs through him at the sudden, overpowering dirtiness he feels, and he feels the urge to crouch under the dashboard, to curl up with his hands over his head so no one can see him. But before he has a chance his door opens, and he finds himself looking up at Slash.

The guitarist tilts his head and asks casually, “You alright, man?”

No, Axl thinks. He wants to scream. He wants to break something and throw a tantrum and snap and refuse to leave the car for anything. He wants to dig his fingers into his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I’m fine.”

It’s not entirely surprising when they go into the hotel and lead Axl to a different room than the one he was staying in before- he has no idea what sort of state he left it in- and it’s not particularly surprising when the guys trail after him, either. Axl is still looking at the floor, disgusting strands of hair falling into his face and he feels sick for a whole list of reasons. He spots his suitcase in the corner and shuffles towards it.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he mumbled.

Izzy’s voice stops him in his tracks, “You can’t get your bandages wet.”

He says it matter-of-factly, just pointing out the obvious, but it feels so cruel to Axl that it cuts him to the quick. He snaps his head over, eyes wide with something like betrayal.

“But…” He feels like a child- fragile and hurting and at someone else’s mercy. His head drops back down. He feels so weak and he hates it, but he can’t find anything in him to fight back. There is no rage. Only a bone deep exhaustion.

“I just want to wash my hair,” he says it mostly to himself, voice cracking just slightly and so soft he doesn’t really expect any of them to hear it. One hand raises hesitantly to touch his fingers to the side of his hair, and he wonders if he can die from shame.

He’s about two seconds away from just curling up on the floor in defeat when Duff steps forward, “I’ll help you.”

Axl blinks up at him in surprise, partially from the offer, and partially because out of all of them Duff actually manages to sound normal- like this is any other day, and it’s completely routine for him to help his lead singer wash his hair. He’s even nonchalant in the way he pats Axl’s shoulder, nudging him towards the bathroom.

“Duff…” Izzy starts, a note of concern in his voice, but the bassist cuts him off.

“Izzy.” His voice is clipped, firm, final, and Izzy raises his hands in surrender.

Meanwhile, Axl stares blankly from just outside the bathroom, unmoving and uncertain as he watches Duff snag the chair from in front of the desk under the window. Dragging the chair behind him, he grinned at Axl, waving his hand and guiding him into the ensuite. Once they’re both inside, he closes the door behind them, allowing for some privacy from the three sets of eyes looking after them.

“Here,” Duff placed the chair in front of the sink, facing away, “sit down.”

Staring at the seat though, Axl felt cracked down the middle. Because he doesn’t think he can handle not being clean for any longer, but it hits him like a freight train that what Duff is suggesting involves him touching Axl’s hair, touching the sweat and grime and filth and it feels wrong to subject Duff to that.

He wants to scream. He wants to dig his fingers into his thigh. He wants them to stay. He wants them to have never been here at all.

“It’s okay,” he wraps his arms around himself, shaking his head slowly, “You don’t have to…”

“I know,” Duff's smile never wavered. He leaned against the counter casually, head tilting, “I want to,” his voice softens to almost a whisper, “It’s okay.”

Axl struggles to hold his gaze. It takes a minute, but Duff is patient, and eventually Axl manages to step over to him, turning and sitting slowly on the chair, head hung meekly.

The bassist beamed, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly, “Excellent! Hang on-” he bustled around the ensuite, snatching various items and placing them on the counter. Looking over his loot, he hummed and excused himself briefly. Axl blinked in confusion, but the tall blonde was back in less than a minute, closing the door again and placing a brush and a few bottles on the counter next to the hotel amenities.

“You don’t need all that,” Axl blurted out, feeling a little overwhelmed, “I just-... Just help me rinse it out, that’s all.”

“No way, dude,” Duff grinned, “If I’m doing this I’m doing it right. It’s a matter of pride. My hair routine is impeccable and I’ll prove it to you.” He gives Axl no room to argue, draping one towel around his shoulders and folding another to place on the edge of the sink. His hand smooths across Axl’s shoulders, smiling kindly, “It’s okay,” he assured him, “lean back.”

Doing as he was told, Axl let his head drop back into the sink, Duff adjusting the folded towel to make sure it cushioned the singer’s neck comfortably. Staring at the ceiling, Axl’s arms tightened around his stomach as long fingers swept his hair back into the sink.

“You’re okay,” Duff repeats, “just relax.”

He hears the water turn on, and there is a delay while Duff waits for it to heat up a bit before filling up a plastic cup and carefully pouring it over Axl’s hair.

Something releases in Axl’s chest. Warm water soothes the skin of his scalp, Duff’s hand steadily shielding his eyes and face, fingers carefully running through to try to loosen some of the larger knots. It feels like he can breathe, like something uncoiled around his lungs and they can expand properly for the first time in hours.

Duff hums a tune he doesn’t recognize, and Axl lets his hands unclench. After a few minutes, he sees the bassist reach for one of the bottles on the counter.

“You really don’t have to do all the fancy shit,” he mumbled.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Duff smirked.

Huffing out a laugh, Axl’s eyes slipped shut as Duff started working shampoo through his hair. He tried to remember the last time he was touched like this- gently and peacefully and unconditionally. On stage he was always sneaking for affection, throwing his arms around his bandmates and dragging them close, confident that they wouldn’t shove him away in front of an audience. It was rough and loud and desperate, like it always was, even off stage. But here it was quiet, Duff massaging his scalp and humming and Axl feels like he could fall asleep under his hands.

Coating his hair with a generous amount of conditioner next, the blonde nudged his shoulder lightly, “Sit up for a sec.”

Blinking, Axl straightened, starting a bit when Duff pushed his chair forward just enough so he could stand behind him. He then began diligently brushing the red strands, the conditioner allowing the brush to slide through the knots and matts with ease, though he was still cautious not to tug too hard.

Even when everything wasn’t collapsing around him, Axl doesn’t think he’s ever been this thorough with his hair. Or really with anything regarding his own body. The most he did was the necessary steps to not fall apart on stage- taping his ankles after the third time he sprained one, vocal exercises so he didn’t lose the one thing he was good at, shying away from hard drugs, things like that. Beyond that, he never really cared. He supposed his thighs were proof enough of that now.

But Duff was here, pressing him back to rinse out the conditioner, running his fingers through his hair and checking to make sure the water was still warm. Axl had given him multiple chances to do the minimum, to do nothing, but he chose to do more. He cared enough to do more. Even after everything Axl had put them all through.

The water turned off, and Duff wrung some of the water from his hair before nudging Axl forward again so he could gently rub a towel over his head. It suddenly struck the singer that Duff probably cared more about Axl than Axl did.

He doesn’t notice he’s crying until Duff is kneeling in front of him. It’s strange to have the tall bassist looking up at him. One hand comes to rest on the side of his face, holding him steady while the other softly wipes a wet washcloth over his forehead and cheeks. Axl can’t quite place the look in Duff’s eyes. It’s not worry, or pity, or disdain. He thinks the best word for it is compassion.

“You alright?”

Axl blinks slowly, thinking about the question. There are still tears escaping silently, and he knows that this moment of peace is temporary, that he has shaken the foundation of their group and it will take more than a day for them to find their balance again. But he’s clean, and he can look Duff in the eyes without feeling gutted, and his hands are relaxed in his lap.

So he nods.

“Yeah,” even his voice sounds more steady and strong, “I’m alright.”

~~~~~~~

Izzy turns music on again to try to cover up the awkward silence. They’re all sitting around the room, stiff and quiet, Axl laying on one of the beds and reading in an attempt to ignore all of them. He eyes the second bed suspiciously. When they had first arrived he hadn’t been in the right mind to really think about it, but now it bothered him. The hotel probably just didn’t have any more single rooms available- that would make sense given the last minute room change.

Snapping his book closed a little more forcefully than necessary, the redhead sat up and glanced around at his bandmates, “I’m tired, I’m gonna go to bed early. You guys can go back to your own rooms now.”

Duff, Steven, and Slash exchange nervous glances, but Izzy meets Axl’s stare head on. “We’re staying here.”

“That’s stupid,” Axl snapped back, “I’m just going to sleep. Go back to your room and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean, we’re not going fucking anywhere,” the rythym guitarist crossed his arms firmly.

Axl growled, “Why not?”

Izzy softened, just slightly, his voice lowering, “You know why.”

Standing, the singer glared, “I can take care of myself, y’know. Take my pills every twelve hours, change my bandages, blah blah, I don’t need you all hovering around me.”

“Obviously you do,” Izzy snapped, “or we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place!”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one who’s fucked up!” Axl was yelling now. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t seem to stop, his voice only getting louder as the conversation went on, “I don’t remember you all scrambling to babysit Steven after he OD’d,” he snarled.

“Steven didn’t OD on purpose!”

“What, you think I got an infection on purpose?” he asked incredulously.

“Maybe not, but you hurt yourself on purpose!”

“So what, you’re just going to follow me around everywhere? You can’t watch me forever! After all,” He sneered, “You’ll have to go shoot up eventually.” The words are cold and cruel, and he sees Izzy’s jaw tense.

Eyes narrowed and nose flaring in rage, Izzy’s eyes dart down, landing on Axl’s hands, watching his fingers clench and unclench.

“Do it,” He spits out.

Axl blinked in confusion, “Do what?”

“Throw something!” he snapped, “Break something, tear the room apart! Come on, I know you want to!”

“I-” Axl ground his teeth together, fury rising in his chest, feeling cornered and trapped. Everything about this felt like a trap. “I want for you to leave me alone!”

“No you fucking don’t,” Izzy challenged, “If you actually wanted us to leave, then you wouldn’t be trying so hard not to freak out. If you wanted us gone you’d have already destroyed this room, and the last one, and the one before.”

“So, what? You’re mad at me because I’m trying to be better? Fuck you!”

“This isn’t better!” Izzy gestured at the singer as he yelled.

“Yes it fucking is!” Axl screamed, “It’s better! Everything was fucking better until I slipped up! I was being good, I was doing everything right! And I get it, I fucked up, I’ll be more careful now. But don’t you dare pretend like you didn't like me better when I was fucking bleeding!"

The words echo through the room, Axl’s chest heaving, and he can see all the fight leave Izzy on a single exhale. He looks gutted.

Swallowing, body still coiled with rage, Axl can’t bring himself to look at the others. The look on Izzy’s face is painful enough. Turning on his heel, he snatches a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off one of the nightstands before storming to the door.

“Axl-”

He ignores the call, throwing the door open.

“Axl-!”

The door slams behind him, and he runs.

~~~~~

Not that he makes it very far.

His legs and hips still ached, and he was tired, so he found himself stumbling before he even made it to the end of the hallway. Eyes clenched shut in frustration, he limps over to the door leading to the stairwell. Carefully, he makes his way down two flights before finally sliding down to sit on one of the steps.

The cigarettes are partially crushed from the tight grip he had held them in, but not ruined, lighting one up and inhaling deeply. Sighing, he feels some of the tension leave him with the nicotine hit, but even as he relaxes he feels the guilt grow.

Screaming at his bandmates wasn’t exactly better than trashing the room as Izzy had suggested. How many times was he going to mess everything up this week? How was he supposed to even fix this?

Maybe the disease wasn’t something he could bleed out. Maybe he was the disease.

He’s halfway through his second cigarette when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs above him. Closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall, he prays that maybe it’s just some random guest or maintenance person or something.

Still, when the steps come to a halt beside him and he feels a body sit next to him, he’s not really surprised. They pluck the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from his hands, and when he opens his eyes, Slash is casually lighting up.

Axl looks away again, and for a few minutes they smoke in silence.

Eventually though, once Slash reaches the end of his cigarette, he grinds it out on the floor next to him and sighs, “I’m sorry.”

Turning to him, Axl blinked in surprise, “What for?”

There is a long pause, Slash staring down at his hands with a sad look on his face. When he speaks, his voice is almost a whisper, “For not noticing. For not questioning when you started acting different.”

“It’s fine-”

“No, it’s not,” Slash insisted.

“You shouldn’t have to question why I’m suddenly less of an asshole!” Axl snapped, “That’s not your fucking job! The whole point of all this was so that you guys wouldn’t have to fucking deal with me!”

Running his hands through his hair in frustration, Axl put his head against the wall again. He wasn’t sure if he didn’t want to look at Slash or if he didn’t want Slash to look at him.

“Axl,” The guitarist spoke slowly, “I know things were… rough for awhile. I know none of us were really getting along-”

“You were getting along with each other just fine,” Axl mumbled.

Slash ignored him, “-but even if things weren’t great, you’re still our friend. Fuck, man, I still think of you as my best friend.” He hesitated for a moment as he thought through his next words, “Look… I’m going to be honest with you, okay?” His voice was gentle and sincere, “It’s hard sometimes. It can be frustrating when you get into those moods because we just don’t get it, y’know? We don’t understand what’s going on in that head of yours sometimes. But if I had to choose between you screaming at me and you hurting yourself, I will pick you screaming every time.”

“But I don’t want to scream at you!” Axl exclaimed, hands clenched desperately in front of him, “I don’t want to- to break things, or mess up our shows, or hurt anyone, or feel so fucking-” his voice cracked, and he snapped his jaw shut. His head falls forward, hair hanging in his face as he swallows thickly to try to hold back… everything.

It didn’t work though, and when he speaks his voice is a shaky whisper. He sounds defeated.

“I don’t want to be like this anymore, Saul.”

He barely has time to take a shuddering breath before Slash is slowly pulling him into his chest. His arms are warm, and gentle, and safe, smoothing up and down his back. Resting his chin on top of smooth red hair, Slash says with a voice full of understanding, “I know. I know you don’t.” He tightens his hold and Axl shakes harder, “We’ll get you help, okay? We’ll figure something out. We’ll find a way for you to feel better- an actual solution. But in the meantime? We would so much rather deal with a late show or a trashed dressing room than… than find you like we did that night.”

Axl is tired of crying. But Slash doesn’t mind, says nothing of the growing dampness on the front of his shirt, or the way the singer wraps his arms around his back to cling to him desperately.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, “I’m so, so, sorry.”

There’s so much he’s sorry for, and he doesn’t know if he is capable of articulating it all, but Slash nods, stroking his hair and Axl thinks he understands.

“I know,” he said, and he plants a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “We forgive you.”

~~~~~~~

Axl drags his feet walking back to the hotel room. Slash tries to comfort and encourage him, but he still feels anxiety like a vice grip on his heart. He had messed up so much, and they were all trying to help, even if he didn’t deserve it, and he went and yelled at them. And just because Slash said it was okay didn’t mean it was and he had to fix this, he had to, but he wasn’t sure how. He was scared that nothing would be enough.

When he finally steels himself and opens the door, he barely makes it into the room before a body collides with his, arm wrapping around him and pulling him as close as physically possible, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other cupping the back of his head. Axl feels his breath catch in his throat even as he sinks into Izzy’s warmth.

Izzy’s breath ghosts across the top of his head, and Axl slowly brings his arms up to hold him back. Sighing, he closes his eyes, letting his head rest against Izzy’s shoulder as he relaxes into the embrace. Neither of them say anything.

But neither of them need to.

~~~~~

Axl tosses and turns in bed. He’s tired, but it feels like his brain just won't shut off. He is alone on one of the queen beds, the others giving him a bit of space, which he figures makes sense given that he had tried to kick them all out a few hours earlier. Slash and Izzy are sharing the other bed, while Steven and Duff sleep on the pull out sofa in the corner of the room.

Everything was fine. Axl knew that everything was fine.

For now.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how delicate the situation was- he felt like he was on the thinnest sheet of ice and the slightest wrong move would send him plummeting into the cold and dark. Under the covers, he tapped his fingers against the tops of his thighs, the touch too light to be felt beneath the thick bandages. He wanted to press harder, to dig his nails in, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t betray his bandmates like that, couldn’t disappoint them again.

It wasn’t easy though, and he couldn’t stop tossing and turning and worrying. He was seconds away from raiding the mini fridge for something strong to clear his mind when the bed dipped behind him.

Jumping, he whipped his head around, coming face to face with Izzy, smirking down at him as he pulled the sheets back.

“Izzy? What the fuck are you-”

“You think too loud,” he explained, and Axl’s jaw clicked shut. The guitarist slid into bed beside him, turning onto his side to face the singer and opening his arms, “Come ‘ere.”

Huffing, Axl grumbles half-heartedly even as he curls up in the other man’s arms, Izzy chuckling at him as they made themselves comfortable. It did help, Axl admitted to himself, sighing as he tucked his head under Izzy’s chin. He was still awake, but at least he felt less jittery and tense.

Then, the mattress dipped again, and Axl felt someone crawling over them to get to the other side of the bed. Snapping his eyes open, he saw Slash finally settle on the other side of him.

“What the Hell?”

“Izzy abandoned me,” Slash pouted exaggeratedly.

“Oh my God, you fucking dork,” Axl laughed as Izzy flipped off the other guitarist. The three of them began to rearrange themselves, but as they did, a silhouette made its way over in the dark.

Slash held his arms out, wide-eyed, “No, no, no-!”

But it was too late, and Steven launched himself onto the bed, landing squarely on top of Slash, the guitarist groaning while the drummer giggled madly. Axl and Izzy burst out laughing as Slash shoved the blonde off, the two bickering and shoving at each other. They were so distracted by the chaos Steven had caused, that they didn’t notice another figure approaching until he was crawling onto the bed.

“Duff, no!” Izzy complained, “You're seven feet tall and these beds aren’t designed for five people!”

The bassist gave him the biggest, roundest puppy-eyes, his lip actually quivering dramatically, “So you’re going to all be together except me? You’re just going to leave me all alone while the rest of you cuddle? All by myself? Alone?"

“...Goddammit,” Izzy dropped his head back onto the pillow in defeat, Duff immediately dropping the ruse and bursting into a mischievous grin as he draped himself across the rest of their bodies.

“Jesus Christ,” Axl muttered, “What is this, ‘Kerrang!’?”

“Don’t act like that wasn’t the coziest photoshoot we’ve ever done,” Steven chimed in, still laying half on top of Slash.

It was a tight fit, and it took quite a bit of maneuvering to get them all comfortable, laughing as they shuffled around. Their bodies overlapped, limbs tangling and curling around each other. Somehow though, they made it work, each of them warm and comfortable as they drifted off one by one. It was ridiculous, Axl thought. Utterly absurd.

But he was still smiling, even when he finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

[kaibacxrps]

Introducing your partner

Discord thread with @kaibacorpbros / @indioragod ! CW: scandal.shipping.

It was one of his several returning trips since the first time he knocked down the doors to Atem's realm. They had gradually grown a little less arduous, but there were still plenty of bugs to work out with such a jump. Thus, a big reason why he brought along Diva. And besides, if he were getting the help of the ex-Plana member, he should probably at least know that the goal Seto had originally employed him for wasn't just some vague, unreachable dream.

But gods, it was nice to talk to Set again. He'd taken some time alone with the priest to update him on what had been going on in his and Mokuba's lives.

Except... one detail.

The detail they ran into at the end of their stroll. Wait, how long have we been talking? Diva must have gotten impatient and sought them out. It would have been hard to spot, for someone who hadn't grown to know him better, but Kaiba noticed how Diva's fingers were slightly curled and his posture a bit stiff. He was sure if he poked into the vitals the tech he was wearing was monitoring he'd find an increased pulse.

"I was looking for you. I ran into your rival, Seto."

Oh. That was it. Seto cleared his throat. "I see. Well, I'm sure he was glad to finally meet you." The CEO moved on from that point before Diva could say any more. Best to just introduce him, even though he didn't know the two had already run into each other.

"Erm, Set this is Diva, he--" 'Tried to kill me' probably wasn't the best way to introduce him. Or say he once turned into a big rage monster and did kill him, albeit briefly.

"He's a friend helping me improve the Dimension System and set up some way to communicate other than travelling all the way here each time." 

It was always a pleasure to receive Kaiba in the afterlife, at least for Set it has always been like that. How could he not? They have been through a lot, and have found a way to stay in touch - something that went against all the odds.

He felt so relieved to still be part of the brothers lives, albeit in a very restricted way. But it always felt nice hearing, what those two have been up to.

Meanwhile, he has been going through a lot lately as well. However, due to the nature of those things and out of fear of Kaiba's reaction, he would keep them a secret... For the time being. Thank the Gods, Seto never had any interest in his culture and costumes, otherwise he would be able to tell something at his first glance on him.

The priest slowed down his walking pace until he stopped, when Diva showed up. They didn't need any introductions, this was obvious in the way they exchanged glances.

The way Kaiba described Diva however, was humurous in the priest's eyes but at the same time pretty telling. Kaiba and friends?... Give him a break

"I see- oh don't worry about any formalities, Seto... Those aren't needed around here." A brief pause came in right afterwards what he had just said. "So... There won't be any trouble then? You'll be able to stay here for longer, right? It would be an honor, to have you for supper. I even went ahead, and have for it an animal I hunt earlier today."

As soon as the words left the priest's lips Diva shot a look at Kaiba. Do not.

But of couse, implication between humans was flawed, and even if it weren't Seto likely wouldn't have said no simply because he got to see Set so little.

"Correct, we should have..." the HUD glowed to life in front of Kaiba's eye, showing the status of the duel dimension machine. "A few more hours at least."

"Kaiba, what about that project?" Diva tried.

"Oh, it'll be fine. I got a lot done on it yesterday." With that dismission of Diva's concerns it was settled.

"We'd be greatful to stay for a meal." Seto gestured that they would follow the priest. "What did you catch by the way?" Not that Kaiba was much into the sport, but he knew Set took pride in it. And everything, seemed to ignore Diva's growing tension. One, if they got found out. Seto hadn't told the spirt yet--at least not that Diva knew of. Two, to add to the awkwardness he's pretty sure now that he met Atem, that some of the Pharaoh's attire was following a certain custom that Set's attire was also following.

Kaiba must not know what it meant.

But Diva just offers a polite smile, "I thank you for your hospitality then."

“Oh, you’ll definetely like it! This is something you most certainly, can’t find anywhere in Japan.” The priest pointed out with bright smile on his face, as he led the way and purposely ignored Diva’s obvious discomfort. Set couldn’t help but wonder, why that was the case. But he simply pushed those thoughts aside, so they wouldn’t waste anymore time around.

Every second counted, in these brief visits. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Atem had joined their reunion a few good hours into it, Mahad alongside with some other guards stood by as they simply followed with their tasks- duties. His bond with Kaiba was used as an excuse, for him to join them in it. “I simply wish to catch up on the news, straight from you Kaiba.” The man said, as he sat on the floor alongside them.

Set followed it with a slurred laughter, as he took another swing from his cup of beer. The priest laid sideways, in a very laid-back position as he kept smiling at his guests.“Anyway, as I was saying. I look back on my time at that boarding school with Kaiba, and what comes to my mind is those kids funny accent.”  Another laughter left him, as he sipped once more off his cup.

"It's just British English. I mean, I talk with one when using English by default unless I'm dealing with Americans." While it was true, it was obvious that there was no malice by Seto. Then, imitating a welsh accent, "Just be happy I didn't got to school with the Welsh or the Scottish," he joked in English.

Meanwhile, Diva's eyes discreetly glanced between the pharaoh and priest. Yes, he definitely wasn't seeing things. Of course, he knew it was a different set of customs back then, but he also highly doubted Seto knew.

More importantly though...

"You didn't tell me you went to boarding school," Diva said, keeping most of his attention on his food.

"It's in the past. And besides, it largely slips my mind." There was a shrug from the CEO as he adjusted how he was sitting. It had been a while since he'd eaten in such a way.

Diva decided to drop it for now, bringing his attention back to the priest. "Either way, that does sound like a wild time. It must have been a culture shock to be thrown into a new setting while you were still tied to Seto." 

“One day I found myself in some large and fancy looking mansion seemingly all by myself, and the following one I’m suddenly surrounded by kids about the same age as Seto. So I’d say, you’re right about that.” The priest responded in a slightly slurred tone, as a chuckle soon followed his words. The man fell silent so he coul take another swing off his drink.

So far, Atem was extremely quiet. It may not be the first time he heard most of those stories, but he pulled an act that gave off that impression. The pharaoh chewed on his food, as his gaze shifted from his lover priest to their living guests. “Set got to experience a lot more that your world had to offer than me, I only got to travel to America once and it was... Well...” His head shook to the sides, in an attempt to convey that things weren’t exactly what anyone would consider to be a vacation- without saying anything else.

However, he was soon interrupted by Set as he went ahead and named a few of the nations visited. “United Kingdom, France, Italy, America, Germany... Of course, Egypt! I was never truly sure, what to expect whenever we headed out.” Another chuckle left him.

While his spouse spoke, Atem shot a brief glance at Diva- and he noticed something felt off in the way he was staring at him. It didn’t take long for him to piece things together, as he was reminded of the fact that hailed from Egypt as well.

At this point, it was impossible to hide things from Diva... At least Kaiba, still seemed to be oblivious. Hopefully, he should be smart enough to not point out the obvious- between him and the priest.

“What else do you wish to know about Seto, Diva?” Set teased, while he poured some more alcohol for himself. 

There's an air of awkward silence from Kaiba at Atem's words. It had certainly been far from a pleasant time for him either--not that he'd ever admit it to the pharaoh. Though, the CEO was starting to slightly worry that Set was getting a little too tipsy for such discussions.

His suspicions were confirmed when the priest volunteered up information to Diva. Ugh, he never should have brought him along.

Diva, on the other hand, was brought out of his scrutinizing of the pharaoh at Set's question. "Well, if you're offering..." his voice was quiet and polite, but Seto knew that tone meant trouble.

"Then I suppose I'd like to know if it's even possible that he acted like he had a worse stick up his ass back then. For I was lucky enough to met him later and skipped most of that."

"Diva, I will poison your food and leave you here."

A chuckle left the ex-Plana. This dance was a repeated and well-practiced one. "Sure you will. And then it will simply be more awkward when you return again." 

There was a brief moment of silence between Atem and Set, as they exchanged brief looks with one another while the duo bantered with the other. Then, both men broke into a fit of laughter, which only served to sustain and confirm Diva’s statement.

Atem wanted to say something, but Set got ahead of him before he could even muster anything. “Oh, it’s very possible! After I introduced myself, and he became aware of me. It was nearly impossible to take over the body, I just couldn’t swap places with him!” The priest spoke while laughing, as he remembered those times so vividly.

“And the first time I met Kaiba... I had to rid him, from a bad influence that had clearly taken over him... And I’m not talking about Set.” The pharaoh added.

“All that did, was to get me an earful from him right after it.” The priest pointed out, as he sipped on his cup. “Well, I never said anything about what would happen afterwards, now did I?” The two followed it with another brief chuckle.

“Trust me, he has improved a lot since I got to know him... He changed a lot over the years, Diva. I’m happy for him.” Set added, then went ahead and emptied once more his cup. 

"Oh forgive me for  not wanting to just rent my body out on a whim," Seto shot back. Though the conversation quickly moved on, and he was unsure whether to feel insulted or touched by the end of it.

So instead, he did the totally socially acceptable thing and decided to stare at some odd fruit laid out before him that he didn't recognize.

"Really now? The great Seto Kaiba can change after all. I supose my timing was lucky then. Well except for when we first met--"

Seto cleared his thoat to cut that statement off. He didn't want Set to strangle someone today. Especially a live someone.

"You know Set, be careful. At that rate you're gonna pass out before the end of the meal," Kaiba said with a nod to the flavored gross liquid. 

“Seto, I’m no longer in your body,” A hiccup interrupted Set’s slurry words, as he covered his mouth for a moment before he resumed talking. “I know very well how much I can take of this.” The man even gestured with his hands, as he took another sip out of his cup in order to prove a point.

“There’s no need to be concerned about, he tends to drink a lot more whenever he is with the others...” Atem pointed out in a calm tone, he had more to say but his drunk spouse interrupted him once more. “By the way, I’ve got a question... What’re you two anyway? What’s Diva to you, Seto? You know I won’t buy the friendship answer.” Set asked, it was very easy to tell how intoxicated the man was.

The pharaoh quickly fell silent, as he shot a glance at him then back at the guests. Now that he put some thought into it, Kaiba didn’t really explain his ties to Diva. Sure, he may have informed him that he was simply giving the CEO a helping hand in his work... But it didn’t quite suit, what most expected from Kaiba. 

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, shooting a disbelieving glance. High tolerance or not,  drunk people weren't fun for Kaiba to deal with. Too much and it was hard to get intelligible conversation out of them even if they weren't flat out passed out.

But the gazes of the two immediately made Seto and Diva freeze before exchanging a glance. While Diva expected such a question to come up, he wouldn't have guessed it would have been asked so... directly. But Kaiba instantly responded with sarcasm."What, is it so hard to believe I have some friends nowadays? When you spend so many hours working together it's kind of impossible to not get along on some level."

For a moment Diva didn't respond. The plan had been for Seto to introduce him to the people here honestly, along with helping with the experiments side. But the ex-Plana could see Kaiba was most likely acting on instinct.

"It is true we are friends. It took a while, certainly after well... some difficulties over the past but we eventually got there. And..." he trailed off, carefully keeping his eyes off Seto. Best to leave it to him in his own time, if he wanted.

There was just the noise of Seto taking a sip of his own drink for several seconds. "And... weendedupgivingdatingatry." The words were spat out fast as Seto would read a monster's effect and his gaze snapped back down to his own food. Gods, why did he ever want to do this? Set and Atem would just laugh at him. 

Atem and Set quietly listened in to Kaiba’s words, the priest was still sipping on his drink and the pharaoh held onto his cup. At first the answer given to them sounded reasonable, and expected from him even. As such both men didn’t react to what they heard immediately.

Set broke his silence as he stopped drinking for a moment, so he could speak “Oh, I see. So a lot has changed after all...” His voice trailed off, while the lips approached his cup- it seemed like he didn’t care about what had just come out from Kaiba’s mouth.

However, those words finally hit him.

First, the priest’s eyes shot widely open as he spat- choked on his drink and put aside the cup. A coughing fit ensued, as Atem attempted to help him out by giving his back light taps. It was in that moment, Set proceeded to sit up as he tried to muster out any word.

“Excuse me? What did you just-- say, Seto?” The priest asked between his coughs, while he desperately tried to clear his throat. The pharaoh was at a loss for words, he didn’t feel like he was in a position to even say a word about the matter.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Set reassured his partner, as he waved off Atem once he could talk normally. “Come again? You? Him? What-- Since when?” The priest’s gaze shifted between Diva and Kaiba, he didn’t seem to be angry- rather shocked and appalled at the bombshell. 

For a moment, both Seto and Diva thought they had safely flown under the radar, or perhaps Set was being kind and trying to not make a big deal of it to scare them off. But it turned out to be a delayed reaction. The reaction could have been better, but they supposed it also could have been much worse. At least Set didn't die from the shock.

"Erm... well even that's a bit tricky. Kind of two months?" Kaiba wasn't sure the exact number of days though with the nature of all that had happened. "Though in the middle we kind of took a bit of a break er--"

"There was a small fight. But we sorted things out eventually," Diva added.

Kaiba was trying his best to not make eye contact with any of them. He wasn't even sure if he was embarrassed or stressed or both.

Diva still had a calm air about him outwardly, but a good part of him was wary of the uncertainty of what would happpen next. 

One of his hands ran along his throat, as he was still recovering from his coughing fit. Meanwhile, he took his time to process and put some thought into what had been shared with them.

Due to his young appearance (he somehow, seemed to be about the same age as Kaiba), it is easy to forget that he was an actual father in his lifetime, and despite everything it was obvious he and the CEO shared a bond of that nature. “Dating,” Set uttered out, while he was still thinking on anything to say.

Dating in his time period, didn’t come anywhere near to what is commonly found in the 21st century. Set learned that, very quickly.

“Uh...” Atem tried to fill in the awkward silence in their meal, as he also bought Set some more time to think before saying anything back to them. “Congratulations? Kaiba? I would have never-” Yet again, he was interrupted by his partner.

“Expected something like this out of you... That’s all, mostly.” Set responded in a calm tone, while his gaze landed on Kaiba. Anger is nowhere to be seen on him, it truly seemed like he meant what he had just said.

Either that or the alcohol was still doing it’s magic on the priest.

The priest completely disregarded Diva’s presence, his attention was full on Kaiba who was clearly fighting his own inner demons amidst it all. “Does anyone else knows about this? Or... Am I the first one, Seto?” 

"Wow, what are you trying to say?" But the side eye was directed at Atem. "Trust me, we didn't expect it either." But Kaiba did expect both of them to be knocked of guard at the mere thought. The word Kaiba and dating didn't exactly go together.

Diva remained silent, leaving it up to Seto on what to disclose and what not to.

"Mokuba, of course. I mean it's kind of impossible for him to not figure something was up. But we've kept it out of the news and gossip. But you're the first one outside of that."

He figured it was also best to be that way, given the nature of their relationship and Set's role in his life.

"You know, we just don't want people all up in our business just because we're dating." Because boy, woud that be a PR headache. 

Set remained in silence the entire time Seto talked, despite his intoxicated state he seemed to have an attentive look on his face. His gaze was fixated on him, and it remained there even for a little longer. However, he had little to no self-control while under the influence of alcohol.

The priest proceeded to pull Kaiba into a tight hug, then bursted into a laughing fit as he repeated the same words “You’re dating! You’ve found someone, Seto!”. It seemed like the man was pretty content, with the news.

Mahad had to look away, this was just pure humiliation - he was cringing at the sight (even though, he also found the scene to be hiliarious).

Atem on the other hand, had to hold back his laughter at the scene his spouse caused. Even though he has heard most of the stories, Set had to share about him in regards to Kaiba. Seeing something like this was still a first time to him. 

The next pause was tense, for a moment Seto was worried about the priest not approving of Diva, or perhaps the topic of his sexuality would come up with his seemingly lack of incantation in that area before.

But no, somehow it was worse. No, somehow Set had morphed perfectly into the embarrassing dad.

"Please gods, let me die." He struggled to worm out of the embrace, color rising to his cheeks as he shoved at Set to no avail. He never should have broken the news while the priest was drunk!

"Atem stop laughing! I'll kill you!" Though his glare at the king quickly switched over to his significant other. "Diva, don't just sit there, help me!"

The ex-Plana was barely hiding his laughter behind a hand. "Oh, come on Seto, I think he's taking it quite well. And I'd prefer to not get in the middle of family matters." 

“He’s right, especially when it comes to Set. He takes this matter, very seriously.” Atem pointed out with a cheeky grin on his face, as he couldn’t hold back another row of laughter from him.He joined Diva in simply watching over Seto try to handle Set, on his own.

The priest stayed like that- clinging onto Kaiba for just a little longer, until eventually his pharaoh went ahead and managed to free him from the drunk man’s embrace. He was still yelling- exclaiming, repeating the wonderful news as some of the guards and Atem managed to gingerly lay him on the floor.

“I believe he has had more than enough for the night...” His voice trailed off, as he removed his cape and threw it over his spouse’s body. Who laid there on the floor, the alcohol had finally hit him hard. A few more nonsensical words left the man, at least he seemed to be quite happy- cheerful in a way.

When he did that, it revealed he wore an almost identital outfit to what Set had on himself. This detail would likely go unnoticed by Kaiba, but it might be further evidence to what Diva had observed on them so far.

“Once again, congratulations Kaiba. I wish you both happiness together... But I feel like he’s done for the night, you two can take your leave if you’d like. I’ll let him know, you said goodbye.” 

"Oh you think?" More sarcasm spat from him once Atem finally pried the priest from him. He really should have been counting Set's drinks. A useful thing to keep in mind. But at least he finally stopped embarrassing him this way.

With a huff Kaiba stood. "When he wakes up with a headache, tell him that's karma." Despite how prickly he was acting he didn't mean any true misfortune, but gods Seto almost wished Set just didn't approve of Diva.

"Come now, don't kick someone while they're down," Diva said as he stood and gave a polite dip of his head to Atem. "Thank you for the... evening? If time works that way here. We're almost out of time anyway," he said, noting the data on his duel disk.

Kaiba gave a nod. "Until next time, I suppose." He didn't have much more to say to Atem, so simply started to walk out with Diva, who now took the CEO's hand.

"Did you see what they were wearing?" Aigami whispered.

"What? Is now really the time? Coordinate your duel disk first--"

And a moment later the duo vanished in a swarm of dark particles.

[27timescinema]

INTERVIEW - MATEUSZ PACEWICZ

By Stephen Porzio (pics © Natalia Ryba)

Originally published on the Europa Cinema’s blog.

Corpus Christi is a young adult’s deal: director Jan Komasa is 37 years old and his screenwriter Mateusz Pacewicz, is only 27 years old. During Venice Film Festival, where the film was awarded with the Europa Cinemas Label, the Irish ambassador for 28 Times Cinema interviewed Mateusz, for whom Corpus Christi is a first feature film. The film has since then been selected to represent Poland in the Oscars race. Below is a report of their conversation.

Venice Film Festival goers were blown away by Polish drama and Europa Cinemas Label winner Corpus Christi, centring on a young ex-convict who masquerades as a priest, duping a small-town parish. That said, many were perhaps unaware of the story’s basis in real life.

“I was obsessed with true stories about priest impersonators from Poland,” says screenwriter Mateusz Pacewicz. “It happens. Every year - sometimes every half year - there's a new case. It's a social phenomenon. Even where we were shooting the film, it came out there was a priest impersonator there. It's that popular.”

On why someone would impersonate a priest, Pacewicz says: “Money is the primary motivation, as well as I think this weird combination of prestige and high social status. But to be somebody who can impersonate a priest, you need to have something - a kind of spirituality.”

“What fascinated me from the beginning was the ambivalence of the premise. We have somebody who maybe just does it for money. Perhaps, it’s also for some emotional profit. He wants to feel he's someone better than he really is. Maybe it’s a whole different reason. This multi-dimensionality was what kept me going working on the story.”

To prepare to write Corpus Christi, Pacewicz also studied the New Testament and read about Menocchio, a 16th century Italian miller burnt at the stake by the Inquisition for his unorthodox religious views. The latter was deeply devout to God but critical of the Catholic Church’s wealth stating: "I believe the spirit of God dwells in all of us ... and I also believe that anyone who has studied can become a priest without being ordained, because it is all a business.”

The spirit of Menocchio certainly looms large over Corpus Christi. Yes, the central figure of Daniel (a star-making turn by Bartosz Bielenia, nailing the duality of his character) perhaps begins his deception for selfish reasons. Yet, he is a true Christian who winds up doing more for his new community - a village still healing from the aftermath of a car crash which killed numerous of the town’s teens – than its previous minister.

According to Pacewicz, the film depicts what might happen if the Catholic Church returned ‘to its roots of solidarity and a more democratic structure.’ Elaborating the writer says: “What's weird about Catholicism is it's an extremely hierarchical organisation. This doesn't really make sense when you read the New Testament.”

Corpus Christi impressively juggles tone, switching between comedy, drama and more thriller elements. “That was the most difficult thing for me – to balance those genres,” says Pacewicz. “I was afraid it would become lukewarm in the end, lacking intensity because of those different aspects.”

“But I felt it was the only way I could tell this story - to have a little of those funny moments where we laugh because we see someone like us in a situation very different to ours. Those laughs are moments of empathy with this character who otherwise can be quite distant.”

Pacewicz praises the film’s director Jan Komasa for helping navigate those tonal shifts. “He did a tremendous job at balancing it, something I struggled with while writing. He creates this chaos where actors will improvise a scene for ten minutes that has little to do with the three sentences we need.”

“While on set, I was like 'where's my script?'. But later watching the dailies, I thought 'Oh, here it is. Everything is right'. I don't know if it's just intuition or a plan but he creates this organic atmosphere where stuff just happens and he gets exactly what he wants and nobody notices when.”

The two are set to collaborate again on a substantially different project, Suicide Room: The Hater, a sequel to Komasa’s 2011 tech thriller. “Right after Corpus Christi began, Jan asked whether I'd like to work on another film. It tells the story of a young guy from a small village who comes to this elitist family because he's in love with their daughter.”

“He is rejected by this big city family and seeks vengeance through his job at a buzz marketing agency where he creates fake news and destroys people. It is very different to Corpus Christi. It's not quiet. It's loud.”

One hopes their upcoming film will continue Poland’s strong cinematic output of late (Pawel Pawlikowski’s 2018 drama Cold War garnered three nominations at this year’s Academy Awards). Speaking about his nation’s cinema Pacewicz says: “A few years ago, Corpus Christi might have gone unnoticed. Back then, we didn’t have sales agents interested in Polish cinema. It was like ‘yeah send us the link, maybe we will watch it.’”

“It’s changed significantly over the last five years. There’s this surge. I think it's partly connected to Pawlikowski and his recent success. Right now, when you do something in Poland, people in Los Angeles - if it gains some international recognition - will know about it.”

Pacewicz was full of praise for the Europa Cinemas Label recognising Corpus Christi. Awarded by a jury of Europa Cinemas exhibitors, the prize aims to increase the promotion, circulation and exhibition lifespan of winning films. This is through various schemes aimed at raising the top movie’s profile.

“These awards are extremely important. Movies like Corpus Christi are intimate and quiet. They can get lost amongst today’s overwhelming amount of content. From this perspective, these awards can be a game-changer for a film like ours.”

Pacewicz is also delighted the Corpus Christi will get to be screened in theatres. “Personally, I find it very hard to fully experience a film without watching it in a cinema. It's a completely different ritual, one that is very needed in the short attention span time we live in. Corpus Christi would be difficult to watch on your tablet while jogging.”

“I believe this is a story that can resonate with many diverse cultures and people from different contexts. This prize is another step towards sharing our film with viewers from all over Europe and the world.”

[dailymtgflavortext]

Ravnica Allegiance Overview

Hello everyone!

I had a good time at the prerelease yesterday. It was a weird split of guilds, something I didn’t expect. There were 4 people playing Gruul (I thought there would be many more, it seemed like the best guild to me), two people playing Azorius, a handful playing Simic, and about a dozen (myself included) playing Orzhov. Nobody chose Rakdos. I ended up going 2-2 in the end, but we split the prize in the final round. Actually, the final round was pretty bad to be honest. I had no mana in the first game, he had only mana in the second game, and once again I had no mana in the third. Quickest three games I’ve ever been part of.

Anyway, I’ve done this once before, so I thought it would be kinda fun to do again. After the break, I’m gonna go through the cards in the set that I’m most looking forward to using. Keep in mind, I play commander almost exclusively, so that’s the lens through which I view them all.

First and foremost, there are a few angels in this set that I’ll have to acquire foil versions of.

Fine additions to my collection.

Now, on to the cards I need for my decks. There are a lot of Gruul goodies in this set, so Thromok gets some cool things to play with:

Riot is such a good mechanic. Haste is important for Thromok, so being able to give it to any creature I cast is super. Domri will probably find a home in the deck, and I’ll give Rhythm of the Wild a shot as well.

Nikya will be an interesting experiment. I really like the design of this card, and Thromok only has like 6 non-creature spells in the deck, so the huge mana-boost it gives might just be worth it.

Although I didn’t see a lot of Rakdos in the prerelease, there are still a number of cards I want to try out. Tymaret and Mathas both get some potential upgrades here:

Tymaret can deal direct damage pretty easily, so I don’t think it’ll be much of an issue to play the cards Theater of Horrors exiles. It’s almost like another Phyrexian Arena, so I hope it works out. The only possible issue is that something important could be exiled before I’m actually able to cast it.

One of the gimmicks of my Tymaret deck is to create a lot of tokens and sacrifice them for various effects. Sacrificing two at once may not always be feasible (or a good idea), but I think Priest of Forgotten Gods has potential.

Bedevil is an extremely powerful kill spell, so I don’t see any reason why I wouldn’t use it. The instant-speed makes it worth running over Dreadbore, but I think I’ll still run them both in Tymaret if I can. Mathas has plenty of good kill spells already, so it will be a strict upgrade there.

I don’t actually think Captive Audience will be that great, but it seems like the kind of thing I’d use in the Mathas deck. It’s worth a shot, anyway.

Daghatar gets a bit of love in this set too:

I feel like this is a weird effect for an “Azorius” card. They don’t usually give their things +1/+1 counters, do they? Well, it’s still something good for Daghatar, so I’m not complaining. It can be used both defensively and offensively, so the versatility is great.

This seems like a neat counterpart to Gyre Sage. Throwing a counter on it shouldn’t be a problem, so it should make for some pretty good mana-ramp.

Unfortunately, this set didn’t give me the kind of Orzhov cards I wanted. Not to say they were bad, they just didn’t have a lot of synergy with my Karlov deck.

I want the deck to mess around with everyone’s life totals a lot, so Revenge seems like a good addition. Probably a game-ender with Sanguine bond as well, so that’s something. Even Revival is a decent choice, since there are a lot of small creatures in the deck.

This was my foil from the prerelease, and I think I might give it a try. I know, the irony of using it in a Karlov deck is pretty heavy. Oh well, RIP Obzedat and my dream of you getting a third card...

Smothering Tithe is just a cool card, so I hope it’s worth using here. Honestly, it would probably be better with Mathas, since I have Revel in Riches in that deck as well. Hmmmm...

Now, just for a few miscellaneous one-offs for various decks:

As I play Shu Yun more and more, I’ve found how necessary it is to always have some sort of evasion spell. This one gives a decent boost in power as well, so I think it’s worth using. It’s kinda funny how many of these little common combat-trick spells I’ve managed to fit into that deck.

It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at my Scarab God deck, but Thought Collapse continues my tradition of using bad “mill slightly” counterspells in it. Hooray!

Awwwwwww yeeeeahhhh more Gate-tech for Karona. It doesn’t even enter tapped, so it’s not a bad multi-coloured land for the mid-game.

Excellent. Another excuse for Iwamori of the Open Fist to PUNCH!

And finally, a card that I’m sure many people are excited for. I don’t like using a lot of X-cost spells in Melek, but I feel like casting this one and copying it a few times is just tooooo good to pass up. And at Instant speed, no less. Just crazy.

Well, if you‘ve made it this far, I congratulate you. I hope you enjoyed my opinions on these cards! Now, I must ask, what cards are you most looking forward to using? Not even just in commander, but any format?

[mycasandstarrs]

SPN 10x05: “Fan Fiction”

As a former theatre kid, this episode brings me so much joy.

“Ghost? Meet Winchester.”

There’s our girl!

“Where is the Samulet?”

“Oh! I took it off. It kept hitting me in the lips, and...”

“That amulet is the symbol of the Winchesters' brotherly love!”

!!!

“There is too much drama in the drama department.” Well...yeah.

“Why couldn't they just do ‘Godspell’ like good little skanks ? Instead it's this... awful, unbelievable horror story. Hmm! Like that stuff really happens! Huh, theater is about life, you know? Truth! Truth! Where is the truth in ‘Supernatural’?”

What the fuck kind of teacher is this??

I had a theater teacher who told us theatre was magic. I think she would’ve liked Marie’s play about Supernatural.

There she goes.

“I mean, it's close, but it's just.... It needs a little more grrrr!”

Our very special title card.

“Sundown” by Gordon Lightfoot

Our beautiful Baby.

Dean awake before Sam? A shocker.

“A teacher in an all girls school went missing in Flint, Michigan. She was heading to her car, disappeared, and nobody's seen her since.”

“Dean, there's nothing here that even remotely suggest there is a case.”

“There is nothing that even remotely suggest there isn't a case. Boom!”  

Logic!

Hell yes!

Thank you, thank you, thank you Robbie Thompson.

“Ugh, theater kids. Great.”  

“What? I was a theater kid.”

“Barely. You did ‘Our Town’, which was cool. But then, you did that crappy musical.”

“The - ‘Oklahoma’? Hugh Jackman got cast off of ‘Oklahoma’.”

“You ran tech, Wolverine.”

Hey, Techies are just as important as the actors.

They missed the huge banner advertising the show??

hahahaha, their faces are hilarious. Granted, if I found out someone made a musical about my life, I’d be speechless too.

“If there is case... It probably has something to do with all of this.” It has everything to do with it.

Marie, writer/director, and Maeve, the stage manager. (Fun fact: I was a stage manager once! Lots of fun, work, and telling people to shut up and pay attention.)

“I'm Special Agent Smith. This is my partner, Special Agent -”

“Smith.”

“Smith. No relation.”

Again with the joke.

There’s plenty of singing in Supernatural, mostly from you, Dean.

“If there was singing, it would be classic rock. Not this Andrew Floyd Webber crap -”

“Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

Love the improv correction.

Don’t shoot down “Carry on Wayward Son”, Sam.

I also had a theater teacher who went through a divorce.

“Maeve, right? You're the stage manager?”

“And I understudy Jody Mills.”

Maeve would make a great Jody!

“I'm gonna throw up.” Shush, Dean.

“I mean, I gotta say, it's kind of charming. The production value, and the...” I love Sam’s sincere interest tho.

Rule #1: You never touch the props.

“Why are they standing so close together?”

“Um...Reasons.”

“You know they're brothers, right?”

“Well, duh! But... Subtext.”

We gotta address that.

“You know, back when I did tech in school, we had two CD decks-”

“I'm sorry, I have to go sign the delivery.”

Aww Sam! I would love to hear his theater stories.

Pfft, Sam.

“There's no space in Supernatural.” We got close to it...

“Chuck stopped writing after ‘Swan Song’. I just- I couldn't leave it the way that it was! I mean, Dean not hunting anymore, living with Lisa?! Sam, somehow back from Hell, but not with Dean?! So, I wrote my own ending.” I don’t blame her.

“Dean becomes a woman.” Would still wanna see that happen in an episode.

“So, Sam came back from Hell. But without a soul. Then, Cas brought in a bunch of Leviathans from Purgatory. They lost Bobby. And then, Cas and Dean got stuck in Purgatory, Sam hit a dog. They met a prophet named Kevin, they lost him too. Then Sam endured a series of trials, in an attempt to close the gates of Hell. Which nearly cost him his life. Then Dean? Dean became a demon. Knight of Hell, actually.”

S6-9 summary, courtesy of Dean.

Here comes the second hand embarrassment.

“That is some of the worst fan fiction that I've ever heard ! I mean, seriously, I don't know where your friend found this garbage!” Oof, I still don’t like that.

“Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in real life. Although, we do explore the nature of Destiel in act two.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, it's just subtext ! But, then again, you know, you can't spell subtext without.... s-e-x.”

!!!!!

Hi, Jensen.

“I don’t understand.”

“Me either.”

“I mean, shouldn't it be... Deastiel?”

LMAO SAM.

“You know... How about Sastiel? Samstiel?”

“Ok, alright. You know what? You're gonna do that thing, where you just shut the hell up. Forever.”

Teasing brother, Sam.

“This whole musical thing, everything, it's... It's all a coincidence? There is no case?” When is it ever just a coincidence?

“Get in the car!”  

!!!!!!!

BUT HE NEVER DENIED IT THOO, that’s all i’m saying.

“You know, we should've done ‘The Outsiders’, like I told you.”

Maggie’s the second person to get kidnapped.

“I called the cops, and a bunch of adults just told me I have an overactive imagination.” :(

“It is all real. And so are we. I'm Sam Winchester. That's Dean.” NO NO NO.

“You guys are way too old to be Sam or Dean.”

“Oh, yeah!”

“More of a Bobby/Rufus combo? Maybe.”

How old do they think Sam and Dean should be???

“We are what the books called hunters.” They believe that.

First guess: a tulpa.

“How do you kill an idea?”  

“Well, in ‘Hell House’, Sam and Dean burnt the house down, to take out the one tulpa they hunted.”

Correct!

“Gird your loins. It's horrifying.” Umm...okay.

I love how reluctant Marie was to burn her prop.

“What?”

“It’s not a tulpa.”

“Say it one more time, but just a little bit more Arnold--”  

LMAO, Dean.

Calliope.

“According to the lore, Calliope manifests creatures from the story she's tuned into.”

The show must go on.

An understandable panic attack over the possibility of getting eaten.

“Is Marie gonna get eaten?” Shush.

I love when Dean calls people “champ”. It’s so sweet and endearing.

“If Sam and Dean were real, they wouldn't back down from a fight. Especially my sweet, brave, selfless Sam. There's nothing he can't do.” !!!

“I used this for my one-woman ‘Orphan Black’ show, last year.” Marie is the theater kid I would’ve lowkey wanted to be.

“Writer. Director. Actor. I'm gonna Barbra Streisand this bitch.” FUCK YES! KICK IT IN THE ASS!

Dean fixing Stage!Cas’ tie!!

Funny Sam asked for Chuck...

“Oh! I-I, I love him. I do! But honestly, the whole author introducing himself into the narrative thing, it's just not my favorite. I kind of hate the meta stories.” I politely disagree.

“Alright, listen up, girls. Now, you're all here, because you love ‘Supernatural’.”

“Actually, I was hoping we'd do ‘Wicked’.” 

“I want you to get out there, and I want you to stand as close as she wants you to, and I want you to put as much sub and add text, as you possibly can. There is no other road. No other way. No day, but today.”

“Did he just quote ‘Rent’?”

“Not enough to get us into trouble.”

“Ghooooost-facerssss!”  This episode just adds wonderful years to my lifespan.

You know what I would pay to watch this play in full???

“The Road So Far”

There it is.

The misunderstood thumbs up, lmao.

Sam goes bye bye.

Maggie and the teacher.

They were in the school’s basement.

Hello, Calliope.

“I’ll Just Wait Here Then”

Nothing makes me more emotional than seeing the audience fall in love Stage!Cas, much like we did with our real Cas.

“If I have to sit through that second act, one more time... There's robots, and tentacles, and space. I can't even.” lol

“A Single Man Tear”

That exorcism special effect is so wonderful! I can see how they do it now, but from the audience’s POV, it’s absolutely magical.

What the hell did the audience think Dean was doing??

“We're through the looking glass, here, people. Strike the wendigo set, let's prep the priests costumes. And Sarah? Get understudies into hair and makeup.” Maeve’s a A+ stage manager.

“Supernatural has everything. Life. Death. Resurrection. Redemption. But above all, family. All sorts of music you can really tap your toe to. It isn't some meandering piece of genre dreck. It's... epic!” Agreed.

Stage!Dean is a pro if she could keep singing with everything going on in the background.

lmao at the one guy putting on his poncho.

Original Stage!Sam knocks out Calliope.

Understudy!Sam kills the Scarecrow.

Sam kills Calliope. A trifecta of Sam Awesomeness.

RIP Calliope. Killed by Sam.

The audience must be wondering how they managed to do that for years.

“Take a bow, Sammy.” Take a bow too, Dean.

“Thanks for saving my friends.”

“Sure.”

“You know? If you'd cut your hair a little, you'd make a pretty good Dean.”

Aww.

“Dean? You never should've thrown this away.” YYYEEESSS

“It never really worked. And, I don't need a symbol to remind me how I feel about my brother, so...”

“Just take it. Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

I love Dean’s panic when he realizes he just called a teenage girl a “bitch” without meaning to, lmaoo.

Take it away Stage!Winchesters!

Let me tell you, I literally bursted into tears when they started singing “Carry On Wayward Son”. It’s beautifully done.

Starting with Stage!Mary, who is more or less Square 1 of the entire story.

i remember a lot of people being upset about Cas not being part of the family lineup at the end, and I get it. But if Marie was only going off of the first 5 seasons, it makes sense that she didn’t see Cas as family yet because Sam and Dean didn’t see Cas as family yet. They’re just one year shy of that.

BUT the same girl who plays Cas is on stage as Adam, a technical Winchester. You could say Cas took over Adam’s role as the third Winchester “brother” because canonically speaking, that’s the highest title Sam and Dean have given Cas.

“Who's that?”

“Oh, that's Adam. John Winchester's other kid. He's still trapped in the cage, in Hell. With Lucifer.”

lmaooo. Awkward.

“Don’t you cry no more.” I sing, while crying.

I wish he had kept the Samulet Part 2 on there.

A picture perfect ending.

...One last surprise.

“Oh my gosh! But wait... That means that- Calliope came for me or for-?” Did Marie know who he was?

I thought it was Cas...

I legit lost my goddamn mind when I saw him.

A perfect episode of Supernatural, in my most humble opinion.

[matrim-cauthons-hat]

i finished the first Forge of Mars book last night and i gotta say i dont really care about the black templar bits like they’re fine but i wanna go back to my press ganged dock workers thats waaaaaaay more interesting. also kinda gutted that there was a tech priest called paracelsus already cos i was gonna do a funny bit a hospitalar, Celse (based on Celsus, the philosopher), and her novitiate acolyte, Paracelse (based on paracelsus, who thought he was the second coming of the great celsus and thought the stars caused disease). like i kno it was a throwaway name, mentioned off hand, once, but still, i thought i’d beaten them to the punch using paracelsus :(

[catachan-jungle-fighter]

AU and some blabbering

Watchdog's in 40k... for some reason the thought of someone hacking a Tech-Priest and causing them to act like the robots from the second game has me laughing... and the reason for that? In the second game there's these robots that look like well this...

And you can hack them to shut them down, make them dance, and finally put them in a love state where they Ram anyone nearby and kill them... just the thought of a tech-priest tearing off at high speeds and ramming someone is making me laugh. Then I thought of what they'd think of Wrench...

This guy who is so batshit but hilarious that you honestly come to love him... my favorite part of him has to be his part in the final mission when he goes and blows up some servers

"I CAME! I SAW! I BLEW SHIT UP! I came again!"

Any mission he's involved in just becomes funny... the best mission has to be the time you fuck with Martin Shrelki's Parody... yeah... the prick who raised the price of Daraprim a medicine used for Malaria... IRL he bought a Album of the Wu Tang Clan's music that was the only one in existence and he's the only one allowed to listen to the songs on it, and in the game they mock him for it by using the games parody of Kanye West who your character 'borrows' a test track and another member of Dedsec makes a soundboard of the guy, so when you hack the guy you send the sample... you then proceed to take 40 million from the guy and donate it to a foundation for the disease the in universe character fucked over, in game that being Leukemia...

then there's the fact you get to screw with the in-game version of Scientologists and you wreck their 'Holy Tablets' after breaking in... the reason you do this? Because I believe that's around when your character's trans friend has her Sex Change revealed on live TV by 'concerned citizens' who didn't want her as Mayor... you basically ruin their reputation for doing that to her.

[automatismoateo]

After being married to my wife for 13 years her grandma welcoming me to the family brought me to tears. He parents have always been rude to me for being an atheist. via /r/atheism

After being married to my wife for 13 years her grandma welcoming me to the family brought me to tears. He parents have always been rude to me for being an atheist.

My wife's family has wanted rid of me since day one, because she had mentioned me being an atheist before she even considered dating me, if she'd known she would have probably hid it from them.

We dated 6 years, they tried to get her to leave me the whole time, and then we got married. So yeah they've known me nearly 20 years.

They've always been rude to me. They were driven by religion but that made them find other reasons. When we met I was a repair technician, they thought I was too lowly. I worked and put myself through a BS and MS in engineering, and a few years after graduation and working for a basic company no one would have heard of I got in at one of the tech giants, once I got into one moving up by going to other ones was easier. Of course, her parents never congratulated me on any of these moves. I make more than both of them combined now but they never took back all the times they said I'd be a loser for life and wouldn't be able to take care of their daughter.

My wife has retorted several times that she is happier with me than ever. She grew up hearing them scream and argue. They just play the victim card and act all hurt by either of use defending ourselves.

Later on, it ended up that their other kids never had kids or really became independent. So they pester us to visit all the time so they can see our kids, their only grand children. I pay for the flights and stay in their dusty guest room, and spend vacation days so they can see the kids. And still they treat me like crap. They love the kids but they think I'm evil even though I've always been polite to them, just because I'm not religious. They even think I made their daughter atheist. They're too dull to realize we both were before we met. It's one of the things we talked about and bonded over in the first place.

She has told them she didn't believe it since before we met but in their all too typical Christian mysogyny they say she doesn't remember right. Implying, I guess, that I could not only erase someone's religion, but also their memory of ever having been religious.

The rudeness is the same when they visit us, I pick them up from the airport, clean up and set up the guest room nicely, make and buy meals. I try to make them feel welcome. They never thank me, they seem to avoid talking to me at all really.

I do avoid visiting them as much or having them over. But I refuse to be an asshole in return. And still treat guests as welcome if I'm going to have them. I still think it's fair to avoid seeing them as much if they're going to act they way. But I couldn't cut my wife off from her family, luckily she doesn't really want to put up with their shitty attitude much either, I let her lead on how often we visit and it's not much.

Anyway. I have always tried to just let it roll off me. Tell myself it doesn't bother me. I sometimes wish I had inlaws that were like extending my family. Another mom and dad, people I can actually enjoy visiting.

I've only seen my wife's grandma a few times. She lives in Germany. But at her age she probably doesn't have long. So we made a point to go visit so she can see her great grandkids.

We got along really well. She appreciated that I'd learned enough German to talk to her. She actually complained about her son and his wife more than I do, in a funny way. It turns out she isn't that religious. She thanked me so much for every meal I made or thing I helped with. I probably talked with her more than I ever have with my wife's parents.

She talked about all kinds of stuff. She seems to believe some stuff things, like a vague belief in angels maybe, but decided the church was "no good" after "some of the priests would mess around kids, they made them do nasty stuff, but I got away." She said her mom was too tired and sick to go to church, she would give her money for the collection, and she took it and went to the movies instead. She has a great laugh. She speaks simply.

She also talked about world war 2. Being so starved she nearly died. Her abusive husband who she left before meeting my wife's Grandpa. The first guy apparently was an alcoholic and became a Nazi officer.

I feel now at least I have a bond to that side of the family. And actually in her pictures of herself in her 30s she looks far more like my wife than my wife's mom did. (Which is a relief because I really don't like how my wife's mom looks if she's going to age the same way)

But to loop back to the title. Before we left she told me she was so glad my wife met me, and that I was a great father and welcome to the family. (She hadn't made it to our wedding)

I didn't realize how hard that would hit. I teared up and gave her a hug. After all the coldness, side comments, and outright verbal abuse I've gotten from the rest of my wife's family it really felt good to have someone say they were glad I was there. I try to just not give a shit what they think but having them act that way toward me for so long hurts me. Even if they are shallow and dumb, so I should care what they think.

Her taking the time to say she thinks I'm a good husband to her granddaughter meant so much to me.

And I can't help but think of the irony of it all. Religion is supposedly about love and family. But if they weren't being all Mike Pence about it they could be closer with another part of their family, they could be more loving, they'd get more out of life. But they're obsessed with the "next life" and missing out on being kind people or being as close to their grandkids in this one.

Submitted November 03, 2021 at 09:45AM by anythingMuchShorter (From Reddit https://ift.tt/3q1AAFL)

[aion-rsa]

Evil Season 2: Katja Herbers Talks Jinn and Dark Tonics

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This interview contains spoilers for Evil season 2.

Evil season 2 turned a new page in The Pop-Up Book of Terrifying Things MMXXI. The first episode, “N Is for Night Terrors,” began with Dr. Kristen Bouchard (Katja Herbers) trying to literally bury the hatchet on things which might disturb her sleep. Ben Shakir (Aasif Mandvi) found something, or someone, new to keep him up past bedtime. David Acosta (Mike Colter) doesn’t need to close his eyes in order to dream. He is close to becoming ordained as a priest, but the church keeps throwing too many practical applications on his study sheet.

The second episode, “A Is for Angel,” saw the trinity question the justice of God, as an archangel laid plans to open the second bowl of torments for mankind. The headlines which crawled across Evil’s news coverage of a global plague mirrored the worldwide reaction to the COVID pandemic. Recently exorcized from CBS, Evil now possesses Paramount+. The supernatural suspense drama dips into The X-Files territory. David wants to believe, probably even more than Fox Mulder. Forensic psychiatrist Kristen wants to get to the bottom of belief, much like Dana Scully conducted her own autopsies in search of physical explanations for anomalies. Ben is all three of the Lone Gunmen, plus about half of Skinner. He knows all the tricks tech toys can pull, and a safe distance from belief.

In “F Is for Fire,” the analytic team from St. Joseph’s is forced to look beyond the Catholic church, and Christian teachings, to answer the most burning questions a young Islamic girl may have. The episode is the hottest of the series so far. The very opening is a sexual fantasy strong enough to set Kristen off on the prowl. Bouchard was a trophy-winning mountain climber before she went looking for things that go bump in the night, and this gives her a shot at a little of both.

Prior to Dr. Kristen Bouchard’s work with the investigative team, she was an on-call expert in forensic psychology for the District Attorney’s office. Prior to Evil, Katja Herbers played Dr. Helen Prins on WGN America’s Manhattan and Emily Grace in HBO’s Westworld, and had recurring roles in The Americans, The Leftovers, and Manhunt: Unabomber. In a conversation with Den of Geek, Herbers stoked the fires of her relations with the jinn, David, and her new bosses.

DEN OF GEEK: I have been enjoying the show since the first night terror. Are you kept awake at night pondering the bigger questions?

KATJA HERBERS: No, I have to say I don’t. I’m more interested in the actual terror of this actual world, like climate change and things like that.

You’ll be exploring some of that on this show. How do you feel about being part of the conversation?

I love that. I think our show is so very timely, unfortunately, for a show called Evil and the things that we explore. I like to think that watching something like this can also be a way of processing the world that we’re in and may hopefully sometimes be a bit therapeutic or cathartic or just offer some relief because you see these characters’ fight. Then maybe you yourself can sit back and just watch some other people take care of business.

In season one, there was a rising sexual tension between you and David, and this season, you’re more on the prowl. Was this detour to avoid the will-they-won’t-they Mulder-Scully arc or are you just taking David’s vows more seriously?

No, I think it just is because Kristen murdered someone and she’s now looking for some kind of a calmness in herself and needs to find that anywhere, and that might be with any guy in any bar. She’s trying medication, she’s trying it all. I think the will-they-or-won’t-they will continue because I do think they have a very genuine connection, both intellectually and also there’s a physical attraction and I don’t think that’s going to go away.

How are the drug interactions affecting the spiritual ones? You’re taking a different type of drug than David, but altered reality is still altered reality.

Yeah. I ask for them, because I’m seeing things that aren’t there. I’m seeing this jinn with a head on fire, and I’m having hallucinations. I think that I actually ask my psychiatrist specifically to prescribe me a certain medication because I’m also a psychiatrist and I know what I need. I believe in medicine and in science, but I know that those things, it can take a while until you’ve found the right cocktail for your brain chemistry.

I do think that she’s suffering from unfortunate side effects there or at least that’s how she sees it or does it not have to do with the medicine? Is it actually all supernatural? And is this jinn following her? I guess that’s the whole question of what’s going on with Kristen.

Are the characters becoming more steeped in their supernatural reality or are they just becoming more suggestible to the force of expectation? Ben also has an imaginary friend.

Yeah. The job that we have, does mean that a lot of things I cannot explain purely scientifically. I do think that my character is more open to a supernatural explanation of things than she was at the very start of the first season. I think probably, I’m sort of in the middle of David and Ben. I think all three of us are dealing with things that we cannot explain, and I think that’s very interesting. What is a human being, if we don’t show the doubt that they have? Anybody who is completely certain of things, they can get a bit boring maybe.

Do you miss George?

Yeah. I do miss George. I find him very funny and endearing and weird. Luckily enough, most of the demons are played by the same actor, who’s wonderful, Marti Matulis. So, I do get to hang out with the actor, just in a different costume.

When Ben caught the telltale blood stain at the end of last season, was Kristen willing him not to remember it?

Yes. Exactly. I thought that was very funny.

(Creators and showrunners) Robert and Michelle King bring a great sense of humor to this. Will there be any strictly humorous shows like The X-Files did “Jose Chung’s From Outer Space?”

I hope so. That would be very fun. I think nothing’s too crazy for the Kings. I’ll put in the request.

How intensive is the investigation into Orson LeRoux’s death going to be? And how much peril is Kristen facing?

Well, I think it’s going to be quite intensive, if not for the police looking for whoever killed him, but also just internally in Kristen’s mind, because she did that, and now what? She’s not lying awake, pondering if she did the right thing, because I do think that she did the right thing – it was him or her children, that was very clear to her. So, what mother wouldn’t want to protect their children? But she is now a murderer, and I think it has changed her and she’s become somebody who is way more willing to go to the edge of things.

She also has district attorney training. Do you think she would have done the same thing if it was someone else’s family?

I don’t think so. No. I think she would have gone to the police.Think this was a very emotional act, and that kind of emotionality only comes if you’re protecting your own.

Do you know why she is being singled out? Has that been revealed to you?

For some reason, this Leland guy seems to have it out for her. Maybe because she seems like a good person and the good needs to be destroyed. I don’t know. Or maybe it’s because they want to get to David, unclear.

I read that the COVID forced a change in the season arc, second season. Were there any lost opportunities that you might have to revisit in future seasons?

At the start of filming this season, it had more to do with locations and things. We couldn’t be in a room with more than X amount of people. So, I think there was going to be something on a subway platform that didn’t end up happening because we couldn’t have those kinds of extras there. But I don’t think it held us back creatively. If anything, the protocols just really slowed us down. People have had to wait for the season a very long time because of COVID unfortunately, otherwise it would have been out long ago.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Do you have any more freedoms at Paramount+ than you did at CBS?

I think so. We only found out about the move when we were way far into filming, I think we were at episode 11 or something. The freedoms will also be found in the editing room, where we used to have to be exactly 43 minutes. And now maybe sometimes, you can have a little bit more air around a scene. It could maybe be 45 minutes, and those two extra minutes can mean, does a joke land or does it not land? I’m very excited about the move and the extra creativity that comes with that.

Are you at all superstitious? Would you do Macbeth?

Yeah, sure I’d do Macbeth, but can I play Macbeth? I’m not very superstitious. However, I sometimes will have a stupid thought in my head like, you better go to the other side of the street and then I’ll be like, “oh, okay, well, there you go, might as well do it.” I used to work with somebody in the theater who had to get in and out of their costume eight times before they could go on stage because otherwise it wouldn’t go well. My OCD stops at, once a week I’ll walk to the other side of the street, but it doesn’t go further than that.

A lot of people click with this show because they recognize the supernatural in their everyday lives. Do people come up to you on the street and ask for answers?

No, because nobody ever recognizes me, which is a wonderful, wonderful thing. I have literally never, ever been asked about Evil on the street.

Do you yourself go looking for answers?

Well, on a scientific level, sure, but not in a supernatural way.

Evil airs Sundays on Paramount+.

The post Evil Season 2: Katja Herbers Talks Jinn and Dark Tonics appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/36bpiUf

[overcaffeinated-creative]

Solus Vetra, Modern AU

Title: I have the Best Work Stories Ever

Rating: T

Characters: Unnamed New Guy, Solus Vetra, Pre Vizsla, Akaan Kast

Summary: A new guy gives a first person run down of the wildest day in his blossoming Kyr’tsad career. Solus shows off what makes her a total badass. Assume they’re operating within an American HQ.

Notes: This was inspired by the introduction scene of Natasha in Iron Man 2. You know the one. There’s a lampshade for it.

Being the New Guy always sucked. If there is someone to be blamed for something going wrong it will be you. Food and coffee runs also became your job without your approval. The really sadistic bastards made up things for you to find on wild snipe hunts to supposedly find. No one cared if you have known each other half your damned lives (looking at you, Conner, who has shared my room for ever family thing since birth) because you are Fresh Meat. If leaving out key information could result in something funny they just had to do it. Because all that matters in the end is there’s a new di’kut around HQ to be tormented until the next batch arrives.

Take for example, no one telling me that Vizsla’s personal assistant was one of those vode. Basic warnings were given (because they’re all shebs but they’re not intentionally malicious shebs) about how things ran. Careful with the loud noises if her name is highlighted red on our intra-communication network, don’t mind the black Husky in the service vest (his name is Sen and they openly argue with each other), and the sweet black and silver Cadillac CTS V in the parking lot is hers. It was to be given a wide berth and never, ever startle her when she’s getting in or out. Things can (and do) go sideways with sparks.

Getting to their sheb quality was no one ever braced me for what she looks like. See, Solus Vetra is one of those bathed-in-the-blood-of-the-Ka’ra, born-in-a-fiery-burst-reeking-of-Mandokarla, my-loyalty-is-only-to-the-true-Manda’lor names. Anyone who knows their history knows Aliit Vetra was one of those old school families; as in ancient old school. The kind that is (still) dripping money, are very proud of being Mandalorian, and who have the past to make Renaissance Borgia look tame and never got caught doing any of it. So, this petite, smoking hot, white haired, Asian chick was not who I pegged for Solus Vetra. (In fact, I found out my pick for Solus Vetra out of seeing the Higher Ups was actually Bo-Katan Kryze...a different level of Traditionalist asskicker but not the PA) Every single time I had seen Vetra she was dressed to the nines, wearing labels even I know mean Wealth, and darting around with her face buried in a tablet and wearing this tweaked Google Glass display. Basically, I would have bought her as one of the Duchess’ people before Vizsla’s...well ever. There was too much Silicon Valley Tech Start Up in her look.

Assuming makes an ass out of you and me as the saying went.

Near a month into my tenure with the company was when the Day of Reckoning all went down. In the span of three hours she went from Pepper Potts with her unruly boss and love of art to Natasha Romanoff with everything you would expect of the world’s best spy. (Seriously, I want to know if we have a Black Widow Program and if that’s where we found her. Because she is scary.) First, came The Argument with the Boss that would have made a lesser man piss himself. Few hours later, she popped up in the gym sparking The Beat Down to her vocal heckler. It cemented her as Certified Badass in my mind and shot her to the top of my “Never Ever Fuck With” List.

The Argument was held in an adjacent meeting room to the fourth floor supply closet at 10:23 AM. I was down there looking for this weirdly specific ink cartridge for our satanic printer when this feeling of doom washed over me. I swear the room dropped ten degrees while clicking suddenly picked up. It was like gearing up for a boss fight in the wrong area of a video game. You just knew shit was about to go down and it was not going to go in your favor at all. Instead of some kind of insectoid monster making the noise it was the rapid fire click of $1200 USD, real python pumps (I got curious enough to Google how much her red soled kicks cost and the answer is more than my rent) beating down on the tile floor with a Purpose.

I have to say a Smart Man would have waited for the danger to pass and ran away. This is where I say I am not a smart man. Di’kut is the right title for me because I stayed to eavesdrop...and maybe a little (a lot) of stunned silence freezing me into place. See, she cornered ‘Alor in the recently emptied meeting room with this chilled civility. I heard the door close with this crisp professionalism (how is that even possible?) before she started reaming him. 

It turned out Vetra was a Smart Person because she had a lot of languages to yell in. I lost track of the clearly individual ones after the five mark. Whatever he did (I speak English and Mando’a with some passable Spanish to her rapid fire Everything) it had to have been bad if she was suicidal enough for this. Everyone, and I mean everyone, knows Vizsla can be a giant kad when he feels like and he always feels like it. When he started yelling back I had the kneejerk reaction to go help her. Again, Vetra is Small and I am a Dumbass. Before I could move, her voice shot up a couple more decibels in the angriest (and I had Dred Priest overseeing part of my training) Mando’a to have ever been uttered. Then it was drop a pin and hear it echo for eternity silent.

Conner sent three texts while I was holding my post (and my breath) behind several stacks of xerox paper. Just to keep him from blowing my cover I shot back it was taking a while to dig around and he left me alone. It was a good thing because without their yelling-and with my luck-I would have gotten busted. Until this, I would have picked getting busted by Vetra...every time really. I knew what she looked like smiling in a good mood without someone dying. A’lor only smiled when things were going to shit for someone else. Now...now it was way harder. Since she had the gett’se to get in the Manda’lor’s face and live. But, he was not only a giant kad but one who could survive her wrath. I had no winning options except to hope for a mercy kill from a heart attack or something.

My internal strife stopped when I heard them pass by the closet door and they were...laughing? What in the hell had I missed falling down that rabbit hole? Twenty minutes ago she threatened to cut his gett’se off and parade them around with the stick he kept up his ass. Now, they were friends? What kind of fucking magic did he just pull? Could I learn it? Holy Shit. Pre Vizsla knew how to laugh? Without murder and chaos raining down around him? What kind of magic did she have?

Keeping it on the safe side I waited another ten minutes to return to my desk.

Witnessing The Beat Down was one of the best things to happen in my twenty years of living. Seriously, it came straight out of a movie it was so unbelievably awe-inspiring to see. Angels sang, the lights of the heavens shined down, and I watched the best ass kicking to have ever went down this year and possibly ever. A little digging around and the offer of enough uj cake even got me a full on video of the event. It makes the bad days better in twenty-five seconds.

Everything kicked off when I stopped by our gym when my shift ended at one. The shellshock from overhearing The Argument kept my head shoved pretty firmly up my ass. (I mean, that had to go down in some kind of history right? PA owns Manda’lor with words alone. It was going down in my history.) Conner picked up on something being off enough to leave my ink cartridgeless ass alone. I think he assumed I walked in something I shouldn’t see. Namely that nympho from Recruitment climbing some of the ground team guys...again. Why in the hell he was into men who could pass for hockey goalies, missing teeth and all, I would never know...fucking Canadian.

Somewhere between changing into workout gear and returning to the main room Vetra had shown up. Okay. I mean, I guess anyone could work out here and she was a Vetra? I had to assume she had at least basic self defense training. That had always been a huge part of the Mando Culture, especially with the Traditionalists. On second glance, I saw she was still in her outfit of the day. She even had her tablet with the intention of getting Kast to sign something. That made way more sense. Yeah, she would square off verbally with her boss but this would not be a verbal battle. Knowing how to defend herself was important; throwing the ground forces around moved away from that. It went more into the, “This is going to horribly wrong. Why are you brushing up the Basics with them?” because they could break her.

Remember, how I said I’m a dumbass and not to make assumptions? This is a good time to remember that I am one because I made the same mistake twice.

But, so was Akaan Kast.

See, Akaan Kast was a cycle ahead of me in training with a reputation for being both a bully and a show off. He thought because he was directly assigned to a company in HQ he was a Big Deal. “Kasts are always around the most powerful," he liked to brag, “Because we are the most powerful and recognize our own.” However, that did not get him an invitation into the Nite Owls or the A’lor’s personal company. Both ate him alive even if he refused to acknowledge it. (If I toasted the gods for that good fortune a few different nights no one had to know.) He also had this Thing for trying to impress Traditionalist girls. (Don’t ask me what it was because I tuned it out every time he tried to pontificate on the subject.) Plus, Priest liked the guy and that is all anyone needs to know.

Point was Kast was being up to his usual antics and Vetra was taking None of It. Everything in her body language screamed “Predator ready to maul a man’s face off” masked behind this stone cold smile. Picturing her with pinned back ears and bared fangs looked too right. All she wanted was him to sign something on her tablet but he was being Difficult. The last man who made her life Difficult was chewed up and spit out with words alone. This was going to be funny as hell to witness.

“Kast, sign,” she huffed while jabbing the tablet into his chest. “Then we both can get back to our jobs.”

“You can call me Akaan and I’ll call you Solus,” he started off in complete ignorance. Except not. He clearly knew he was riling her up. “What if we trade instead? You get a true combat lesson then I’ll sign.”

“Kast, do you damn job. Sign now. That’s an order.”

“Can you really give orders as a personal assistant? Thought you job was to fetch coffee and answer phones.”

All eyes were sneaking glances at them by this point but no one was stepping in. I was a little confused. Some of these people had to have been around when Vetra first come through. Some of them even looked amused at her being hassled. I knew Kyr’tsad had a Reputation but I thought taking care of their own was part of it. Letting Kast be a kad to their own wasn’t taking care of her.

“If I’m echoing an order of the Manda’lor I can.”

“Just a fifteen minute lesson? It's been a while since you've been out in the field. Wanna make sure you can keep that pretty little head on.” I gagged at this point. How disgusting could someone be? How could he thing this was even going to work in his favor? Was she supposed to be impressed with his only okay muscles and terrible (Ba’buir would call it Americanized) attitude? Did he really think insults would work?

“Fine.”

Anyone who has ever met another human being knows fine is past “Fuck You” on the Scale of Responses. But, Kast looked pleased with himself while Vetra pointedly left most of her belongings on a bench. Which was a lot of belonging to just be moving around the office. Tablet, Goggle Glass, ear piece, earrings, watch, bracelet, shoes, cell phone, suit jacket, and top shirt? I guess if I paid that much (I had no idea the real price but I could only imagine) for a button up I would avoid getting it dirty too. Course I’d never pay who knows how much for a shirt no matter how soft it was.

I edged closer to their makeshift ring to see what was going down. Fantastic choice on my part. See, Kast made some off-handed comment about the cutesy tattoo he could see through her undershirt. He asked what it was prompting her to offer a clear view; a colorful Barn Owl nestled on her hip. Here, Barn Owls had a special meaning because they were only for the Nite Owls. The Nite Owls, being Kryze’s personal team of unmatched Spec Ops ghosts who could probably destabilize an entire first world country over night or something ridiculous. So, Huge Deal.

I put several fragments of thoughts together all at once; Kast did not. He asked why she had that Mark of Honor. Made some vague comment about why it was important “just a personal assistant” could not just wear it around. As the cherry on top he even tried to lecture her on the rules and demanded it be removed. I could detect the jealousy in his voice. He wanted one of those tattoos and would never get one.

Have you ever seen a six foot, three inch wall of could have been Alabama linebacker get his ass handed to him by about five feet and some change of definitely could be a model? I just did. It. Was. Awesome.

Before he could finish his spiel she had him on the ground. Not with dirty shots, simple but effective basics, or even an unexpectedly lucky flail. Hell no. It was like watching absolute poetry in motion. A twist of the hand in front of her face, launching her body up and over his arm to flip him forward, with his neck trapped between her thighs and his arm pinned. That held down hand looked like it was really hurting with the way she had it twisted. Everything Solus Vetra did in that moment was built to show the fuck off. When I said Natasha Romanoff I meant it.

He tapped out and she waited a few seconds longer before releasing him to gracefully rise. “Your lesson got my suit dirty. I’ll have payroll deduct the dry cleaning costs from your next check. Providing there is one of course.” In a flash she popped back up while he remained sprawled in an undignified heap. Hands on her hips, red lips pulled into a feral smile she looked down at him, “I’m the Alii'alor of Vetra and a Nite Owl within Kyr’tsad. I earned my colors and you have earned nothing. You challenged both my honor and my authority. Good luck explaining that one to A’lor.”

I have no idea if I am in love or if I am going to be scared for my life from here on out...maybe both...definitely both. At least, Kyr’tsad is fun to work for if it is a hot mess.