#im on my fourth inventory

[kaurwreck]

the way you do research and how intensely you feel about it sounds a lot like monotropism!!!

Hi, anon. Do you want to email my psych, or should I.

[genderless-naper]

love that makes you sick

trafalgar law x gf!reader, established relationship

lowercase intended !

fluff, sfw, word count: 2.1k

an argument leaves law looking for you out in a blizzard where he might catch a cold

the white cast the snow left on the new found island made it one of the prettiest islands you’ve seen. the submarine was docked at the shore. everyone was busying themselves with tasks such as restocking inventory, buying food, cleaning up, and so on. everyone had to finish chores before they can explore the town and island, as per captains usual orders.

you were busy with your usual task of taking count of medical supplies. you were organizing the pill drawer when law walks into the room. you greeted him with a smile which he looked past on. you noticed the tattooed figured man was looking more tense than usual. this raised a concern for you, “is everything okay baby? you look more than usually stressed.”

he looks at you and holds his hand out, “i need the inventory sheet. you did the counts wrong last time.” this was the first he’s told you of this problem, “i did the counts wrong? no im sure didn’t. if they were wrong then why didn’t you say anything about it last time..?”

law takes the sheet, and response as he skims through what you’ve written down, “i didn’t notice i was out of gauze until shaichi decided it was a good idea to see how fast he can hit a knife between his fingers” law rubs his temples as he remembers the predicament.

you shook your head, “i’m certain i did them right! its not my fault the crew members decide to test their luck with playing with knives” you responded with a bit of attitude as you rolled you eyes. law tried his best to stay neutral. he picked up the job he decided you were unable to do. you wouldn’t sit around and be blatantly told you didnt know how to do something you’ve always been tasked with doing. you grab the sheet back and continue from where you left off.

you can feel his gaze piercing you as you try your best to hold your composure.

“y/n-ya i can do them myself. just give them to me.” he says in a more stern tone. you shook your head, “i refused to believe i messed up!”

“im not going to go back and forth with y-“

you interrupt law by shushing him. he looked at you in disbelief. he wasn’t expecting you to literally shush him like he was a child. in no world would law believe that he, as a captain, would be shushed at by his subordinate.

to ease the tension in the air you try talking about the new island. you asked questions to which you received no response. after your fourth question you were fed up with his lack of responses and turned back towards him.

this time he had a look of anger he tried (and failed) to hide. he passively made a remark, “maybe if you werent so hardheaded and actually listened sometimes i wouldnt have so many issues in the medical room.”

you were taken aback from his sudden statement, but refused to let him have the upper hand in the conversation, “maybe if you weren’t so prideful and actually communicated what you needed instead of expecting me to read your mind you wouldn’t be fussing so hard right now!”

law raised a brow. it wasnt unlike you to fire back remarks. he’d seen it with the crew members when you’d all have disagreements, but he’d never expected them to be aimed at him. with his irritation growing by the second he took back the sheet, “go help someone else. i need to be the one who does the jobs in the medical room so i can know theyre done correctly.”

you scoff, “done correctly?? fine then! im leaving and exploring at the island. have fun being cooped up by yourself!” you pushed past your boyfriend, and exited the room without looking back at him.

you put on your winter gear knowing it would be a little chilly out, and headed out to explore the unknown. you walked through the town and into the meadow. snow capped mountains and sheets of paper white snow with blades of grass peaking through were visible to the eye. you noticed snowflakes scatter the sky and they fell. soon after though there seemed to be an influx of snowflakes falling. the wind’s gusts were picking up as well. you admired the scenery unaware of a possible snow storm heading your way.

on the submarine law was busying himself with your tasks. he didn’t know what came over him when he spoke with you. maybe it was the built up stress, maybe it was having to police the crew mates from fighting, or maybe he was just cranky because he missed being with you. nonetheless he still pushed you away. he figured it was at least good for you to get a break. he made mental note to apologize to you once you were back.

he continued through the tasks while making minimal progress. with every mistake he made he remembered how he’d seen you do them routinely since you joined his crew. truth be told you probably did it better than him, but thats something he would never admit out loud. he decided to take a break and go out to see if the crew had finished their tasks.

some were still working on their chores, and some were no where to be seen. law knew it had been a while since you left so he asked the crew if you had come back yet. ikkaku shook her head and penguin replied, “y/n went left a few hours ago. wouldn’t speak to us. she seemed kinda mad i guess?”

at that moment shachi runs into the room, “did you guys seen the snow outside?! its like a blizzard! its so cool!”

law was taken aback, “a blizzard?? are you sure y/n is still out there? you didn’t see her come back at all?” worry slowly creeped up the captains chest. the thought of you being out in the snow storm alone tortured him. he didn’t want to think about the possibility of you getting sick or hurt.

shachi shook his head, “i couldn’t see anyone out there captain” the concern was too much for the tattooed man to handle anymore. he made sure alert the crew to be on watch for your arrival. he headed out into the snow fall with urgency. he only made one mistake: he left without any proper clothing or gear to protect him against the harsh weather. the only thought on his mind was to find you and make sure you were safe. being cold was the least of his worries.

he hastily traveled through town in search of you. he called out your name and looked everywhere. he was left standing in front a cafe with lights on and smoke escaping its chimney. a man on the inside saw law standing in the snow fall. he opened the door and called out for him, “what are you doing out in this storm?! get in here before it carries you away!”

law ignored the man and continued to look around in search of you. the man yelled out urging him to once again take cover inside the building. the tattooed man looks at the building once more just to find a glimpse of you through the window sitting at a table.

relief flooded him like a wave. he just couldn’t contain himself. he decided to shambles his way into the cafe. you jump at his sudden appearance, “oh baby you scared me! what are you doing out in the snow? uh.. why aren’t you wearing a jacket..?”

your boyfriend looked as cold as a brick of ice. he hadn’t notice the dangerous cold outside until he was hit with heat from the cafe that hugged him like a heated blanket. you urged him to sit down, and put your jacket over his shoulders. you put your gloves on him and placed your hot cocoa in front of him, “law you look like a mess..”

you ruffled snow off his hat and examined his face which was a shade of pink due to the harsh cold. especially the tips of his ears and nose. he held your hands tight in fear that you’d slip away from him again. he spoke so quiet that barely you could hear, “i’m really sorry y/n. i’m just glad you’re okay. i don’t know what i would have done with myself if you got hurt out there. i shouldn’t have made you leave like that…”

you squeezed his hands with a sigh, “i’m okay darling. you’re the one thats not okay. you’re bound catch a cold. it was so reckless of you to leave the submarine like it was 90 degrees. look, your nose is already running!”

you grabbed a napkin and quickly wiped your poor boyfriends nose. you couldn’t help but feel bad for his current state.

he pulled you onto his lap and hugged you tight. your body felt like a heater against his ice cold state. he buried his face into your neck for the added warmth. he stayed like this until the snow storm blew down.

you both made your way back to the polar tang. once inside law immediately pulls you towards your shared bedroom. the whole way back to the submarine he was a coughing sneezing mess. it wasn’t surprising to see he got a cold.

you urged your sick boyfriend into bed but he refused to without you. you huffed, “look who’s the hardheaded one that doesn’t listen now” you huffed as you referenced the original conversation that started this whole mess.

your boyfriend shook his head and held your hand, “i want you to be in bed with me at least..” he stared at the ground to avoid eye contact. his pink tipped ears poking through his black ruffled hair. it was unlike him to be so straightforward when talking to you about what he wanted. maybe the recent events gave him a change of heart.

nonetheless you guided him into bed and pulled the blanket up to cover him, “let me bring you some tea, okay baby? ill be right back” you tell him and you stroke his hair. the tattooed man looks away from embarrassment and tries to put on his cool act again, “i’m fine y/n. go help the others with chores”

you giggled at his attempt to recover his stoic facade, “my chore now is to take care of my idiot boyfriend who doesn’t think when stepping out into snow storms”

you lean down and press a soft kiss onto his lips. its the kind of kiss that leaves law yearning for more. it was the kind of kiss that could comfort the sickest person. your soft lips pressing against his repeats in his mind as you leave to bring him tea and medicine. you spend the rest of the night taking care of him and then being dragged back into bed to cuddle with him. you lost track of how many tissues you’d have to use for your sick boyfriend, but theres nothing you’d rather do than be the one to take care of him especially when he’s the one to take care for you.

not once does he loosen his arms which are wrapped around you. he refuses to let you slip away from him again. it was a mistake he would never do twice. he just avoided eye contact. you smiled at how vulnerable your boyfriend was able to be with you today. how his walls were as low as you’ve ever seen them be. you couldn’t help but feel so lucky to be loved by this man knowing no other person will experience law the way you get to experience him at that moment.

“hey baby..?” you spoke softly to him. he hums as he looks at you with a slightly tired expression. you cup his cheeks and lean in for another kiss; this time more passionate and deeper than before. law has a slight grip on your hips as he eases into your kiss. he never wants it to end. he pulls you closer, and as you try to separate from the kiss he just continues on by kissing down your jaw and to your neck. you giggle at his loving demeanor and stroke his hair. he nuzzles his head into your neck, and secures you to him to make sure you wont be able to slip away in the night. your warmth like sweet nectar to him.

[selamat-linting]

its been a while since i write abt terrafirmacraft... well its because i've been busy rebuilding the house. its a two story house with a wing dedicated for cooking and forging. the roof was burnt down twice until i replaced it with mudbricks instead of wood blocks. it also has a basement where i kept barrels of limewater, tallows, and preserved foods. limewater is useful for a lot of things, but right now im using it just for leather. tallows are candles. turns out whale hunting is a lot easier than i think. i crossed the ocean many times during my move, and some of them lingers and follow you on boat. candles are better light source than torches. you cant exactly hang it off the walls or ceiling, but it lasts longer. i'll be using candles until i finally get materials to make lamp glass.

as i get settled, i started farming. plants grow better here, and i can forage things from the forest, but they overheat fast so i need to provide crops with lots of fertilizers. i planted tomatoes, but i forgot they need a stick to prop them up. and then i find some animals, a cow, horse, and a llama i think? idk. i also got some chicken but it dies lol.

the cow was probably the worst animal i had to drag back. theyre so stupid! i brought three, but only one survives because one of them escaped the leash and ran off while the other fell in a hole and gets bit to death by crocodiles. i hate crocodiles so much, theyre demons that trap you in swamps.

winter came, and i started preparing for a trek to find graphite. i found a bunch of coppers, cooked, don my leather armor, i vaguely remember that there was an exposed bit of rock that might contain graphite in one of the lakes near my super super first base. i spent at least one and a half prospective pick just to get graphite. its tedious, long, and arduous. i think it took me two weeks to get it. i play the game in 2 hour duration twice a week so yea im a casual. its super satisfying to hit a super large stack though and coming home with a bonus of pyrite and beets. also now i know how to mine deep underwater <3

my plan here is to make glass for lamps and jars. to do that i need tools like paddle, jacks, blowpipe, and gem saw. i need brass to make jacks. and for gem saw i would need gems like pyrite and brass rod. to make brass you need a tin and copper and a way to process said tin and copper to be brass. by that i mean i need a crucible. its made out of fire clay. fire clay is made out of kaolinite clay and graphite. i just need One Thing.

but of course finding kaolinite isnt as easy as it sounds. it took me a week before i start using cheats. i already live SOMEHWERE where kao is supposed to spawn. but all i see is sylvite and saltpeters. its drudget i use locate biome to see other places like highlands and old mountains that might give me what i need, but so far i found zero. im starting to think my world just doesnt have kao. so i just give up and type give tfc:kaolin_clay.

i gave myself just enough to make a crucible. i made my brass rods and once i got it, i have to weld and work said rods on the anvil to make my blowpipe.

i blew all my coal and brass ingots to zero results. i just suck, suck so bad at working the anvil. so i took a long break. i didnt touch tfc for quite a while. i focused on making gifsets and such. but i get bored with only dabbling with photoshop so i look up tips on anvil working on tfc. there's no way around it. the mod is meant to slow you down and make you learn and explore. some suggested i practiced working on an anvil using copper. some suggested i work on other shit before coming back to the anvil.

so, i went back, and realized how much i neglected my house. my animals still doesnt have a barn. i havent fixed the burned kitchen roof. my bookshelves are empty. my leather armor have been worn down to a nub. my inventory shelves are a mess. i havent restored the decorations that got burned down on the third (or was it fourth?) house fire. i went to work slowly fixing those things. i made copper armor again, a helmet and boots. to tell you the truth, i think i did metalworking better when im just going by vibes instead of overthinking the maths.

im gonna complete the armor i wear, but for now i think i want to make a proper barn first and a warehouse. as i was working, the chest near the forge caught fire. i realized then the space im working in is too small. i need to make a storage space and a building dedicating for forging.

[luxrayz64]

okkkkk i just beat echoes of wisdom. assorted thoughts (some spoilers ahead)

gameplay:

once youre past the first or second dungeon, it gets really fun

this could be because i was immediately primed against any kind of open design by how hard totk disappointed me

in the end, I had loads of fun with this game. there are more limits on zeldas gameplay than it appears

there is no one answer to every puzzle. there are a few echoes that will solve most puzzles. but they throw a wide variety of puzzles and enemies at you, and you will have to change your strategies at times

i still really fucking hate the ui for the echoes menu. being able to pin your favourite echoes (or at the very least delist certain ones) would have been nice. I still don't know how we got this dogshit menu twice in a row

not every echo is built equal. you do not have to pick up everything they give you. do not pick up that second or third pot variety no matter how hard they try to make you

it is a completion requirement. but complete it at your own risk

completion also doesn't look fucking insane from where im sitting. the might crystals will probably get fairly tedious but this is not a game that expects you to spend 200+ hours on it. the map is nowhere near as big as botw/totks and honestly Thank God

also i dislike the smoothies for much of the same reason I dislike the cooking mechanic in botw/totk; making them is tedious, most of your rewards from chests etc are smoothie ingredients, there's 0 point in buying a red or blue potion for 50 rupees when you can chuck some milk and nectar in a blender for 10. at least cooking food was charming and gave more variety.

so so so happy that empty bottles returned. why can they only hold fairies. nintendo you are limiting yourself. obviously fairies are the correct thing to hold onto but it made for fun inventory management and was useful for sidequests. still a very good reward to get

overall 👍 i had a lot of fun! please hire a new ui designer though

dungeons:

WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK

stellar improvement on just about every fucking front here

eight (8!!!!!!!!)dungeons to complete. complete with minibosses, bosses and small keys

i have genuinely nothing but good to say about the dungeons in this game. it was playing through my second dungeon that convinced me the game was good. do you know how much i MISSED this. finally some good fucking puzzle solving

the dungeons are fairly long and big, with three exceptions, each of which I can forgive for one reason or another

the first dungeon was fairly disappointing imo. both the boss and miniboss are barely a challenge, just summon some enemies and stand in the corner and it's literally fine

every other boss though? requires that not only does zelda need to run and dodge the bosses attacks, but you'll also need to use the swordfighter form.

i wont get too into it but i loved almost all of the bosses. I found just about all of them to be challenging in figuring out which echoes would be most effective and how to use them

the puzzles are also really well designed. while there are usually a few different echoes that can provide the same solution (ie any fire producing echo can light a torch) some are better at the job than others

the first, fourth and eight dungeons must be done at set points. the second/third and fifth/sixth/seventh can be done in any order. you must complete the fourth dungeon to access the following three

doing them in different orders of course affects which echoes you'll bring in with you - something that'll be very noticeable in the latter half of the game as you unlock more elemental echoes

exploration will also net you some of the more powerful echoes, though you'll get plenty of strong ones just by doing the story. I still dont know where the lynel is but I know it exists

i only game over'd at specifically the fourth dungeons boss. mostly because i brought barely any healing items in with me. fourth dungeon also comes like immediately after your third with barely any time in between so the pacings a little off in this spot especially but it was still really engaging. it was more combat focused so it was still a nice change of pace

i really really fucking love the dungeons in this game dude we are so fucking back. if they can translate any of this to a 3d game it might restore my faith in the dev team. (nintendo side. grezzo is doing great)

ok this is a spoiler so idk dont read this one i guess but I forgive eldins dungeon for the sin of being really short and straight forward VOLVAGIA IS THE BOSS. just straight up volvagia of fire temple fame. I screamed I spent the entire fight incoherently yelling about her being my sweet baby. I love her i am so fucking happy to see her again

story:

no notes cute as all hell

i am so fucking happy about deku scrubs and river zora returning. theyre so charming in this art style!!

(minor spoilers zone)

the deku scrubs are so fucking funny. only locale besides the castle to have a jail. obsessed with the latest trends. they get mad at you for fixing the rifts because the rifts spawn spiders who spin webs and the latest trend? eating spider webs on a stick

they call you a bumpkin because you dont want to eat spider webs. youre all insane i love you so much

sad theres no deku royal family but happy to see them at all. also I think they may all be genderless at least one of them got they/themed

LORD JABU JABU IS FUCKING BACK LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO

the zora leaders are both very fun. they are extremely petty but its nice to watch them put that aside in crisis and come to a new understanding

the hebra region does return AND IT HAS YETIS AGAIN!!!!!!!! or like, at least one. condé is carrying on yeta and yetos legacy of being the sweetest fucking characters you'll ever meet

its really fascinating seeing the other side of the story. hearing second hand about link from other characters - it's such an interesting perspective into his life

it's also very sweet how much everyone in the castle town adores zelda

finally, a king of hyrule who is a good father

general wright and minister lefte did make me giggle

very important to me that zelda is both a horse girl but also has a cat!!!

(MAJOR SPOILERS ZONE)

null. helloooooo

really really interesting villain lore wise!!! ALSO FUCKING PHENOMENAL BOSS FIGHT

actually this is the spoilers zone that last dungeon, while short is really really cool. fighting ALONGSIDE LINK!!!!! is so fucking awesome even if i did wish i got to use zeldas sword fighting form again

THE RETURN OF THE TRIFORCE I CHEERED. they keep calling it the prime energy and i DONT know why. if it looks like a triforce and acts like a triforce it's a triforce

the golden goddesses are also given way more relevance here. besides a single statue in the castle im not sure that hylia is even mentioned once

my guess is this game takes place before the triforce is given that name..? maybe in memory of tri and the tris (it wouldn't be a zelda game if your companion didn't have to leave you by the end of the game)

null taking on the appearance of a giant tri is . i dont know what to think about it but its very cool

given what i know about null (very little) i dont think it feels right that theres not a single other entity in hyrule who values power more than a being which just wants Some Fucking Peace And Quiet but I'll allow it.

END OF MAJOR SPOILERS ZONE

anywayyy. yeah 9/10 it has some problems and I could probably bitch about them some more but the entire rest of the game is so fucking good i dont care. im not just a hater for being a haters sake totk genuinely sucked and this game is awesome.

maybe my only other complaint not mentioned here is very little of the music really stood out to me? I liked the dungeon music for holy mt lanayrus dungeon. not a lot of Bangers though

i love you zelda i love you. so much. really good game please play this game if you've only touched botw and/or totk this is a great way to experience Actual Zelda Gameplay in a familiar way.

[chipen]

plots please - we have mha things discussed so throwing my jjk muses at you (megumi, gojo, inumaki & mai zenin)

for megumi - i have a number of ideas for the little guy. an au in which toji lives as opposed to icing himself in shibuya is one - i do think it'd be interesting to see both their development with them in each other's lives. toji is not a nice man, nor a good man. but it's obvious that in some ways he recognizes his son and clearly has a soft spot. i also would love to sick naoya on him, but nothing particularly heartwarming would come out of that exchange of family ideals - more like if you want the nitty gritty, dark evil shit of your second uncle being... himself. i would like noritoshi and megumi to interact more due to clan head shenanigans - and then a secret fourth thing is my weird little soft spot for inumaki / megumi, okay? i think they're cute and inumaki is a nuisance.

for gojo... he deserves to bully my megumi, i think the little acts of weird domesticity from those two that is gojo being his benefactor when he's so young. for example - take megumi clothes shopping with the black amex, or helping him with his technique and clan politics. toji is also another option because. well. trauma. again, the au where he lives or even more hidden inventory arc hellaciousness. i definitely want to write toji honing in on how powerful he is against fully awakened gojo, whether it's canon compliant or otherwise. finally - naoya. as mutual clan heirs i have no doubt they've interacted and naoya wants to stick him in a blender. they're both super annoying so even just. clan heir tea time. maybe discussing megumi. how fun.

inumaki deserves to hang out with maki - some training, or god - them both recovering post shibuya or culling games. i feel like all the second years are so soft for one another, and im not above inumaki and maki convalescing and maki maybe helping inumaki strengthen his remaining arm a bit, assisting in his athleticism.

mai... :( give mai maki (maybe a few sisterly soft points post good will or shibuya - they really deserve some moments together), noritoshi (sharpshooting squad kinda fun ngl), or naoya (again, the option if you want to write excruciating misogyny induced trauma) because i know he's never been nice to her in his life.

[prestonmonterey]

This ones also great!! How the fuck did you get so talented

(mmm idk im just better like that/j)

uhh well this is mostly my creative outlet bc i cant actually like. code games. but i reaaally wanna.

and i read a ton of choose your own adventure books as a kid. like id go to the library and just get like 10 at a time and spend days trying to get as many endings as possible

(also random thing i keep thinking about: i read one that wasnt like the 'choose your own adventure' brand but it was that style of book. i think it was a spinoff of a book series and all i remember was that it was a hardcover with a dinosaur on it. i think the main character was named oliver and from what i remember he like commited space crimes so he was put in time jail where there was like a maze or something that he could only try once a day but every day they wiped his memory. and i dont know if i ever finished it but i do remember it had some cool like breaking the fourth wall moments. bc most choose your own adventure books are from first or second person bc you yourself are the character but this one was from third person and the book refered to the narrator and oliver as seperate people bc you as the narrator control his descisions. idk there mustve been some lore that i never got to but ive looked for it a few times but i dont remember enough about it to look up any info on it) :(

also i had an idea for this escape room thing (it would be pretty difficult to execute through forms tho bc it requires collecting items and having an inventory) :(

um some super cool game inspiration:

bad end theater

lily's well

stanley parable

the beginners guide

(and prolly some more i forgot about)

if you wanna make choose your own adventure google forms theyre super easy :3 id recommend looking up a tutorial on how to like branch sections based on question responses if you dont know how

uhh also theres 'pretty forms designer' i think thats what its called. its a chrome extention that lets you customize forms more. ive only played with it a bit but i think it lets you add images for the form background which is pretty cool for atmosphere

oh and um storywise i have like amalgamations of inspiration

bc the keep was kinda sorta based off another story i have

umm heres the ones for that story that i think apply to the keep?

everything is fine (webcomic)

the house in the cerulean sea (book) (not so sure about this one but i guess the keepers are slightly inspired by the extremely upper management?)

uuh shoot i feel like the like carving story thing is based on something in particular but i cant remember what...

anyway hope this helps :3

[icecreampotluck]

fic stats meme

twas tagged by @jeeyuns

rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words.

SIDE NOTE: i have not published 911 fic!!!! trust me i am also mad at me for this!!!!! i am working on it!!! so instead everyone gets a look into the history on my ao3 profile that hasn't had anything updated since 2021 and my most written for fandom. (i am not going to publish anything in 911 fandom until it's fully written to avoid the unfinished fate of a lot of these works dw) but I WANT TO PARTICIPATE!!!! so here goes!!

most hits: i've tried goodbye a hundred times (not one of them true)

Check, Please! (Webcomic), Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter

The first time it happens, it’s daisies. Seven year old William watches in fascination as the flowers appear, line by line, around his wrist and up his arm. They’re just black outlines, with little yellow dots in the middle, but they fascinate him, and he watches as they grow all the way up to his elbow. And then Mitch slams his desk.

yeah i'll be real with you besties. this will probably never be updated again. which is so sad because apparently it's my work with the most hits. but i'm a polyfrogs bitch now!!!! people change!!!!! i don't even remember where the plot was going. this is not the target audience of this apology but you're the ones who get it.

second most kudos: Amy Parson Takes No Shit

Check, Please! (Webcomic), Kent "Parse" Parson/Original Character(s)

She hates this. She hates knowing that for all the talk of acceptance and anyone being able to play, it doesn’t matter. If she told the team, she can’t imagine what they’d think. And God, management would be a nightmare. She shouldn’t have to pick between hockey and being herself but she does and she’s made her choice. Someday, she’s gonna find a way to have her cake and eat it, too.

oh my god so. okay. the tag "im tired of cis bullshit" on this work is so funny. 1) the "cis bullshit" in question was genderbends which is the most 2017 discourse imaginable. 2) when i wrote that tag I identified as cis. LMAOOOOO. i thought i was being such a good ally writing this fic. and then somewhere along the way i was like "goddamm why do i relate so much to Amy's choosing to ruthlessly be herself and why am i jealous of it." and here we are. so this work holds a special place in my heart and i will finish it if it kills me and also probably rewrite the early chapters because they are SIX YEARS OLD oh my god i was FIFTEEN. they could be better, and they will be.

third most comments: all the gun fights, and the lime lights, and the holy sick divine nights

Check, Please! (Webcomic), Derek "Nursey" Nurse/Kent "Parse" Parson

Nursey rolls over in bed the morning after Epikegster, and finds himself face to face with Kent Parson. Kent is drooling, and still asleep, so Nursery takes a moment to assess the situation. Kent has all the covers and is kind of hogging whatever bed they’re in, which appears to be in a hotel room. Nursey is naked, and a quick inventory of the floor leads him to believe that most if not all of his clothing is there. He glances down at himself, and notices a not insignificant number of mouth sized bruises littering his torso. His therapist has been teaching him about not jumping to conclusions, but he’s starting to think he hooked up with Kent Parson.

you won't get it unless you Get It but this is the funniest possible rairpair. i'd love to finish this someday and fix the haphazard characterization. the plot was good as shit i just have to hope i get inspiration back after *checks notes* five years! we'll see!

fourth most bookmarks: i've got you (and you've got me)

Check, Please! (Webcomic), Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

    He’s done it.     He’s graduated, and he’s got his degree, and he’s got an internship lined up, and he can’t wait to get on with the rest of his life.     And he’s got Jack. Oh, lordy, how could he forget Jack?     Jack who is currently waving at him from across the quad, waiting by the lake. Bitty has been saying his goodbyes to his parents, and now, he turns and heads over to him.     “Hey, you.”

yeah i don't have a lot to say about this one! it was okay! least words: would you love me less (if you knew the beds that i've been in)

Check, Please! (Webcomic), Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann

Eric Bittle, struggling baker, runner of a not so struggling premium snapchat, frequenter of the Seattle Fitness Center. Jack Zimmermann, history teacher, boyfriend of Kent Parson, frequenter of the Seattle Fitness Center. Kent Parson, part-time wedding planner, allosexual who's demisexual boyfriend has approved his porn habits but has no interest in partaking, frequenter of some blond twink's premium snapchat.

ZERO words baby!!!! that's what happens on the archive's backend when a fic is told ENTIRELY THROUGH FAKED SCREENSHOTS (and some gym membership cards)!!!!!! i wanna redo some of the things in here and also. you know. finish the entire fic. trust me it's GLORIOUS. if you click on nothing else in this post because you aren't into check please click on this and be proud of some of the edits. (not the reddit one i like. quarter assed that one rather than find a template) this is the fanwork of mine im most proud of i love it so much PLEASE ask me about it even if you haven't read check please i'll happily gush about the plot.

that is all sorry that this is literally NO wee woo content. tagging @evcndiaz @lucydonato @shitouttabuck @housewifebuck and anyone else who wants to do this!

[prowl-autism-extraordinaire]

i dont think my meds are working. and im not asking for help or like. sympathy im just venting but like. i cant stop thinking about killing myself. and today i cant stop crying. like its getting bad again and im just. not handling it well. driving is distracting because im like. im going fast enough, if i hit that big tree i bet itll be instant. nobody's on the bridge, if i swerve hard i could go over the edge. and having my knife is distracting because its a very sharp knife and i am very easy to cut.

and i cant stop thinking about how when it was bad before. the doc told my dad to lock up the guns and change the safe combo. and take away my pain meds from surgery so i couldnt take them all. and he didnt change the combination. and he put the meds on the shelf with the rest of them. and i lied to them both and said i never thought about killing myself with knives because i wasnt going to give them up. i fought too hard to have knives at all to lose them.

and im the family failure. the queer. the autistic. the one who moved back home at 21 because i couldnt fucking handle being on my own. the one who dropped out of three fucking colleges and is failing out of a fourth. im just. not doing well right now. and i am in so much goddamn pain and i cant run or climb or fucking walk. and i almost definitely have to have surgery and that costs money and i have bills to pay and i wont be able to work and. yeah. yeah. and i cant even try to raise money by selling my arpg deer and inventory because paypal wont transfer to my bank anymore. i dont know. im so tired. and i want to be done.

anyway. its fine. im being handled with kid gloves at work and at the grocery store and the coffee shop and everywhere i go people look at me like im going to break. and i feel like i might. but its fine.

[zx-yourmother-xz]

story time. this is the tragic tale of how i discovered homestar runner .,

ok so none of my friends were cool enough to tell me about it in person,, ,,.,,. but when i was very deep into my 4th or 5th tf2 phase i was watching anything and everything related to tf2 and i clikced a poker night at the inventory video because heavy weapons guy. and i knew max already and i ddnt really care about tycho but there was a fourth guy. a little red-masked guy. he pissed me off because his name was 2 adjectives and i kept making fun of it in my head and then i googled him and the fuckign hr wiki came up. and i clicked the wiki page and the little red fucker with a two-adjective name had his OWN WIKIPEDIA PAGE and he was a CHARACTER from an INTERNET SERIES and i was now very interested. and because im so fucking normal i watched every cartoon in order of release date and ... here i am today

[anandasamsara]

few updates cause its been a while

first, and less exciting one: i went to the cinema with a friend today. after what, 3 years?? probably. but i forgot its carnaval for a moment, and was reminded by seeing so many boobs. so many. girls with boobs out. in public transport. panicked for 3 seconds, remembered where i live and what time of the year it was and everything was good again.

second, we might be able to buy the 4th floor apartment! im having a crisis tho, bc my new bedroom will be less than half the size of my current one and its been very difficult to plan where tf am i gonna fit everything. as i said in the last few updates, i sleep inside a print shop now, so i need to have my bed and also all the machinery i use, and my books, and the product inventory... and beyond the new room being smaller, it is also very VERY... diagonal? crooked? one of the walls goes on diagonal to the rest of the room, with one other being 1,97m long and another being 2,60m, and both the crooked and the remaining one are 3,10m. i'll update again with images eventually, but the whole place is way smaller.

third, we are both, me and mum now, on our last leg with dad. he doesnt contribute anymore, he spent all of our money, he made debts when i specifically told him not to and im very suspicious of him having an affair. i dont recognize him anymore. he hasnt been a dad, my dad, in a long while. i have my issues with mom, but she doesnt deserve this. in fact we've been way closer and getting along way better. we're at the point of maybe waiting for the new apartment to be bought and finished and telling dad to get his shit together and leave. i dnot have the mental fortitude to deal with his shit, and i wont be taking care of a person who does not take care of himself. one of my friends called me a caregiver, as im my parents only child, but i refuse to be one. i dnot want kids, i will not parent my parents.

fourth, and the most exciting news for me: was approved on the post grad interview! i might be reaching (no one else thinks so), but im trying to be logical an at the same time not get any expectations. But. if there were 40 openings, 32 people were selected to be interviwed, and only 30 attended, me being one of them, this may, maybe, mean that im in, right?? i sure hope so, but i also worry bc its paid, and i have no idea if i can pay for it. i cant get a grant, or a scholarship, bc dad's gross salary is high enough to take me out of those lists, even tho hes receiving less than half of it. i cant apply on my own bc my address is the same as my parents. and having no job other than the few cons im attending will get me not enough money for the monthly pay. it may sound stupid in dollars, as its less than 60usd per month, but thats 280brl and i make about 180 average per convention. a few cons i make more, but i dont have a con every month, or more than one per month most times, and i also have to pay for them anyways, an the material. anyways, im happy but slightly discouraged. i already had to give up the japanese classes, idk how im gonna keep up with my studies.

thats it for now. wish i could sell things internationally, but no one would buy and the mail service would be expensive anyway

[ghostsoot]

ok so

basically i fucked around with zelda canon and combine games

in this au gojo has triforce of wisdom, geto has triforce of courage, and sukuna is basically ganon with triforce of power

we follow the regular of botw but with my own twists and jjk plot points, for example gojo being sealed happens but its the same as zelda being trapped keeping ganon at bay for a century (i have a wip of that in my docs ^-^)

kfc breakup and volume 0 happens tho i haven’t figured out exactly what is the reason (tho im leaning towards just having cursed energy be a thing and geto motives being the same)

the four divine beast champions in this au are yuki, haibara, and nanami (haven’t figured out the fourth one yet)

hidden inventory happens too :P riko is killed by toji because she was believed to have the power of the triforce so yiga clan hired him to kill her (she didnt gojo just hadnt awakened his power yet)

geto does get kenjaku’d in this au and gets a cool gloom arm from it (cause he loses his arm during volume 0) but he gets better later ^-^

so fast forwarding a bit, my own twists are megumi, nobara, and yuji also have the triforce power. how is that possible? don’t ask me im fucking with canon

megumi is wisdom, nobara is courage, and yuji is power (ya know cause sukuna vessel)

the three of them go on a mission together to save the kingdom with help from gojo (kinda like how in spirit tracks zelda was a ghost n stuff) he’s able to communicate and be connected with them through triforce power fuckery

some lore behind them is megumi is a descendant of toji (cause he is killed a century ago), nobara is a regular person, and yuji is part of yiga clan ^-^ tee hee

after a rocky start (yuji was attacking both megumi and nobara cause yiga clan) and meeting gojo they become friends and start going after the divine beasts and lastly the castle to release gojo and defeat sukuna

this is all i got so far and will probably update this later lol

thinking of my jjk legend of zelda au and eating wood i need to write for this again

[mumscarian]

runs in here super quick.

henlo astro <3 I hope you don’t mind me popping in rq dbfbh buuuuut, I’m trying to get a feel for redscape and their dynamic (def not for a certain au or anything 😳) and I’m politely asking for any head canons you have

OHHHHHHHHHHH oh my god you have come to the RIGHT place mochi!! ok ok here we go:

They both LOVE dancing. Like idk the word for it but ballroom? Waltz? The type with partners and stuff. It's fancy, its rhythmic, and impresses other people! Their favorite types are both Swing dancing, simply because that is my favorite and also the only one i know anything about lol.

Mumbo is often super shy and embarrassed when partnered with someone he's not used to dancing with, but even so he typically leads, only partially because in almost every given situation he is the tallest one. When he's not supremely anxious and overthinking every step, he gets really into it. Like, once he's in his element you can tell. He loves dancing and you can see it in every step. ^-^

Scar, on the other hand, is perfectly content to be the one getting swung around and twirled and stuff. He started learning how to dance in around s7 or maybe s8 simply because he thought it would look good for his image lol, but he also really enjoys it!! (though it mainly might be because getting spin dipped by Mumbo K. Jumbo is an Experience for the ages)

(Okay im done nerding out about swing dancing hsjhs)

Mumbo overthinks a LOT. That's not even a headcanon, he's just like that. (i mean, just watch him trying to reason out if eating potatoes was cannibalism or not!!) Luckily, scar has learned to tell when Mumbo's too deep in his own head, and always sorts it out real quick. Sometimes it's just him grabbing his hand and kissing it to let him know its there, other times he offers a random paradox or riddle for mumbo to think about rather than the Bad Thing (the equivalent of giving a dog a chew toy so it doesnt hurt its teeth on the leg of the kitchen table), or sometimes he does something very Scar-y, like falling into the boatem hole or a random pit without any rockets or building blocks in his inventory. Just something to pull Mumbo out of his own head! Mumbo has not caught on so far.

Mumbo can and will pick up Scar to take him places if Scar's in too much pain to walk himself. Scar was very surprised and very flustered the first time Mumbo did this. and the second time he did it. and the third. and the fourth. (i think you get the idea at this point)

Scar's got a thing for scary people. (cough cough Mumbo's killing spree in Last Life, Mumbo killing him in the first ep of s9, as well as Grian in, well, everything, but especially third/last life. Scar just sees a man covered in blood and goes 'hey is anyone gonna date that' and doesnt wait for an answer)

Scar LOVES the feeling of Mumbo's stubble, when he has it. He runs his fingers over Mumbo's chin all the time. (grian, on the other hand, hates it, and WILL make mumbo shave at the threat of doing it in his sleep. He and Scar have yet to reach a compromise. Mumbo is just happy Grian hasn't threatened his mustache yet)

Mumbo and Scar are BOTH scaredy-cats, but at least Mumbo acknowledges it. Scar just denies it over and over agains and then jumps ten feet in the air when someone walks up behind him and says 'hi'.

Scar canNOT tie a tie for the life of him, and he hasn't bothered to learn, not when mumbo can do it for him and Scar gets to unabashedly stare at him the entire time.

Mumbo gets SUUPER flustered with physical contact. Scar takes full advantage of this and takes every chance he gets to grab his hand and just fiddle with his fingers when mumbo is rambling about some redstone thing. He finds it super endearing to watch Mumbo try to keep talking, even though he's obviously distracted by scar playing with his hand.

Jellie likes to sit on Mumbo's lap when he's working at his desk. Scar just about dies every time he finds them both asleep, Mumbo's hand buried in her fur, like he fell asleep petting her.

Scar is the resident flirter in the relationship, but that just makes it so that the few times mumbo does flirt at him its 1000% times more potent. Scar absolutely can NOT take what he dishes out.

okeyyyyyyyyy that's all i can think of for now + its getting pretty late so uhhhhh thanks for sending the ask!!! I hope you like the hcs haha

[wherestoriescomefrom]

https://lithub.com/from-fleabag-to-persuasion-the-rise-of-the-mussy-haired-self-hating-sarcasm-machine/

bringing you excoriating persuasion reviews 🙏

you have to be my favourite person. thank god my mutuals are not running away from my english canon era, i promise it will pass soon and i will NOT be discussing tristam shandy or anything..................... i will spare all of u that pain.

also thank u for this review it made me think a lot ngl. lithub always does really nice contextualisations of any text, but yeah, this one was particularly interesting because i don't see why self awareness and fourth wall breaking has to happen from fleabag-esque characters also. i don't actually fault the method of fourth wall breaking, you know... i know it would work better with something like Northanger Abbey. many have argued this, and i totally agree, but i have so many reservations at hollywood being able to pull it off. because catherine moreland is once again not a fleabag-esque heroine, and if she was looking at the camera, she'd be excited that she found a stash of secret letters that turn out to be linen inventory, if you know what i mean?? i think it could work, if she looked at the camera in happiness and thrill, and then found that no, she isn't in a gothic story. but that would require hollywood to know that self-awareness does not go hand in hand with messy heroines, that girls who are aware of tropes and cameras and everything else can also be happy people, angry people, sad people, and most of all, sweet people.

anne was supposed to be a kind person, someone who was very perceptive. can't an introvert with a generous heart look at the camera every once in a while? does self awareness always come with bitterness?? arguably, anne elliot's character was the most painfully self aware of all of austen's heroines, she was so able to pierce through her own faults and still recognise what made her a worthwhile person. she was so kind despite her circumstances, and her only mistake was in not learning soon enough how to prioritise herself.

i think most of all,,,, rom coms have become too aware that women like rom coms, and if a woman likes something, the thing itself will go out of its way to assure you that We're Cool Actually. even the trailer for that movie - Honor Society, i thought it was fun and cool, and i liked the ruthless main heroine even though i am yet to watch the movie - but it's just,,,, so conscious, it doesn't even try to be sincere. everyone's winking at the camera, aware that it exists, promising you that we're better than the camera. that the camera is in on the secret, that we need not be sincere. no one is looking at the camera and being truthful - being earnest, being conscious. i don't think anne would look at the camera in judgement. she would look at the camera in compassion. thats who she is - despite her loneliness and isolation, that's who she would try to be. i still don't think persuasion is the best story for this technique, but if you wanted to try doing it, you could. and this movie just didn't.

anyway im sorry for this i just had a lot of feelings and i had to put them somewhere. thank u for giving me this opportunity <3

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish​ pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John! 

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic). 

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​ @rhapsodyrecs​ ​​​ @joemazzmatazz​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​ @namelesslosers​​ @inthegardensofourminds​​ @sleepretreat​​ @hardyshoe​​​ @sevenseasofcats​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @madeinheavxn​​ @whatgoeson-itslate​​​ @herewegoagainniall​​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​​ @pomjompish​​ @allauraleigh​​  @bluutac​​ @johndeaconshands​​ 

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.  

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.  

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.  

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.  

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.  

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”  

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.  

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

[mx-yip-yip-hooary]

HI OK LIFE HAS STOPPED EATING MY BONES

chapter 11

Yoojin and Yoohyun's sibling relationship >>> i love them so much

Yoohyun: "what do you have there"

Yoojin, holding yet another child: "a smoothie"

“And he's here because he was lonely and wanted to see you. Isn't it right?” dokja slicing into people's trauma/insecurities like butter

"And this kid's aura, it doesn't quite feel like nothing after all. More like a void." FOURTH WALL COMING IN CLUTCH

chapter 12

"In this family everyone carries at least one knife." im going to scream kdj you pathetic miserable wet meowmeow of a man and your incredibly traumatizing backstory

i absolutely love the slight changes in wording for each pov. like how yerim says "dad" and adosuhgjkbskdfjkgdthe little details,,

yerim really woke up and chose violence

"Yerim still has no idea if dad handled it on his own or maybe Donghoon showed himself or maybe Dokja told the woman some secret of the universe or something." extremely Dokja-core of him to just casually spill the truth of the universe to protect his loved ones

WAIT HE GOT WHAT

HE GOT

HUH

man about to be saved with the power of FOUND FAMILY

"Oh, right. So it works even with someone… dying. Right there." ive been trying to decipher this for the past minute. what are you hiding you sneaky character.

“My first kill was a human.' He mutters to other teen, trying to again process what happened moments before.

'…' Dokja takes a deep breath and after a long moment he mutters, so quiet even with all the stats Donghoon barely catches the sound, 'Mine too.”

chapter 13

"When the body of the kreke fell to the floor Yoojin fully expected to feel the flow of memories and power that comes with his most hated skill. It didn't happen."

DOES HE KILL PEOPLE AND CONSUME THEIR POWER. IS THIS WHATS HAPPENING.

"Yerim somehow seems to be talking faster the longer she speaks and she is pressing herself into him in a hug that might end up dislocating some joints. Maybe cracking a rib. That probably was one of his ribs." they mean the world to me.

HE USED THE -IE HONORIFIC !! also im not korean and most of my info comes from surface level googling, however, from what i know this shows affection :] they found family your honor ,,

" (you know the internet pacing between few sites in frustrating circles? that) " felt author. i literally have a stool in my room so i can walk up and down on it to let out energy

THEY GOT A PET!

chapter 14

"Dokja pulled heavy guns on facts and logic" very dokja like hit reblg

"Dokja makes a surprised face. Serves him well." i am a simp for sarcastic/humorous prose

WAIT ITS JUST SINKING IN THEY'RE USING GLITTER SHIT NO YERIM PUT THOSE AWAY EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM IS GOING TO BE FINDING GLITTER FOR YEARS

i love sally so much. my ugly lizard lad. i am making flower crowns for them

"Glitter was really a perfect choice." you will think back on those words with malice dokja/yerim (im not sure whos narrating). i swear to you. when you find sparkles of glitter in your hair 5 years later i will be sure to say "i told you so" /lh (my hate of glitter is largely exaggerated.)

uhoh i have a bad feeling about this dungeon buying. dokja this might go wrong you are CHILDREN

"Like they couldn’t just stop. But there is one thing that will get them to work together. A common goal. And he just knows how to give them one. It could implode but it feels like a ticking bomb anyway.

Dokja pulls earrings out of inventory and he can basically feel the weight of a trio S-rankers staring at him as they recognize the item. The argument stops dead in its tracks." dokja you goofer. you funker. youre so fucked. this section made me chuckle audibly

dad the kids are scheminggg dad this is probably gonna end in disasterrr daddd

The S Ranks I Raised x ORV crossover. (Dokja as awakened 16 yo, with YJH as *summon*)

Yay or nay?

i'll be honest i have never read S Ranks I Raised (tbh my orv fixation kinda came out of no where-- i usually don't read webnovels heh) but i would say go for it ! :] ill still read it and just. reverse engineer anything about S Ranks I Raised. its going to lead to some wildly insane ideas about the novel but thats part of the fun

[hematomes]

alright childe has redeemed himself in my eyes, man gave me a 5 star artifact that is so good i should not have this thing in my inventory rn hoo baby (it's like, my fourth 5 star ever im living rn)

-speedrun anon

WOWIE so cool childe is not entirely useless after all, shocker (/j, love that lil man)

you better get a full set of 5* artifacts with godly stats now!!!!