#my curly hair era has begun

[ddaengju]

i no longer want to straighten my hair. my curls have been validated by people who are important to me and honestly i’m tired of trying to pretend i don’t have messy, frizzy, curly hair. i’m tired of trying to fit into a category that isn’t natural to me. i’m just going to leave it natural and not let anyone make me feel inferior anymore.

[sailforvalinor]

*rubs hands together* alright, here goes nothing, then:

Before I get into this, a few disclaimers/important items: my knowledge of DW canon, especially Classic Who, is very sparse at best, and I've only watched through some of the Eleventh Doctor, so I will be playing very fast and loose with DW canon here--but as roughly 70 percent of this story won't really have anything to do with those storylines, so it hopefully shouldn't be TOO egregious. But as such, this will be taking place roughly over the span of Nine, Ten, and probably some of Eleven's run, and my oc's will run into the Doctor and his companions on occasion.

Anyway, with that out of the way, on to the fun stuff:

(And, um, fair warning, I wrote WAY MORE than I was anticipating)

Joker, the first of my oc's, is a female Time Lord who has been traveling the universe for an indeterminate amount of centuries for reasons that are her own. Unlike the Doctor, she usually tends to go by "Joker" instead of "The Joker" (I'll admit, I'm mostly doing this to avoid Batman associations, which isn't at all what I'm going for here, lol). When I initially conceptualized her character, I was still watching Nine's run, and I kind of subconsciously made her as a sort of antithesis to Nine...and thus rather reminiscent of Eleven. She's very cheerful, free-spirited, and affectionate, and on occasion can seem a bit spacey. (Hehe. Spacey.) She's almost rather ethereal and fairy-like, which serves to disguise that she's as sharp as a tack. One thing she does have in common with the Doctor though is her great appreciation, almost bordering on reverence for the beauty of the universe, and a strange magnetism towards the human race.

However, though she's not exactly forthcoming with these details at first, two things eventually become apparent: firstly, Joker is an amnesiac. Other than being a Time Lord (and having most of the subsequent intelligence and knowledge that comes with that), she has no idea who she is, where she comes from, or how she came to be here. She has no knowledge of the Time War, or even why she calls herself "Joker." Her first memory is of being a child in her TARDIS, floating in the nebulous vacuum of space-time.

Secondly, she cannot regenerate properly. Every time she has "died," she's begun the regeneration process, but it is excruciatingly painful to an abnormal degree, and when she comes out the other side, she's still the same person--she has never changed.

Now, you may be asking--all the Time Lords are dead, how on earth is she a Time Lord? Where did she get a TARDIS? Why does she have so many similarities to the Doctor? These are all questions that Nine will be asking very loudly when they first meet, and if I ever actually sit down and write this, will eventually be answered. I do at least know the answers though, lol.

A few other fun miscellaneous things, instead of having an iconic outfit or two that she always wears, Joker likes to switch up her wardrobe--a lot. She's a bit of a fashionista. If this were actually a show I were showrunning, I wouldn't ever let her repeat an outfit. She's always very particular that she dresses to match whatever era or culture she's visiting, but in general errs on the side of fancy, tends to favor dresses, wears a light color palette, especially a lot of white, favors lace, and often carries a short walking stick.

As I mentioned earlier, she does have a TARDIS, and though I'm not entirely sold on this I'm thinking it often takes the shape of a tree, and the inside feels a little Mirkwood-esque, though a bit brighter and airier with some occasional alien technology mixed in, of course. I also haven't decided if I want to give her a sonic-anything. I genuinely have no ideas, I'm open to suggestions. She also has a very lovely singing voice and plays classical guitar.

Also, in terms of appearance, though this isn't entirely set in stone, I imagine her to have pale-blond, curly hair that falls to her waist when it's down, pale blue eyes, and a rather round face. She's on the shorter side, but probably often favors heels.

And then I have her companion, Theodore Ace. She calls him "Ace" (because how could she pass up a good theme when its handed to her on a silver platter), he usually refers to himself as "Theodore," the Doctor calls him "Theo," and Rose calls him "Teddy" (as do I half the time, lol). Also, I am fully aware that there is a Classic Who companion named Ace, but I didn’t know this when I conceptualized his character and I’m way too attached to the theme to give it up now. I’ll somehow make it make sense, lol.

It occurred to me that it's kind of the NuWho rule of law that the Doctor's companion has to be from the current present day--which is understandable, it is an escapist fantasy after all--but I thought it would be fun to change up the status quo. So, Theodore is the third son of an English lord from either near the end of the Georgian Era or the beginning of the Victorian Era--I haven't quite nailed down the year yet, but somewhere in that area. He has two older brothers, three older sisters, and a younger half brother and sister from his father's second wife. (This number could change, but regardless, he has a lot of siblings.) Ace lived a very privileged life, and was a very happy and idealistic boy who idolized his older brothers and was adored by his older sisters. He had a particular love for Arthurian legend, Edmund Spenser, and other tales of knights and chivalric deeds—he was the sort of boy who would be obsessed with superheroes if he lived in the 21st century.

However, Ace was clever. Too clever. And when he was thirteen years old, he discovered something that sent his world crashing around his ears—namely, that his father was the head of one of the biggest crime syndicates in Britain.

I can’t decide whether I want this to mean that his father somehow conned himself into the English aristocracy (honestly probably the best option, a lot more fun) or cheated a cousin out of an inheritance or something, but regardless, he has cheated, lied, stolen, extorted, blackmailed, and even murdered to both obtain and maintain his status and finances. What’s worse, all of Ace’s older siblings are in on it, his brothers even being high-ranking members of the syndicate itself.

Far from being displeased at being found out, his father is very impressed with Ace’s intelligence—neither of his brothers figured it out on their own, especially not so young—and though Ace is still very young, his father offers to make him his protégée and train him up to replace him one day—if he can prove himself more capable than his brothers.

Ace, however, is absolutely horrified—to a boy that values honor and chivalry so highly, the discovery that everyone has been lying to him, that so many of his jolly “aunts and uncles” were just his father’s “business associates,” and his family and their good name is nothing but a sham was earth-shattering. To his father’s shock, he refused outright to have anything to do with the syndicate—and thus his life became a living nightmare.

Ace was immediately taken out of school and began to be tutored at home, so he could be under constant watch for fear that he might betray the family secret. From this point on in his life he was nearly completely isolated, aside from his sisters, who scorned him, and his brothers, who began to bully him relentlessly, both because of his convictions and their jealousy, for their father was still clearly determined to have him as his successor. Ace would have none of it, however.

When he finished his schooling at eighteen, Ace wanted to get a commission and go into the navy, but his father wouldn’t hear of it, for of course he would then be completely out of his reach and he’d have no way to keep an eye on him. Thus Ace was sent to university, ostensibly to be a clergyman, but in actuality was sent in hopes he would get a sense for what the “real world” was like and help bring him to his senses. This of course doesn’t work, though, having grown more bitter and pessimistic, he was now resisting less out of a desire to hold to his convictions and more to spite his father. He was of course being watched at all times, and Ace knew it, and he kept quiet. His father was under the impression that he did not betray him out of fear of what the syndicate would do to him if he did—however, it was actually because Ace knew that if he exposed his father, it would be the ruin of his innocent stepmother and half-siblings, and at present he had no means of taking care of them if they were left destitute.

When he comes home from university, to his father’s chagrin, Ace is quite possibly more stubborn than when he left, and will have nothing to do with his father’s business. He intends to take orders as soon as possible, and this is when his father catches on to what he’s planning to do—i.e., as soon as he has obtained a living and has some means of providing for his stepmother and half siblings, he plans to expose his family. Finally realizing that he’s a lost cause, his father comes to the conclusion that he will have to come up with a way to keep him quiet more…permanently.

One night a few weeks after he’s come home, at a ball he was forced to attend with his sisters, Ace spots a mysterious, rather lovely young woman milling about the crowd. His sisters immediately begin whispering—she’s here without an escort, bold as brass, who even is she, who invited her—and just to spite his sisters, he introduces himself to her and asks her to dance.

Later that night, after they’ve come home and his sisters had gone to bed, he’s startled to discover that same woman breaking into his house. More shocked than angry, especially as she doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by being caught, he of course asks her what on earth she’s doing.

“Among other things,” she says, plucking the wineglass a servant had just brought to him out of his hand and pouring its contents with great ceremony out of the window she’d just climbed through, “preventing a tragic filicide.”

Thus, after a series of convoluted events, Ace realizes that he has to run away for fear of his father attempting to murder him again and succeeding, and Joker offers that he travel with her—and thus, Joker and Ace’s adventures begin.

With his backstory out of the way, in terms of personality, Ace is a cynic, in danger of sliding further and further into nihilism. He believes that every good thing must have some dark underbelly, that everything has a catch—it takes a long time for Joker to make him believe that she didn’t have some ulterior motive for bringing him with her. Despite all of this, Ace is still a gentleman, it’s been too well-trained into him. Deep down, he still has his strong convictions and morals, and he can’t seem to help acting on them, though “logically” he can’t understand why. His arc of course is about how there is good in the world and that honor and chivalry are worth upholding and fighting for, so he does lighten up a bit over the course of the story, but it takes awhile. Also there will of course be an arc where he returns to take care of “family business.” (Mwhahhahha.)

Because I am just this corny, if this were an actual show I would have episodes of character significance for him called “Ace of Diamonds,” “Ace of Spades, “Ace of Clubs,” and yes, of course, “Ace of Hearts,” but as it’s not, they may end up as chapter titles.

I’m also thinking that a running gag will be that though he tries to hide how interested he is in it at first, he absolutely loves learning about pop culture. He spends hours researching and watching things in the TARDIS’s library, and in turn Joker loves introducing him to things. I’m thinking at some point she gifts him a spaced-out Walkman that can access all of any planet or culture’s music if it is present on that planet (this is MAYBE a little GOTG inspired, sue me). He discovers late 90’s/early 00’s punk rock and it does something to his brain chemistry (he’s a Yellowcard stan), probably gets into fantasy novels, and probably cried while watching LOTR. It would also be hilarious if at some point Joker blows up on someone for casually mentioning that Darth Vader is Luke’s father in his hearing.

Unlike Joker, Ace tends to wear black, usually some variation on a suit—to paraphrase AOS, every century has a boring square. He’s also a talented fencer and is usually carrying a rapier, and possibly eventually some form of handgun (which of course the Doctor is not a fan of). Also, in terms of appearance he’s fairly average height (shorter than his brothers), short dark hair, brown eyes, and, despite his otherwise very classy, aristocratic air, dimples. Given that he was about to take orders, he’s probably nearly 24 years old.

Joker and Ace are technically a grumpy x sunshine dynamic, though I don’t think I did that intentionally. It is a little bit more complex than that, but I don’t want to spoil too much in case I ever actually write this, but suffice it so say that it is in some ways similar to the NuWho Doctor-and-companion relationship, but in other ways pretty different.

Though it will involve both, I sort of imagine Joker and Ace to lean more towards the historical/time travel side of the DW universe than the alien/space travel side that NuWho often favors. It would be very fun to write them into some of the NuWho episodes—The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances, Rise of the Cybermen/Age of Steel, The Lazarus Experiment, and the Metacrisis are a few that come to mind—as well as vice-versa, especially during Series 2. Rose and Ace would have SUCH a fun dynamic, they are nearly complete opposites and probably wouldn’t get along well at first, but eventually settle into a brother-and-sister/partners-in-crime dynamic (i.e., Ace keeps Rose from nearly getting herself killed all the time).

Also, on a completely unrelated note, there is a lot of dancing in this story. I don’t know why, but I picture them dancing together a lot. They are both very good, Joker loves it and Ace can’t even bring himself to pretend to hate it. The Doctor is convinced that they’re on some dance-tour of the universe, because half the time he happens to run into them they’re investigating what the social dancing scene is like in the culture they’re visiting. (They have to learn the lindy hop at some point, this is a requirement.)

The weird thing about this story is I only have the major plot points vaguely planned out, but I could write the ending write now. Take that as you will.

Out of curiosity, would anyone be interested in reading some of my concepts and ideas about my Doctor Who oc’s if I were to post them? I don’t really have time to write anything for them right now, but I might at a later date, and they are taking up SO much brain space.

[hauntedwitch04]

💑 -> send me in details about your personality, features, hobbies...and I’ll tell you with which character I ship you (please specify the fandom/s you like)

I am really introverted and extremely sarcastic, I love rainy days in the woods, I like reading and drawing, I have dark curly hair and hazel eyes

Fandom= Harry Potter marauders era and Golden trio era

🐈‍⬛🖤

Celebration -  My masterlist I Ask I Join the Taglist I Promts

Author's note: Hi 🐈‍⬛🖤anon! Hope you like it!

I ship you with JAMES POTTER!

You can't change my mind that you would be THE couple at Hogwarts.

You are the opposite of each other but together you work perfectly.

He's a very outgoing person who tends to talk to anyone and anything, while you're more introverted and tend to not give confidence right away.

He loves sunny days when you can go out and play Quidditch, you love rainy days when you can take shelter under an umbrella in the thick of the woods.

You love drawing and reading, while he likes sports and hates reading.

But together you complement each other.

You love to make portraits of him, and often give him some drawings that he jealously guards, and for this he is teased by others.

He has read your favorite books for you, so he can talk about them with you and share how you feel about these books.

He has also begun to appreciate the rain, as you have begun to appreciate sports and sunny days.

All because of love.

Hope you like it 🐈‍⬛🖤anon!

[yurissweettooth]

Yay For 10 Years!🎉🎉

*Psst, click the image for higher quality!*

I have zero shame in saying that this show (and all related media) has changed my whole life in so many ways! I’m also not shy about the fact that my heart belongs to Yuri (I think he's so cool!) so of course he was the obvious choice for who do draw and write a short, light hearted fic about (which you can read below the cut!)💚💙

I hope everyone has had a lot of fun on this day!

“Let’s see here… Kotetsu Kaburagi damage report… Kotetsu Kaburagi damage report… Kotetsu Kaburagi... damage report…” Yuri exhaled, massaging the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he leafed through a mountain of crinkled, coffee stained documents. It was of little to no surprise that the pile of paperwork that had been left on his desk while he was away on his lunch break could mostly be attributed to the more reckless half of Sternbild’s prized crime fighting duo. With  a sigh Yuri lifted the receiver of his phone, intending to politely  remind Tiger once again not to use his paperwork as a coaster. However,  before he could dial the number it had begun to ring.

“Justice department, Yuri Petrov speaking.” he answered, suppressing his annoyance and replacing it with his usual polite tone.

“Good afternoon Mr. Petrov, it’s Agnes. As you might be aware, today is the ten year anniversary of the Justice Tower’s remodeling.” She explained.

“Remodeling?”

“Yes. Ten years ago today all of the walls were repainted and appliances replaced to give it a more modern look to reflect a new era of Heroes.” She stated, as if that really explained anything at all.

“That is quite lovely to hear Ms. Joubert. The paint is, uh, a very nice color.” he stated politely, not even sparing a glance at the boring grey walls that surrounded him.

“Look, you don’t have to flatter me, I couldn’t care less about the paint color either. The sponsors are complaining that the returns on their investments are decreasing so we need to drum up some interest and we need to do it fast. Anything can be a reason to celebrate if you look at it right way, right? I mean, do you have any better ideas?”

“Ms. Joubert, I’m merely a judge… I apologize, but I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“Yes, precisely! You’re a judge, bringer of justice, upholder of the law!” she passionately proclaimed “Apollon media stands for justice, as such it’s only natural that we feature a man of true justice like yourself..”

Yuri elicits a sound of smug approval and leans back in his chair “Well, I suppose when you word it in that way I may be able to see your point.”

“Fantastic! So, of course our main heroes are our star attraction, our second league heroes are a nice side dish, but you’re probably somewhere right below that when it comes to your importance in delivering justice. ”

“Oh… is that so?” Yuri asked as his briefly amused tone fell flat at her backhanded remark. Was she trying to insult him?

“Precisely.” she said as though she believed she had just bestowed upon him the complement of the century. “I was thinking, in a way you’re kind of like a minor hero yourself so maybe we could spin it as something like a ‘Meet Sternbild’s Hidden Heroes!’ segment. Of course we’ll save all the big questions for our real heroes but maybe at some point we could get your perspective on what you think of the decor of the tower and what it’s like to be a judge.”

As he began to feel the backs of his eyes grow warm he made the quick decision to end the call there before he lost his composure. “Agnes, you always have incredible ideas and I wish you all the best with pursuing that. Thank you for the information, I'll think it over. I’ll be returning to my paperwork now but please don’t hesitate to contact me again when you are in need of further assistance.”

“Oh, you're doing paperwork? In that case, this is actually a great opportunity. Stay put and act natural, I’ll be there in just a minute with the supplies and the film crew.” Agnes made a point of hanging up quickly before he even got the chance to protest.

Just as she’d promised, Agnes and her posse were barging into his office and shoving cameras in his face before he’d even been able to sign off on the first document. She wasted no time in bounding right up to his desk, turning towards the camera.

“Would you look at that, Sternbild’s very own Judge Yuri Petrov, hard at work as usual!” She gracefully spun around and held the microphone out to him “So tell us Yuri, what are you working on currently?”

He pursed his lips, just barely masking his disapproval. He had never been one for interviews, especially not while presenting simply as Judge Petrov, so he figured it best just to blurt out a few simple answers and get it over with quickly. “Well you see, Wild Tiger has again destroyed more property in one week than a group of delinquents could in their entire lifetime." He motioned to the papers in front of him "As you can see, I have a lot of damage reports that I need to-.”

It was rather frightening how suddenly Agnes was able to snap out of her charming, professional mode. “Hey! Take your job seriously!” she shouted, slamming her hands against his desk. “You’re supposed to say ‘Heh heh, I’m sure you would love to know but that’s confidential.’ and wink at the camera or something like that.”

“You’re right, my apologies." Yuri said. He tucked a lock of his hair behind his ears, shuffled his papers, and started again. Sorry, I can’t tell you what I’m working on as doing so would violate the code outlined in article 371 B of the Sternbild judic-”

“Ugh, forget it, moving on. Ahem, soooo Mr. Petrov, why don’t you tell us a little bit about what led you to become a judge and why serving justice is so important to you.”

“Ah, well that one is simple.” he said, putting on the vaguest semblance of a friendly smile “I believe that justice is important.”

Agnes nodded her head, the microphone still pointed at him for a moment longer. That is, until the moment passed without him saying anything else. “I-is that all?”

“I’m not sure what else can really be said on the topic.” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Jeez, who hired this guy…” she muttered. “Well, can you at least tell me what you think of the new penholders?”

“Aren’t these from ten years ago?”

“Well they’re newer to you because you only started working here just within the past two years.”

“Mm, I see… but couldn’t the same have been said for the pen holders that were here before the renovation if they were still here now? Does being new to me really make them new?”

Agnes lowered the microphone and gave him a look that would make even Lunatic tremble in fear. “Alright, I had hoped we could avoid it but you’ve left me no choice but to resort to plan B.”

The words “plan B” didn’t leave the most pleasant feeling in Yuri’s gut and, for a moment, he almost considered interjecting and asking to restart the interview. However, Agnes already had her mind made up and was knocking his paperwork and carefully arranged pens aside to make room for a large box displaying the company logo. She rifled through the contents, producing a large cupcake bearing red and green candles in the shape of the number ten among other various party related items.

“Bring it in.” Agnes motioned her crew closer to get a better shot as she rounded the corner of his desk and placed a large, blue and green party hat on his head, pressing it down to try and make it sit smoothly atop his curly hair. “You like these colors, right?” she asked, as if the colors were what might be wrong with this.

“Well, yes but…” he started, but she silenced him with a simple wave of her hand.

“Alright, great. Here, put this in your mouth.” she said, shoving a party blowout, rather reminiscent of Sky High's suit, towards his lips “Try not to get any lipstick on it, we need to reuse this for next year.”

“May I ask why you are making me do this?” Yuri asked, his resolve wavering.

“I’ve decided we’re doing a magazine interview instead. I’ll write out all of your answers for you, we just need a few photos of you to accompany them. Now, pretend like you’re having fun!” she reached back into the box, grabbed a handful of confetti, and sprinkled the colored paper over his head. “Cain, go go go!” she instructed, hoping not to have to waste all of their confetti on just one shoot.

Yuri complied, albeit begrudgingly, but only because it seemed to be the only way to put an end to this save for burning the place down. He gave her the smile she requested, posed with the cake, and shuffled his papers around a few more times to make it look like he had been working.

“Alright, that’s a wrap.” Agnes said at last “This should be enough to work with." She said as she began to pick what confetti she could from Yuri’s hair and place it back into the box.

“Ms. Joubert, I must ask, will something like this really be helpful to our image?” Yuri sighs.

Agnes closes up the box and sets it on the floor beside his desk.“Well, it will be interesting, that’s for sure.” she answered vaguely, “Thanks for your time, I think I can use what I got. I saw you eyeing it so you can keep the cake as compensation, just have the other stuff back to me by this evening.” She had already turned to leave before another thought popped into her head “Oh, and Yuri?”

Yuri, rather reluctantly, looked up with a questioning look. He prayed it wasn't another weird question or dumb photo idea.

“Maybe try to be a bit more cheerful sometimes, with an attitude like that people are going to start thinking you hate heroes or something. Plus, you actually look sort of pleasant when you’re smiling and having fun, even if you're just faking.” she shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll have a copy of the issue on your desk when it comes out.” she said, waving her crew after her and closing the door behind them.

Yuri, now alone in his trashed office, exhaled a sigh of relief at her departure. “I suppose the public wouldn’t be too pleased if they thought their judge hated heroes.” he remarks to himself as his glowing fingertips make contact with the candle wicks and set them alight. Once his hand had cooled he brushed it across the surface of his desk and collected the remaining confetti, repeating Agnes’s words from their phone call earlier about how anything can be a reason to celebrate. He took the stack of papers and shoved it into the bottom drawer of his desk. In a swift movement he sat back and tossed the confetti into the air above his head in celebration of ,what he just decided, was going to be a well deserved and much needed day off. As the scraps of paper rained down on him he recalled  her other words and smiled to himself.

[itsadamcole]

you should be sad

fem!reader x adam cole

Reader and Adam go out for karaoke night, and she decides to sing a song about her relationship with Adam and his actions ...

word count: 2.2k+

warnings: mentions of cheating and an abusive relationship, angst

— this is based on the halsey song “you should be sad”. it’s one of my favorite songs right now honestly —

masterlist

~ potentially triggering content below - read at your own risk ~

***

You put on your sexiest dress. A tight, dark red satin number that hugs every curve of your small figure. The low cut neck reveals a decent amount of your cleavage and the dress pushes up the dress for you, so you’re not wearing a bra. The thin straps on your shoulders are sliver and they are sparkly. You wear a pair of black lace panties under the dress. Your Y/H/C hair is up in a curly ponytail.

Your boyfriend wears a black button up with dark blue jeans and dress shoes. His long brown hair is tied back in a bun.

You and Adam were invited to go out for karaoke with a few of the NXT wrestlers. Resident NXT power couple Johnny Gargano and Candice LeRae were the ones who invited you and Adam.

Things weren’t what everyone believed they were when it comes to you and Adam Cole.

When out in public, everyone thinks you and Adam are the cutest couple. You laugh and smile when out with him. He holds your hand and sneaks kisses to your lips, cheek, and neck.

Behind the scenes, things aren’t what they seem. Adam has cheated on you with several other women. When he cheats, he blames it on you. He plays the victim. He tells you that if you satisfied him more than he wouldn’t cheat. Adam thinks you only know about three of the times he’s cheated but you know he’s cheated at least half a dozen times.

He’s never hit you though. He’s never been physically abusive toward you. Only emotionally and mentally.

You haven’t had it in your heart to leave him. You love Adam with your entire heart. You know he loves you too, even if sometimes he says he doesn’t.

Tonight, you are planning something though. You’re going to make it known how you’ve been feeling. To Adam, to your friends. You have a song in mind you’re going to be singing when Candice begs you to sing a song.

You and Adam arrive at the karaoke club. You wander around the club, looking for someone that you or Adam know. You spot Johnny, Candice, Mia Yim, and Keith Lee in a corner. You believe that the rest of the Undisputed Era are coming with their wives and girlfriends.

Good. Maybe they’ll start to keep their friend in check.

Candice says, “Y/N. You have to sing a song tonight. Your voice is beautiful and I could listen to it for hours. I have listened to it for hours.”

You laugh. While your boyfriend is NXT’s longest reigning champion, you’re a 4-time Grammy award winning artist. You’ve been friends with Johnny and Candice for years. They’re the reason you even met Adam.

***

“Y/N!” Candice says. “You came!”

You laugh and hug your best friend as you say, “I couldn’t miss my best friend’s birthday party! Happy 25th birthday, Candice.”

Your best friend giggles and says, “Thank you. Oh, by the way, remember that guy I was telling you about? He’s here, and he’s recently broken up with his girlfriend.”

You roll your eyes and say, “You’re not still on this. Plus, my career is finally taking off.”

“I know, I know,” Candice says, hooking your arm with hers. “At least meet him, Y/N. Please.”

You stare at Candice and say, “Ugh, fine. Only because it’s your birthday.”

Candice drags you over to the bar. She taps the shoulder of a man that’s standing at the bar. She clears her throat and says, “Cole. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

The man that Candice referred to as Cole turns around. You immediately meet his pretty blue irises. He’s almost clean shaven. His burgundy shirt match his maroon pants. The jacket he wears matches his pants.

Candice says, “Y/N, this is Adam Cole. Adam, this is Y/N L/N. The girl I was telling you about.”

“The future Grammy award winner?” Adam asks. “That Y/N L/N?”

You feel your cheeks heat up as the attractive man in front of you speaks.

Candice nods and says, “She’s agreed to perform tonight too.”

Your head snaps in Candice’s direction. You never agreed to that. You’re about to say something when Adam Cole says, “Well, I look forward to it. I think Kyle just got here so I have to go but Y/N. Come find me when you’re done so I can buy you a drink.” He sends you a wink and you watch as he walks away.

You find yourself staring at Adam as he walks off.

Candice elbows your side and says, “I can see the wheels turning. You’re actually thinking about it.”

“We’ll see what happens after my impromptu performance,” you say. “Thanks for that, by the way. No heads up?”

Candice says, “There’s a microphone right there. It’s a karaoke machine. Sing some covers or some of your original songs. You’ll be fine, Y/N. Break a leg.”

She walks off and you call, “I might break yours just for fun.”

Candice laughs and you sigh, getting set up for your little performance.

You sing a good four or five songs, ending on “Happy Birthday” for Candice.

The attractive man from earlier finds you after you’re done singing.

Adam says, “I can see why Candice called you a future Grammy award winner. Your voice is amazing.”

“Thank you,” you say, your face turning red as you look up at Adam Cole. You meet his pretty blue eyes and find yourself getting lost in them. Adam smiles.

He points toward the bar and asks, “How about that drink I promised you before the performance.”

You walk over to the bar with Adam.

That is how you met. That is how you got into this situation. You didn’t know then what would happen, and now you have a little bit of regret that you even agreed to meet Adam.

***

The rest of the Undisputed Era shows up and that’s when Candice says, “Okay, Y/N. Please come sing a song with me. Please.”

You smile and say, “Alright. Let’s go.”

Candice gets excited when you agree to go sing a song. You and Candice walk over to the booth to pick a song to sing together. Candice picks the collaboration between Ariana Grande and Lady Gaga. Rain On Me.

Someone hands you both microphones as Candice says, “I want Gaga’s parts. There’s no way that I can hit Ariana’s notes.”

You laugh and say, Alright. I don’t know if I’ll be able to either but I’ll give it a try.”

Candice walks up onto the stage and you follow her.

You and your best friend have the best time. You hit every single note. Once the song is over, Candice hugs you and everyone cheers. You say, “I’m gonna sing one more song. You can head back to the group.”

Candice nods and you walk over to the booth. You ask, “Can you put on ‘You Should Be Sad’ by Halsey?” The man behind the booth nods and gets the song set up.

Nervously, you walk up onto the stage. You glance at Adam and he looks like a proud boyfriend. Of course he looks like that. You wouldn’t expect anything less.

The song begins and you take a deep breath before you begin to sing.

I wanna start this out and say I gotta get it off my chest Got no anger, got no malice Just a little bit of regret

You make sure to stare down Adam as you sing. Candice looks at you then looks at Adam.

Know nobody else will tell you So there's some things I gotta say Gonna jot it down and then get it out And then I'll be on my way

Johnny notices how intently you’re staring at Adam and he says something to the leader of the Undisputed Era.

No, you're not half the man you think that you are And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, drugs and cars I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you 'Cause you can't love nothin' unless there's somethin' in it for you

As you sing, you begin to leave the stage, walking down toward Adam. A spotlight lands on you as you walk off the stage.

You approach Adam, who has a look on his face. You can’t tell if his face is full of anger or full of sadness as you sing. The look of proudness that was on his face earlier is gone now.

Oh, I feel so sorry I feel so sad I tried to help you It just made you mad And I had no warning About who you are

The group around you looks at you as they realize what’s going on. Candice is looking at you with concern and when she looks at Adam, anger rises inside of her.

I'm just glad I made it out without breaking down And then ran so fucking far That you would never ever touch me again Won't see your alligator tears 'Cause, no, I've had enough of them

As you sing the song, you feel confidence come over you. You realize that tears have started running down your face as you finish up the last few notes. Before you finish the song, you head back up to the stage to finish the last few lyrics.

Once the song ends, the crowd in the building cheers for you before you hand in the microphone before you walk over to the group. Candice looks up at you and asks, “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You are looking at Adam as you respond to Candice saying, “Ask Adam. Or better yet, ask the several girls he’s fucked behind my back.”

Candice looks at Adam and Johnny says, “Bro, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t know that you knew about all of them,” Adam says. “I was going to tell you.”

You stare at your boyfriend and you say, “That is such bullshit and you know it. Once is maybe a mistake. Twice isn’t. Four times isn’t and six times sure as hell isn’t.”

Candice says, “Six times? Adam, you asshole.”

Tears threaten to spill over your eyelids and you say, “I’m done, Adam. I’m so done.”

You gather your things and start to leave. Adam calls after you as you leave. You walk out the door and wipe away your tears.

“Y/N,” Adam says, panic laced in his voice. “Y/N, please. Please don’t leave.”

You groan a bit and you say, “It’s not just the cheating. You play the victim and you blame me for your cheating. You tell me you don’t love me. I can’t deal with this anymore. You’ve had your chance and you threw it out the window as soon as you decided to cheat on me with not one, not two, but six other women.” The tears have begun to fall as you continue to talk. “I don’t know how you can live with the guilt that you’ve broken my heart so many times.”

Adam can’t even look at you when you’re done talking. You’re breathing heavily, trying to keep your sobs back as you stare at the man in front of you.

Both of you are quiet. Adam avoids your gaze and you stare holes into him.

After a few moments of silence, you say, “You can’t even look at me.” You wipe the silent tears away as your voice breaks. “You can’t even say something to me to try and make me stay.”

Adam looks up at you and he says, “What do you want me to say, Y/N? The odds are that you won’t stay no matter what.”

“I’ve stayed through every time I found out you’ve cheated,” you say, your sobs making their way out. “I’ve stayed every time you’ve blamed me for your cheating. I’ve stayed through every time you’ve told you didn’t love me. I can forgive you, Adam. I have forgiven you before, but you think that I won’t stay.”

You watch as Adam’s face goes from panic to sadness. He’s finally realized how his behavior has affected you. It makes him mad that he made you feel like this.

Adam says, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. Please don’t go. Believe it or not, I need you in my life.”

You wipe your tears away and say, “I can’t deal with this anymore, Adam. I love you, but loving you hurts me.”

He says, “I can change my ways. I can be honest with you. You can even come out with me if you want to just to make sure that I won’t do anything.”

“I’m not becoming your babysitter, Adam,” you say. “I can’t watch over you to make sure you won’t cheat on me again. I’m your girlfriend, not your babysitter. If you want a babysitter then go back to Britt.”

Adam says, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry. Please.”

You give a shaky sigh and you say, “I’m giving you one more chance to show me you’ve changed, Adam. You get one chance. You hurt me one more time then I’m gone because I can’t keep dealing with this.”

He looks at you and says, “I won’t throw that chance away. Thank you for forgiving me and giving me one more chance.”

“Don’t blow it,” is all you say.

[fatefulfaerie]

Temple

Linktober Prompt Day 17/31

Incarnation: The Adventure of Link

Word Count: 1,180

Triggers: None

Partially inspired by fan art that can be found @poes-art but I think the artist is @poesocs now. Either way, the art is beautiful and I’m not even an artist but I love your style!!

Link walked up the stairs of the temple and to her side, hands on the stone slab which she lay upon. He looked with concern at her frame, even as the three triangles started to emanate, circling and circling at their union.

Zelda’s brown hair was tucked behind her ears and behind her crown and her eyelids were closed with no crinkle or force. Her chest rose and fell in her continued sleep as Link stared at her in her red dress, thinking upon how long she had been sleeping.

Ages, Impa had said, since the Golden era of Hyrule, about eighty years before Link was even born. No one knows why she was put to sleep, but legend says that only the full Triforce could wake her and Impa sent him on a quest to find the last piece and do just that, righting Hyrule’s last wrong.

Link looked up to the full Triforce, wishing upon it before a flash of light beamed from the golden relic. Link stepped back from the altar in preparation.

The Princess sat up, obviously disoriented, before looking over at Link.

“Where am I?” She asked.

“The North Palace,” Link replied. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

The Princess took a couple tired blinks as she recalled her past, her brow furrowing and her head looking down.

“My brother, the prince,” she said. “After the King died, the Triforce was passed to him, but he was imbalanced, so the Triforce split. I knew where courage went and he asked me, rather forcefully, but I refused him. I saw his imbalance, he would corrupt that power. He sent for a wizard to pull the information from me, but the wizard saw his corruption too, and put me to sleep.”

The Princess thought upon her words, pondering them before her gaze shifted to Link.

“I assume you’ve claimed the Triforce,” Zelda said. “If you are in danger of my brother, I can talk him out of it. He’ll listen to me.”

“Your Highness,” Link started hesitantly. “You’ve been asleep for eighty years. The man you say was your brother is known as a King in our history, a foolish one who led Hyrule into decline, but he wasn’t corrupt. He neglected his duties out of grief for you, his only remarkable law being that women of the Royal Family continue to be named after you. Now that I know the full story, I’d say he regretted his actions.”

The Princess searched nothing as she processed the information. Link could tell she was trying to maintain a certain elegance and composure.

“What of Hyrule?” She asked. “How far did it decline?”

“In the chaos, some of your people revived Ganon, who took the Triforce of Power and split the Triforce of Wisdom into eight shards.”

The Princess gave a heavy sigh.

“Your Highness,” Link said. “You need not worry. I already saved Hyrule from that threat. Hyrule has begun to prosper.”

“You are quite the hero…” she said as she slid off the altar, but her last word was phrased strangely and expectantly, as if asking a question.

“Link,” he said. “My name is Link.”

“You are quite the hero, Link,” Zelda said as she approached. “Thank you.”

She kissed him on the cheek, to which Link took a step back in response, his head slightly bowed.

“I, uhh…appreciate the sentiment, Your Highness, but…I have a girlfriend.”

“No worries,” she said, Link breathing a sigh of relief. He didn’t know how formal he had to act around this Princess. She was still royalty and probably expected a certain amount of decorum, and could still ask for his head. “It’s just a thank you. It’s good to know heroes these days do good deeds for the sake of good deeds and not things like wealth or fame or desire.”

“E…xcept for the fact that my girlfriend is the current…Princess…Zelda…who I saved…but at the time it was just to save Hyrule. The whole love part came later.”

“I see,” the Princess said with an encroaching smile. Link could see the resemblance to his own Zelda, and it was no surprise that this girl’s brother was an ancestor. The only difference was that his Zelda’s hair was a slightly lighter brown and naturally curly, as well as having blue eyes when this Princess had brown.

“I can escort you to the castle if you’d like, Your Highness,” Link said politely, mostly just wanting to get home.

“Is there still danger in Hyrule?” She asked as they walked from the temple.

“Ganon’s minions want my blood,” Link explained. “To resurrect Ganon again. I have been evading them for the past six years with Zel joining me off and on, more on recently since we started a relationship. Well, actually, before I set out on this quest, we kind of came to a standstill.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told Zelda we should break up, that a nomadic lifestyle with me was not fit for a Princess, that it was too dangerous and that she should rule her kingdom. She disagreed, saying that she loves me and that she wants to stay with me forever. We argued, Impa sent me on this quest, and I took the opportunity to think things through.”

“And?”

“And…I want her to stay with me. I would miss her too much. I know she enjoys journeying Hyrule more than the stuffy life of being a Princess, I know that will make her happy and I know I can protect her. The only problem is that it would leave Hyrule without a leader permanently. Hyrule would dissent into chaos, especially with the onset of Ganon’s minions. Without proper control of the army the minions will only grow. Producing an heir is out of the question, well not out of the question, but…well, yes out of the question and even then it would be years until—“

“I could do it,” the Princess interrupted. “Lead Hyrule.”

Link looked over quickly.

“Really?” He asked with a hint of excitement.

“I am still technically a Princess of Hyrule,” she said. “And I knew the Golden Age well, as well as why my father’s reign was so successful.”

“I…I just,” Link said, speechless. “Thank you.”

The Princess shrugged.

“I see it as a win-win situation,” she explained. “I’ve awoken to a Hyrule in which I can serve a purpose and the hero who saved me can live out his days happily.”

Link could barely contain his excitement, his beaming smile even as they trekked to Hyrule Castle.

He politely excused himself once they arrived, rushing to his own Zelda’s chambers. 

Link opened the door to find her in her pink dress, adorned with white bows. Her attendants were readying her for a day of propriety she didn’t want to undergo. He smiled and approached her.

“Link,” she said, spotting him. “I won’t change my mi—“

He would explain why later, but for now, he kissed her knowing they would live happily ever after.

[ohprettyweeper]

Reposted from my old blog. Prompts are bolded; translations from Google Translate.

Part Four | Answers in the Blood

“Tonight, we begin a new chapter,” Quinn announced to her class. “Irish Mythology. Turn in your books to page two-hundred and twenty-seven.”

She lectured first on banshees, then selkies. Leprechauns, of course, were in the mix, and changelings. Finally, after giving her class and herself a short break, Quinn began the section on the dearg-due. 

“This creature dates back to the Celtic era,” she informed them, hitting the clicker to advance to the slide which held information for notes and also a couple of images for the students to review. “A vampire-like creature, the dearg-due is believed to have found its beginning in a young woman with blood-red lips and white-blonde hair. Forced into a marriage that would benefit her father with many riches and separated her from her true love, the girl took the only way out from her abusive husband: suicide.”

Quinn advanced the slide show again, revealing the painting of a young girl, blood flowing from her wrists and her eyes staring at nothing. Her body was emaciated and her cheeks gaunt.

“Her husband would bleed her for no reason other than to see the blood flow. So, she starved herself to death. After, she was buried at Waterford, near Strongbow’s Tree. Though she had been kind and godly in her life, it is said that her husband’s abuse and her own suicide changed her in the afterlife. Heartbroken and vengeful, on the first night she was buried, she rose from the grave and sought to quench her thirst with the blood of young men, children, and the innocent. She calms her victims first with a siren song, then steals their blood, leaving them mysteriously ill or dead.”

As the lecture wrapped up, Quinn opened the floor for questions. Most of them pertained to the traditionally known creatures, but one student asked as to the origin of the dearg-due. 

“Is it possible these creatures were actually the origin of the Heathens?”

Quinn cleared her throat. “I can see where you might make that connection, but remember, the vampire experiments of Old Dema began in response to the Banditos growing in numbers — so recent that some of your grandparents likely were alive at that time. I suppose it’s possible that this knowledge is available in Old Dema and was an inspiration for the Bishops and their experiments but I can’t say that I’ve come across the connection any other time. If there’s no other questions, class is dismissed. Please do remember, your papers over chapters ten through twelve will be next week. Email me or come by my office if you have questions.”

She gathered her things and went back to her office to spend the rest of the afternoon grading. By the time she could head home, however, the stack of homework to be reviewed was not much smaller than when she had begun a couple of hours before. Her student’s question regarding the dearg-due lingered in her thoughts; not because she had not thought of a connection between the Heathens and the dearg-due before. Instead, she wondered if perhaps the Bishops and their vampire experiments were the answer to her dilemma. 

One of her favorite songs hummed in her throat while Faylinn cooked eggs for breakfast. She was looking forward to an easy day at work, then coming home to continuing her novel. Much to Ildri’s chagrin, Faylinn had not stopped writing the plot line surrounding Old Dema. 

Not to mention, Faylinn’s dreams had not subsided. Though frightening more often than not, they fueled her muse and her imagination and chapters were pouring out of her. Before too long, the novel would be finished. 

Someone knocked on the door; Faylinn looked towards Ildri’s part of the apartment. All the lights were off, and Faylinn could see that the bed was already made. Sighing, she turned down the heat on the eggs and made way for the door. Her breath caught in her throat when the man who was often in her dreams stared back at her. His red eyes were frantic, and his dark, curly hair was in disarray. 

“What are you doing here?” Faylinn whispered. 

“You have to stop the novel,” he pleaded. “The Bishops know. They know everything. Distance doesn’t matter. They’ll come for you.”

Horse hooves sounded in the distance like thunder rumbling in a far off storm. Faylinn’s eyes slowly focused in that direction; somehow, she could already see all nine Bishops riding her way. 

“They’re coming for both of us,” he told her. 

“We have to run,” Faylinn said, pushing her feet into her shoes. 

The man shook his head. “No. You just have to stop.”

Thunder clapped loud overhead, pulling Faylinn from her most recent dream. How was it possible that the thing that had been driving her for so many weeks now was the thing that made her understand the danger of what she was doing?

“Maybe I need to see a shrink,” she muttered, pushing out of the bed and motivating toward the shower to start her day. 

But the dream stuck with her throughout her entire morning routine. By the time she was through with her eggs and her coffee, she had made the last minute decision to skip work for the day and make use of the best resource she had regarding Old Dema. 

Tyler finished his work and walked with Josh back to the Heathen district. Others — humans — took their time getting back, but Nico held no leniency in regards to his citizens returning home when their work was completed. 

“It’s been weeks,” Josh said, nudging Tyler. “You’re going to have to accept that there’s no going back.”

Tyler nodded. “I know that. But, it doesn’t stop me from wondering what’s beyond the wall. Being this doesn’t stop me from wondering what life is like in the surrounding city.”

“They call it New Dema. Sometimes, if you’re mindful, the Bishops will send you into New Dema to capture someone and bring them here to be smeared and, possibly, eventually, changed.”

“How do you know all this?”

Josh took a deep breath. “They tell you, when they know they can trust you. If you want that chance, you cannot miss any mark. You cannot question them out loud, you cannot deny their authority.”

Tyler thought that over for the rest of the walk back to his dwelling. If he played the Bishops’ game, how long would it be until he was trusted to go into New Dema? What would the task of capturing people to come here entail? Tyler had long believed that nothing good could come of new souls coming here but he had known nothing but Old Dema for his entire life. Therein lie the problem; he could not imagine knowing something else, then coming here and being confined to the Bishops’ world. 

Being changed was supposed to heighten his loyalty to the Bishops, but instead, Tyler found himself questioning the old figures more than ever. 

When all of Dema’s inhabitants had been locked in their dwellings for the night, Keons met Nico in the sanctuary of the temple. The head Bishop waited at the altar, facing the large statue. Keons entered from the back of the room, walking reverently toward the head Bishop. 

“You have information you’ve kept from me for too long,” Nico said, turning toward Keons, his hands clasped behind his back. 

Keons stood a little straighter. “Probach meni, bud’ laska (Translation: Forgive me, please). It was you who taught me, Nico, that knowledge is power. I was not entirely certain the information I obtained was correct —”

“Enough stalling, Keons,” Nico warned in a measured tone. He leaned forward on the stone block used for changing humans to Heathens. “Tell me what you know.”

Keons took another three steps forward. His hands balled to fists at his sides, but he stood fast in his resolve to share the information with Nico. 

“She has surfaced — the last Bandito child. She’s a woman now, of course, but I have no doubt that it’s her.”

Nico smirked. “You shouldn’t have any doubt. You are the one who let the child escape our grasp.”

Keons took a deep breath, fighting now to maintain his confidence. He had intended, those decades ago, for the knowledge of the child’s life and location to bring him into power within the walls of Old Dema; Nico was too smart for Keons. Too ruthless. He had sensed the plot from the very beginning and had cut Keons off at the pass by informing the other Bishops the child was still alive but would be allowed to live. Anything else would undermine the authority of the Bishops. 

“When I rode out several weeks ago to retrieve an escaped vampire, I found the creature dead. Her neck was snapped and her body was there, lifeless, in Trench. The scent of the Bandito child was heavy in the air, and though I could not pinpoint her location, I knew she was near. Then, after the last soul was captured and brought into our walls before disappearing, I smelled her scent in that man’s assigned room.”

“But the room was empty,” Nico surmised. He stepped around the cement block, stopping inches in front of Keons. “She is following in the footsteps of her ancestors, and the Heathen in her aids every mission she accepts. You must find her and bring her here. Send the new Heathen.”

“You mean …?”

Nico’s smirk rolled into a satisfied grin. “Yes. That one. I want her back here. She holds all the answers, Keons, and if we are to take back New Dema — we need answers.”

Keons bowed gracefully. “Yak vy komanduyete.” (Translation: As you command.)

[artificialqueens]

hotel california. (gigi/jackie) — chapter four, roza

summary: jackie begins to feel herself collapse under all the pressure of the iranian revolution and gigi just wants to help anyway she can. her idea of help however, might prove not to be the best idea.

author's note: thank you jankie candle for all the support, alex for being the best beta and after this last episode: I write jackie because she's my favourite and because she's my representation and this fic (though completely gay as shit) is for showing how important middle eastern history is and how complicated and awful the situation was for any persian at that time. I lost so much confidence and pride after that maddening question jeff asked jackie and writing this made me realize that this story is powerful purely for the fact I'm even getting this message to an audience. do your research, take some time to understand that anyone middle eastern has been fighting to be in america and has been discriminated for decades: this unfortunately isn't something new to america.

AO3 Link / My Tumblr: @leljaaa / (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

— *.✧

One week had officially passed since Jackie had stepped foot on to the soil of the United States. One week since the day she landed in Los Angeles, utterly horrified from what was going on back home in Iran as the revolution exploded, as she took to the city with only a single suitcase and all of her savings.

A deer in the headlights; she had begun to get adjusted to the timezones, to the activities, her English had only gotten better and better bit by bit yet her anxiety had only worsened.

The morning after her and Gigi's first makeout session she found herself on a cloud of euphoria, before she finally fell back on Earth as she listened to the radio in her room.

The words that left the lips of the announcer made her drop the mug she held before she saw it break into dozens of decent sized pieces on the floor.

"Prime Minister Jamshid Amouzegar resigns; his successor, Jafar Sharif-Emami, undertakes reforms…"

"Shit…کُس نگو."

However, all of the difficulties aside there was a shining moment of light despite the current events happening right before her: one week since she kissed Gigi in a spur of the moment decision.

Jackie was thrilled that it had become somewhat of a routine for the both of them.

The blonde would lean against her door before they would go on their much anticipated daily ride's together on Gigi's bike. A subtle and sneaky kiss placed across her lips when the Persian would open the door and see her friend right in front of her.

Gigi would grab her wrist whenever Jackie walked down past the recreational building that both her and Crystal worked at and spent most of their time on the weekdays in.

The redhead would snicker and keep an eye for any passing people and Jackie would brush their lips together, Gigi happy to steal a million and more kisses from the Persian who came to enjoy the danger and surprise of kissing in public any moment they got.

A simple shove would do if they heard footsteps, even if most of the time it was just Crystal being nosy and wanting to run around the hallways like a toddler.

"It's my exercise!" She would scream as she attempted every gymnastics trick possible with Jackie giggling, before they decided that keeping the kissing to a minimum unless they were inside of the Persian's complex would be the best idea.

Another growing evening saw Gigi inside of Jackie's apartment, watching her get dressed and style her abundance of curly hair.

"An endless supply of Kaftans," Gigi grinned as she stared up and down Jackie's body finding it interesting she managed to fit so much into that tiny, blue suitcase. These flowing, light-weight garments had become somewhat of a brand with Jackie.

The Persian rolled her eyes.

"It is all I wear," she joked with a wink as she tied it with a belt across the waist, knowing that they were probably going to once again go riding.

It had become their new sacred activity, along with baking and cooking together; Gigi was happy beyond words to be Jackie's taste tester and help with every miniscule task in the kitchen.

"You look hot, I'm not saying anything against it," Gigi replied as she stood up and wrapped her arms around Jackie's waist, the two of them swayed in silence hearing only the faint blare of radio from outside.

They couldn't possibly be a thing .

Jackie was far too focused on the revolution and all of the idiotic responses from the American government attempting to "help" the people and the government.

She was worried about her family, her friends, her entire life—she feared every passing minute that she might never get to return to Tehran.

It was also the seventies: this wasn't the era to come out, despite all the sexual revolutions that had begun the decade before; it was a death wish to be gay or lesbian or trans or anyone who was different. Especially considering the growing anti-Iranian sentiments that grew in the United States.

They couldn't be together.

Gigi understood. She knew that Jackie had a plan to be in Canada with close family and that she would most likely never see her again; she was on the run and the blonde tried to enjoy as much time with the Persian as physically possible.

She kissed her long and slow, Jackie always returned the favour and would find her arms snaked around the blonde's neck or waist, just attempting to live in this little safe haven she had built with Gigi over the past week.

"You want to go and get some food? Your fridge is looking just a little empty."

"If it is not a bother with you to make the stop."

"You're never a bother," Gigi mumbled before kissing her forehead as she grabbed her hands, interlocking them as they began to race once again to the blonde's house just across her complex.

Gigi hopped on to her bike, inserting the key in the ignition of the motorcycle. She turned on the  fuel petcock before she turned the key to the ignition. Jackie jumped on behind her, her arms around her partner's waist before the blonde began to ride off out to the familiar streets once again.

— *.✧

"How is it back home? I heard about some stuff on TV and wanted to check on you earlier," she whispered near her earlobe as Jackie winced, not wanting to even give it the time of day currently.

"It is not something I wish to think about at the moment…" Jackie admitted with a somber tone as she picked up three entire bundles of spinach. The blonde nodded in response, apologising, though the Persian chuckled with a bright smile growing across her lips.

"Don't apologise for this, none of it is your fault. I appreciate you trying to stay educated and up to date for me."

Gigi grabbed two entire bars of chocolate with a slight smirk plastered across her face. She didn't want to admit to Jackie that she truly couldn't care less about politics until the day they had met.

The blonde was far too young and dumb to even know half of the vocabulary used, but seeing Jackie every single second of her life fighting to even stay alive and not get beat up on the street, not get heckled or screamed at - it was powerful.

I was so sheltered and normal my whole life, I didn't even realize that this stuff can even happen in America so frequently.

She truly hadn't felt herself become so well educated in politics since having to pass her senior year exam on the American government and current economic system. Crystal had always pushed her to become more and more educated even as they both would skip to the bleachers and smoke every cigarette possible, watching the jocks run miles on the track.

"I'm Mexican, I have to see all of this criticism on TV, I'm not just going to ignore it. I live my life truthfully and speak up, I suggest you do the same."

Crystal's words had always hit hard and now they felt like a punch right in the stomach when she would kiss Jackie.

"Do you possibly need any more sweets?" The Persian teased as she noticed half of their basket filled with American candy and deserts.

"Don't test me," the two of them giggled as they headed for the check out, Jackie bit down on her lip as Gigi added one more sweet to the basket, noticing the judging look from the Persian beside her.  

"How very dare you."

— *.✧

The two walked out as they managed to successfully collect all of the groceries in two plastic bags, Jackie squatted down as she began to tie them to the throttles of the motorcycle and Gigi leaned against the front of her bike, paying no mind as the sun began to set across California.

There was a light conversation between two men and the Persian girl, the blonde feeling a heavy uneasiness build in her stomach as she looked away, trying not to look completely and utterly defensive of her friend.

Her fingers slipped in her back pocket, a slight relief building over her as she realized her pocket knife was still present in case of any funny situation.

She heard Jackie yelp and turned immediately on impact of hearing the noise realizing that some asshole decided it would be absolutely hilarious if besides the subtle catcalling they would grab her wrists and try to touch her.

"Leave her alone," Gigi yelled with firm anger, her fingertips fixated on her collar as the two men made eye contact and only ignored her, as if she was a brick wall.

I know I look young but Jesus.

"I said leave my partner alone you fucking prick," she yelled seeing the clear level of discomfort build across Jackie's face as she walked over to them, kicking the one male right in the shin as he crumbled beneath her.

Partner… shit.

"On the bike, now ," was all Gigi muttered before she spit on the man beneath her, beginning to walk back to her motorcycle before the other man; far bigger and stronger than she was dug his fingers into her wrists—she was pulled back to where she had been standing as the older man took a punch right at her eye.

"Fucking lesbo," he muttered as Gigi bit her lip, feeling both men get up and laugh about how weak and pathetic the blonde was.

She could hear Jackie scream but the blonde was absolutely determined she wasn't going to let her guard down. She had utterly snapped upon hearing their response, knowing her choices were to either let them win this fight or leave them absolutely regretting they ever even touched her or Jackie.

I'll go with the second option.

Gigi grabbed the pocket knife from her back pocket before she slit the leg of the man in front of her, Jackie gasped as she covered her mouth. The blonde kicked his knee cap before hearing something crack as he collapsed to the concrete.

All of this and yet no one had even tried to stop them or noticed.

"Fucking prick," she screamed in utter prolific disdain as she sent the other one to the ground, the two of them fumbling. The final straw had been one of them attempting to apologise as his hands strayed down to her hips.

"Your girlfriend is pretty but I can definitely change your mind."

She felt absolutely no remorse as she stabbed him in the shoulder, kicking him to the ground as she bolted for her bike.

Jackie grabbed the knife, putting it back in the blonde's pocket as her entire body seemed to be shaking, Gigi wiped the blood off of her cheek as she started up the bike again.

The two men were left completely crushed and down on their luck and the blonde could only keep silent as they rode off back to the complex.

"Gigi," she whispered at a stoplight, feeling the cool wind against her hair as the blonde stood silent. "Can we talk about all of that?"

That entire ten minutes felt like three hours and Jackie was more horrified about Gigi's injuries than anything else. The blonde made the turn to the familiar street.

"Not now."

— *.✧

Narrowly escaped a homophobic attack, what an American dream.

Jackie stared down at her fingers, swallowing a breath as she realized that there were still a few scratches and bruises that showed up across her skin. She hadn't been hurt even an inch as bad as the blonde beside her.

Gigi sighed, inhaling her cigarette as she stood in the doorway of the old and deserted barn that her father wanted to transform into another recreational center.

"Gigi, you can't just punch people and throw them to the ground like that…"

The blonde fidgeted with her burnt out cigarette as she blew out the puff of smoke near the cascading scene of rain unfolding in front of the two. "He was yelling too loud," Gigi said cooly as she leaned against the chipped away, red exterior wall.

"Not to mention he was being a fucking prick."

"Gigi I don't appreciate violence, that's the thing I fled in the first place from," Jackie yelled, frustrated, as she glanced at the younger woman's purple and blue bruise that was beginning to show up under her eye as Gigi rolled her eyes.

"You don't have to keep staring at my bruise, I'll be fine. I hope that fucking dick suffers with his broken knee cap. Regardless of where you came from, the violence in this situation was justified."

"I'm not going against the first rule of my religion," the Persian hissed as she threw her friend's dead cigarette butt straight in the scene of heavy rain as the American gasped, explaining that she had just littered.

"What are your parents going to say?"

"I will handle this, nothing some makeup can't fix. If not, I'll just say it was a riding accident!"

The older woman's stomach twisted: she didn't even want to even think about what plan Gigi had to try and explain this situation to her parents.

Jackie brushed her fingertips past the bruise as they were both left breathless and staring into each other's eyes. The rain poured, but every ounce of focus was on the Persian's dark brown and hypnotic pupils that seemed to grow at the sight of their exchange.

"Gigi..." she choked out in a hoarse whisper as her fingers slid into the blonde's wavy hair. She was currently unable to communicate the growing feeling buried at the pit of her stomach in any language.

I want you so bad, I need you.

"Kiss me, we're all alone Jackie," Gigi desperately replied as both of the girls flushed, not wanting to currently think about all of the homophobia raging around the world.

It was almost the eighties, a new turn of the decade; there had to be some grand development of human rights with Stonewall and all the protests and small legal action passed to protect LGBTQ citizens.

Right now it was just the two girls and a rabbit hopping about near them on the grass patch as they stood in complete silence. Jackie pushing away the minute Gigi leaned in to kiss her.

"We will be targeted more than ever," Jackie worriedly cried out, halfway to the verge of tears as Gigi shook her head instantaneously. The Persian grabbed the blonde's collar with her hands as she stared up and down the gently blood-stained pastel motorcycle outfit.

"I will protect you, I won't ever let anybody hurt you," her words crisp and honest and pointed with every emotion, knowing this might be the only chance they would get to genuinely confess their feelings and utter devotion.

Jackie was never one to make a spur of the moment decision, but the minute their lips pressed against each other, she felt every worry of her life and the revolution melt away.

She can't put a finger on exactly what was making her act so odd and completely puddle over the blonde but it hit all too suddenly as they locked lips, Jackie tugging at the blonde's hair.

I'm in love with her… I'm in love with Gigi.

This was a growing cultural difference that the Persian had begun to notice since she moved to California for the time being and since she watched every movie or show that played on the television.

American's would say "I love you," constantly.

It was used for just about anyone and every situation. Jackie had no idea if it was just a compliment in the western world or if it was truly the intimate word and expression that she had grown up knowing was saved only for the moment something clicked.

Jackie knew that this had to be that special moment. Everything clicked.

The blondes lips tasted like cigarettes and cherry chapstick; Jackie was never so turned on by such an odd combination in her life.

Every possible butterfly rapidly bounced in their stomachs as they kissed, acting as if it was the end of the world about to hit and this would be the last time.

Gigi was completely in a euphoric state of mind as she grabbed Jackie's waist and began snaking her lips to her neck. Her lipstick lightly smeared across the Persian's skin as she heard her friend yelp in surprise.

They grabbed each other's hand tightly as Jackie admitted that they should probably not be doing all of this so out in the open, right outside the complexes.

"Your room… please," the three worded response enough to make the Persian completely fly by as she grabbed Gigi's hand gigging, running past the fields as they shushed each other and entered the hallway of Jackie's floor from the back door.

Jackie couldn't possibly open her door fast enough for Gigi's sake as they silently retreated into her room. The blonde did a long and hard take of the hallway making sure nobody saw them enter the room.

Locking the door, she whipped around to the blonde who was waiting to kiss her once again. Their lips smashing together as Jackie pushed aside every awful and anxiety-ridden thought from her brain.

I can't wallow in negativity for the rest of my life.

I need this.

Every thought immersed in getting to be in sync with each other's bodies and the idea of kissing each other all night alone and in secret.

"Your lips are so soft," Gigi grunted as the two continued to kiss, Jackie impatiently unbuttoned her biker jacket as she tossed it across the floor.

Every dream she had of the two of them ending up together suddenly was worth the pull as the Persian huffed, carefully trying to choose her words.

"My… my bed," the words slipped from the Persian's mouth as they both panted, breathing heavy from both the running and the make out session, Gigi going in to kiss her again as she stopped and tilted her head a bit confused.

"What?"

"I want you in bed with me Gigi!"

Jackie almost shouted the response as the blonde gasped, pressing a finger to the other woman's mouth as they both realized they needed to be a bit more conservative with the loud declarations of love in a complex.

"Stay the night."

The reply came in the form of Gigi jumping into Jackie's arms, the Persian shrieked in worry of dropping the shorter woman before she got a good grip on Gigi who was surprisingly light.

"You look so beautiful," she complimented as they became a continuous stream from Gigi as they both made their way to Jackie's bedroom.

The blonde tossed her partner's jacket to the floor, their lips still focused on one another as they naturally seemed to collapse to the bed.

Holy shit.

Everything seemed light and easy from that point on—both of them in awe of each other and trying not to shout out each other's names every two seconds.

Jackie's thoughts occasionally strayed to what her religious and Middle Eastern family would possibly think of her enjoying herself intimately with Gigi. However, thinking about it while you simultaneously are making your partner moan your own name probably wasn't the smartest idea.

I won't let their disapproval define me.

Especially not when I'm about to frivolously pound Gigi into the ground.

— *.✧

"Wow," Gigi whispered in complete awe as she felt her leg brush up against the Persian's.

Jackie's fingers ran down Gigi's bare skin as the blonde gently laid her head in the crook of her neck, occasionally kissing her jaw, trying not to think about all the hickeys or even worse, all the internalized homophobia.

"I never thought I would love a woman again…"

"I never thought I'd get to actually sleep with one," Gigi laughed aloud as they gently brushed lips, turning on her side so that Jackie could wrap her arms around the blonde.

The Persian giggled, unable to hold back her pure enjoyment of the entire situation.

"Would my words be cheap if I said that I'm completely in love with you?" Gigi finally asked as she felt Jackie breathe out a heavy sigh. Whether it was one of disappointment or relief was something that the blonde couldn't exactly pinpoint.

"Love is a strong word for you to use so soon," was all Jackie could say even if she was being utterly and completely hypocritical.

"But it's the truth Jackie," Gigi whispered softly as she attempted not to break and keep her cool and composed facade.

"I don't want your heart broken when I leave eventually," the Persian finally managed to choke out as she kept her fingers tangled in the blonde's hair. "I don't want us to regret being in love."

"You're the only person I've ever said that to, do you really think I'd regret it?" Gigi asked seriously as she laid beside her lover, completely in a limbo between heaven and hell.

Jackie shook her head, impressed to hear that Gigi had never said it before to anyone, though that only proved to make the Persian's heart grow twice the size it already was.

"I love you as well Gigi," she finally mumbled as her lips pressed against her cheek. The blonde left a gentle kiss on her mouth before she cackled, hearing Jackie tell her to stop before she would get ideas again.

This is dangerous... and yet I'm enjoying every second of it.

[drabbleitout]

The Last Line Excerpt: The Deathbed

Taglist: @abalonetea​, @for-fuchs-sake​, @idreamonpaper​, @simplelinesunfashiond​, @starlitesymphony and @wheres-the-eszett​ As always, let me know if you’d like to be added or removed

It wasn't uncommon for a member of the Council to come into the office and have everyone leave. They were paranoid old men, and when they met with Møller, they wanted to meet him alone.

Becker abandoned the half finished report, locking up and throwing on his coat to leave. Interruptions, he hated them. He glanced to Møller's office where a Drycræft officer stood watch. Sharp eyes, stern frown, hand easing to their sidearm. Becker scoffed, turning to leave.

"Becker, sir!" 

He barely made it down the assembly steps when the call startled him. Anyone in the yard turned to look. Vitale hurried from the bridge, nearly falling on his face in the snow. Becker pulled on his cap with a scowl. "I meant to catch you before you left, sir."

"Is it important?" Becker stepped past the Roman who fumbled into a salute.

"Not exactly–"

"Then don't bother me."

"I don't mean to bother you, sir. But I've been thinking," Vitale followed, breathlessly trying to speak. "being your assistant, and new to Anglia, perhaps it would be best if I could spend time with you outside the office."

"No." Becker scowled at the idea, noticing everyone was still staring.

"I don't know anything at all about Königsberg besides it being a fortress, and I'd like to get to know more about you and your men." Becker stopped and Vitale scrambled not to trip into him. Looking him over, Becker thought about Møller's words. Vitale was an agent of Rome, an informant, and whatever Vitale thought of him, as did Rome.

"Very well," Becker admitted stiffly, nodding him along. "This is something you should see, after all."

As he feared, Vitale spoke the entire way out of Königsberg. He talked mostly of his home on a southern island in the Mediterranean, an alien sounding place with sun, gardens, and fruiting trees. His words were a mile a minute, like a chisel to Becker's skull. Yet, as soon as they left the fortress walls, he went silent.

"Are we allowed to be out here, sir?" A whisper, glancing back for the gate.

"As an Earl, once my work is complete, I am permitted to go wherever I please. Once you have reached this rank, there are few restrictions." Vitale kept quiet, a sign he was listening. "We are trusted and expected to act responsibly. Other Earls have smaller regiments and venture neither as far nor as long as my men do."

"Is that why you traveled all the way to Romania?"

"Precisely," Becker nodded, pleased with the ease of explaining something. "I was trusted by Grandmaster Møller to protect your Roman recruits from the Brogalda." They followed the road of shallow snow, down the field past the spiked barriers and across the Vistula Bridge. Vitale scampered to the railing, leaning over to inspect the frozen river below.

"If you fall in, I'm not going in after you." Becker warned and Vitale returned to his side, smiling.

"Why do you call them my Roman recruits?"

"What else should I call them? You appeared to take charge of them when traveling from Romania. I assumed you were their leader."

"Riccardo is our detachment leader. Well, at least after we were dropped off to cross the river." It was hard to concentrate on what Vitale was saying, his hands moving more that his mouth, distracting from his words.

"Riccardo?"

"He's the shortest, with curly hair." At once Becker sneered. He remember the snarky Roman who detested everything the Anglians did, complaining the entire route north. It gave Becker some peace of mind that Riccardo hadn't become his assistant. Maybe it could be worse. "Our Legionaries liked him because he was skeptical of Anglia. He thinks the alliance is worthless."

"The Romans sent someone who dislikes us?"

"They wanted someone who wasn't bias to something new and exciting. Don't be angry with Riccardo, though. He has reasons to be skeptical. Mostly all we know of Anglia are stories. Any who visit Rome are serious and quiet –much like you are."

"I see no wrong in being serious or quiet." Something caught Vitale's attention, widening his eyes and elongating his face.

"Meus deus… what is that?" it was barely a whisper. As the land sloped downwards from the hills and cliffs, the field of white was littered with countless black stones. Neatly lined in rows and columns, they looked like little soldiers waiting at attention.

"This is called the Deathbed." Becker lowered his voice as they approached the pillars which marked the entrance. He removed his cap, tucking it beneath an arm. "This is a place very special to the Angle. Here, soldiers are remembered and the women are buried."

Vitale gaped across the field, mouth fallen open, the first time Becker had seen a frown on him.

"The onyx markers represent soldiers, white stones for the women are farther back, over the hill." Becker looked over the sea of stones as well, looking like a scorched forest with so many against the snow. "You are welcome to stay here."

He stepped through the gate, into deep, undisturbed snow. The Deathbed wasn't completely full. There was still empty space to be filled, a few meters from the gate, inwards. From there they covered the field to the cliffs and all the way over to the dark woods of Holz.

"Are all of these dead soldiers?" Startled by Vitale's whisper, he jumped. The Roman scurried up beside him, much closer than he had followed from the walls.

"Each represents a hundred men."

"A hundred?"

"Lower your voice," Becker hissed, glancing around. As far as he could see, the Deathbed was empty. "Fyrds, Thegns, and Earls are not buried in Königsberg. Only the Gedrihts, Althing and females have that honor. Where lower soldiers fall are their graves."

"A hundred men for each stone? That's millions of soldiers." Vitale peeped.

"This bed was started at the beginning of the Postem Apocalypsi, when man first emerged from the ground after the Nuclear Era. This is a very old cemetery." Again, Vitale was speechless. "The closer you move to the cliffs, the older the graves are. At first, the Council worried we would run out of room, but, as you can guess, there are so many men left in the world. I'm sure the rest of them could fit… if there's anyone left to place a marker."

"You shouldn't talk that way," Vitale whispered, glancing around. "These represent Human lives." Becker rolled his eyes with a huff, turning from the path down a row of stones. Vitale didn't follow.

If anything, the Deathbed was a visual representation of how much time they had left. Fifty years at best, and all human life would be gone. Becker would either be a casualty or live to see it happen. It had to be a chosen generation at some time or another. It was something he had already accepted.

He slowed to a stop among the knee-high markers, singling one out. This one was different.  It seemed taller, heavier, darker. He knew it by sight, among the countless others. As if it had its own energy.

"What are the animals for?"

"Would you go back to the gate?" Becker snarled, turning to find Vitale crouched at another stone in the row. He brushed his fingers across the engraving, removing snow. More of it had begun falling from the clouds, dusting their coats.

"It's a lion." It was that quickly Vitale could go from listening to oblivious to his words. He sat back, looking from one stone to the next, "…all of them are lions."

"I know that they're lions."

"Why lions?" Vitale squinted in the falling flakes as he looked up at Becker. It was clear the Roman was oblivious to any hint to leave. Becker shook his head, stalling for a moment to even his voice.

"There are lions because this is their section." He nodded to their right, "from here to the path are the men from North Command. From this path to the next is Central Command, and from there to the woods is Southern Command."

Vitale stood to survey.

"North Command holds two Earls; Earl Rask and myself. Rask chose the stag to represent his regiment—"

"And you chose the lion." Vitale blurted, as if stumbling across the answer all on his own. "There are a lot of lions."

"Do you not know when to shut your mouth?" Becker growled, turning back to the marker with a shake of the head.

"But, I didn't see any lions while walking from the gate. I saw mostly stags with big antlers, and on the other side, eagles and owls." Vitale's voice softened, "These are old?"

"Yes," Becker crouched down, "these are old." He pulled a small pouch from the pocket of his coat, loosening the cinched string.

"It looks as though you've made your men more skilled, sir." Vitale's words were filled with a smile. "You've done much better than the eagles and stags." He dumped small stones from the bag, stacking them in  a palm. He took care to pile them against the marker along with a few others. Satisfied with his work, he stood.

"Flattery may have worked in for favor in Rome, Officer Vitale," Becker replaced his cap to step past him, "But it will do you no good here."

[neotan-astrology]

ARRIVAL VERSION TEASER IMAGES OH MY GOD I'M DECEASED also can we talk about how jungwoo served us *3* looks today, like first the straight brown debut era hair at the radio show, then curly hair in that 127 video (he looks almost EXACTLY like that one simon says performance) and NOW THE ARRIVAL VERSION TEASER. is he even real. (also saw someone call him national prince material and you know what? hell yeah he looks like a prince, his golden era has only begun and he'll keep surprising us)

After seeing the teasers I am really like I’ll gift myself this album if I score good marks in my exams 🙊 but seriously Kim Jungwoo is just serving looks! His curly hair is such a look like please style him up more like that! I can’t wait to see his looks for the work it stage!

[khafe]

Episode 1: Our Journey Begins

Below is a transcription of episode 1 of Kingdom Hearts: A Forgotten Era

Laina: Hello everyone and welcome to Kingdom Hearts: A Forgotten Era, an actual play podcast set in the universe of Kingdom Hearts,60 years before the events of Birth by Sleep. We will be playing Interstitial:  Our Hearts Intertwined, a game made by Riley Hopkins. You can find them at @RevRyeBread on Twitter. To start things off, I would like everyone to introduce themselves, say your name and pronouns. I'm Laina. I use she/her and they/them pronouns and I will be running this game.

Isiah: Hi, I'm Isiah, I use he/him and they/them pronouns.

Nathan: Hi, I'm Nathan, I use he/him pronouns.

Theo: I'm Griffin McElroy. No, I'm Theo, I use he/him.

Rem:I'm Rem, I use they/them pronouns.

Val: Hi, I'm Val, and I use she her pronouns.

Laina: Alright, so, our story begins with our cameras zoomed out, showcasing a city built on a hill surrounded by water. The camera quickly swoops across the entirety of the city, and we watch his children run through the street, as couriers deliver mail to many of the homes, guards patrol the city, working to keep everyone safe, and students wielding strange key shaped weapons spar with each other. Our camera zooms back out, showcasing the whole city once again, and the words "Scala ad Caelum" appear on screen. The camera lingers on the shot of the city for a while before zooming into the top of the city. A large spire with blade spinning in the wind, much like a windmill. Our camera zooms in even further into an open window at the top of this building. And we see two kids playing a game of chess, one dressed in white and one dressed in black. The boy in black has lost this game but the boy in white suggests a new game when they haven't played before. He brings out five white pieces and seven black pieces. Both of the boys smile at each other and begin playing this new game. But before we see the results of it, our camera zooms back out, this time zooming in on an open clearing, where four warriors wielding keyblades are sparring against one another.

Laina: One of these keyblade wielders is in an outfit far fancier than the rest of them. Rem, I would like you to briefly introduce your character.

Rem: Yeah, I'm playing Aesa, she's gonna be using a custom playbook called the Henshin, it's a transforming character playbook. She's currently trying her hardest but she's not very good at this yet. She’s just kind of flailing around a little bit in her little pink hoodie with the cat ears.

Laina: Okay, so our camera pans over to the person that she is sparring with. This person is using a wooden keyblade, but that doesn't seem to be stopping her determination. Theo I would like you to introduce your character.

Theo: I would be pleased too. I'm playing Zenica, the hunted. She's dressed mostly varying shades of green. She's got a green leather jacket going, with a green scarf over top. Wearing jeans and a pair of green sneakers. She's, probably in the fight, she's probably not using the wooden keyblade as you're meant to use a keyblade, she's probably using a little bit more just like how you would use a normal stick. She's probably doing pretty good in this fight, like in a good natured way, she's not just being mean and smacking the shit out of Aesa.

Laina: Okay, so our camera pulls away from Aesa and Zenica and moves to one of the couriers in the city. This one is a man with short curly brown hair, dressed in baggy clothes. Nathan, I would like you to introduce your character.

Nathan: My character's name is Celeritas Quickfoot. He's going to be using the Knucklehead playbook, and he is just a super friendly, just the most shounen protagonist, shounen protagonist in all but the genre of thing we're doing.

Laina: Alright, so our camera pans back to the open clearing and we focus on the other set of keyblade wielders sparring against each other. This next keyblade wielder is a slightly older looking man. He is using a metal keyblade and one that is reminiscent of a rapier. I would like you to introduce your character Isiah.

Isiah: So, his name is Imber. He is the Discarded playbook. And I think right now he is sort of sparring kind of defensively looking for an opening.

Laina: Okay. Our final Keyblade wielder is wielding a keyblade that looks like a blank car or house key. Last but not least, I would like you to introduce your character, Val.

Val: My character is Milo, he is the Dark playbook, and he is definitely a more aggressive fighter. He is trying to break down Imbers defenses and, sort of, whacking determinately at the blade to sort of throw him off balance.

Laina: All right. So as each of you are going about your day you receive a message saying that the keyblade wielder, Master Nalia, who all of you study under wishes to speak with you immediately.

Laina: You all make your way to the same clearing that the keyblade wielders were training at and meet with Master Nalia. Master Nalia is a young keyblade master with pink hair dressed in the regalia expected of a keyblade master. As you all arrive, she says, "Ah, it's good to see you all. I'm very glad that you got my message. We don't know why, but many of the world's have begun to fall to darkness. And I trust that you students will be able to save them. I've arranged a ship to take you between worlds and have opened up the lanes in between. And if you are all ready to go, you can set off at once. Are there any questions?"

Theo: Sorry, what?

Rem: Aesa's gonna shyly raise her hand and be like, "Are you sure you want me to go?"

Isiah: Imber is going to raise his hand and kind of look at Milo, a little bit and be like, "Are you sure you want all of us to go?"

Nalia: I am positive. I've seen your training and I feel that you are the best picks to go.

Zenica: Master Nalia, I've been here about a week and a half, I appreciate the compliment, but I don't remember this being part of what the tuition fees are paying for. I don't remember signing on for this.

Theo: And Zenica is saying all of this with a smile on her face, but she is very clearly like, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit."

Laina: She kind of like, laughs a little bit at that and she's like, "Being keyblade wielders you are expected to save the worlds when it needs to happen. This is very much something you signed on for."

Imber: Are you sure that we are all capable of that?

Nalia: I'm positive.

Rem: Aesa tries not to look too hurt.

Nathan: Also, another important question, is Celeritas there?

Laina: Celeritas is there.

Nathan: Okay, okay. He managed to make it in time.

Theo: "Wait I need to give this again, give me like ten minutes fam." Has to go get him from outside.

Nathan: This man had to spring through the rest of his deliveries for the day to make it back to this field in time.

Isiah: Celeritas dived in through the window.

Laina: Everyone just waited for you.

Theo: Celeritas just has his head in a trash can and a mop bucket, and like, "Wait what?"

Nathan: And he still has his couriers bag with him at all times, because obviously.

Laina: Yeah.

Theo: Alright, so I think Zenica is not sure how she can nope out of this without arousing more suspicion so she's just gonna shut up and kind of look panicked.

Rem: Aesa just definitely feels like the weak link right now.

Val: Milo puffs out his chest and is just like,"All of you guys have worked with me and obviously if you guys worked with me ,you have potential, we've worked with Master Nalia, we have potential. All we have to do is follow our power and we can get through this."

Theo: Cool speech pat.

Laina: She points out at Milo and is like, "That's the kind of attitude that I'm here for."

Val: Oh, he's preening he is, he is definitely like, puffing out his chest and like looking very pleased with himself.

Theo: Zenica is definitely like rubbing the back of her neck and kind of like, kicking the floor and is like, "So are we gonna go ahead and go then? Question mark?"

Isiah: Imber goes, "Is there any more information that you can give us about what exactly we need to do?"

Theo: Nope, bye!

Imber: Want to maybe give us a debriefing?

Rem: Or a briefing.

Nalia: I need you to eliminate the heartless in each of these worlds and then seal the keyhole.

Theo: (Laughs)

Rem: Aesa is gonna summon and unsummon her keyblade a couple of times, and then say, "Yeah, we can do that."

Isiah: Imber goes, "I suppose I will do my best to make you proud."

Nalia: That is always my hope.

Nathan: Celeritas is just really excited that he gets a chance to now deliver mail across dimensions.

Isiah: You're like, "Oh boy I can't wait to deliver more things on this quest."

Nathan: Hell yeah. Courier by nature and courier by trade.

Theo: Celeritas is gonna kill the final boss of this campaign and be like, "Express shipping, two days or less. Bitch."

Nathan: Celeritas grabs a sign post, slams it into the final boss... Oh, I had a one-liner, and it's gone now. Damn it.

Isiah: “Special delivery,” and then a punch in the face.

Nathan: That was it. I was gonna say, "Special delivery." Damn it Isiah.

Theo: "Through rain or sleet or snow."

Laina: Oh I love this.

Theo: Can we just hard cut and we're walking to the gummi ship or whatever it's called?

Laina: Yeah, you can, you're walking to the--.

Theo: Wait, I have one more question!

Isiah: Just a screen wipe.

Laina: Well actually, as you all get ready to leave, Nalia stops Imber and Milo and says, "You two, think of this as a test. I want nothing more than for you to prove to me that you're ready to become a keyblade master. But I need to be shown that you have it in you to become a master. This is your chance to show me that, and I very much hope that you will succeed." And she gives you a bow and then sends you on your way.

Val: Milo is literally like vibrating and then goes still. And then he looks at Imber, and he's just like, and he's like-

Theo: That was the weirdest thing.

Val: He's like, "I get the feeling that you don't think I can do this."

Imber: I, I definitely believe that you can. I'm concerned that you won't.

Val: I don't know how to answer that, and he's going to walk away.

Nathan: Celeritas just runs up, "Hey guys what's up?" Sees the conversation is awkward, instantly backs out.

Theo: Yo, there's leather upholstery in here!

Val: Milo kind of brusquely moves past Celeritas.

Celeritas: Cool, cool, cool, picked a bad time, I'll just go that way.

Theo: There's LaCroix in here!

Isiah: So I guess, we all get to- Is there gonna be a gummi ship?

Laina: There is a gummi ship, yeah.

Theo: It's the Ebon Hawk from Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. That's canon.

Laina: Well actually, technically Star Wars isn't canon in the Kingdom Hearts universe.

Theo: You're gonna have a fun job editing this aren't you?

All: (Laughs)

Laina: No, I'm keeping that in.

Rem: Oh that's all being kept.

Theo:I wanna say, the idea that I would like to put forward, just to move things along, when they're getting into the gummi ship, Zenica sees the last seat available is beside Milo, and she sits as far on the edge of her seat as she can. Casually, not making a big deal, just like, "Hey, what's up?" Kind of sitting on the arm.

Nathan: Celeritas, before going to gummi ship, went back and dropped by his siblings to tell them he'll be out for a bit.

Theo: Fucking brag. Oh.

Nathan: No.

Rem: Aesa, definitely, definitely had a moment where she didn't have any stuff to work through. So she got in immediately and in her front of the class mentality, she immediately sat in the pilots seat, looked down, realized it was the pilot seat, and got back up.

All: (Laughs)

Laina: Yeah I was gonna ask...

Theo: And then none of us sat in the pilot seat because none of us- Nalia is like, "I feel like I forgot something... Oh no."

Isiah: Which one of us is gonna be the pilot?

Theo: Wait a minute. If you have daddy issues and I have daddy issues, then who's flying this thing?

Celeritas: Don't worry guys, I got this!

Nathan: And then cuts to the outside of the gummi ship as everyone is screaming as Celeritas (inaudible).  

Val: Milo is reaching forward for the controls like, "This was a mistake, this was a mistake to let you drive."

Rem: Does the gummi ship still run on smiles?

Laina: The gummi ship 100% still runs on smiles. So really, it's the best that Celeritas is driving.

Rem: Aesa and Celeritas are gonna have to fuel this thing by themselves.

Nathan: Celeritas is absolutely grinning like a maniac the whole time.

Val: Milo was feeling happy.

Isiah: So I think Imber is probably the last to get on. And I think before stepping on, he sort of like turns around and looks at like Scala ad Caelum, and the place that he has been in for so long. And he just sort of takes in a deep breath and exhales and then walks onto the ship.

Laina: Hell yeah. Okay.

Laina: So as you all get inside, the ship--.

Isiah: Hell yeah, breathing.

Laina: Hell yeah, I mean that is very important.

Laina: As you all get inside the gummi ship, the ship takes off and heads into the Ocean Between. As you leave Scala ad Caelum, you see three more worlds, and the names of each world pops up above the world. The worlds you see in front of you are called the Mystery Shack, Atlantis and the Incan Empire. Which would you all like to go to first?

Theo: Incan Empire, right now!

Isiah: I just want to say I immediately got excited by all three of those.

Theo: Yes. These are three very good pulls.

Rem: Just hard left to the Mystery Shack.

Theo: All of our characters are gonna be possessed by like unknown spirits, and yanking at the wheel at opposite directions.

Theo: But also I guess, Celeritas is the one at the pilot seat so he has the final vote.

Val and Isiah: (Laughs)

Rem: Oh shit, that's true.

Theo: We're all like, "What are these places I have no preference."

Rem: We're just gonna have that Kingdom Hearts 1 moment of fighting over the wheel and crashing in Deep Jungle.

Isiah: Of course it would be Deep Jungle.

Theo: Which ever one we pick we just end up in somewhere else.

Nathan: By virtue of my character being the one in the driver seat, Celeritas just says to himself, "Huh, that sounds fun," and goes towards the Mystery Shack.

Rem: Hell yeah.

Theo: Oh God.

Laina: Heck yeah, I was honestly really hoping that that would be the first one you picked.

Rem: I can't wait to use a transformation sequence in front of Mabel Pines.

Theo: "Wait, who's Mabel Pines?" Says Zenica, "I wonder what's at this mystery shack."

Nathan: "It's a mystery." Celeritas laughs to himself quietly.

Val: Milo is very confused and he's like, "How are we gonna save the world at a shack?"

Zenica: That's the mystery!

Celeritas: No way to find out but to do it!

Milo: Yeah, I suppose.

Imber: I wonder what kind of mysteries will be found here in this shack.

Theo: Plot twist, we're going into Supernatural instead.

Laina:That would be a twist. So, as you make your decision, the ship takes off into that direction. Considering you don't have the most training with flying a gummi ship, you make your way to the aforementioned shack and you crash into the top of it.

Rem: Oh no.

Nathan: That tracks.

Isiah: Do we knock off any letters?

Theo: It has to be while Soos is replacing the S, that has to be canon.

Laina: Yeah, yeah 100%.

Theo: He's gonna have to climb down the ladder and be like, "There, good job done." And then we drive by and it just falls off again.

Imber: Theo that was such a good Soos impression.

Laina: That was a really good Soos.

Theo, as Soos: There we go.

Nathan: You're voicing Soos from now on.

Theo: I know what character I'm being when Zenica dies.

Rem: So what I'm hearing is we're pulling a Stitch commercial.

Laina: Yeah, basically. So you've landed inside of the shack, and you hear the sound of two children screaming.

Theo: Like in fear or like arguing?

Isiah: Well, we just crashed into a building .So probably, probably not excitement, that's for sure.

Val: I think Milo immediately like, wants to react to children screaming with a like,  "Oh, we gotta figure out like, like, I don't want people to be afraid. So, you know, as long as like, it's people who don't deserve to be afraid." So he's gonna try and like... Milo's got issues, guys, I think we've established this, and he's gonna he's gonna try and sort of like be the first one out of the door and see, you know what he can do to help out.

Theo: Is the door leading inside the shack or onto the roof?

Laina: You landed on the roof.

Theo: But is the door leading inside, because you said we crashed into the place.

Laina: Yeah, it's leading inside.

Nathan: Celeritas is profusely apologizing for crashing everyone into a building.

Isiah: Imber's consoling him.

Theo: Zenica's following Milo out the front, and is like dusting her shoulder, looking back at Celeritas like, "Celeritas, you're fine." Looks at the kids like, "Sup." Flips them a peace sign.

Isiah: Laina, I have a question.

Laina: I have an answer.

Isiah: Were we told to protect the world border?

Laina: Oh my god, you were not.

Theo: Cut back to Nalia, "I feel like I forgot to say something, oh no!"

Laina: No, that 100% happens.

Theo: She's like drinking a cup of tea and it's like, "Oh no, oh shit.”

Isiah: You can, you can burn a link to make a mild retcon so.

Laina: I mean, I can't burn. I don't think I can do that. That's up to y'all.

Rem: I'm sure that Nalia has links with all of us that she can burn.

Nathan: Besides, she's the GM, you're god, you can do whatever.

Laina: Yeah, that's true. I'm gonna say you were you were told that.

Rem: Were or were not?

Laina: You were told to maintain the world border.

Laina: So in front of you, you see a kid, a very slightly shorter kid wearing a hat with a blue tree on it. And next to him is a slightly taller kid wearing a pink... What's the word? Sweater. That's the word.

Val: Como se dice?

Laina: And the girl in the pink sweater is like, "Oh my gosh, are you like, are you aliens?" And you see the the boy in the hat is like flipping through a journal he has that has a handprint and then the letter three. The letter letter three?

Theo: The letter three.

Laina: The number three on it.

Theo: The letter three. That was my favorite Kubrick film.

Val: Milo is going to take stock of the situation. He is going to run a hand under his long white braid. And he's going to look at both children and say, "Yes."

Isiah: Of course. Immediately blows our cover.

Rem: Aesa has just emerged from the gummi ship, and is like--.

Val: I feel like, I feel like if they think we're aliens, I think that's better than them thinking that we're keyblade wielders trying to...

Isiah: I guess that's fair.

Nathan: Aliens is better than interdimensional travelers. That is a sentence I never thought I'd say.

Theo: Zenica just immediately pushes past Milo and is like, "Hey kids, sup? Also aliens, what are those?" I had a line and forgot it.

Laina: The girl in the pink sweater is, the girl in the pink sweater is kind of jumping up and down. She's like, "Oh my gosh, we've ever met aliens before."

Nathan: "Hello!" Celeritas says, popping out of the door. "Has anything weird happened lately? I mean, besides us."

Laina: Oh yeah, there's been there's been a bunch of hauntings around the place.

Nathan: Is that normal for here, or weird for here?

Laina: Well, we've encountered ghosts before. So it's not that weird.

Nathan: Oh, nice.

Isiah: That sounds normal.

Nathan: I was going for, you know, Celeritas was asking if anything weird has happened, and it's Gravity Falls, so.

Laina: Yeah, things are always weird in Gravity Falls.

Val: Milo is really interested in this book, and the child that has not spoken yet, and so he's like trying to like sort of like crouch because he's very tall. And so he's like trying to crouch and sort of look at the book that like the child is flipping through. And he's like, "What are you trying to read?"

Laina: So the kid in the blue hat- I'm just going to say their names from now on, even though they haven't introduced themselves.

Zenica: By the way, what are your names?

Laina: The girl in the pink sweater is like, "Oh, I'm Mable and this is my twin brother Dipper."

Laina: And Dipper is like, "Oh, this book is..." And he closes it. "It's a secret."

Theo: Zenica immediately rolls up and picks the book out of his hands and starts flipping through it. Very casually, not like a schoolyard bully, just picks it up and starts like, "Hmm."

Rem: Aesa is gonna give him back the book.

Theo: I feel like as she walks past, Aesa walks past the other way.

Rem:She's just like, "No."

Laina: Dipper kind of glares up at Zenica, and then is like, "Thank you," to Aesa.

Theo: "So, that was a lot. I only got a few pages of that. Is a kid like you old enough to be reading a book like that?" She says teasingly.

Dipper: I'll have you know that I am almost 13 years old.

Zenica: Almost 13 years old, that's a crazy age.

Rem: Aesa immediately goes into traumutizing flashbacks of when she was almost 13 years old.

Isiah: Imber goes, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but does that mean that you are 12?"

Laina: Mabel is like, "Yeah, we're 12."

Theo: The geometry gif of like, the fucking, almost 13. Uhhh.

Isiah: Imber nods thoughtfully.

Milo: It even means that they're both 12, Imber, because they're twins.

Nathan: To be fair... Oh, they did say they were twins. Anyway.

Val: Milo's gonna put out two hands towards the twins and be like, "I'm Milo"

Laina: They both shake your hand and Mabels like, "I'm Mable," again even though she already introduced herself.

Theo: Zenica's gonna hop on one of the beds, like sort of reclining, like,  "So sorry to crash in like this, but we're looking for something, I guess, right?" And she sort of looks at Imber reflexively, sort of mouthing like...

Imber: I say, "Yes, we are searching for a dark forces that may have appeared recently."

Celeritas: You can't miss them, they're scary shadow monsters, they try to eat people's hearts, it's real messy.

Theo: Dipper, booking intensifies.

Milo: Ghosts. They are ghosts. That's all they are. Ghosts. Like you said to Celeritas.

Laina: Mabel's like, "Yeah, we have we have seen some ghosts around here."

Imber: Could you tell us anything about that? Where they were, where they went, what they did?

Mabel: They were in town. They've been kind of going between houses. They've they've been attacking people. We've been trying to do something about it, but they aren't as friendly as the previous ghosts we've encountered.

Theo: As a side note, I like this idea that we crashed into the top of the Mystery Shack, but thus far, no one else who is regularly in the Mystery Shack has come to investigate.

Rem: Soos has to fix the S again, obviously.

Soos: Aww, I can't believe it. Again.

Nathan: Stan cannot be bothered to investigate.

Imber: And Wendy isn't paid enough for this.

Theo: Grunkle Stan is downstairs like, "You crazy kids!"

Laina: Yeah, we cut to a scene of Grunkle Stan watching... Oh God, that that. Yeah, Duck Detective.

Nathan: It's Ducktective.

Ducktective, and he just kind of looks up and he's like, "Huh."

Theo: It's the episode where Ducktective shoots a newspaper magnet in the face.

Laina: Yes.

Nathan: That was one of my favorites.

Theo: That's a joke someone's gonna get. A very narrow niche of people listening to this is gonna get.

Val: I think Milo would look at the two children and sort of look around and realize like, he doesn't know where anything is in this place. He's gonna look at the two children again, he's gonna be like, "Can you lead us to where you've seen these things attacking things? I'm sure that we can figure out a way..."

Celeritas: And if not you, your parents. Where are your parents? Are there any responsible adults around here? At all?

Laina: Mabel's like, "Well, there's adults but I wouldn't call them responsible," and she kind of like, she goes, "Ahyuck hyuck hyuck."

Isiah: Can I make a link with Mabel?

Laina: Yes, you can make a link Mabel.

Isiah: I want to make a light link with her because she is so charming.

Laina: Okay, so that's 2d6 plus your light stat.

Isiah:That's 1d6 plus light?

Laina: 2d6 plus light.

Isiah: Ah, yes.

Theo: Following him, can I make a mastery link with Dipper, because I feel like Zenica is really interested in that book.

Laina: Okay, yeah.

Theo: Just once Isiah's done rolling. First good roll of the game!

Isiah: I rolled a four!

Theo: I can't believe you rolled a 16, that's not even possible!

Laina: Oh God now that means I have to...

Theo: Well, you can just change the links, you don't have to take a hard move on a failure for making a link.

Laina: Oh yeah.

Rem: You just say it's the wrong link.

Laina: I'm gonna say that Isa instead, or Aesa instead gets the light link with Mabel.

Theo: So I want to roll, I have nothing for mastery, so that's a flat 2d6.

Laina: Also Isiah, or Imber, you get a... You get a... What was that?

Theo: I rolled so good. I'm the best at this game.

Laina: Oh okay yeah, you get you get a mastery link with Dipper, and your link move triggers.

Theo: My link move doesn't normally trigger, but he gets a link with me, because that's how the success works.

Laina: I'm gonna say he also gets a mastery link with you.

Theo: He wants to know how I so smoothly picked the book out of his hand.

Laina: Yeah.

Theo: I didn't even see her coming.

Laina: Imber also gets a... I'm gonna say a heart link with Mabel.

Isiah: Sorry say that again?

Laina: You get a heart link with Mabel.

Isiah: All right.

Theo: Also I get to mark one on my hunted track. For those not in the know with Interstitial, as the Hunted, when certain conditions are met, my hunted track advances, meaning my adversary who's facing me gets closer. One of those things that advances the track? Making a link of any kind.

Laina: I forgot about that. Woo.

Theo: But it was worth it because now I'm going to learn from Dipper about monsters and shit.

Rem: So this is a very important question, does the sweater light up?

Laina: It looks like it does have some lights in it.

Isiah: I wanted to ask what the design of her sweater was this episode.

Laina: I'm gonna say that cuz I'm in a Christmasy mood, it's a Christmas tree.

Isiah: Okay.

Theo: So she's wearing a sweater with the exact same design as her brothers hat.

Laina: Yeah, basically.

Theo: That works.

Nathan: So the moment these two said that there were no responsible adults around, Celeritas immediately entered overprotective big brother mode. So I'm going to roll to make a light link with them.

Laina: Okay.

Theo: Two rolls.

Laina: Two rolls.

Nathan: Woo!

Laina: Okay, so you get a light link with Mabel.

Theo: Oh your link move triggers! The Knucklehead fucking link move triggers.

Rem: What's that?

Laina: He gets, well I'll let him explain, sorry.

Nathan: These two have instantly figured out that I am...

Theo: Well, you have to roll again, you don't get to just get two links off of one roll.

Laina: Yeah, you do have to roll again.

Nathan: I mean...

Laina: Well, I guess Mabel...

Theo: That would be so busted if you could just roll and get 30 successes off of one roll.

Nathan: The thing was, Celeritas sees them as both in the same... It's one link.

Laina: It's for them in tandem.

Nathan: Like with Celeritas' actual sibilings.

Theo: What's it gonna be back, because he succeeded, but they can't both get a link with you with one roll.

Laina: I'm gonna, I'm gonna... Rules are nebulous. I'm gonna say that he gets a light link with both of them, and they both get a light link with him.

Nathan: So, now that they know that I'm the hero of this story, I have a +1 forward to convince them or limit break with them.

Laina: Hell yeah.

Val: So Celeritas, his reaction to there are no responsible adults around here is to go into protective mode, Milo's reaction is to "Oh, so I just had to teach them to be self sufficient." He wants to create mastery links with Mabel and Dipper Pine, teaching them how to how to, you know, reach into themselves. And, you know, make sure that they can take care of themselves. Cuz as far as he knows he they can't do that yet.

Laina: Yeah.

Val: Ooh, that's a fail.

Laina: Okay.

Isiah: You can spend a link and reroll.

Laina: You can spend a link to make a link. Okay, uh.

Theo: I like to say it's dark because they see you being like, "Listen young ones, sometimes you must kill to survive."

Laina: I'm gonna say you get a dark link with them, and they get a dark link with you.

Val: Okay.

Isiah: Good start. Also...

Theo: Sometimes bees will sting you. This is alright, simply eat the bees.

Isiah: Eat the bees. I think how my heart link with Mabel manifests is when I hear that there are no responsible adults. I gain a respect for them for being able to be self sufficient in a world that doesn't properly take care of them. From my very little interactions with them.

All: (Laughs)

Isiah: I definitely think it's way worse than it is

Nathan: Despite that, Imber is the only one that gets that Nipper, Dipper and Mabel are fine.

Theo: Nipper.

Nathan: Shut up.

Theo: Nipper, that's what I got on my pectorals.

Nathan: Stop.

Laina: Okay, so Dipper and Mabel are like, "We can absolutely take you to see the ghosts, just follow us." They head downstairs.

Theo: Zenica slides down the railing.

Rem: Does Grunkle Stan see us?

Laina: Grunkle Stan sees five strangers come down.

Theo: Zenica (inaudible) like, "Sup old man, peace sign, out."

Nathan: Celeritas just says, "By the way, we're aliens, we're sorry we crashed into your roof, we'll be back eventually!" And then bails.

Isiah: Imber says, "Ignore both of them and also me and also the two other people, we'll be out of your hair soon."

Theo: Can we have the canonical scene where as we're leaving through the gift shop, Wendy's reading a magazine at the counter and ignores all of us

Laina: Yeah. 100% Wendy doesn't even notice you exist.

Rem: I can't wait to come back to see our gummi ship on a sales counter.

All: (Laughs)

Theo: We leave, the door closes, Zenica dips back in looks at a snow globe, shakes it, is enthralled, stuffs in her pocket, leaves.

Rem: Zenica no.

Isiah: Zenica just steals a snow globe.

Theo: Zenica's the cool one. But there's no weed in disney.

Isiah: Disnweed. Nope, that doesn't work.

Laina: Okay, so, you head out of the Mystery Shack and I think I'm gonna leave the session off there? If that's okay with everyone else?

Theo: I think we need a hook for like better than just, "And you leave the Mystery Shack."

Laina: You leave the Mystery Shack and you hear off, kind of in the distance towards where the town is. You hear screaming, and you all rush off over there.

Theo: We roll into action. Autobots, roll out.

Rem: We get Aesa to reveal that she has a gun.

Theo: Zenica looks at the camera and says, "I guess, this is about to get serious."

Isiah: Can we can we get like a supernatural force of Gravity Falls like having observed the scene and laughs to itself? Like like Bill Cypher is like "Aliens, huh?"

[hellospunkiebrewster]

Hi I’m so sorry for my ignorance but would D&D be set in a time period where men wore wigs ?

Ah-mazing question Nonnie! I’m sure everyone is familiar with those ridiculous powdered wigs thought to give a man an air of wisdom and sophistication that we see people like the founding fathers of the United States wearing in painting and portraits. However, the use of wigs like that had begun to fall out of fashion by the turn of the century.

Louis XIII brought these atrocities into fashion when he wore them to preserve his vanity, as he was balding, and use of them spread across Europe. In the late 1700s the scarcity of flour (due to the mini ice age the Earth was going through) and also William Pitt’s attempt to raise a hair powder tax, quickly drove the use of these wigs from practice, even when the tax was lifted. Men in conservative professions like judges, physicians, barristers, military officers, and some servants would still wear them. It’s quite possible Mr. Konevi has a powdered wig stored away for appeances in court. Most other men quickly realized how much more pleasant it was to go au natural and began wearing those cropped, curly and somewhat wild hairstyles we know the Regency Era for.

Men and their barbers drew inspiration from the Roman Emperors and the Greeks, creating a craze for cropped haircuts, with long side burns, and a curly mop of hair atop their head which could be styled with a hair pomade made of wax or bear fat. Ew. At least you could buy scented varieties.

Regency hair inspo.

Hairstyles were named the Brutus, Titus, and so on, after the man famous for wearing it. My favorite name for a hairstyle that I found though is the frightened owl. It appears Mr. Chambers wears a variation of the Bedford Crop, seen here on the Duke of Bedford himself.

Uh... faceclaim? Anyone?

The wild look created by these curls was thought to be romantic. Men would brush the curls forward so they might tumble over their foreheads. The Ceasar was much shorter all over, but the Titus and Brutus allowed for this sort of styling. The Brutus was extremely popular as it was worn by Beau Brummell himself. Hair would always be short at the nape of the neck and curly was the desired texture for men. Men who didn’t have curly hair tried their damnest to get the volume afforded by curls. Hair was rarely washed, sometimes as little as every few months, so men would wear caps to bed to protect the linens and doilies would protect the backs of their furniture. Beards were not in style and men would generally be clean shaven.

A series of Regency Era portraits showing a variety of men’s hairstyles. Note the profile, and how the man’s hair was extremely short in the back and the curls brushed forward at the top of his head.

Do you think Mr. Sinclaire uses the curly girl method?

[ollyarchive]

Olly Alexander on harnessing the power of sexual fantasy in pop

The Years & Years frontman talks about owning his queer sexuality in the mainstream and writing a twisted disco album about ‘holy wood’

Owen Myers

9 March 2018

“It’s like my Rihanna Loud era,” declares Olly Alexander, before breaking into a laugh. The Years & Yearsfrontman is referring to his cropped curly hair, which is freshly coloured to the hue of a nice Merlot. It’s a cold February evening, and he’s puffing on a roll-up while huddled in the fire exit doorway of a Camden venue. His new dye job has to be kept under wraps, he explains, until its official unveiling in the band’s new video. “It’s so stupid,” Olly says with an eye roll. He then flashes me a grin, suggesting that this moment of starry subterfuge is not entirely unwelcome.

Olly Alexander really likes being a pop star. He says that it’s full of “fairytale” moments, like when his Years & Years earnings enabled him to buy his mum a house, or when he and his ex-boyfriend, Neil Milan (formerly of Clean Bandit), became embraced as British pop’s new golden couple. After winning the BBC Sound poll in 2015, Years & Years’ earworm synth pop was everywhere. They had an inescapable number one single, “King”, and their album Communion was the fastest selling debut that year from a signed British band. Olly says that there are downsides to the tabloid headlines and Twitter trolls that come along with being “a public gay man” – a phrase that he puts in self-deprecating air quotes. But right now, those pressures feel far away, as he prepares to change into a bright pink boiler suit and play to a boozed-up Saturday night crowd, at an Annie Mac-curated showcase. Or, as he put it on Twitter earlier today: bring his “gay agenda” to The Roundhouse.

Years & Years’ great new single, “Sanctify”, contrasts lurking vocals with an ecstatic synth-fuelled chorus, and is as unapologetic as any of Olly’s pithy social media posts. He was newly single when he wrote the song, and reading Andrew Holleran’s 1978 chronologue of gay desire, Dancer From the Dance, had got him thinking about a couple of hookups he’d had with straight-identifying men. “It would always be under darkness,” he says. “It had this added layer of eroticism because it was somewhat forbidden. But (being with me) was a window where they could be themselves, and I felt responsible not to fuck them up.” Those conflicting feelings come through in evocative lyrics about obscuring masks and sinful confessions, with a climax that’s about as on-the-nose as chart pop gets. “I sanctify my sins when I pray,” says Olly, quoting the chorus’s payoff. “What do you do what you pray? You get on your knees. So is it a sexual baptism?” He laughs. “I was just like, ‘There’s a lot to work with here.’”

Years & Years are a three-piece, but the other two members, Mikey Goldsworthy and Emre Türkmen, tend to hunker down behind synths and let Olly take centre stage. His soul-searching lyrics give the band’s maximalist pop its heart, with a singing voice that pierces through a constellation of synths. Their videos bring acts which are often shrouded in darkness into the light, showing the singer cruising in a dank car park, or at a pansexual orgy. The new “Sanctify” visual riffs on dom/sub culture, with an elaborate sci-fi plot that is a device for Olly to perform “Slave 4 U”-inspired dance moves to an audience of androids. When he was commissioned to write a song for the Bridget Jones franchise, he made it about bottoming. “I have sex, I enjoy sex,” he says flatly. He’s sitting in his cosy dressing room the Roundhouse, which rumbles with bass as Disclosure and Mabel soundcheck next door. “In the past, I think gay men (in pop) have often shied away from being overtly sexual, or being commanding of their sexuality. But I believe that our sexual fantasies are a big drive for us all. Exploring that side of yourself is super empowering.”

In the past year or so, many well-known LGBTQ artists have begun to bring queerness into their music in sex-positive ways. Pop’s boy-next-door Troye Sivan strapped on Tom Of Finland leathers for a back alley moment with well-fluffed trade, Janelle Monáe caressed women’s bare thighs, Fever Ray returned with a concept album about queer kink. For better or worse, Sam Smith is now calling himself a “dick monster”on primetime telly. “Sometimes seeing a man express themselves in an overtly sexual way, especially a gay man, makes certain conservative people feel a bit uncomfortable,” Olly says. “I always wanna keep people a little uncomfortable.”

“I believe that our sexual fantasies are a big drive for us all. Exploring that side of yourself is super empowering” – Olly Alexander

Years & Years are far from the first mainstream British pop act to proudly put gay sexuality at the centre of their music – that’s a lineage that runs from Will Young to George Michael, Pet Shop Boys to Bronski Beat, and beyond. But Olly’s performances are a reminder that mainstream pop can be open to explicit queerness (at least, when it’s embodied in a handsome white cis man). Olly has faith that you don’t have to be “generic to be palatable,” and that “straight guys can hear a song that I’ve written about being fucked by another guy, but still relate.” LGBTQ+ people like me grew up seeing straight culture pretty much everywhere; seeing more of our community thrive is crucial.

Growing up in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, Olly was a flamboyant kid. That got him bullied at school, called a “batty boy” before he was even aware that he was gay, and meant that he retreated into drama lessons. While acting, he felt it was okay – a good thing, even – to be expressive. He always nurtured a passion for music, too; he taught himself how to play Joni Mitchell songs on piano, and obsessed over “Dirrty”-era Christina Aguilera. An early performance at a year six assembly blended intimate songwriting and outré entertainment: Olly played piano and sang lyrics about lost love, while two of his friends did a dance routine.

In his late teens and early 20s, Olly cropped up in whimsical micro-budget indie films like 2011’s The Dish And The Spoon, alongside Greta Gerwig, as well as Gaspar Noé’s Enter The Void, and Skins. But his early experiences at school stayed with him. “Your first encounter with your sexuality is often from people bullying you and calling you the thing that you just pray to god that you won’t be – but deep down suspect you might be,” Olly says. “Well, no wonder we have an incredibly conflicting relationship with our bodies and our sexualities, because we’ve had to experience all of that.”

Reflecting on these difficult early years in his dressing room, Olly speaks openly about his own decade-long experience with depression, and the inadequate NHS provisions for those who are struggling with mental health. LGBTQ+ folks disproportionately struggle with depression and substance abuse, he recognises, and there’s only one UK organisation, London Friend, that caters directly to the specific needs of the queer community. “I’ve been there,” says Olly. “They’re amazing, but they are over-subscribed, with a tiny office, old chairs, and not a lot of money. When you’re seeing that people aren’t getting the help they should be, there’s an issue there.” That’s something he knows from first-hand experience. Last year, Olly fronted a BBC documentary, Growing Up Gay, about young LGBTQ+ people struggling with their mental health. His openness around the subject made him a kind of ambassador for those struggles, and he’s trying to work out how to deal with the “almost daily” DMs he gets from people at their lowest moments. “I feel very privileged that someone is wanting to share that with me, but it’s frightening,” he says. “We’re all in fucking pain, and I don’t know if we’re communicating with each other that well.”

“What do we expect a male pop star to do? As a society, how do we want them to behave or present themselves?” – Olly Alexander

Years & Years’ second album, out later this year, mixes gliding pop melodies with churning bass and twisted disco. The new songs feel more varied and exploratory than Communion, thanks in part to new collaborators like current pop’s minimalist masterminds Julia Michaels and Justin Tranter, as well as Greg Kurstin, who co-wrote “Shine”, Years & Years’ best song to date. The album’s centred around a motif of Palo Santo, a healing incense-like wood that you burn and waft around a room. (Olly dramatises this with hand motions as if he’s conducting an invisible orchestra.) Perhaps Palo Santo, with its power to expel evil spirits, could be a metaphor for the songwriting process? Maybe, Olly says. “But (when writing the album) I was angry about loads of things, particularly men. Palo Santo literally means ‘holy wood’ and I was like, ‘This is fucking perfect.’ Like, thinking that your dick is holy? I’ve known guys like that.”

Years & Years’ renewed vision also extends to creating a futuristic universe for their new music to exist in. That’s an idea that Olly’s idols – “Bowie, Prince, and Gaga” – have embraced, and “Sanctify” is the first part of an interconnected series of “weird, wonderful” videos. It marks the next step for a band aiming to join British pop’s pantheon, at a time when Olly, too, has been reflecting on his place in music. “What do we expect a male pop star to do?” he questions. “As a society, how do we want them to behave or present themselves? If I was asking myself, it would be like, ‘Well actually, I’ve always loved this kind of popstar. Maybe I should just be the pop star I want to see in the world.”

[ronniesshoes]

Keep Yourself Alive

It’s ten past nine, Tuesday evening, and despite the meeting having begun not twenty minutes ago, the table is a right mess already; littered with old magazines and library books he doubts will be returned anytime soon, Freddie’s sketches and scribbles, Roger’s Macbook, and a knocked over jar of glitter that was already there when Brian got home. He supposes Roger and John might have something to do with it, because there’s a fair amount of glitter in the bassist’s hair, and a speck just beneath Roger’s left eye.

“Okay, so, stagewear,” Freddie says, holding up his index finger as if about to start counting, and Brian, having been designated as scribe, starts scribbling, “and, no matter if we get signed or not, ideas on how to promote the next album. Personally I think we might as well go full glam, because as of now it seems like we are unsure of what’s going on ourselves. Anything else?”

John’s eyes drift towards the ceiling, and Roger, brow furrowed, is drumming a pen against his thigh. Brian reaches out to stop him.

“Well?”

“The website is still not up and running,” Roger begins slowly, having now begun to draw small triangles on the thigh of his jeans, “and we should probably talk about who’s in charge of social media as well, because as of now, the few people who actually write to us may never get back a reply.”

Freddie nods. “Right, yes, the banner is almost done, and you’re right about social media. Brian, what about your friend, what’s his name?”

“Daniel. He promised to get back to me before next week,” he says, making a mental note to do a follow up tomorrow.

“Good. Let’s start with stagewear, shall we?”

Brian drops his head in hand, attempting to hide his smile. Dressing his band for concerts and photo shoots is no doubt one of Freddie’s favourite pastimes, right up with researching Oscar Wilde and trying to persuade them to get another cat.

“I like these,” John says, holding up two of Freddie’s sketches of different batwing costumes which he has been examining, “on you two, at least. I’m thinking it would look really good on stage.”

“I looked at some of Zandra Rhodes’ designs,” Freddie says, reaching for one of the books, “obviously she does a lot with colour, but look at this wedding dress, for example. Imagine very large sleeves with pleats like that, how great a visual effect we could achieve. I’m sure I could ask Mary to make something like that.”

“I think it’s great, it goes well with the whole black and white theme we’ve got going,” Roger says.

“So we’re keeping that?”

“Didn’t they wear lots of colours back then?” Brian wonders aloud, trying to recall the pictures Roger and Freddie have shown him on various occations.

“They did, but to be perfectly honest, things like coloured satin and sequins and the like looks rather cheap to me,” Freddie says with distaste.

“Basically we’re taking the best of glam and ignoring the things we don’t like,” Roger says, tipping his chair back.

“Yes, but what I don’t understand is why we haven't had a glam revival yet,” Freddie says, sitting up straighter, “today’s rock scene is so ... insipid; really, it’s the perfect time to spice it up a bit of flamboyance, to provoke and to provide a bit of fun in a time where music has sounded pretty much the same for the past three decades. And, I mean, I understand the importance of the movement back in the 70s, but most of the performers who dressed up and did the whole androgynous thing were straight men, and now we have the opportunity to create a space where actual queer artists can express themselves. I mean, how often do you hear someone like Jobriath mentioned?”

Despite the rhetorical question, Roger shrugs, expression bemused. John purses his lips.

“So obviously we’ll have to find a new drummer,” Brian says, lazily adding to his stick figure portrait of only drummer present, already wearing a hat atop significantly longer locks and dressed in a tutu.

Roger opens his mouth to retort, but Freddie is quicker. “Don’t worry, dear, a dash of glitter and a haircut like Brian Connolly, and no one will notice!”

That comment makes John snorts into the crook of his elbow, and Roger looks like he's not sure whether to feel indignant or to laugh.

“The token straight,” Brian continues with a sigh, merely laughing when Roger socks him in the arm. Ziggy, disturbed by the commotion, hops down from the armchair he’s been sleeping in for the past hours, and starts rubbing his head against Freddie’s leg until the singer starts petting him.

“We can’t really go fully glam with short hair, though,” John points out, and they all fall silent, exchanging tentative glances.

“I suppose it’s not uncommon to see guys with long hair anymore,” Roger says after a while, “I do have a some trouble imagining it, though.”

He’s not the only one; every long haired guy Brian can recall seeing has been a whole other type, one he doubts any of them fits, especially not if they are going to adopt the glam style, which in and of itself is way out of Brian’s comfort zone. It may be less of a trouble for Freddie, who already owns a fair few pieces from that era, and generally dresses more or less glam already, if perhaps a bit more subtly, and Roger, who gladly lets Freddie dress him, and whose style spans from pretentious art kid to burnt out rock n’ roll star to a walking Adidas ad, and that despite not having engaged in any kind of sports since leaving Cornwall as far as Brian is aware.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Freddie says, “we should give it a go.”

“As long as I’m allowed to keep my hair as it is,” Brian says, suppressing a grimace at the thought of himself with long hair.

“What, no! If we’re all growing our hair out, you’ll have to do it as well,” Roger protests.

“Not with curly hair," he says, going for patience but finding it hard to, "I’ll end up with an afro, and I doubt that’s the look we’re trying to achieve.”

“It looked fine on Bolan!”

“Don’t know who he is, and it doesn’t matter anyway, I won’t do it,” he says, ignoring Roger’s outraged expression. He reaches for his Mac, punches the keyboard buttons, and shoves the screen into Brian’s face, showing a pretty faced guitarist who indeed works both long and curly hair.

“See?” Roger urges, a slightly manic expression on his face, “and Jimmy Page! You practically drool every time you see a picture of him, how can you doubt that curls and long hair don’t go together?”

“I would’ve phrased it differently, but I have to agree with Roger, dear, almost everyone wore their hair long in the 70s, and no doubt it will look good on you, too.”

“John and Freddie have curly hair as well, you know,” Roger offers, like he’s being helpful.

“Not the same,” he says, but when even John’s usually neutral expression shifts just slightly enough to convey his opinion on the matter, Brian knows he's lost. “All right, fine. I’ll complain, though, and if it looks stupid, I’ll cut it short again.”

He pointedly ignores the way Roger’s face fills with glee and Freddie looks pleased, opting instead to exchange glances with John, who merely lifts one eyebrow a fraction, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Right,” he says, looking down at his notepad, “promotion?”

“Yes, right,” Freddie says, pausing for a second as if about to reveal some no doubt grand, but probably a bit mad, idea, a slightly worrying glint in his eyes, “I’m thinking a nude photo shoot for—”

“You’re thinking a what?” Brian interrupts, certain he’s heard wrong. Roger also looks uncertain, John plain uncomfortable.

“A nude photo shoot, of course,” Freddie repeats, like it’s no big deal.

Brian hides his face in his hands, wondering not for the first time how he's survived living with these maniacs for this long.

“I think Stones did that for Sticky Fingers though,” Roger says, and Brian looks up to see him already tapping on his keyboard.

“What?” Freddie exclaims, looking mildly outraged, “let me see.”

“No, sorry, it’s only Mick,” he replies, handing his laptop to Freddie, “I remembered it as all of them.”

“Well, I’m thinking more along the lines of Performance, now you mention him. Only less hippie and more stylish, you know.”

“We still haven’t seen it, Fred,” Brian says, because it’s not the first time Freddie has referred to a weird art film, and especially Performance he has talked about a lot for a movie he claims to hate.

“You don’t have to,” Freddie says dismissively, “you wouldn’t like it anyway, but here, look.” He turns the laptop so they can all see the picture of Mick Jagger, seemingly naked, reclining on a large bed. A moment later, Roger gets up and disappears into the kitchen.

“I want us all in the nude, sprawled on a large bed with expensive sheets and a bottle of champagne,” Freddie continues, raising his voice enough for Roger to hear.

“So just an ordinary day, then?” Roger asks as he return with more beers, making John laugh and Freddie hide his teeth.

“And why exactly is it that we have to be naked for this to be glam?” he asks after a moment. John, newly-brought beer can to his lips, shoots him a glance, and Brian thinks he looks relieved.

“It’s provocative, and that’s all I’m about, dear, you know that. God knows that it shouldn’t be, but here we are. Obviously you don’t have to be naked, it just has to look like you are.”

"Fred, I don't—"

“Oh, I know, Fleetwood Mac definitely had a picture taken where they were all in bed,” Roger interrupts.

“Roger,” Freddie says, tone saccharine, but when the drummer turns to look at him, he chucks a piece of crumbled up paper at him, “shut up.”

“But we’re trying to sell music, Fred, not ourselves,” Brian tries to reason, “I know you want us to be outrageous, but to be honest I can’t really see the point.”

“Of course we’re trying to sell ourselves,” Roger says, looking up from where he’s been inspecting the tattoo on his right wrist, “that’s the whole point, isn’t it? I mean, no one’s asking you to get your cock out on stage, but I agree with Freddie that it’s possible to do this with taste. Personally I think it’s a good idea.”

“You just want an excuse to show off,” Brian grumbles, annoyed that the two of them always gang up on him, “like we don’t see more than enough of you already.”

“Brian,” Freddie warns.

“I don’t— what are you talking about?”

“Forget it,” he says, working hard to keep his voice level, “if you really want to, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well,” Roger says after a beat, looking uncertain, “what do you think, John?”

“The four of us sprawled naked on a big bed might be a bit much,” he allows, “but I don’t see anything wrong with having pictures taken from the waist and up, for example. It comes down to the photographer as well. Did you have anyone in mind, Fred?”

“I thought maybe Tim, he’s been doing lots of weird art films lately, I’m sure he would be happy to do it if he’s not busy.”

Brian nods along with the others and quickly scans the bullets on his pad. “Should we keep our music on Soundcloud or extend it to Youtube as well? We all know Roger’s opinion on the matter, but what do you two say?

“It might be easier to share new songs on Facebook,” John says, “it looks neater with actual videos, but unless we keep it up to date and reply when people comment it just looks unprofessional and has the potential to do more harm than good.”

“John is right, and Roger mentioned it earlier as well, we need become better at checking up on social media,” Freddie agrees.

Brian caps and uncaps his pen. “Any volunteers?”

“As long as you check up on it once in awhile as well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind too much,” Roger offers.

“Great,” Freddie says, “now, does everyone have an outfit for the concert at King's College?”

“I don’t,” John says. Brian dips a finger in some of the glitter still on the table and carefully inspects it.

“Come down to the stall Friday, we’ll find you something,” Freddie promises. “Roger, I’ve seen yours already, Brian? Not gonna show up in one of those awful shirts, are you? I age ten years every time you wear one in public.”

Brian rolls his eyes, about to say a thing or two about some of the singer’s more outlandish clothes, but he holds his tongue. “No, Fred.”

He looks at his notepad again. “So I’ll call Daniel, Freddie will talk to Tim, Roger is responsible for social media, and John ... please turn it down a notch with Bonnie Tyler while you shower. It’s a bit disconcerting.”

“I’ll try to keep it down,” John offers, a smile tugging on his lips when Roger lets out a snort of laughter.

"If that's all, I'm off to bed," Freddie says, pushes his chair back, and stands. He pauses for a moment, looks at the table, and adds, "I hope this mess is gone tomorrow", before he disappears into their bedroom, Ziggy close on his heels.

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

It’s completely dark outside when he stumbles out of bed some hours later, half asleep still, but he barely registers it, his only thought revolving around the pressure on his bladder. It takes lots of fumbling before he finds the light switch, and when he does, the sudden light is too bright, and he has to screw his eyes shut again. He somehow succeeds in shoving down his pyjama bottoms and pushing up the toilet seat without ever opening his eyes, but he doesn’t trust himself enough to have a go at it and end up missing the bowl, and so he tentatively opens one eye, inwardly cursing himself for drinking those extra beers.

It is as he’s making his way back that he notices faint noises coming from the living room, and despite his desire to get back to bed as quickly as possible, he stops to push open the door to blearily peek in. Roger is there—or at least his blond head of messy hair is—huddled up in a corner of the couch watching A Clockwork Orange for the umpteenth time. Brian steps into the room, and Roger turns, startled by the creak of the floorboards, before his face quickly morphs into a smile.

“Why aren't you in bed?” he asks, and Brian waves a hand towards the bathroom with a grunt, too tired to form a proper sentence. Roger seems to understand, but there’s an amused smile playing on his lips. He decides to ignore it, and instead sinks onto the couch, his whole body melting into the soft, worn cushions.

He thinks about staying here for a while, because the couch really is soft, and conveniently enough he’s already sitting on it, whereas his bed is in another room, and now his eyes are falling shut anyway. If only he had something to support his head on, because the back rest really is too low and, weird, it never struck him how bony it feels, not at all like the rest of it, and ...

“Wanna lie down?” At the sound of Roger’s voice he looks up, and, wow, he has got a lot of hair. Finally registering the question, he lifts his head from where it appears to have settled on Roger’s shoulder, and nods, once, before shifting back to lie down with his head in the drummer’s lap. Only for a moment, though, then he is going back to bed. Said moment passes, and then Roger's hand comes down to thread through his hair, and no, he is definitely okay with staying here. For a while he tries to focus on the movie, but his eyes are heavy and stinging and keep falling shut. The scenes from the movie are in his head, created by memory and sounds, and even though Roger's thigh could've been softer, there are certainly less comfortable places to rest. If only it wasn't so cold, he thinks, and he really does want to open his eyes and go back to bed, it’s just so, so far away. Roger shifts underneath him then and removes his hand, and Brian tries to communicate his displeasure with a small noise in the back of his throat. A moment later, something warm and soft is draped over his body, and Roger's hand returns, lightly massaging his scalp with calloused fingertips. A minute or less, for sure, later, and Roger's voice, soft and gentle albeit somewhat distant, sounds, and then he's manipulated into first sitting up and then standing, and with the blanket around his shoulders he is dimly aware of the fact that he is being lead into his room, too dazed to even realise he is walking, before he falls into bed with a warm sort of gratefulness. ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

The next morning, early but not too early in case he’s sleeping in, he calls Daniel. Brian doesn’t actually know the guy, except that he attends the same course as Brian, and that he has a knack for setting up websites. He has been very sweet and helpful about it all, but they haven’t even discussed a price yet, and the whole thing makes Brian stressed and unsure and a bit nauseous. When he gets the answering machine, it’s with equal measures of relief and exasperation that he throws his phone on his bed and gathers his books to finish his assigned readings. The kitchen is blissfully quiet, Freddie having left half an hour ago and John and Roger most certainly not up yet. It’s with some envy that he thinks of this, because his body is stiff and heavy from lack of sleep, but before readings and phone calls and his afternoon lecture are well over, he can’t justify going back to bed.

Two hours later and halfway done, he is just contemplating whether to take a break when the door at the far end of the living room opens and the rhythm section appears, both bleary-eyed in bare legs and jumpers and with their hair mussed from sleep, John wearing two different socks as usual and Roger only wearing one. “Good morning,” Roger says around a yawn, even though it’s closer to noon. Still, they’re up unusually early considering. “Morning,” he replies, “you’re up early.” “The bloody neighbours started having sex again,” Roger complains, flicking on the kettle and reaching for two cups. “They’re pensioners,” John explains, “suppose they don’t hear very well.” “They could at least close the window. It’s november, bloody freezing anyway,” Roger says, dumping tea bags into the cups, “can barely look them in the eye when I meet them. You want tea as well?” “Please,” he says, handing over his empty mug before returning to his work. “Do you actually colour code your stuff?” Roger asks a while later, so close to his ear it makes him jump. “It’s what I imagine Freddie does because he thinks it looks pretty.” “He does,” John confirms. “I don’t do it because it looks pretty, I do it because it helps me stay organized. You should try it sometime,” he says pointedly. “What, being organized?” Roger yawns, “nah, never works. I find comfort in chaos.” “Unless you’re late and can’t find your earphones,” John says, filling up a bowl with granola until it’s almost overflowing. “Or your phone,” Brian adds. “Okay, but everyone loses their phone once in awhile, that doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly where every other thing in my room is.” “Under your bed,” John says. “Exactly,” Roger says, pointing his spoon at John like he’s the one who really gets it. Which he probably is, because he’s not much better. He tries to return to his readings once again, but the two of them together make for a pretty big distraction, even when he does his best to stay out of the conversation. He picks up the tea Roger made him and reads the same line over and over again until his head is swimming and he starts thinking about everything on his to-do list. “Are you up for practise later?” John asks around a spoonful of granola, pulling him from his thoughts. “Sure,” he says, and dies a little inside. It's when they've finally buggered off that he realises just how tense he's feeling. He rolls his neck and shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension, but it only serves to make him even more aware of the stiffness. He idly wonders if a good, long wank is what he needs, but quickly decides that hoping to be left alone long enough is unrealistic. He doesn't fancy doing it in the shower, his body not responding to being naked the same way it does when he's in bed, but unless Roger has a lecture, even a few hours alone very unlikely to happen. John and Freddie both work Wednesdays, so it's practically the only day of the week where there’s a slight chance he can get some time for himself, but most often the drummer is there to keep him company. And it’s not as if he doesn’t like to spend time with him, but he really is not at all like Roger who thrives off company, and sometimes all that socialising is a bit much. Sighing, he packs up his stuff, saves his notes for the thirteenth time, and closes his laptop. He drains the rest of tea, long gone cold now, and allows himself a minute to just sit. He tries one of Freddie’s meditation techniques, but immediately feels stupid and stops. It would just be his luck for John or Roger to walk in on him. As it happens, Roger does have a lecture, and appears again half an hour later, smartly dressed which means the girl he fancies is going to be there, grabs a bottle of juice from the fridge, and hangs around for a good five minutes to chat. “Didn’t you have a lecture?” he hints when it becomes clear that Roger has lost all track of time during his not particularly asked for review on the new Roger Waters album. Roger stops mid-sentence, lets out a laugh, and puts on his shoes, waving at him before disappearing outside. Appreciating the near-silence immensely, Brian goes back to brainstorming his next paper. John appears again a while after to make another cup of tea, but he doesn't strike up conversation, and for the next half an hour, Brian manages to fill three pages in his notebook. Satisfied with his work, he puts it away and mentally goes through the rest of his tasks. There's that phone call again, which he supposes he can't really put off any longer, and afterwards there's lunch, and then he thinks he should be able to squeeze in a wank before he leaves for uni. “Right, I’m off,” John announces, patting his coat pockets, “see you later.” “See you. Have a nice shift!” John thanks him and leaves, and Brian is left alone. No point in putting it off any longer. He walks back to his room to get his phone and lies back on his bed, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Daniel’s number. While waiting for him to pick up, Brian eyes wander to the large poster of a deliciously sweaty Jimmy Page on the opposite wall. He thumbs at the hem of his trousers, his own cold fingers making him shiver when he brushes against the bare skin of his stomach. “Hello?” Daniel says, and Brian almost drops his phone, guiltily snatching his hand away. “Hi, uhm, hi,” he says, immediately feeling stupid, “sorry to bother you, but you never called me back, and—” “Right, yes, sorry about that. It’s just about done, I thought we could look over it after the lecture today if you’re not busy?” “No, that would be great, thank you.” “Alright, Brian, see you in a couple of hours.” “Yeah, alright. Bye!” Embarrassed by his lack of social skills, he finds that he’s not particularly horny anymore, and so deems it to be too much work. Glancing at his watch, he finds that he still has an hour to kill before leaving for class, and so he retreats to the studio and picks up his guitar, relaxing properly for the first time that day. ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

“Yes, mum— No, I told you today is not so good,” he says, phone pressed against his ear as he steps up the stairs from the Tube, “but I don’t work Saturday, how’s that?”

“The Parkers are visiting, dear, I told you so the last time we spoke,” mum says.

“Right, sorry—”

“Are you sure you can’t come by today? Surely the guys won’t be cross with you for skipping band practise this once, I imagine they have mums who miss them, too.”

“It’s not just band practise,” he says, weaving through the crowd and wishing he was home already, “and I can’t skip, mum, I already agreed— hold on.”

He passes a group of construction workers drilling, and returns to the phonecall.

“What about tomorrow? I finish work early.”

He will have to move a few things around, and stay up after practise to rewrite his lecture notes, but there’s that.

“Oh yes,” mum thrills, “how’s it going with, what’s his name?”

“Louis,” he says, narrowly avoiding bumping into an old woman, “and it’s going fine. But mum—”

“Louis, that’s right. You know, I talked to Deborah, and I told her you started tutoring recently, and she’s looking for someone to help her son with maths, and I told her that I’m sure you’d love to, but she’d have to call you herself to make an arrangement, so I gave her your number, and—”

“Mum,” he says, unable to keep the slightly whiny tone from his voice, “I appreciate you trying to set me up with more work, but I’ve got enough on my plate as it is, and I’m not sure I have the time.”

“Of course, dear, but you know it would really help them a lot, and it’s only twenty minutes by the Underground.”

“Right,” he says. Twenty minutes to the station, and then he has to walk for twenty more to get to their house if memory serves him well. “I’ll think about, but I really can’t promise anything.”

“Oh, she’ll be thrilled,” mum says.

“Bri?” someone calls, and he spins around to see John a few blocks down.

He waves at him and says to mum, “how was tomorrow for you? I can probably be there around five-ish, is that alright?”

“Five is perfect. Dad will be happy to see you, I know he has quite a lot to talk to you about. In fact—”

“No, Mum, sorry, but John’s here, I really have to go now. Please tell dad I said hi, and then I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

“See you tomorrow. Tell John hello from me!”

“I will,” he says, just as John catches up with him, “bye, mum!”

“Wanted you to skip practise?” John guesses as Brian lets out a sigh.

“Like always,” he says, smiling in spite of himself. “How was work?”

“It was all right,” John says mildly, “did you talk to that Daniel?”

“Yes, he showed me how to set it up and everything, it looks really good,” he says, following John up the stairs to the flat.

“Seems like everything’s coming together then,” John replies, opening the door to the flat and the music coming from inside.

It’s Roger singing and playing Don’t Play Your Rock and Roll, which Brian has only ever heard him sing in the shower, and that only once or twice. “It’s not half bad,” he says genuinely, toeing off his shoes.

“What’s more baffling,” John says, not sounding baffled at all, “is how the two of them manage to play all three instruments at once.”

Brian is surprised to discover he is right - it’s a slightly stripped down version of the original, but never mind that, he already has trouble wrapping his head around the fact that they indeed are playing both drums, guitar, and bass. “How are they doing that?”

John shrugs and pushes his boots to the side with his foot. He’s wearing a sock patterned with pink octopuses, Brian notices. The other has The Great Wave off Kanagawa on it.

He follows John into the living room just as the door to the studio opens and Roger comes bouncing out, waving the drumsticks still in his hands. “Oi, there you are! Thought I heard you!”

“How did you—” he begins, but then Freddie and Tim both appear, Tim with John’s bass hanging from around his neck, and the pieces fall into place.

“Tim! How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Just stopped by to pick up the drinks dispenser.“ He looks at John, “I hope it’s okay I borrowed your bass.”

“Of course,” John says, dodging Roger’s attempt at putting his arms around him. “Roger, stop, you’re all sweaty.”

“Tim,” Roger says, dragging out his name, “this is our new and better bass player, Deacon John. John Deacon. Deaky.”

“I know, Roger,” Tim replies with great patience, “I’ve known him for two years.”

This apparently strikes Roger as terribly funny, because he starts laughing so hard that no sound comes out and John has to hold him upright, all the while trying his best not to smile.

“Who let him have sugar?” Brian asks, watching with slight worry as Roger gasps for breath.

“Tesco had a 3 for 2 offer on all sweets,” Freddie replies, and knowing Roger’s absolute weakness for Tesco offers and sugar in general, Brian thinks this explains it very well.

Roger, seemingly able to breathe again, brightly offers to get the last bag to share, but luckily, everyone reclines.

“I was actually about to leave,” Tim says, “did you want me to have a look at your ideas for a photo shoot before I go?”

“That would be great,” Brian says, “Fred?”

“Right, yes,” he begins, before launching into a detailed description of his idea, one that impossibly enough involves even more nudity than the night before. He opens the door to their bedroom, and they all follow him inside. “I’m thinking my bed,” he says, gesturing to his god-awful rococo bed, “it’s as big as Brian’s but much nicer.”

“I see,” Tim says, tone neutral.

Roger, now looking bored, and clearly on the way down from his sugar rush, looks like he is strongly considering lying down on either bed. Brian takes a step to the side, blocking his own.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time the next couple of weeks, but things slow down quite a bit for me after the 1st,” Tim says, “I’ll get back to you, yeah?”

Hugs and claps on the back are exchanged then, and soon after Tim leaves with the drinks dispenser in hand, and another promise to stay in touch. 

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ Thursday morning sees Brian waking slowly, reluctantly, stirred from sleep by melancholic piano play he instantly recognises but doesn't remember. Eyes still closed, his attention is stubbornly focused on the warmth of his covers, the way his sleep-heavy body merely exist in this warm cocoon that is his bed. When he finally opens one eye—the song he now recognises as Für Elise still playing— Freddie is sitting in his bed, looking sleepy rather than tired, and lets the music play instead of turning the alarm off right away.

"Good morning," he says, and Brian's murmured remark gets lost somewhere between his lips and pillow. "It's nice, this, isn't it?" Freddie continues, wriggling out of his pyjamas and turning down the heat before reaching up to crack the window open. Brian pulls his duvet tighter around him. "Better than his 5th, definitely," he says, watching as Freddie rummages through his closet, "or that awful one, Rossini I think it was." Freddie's sudden interest in classical music and insistence to use a new piece every day for his alarm the past month has at times been trying, and while some of it is quite nice, Brian is unable to enjoy any kind of music before breakfast and two cups of coffee, and that's no matter how great a masterpiece it supposedly is. Freddie laughs. "Never seen you up so fast." He grimaces. "'m not a morning person." Nine months of living together, and it still seems necessary to point out ever so often. He envies John and Roger at times, because their sleeping arrangement seems to work quite well. While Freddie is in the shower, Brian lies in bed, face buried in his pillow, torn between getting up and go about the day, and staying in his bed, the internal struggle an as important part of his day as his morning coffee and Freddie's shower first thing in the morning. At last he gets up, albeit reluctantly, and if only to shut the window. Throwing on a warm sweater, he heads into the living room. John and Roger are there, still playing Mario Kart by the looks—and sounds—of it, just like they did when he went to bed last night. There's a crumbled bag of Walker's crisps under the sofa, and John is chewing on a strawberry lance, a concentrated look on his face. “Morning,” he greets. Receiving no answer, he tries instead, “have any of you fed the cat?” “I think Freddie did,” Roger replies distractedly, before letting out a shout of “bastard!" Brian checks Ziggy’s bowl and puts on the kettle, leaning against the counter while idly watching the other two play. "So who's winning?" he asks, already knowing the answer. "Not Roger," John says, face arranged in a carefully blank expression, but there's a smile in his voice, which breaks onto his face when Roger elbows him in the side. "Did you eat at all?" he asks, looking through the cupboard in search of coffee. "A bag of Cheese and Onion," Roger replies before throwing his whole body to the left to avoid crashing into another player. "Maybe you should get some sleep," he suggests, blowing at his tea. "I just need to win, just one more time." John keeps quiet, and races past the goal line. While waiting for the water to boil, Brian takes out his phone to check his university email. There’s a new one from one of his favourite professors, but he rarely ever writes emails. Curious, he opens it, leaning back against the counter while waiting for it to load. He glances at John and Roger who is finally turning off the TV, and when he looks at his screen again, a rather long mail has appeared. He scans the contents of it rather quickly, at once filled with excitement and quite a bit of nausea. “Fuck,” he whispers, just as Freddie enters the room, dressed in a kimono and drying his hair with a towel. “You alright, dear? You look terribly pale.” “No, I—” he begins, dimly aware of John and Roger turning to peer curiously at him as well, “my professor, he wants me to be a part of a team going to Tenerife.”

Next

[intotheneoculture]

Blue Crayon Pt. 1 // Giz de cera Azul Pt. 1

Summary: When your daughter ended up sick at school, you had to take her to the doctor’s office, but didn’t expect the doctor to have such dreamy eyes as he did. //Quando sua filha acabou doente na escola, você teve que levá-la ao consultório do médico, mas ela não esperava que o médico tivesse olhos sonhadores. 

Member: Renjun   

A/N: There’s some mistakes in the Port. translation (changing your to his) , these will be fixed later! // Existem alguns erros na tradução portuguesa que será corrigido mais tarde!

Written by Adm Zar, Translated by Adm Zar 

You sat in the doctor's office, waiting for the nurse to ask about your daughter's symptoms. Speaking of your daughter, she sat in your lap with her head resting on your shoulder. She had two curly ponytails that sat on the sides of her head. She wore a orange sundress and black flats. You picked her up from school early because the nurse called and said she came to the office not feeling well. The nurse took her temperature and she had a fever of 98 degrees (37 degrees Celsius). She was just 5 years old, with a bright personality that matched her smile.   

There were 3 knocks at the door before the nurse walked in. She introduced herself and began asking you a few questions such as, "So what are her symptoms?"

You looked down at the little girl in your arms as you spoke, "She has a high fever and a few complaints about chills and nausea..."

"Any loss of appetite or weakness or feeling light headed?" The nurse asked as she typed what you had previously spoke into her laptop.  

"Yes, she has been feeling weak and hasn't ate much lately."  

She nodded and typed more of the symptoms, "Okay, I'll talk to the doctor and he should be in here shortly."  

You nodded and stroked your daughter's arm lightly. She had your earphones in and was watching Moana for what seemed like the thousandth time. You sighed, in hopes that there wasn't anything too serious wrong with her. It's hard enough being a single mother, but having to juggle 2 jobs, finding time to spend with your little girl and finding time for yourself was already tricky.  

The familiar 3 knocks at the door resonated in the room as the doctor walked in. He stood about 5'7" with lightly brown, dyed hair. He wore a cute smile as he walked into the room and spoke, "Xena Y/L/N?"

Your daughter perked up at the sound of her name and smiled back at him. It was the first time you've seen her smile at any other man other than her grandfather.  

"Xena? Like the warrior princess right?" He spoke as he sat down, still wearing his bright smile. She nodded as enthusiastically as she could and he held his hand out for her to shake, "well Xena, I'm Dr. Huang. And you must be the mother of this beautiful little lady? I can see where she gets it from."

It was hard to say that you weren't flattered. But you weren't there to flirt, you were there to get a diagnosis for your daughter's sickness.  

"So I hear that you have a fever along with some chills and nausea. Also you're not eating and feeling weak, yes?" Dr. Huang asked, and she nodded, "It's just a case of the stomach flu. I'll prescribe some antibiotics and make sure you eat a lot of soup and drink a lot of ginger-ale to ease the stomach pain you might get. You may be sick for a few days so just like Xena, be a warrior princess for me. Okay?"  

"I'm always a warrior princess! But I'll make sure to be more of a warrior princess to get back healthy again!" Xena spoke in her high-pitched, but cute voice.

Dr. Huang smiled at her, then turned to you, "Make sure she takes the antibiotics twice a day until she gets better. And she still needs her physical for school so we can do that once she is back to health. Okay, so I hope you feel better and have a good day!"

With the intructions of Dr. Huang, Xena was back to health in no time. She was excited to go back to school, especially since she missed the first four days of career week. Carter week was a week we're people of different occupations would come in and talk about all the fun stuff about their job, in the most child friendly way of course. She had already missed the firefighters, and FBI agent, and pilot and a photographer. Each day was a surprise, so she was basically dragging you out the door.

"Come on mommy! Let's go, let's go! I don't want to be late!" She whined as she pulled you by the wrist towards the front door of the apartment.

"Hold on, Xena. Mommy has to find the car keys." You spoke as you wiggled your wrist out of her grip.  

"I have the car keys! Let's go!" Xena spoke shaking the keys in her hand.

You laughed at the eager child in front of you, and grabbed the keys from within her tiny hands. The whole car ride she couldn't stop talking about who she thought could be coming to speak today, "What if it's a ballerina- oh! or a zoo person?"

"That's called a zoologist." You informed, glancing at her.

"Right a zoologist!"  

Once your dropped her off at school, you watched her run through the front doors. Just to make sure she was safe, before you pulled off. She wore the same curly ponytails that she did at the doctor's office. They bounced as she skipped through the school, finding her way towards her classroom.  

Everyone hurried towards their seats as class begun and the teacher introduced the day's guest speaker. She went on about treating him nice and with respect, as they treat her, "So now I would like you all to meet Dr. Huang, a doctor who only works with children!"

The class gave an cheer of excitement for the doctor. But the name sounded familiar to Xena, that was until she saw his face and remembered he was "the nice doctor" from when she was sick a few days ago. As he spoke and asked questions, she gave him her undivided attention and listened to him very intently.  

By the time he was done speaking, it was time for them to go to recess. But before they went out, Dr. Huang passed out lollipops to the class, much to their enjoyment. Dr. Huang noticed Xena when he first stepped into the classroom and wanted to talk to her before he had to go back to work. He asked the teacher if he could talk to you during recess, because you were one of his patients and she agreed very graciously.

"Xena!" Dr. Huang called out to your daughter right before she left the room.

"Dr. Huang! I took the medicine and now I'm all better, see!"  

"Yes I see," He laughed, "I have a few questions for you? Is your mom married?"

"Nope!"

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

"Well," She started as Dr. Huang's face fell, "There was this once guy she said has a cute butt, but other than that, no. Why? Do you have a crush on my mommy?"

"I wouldn't call it a-"  

"You have a crush on my mommy! Dr. Huang has a crush on my mommy!" She cheered in a sing-song voice. Dr. Huang watch her with amusement but he was still embarrassed.

"You can call me Renjun is you want to, Xena. Could you help..." He couldn't help but be embarrassed about asking a 5 year old for dating help, "Could you help me get a date with your mom?"  

"Why don't you just call her? She couldn't stop going on and on about how 'Dr. Huang's smile was so cute' or 'Dr. Huang has such dreamy eyes'."

"She said that?" Renjun felt his heart flutter at your words.

"And more," She said as she wrote your phone number down with a blue crayon on a piece of loose notebook paper, "Here you go! She doesn't have to work today, so try calling her now."

-

You sat in your living room, watching re-runs of old 90s TV shows, when you heard your phone ring. She reached for the phone that was on the arm of the couch and glanced down at the screen. She wasn't going to answer because it was from an unknown caller but decided to anyway.  

"Hello?" You asked.

"Hi, Y/N. This is Dr. Huang from the doctors office, but you can call me Renjun. Um, this may be weird but I was wondering if you could like to go to lunch sometime soon?"

"Umm-"  

// 

Você sentava no consultório, aguardando o enfermeiro para perguntar sobre os sintomas da sua filha. Falando de sua filha, assentou no seu colo com a cabeça apoiada sobre seu ombro. Ela tinha dois rabos-de-encaracolado que estava assentado sobre os lados da sua cabeça. Ela usava uma laranja sundress e preto flats. Você escolheu seu da escola mais cedo porque a enfermeira chamou e disse que ela veio para o escritório não se sentir bem. A enfermeira tomou a sua temperatura e ela teve uma febre de 98 graus (37 graus Celsius). Ela foi de apenas 5 anos de idade com uma personalidade brilhante que coincidia com o seu sorriso.

Houve 3 bate na porta antes de a enfermeira orientado em. Ela se apresentou e começou a colocar algumas perguntas como "Quais são então os seus sintomas?"

Você olhou a menina em seus braços como você falou, "Ela tem uma febre alta e algumas queixas sobre calafrios e náuseas..."

"qualquer perda de apetite ou fraqueza ou sensação de cabeça leve?" o enfermeiro perguntou como ela digitou o que você tinha anteriormente falou em seu laptop.

"Sim, ela foi sentimento fraco e não comeram muito ultimamente."

Ela nodded e digitada mais dos sintomas, "Ok, eu vou falar com o médico e ele deve ser aqui em breve."

Você nodded e acionado o braço da sua filha levemente. Ela tinha os seus auscultadores e estava assistindo Moana para que parecia o milésimo do tempo. Você suspirou, na esperança de que não havia nada de errado com seu demasiado sério. É difícil ser suficiente uma única mãe, mas ter de fazer malabarismos para 2 postos de trabalho, encontrar tempo para gastar com a sua menina e encontrar tempo para si já era complicado. 

O familiar de 3 bate à porta ressoou no quarto como o médico orientado em. Ele estava cerca de 5'7" com ligeireza brown, cabelos tingidos. Ele usava um engraçado sorriso como ele andou em quarto e falou, "Xena Y/L/N?"

sua filha perked até ao som de seu nome e sorriu de volta para ele. Foi a primeira vez em que você viu o seu sorriso em qualquer outro homem diferente de seu avô.

"Xena? Como o Warrior princess direito?" Ele falou como ele Sáb, ainda vestindo seu sorriso brilhante. Ela acenado com o mesmo entusiasmo que ela poderia e realizou a sua mão para ela a agitar, "bem Xena, estou Dra Huang. E você deve ser a mãe desta linda senhora? Posso ver onde ela recebe-lo."

era difícil de dizer que você não estava lisonjeado. Mas você não estava lá para paquerar, que estavam lá para se obter um diagnóstico de doença da sua filha.

"Então eu ouvi que tem uma clássica juntamente com alguns calafrios e náuseas. Também não estás a comer e sentimento fraco, sim?" Dra Huang pediu, e ela acenado, "é apenas um caso de gripe do estômago. Vou receitar alguns antibióticos e certifique-se de que comer muito de sopa e beber um lote de gengibre-ale para aliviar a dor de estômago que você pode obter. Você pode estar doente por alguns dias para apenas como Xena, ser um guerreiro princess para mim. Ok?"

"Eu sou sempre um guerreiro princess! Mas eu vou fazer a certeza de ser mais de um guerreiro princess para voltar novamente saudáveis!" Xena falava no seu agudo, mas Bonitinha voz.

Dr Huang sorriu-lhe, então ligado a você, "Certifique-se de que ela leva a antibióticos duas vezes ao dia até que ela fica melhor. E ela ainda precisa de escola para física podemos fazer que uma vez que ela está de volta para a saúde. Ok, então espero que você se sinta melhor e ter um bom dia!"

Com o Esmertec do Doutor Huang, Xena estava de volta para a saúde em nenhum momento. Ela estava animado para voltar para a escola, especialmente desde que ela perdeu o primeiro de quatro dias da semana de carreira. A semana passada foi uma semana de carreira somos pessoas de diferentes profissões viria em e falar sobre todas as coisas divertidas sobre seu trabalho, na maior parte das crianças forma amigável de curso. Ela já tinha perdido a bombeiros e agente do FBI e piloto e um fotógrafo. Cada dia foi uma surpresa, então ela foi basicamente arrastando você para fora da porta.

"Vinde sobre a mamãe! Vamos, vamos! Eu não quero ser tarde!" Ela whined como ela puxada pelo punho em direção à porta da frente do apartamento.

"Espera, Xena. Mamãe tem de encontrar as chaves do carro." Você falou como você movimentando o pulso para fora da sua aderência.

"Tenho as chaves do carro! Vamos lá!" Xena falou agitando as chaves na mão dela.

Você riram do ansiosos criança na frente de você e agarrou o chaves a partir de dentro de suas pequenas mãos. Toda a viagem de carro para ela não podia parar de falar sobre o que pensava ela poderia ser proveniente de falar hoje, "Aquilo que se é uma bailarina- oh! O jardim zoológico ou uma pessoa?"

"que é chamado de um zoólogo." Você informado, desferiu com ela.

"Direito um zoólogo!"

Quando o seu caiu ela na escola, você viu seu executar através das portas dianteiras. Apenas para se certificar de que ela estava segura, antes de puxada para fora. Ela usava o mesmo rabos-de-encaracolado que ela fez em consultório. Eles devolvida como ela ignorados por meio da escola, encontrar o seu caminho rumo à sua sala de aula.

Todos para os seus lugares precipitada como classe começou e o professor introduziu o dia de orador convidado. Ela catalãs iam sobre tratamento ele nice e com respeito, como eles tratam a ela, "então agora eu gostaria que você de tudo para satisfazer o Doutor Huang, um médico que só funciona com as crianças!" 

A classe deu um ânimo de emoção para o médico. Mas o nome soou familiar para Xena, que foi até que ela viu o seu rosto e lembrou que ele era "médico" de nice quando ela estava doente há alguns dias. Como ele falava e perguntas mais frequentes, que ela lhe deu sua atenção e ouvi a muito intensamente.

No momento em que ele foi feito falando, foi tempo para ir para a reentrância. Mas antes de eles saíram, Doutor Huang passou pirulitos para a classe, para sua diversão. Dr Huang observado Xena quando ele primeiro intensificada em sala de aula e queria falar com ela antes que ele teve de voltar a trabalhar. Ele pediu o professor se ele poderia falar com você durante o período de férias, porque você foi um de seus pacientes e ela concordou muito graciosamente.

"Xena!" Dra Huang chamados para sua filha direita antes de ela saiu da sala.

"Dr. Huang! Tomei a medicina e agora estou todos melhor, ver!"

"Sim EU ver", ele riu, "tenho algumas perguntas para você? É a sua Mãe casou?"

"Não!"

"Não tem um namorado?"

"Bem", ela começou como Dra Huang caiu do rosto, "havia esta vez guy disse ela tem uma bonitinha Butt of, mas outras que, n° Por que razão? Você tem uma queda por minha mamãe?"

"Não diria que é uma-"

"Você tem uma paixão por minha mamãe! Dr Huang tem um crush no Meu papai!" Ela comemoraram em um cantar-canção voz. Dr Huang assista ao parque de diversões com mas ele ainda era embaraçado. 

Pode me chamar de "Renjun é que você deseja, Xena. Você pode ajudar..." Ele não poderia ajudar mas ser incomodado pedindo um de 5 anos de idade em que datam de ajuda, "Você poderia me ajudar a obter uma data com a sua mãe?"

"Por que você não apenas a chamada a ela? Ela não poderia parar em curso e sobre como "r. O sorriso de Huang foi tão engraçado" ou "r. Huang tem os olhos de sonho"."

"Ela disse que?" Renjun sentiu seu coração em suas palavras de flutter.

"E mais", disse ela como ela escreveu o seu número de telefone para baixo com um blue crayon sobre um pedaço de papel solto notebook "aqui vá! Ela não tem de trabalhar hoje, então tente chamar seu agora." 

Você sentava na sua sala de estar, assistindo a re-executado de antigas da década de TV quando você ouvir o telefone tocar. Ela chegou para o telefone que estava no braço da cama e olhei para baixo na tela. Ela não estava indo para responder porque era de um chamador desconhecido mas decidiu assim mesmo.

"Olá?" perguntou.

"Olá, Y/N. Este é o Doutor Huang do consultório, mas você pode me ligar Renjun. Ahh, isso pode ser estranho mas eu estava pensando se você poderia ir para almoçar um dia destes em breve?"

"Umm-"

[dalsy-l]

Willy Clarkson - theatrical wigmaker

http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/n/nathans-costume-house/

Gangland Soho James Morton Hachette UK, 1 Mar 2012 pp80

London's Perruquiers - A Chat With Will Clarkson - By our special commissioner - first published in the ERA, 10th of November 1900:

To wander round Mr Clarkson's premises while he is alternately giving orders in English and French and politely attending to an uncertain customer who is not quite sure what she wants, to have dreams and visions of Guy Fawkes, Fairyland and pantomime world. Wigs and masks are in profusion, while of make-up pastes there is no end. It is not generally known, perhaps, that it was Hermann Vezin, I think, who was, if not the first, one of the first to make up with grease in this country. Previously, everybody had to make up "dry," when the hare's foot and hole amenia were the necessary adjuncts to the actor's dressing-case. Nowadays the hare's foot, at any rate in the dressing-rooms of London theatres, is a rare bird, and has fled with the busy feet of time and modern advancement. Alas! that it should be so, but grease paint was the invention of a German, and, for a long time, "made in Germany," was the only wear. Now, however, the best grease paints - and you can have them in all shades - are undoubtedly made in England.

My father began here in 1833, and since 1878, when he died, I have carried on the business. And the business, I may say without boast, I hope, has grown and prospered. Wig making, mask-making - these are only some of the details of our work. It you want a false ear, a false nose, a false chin to wear on the stage, we are at your service. Nothing connected with the art of make-up comes amiss to us. Ladies' wigs a yard long or a Jack shepherd of half-an-inch - just name your requirements, and we obey your commands.

you never find in real life, amongst Englishmen anyhow, a downright villain or rascal whose hair curls. Ever noticed it? Straight hair and not much of it is the mode of the gentry who run crooked and get run in. Ahem!

also Willy Clarkson goes to court over Sunday Working for Women - From the ERA, 29th of January 1898

https://allthatsinteresting.com/willy-clarkson-jack-the-ripper

Queen Victoria and the Theatre of Her Age - R. Schoch P.35 - Willy mates with Queen Vic and fam

THE STRANGE LIFE OF WILLY CLARKSON: AN EXPERIMENT IN BIOGRAPHY. BY HARRY J. GREENWALL. (John Long. 18s.)

For half a century or so first-nighters were familiar with the sight of a very short, thick-set man, with fair curly hair and beard, almost grotesque to look at, but dressed in a manner which implied that he liked being looked at. In the intervals he would be heard talking volubly, with a crisp and strong Cockney accent, about great people, and not only the great people of the theatre, and what they said to him and what he said to them. This was Willy Clarkson, the best and the most famous wig-maker ever known, a genius at his art, a master at organizing a great business, and as clever as any actor at using his personality for purposes of advertisement. The substance of his life, now told by Mr. Greenwall, was some 60 years of unremitting labour, begun at the age of 14 and continued till death suddenly struck him down. There seem to have been some secret places in that life which his biographer leaves unexplored; but the decoration of it was the half-contemptuous amusement with which "everybody" made a pet of Willy Clarkson. He was petted and laughed at in the highest circles, to which private theatricals brought him admission. He was petted and laughed at and made use of by Sarah Bernhardt, whom he was proud to believe his friend; he was petted and laughed at by all who could enjoy listening to his endless stories. Mr. Greenwall has seen that in those stories lay the only part of Clarkson's life that could make a readable book; and (with a good many trivial errors in detail) he has set the queer little man talking in the proper setting of Victorian and Edwardian London and the theatrical productions for which he made the wigs. Not the least interesting part of it all is Clarkson's connexion with other than theatrical disguises. He may have-he was almost certain he had-disguised Jack the Ripper himself, besides the detectives and medical students who went to search for him. He claimed to have disguised Ronald True; he certainly disguised Crippen, and Charles Peace, and the murderer Bennett.