#no offense to the people in my orbit but im getting a little ''i want folks like me'' iykwim

[strifetime]

I'm reaching that point of "I can't find the type of divination YouTubers I want to watch, so I'll have to '''''be the change: vtuber edition'''''' " 🙄

[maeremiga]

Twitter and it's problems

yesterday i got into a small confrontation on twitter with someone. it's a decent bout of drama im not happy to revist as much as i think adds important background to my post so i'm going to dive into it.

i should start by saying that we ended things on a better note! and they even offered to retweet a post to apologize. they ended up rting a standardbred rescue center for me which is great because the horses are being slaughtered after their use and need to be rescued and all the pigdogs who put them to death after use is just- pointless. you can kill a pig for its meat and i guess it's something this society needs to work on (meat is bad when it comes from animals that aren't wild and being overkilled its a tricky line but it's something that's not stopping anytime soon) but horses aren't even known for their meat. they just fucking kill the majestic things and leave them to rot like rusty tools

that's getting sidetracked (though i would petition anyone to follow https://twitter.com/SRF_SOSS if you're on twitter), so getting back into it i should talk a little more about the concentration. it was with a twitter user who i was talking with on discord the nights prior where they posted and retweeted an orbiter of sorts who wanted to shagg their fursona and in a post relating to that i said i didn't like seeing that, though also wanted to clarify i did not hate them for that. i took it on the nose instead of as a joke because im a weird sentimental thing that takes things to their literal limit

a seperate user below asked who i was and i responded i was another user on twitter (this was my first mistake in terms of replying as this is an incredibly douchey thing, i've come to realize). i checked their profile real quick to find out who THEY were and in that endeavor i realized they were smack tweeting someone silently. further context i was able to gauge that was me and i tried to play fiddle by deleting the tweets above because even if i wasn't able to understand the offense i made, i like to deter confrontation (more into that in a bit). they told me to fuck myself after blocking me in the midst of elaborating my point in a second post thereafter. naturally i went into a bit of a bitchy mood and smack talked them back and also on the same discord the original twitter user was on until they revealed that A: the user that blocked me was that twitter users mutual, paired with B: the whole thing was a joke in fun. they even decided to meddle in my behalf and communicate with them further.

apparently the twitter users friend thought i was some sort of orbiter myself, what twitter users call a reply guy. the gist is that they assumed me to be replying to simp for her. a creepy person, which is ironic considering that's what my message really was in the beginning (a call about not liking creepy people openly wanting to fuck sfw twitter users in public chat), and to had have it taken as that i consider just as stressful as the initial block. it was a misunderstanding and me and the former blocker are on amicable terms now, this is not a hate post for anything but twitter communication. A rant about the state of twitter and people in it will ensue

fuck twitter. fuck the whole annuals of social media where you can say one thing and have not only the wrong message taken but excplicity the one you were reacting to in the first place - this isn't anyones fault particularly, it's just pattern recognition gone array. you can muster any split sections of dogshit text on your page and have it taken in a bad way. even after we made up the stress that was developed in the moment hid itself in my body and made it manifest itself again while i was trying to sleep in an awful, grungy situation. i dont know if it's an autistic trait specifically, but it's never fun holding in this moment and the worry that it might happen again

because it will. it sometimes does and you can't help it. it's a landscape being built with shit bulldozers and piss cranes. it's centered around a culture of creepy weirdos who have you think on your feet and quickly deter any source of phrasing or odd behavior that MIGHT be from one of them because we made it justified to do this - this is needed conduct. the level of deranged follower worship, pedophiles, sleeper racists, abusers and transphobes are at a high ever since the Mule took over twitter and unshackled the bonds that kept users from becoming even worse psychomaniacs for 44 bil.

sooner or later you have to have this standard if you want to play the game that is social media ofc but twitter affluence after deciding to deliberately become worse and cradle a multiplad community of people it doesn't need (see above, pedos, racists etc.) is an aggressively unsettled prospect for anyone on the site who wants to interact normally. normally has been shred to pieces. normal is nothing in the lair of serpents and blood eyed apes. there will be a time someone dms another person saying they like someones style and it will undoubtably be seen as a calling card from a potential stalker and you won't even know where the line is.

with the essence of all the problems in the world im not upset someone had the wrong idea of me, but i am upset why they HAD to have had the wrong idea. it's not even particularly different to what i'd do on a hunch (and have!) for other posters on different threads with different situations. it's difficult to conserve yourself and work with first impressions because taking the wrong first impression and rolling with it doesn't pan out well in the worst scenarios if they're the weirdo creepo you think they might be and if they are why on gods green earth would you give that dipshit an inch to work with?

situations are in a low vacuum. we need to burn twitter to the ground and replace it with something or just replace the vacuum with smaller sized social media sites where the expectation of being seen and seeing others in a pre-negative light isn't the go to structure because hedonistic and hate scorned ants crawled up in the cracks of the pillar of its website and wont go. we need a better system man. fuck,

[seita]

some coping mechanism are wrong and do need to be discussed or changed!! neurodivergency doesn’t give u an excuse to hurt or trigger others!! coping mechanisms don’t exist in vaccums... and you and ur followers are harming real people by saying such

i was going to ignore most everything i got on the subject because quite frankly i'm over it. every opposing take either doesn't make sense, is completely ignorant, or is just plain stupid.

this one? is just idiocy.

so i'm gonna take the time to explain some things to you.

i cannot begun to express the ignorance and privilege that is seeped into every single word of this ask. i am actually baffled that you genuinely thought that this was, in any way shape or form, okay. or that you even thought this was a hot take at all.

you do not have any jurisdiction or power to tell other people that the way they cope is wrong. that is so beyond disgusting.

do you know why people choose to write dark content to cope?

a few reasons that range from: gives power/comfort over their trauma to lets them release emotions that otherwise have no outlet.

beyond that is that some people don’t have the resources or support system needed to cope in other ways. all they may have is a pen and paper or a laptop. they may not live in a home where they were believed, they may still be trapped with their abuser, or they may just plain not be able to afford therapy.

but do you know what the fun thing is? plenty of these people who choose to cope in this way are advised by their therapists to do it. like myself.

i used to write in little notebooks as a child -- really dark, foul shit and i didn’t understand why i did it. i talked to my therapist and i was told it’s a great outlet! i have to say writing is probably one of the top reasons i managed to get to the space i am in today.

when i learned the wonders of the internet growing up, i also sought out to READ the content. of course, it was very hard to find because of people like you who do nothing but shame it simply because of the real world values the crimes possess and for some reason refuse to see it in a fictional, helpful way.

it’s a very real and very valid coping mechanism: both reading and writing are incredibly beneficial.

this outlet also helps people just the same as it can hurt people. i don’t know who or what you think you’re doing but survivors who are triggered by the content of a darker nature WILL NOT CLICK ON IT TO READ IT. why are you acting like survivors and victims are brainless, mindless idiots who will read something clearly labeled with their triggers as if there’s some invisible force dictating them too?

and who are you? a highschool student? a college student? a therapist? what right gives you, a random person on the internet, to dictate something that has been ADVISED and PROVEN to help with coping to trauma to deem it wrong?

im gonna go ahead and say your morality. nothing beyond that.

you see dark content as just disgusting porn fucked up people jerk off to but it’s beyond that. and very obviously something you do not understand and most likely refuse to understand.

you think because you think something is wrong that it should be wrong all around. you don’t like it so it shouldn’t be done.

i hate to break it to you but the real world isn’t going to cater to you. i sure as fuck won’t. i’m not in charge of making you feel happy or content on the internet. if you log on to your computer and expect people to babysit you and make you feel comforted and safe -- you’re doing the internet wrong.

you only choose to see the negative side to this. you see that people can be triggered or hurt by this content and that’s valid. people can and will be. but there’s also a HUGE number that people like you choose to ignore and invalidate under the guise of protecting survivors only to hurt them at the same time. it doesn’t make sense.

you’re not trying to advocate and protect people -- you’re trying to make the fandom and content match up to your puritan ideals and fantasies. the world isn’t like that. people are always going to do things you don’t like and have opposing opinions on things. stop trying to act like you’re doing this for the greater good -- a martyr, hero complex isn’t a cute look and we can see exactly what you’re doing.

i don’t understand why it’s so hard to accept that dark content does not have as big of a negative impact as you think it does.

i also don’t understand how other survivors can see what people like me do and tell us we’re wrong. i don’t go out of my way to shame you and say “oh you don’t like dark content? weird.” i mind my own fucking business and stay away from blogs that don’t want to interact with dark content writers.

i am respectful always. i never attack people for having opposing opinions. i never attack people personally. people who write dark content don’t do that shit.

you know who does?

your side.

you know what someone said to me in an effort to shame me and bully me for writing what i write? they called my writing shit -- the thing i use to cope and help other cope. i’ve never gone on anon or off anon and told someone their writing was shit.

i also had someone ask me why i think being a victim made me special. i’m gonna let you sit and figure out exactly what is wrong with that question.

those are the types of people you’re enabling and encouraging. if you people just left dark writers alone we wouldn’t hurt anyone. you all preach this shit about how dark content is SOOOOO easily availble anyone can read it. that is false. the only way to find dark content is to ALREADY BE ASSOCIATING WITH PEOPLE WHO CREATE OR CONSUME DARK CONTENT. it’s not tagged in the main tags. it will not show up in your orbit or be blasted on your page because someone posted it.

and then you people say “oh minors will be convinced it’s okay!!!” no. minors aren’t as stupid as you seem to think they are. they fully know and understand exactly what they’re getting into. they see the word rape and know in real life THAT’S BAD.

you don’t want a slasher film and think  “oh wow look at him killin all those people but not getting caught I COULD DO THAT TOO!!!!” no. you don’t. because you know it’s wrong.

y’all are so high up on you moral horse that you think everyone around you is fucking stupid and has no common sense.

if someone thinks what they read in fiction makes it okay in real life, there was already something wrong with them to begin with.

but no, you’ll pull out anything on earth to try and get your point across. from secondhand trauma to it just being offensive.

and i hate to be the one to tell you this but...all this crusading is doing basically nothing in the long run. you know what happened yesterday from being called out? i lost 9 followers.

and then i gained 20. and now im only 100 away from 16,000.

what did all of this achieve? what does any of this even do?

whenever you people do this what exactly is it you want? do you expect us to just...stop...because you don’t like it? are you really so self-centered and self-righteous that you think you’re THAT important. do you really believe your opinion and voice is the loudest and most important to consider?

because it really isn’t.

just as you’re sitting here telling me you’re wanting to protect people -- i’m wanting to help people. do you know how many people i’ve had thank me for making them feel better about their owwn fantasies that they’d previously been ashamed of because they’re a victim? or how many people thank me for providing the content they rely on to cope?

i’m gonna go ahead and say those are the people i want to help. those are the people i care about. and i don’t know what it’s gonna take for you people to understand that i will not stop until i DECIDE to.

this is the internet. none of your opinions or words have any long-lasting, realistic effect on me, my person, or my life. i could delete my blog and in a month nothing any of you have said to me over this course of time will have impacted me in the long term. of course, other people are more sensitive and can get hurt by this discourse.

but i don’t. i’m a lot more stubborn and thick-skinned than you people may seem to realize.

your words will continue to go in one ear and out the other. i know where i stand. i know where i want to remain.

your morality nor your opinions are blanket rules that everyone should abide by. get some perspective and learn your place in the world before speaking on things you clearly cannot understand.

[dent-de-leon]

VNC 50 IM GOING TO DIIIIIIIEEEEEEE

IM CRYING,,

Okay, so my thing with this chapter is...I think the reason why it hurts so much is because Noe and Vanitas are both victims here. I don’t think either of them is really at fault for the way things shook out, they’re both just struggling for survival and acting on instinct.

Even before we delve into character motivations and the effects of their respective trauma, one thing is made clear: when it comes to Noe, regardless of what he claims, Vanitas does care. Misha explicitly says so: “Oh, you’re worried?” You can tell Vanitas is concerned when he first sees Noe lying on the ground, when he demands to know what happened to him. And then, when Misha so casually reveals how Noe watched Louis turn into a curse-bearer and get slaughtered? Vanitas looks so pained by the knowledge of it, that Noe suffered such a heavy loss--and one he seems terribly familiar with. After all, he couldn’t save his own brother. 

But despite his sympathy, Vanitas deflects, tries to throw his relationship with Noe away. Even worse, he claims that it’s in Noe’s best interest to sacrifice Domi as well. What really pushes Noe over the edge here is Vanitas straight up offering to kill her for him, that crosses an entirely new line, and it’s something Noe just can’t bear to hear. So it’s understandable that he lashes out. Driven by his singleminded desire to save Domi at all costs, his conviction only sharpened by his newfound resentment for Vanitas.

Noe tried to bargain, tried to talk Vanitas into divulging his memories voluntarily. He outright didn’t want to hurt him, and painstakingly tried to avoid it. Which makes it all the more gutting when Vanitas forces his hand. You can tell he’s really heartbroken when Vanitas repeatedly dismisses their relationship, tries to convince him that all they’ve been through was for nothing. Noe has these lovely little flashbacks of their time together, and it just hurts to know how much Vanitas really meant to him. 

And it seemed pretty clear to me that, as hurtful as Vanitas’ words were, he was trying to talk Noe into walking away. To avoid any confrontation with him. Repeatedly telling him that this isn’t his fight, to just stay out of it, to forget about Domi. It’s not so different from Noe begging Vanitas to explain his past. Noe should run away, so Vanitas doesn’t have to fight him. Vanitas should admit everything right here and now, so Noe doesn’t have to bite him. They each try to protect each other from the inevitable in their own desperate way, pushed to the brink under cruel circumstances. 

And while Vanitas is a pretty good actor, there are definitely moments when that mask slips. Vanitas looks especially scared for Noe when he sees his friend on hands and knees, outright begging him to meet him halfway. It really drives home for Vanitas just how desperate Noe is, how terrified and hopeless, entirely out of options.

But of course, neither is able to concede. For Vanitas, losing his memories is a violation of free will, as unbearable to him as Noe losing someone he’s always loved, someone he’s always tried to protect. Hell, Vanitas is so closely guarded about his memories, so caught up in protecting whatever fragment remains of his own sense of self and identity, he still hasn’t told anyone his real name. Compromise just isn’t an option for either of them. 

I was given the impression Vanitas was trying to bait Noe this whole time, that he was just goading him on and had no real intention of actually attacking--until Noe goes in for the bite. Vanitas’ entire demeanor changes then, in that one single moment. And the overriding emotion that drives him into action isn’t anger or vengeance. It’s fear. In those panels, Noe looks more monstrous than human, and Vanitas is absolutely petrified in horror. You just can’t help but feel for him, just like you do for Noe. It’s a betrayal on some unspeakable level for Vanitas. Just as Noe is tortured by memories of Louis and Domi, you can see Vanitas viscerally reliving his trauma here. 

Worth noting: when Vanitas pulls out the syringe, he sounds as if he isn’t quite himself, like he’s repeating someone else’s words, a mantra to keep himself grounded when everything goes to hell. “If anyone tries to take my memories...no matter who they are...kill them. Kill them. Kill them. Without fail.” There’s no statement here indicating he’s really the one making this call, it’s not “I’ll kill them,” or “I have to kill them.” Just “Kill them” makes it sound like an order, like he’s following someone else’s instructions. Is it the oath a vampire made him swear, something akin to Ruthven’s command to Noe?

Or is this something the chasseurs drilled into him? After all, as soon as he goes on the offensive, he instantly reverts to his former training. He’s acting on autopilot here, all his survival instincts from the church kicking in. Not only does he administer the same drug carried by chasseurs, he also immediately shot Noe in the eye. As Luna noted in the previous chapter, going right for the eyes is a distinctly chasseur move. And his last thought isn’t “Kill Noe,” it’s “Kill that vampire.” Again, this sounds very reminiscent of Vanitas’ mindset in the previous chapter’s flashback, when he was well and truly under the influence of the Chaucer’s indoctrination and entirely bought into his mission to “kill all vampires” in blind vengeance. 

Also interesting, the phrasing “no matter what,” and “without fail” is used in Vanitas’ fascinating speech about his grand ambitions to rescue every vampire from their curse. “I’ll do as I please, use the methods I chose. And no matter what you people want, I will save you, without fail.” “No matter who they are...kill them. Kill them. Without fail.” Again, it sounds like the kind of phrase that someone else instilled in him. The kind of thing he could have internalized for years. 

Something else that really gets to me about this whole encounter is how Misha absolutely revels in his orchestration of it. At the beginning of the chapter, he claims he wants to live a happy life together with Luna and Vanitas. And yet, by the end of 50, he’s all too thrilled to see Noe and Vanitas at each other’s throats, gleefully cheering them on in hopes they’ll outright destroy each other. “Come on, come on, you can do it! Don’t lose either of you!” “...and try to kill each other for dear life!”

If he wants to be a family with Vanitas again, what does he have to gain by watching Noe kill him? Since he believes he can resurrect Luna, would he just regard Vanitas’ death as a passing inconvenience? Misha wants Noe to drink Vanitas’ blood, but he’s fine if Noe doesn’t live long enough to relay his memories? I have a feeling he doesn’t really care about the outcome of this match, so much as he just wants Vanitas to suffer as some arbitrary penance for Luna’s fate. It’s all very strange, and none of it really adds up. But it makes me worried about who Misha’s “friend” is.

Last thing, and it’s probably just me reading too much into it. But, when Vanitas shoots Noe, we get this interesting set of shots that just follows their steps--and missteps, Noe staggering back from him. This reminded me of something when I first saw it, and it took me a moment to remember, but...it brought to mind their dance in the masquerade. They’re even facing the same way. In the dance, they’re falling easily into step, side by side. Which makes it all the more striking when they break apart in the recent chapter.

Again, it could be nothing. But I feel like there’s some significance to the visual parallels, especially since Noe is the one who truly believed he was close with Vanitas, still circling in his orbit, a trusted partner and friend. He thinks they’re on the same page, and when he realizes maybe Vanitas didn’t think of him like that--saw him as a stranger, someone expendable--Noe’s illusion shatters. And he realizes this is a path they might never truly walk together. Vanitas isn’t even visible at all in the last few panels, he’s entirely out of reach. And Noe is left alone.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 7: Forget Everything You Know]

Hi y’all! I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for reading and for showing me and my fics some love. You better believe that I see EVERY. SINGLE. reblog, comment, tag, and message, and they mean the absolute world to me! I know that a lot of content creators are frustrated and taking breaks right now, but rest assured you will not be able to get rid of me if even a SINGLE person looks forward to something I write. I’ll finish this fic (eventually), and I’ll finish the next one too (it already has a name!), and I won’t disappear or leave the Queen/BoRhap fandom at any point in the foreseeable future. Lots of love to you all, stay safe, and I hope you enjoy! 💜 💜 💜

Chapter summary: Y/N brings home some friends; Brian attempts an intervention; John draws a line; Roger gets an answer.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Smile, everyone!” Your dad peeks through the viewfinder of the Canon F-1 and beams. “One...two...three...say Queen!”

“Queen!” you all shout gleefully. The flash illuminates the dining room, and you blink away momentary blindness. The table materializes back into vision: lobsters, clams, haddock chowder, sourdough bread, fried oysters, pierogis with Vermont cheddar cheese, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes...and, of course, Boston cream pie for dessert.

“Ah, perfection,” your dad sighs contently. “Please continue, Mr. Mercury.”

“Mr. Mercury!” Brian whines, incredulous. “Like he’s got a bloody PhD or something!”

Freddie cracks a lobster claw. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses or wrist-full of clanging bangles off all afternoon. Your parents are profoundly confused by him, but welcoming nonetheless. “I’m a professor of lusciousness. Pay attention and you could learn something.”

Brian rolls his eyes and dunks a hunk of sourdough bread into his chowder.

“So,” Freddie tells your mother between bites of lobster dripping with drawn butter. “Our darling damsel in distress was in the clutches of that horrid, dodgy wanker when none other than our very own Roger Meddows Taylor—”

“You weren’t even there!” Brian protests. “I wasn’t even there! This is, what, a third-hand account?!”

“Eat your soup, peasant. Thank you. Anyway, our beloved Roger comes raging out of nowhere, red-faced, nostrils flaring, a terrifying sight to behold, grabs this guy by his hair and slams his despicable face directly into a marble column. Broken nose, cracked orbital socket, blood everywhere! It was magnificent. I’ve never been more proud.”

“Good for you!” your mother cheers, patting the back of Roger’s hand encouragingly. He smiles at her, warmly, radiantly, like the wildfire he’s always reminded you of. And you marvel at how every human on this earth is made of the same fundamental components—blood and muscles and vessels and nerves, hearts and enigmatic brain matter and ribs, vulnerable parts, armored parts, all webbed together like nature’s own organic circuit board—and yet the marks they leave on you can feel so different: burns, scars, bruises, shadows, imprints that are deep enough to brush bone and never fade.

“Mom, the guy could have died!”

“Did he?” she asks innocently.

“Nope,” Roger says.

“Well then, Mr. Taylor here is a hero in my book.”

“Mr. Taylor!” Brian groans.

“I was petrified he would turn out to be the son of an executive or producer or something and the band would be ruined,” you say. “Fortunately he was just someone’s annoying frat brother from college who already had a reputation for being a sleazebag. So, we were in luck.”

“You were in luck that Mr. Taylor was there,” your mother points out, gazing at him dreamily. This delightful English boy is going to be my son-in-law and give me gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says.

“Yes, a literal superhero,” John says ruefully, sipping a Manhattan. Your dad has a passionate love for mixing cocktails, especially for guests who also happen to be rock stars.

“Mom. Don’t make his ego any bigger, please. I’m begging you.”

Roger snarls around a mouthful of Boston cream pie, sending your mom into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, dear.” She smooths your hair. “And that you have people to keep you safe all the way over there across the ocean, and that you’re happy.”

“Yes, your work environment is much improved, isn’t it?” Brian says. “That supervisor you had at the hospital was an absolute bear!”

Your dad strokes his short grey beard. “Well...” he admits. “That may have been my fault.”

Brian’s brow crinkles. “Really?”

Your mom turns to you. “You didn’t tell them?!”

“Oh, is there a scandalous backstory?” Freddie inquires, elated. “Do tell, darling!”  

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away—just kidding, it was here in Boston—my archnemesis Patricia and my dad dated.”

Roger drops his fork, appalled. “No!”

Freddie’s nose wrinkles in revulsion. “Why?!”

Your dad rocks back in his chair and laughs loudly, heartily. “She wasn’t always so cantankerous, if you can believe it. She was a sweet girl, wonderful even. But then I met my future wife, and...” He smirks guiltily. “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants!”

You nod along. “And I got the illustrious honor of being an outlet for the frustration stemming from Patricia’s lifelong unrequited love.”

“You saucy minx!” Freddie playfully lashes your mom’s shoulder with a cloth napkin. “Homewrecker!”

She chuckles, not the least bit offended. “People get together under all sorts of strange circumstances, and you know what? You can’t wreck a home if the home wasn’t already half-wrecked before you got there, that’s what I think.”

Roger raises his Patriot’s Punch. “I’ll drink to that.”

Brian clutches his New England Express, bewildered. “Are we...toasting to infidelity?”

“Oh, does that horrify you?” Rog asks sarcastically. Brian grimaces, but dutifully raises his glass.

“We’re toasting to love,” your dad clarifies. “However it comes, as long as it’s true.”

John holds his Manhattan aloft. “To love.”

Freddie clinks his Flying Elvis against the other beverages, including your parents’ wine glasses and your Cranberry Crush. “Cheers!” Then Fred glances at the clock and swiftly polishes off his slice of Boston cream pie.

“Can’t you all stay a little longer?” your mom pleads, collecting plates and gazing longingly at Roger. “This has been so much fun...”

“They have soundcheck at seven, Mom. We have to leave for the stadium soon.”

“Well, before you jet off to your next adventure, can I treat anyone to a long distance call?” your dad asks.

Brian perks up. “Really?!” You know there’s a ring in the future for Chrissie; not an expensive or extravagant ring (not that Chris would want that anyway), but a ring nonetheless. You know because Brian has taken you shopping to help him choose one.

“Of course! You can use the phone in my office. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. I’m sure there are some lovely ladies back in jolly old England who would be over the moon to hear from you.”

“That would be very much appreciated!” Brian says. “And thank you so much, this has been such a treat, you have no idea how long it’s been since we had a proper homemade meal.”

“I had to rehabilitate the reputation of us Yankees, didn’t I? Now come on, Mr. May, I’ll show you to the office...”

“Mr. May...I like the sound of that!”

“Ten minutes, Bri!” Freddie calls, following them down the hallway. “Then it’s my turn...!”

You begin gathering up the empty glasses, but Roger promptly snatches them away. “No way, Boston babe. You go relax. I’ll help your mom.”

“I think she’s in love with you.”

He grins. “Do you have a secret stepdaddy fetish I could exploit?”

“Oh my god. Roger.”

He snickers and sweeps off into the kitchen. It’s only then that you realize John has disappeared. You check the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the study, and finally the front porch; John is standing outside in the cold, smoking and watching the setting sun. The sky is threaded with cerulean, rust orange, lavender, indigo. You pull on your coat and go out to join him.

“We’ll make it to Florence one of these days,” you promise John, resting your arms on the wooden, white-painted porch railing. Your mother hung baskets of fresh flowers for the band’s visit, which swing lazily in the breeze. “Crank out a few more hits and we’ll get the record company to add it to the tour itinerary.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Are you going to call Veronica?”

He shrugs, frowns, exhales a lungful of smoke into frigid New England air. “I don’t know if I should.”

“You don’t think she’d like that?” you ask, confounded.

“I think she might like it too much.”

“Ohhhhh.” You read his soft greyish eyes, which are faraway and somber, sad even. “I’m sorry, John. You know she’s wild about you.”

“I know it.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. “She’s the first person who ever was, actually. The first person who ever noticed me. Came up to me out of the blue at a disco and asked me to dance, me! So I said yes, like you do when you’re the guy nobody notices. And then I said yes again, and again, and again, until one day I realized...oh, this girl thinks we’re getting married. When the hell did that happen?”

“I noticed you,” you contest.  

John chuckles and nods. “You did,” he agrees. “Right away. Tried to win me over when I was too nervous to finish a sentence around you. But that was long after I’d met Veronica.”

“Well, you can’t break up with her tonight. On Valentine’s Day?! That would be traumatic.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll have a few days in London between the American and Asian legs of the tour. You can think it over and decide what to do then. I’m happy to arrange the getaway taxi if that’s something that interests you.”

“Yeah.” Again, he peers out into the Western horizon, into rising stars.

“John?”

Now he looks to you. He’s a little too thoughtful, too low. There’s something you’re not seeing.

“...Is there somebody else?”

He doesn’t speak; he just stares at you with those velvety azure-grey eyes, drums his fingers against the railing, lets the ash from his cigarette crumble into the snow-dusted Blue Pacific Junipers.

Roger barrels through the front door and out onto the porch. “There you are, Deaks! I thought we were going to have to find a new bassist. Enlist Nurse Nightingale’s mum or something.”

John smirks and crushes the rest of his cigarette in your father’s ashtray. “I suspect you’d do just fine without me.”

“Oh no. No way. Not happening.”

“That’s kind of you,” John says, unconvinced.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” Rog holds out his calloused hand. “If you ever leave, I leave too. Come on, Deaks, shake on it. It’s official. It’s a pact. There’s no Queen without John Deacon.”

Reluctantly, trying not to show how pleased he is, John shakes. “Alright.”

Roger grins triumphantly. “Signed, sealed, delivered. You’re ours for life, baby.”

“Deaky, do you want the phone?!” Freddie yells from inside the house.

John sighs and exchanges a knowing glance with you. “I guess I should say hi.”

“Okay, but quickly!” Rog presses. “We gotta go!”

“So bossy...” John ducks inside; and Roger, though he’s not wearing anything over his pale pink button-up shirt—sufficiently sophisticated to impress your parents—comes to the porch railing to join you.

“You’re not staying out here, are you?” You eye his thin shirt worriedly, the goosebumps rising over his collarbones, his bare forearms where he rolled up his sleeves to help your mom wash the dishes.

He tosses you a mischievous wink. “I’ve got no one to call.”

Roger looks up at the hanging baskets of flowers, plucks out a cerise carnation, and offers it to you. You mean to say something witty, something sardonic, something that will make him laugh; but all your words vanish into cold February air. You take the carnation, smiling helplessly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Roger whispers.

You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?

Okay.

He turns to go back inside the house.

I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him.

Then Roger pauses in the doorway. “You coming, Boston babe? I can’t have you catching pneumonia or something. I won’t know how to fix you.”

Oh, you realize, with horror and yet relief, all those grueling lies stripped away. It’s too late.

~~~~~~~~~~

You knock on the frame of the dressing room door. “Hi Bri!”

He glances over from where he sits in front of the mirror, rimming his eyes with inky liner. Soundcheck went swimmingly, and now Queen has thirty minutes until they need to be onstage. You can hear the disembodied reverberation of voices from the waiting crowd through the walls. “Hello, love. Come in.”

“Freddie said you needed to see me. Did you rip a sleeve or something? I brought my kit—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pats the chair beside him. The boys practically always get ready together before a show, but you suspect profoundly introverted Brian is experiencing one of his post-socialization crashes after dinner with your parents. Something about him is tired, very tired, almost drained to empty. “Join me.”

“Sure,” you say cautiously. You shove your medical kit onto the countertop and then reach to feel his forehead. “Are you feeling alright...?”

“I’m fine, love. I just have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

Brian sighs deeply, sets down the eyeliner, swivels his chair towards you. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to start seeing Roger.”

You titter, deflecting, brushing Brian’s hair away from his troubled, angular face. “Well, as the official Queen touring nurse, I see him quite a lot.”

Brian catches your wrist. “I’m being serious.”

Now your brow knits into tight agitated lines. “I’m curious as to why you think that’s something you have a say in.”

“Bloody hell, I’m not trying to offend you—”

“Job well done.”

“Dear, please, listen to me—”

“Eight months,” you hiss through your teeth as you tear away from him. “For eight months I’ve listened and avoided and resisted and ignored and it’s not going away.”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian breathes in despair. “You love him.”

There are tears biting in the periphery of your vision; you don’t want them to be there, but they are. Your voice is hoarse and trembling. “Bri, please don’t.”

Brian shakes his head and motions with his hands frenetically, desperately, trying to make you understand. “Look, sometimes...sometimes the people we love, the people who own us, the people who fucking set us on fire...they’re not the people we end up with. And that’s not always a bad thing. It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.”

You gape at him, furious, stunned. “That’s just fantastic, Brian. You’re a true romantic. Jesus christ, does Chrissie know about this? Is that why you’re with her, because she’s, what...safe?!”

“No, that’s not fair, Chrissie’s great, she’s steady and supportive and she’ll make a wonderful mother one day, and my parents adore her—”

“Those aren’t reasons to marry someone, Brian!”

“They are!” He leaps to his feet. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You have to think about these things, you have to be rational, you have to protect yourself—”

“Why the fuck do you care?” you flare bitterly.

“Because you saved my life.”

“Stop it, I didn’t.”

“You did, I truly believe that. And I want you to stay with the band. And I want you to be happy. But, dear, please, I’m begging you...this is not the way to do it.”

“I’m not going to go out to some pub and drag home a random guy who’s suitably passionless and predictable enough to be Brian-May-approved.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do—”

“Because you’re such an expert on relationships!” you shout, exasperated. “Planning to propose to Chris while you’re still secretly pining over some fling from New Orleans, fucking groupies and then having the nerve to mope around guilt-ridden the next morning as if anyone but you was responsible for that decision, and do I say anything about it?! Do I ever say a single fucking word about it to you, or Fred, or Roger, or your future wife, or anybody?! No, because it’s not my life!”

The dressing room door flies open and John storms inside. “What’s going on?!”

You cross your arms and stare at the floor. Brian’s wide green eyes flick to John, to you, back to John. If it was Freddie, Brian would tell him in a second, would try to enlist him in the effort, and it would probably work; but John is a different story. John won’t side with Brian over you, everybody knows that. And John has a talent for sharpening words into blades. “Um. Nothing.”  

“I could hear you in the hallway,” John says flatly. “Obviously it wasn’t nothing.”

Brian points to you. “Have you tried to talk her out of this? Maybe you should, maybe she’d listen.”

“It’s not my choice to make, just like it isn’t yours. Worry about your own body count. It seems to be growing exponentially these days.”

Brian scoffs. “Because you’d be so thrilled if she ended up with him, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” you demand.

Brian and John glare at each other from across the room. John raises his eyebrows, daring Bri to answer. Brian gnaws his lower lip, but doesn’t elaborate. The air is heavy, tense, electrified.  

“Don’t upset her again,” John says darkly.

Brian shows the white palms of his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

John waves for you to follow him. “Come on.” And he slams the door behind you as you both escape into the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” You chase away stray tears with the back of your hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get anyone worked up right before the show...”

“Don’t worry about it. I treasure any excuse to harass Brian.”

You study him, seeking answers, seeking more than you know how to put into words. “Do you think I’m being stupid? If you do, you can tell me.”

“No,” John responds carefully. “I think you’re being hopeful. And I’d like to believe that stupidity and hopefulness are two very different things.”

You smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s very inaccurate.” He fluffs his hair with his fingertips. “Do you want to touch it before we go on stage?”

You feign demureness. “Hmm...”

“Oh come on. You know you want to. It’s extra voluminous right now, Roger shared some of his magical mousse or whatever. Something way too expensive. You should thoroughly berate him for it.”

You laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.” You comb your hands through his brunette hair, and John’s right; it’s extraordinarily full and soft, and smells like honeysuckles. “You always know how to get me smiling, don’t you?”

“You do insist that I have game. Though I remain skeptical.”

“Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”

John’s rough thumb lifts your chin, then whisks away a tear you missed. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“I always am.” And that’s the truth; you haven’t missed a Queen show since you met them.

He beams, those gentle grey eyes incandescent. “Then we’ll have an ocean of luck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly twenty-four hours later, Queen is in New York City.

The thunderous bassline of the opening act shudders through the concrete walls. You’re staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror under harsh florescent lights, your palms gripping the cold rim of a white sink, your eyes shimmering with black and gold shadow, your lip gloss slick and crimson. There’s not a single thing left to do. You’re running out of time.

You breathe in, breathe out, snatch your purse off the floor, breeze out into the hallway.

You can hear the boys’ laughter even before you open the dressing room door. Inside, Brian is tuning his Red Special with his mantis-like legs propped up on the countertop, John is attempting to teach Freddie how to make popcorn in a microwave without setting anything on fire, Roger is scrutinizing his hair in the mirror and frowning as he rearranges it with a comb.  

“Hello, darling!” Freddie warbles. “Can I interest you in some delicious and expertly-prepared popcorn?” He opens the microwave, and smoke pours out. “Oh, you bitch!”

“I’ll pass, Freddie.” You glide to where Roger is sitting, knot your fingers through his blond hair, and tug his head back so you can kiss him. He tastes like mint gum and the ghost of smoke and reckless intemperance; he tastes like everything you’ve ever wanted. There are gasps, and surely dropped jaws as well; but you don’t have eyes for them. “Okay,” you tell Roger.

He stares up at you with huge, starry eyes, a dazed grin slowly lighting up his face. “You changed your mind.”

“Come find me after the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You move to wipe your blood-red gloss from his lips, but Roger stops you, knits his hand through yours, stands to meet you.

“Leave it,” he murmurs. “I want them to know.”  

“Want them to know...?”

His lips touch yours again, smiling and scorching and ravenous. “That I’m yours.”

[nureyevapologist]

Hiyaaa, if you want an aftg prom still, pls consider: Neil coming home to his and andrew's apartment with one of his newest recruits, and they boy is beaten and battered and neil's first instict was to take care of him because no one ever took care of neil, and andrew's reaction to this! ❤

thanks for this!! i might have veered from the specifics a little and this is like, 70% a character study of neil and 30% Andreil Content but i hope this is okay!!

Neil Josten felt that he owed a lot to the idea of coincidences.

Coincidence was Neil taking an uncalculated risk on the Millport Dingoes the very same year that Riko Moriyama finally snapped and took the bones in Kevin Day’s hand with him. Coincidence was falling into the same orbit as the man who had watched Neil’s father slice a man like lunchmeat and coincidence was him being so single-mindedly focused on Exy that he didn’t notice Neil’s terrible dye job or the white ring around his contact lenses. Coincidence was Andrew Minyard being the single-most observant person Neil has ever met, and coincidence was Neil being forced into his field of vision.

Coincidence was also Neil here and now, stopping off at a convenience store to grab a packet of cigarettes and accidentally witnessing his potential new recruit fall victim to a heavy, parental hand. 

It had only taken one video on a grainy, digital camera to show Neil that this kid had the raw potential to be one of the greatest backliners Palmetto State would ever see. Not fifteen minutes into the footage had Neil shoved aside his other folders and said to Wymack, one thumb jutted at the screen, we have to have him. Wymack had shrugged, assented with a nonchalant you’re the captain, captain and the very next week saw the two of them riding out to Georgia in Neil’s shiny new Lexus.

(“Having a Pro Athlete for a boyfriend sure does have its perks, huh kiddo?” had almost gotten Wymack elbowed bodily out of a moving vehicle.

“Above your paygrade” in a smooth, Andrew-esque tone had Coach laughing for the next ten minutes of the drive, safe and unmoving in the passenger seat.)

So they had approached the boy, Josh, after hanging back in the shadows to watch his high school team completely demolish their opponents. Wymack had loitered, no doubt trying to catch the name of the opposition’s only saving grace, a furious offensive dealer, and Neil had attempted to look cool and friendly as opposed to cold and menacing.

Naturally, the kid told Neil to fuck off four times before Neil backed him into a corner and told him to stop squandering his future by being unnecessarily abrasive. There was something in the complicated ice of this boy’s eyes that Neil connected with, an innate fear that ducked for cover behind aggression and hunched shoulders. One minute he stood every inch his five feet and ten inches and the next, body folded in on itself like he was willing it to disappear, he looked to stand no taller than Neil himself.

“I don’t know what your deal is,” Neil had said, arms tucked across his chest with all of his patchwork scars on show, “but I come from Palmetto State. I’m not here to judge, or pry, or fix. I don’t give a shit about your tragic backstory, I give a shit about the way you single-handedly held up your team’s defense line and I give a shit about putting you on an NCAA Class I Exy team. If you can get over yourself for five minutes, I suggest you sign first and cry later”

Every fibre in this kid’s body twitched like he wanted to run and Neil was hit, not for the first time, with jarring memory of himself in this position, shadows of a dark locker room curling in around his ankles, Wymack promising a future he’d never stayed still long enough to know he wanted. Sentiment was lost on Neil, most of the time. Still, if his family of Foxes had taught him anything, it was that sometimes you had to save people despite them not wanting to be saved. At this point, that may as well be the Palmetto State Motto. Neil had given the kid a few hours to think on it. Go home, talk to whoever you need to talk to, think about it. Just remember that we did not drive out here for a no.

Wymack had, of course, grumbled about having to spend a few hours sweating my damn ass off in the pleasure of your company but had mellowed somewhat when Neil had taken him for a suitably greasy dinner and showed him how to use his new phone to FaceTime Dan. He had allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the scene; Wymack, his face far too close to the screen, cursing Dan out for not texting him all week because saying I miss you is too overrated. Dan, a pixelated blur of joy and exuberance, showing her father every single corner of her new apartment and zooming in on one Matt Boyd, tangled helplessly in the middle of an Ikea side table.

With Wymack occupied, Neil had called Andrew, who answered on the very last ring because he was a certified asshole at the best of times. “Am I to assume you will be elsewhere when I get to the dorms?”

Andrew always makes him feel so known. “I managed to pick another stubborn one”

“Yes,” Andrew says, his voice a slow rumble over the familiar, quiet growl of the Maserati, “because you were so quick to acquiesce”

“I might have been running to grab a pen,” Neil replies. Andrew doesn’t laugh, but there’s a puff of air that Neil recognises as amusement, and his own mouth curls. “I think I sold him, though. A few hours and I might finally have secured a backliner”

“You should hope so,” and then there’s a beat of silence and the tell-tale flick of a lighter, “because I refuse to listen to you whine about it all weekend”

“So you admit that you do listen, when I talk?”

“Absolutely not” and when the silence stretches for a beat too long, Neil lifts the phone from his ear and realises Andrew has disconnected the call. Typical Andrew, but now Neil’s fingers twitch to hold a cigarette and he distinctly remembers leaving them behind at the behest of Wymack’s disapproving frown. Beneath his thighs the sticky vinyl booth creaks in protest when he shifts his weight and he waves a round-about hand at Wymack before ducking out of the diner, knowing that Wymack will see him cross the road toward the convenience store and put two and two together.

It says a lot for how far he has allowed himself to sink into safety and familiarity and family that he doesn’t immediately notice the shouting. He’s caught up in realising his ID is somewhere in the glove compartment of his car and wondering if his sharp scars and sharper expression will dissuade the cashier from asking questions. Behind the front counter is a door, all peeling red paint and a half-hearted Staff Only sign, and the slight space between the door and the frame is the source of the noise. Neil has no interest in interfering. Neil has no interest in even listening to some inane disagreement between cashier and colleague, and is considering returning to the diner empty handed when he hears a sharp crack, followed by a sharper, you are never leaving me, Joshua, not ever and the unmistakeable sound of hands pummelling flesh. Something in Neil twitches to intervene but he isn’t stupid enough to walk into a small room with flying fists so, in a bid of panic, he thumps the bell by the cash drawer once, twice, three times.

A man appears from the back, face flushed the red of barely-swallowed anger, eyes a little wild and searching. Neil smiles something icy and the man is stupid enough to misread it. “Sorry ‘bout that, had’ta catch up on some paperwork in the back. What can I do ya for?”

There’s a moment where everything slows down and Neil files away details like his life depends on it. Blood, smeared across the knuckles of one large, meaty hand. A row of scratches, three raised and red, sit tucked against his chunky neck in an indication that someone had raised a hand to defend themselves. A gold ring, thick and faded, shaped to spell out DAD. Neil doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he opens his mouth to ask for a packet of Camel Blue and what comes out is “someone round the back is casing the place, you might want to check that out”

A self-righteous rage takes over the man’s expression, clouding his eyes and the twist of his mouth and he claps Neil on the shoulder as he passes on his way to the door. Men like him, Neil thinks, are far too predictable for their own good. Something like a memory tugs at his subconscious; Neil at age sixteen, dropping a similar line, waiting for the all clear to stuff his pockets full of food and hightail it out of there before anyone noticed. That, Neil thinks, was a far more sensible plan than whatever this was. He rounds the corner of the cashier desk, nudges the back door open with the flat of his hand and comes face to face with the cowering, crumpled body of his newest recruit.

The kid, Josh, is folded in on himself in the far corner of this office, schoolbag tossed a few paces away, face hidden in his hands. At Neil’s entrance he starts so hard Neil almost feels it like a physical thing and then his face does something complicated when he realises it isn’t his father; relief warring with shame warring with anger warring with hope. One of his eyes is beginning to blacken and there’s blood pouring from a cut in his eyebrow – the ring, the fucking ring – and from one side of a crooked nose. His wrist doesn’t look particularly healthy and the way he holds himself tells Neil that this is not a one off occurrence.

“What do you want?” asks Josh, and Neil has no fucking idea. There are scars on his skin from the hands of his father and the hands of his mother and there were long years of his life where he was so accustomed to being beaten within an inch of his life that he never stopped to think that maybe, he didn’t deserve it and maybe, it wasn’t normal and maybe, someone should have helped him. How many teachers saw his black eyes, his split lips, his bruised arms, and how many of them said nothing. How many strangers saw his mother grip his wrist so tightly that it popped, pulling him into a car or a hotel or an alley, how many men saw his father pummel him like a punch bag?

Without thinking about it too much, Neil holds out a hand. “I want to help you. I want you to come with me”

Josh scoffs, gesturing loosely to his face. “This is nothing compared to what he’ll do if he comes in here and I’m gone”

Neil frowns. “Look at me,” and he points to his own scarred face with equally scarred hands, “look at my face and tell me you don’t think I’ve survived worse than your piece of shit father. Come with me, now, and don’t ever come back. Let us help you”

And there it is again, the flurry of anger-fear-shame-hope. “Why?”

“You’re a damn good backliner,” Neil tells him simply, “and if you let that pathetic excuse of a man beat you any harder you won’t be, anymore”

Hesitation twists his features into something ugly. Neil knows that he has minutes, maybe seconds until the man outside realises he’s been set up. If Neil has to pick saving himself over saving this kid, he’ll probably save himself, but Josh drags himself to his feet and looks Neil squarely in the face. “If I do this…he will come looking for me”

“And he will find an entire team of angry, troubled Exy players who know their way around a racquet” Neil replies. “I can protect you, but we have to leave. Right now”

His jaw goes tight but he nods, once. Neil nods back and together they make their way toward the front of the store, Neil pushing ahead, body strung-tight with focus. Outside he nudges Josh ahead of him, watches him adjust his gait around a lopsided limp, reels in his anger for another day.

They reach the Lexus across the street and a voice from behind calls “Joshua, get back here this goddamn instant.”

Three things happen.

Josh, in a bout of incredible bravery, flips his father the middle finger and falls over himself to clamber into the back seat of Neil’s car. The father, in a bout of incredible anger, starts for Neil like he means to snap his head from his body. Wymack, in a bout of incredible exhaustion at the familiarity of a situation such as this, appears at Neil’s right shoulder and swings a right hook up and under the man’s jaw.

It sends the man on his ass and in a split-second shared glance, Neil and Wymack make the mutual decision to get the fuck out of there.

Over the course of their drive back to Palmetto, Neil explains the situation with their new backliner, Wymack assures Josh that he will be resolutely protected, and Josh leaks blood all in the fancy seats of Neil’s car. When it doesn’t seem like it will stop, Neil shucks off his hoodie and throws it at the kid, telling him to hold it fast to the wound – after a brief, whispered argument, Neil pulls over and hands Wymack the keys and throws himself into the backseat to try and assess the damage. The ring hadn’t cut his eyebrow so much as it had gouged out a chunk of skin and his nose and lip are bust but mostly dried up. There’s a patch of blood at his side, seeping through his white t-shirt, and he waves that away as split stitches. From what, Neil doesn’t ask. He tries to staunch the bleeding but succeeds only in covering his own fingers in the blood, and in the end Wymack has to drive them straight to Abby’s house.

“Abby is our team nurse,” Neil explains, while Wymack tries to parallel park a Lexus under a blanket of colourful curses, “she patches up sprained ankles but she also patched up every wound visible on my skin, so you can trust her. I can stay, if you want, or I can leave you in her capable hands while I go back to campus and make preparations for you. There’s a spare bed in one of the freshman dorm rooms, or you can stay with Abby, or you can sleep on my sofa. Whatever you need”

Josh tucks his arms around himself, bravado stripped for the day. Neil assumes it will come back, that things will be difficult, that the kid’s attitude will fling itself all over the place, but for now he’s looking at Neil like Neil just saved his life and Neil thinks he just might have.

“You can go,” Josh says, “I have more shit under here I don’t wanna flash to anyone but a nurse, right now. Uh, I don’t…maybe I can stay on your sofa? For a bit. I don’t…”

“Hey,” Neil interrupts, “you don’t have to explain. Sofa it is. Though, I should tell you, my…my boyfriend is visiting right now, and he isn’t the friendliest person you’ll ever meet-”

“Understatement,” Wymack interrupts, “fucking understatement”

“-but,” and Neil flips off Wymack, “as long as you don’t give him any reason to distrust you, you’ll be safe”

He watches the kid for a minute, waiting for something. Protest, anger, homophobia, acceptance. Instead he shrugs, tired, overwhelmed, and climbs out of the car. Wymack follows him out, with a parting jab about Neil’s use of the term boyfriend, and then Neil is left to drive back to campus alone.

Maybe it should be embarrassing that the sight of the Maserati fills Neil with a fuzzy sort of warmth but this past half-a-year has begrudgingly taught him that distance makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever, and that he should allow himself to recognise that he misses Andrew and likes it when he comes home.

Or maybe Bee had taught him that, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Andrew.

The man in question is leaning up against the hood of his car, sleek and sharp in his black jeans and leather jacket, one booted-foot propped against the license plate, a cigarette between his lips. He’s gotten broader, since Neil last saw him, bulkier in the arms and shoulders and if Andrew is feeling up to it, Neil wants to relearn the shape of him with his fingers, maybe even his mouth.

Andrew doesn’t look up when the Lexus pulls in, feigning a nonchalance the set of his jaw doesn’t quite convey, but he does look up when Neil steps out of the car and his face transitions from smooth to thunder so fast it gives Neil whiplash.

“What happened?”

Neil blinks and Andrew’s hands are on him, fingers tilting his jaw this way and that, skimming down the sides of his body, eyes roaming for injury. Neil belatedly realises that he has Josh’s blood on his hands, a little on his shirt and he curves his own fingers around Andrew’s wrists, meets his eye with a calm stare. “It isn’t mine”

“That,” Andrew says, shoulders settling away from tension, “is not as reassuring as you seem to think it is”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Had some trouble with the new recruit. He’ll be staying with us”

Andrew arches a pale eyebrow, studying the blood on Neil’s fingers with a calculated disinterest. Neil huffs. “His father was beating the shit out of him”

“Where is he now?”

“Abby’s”

Andrew studies him for a long moment. Then, “I thought taking in strays was my thing”

“Well,” and Neil smooths his thumbs down over the fine bones of Andrew’s wrists, “someone had to pick up the slack. I couldn’t leave him there. So many people must have seen my mother backhand me and no one ever stepped in. How could I-”

“Stop it,” Andrew says, and Neil stops. “You cannot take responsibility for every single person in the world. It will never make your mother un-hit you”

Neil flinches, but he knows Andrew is right. Still, “I can help him. I can help this one. I want to”

“Alright”

“Yeah?”

Andrew gives him a look. “What, were you asking my permission? Are we adopting this child together?”

Neil laughs, a new thing, tipping his head back, teeth slipping past his lips. “You don’t think we’d make good parents?”

Andrew steps close enough that one of his boots rests between Neil’s two sneakers, their hands still clasped between them becoming squashed between their chests. “I would be a textbook parent. You would be a nightmare”

“I resent that,” Neil tells him “We’re never having kids”

“Obviously”

“Cats, maybe”

Andrew blinks. “Cats? You’ve thought about cats?”

Neil shrugs, once, but can’t fight the smile spilling back onto his face. “We’re getting cats. You said yourself that you like taking in strays”

“No,” Andrew says, firm. “I do not like it. The last one I took in continues to test my patience, so I will not have another”

“I’ve been testing your patience for four years and you’ve yet to get rid of me” Neil reminds him, “I think you’re getting soft”

“I think I am getting back in my car and leaving you here” Andrew replies, allowing it when Neil’s hands wiggle up between their bodies to frame his face.

“I think you’re going to help me make use of my empty dorm room before a freshman backliner moves in onto my sofa”

Andrew doesn’t respond to this either way but he allows it when Neil stretches to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and he allows it when Neil takes him by the fingers and leads him into Fox Tower, and he certainly allows it when Neil peels him out of his leather jacket before the door is even closed behind them.

(Later, when Josh announces his presence with a tentative knock at the door, Andrew answers it. Neil watches them size one another up and then Andrew reaches up into his armband for a knife. “Use this on anyone other than your father,” he says, “and I will use it to remove your hands”

If the expression on his face is anything to go by, Josh has no idea what he’s agreeing to in taking that knife, but he does it anyway. Neil has to hide his smile in the collar of his newly-acquired leather jacket.)

[v3-killing-harmony-imagines]

‘Can you write the guys with an autistic s/o? Bonus if their special interest is the guys talent!’

Can you write the guys with an autistic s/o? Bonus if their special interest is the guys talent!

Of course! Once again I hope this doesn’t seem offensive ;w;

Saihara Shuichi:

He always tries his best to make you feel comfortable when talking to him. He knows firsthand that social interactions aren’t the greatest thing in the world.

He’ll offer to do all the talking in public if you’d like him too, he’s willing to do anything really.

You have to tell him that it’s ok, and that you’ll never get better at it unless you do talk to people. So he hesitantly, lets you.

The boy acts like a father more than a boyfriend half the time, which you tease him for sometimes (“Daddy~”)

While you can do really well in one subject, any other may not interest you. This proves to be a problem in school, Saihara tries his best to help you out whenever you need it.

You told him one day that you really were interested in the detective work he does, and you wanted to learn more about the subject.

You can see his tail practically wagging- like a puppy- so excited to show you how he does things.

Yet he’s also a bit timid to tell you about the more…brutal and violent parts about it…so he does his best to omit that.

He’s still happy that his talent interests you! He’s always happy to help you learn something new!

Amami Rantarou:

The first thing he notices is that you fidget.

Twirling your hands, rocking ever so slightly in your seat, starring.

Others may find it strange, he just found it interesting.

You usually have specific tastes for foods, he’s memorized which ones you like best and which ones you don’t like at all.

He makes sure to always stock up, to make you happy.

He’s a bit of a picky person himself- he likes things a certain way. It’s just more easier that way.

New schedules, whether it’s for school or not, can be a challenge to get used to. For both him and yourself.

It just makes life more complicated and if you haven’t noticed, Amami really just wants a peaceful and calm life.

You told him you were interested in his talent.

He laughed, “Yeah I’m interested in seeing what it is too.”

“No no, that’s not the point, your talent- it’s a mystery.”

“Yeah, and?”

“All that’s left is you. Your person.”

He thought for a second, the pieces not quite coming together.

You put them in place for him, “Even if you aren’t given a talent, there’s still you. That you won’t change their personality or likes of dislikes.” You pause a second. “Basically I’m interested in Amami Rantaro. I’m interested in how he thinks, feels, acts, sees….does that make sense?”

He blinked, face slowly pulling into a smile as he pulled you closer.

“You’re really the cutest at times you know that?” He plants a kiss on your forehead. “S/o, if you’re so intrigued by me then feel free to study me as much as you’d like. If I make you happy that much, I’m a pretty lucky man right?”

You nuzzled closer, “Right.”

Ouma Kokichi:

“Ohhh, you have autism? Wow, that’s interesting.” He says it with such a monotone voice you think he’s actually being honest- he finds it interesting that the person he likes so much is so unique!

He’s constantly asking questions now, whether out of the blue or not.

“Hey hey, do you like cotton or linen pants better?”

“What about fruits? Do you like cherries or not?”

Ouma, it’s not as if they’re some alien from another race. They’re still human.

“*Gasp* what if my dear s/o is actually the real human?? And everyone else are the aliens??” He clung to your leg, “WAAAAAAAAA S/O IM SORRYYYY!!!”

Drama queen.

In a way, you two are similar. You both like a specific taste for food, subjects, and you’re both not grade A students in the social category.

“Hey Ouma, I wanna learn more about your talent.”

He stopped drinking his bottle of soda, fizzy bubbles dribbling down his scarf.

“S/o wants to know about my role as a supreme leader? Aha, I have to warn you, once you know these secrets I have to make sure you’ll never tell anyone else…”

In the end it lead to a 2 hour lecture about Ouma’s overly dramatic retell of his daily life.

“Seee? Now that you know about it, and are utterly and hopelessly in love with me, you’ll never go tell anyone else!” He smiled, arms hanging behind his head. “Nishishi~ isn’t that right?”

You grinned, matching his own persona “That isn’t a lie.”

He blushed so hardly that he actually needed to sit down for a minute.

Aw, what a precious boy.

Kaito Momota:

The fact that you have autism doesn’t make a difference to him at all!

Your little quirks, the passion you held for the topics you loved, the way you had a fire for the things you wanted to do.

He didn’t find it difficult or a burden in the slightest, if anything, he thought that it was the best thing.

He was spending a Friday night lazing on the couch, eating Doritos in his pj’s.

Then you came in the room, sitting down beside him.

“Kaito, can you teach me about space?”

He’s jumps up, grabbing you and dragging you out the door- insisting that you two are going stargazing right now.

He doesn’t even bother to wipe the crumbs from his fingers nor change out of his pajamas.

He sets up a blanket on the ground, patting the space beside him and insisting that you lay down.

Kaito points out all the main stars and constellations that he knows, the air gets cold, and he gives you his jacket to keep warm in (He does some sit-ups when he gets cold.)

Time passes, he goes onto explaining facts about meteors, space, gravity, the orbit, the axis….

He goes on for so long that you end up falling asleep, under the stars.

When he notices, he stops talking mid sentence, just starring at you for a while under the dim light.

He carries you inside, carefully, (He nearly drops you) and sets you down on the bed.

He places a kiss on your temple before pulling the covers over you, returning back to his half-finished Doritos.

Kiibo(K1-b0!!11111!!11):

He’s definitely always looking out for you.

Although he knows how it effects your mind and actions….he can’t help but wondering….what would it be like if he had something similar?

Would his circuits be dysfunctional? Would parts of his code unsuccessfully travel to his motherboard?

It just makes him wonder at times….

A human with a mental disease is helped, and treated with care.

If Kiibo were like that….not normal, not a perfect robot. He would be terminated. What good is a defective Robot?

He found out you had a passion for computer and technology the first day he met you- in a computer lab the two of you had together.

It’s… nice. To be able to talk to someone as important as you about something important to him that it literally is what his life revolves around.

He’ll talk to you about different parts of his system and circuit board, how he ‘feels’ things, or how he views the world.

It’s very therapeutic for him, after getting teased by Ouma or getting down because other’s don’t view him as equal, he can sit down and talk about his system and how he’s as much of a human as everyone else is.

Cough, of course there’s also anatomy lessons cough if you know what I mean.

Korekiyo Shinguji:

He’s met a lot of humans, a lot of humans that are different in many ways more than one.

He believes people should all be treated just the same, based on their personalities rather than mental capabilities.

Due to this he can get very protective, especially if people use slurs about it.

Death glare in their direction.

He’s glad that he can share his love of anthropology with you, especially since he knows that you have a special interest for very few things.

Sometimes you two will have a discussion about theories on why humans act the way they do, or how their minds work.

Other times its more of a vent session, both of you describing how you feel and why…

For you it’s more focused on your frustration, your frustration with your illness and how you can’t do this or you can’t say this or that….

Both of you help each other out, promising to be there for each other, sharing soft kisses in the late hours of the night.

Gonta Gokuhara:

“While it’s difficult for Gonta to understand about Autism at times… Gonta thinks you’re an amazing person, no matter what! Gonta loves you very much!!”

While you treated your condition like nothing, Gonta treated it as life or death.

Does S/o need help?  Is S/o struggling with this? Does S/o need Gonta to read it for them?

After a while (and some talking with him in private) he eventually learns that you won’t die because of it, and that you can handle yourself on your own.

But, it is nice to have the support of someone.

So Gonta makes sure he’s the best gentleman he can be for S/o!

Because you have a special interest for bugs, Gonta makes sure that every day he shows you a new bug!

Explaining what they eat, how they live, different part of their body.

He’s overjoyed that you have such a fascination for bugs! Gonta will make sure to show S/o all the bugs he can!

Every time you two go on walks, he’s pointing out different bugs, in the grass or on trees.

(You get a lot of stares by others in public but Gonta doesn’t care that much)

Ryoma Hoshi:

Well, everyone has something different with them right? He definitely has his.

Yours just happens to be autism.

It really must suck to be stuck with your mind, he thinks.

But you still manage, and he admires that about you.

He definitely wants to help you out with what you’re dealing with but….he doesn’t know if he necessarily could… He might end up making things worse…

But he still tells you if there’s anything troubling you, he’s always open to listen. He might not be able to help but he can provide advice, maybe.

He was texting you one day and the topic of tennis came up, he doesn’t really play much anymore but…he’s still got the muscle memory, some of it at least.

Then you brought up how you wanted to play a match of tennis, and he asked you if you wanted to go for a match? He could teach you?

And then the winded up at the public court an hour later, lowkey regretting initiating this.

He teaches you the basics, how to serve and toss and hit back the balls and different techniques that he’s learned over the years.

The sun moves, and by the time you two call it a day he’s soaked with sweat, his muscles are stinging and he the water tastes so good as he gulps it up.

It reminds him of his younger years, bouncing from side to side, the cheering fans, the adrenaline.

He won’t admit it, but he misses the sport.

He waves goodbye to you, looking forward to the next time he can go back and play with you.

[tryaddump]

TheKojiIsHere

1- KoR/TFO weapon Elias Alderaan isn't enough to wake him up When the Empire crumbles he's sorta just abandoned, maybe a shuffled around asset among surviving moffs and generals and the like before ending up in one of the groups' hands Feral but still trainable 2- Fully dark Elias At some point comes out of his stupor on his own, but is no less angry and vicious Ends up turning on his masters and takes over a cell or the empire for himself when the top two fall. Now hes the one cracking the whip, and he's even crueler to his subordinates as those who made him And he is always angry, like the kind of angry that shoots past flailing tantrums into eeerie seeming stillness, but you can't mistake it for calm when he casually snaps a neck or cuts someone in half for any minor inconvenience or failure

hackett. chinhands

TheKojiIsHere https://youtu.be/hL5zv4mN1xA Batman-Under the Red Hood Black Mask Montage

From beginning to 2:06

Except the punch would have been a saber thrust through the face

darth porgeius ooookay that’s some unhinged darkness right there

hackett. kor elias would be a fucked version of his tryad dynamic with ben. the kor were brothers / dark side teachers for kylo. it was a frat cult fully dark elias is giving vader a run for it

TheKojiIsHere But also imagine like Full dark Elias scoops Ben before snoke can

hackett. ..... The Resistance is now The Attempt because fucking hell

TheKojiIsHere Couple immediate differences: Ben never becomes a KoR bc Elias wouldn't even send him therr He also doesn't become a Jedi Killer bc even dark Elias has certain boundaries snoke does not, and no more Jedi need to die pointlessly Ben, and I cannot stress this enough is so much more of a powerhouse/threat holy shit Bc he's been kinda raised by Elias, taught proper forms, and how to utilize his raw power more effectively He's a better dueliest, more disciplined, and more knowledgeable Also Elias isn't borderline torturing the kid I wouldn't say he's kind But he's a very different kind of cruel

hackett. Duuuude, now im picturing this kylo concept art https://images.app.goo.gl/2BE5WHechxB78f7L8

darth porgeius super spook

hackett. Im curious to explore the differences because the kor are such a huge influence. Kylo ren's face is based on their style. That mask is so tied to his identity.

TheKojiIsHere Elias also wouldn't have tolerated such adoration of Vader Fuck I imagined him finding the helmet in Ben's quarters And making Ben watch as he crushed it with The Force Brought it in on itself until it was just a small metal sphere

hackett. ...... I think i just felt ben die inside

TheKojiIsHere Elias: You do not celebrate his works. He cast aside himself for the sake of an old fool with delusions of grandeur, and stole the selves of his brothers. He is not worth your worship, and you have already surpassed him in so many ways. Do not let the the short sightedness of the past blind and rob you of the future's promise, Ben.

hackett. ......i

TheKojiIsHere

I'm sending this here bc I don't wanna interrupt what you're typing in tryad chat BUT PALPATINE NEVER GETS INTO HIS HEAD ELIAS HAS MADE SURE NOBODY EVER GETS INTO HIS MIND AGAIN AND MAKES HIM SOMETHING HE ISNT SO HE MAKES SURE BEN CAN DO THE SAME Dark Elias doesn't get Ben by twisting his mind into servitude He makes Ben a better offer than anyone else is

hackett. In other words, his crimes are truly his own

TheKojiIsHere Yeeeeeup

hackett. There's no headworm that has convinced of his path Whats elias like as a master in this au

TheKojiIsHere Harsh but fair. He beats the shit out of Ben regularly, but never pointlessly. He's ruthless because those Ben will face are so, but there is always a lesson to be learned Example: Ben learned mental defense bc Elias would day take time each day forcing his way into Ben's mind whole instructing how to stop him He kept doing it until Ben got it Until his mental defenses were like walls of beskar Dueling, they used shock batons so it wouldn't be lethal but it would hurt Every slip in his form would come with pain But Elias always made sure he knew that with the pain came knowledge, with knowledge, strength I got to stress this allies is not insane just angry Which means he is capable of moments that are not the black mask video I showed you To be honest and this au with Ben is probably as soft as this Elias gets And he definitely gives been praise when it's due. It's hard fault but when Ben gets a form right, or makes progress, he makes sure Ben know that it is not unnoticed Above all Else, he may be harsh but he will never be Vader He will never push been to a breaking point. He will never Rob Ben know who he is. He will only test him and have high standards for Passing

hackett. Ben would develop so differently. Less reckless, still calculative but more discerning before he strikes and when he strikes he's already plotted out his next moves

TheKojiIsHere Seriously, such a difference this'd make Hell, the galaxy would be wildly different There'd be a third power at play Though Elias isn't much interested in huge expansion or conquest. He basically takes a world with the force he has and refuses to let it go. This ofc makes him an enemy of the New Republic So his group (idk the name yet) is essentially dealing with defense more than offense, but people are sent out to destabilize TNR on a major level And when TFO pops up, they're competition Plus, Elias will sense Palpatines hand in things So where TNR is met with cold, apathetic disruption TFO is targeted with extreme prejudice OH MAN IMAGINE THAT'S HOW REY FITS IN! SHES SCOOPED BY TFO She's  the Ren But yes Elias would have been a harsh but fair teacher/father. He also, as an interesting contrast to smoke, doesnt leave all the work to underlings Ben would see Elias fighting alongside him And his Vaapad variant works even better There's a lot more internal darkness to tap into and start the loop OH MAN I JUST THOUGHT OF A DUO MOVE THEY COULD HAVE USE EACH OTHER Rather than rely on the potentially waxing and waning emotions of another

hackett. Dark side circuit

TheKojiIsHere They link up an essentially become both generator and amplifier for each other And since both sides are aware of the transfer and letting it flow freely It's way more potent They'd be fucking unstoppable and terrifying sweet christmas TFO: sends a fleet with star destroyers and fighters aplenty towards Elias' planet Elias and Ben: link up and destroy them from the surface while the ships are still in orbit

hackett. That's messed, i dig it. They basically sound like an event horizon of power, once they link they just devour enemies with the force

TheKojiIsHere ^^^^

hackett. Like kylo ren in that resistance clip i sent is far as fuck away from his two underlings And he uses the force to make them aim at each other So thats him on his own Imagine with elias linked

TheKojiIsHere They could control the entire crew, on multiple ships Okay, so question Bc I feel like there is room for debate on this and I wonder where you stand Do you think each person like Has a set level of power in The Force that they are capable of from birth They may not be able to utilize all of it right away But there is a definitive, insurmountable cap Or do you think it's more of a soft cap that can be expanded with time and practice? Bc dif people def start off with varying levels of potency Re: the Skywalkers all being natural powerhouses But do you think that's it, or people can improve if they deign to try?

hackett. So i think its a little bit like that line from ratatouille. Anyone can use the force. Powerful force users can come from anywhere, be anyone. Even if its genetic for ben solo, doesnt mean thats how it happens for everyone. Like disney changed the canon that everyone is sensitive to the force but not everyone is force sensitive. It probably manifests in different ways. I think everyone can improve, heighten their awareness and control, but everyone has a cap. Not because theyre weak or pathetic or meagor, their strength is just elsewhere like all talents and abilities Which is why elias in any verse being able to compete with ren makes sense without it feeling like a "god mode"

TheKojiIsHere Another terrifying idea for dark verse They find the gauntlet Figure out how it's made then make their own With Empire assets Elias could have beaten TFO to Illum by decades

hackett. conduit dark siders with a pair of those gauntlets [8:14 PM]

TheKojiIsHere They turn the whole thing into a conduit over time The space weapon is them OH SHIT WHAT IF ILLUM IS THE PLANET ELIAS TOOK OVER Spent years turning it into a base/civilization

hackett. I WAS THINKING THAT like imagine just that planet becomes amp and battery pack

TheKojiIsHere And battle station/civilization And you know what? The people who live there live live well

hackett. i imagine, i don't see elias being the type to set himself to be hated by those under his indirect control but live under his influence

TheKojiIsHere Oh wow I must have pocket called you my b But yea he wouldn't be needlessly cruel

hackett. also not a fool, you don't make the people who surround you and know your home turf your enemy

TheKojiIsHere ^^^^^

hackett. leave them alone, ingratiate them at least a little bit. make their lives comfortable and protect them and they won't want a regime change

TheKojiIsHere His direct subordinates, however, he definitely rules through fear. He doesn't tolerate failure, and it's gratifying to be the punisher rather than the punished He offsets this by giving due praise to those who perform satisfactorily, and even more so exemplary

So there's a big dichotomy in treatment Ben, ofc, is judged most harshly but also performs most exceptionally In Elias' eyes

hackett. it's gonna interesting cause with snoke he gave benlo a direction and told him to find his own way there it's not the same with a dark elias, there's more expectations. more guidance. more discipline.

[a-panda-reads-act-omega]

ACT OMEGA PART 10

THE 26/10/16 UPDATE

WOOOOOOO DOUBLE FUCKIN DIGITS YO. This is fantastic. So last time we left off, Dirk and Jake were gay and dumb. Now we are getting into the most anticipated interaction yet, Rosejade. Listen you people, you have no. idea how much I ship Rosejade. It ship it a l o t . . . Oh man it’s really cute. BUT Um YEAH LETS READ IT.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Jesus christ this is too cute. Jade is so fucking happy to see Rose aaaaa.

And Rose is just like “jesus jade dont knock me over”

ROSE: -Oof. JADE: nice to see you rose!!!

YES. YES it is.

Oh my god help its too cute. I love their droopy lil pajama sleeves, it really makes this so much better and im not sure why.

ROSE: (... Nice to see you too, Jade.) JADE: bark!

Goddammit. Ok its clear I have a problem here, Jade is too fucking cute.

Alright thank goodness, those cute detailed panels were a little too much for me. John’s creeping in the background, and Dave’s hanging out with Karkat. Jade doesn’t seem happy?

JADE: (oh my god im so sorry) JADE: (i cant believe i just did that!) JADE: (thats so embarrassing...)

Jade shut up it was cute.

ROSE: (No harm done.) ROSE: (It’s endearing, in a way.) ROSE: (Though perhaps the charm might simply be a patented Jade Harley trait.)

God, YES. Now Rose is complimenting her, and its probably in a platonic sense considering she has a girlfriend but JEEZ I ship it.

ok I hope my shipping of this doesn’t come off as annoying.

JADE: ..dawwww! :) ROSE: (But you might want to keep your voice down.) ROSE: (I’m not sure why it’s become so quiet, but I am perfectly willing to preserve this lull in activity.) ROSE: (Especially in order to sustain the pleasant conversation we’re currently having.)

Yes it is very pleasant. Very very.

JADE: oh ok! JADE: whoops JADE: (i mean) JADE: (ok) ROSE: (Now that our vocal chords have been successfully wrangled, we can get right into the thick of it.) ROSE: (It seemed like you had something to ask me when you approached.) JADE: (oh um yes i did!) JADE: (but im kind of unsure how to ask...) ROSE: (In moments like these, I think the best advice I can give is to say “fuck it”.) ROSE: (And do it anyway.) JADE: :o

great advice Rose. NOW Jade, what did you have to ask? It’s probably gonna be something extremely platonic and irrelevant to my ships, but you know what I can dream.

JADE: (well geez when you put it that way!) JADE: (heh...) ROSE: (Well?) JADE: (oh right yeah) JADE: (soooooo)

hrnK help

Oh. Right, it’s the Earth. So what did you need to ask then? What would Rose know about the Earth?

JADE: (i was wondering what you thought we should do about the earth!) JADE: (john said that taking care of it is supposed to be my responsibility) JADE: (and looking at it right now... isnt it a bit more uh) JADE: (watery, than it should be?)

Yeah, it is quite watery. this is the post-scratch earth I believe, so that would make sense. I think, at least. I never know with all this time shit.

ROSE: (It certainly looks that way. It's just another unfortunate consequence of the scratch.) ROSE: (Though I think it might be a slight improvement over the barren ball of basalt our earth became after that cataclysmic meteor shower.) ROSE: (We’ll just have to make do.) JADE: (so thats it then?) JADE: (we just) JADE: (give earth an orbit around a new star or something) JADE: (and find an island to live on?) ROSE: (That does seem a suitable course of action.) ROSE: (We might want to do something about all that ocean, though.) ROSE: (At the very least to make the planet somewhat more aesthetically pleasing. Sprinkle a few continents here and there, you know.) ROSE: (No offense, but one measly island will doubtless get boring after a while.) ROSE: (Let alone be capable of housing what will hopefully one day be a thriving multi-species civilization.)

Oh yeah, there’s gonna have to be a lot more land for all that LIFE. Do they have a way of making more land though? It’s probably not gonna be a problem, it’ll just be interesting to see how they do it I guess.

JADE: (hehehe!) JADE: (i guess youre right about that!) JADE: (although...) JADE: (i kind of wonder about all of our planets here in the medium) ROSE: (What about them?) JADE: (i went through all that trouble to bring them here, and now were just gonna leave them behind?) JADE: (why dont we bring them along?) JADE: (personally im a little attached! :P) ROSE: (Personally, I would rather not.) JADE: (aw) JADE: (well why?)

But Rooose, your land is so pretty! How would you just give that up?

ROSE: (They’re essentially just an overly grandiose and complicated puzzle designed for preteens, presented as personalized celestial bodies.) ROSE: (Some of them even have giant snakes inside them. Ew.) JADE: (pfffft)

pfffft. Those snakes were awesome. And even if they are just a puzzle, that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate what they are aesthetically! I mean, come on Rose. You gotta stop resenting things for what they’re supposed to be! 

JADE: (wow rose i sure did miss you a whole lot)

8D

JADE: (you always have such a smart and funny way of putting things!) JADE: (but will the denizens really still be there if we take them with us?) ROSE: (It was a joke, Jade. One of the many that I dole out on a regular basis, as the shrewd yet whimsical person you say I am.) ROSE: (They’ll likely vanish once we exit the game for good, whether we bring them through to the new universe or not.) ROSE: (They’re game constructs. I can’t see them serving much purpose past the end credits, so to speak.)

Wellll, I don’t know about that! I mean, yeah, they are game constructs and all. But like all the consorts, I think it’s safe to say they’re sentient as well! Sooo... Hm. Why would Jade’s Denizen have wanted her to take them all in the first place? I mean, to save them from Jack I suppose, but what’s the point if they would die from the big “your winner” screen at the end anyways?

JADE: (oh... well that makes me wonder) JADE: (what about the sprites? theyre game constructs too right?) ROSE: (That is a decent point.)

That IS a decent point. I dont wanna lose Jasprose or Davepeta.

Also. Has anybody wondered if there could be a Jasprovepeta^3? Because THAT, would be pretty great.

ROSE: (The kernels, at the very least, are absolutely nothing more than game constructs. They are a core mechanic of the game in their relationship with the maturity of the battlefield and the power of the black and white monarchs, and they don’t even have consciousness.) ROSE: (The sprites, however... well.) ROSE: (I’m not sure.) ROSE: (It’s highly likely they’ll be able to continue existing indefinitely, all things considered.) ROSE: (Though ultimately, it’s up to them whether they’d like to take a stab at life beyond Sburb.)

Well I dont see why they wouldn’t! Aside from maybe Erisol.

Pfft

ROSE: (Hopefully at least ONE of them will remain here.) ROSE: (Far, far away.) ROSE: (Never to be seen again.) ROSE: (Or be mourned.) ROSE: (At all.) ROSE: (Ever.) JADE: (um???) ROSE: (Nevermind that.)

NO dammit, Jasprose cannot stay behind. She needs to continue to exist and be part of this story because she’s greAT! Though she did say she was no longer interested...

JADE: (okay well) JADE: (im still kind of unsure about all this...) ROSE: (We’ll figure it out, Jade. There’s really not much to worry over.) JADE: (well... what about uh) JADE: (repopulation?) ROSE: (Like I said. We’ll figure it out.) ROSE: (Some ectobiology will likely be involved.) ROSE: (Which we will all be able to discuss as a group when the time comes.) ROSE: (Rather than right this second.)

Something wrong Rose? You’re kinda seeming a little impatient.

JADE: (um...) JADE: (rose, im sorry, i dont mean to make you mad)

Oh, Jade noticed too

ROSE: (I’m not mad.) JADE: (you seem a little mad!) ROSE: (*sigh*)

Out with it, Rose. Tell us what’s going on in that brain of yours.

JADE: (i just really want make sure i do my job right) JADE: (im supposed to make sure we all have a proper place to live!!) ROSE: (You’ll do just fine, Jade. You’ve always done your best at every task you’ve tackled, and what small miracles you can accomplish with hardly any effort are a reflection of how truly capable you are. We all have faith in you.)

Oh jeez.. Is it just me, or is Rose kinda seeming resentful towards Jade’s achievements. I hope that’s not the case.

JADE: (thanks, but...) JADE: (is everything okay?) JADE: (you dont sound all that enthusiastic) JADE: (did i do something wrong?) ROSE: (No, no.) ROSE: (This is all me.)

Come on rooose, tell us

ROSE: (I missed you Jade, I really did. But seeing you again now brings back unpleasant memories.) JADE: (oh) JADE: (you mean like your mom...?) ROSE: (Less the incident itself and more the horrifically immature child I behaved like back then.) ROSE: (Never was my childishness more apparent than with how I treated you.) JADE: (what! what do you mean?)

Hmm... thinking back at it, Rose sort of did treat Jade as just this object of mystery. Dave was always suspicious of her too, but Rose was seemingly always trying to point out when Jade said something that didn’t add up.

ROSE: (I was never a very good friend to you, Jade.) ROSE: (There were, and perhaps still are, some things about you that made me feel...) ROSE: (Insecure.)

Hmmm again.. I could understand insecurities in the past, but now Rose is practically on the same level as Jade. Is it a personality thing? because that doesn’t seem likely.

ROSE: (And, well. I was very petty, and allowed myself to wallow in jealousy while shoehorning you into another of my many imagined rivalries.)

Oh, damn. I guess I should have suspected something like that, considering how competitive Rose really can be when it comes to just about anything.

JADE: (you were jealous?) JADE: (of me???) ROSE: (You were bubbly and cheerful. Genuinely likeable, unlike me. Legitimately smart, where I more often than not felt the need to pad my intellect with random facts I learned on the internet. You had a multitude of talents and seemed to be able to do almost anything with hardly any effort.) ROSE: (Not to mention, I was under the impression you could see the future.)

DammIT, this is a large part of the reason I wanted them to interact. there was so much misunderstanding between them before, and once Rose finally knew how Jade did the things she did, it just went.. unmentioned.

JADE: (oh yeah... ugh, i thought i was soooo smart :\) JADE: (just thinking about all those dumb vague hints i used to drop makes me cringe!!)

I mean, it’s not like you didn’t always do what was best for your friends. Come on! You gotta feel a little smug when you understand all of the complicated bullshit about sburb. Even though you didn’t, in the end. you still thought you did. Plus you were 13. Nowhere near as mature as you are now. Which I suppose can be said for everybody, really.

JADE: (i totally get it, rose. im really sorry!) ROSE: (Please, don’t be.) ROSE: (Without the haze of envy blotting my vision I can see you for the charming, likeable, caring girl you really are and always have been.)

AGh, dammit this is putting me back into shipping mode nO!

ROSE: (I’d like to think I’ve done at least SOME maturing over the last three years.) ROSE: (Now I’m the smug one with clairvoyance. My, how the tables have turned.) JADE: (welllll...) JADE: (you were always a LITTLE bit smug :P) ROSE: (Oh, only a little?) ROSE: (You flatterer.)

fuCKINg. KISS.

Ah, shit. thats the end of their interaction. NEXT UP, we goooot... Calliope and Jane! Sweet. And as it seems to be the pattern we are following, we get a sneak peek at their conversation in this update.

JANE: (Pssst!) JANE: (Callie!)

And that’s it. ALRiGHT, sNEAK PEEK OVER.

This was a really fun Rosejade conversation though. We got to learn more about how they felt about eachother in the past, and how those feelings have changed since. And not to mention, some plot details on the plans for the new Earth.

And since I still suck at ending these things, ten parts in, ill seeya next time. might be today again, whon knows. maybe ill go for 5 updates in one day.