#nobody mention my music taste is so white i am Aware

[lesbianlotties]

favorite songs/musical artists?

OH! music my beloved! except for the old music in spanish that i've absorbed by just existing the rest of my music taste is probably predictable and not too exciting but hey i love it so

favorite artists are definitely paramore, florence and the machine, mitski, hozier, tegan and sara, and boygenius as a whole and the members by themselves too

favorite songs!! uhhhh okay from the artists already mentioned, misguided ghosts, hard times, playing god, no choir, haunted house, the bomb, i will, working for the knife, not strong enough....

[yumgrapejuice]

An analysis on Ranboo’s lore playlist

okay y’all first of all, ranboo has a killer taste, i love him, and second, i couldn’t resist. i’m an analyst by nature. am i looking too deep into some things? did ranboo maybe choose some songs purely for the vibe? perhaps. do i care? no. let me have my fun.

I’m gonna drop my own analysis/interpretation based on these songs but feel free do use this yourself if you want!! And also feel free to disagree/correct me on anything!! I’m not a professional musical analyst lol and I did take some inspiration from already existing interpretations for the more lyrical songs.

here’s the playlist btw

“Introduction to the Snow”—introduction to the album. Fitting for the playlist’s beginning, seeing the tone. It’s mostly referencing (self-imposed) isolation.

“Dream Sweet in Sea Major”—this Miracle Music’s whole album is about dreams and reality, how they clash, loneliness and the wish to be close to someone, yet still remaining isolated. Very whimsical, metaphorical, melodic, and it has this vibe as if on the edge of consciousness. I’d say it fits quite well with c!Ranboo’s general vibe. This song in particular deals with sleepwalking(ha)/being in a dreamlike state, the line between what’s real and what’s not blurred.

“The Mind Electric”—oh this one fits Ranboo extremely well. First part is in reverse, the second in normal (mirroring), and it can get quite unsettling. Like you’re not sure what’s happening with the instrumentals, many different voices. Again, very metaphorical, but to put it shortly, the protagonist is being judged for a crime they’ve committed and, in their defence, they say: “Father, your honor, may I explain, my brain has claimed its glory over me; I’ve a good heart albeit insane”. They get “condemned to the infirmary” for that, where electric shock is used on them as a form of “therapy”. As a result, the protagonist loses grip on reality and themselves and truly does go insane. They beg for mercy and sympathy, but there’s no one to help them. “Someone help me; Understand what's going on inside my mind; Doctor I can't tell if I'm not me”—need I say more, really?

“Live and Let Die”—the phrase “live and let die” means to live your life how you wish and let others live how they wish without interfering. At first, you live by the phrase “live and let live”, meaning you have your ideals and you try to change the lives of others according to them, but as life progresses, you stop caring as much/try to distance yourself from others’ business.

“Turn the Lights Off”—dreams and nightmares. Mildly foreboding yet energetic. The actual meaning is about growing up (transition from childhood to adulthood), but we can take some other interpretations that’d fit with Ranboo’s character better. This Tally Hall’s album deals with differences, black and white, and how there shouldn’t be a divide between them. In this song, there are some noteworthy lines that I’d like to mention:

- “Bend the nightmare, you control it; Artful dodger, easy does it”—lucid dreaming, you have to be careful with it so as to not lose control.

- “Shut the closet, get under the covers”—you’re afraid of something and instead of facing it and seeing whether there even is something to be afraid of, you hide.

- “Turn the lights off”—confront your fears. It can also mean that in the dark, there’s no differences between people, going back to the album’s meaning.

- “And everybody wants to get evil tonight; But all good devils masquerade under the light”—this could mean that everyone has a darker part of themselves but those who actually indulge in their dark tendencies do so in plain sight by pretending to be someone else.

“Ruler of Everything”—the main theme here is time and how it’s the “ruler of everything”; time doesn’t matter about where it goes, and it will never stop. The second verse is most interesting to me—there are two singers, man and time, but for the sake of interpretation let’s just see it as two voices. One is obsessed about being liked, fitting in, constantly asking for reaffirmation (“Do you like how I walk? Do you like how I talk?”), while the second criticizes the first (“You practice your mannerisms into the wall”). They argue—”I’ve been you, I know you, your facade is scam; You know you’re making me cry, this is the way that I am”. The second is calling out the first for not being honest to himself. Tone is lighthearted but with an edge of unease.

“Merry-Go-Round of Life”—from Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack. The title’s self-explanatory, I’d say.

“Killer Queen”—this one’s a harder one to interpret in regards to Ranboo lol. The song is about, based on an interview with Mercury, a high class woman that likes to indulge in her various desires (mostly sexual). I would doubt that’s what Ranboo was going for, so! Perhaps about a person that has no regards for their reputation and instead does whatever they feel like it? They have a certain image but still act however they like. Yeah, not too sure about this one :’) But that’s what I’ll go with for my later analysis.

“Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked”—quite straightforward. A person that performs bad deeds has reasons for them. Not excuses, but explanations, and you can sympathize with it. We all do “bad” things for one reason or the other, and, in the end, we’re all just trying to get by. Once again, plays into the theme of there not being a clear distinction between good and bad.

“The Bidding”—another harder one to interpret. On the surface, it’s about an auction where men are trying to sell themselves to women. They all present themselves in different images, and it’s remarked that the women care less about the date and more about the prospect of it, the pretty words. The date, actually, ends up being disappointing. Could be about expectations. Some men outright admit they’re assholes so whoever chooses them should know that. People can tell you what their intentions are from the start so if you end up hurt, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

“A Mask of My Own Face”—another interesting one! Unusual instruments, strong beat. They’re singing about how they have a desire to pretend to be someone else while secretly still being themselves. “I’d rob my own apartment and I wouldn’t give a damn; I’d blame it on the person that nobody knows I am”—implying they have no regard for their own livelihood and are just out to have some fun. Plus, that no one would be aware it’s all an act. “I'd wear it on Thanksgiving and I'd laugh in the parade; At all the people hissing, knowing I'm the one they hate”—they take delight in the idea of upsetting others and them not knowing it’s actually the singer that they should be hissing. “And at the big finale I would tear my face away; And smile as they grip their own and try to do the same”—everyone wears masks, and this person implies that their mask and their true self is not different from each other while others’ are.

“Stardust Crusaders”—soundtrack from Jojo. Action-packed? idk never seen it sorry lol

“I Can’t Decide”—oh, this one’s a doozy! One of the ones that do not fit c!Ranboo at all, but that’s what makes it interesting. A classic, the singer is out to have fun, very lighthearted and yet they’re singing about murder. The protagonist here is clearly mentally unwell and they’re indecisive whether they should let their enemy/toy/(up to interpretation) live or not. Some curious lines:

- “It’s not easy having yourself a good time”—in the context of the song, that “good time” implies something wicked.

- “I’m not a gangster tonight, don’t wanna be the bad guy, I’m just a loner, baby, and now you’ve got in my way”—they don’t view themselves as “bad”, however, the next two lines are paradoxal—the singer says they’re alone and yet decide to “mess around” with whoever comes up in their life.

- “No wonder why my heart feels dead inside, it’s hard and cold and petrified”—signifying lack of empathy.

- “It’s a bitch convincing people to like you”—they don’t actually want to do that and see it as a bother.

“Stranded Lullaby”—back to Miracle Musical, back to the theme of isolation. Super lyrical, super musical. They talk about how their memories float around aimlessly in their head, a sea, and may sometimes get lost. The protagonist, a sailor, is losing touch with reality and can’t tell apart what’s a dream anymore and what’s not. They question what they’re going through and why.

“Hidden In The Sand”—a song about longing, in my eyes. The protagonist sings about how “you” love things and how he wishes to love the same things, in the end admitting that “all I’ve wanted was you”. They don’t wish to be separated, they wish to have someone in their life that they could love.

“Now I’m Here”—euphoric. They sing about how they’re alive again, thanks to one specific person. I’m not gonna go too much into this one (partly because it’s a more difficult one for me again, partly because it’s Queen and I don’t wanna uhh talk nonsense on accident lol), but what I got from it is that when one one else saw them, someone did, and they made them “live again”, and now as a result the protagonist is devoted to them.

“&”—really highlights Tally Hall’s album’s theme of black and white and that there shouldn’t be a divide. The repetition of comparing opposites is present throughout the entire song (Weak & Strong & Wet & Dry…) and it’s heavily implied we should “say goodnight” to this mindset. But people love to choose sides, put things into good or bad categories. By the line “They took a lesson from their fathers” it’s implied that people don’t develop this mindset by themselves and are rather influenced by others around them. The whole album is titled “Good & Evil” and Tally Hall examines and criticizes this idea. If we keep dividing people into good and bad, eventually, we’ll all destroy ourselves.

“I’m Gonna Win”—a song about someone who’s struggling to get by. “Sometimes it can seem like a merciless dream”—life can get really hard and the protagonist wonders “what’s really worthwhile”. In the chorus, whoever, they declare that they’re “gonna win” no matter what. They might get “bloody and bruised” but they won’t give up until they “won’t be abused” and until they’re “laughing alone”. No matter how hard life/others kick them down, they’ll keep going. By the lines “It’s hard to be charming and smart and disarming; It’s hard to pretend you’re the best; It’s hard to fulfill everyone’s expectations; It’s hard to keep up with the rest” it’s implied that they find it tiresome to keep up appearances and be liked. It’s challenging to always fit everyone’s expectations, but they’ll continue doing whatever they have to to “win”.

if ranboo ever adds more songs to his playlist, i may add them here too :) 

[cheesy-che]

Gift exchange - TMNT fanfic

Yet another slice of life fanfic with @sassatello 's original character and mine, set in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles universe (2k3). You can read the first part here. 

Click here for info about : Adrian (Sassatello’s OC) and Mizuiro (my OC) Words : About 2260 /// Type : Fluff, as always! ~

Gift Exchange Unfolding the small piece of paper in his hand, Donatello smiled awkwardly at the name appearing on it. He noticed how wiggly the initial was, followed by five succinct and well-rounded letters. As he felt a small rush of blood in his cheeks, he was more apprehensive than he should have been. 

This gift exchange was a great idea for everyone in their group to receive something special. However, as soon as he had noticed the “A” on the white stationary, his mind was filled with doubt. For some reason, he had thought of a possible gift for everyone in their group: A comic-book shelf for Mikey; a portable radio for Mizuiro; relaxing bath salts for Raph; a French-press tea infuser for Leo... well, for everyone except Adrian. The common agreement in their group -considering the lack of funds from most- was that the gifts would either have to be handmade or recycled. Donatello could create a lot of things easily. He knew more than anyone that making things was his specialty. Nonetheless, he was now completely in the dark as to what he could offer to their terrapin friend from outer space. How could he find an original gift for someone who has access to an inter dimensional portal? Adrian probably could find whatever he wants, whenever he felt like it, right? 

The ever so resourceful mutant turtle was already running out of ideas. It took him days to admit it, but he was at an impasse. Eventually, he decided to ask Adrian’s closest friend. She was the only one aware of their relationship so far. After all, only three weeks had passed since they had their first kiss. 

~ 

Today, the turtles’ lair was being prepared for their annual Christmas party. While Adrian was helping Raphael hanging decorations around, Mizuiro was untangling fairy lights in the living room. Michelangelo was writing down the ingredients they would need for cooking and Leonardo was decorating the tree with their father. Meanwhile, Donatello was making sure that the electrical panel could handle their future power usage. Noticing how his task involved being physically close to Mizuiro, he thought it might be an occasion to ask for advice. Fortunately for him, loud festive music was playing at their place, thanks to Michelangelo. Nobody else would hear what he was about to ask. 

“So...” Donatello started innocently, grabbing Mizuiro’s attention. Have you already thought about your gift?” 

“I did.” His friend sighed after letting go of a knot she has been working on untangling. “But it’s not done yet.” 

“Right.” He paused. “There isn’t much time left before Christmas.” 

She hummed in agreement, keeping her concentration on the many wires laying around. 

“To be completely honest,” Donatello continued, “I don’t have a clue of what I could give.” 

He shyly scratched the back of his head, hoping for a reaction from her friend. Eventually, Mizuiro looked up, witnessing his doubtful expression. The brow bones behind his purple mask framed his eyes in a downward curve. He was implicitly asking for help.

“Whose name did you end up with?” She asked curiously. 

“Adrian...” he mentioned in a lower voice. 

Mizuiro looked around to check if anyone heard him. Seeing they didn’t, she got up and approached him slowly. Still hearing loud melodies playing around the lair, she relied on them to cover their conversation.

“What’s wrong, Donnie?”

“I really don’t know what I can give him”, he repeated, “and I don’t want it to be something that’s too obvious either. I don’t know if my family is okay with us being more than friends.”

“But,” his human friend interrupted him, “what makes you think they wouldn’t approve?”

“I don’t know.” he sighed, fiddling with his own hands as usual. “It’s not really a subject we talk about in our home. I’m sure you understand, since you must’ve thought about it, too.”

His friend’s shoulders subtly became stiff.

“Adrian told me.” Donatello shrugged, empathizing about these awkward feelings that weren’t easy to put into words. “Your secret is safe with me though, I promise.”

Without saying anything, she stared at him with a worried glance. After another quick look around, she finally let out a few words, in a much lower voice.

“I understand,” Mizuiro sighed, asking herself how long she would be able to keep her feelings secret at this point.  “Why don’t you focus less on your intimate knowledge of him… and more on what other people know?”

He moved his right hand to his chin, not sure what she meant.

“For example,” his friend continued, “he introduced himself as a traveller, right? This alone must surely give you ideas.”

His eyes expanded after hearing this, realizing the answer has been right under his nose all this time. Well, his beak, in his case. Only a few seconds after, they were surprised by Raphael’s voice coming from the other side of the lair. He had his hand on the sound system volume, where he had adjusted the tuning knob to be heard.

“When you two geeks are done discussing electrical power and whatnot, could you give us a hand with this?”

As he pointed the top of the Christmas tree, they both noticed how their traditional star-shaped topper had yet to be functional. Immediately, Donatello smiled and walked in direction of the tree. 

“What is it? You didn’t connect it on the garlands?” he inquired.

“We didn’t want to make anything explode.” Raphael retorted, half-joking.

Mizuiro admired the way Donatello could change subject so easily, not showing any sign of his previously stressed state of mind. She went back to untangling the lights on the floor, a well-known black hand with red spots appearing in front of her. Adrian offered his help while sitting next to her. 

“You told him.” Mizuiro whispered after a minute of silence. 

“What?” her friend breathed back.

“About… our secret.”

“Oh!” Adrian exclaimed, way too loud for his friend’s taste.

She put her finger in front of her mouth.

“I’m sorry!” Adrian justified himself, back to an undertone. “The guy is a genius. It was only a matter of time until he figured I was hiding something from him. It slipped out.”

His friend sighed again, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. 

“I don’t want to ruin Christmas with all of this… drama.” She said softly.

Her terrapin friend placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t ruin anything, but I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Thank you, Adrian.”

He gently hugged her before untangling the last two wires. He felt the need to stand in a victorious swing, both his hands showing off the now precisely arranged lights on the floor.

“We did it!” He said out loud, trying to cheer his friend.

“We?” Leonardo stepped in. “Mizuiro did most of the work, didn’t she?”

She shrugged while getting up, Adrian winking at her with the most obvious smile. This guy just didn’t know subtlety like she did, apparently. 

~

On December 25th, Adrian appeared in the middle of the lair. Their gift exchange has been planned for 3 PM, but the portal user came by an hour earlier. He could never determine New York’s exact time after the Daylight-Saving date. On other planets he visited, most of them agreed on a global time management solution. At least for once, he was in advance instead of being late.

“Hey, Adrian!” Michelangelo greeted him with a smile. “You’re early!” 

“Apparently?” he smiled back after noticing the time on the kitchen clock. “Hey, where should I put my gift?”

“Right here, my dude!” Michelangelo pointed their Christmas tree.

He noticed that six gifts were placed there, all indicating their names.

“Wait, is Mizuiro here already?”

“Uh yeah, she’s with Donnie, in his lab. I think she’s working on something with him.”

Adrian noticed the television was on, the weather forecast announcing snow in their area.

“Oh, can we go outside after our gift exchange!?” his friend asked with an enthusiastic voice. “Is it okay for us to go out in the day like that?”

“We could, yeah! There aren’t many humans outside during Christmas anyway.”

Michelangelo drew the attention at them.

“Hey guys! We can start early. Adrian is here!”

Raphael and Leonardo stepped out of the dojo while two heads peeked outside of the laboratory. Splinter had risen up from the couch and sat next to their Christmas tree. The seven of them formed a circle, Adrian making sure to sit next to Donatello.

“So, who’s first?” Splinter asked. “Should I just pick one since I am not biased?”

They all agreed to follow his suggestion, and he carefully gave the gifts to everyone. One by one, they opened their gifts and thanked each other. Adrian had found a cool-looking extraterrestrial dagger for Raphael during one of his travel, who then gave a knitted scarf to Leonardo. The latter gave a bracelet to Mizuiro, mentioning he had looked for trinkets all around the city to make it. Michelangelo received a pair of harem pants made by Mizuiro, which he tried on immediately. He proceeded by giving his gift to Donatello, which was a homemade “Do not disturb” sign to put on the door of his lab with cupcakes he had cooked. Last but not least, Adrian received a water bottle from Donatello. A confused look appeared on his face.

“Please, open the bottle” Donatello insisted. “There is a filter inside that should allow you to drink water wherever you find it!”

“Oh, that is so cool!” Adrian beamed. “Thank you, honey!”

Completely oblivious to his words, he kept examining the bottle and the craftmanship of it. Eventually, his attention got back to Donatello, whose face was now as red as a mutant turtle could be.

“Honey?” Michelangelo broke the silence.

“Did that just slip out of your mouth?” Raphael asked, an awkward smile appearing on his face.

“Oh.” Adrian softly winced, realizing the situation he had just created.

He looked around and saw everyone alternating their attention between Donatello and him. The conclusion was evident, seeing how shy and silent both of them suddenly were. Mizuiro put her hand in front of her mouth to hide her subtle smile. Unfortunately, someone did notice it.

“Wait,” Leonardo addressed her. “You knew?”

She was about to justify herself when Adrian disrupted the general uneasiness. He casually went sitting next to Donatello and put an arm over his now official “boyfriend”.

“I guess there’s no way of denying it now, is there?” he joked, avoiding their stares by looking at his partner. 

Even if he didn’t want to admit he was embarrassed, redness had also appeared on his cheeks.

“I am happy for you, my son.” Declared the turtle’s father, whose reaction was unexpectedly calm and collected. “You didn’t have to hide it from us.”

“Since when!?” interrupted Michelangelo.

Donatello, however, couldn’t say anything. It was not how he had planned to announce this to his family. Actually, he didn’t even have the chance to think of a better alternative. At least, Adrian had made it easier to swallow the pill by saying it nonchalantly.

“Erm well… Adrian, didn’t you want to go outside?” Donatello suggested, wanting to escape this uncomfortable situation as much as possible.

“Yes!” he remembered. “Let’s go now, how about that?”

Adrian got up and took Donatello by the hand, walking in direction of the lair’s entrance. Michelangelo wouldn’t accept the change of subject so easily.

“Don’t take it badly, I’m really hyped for them! I simply wonder why he didn’t tell us!”

“Love is complicated, Mikey.” Insisted Raphael. “Let them be. I’m sure Donnie will answer our questions later. Let’s just go outside for now, yeah?”

“Make sure to come back before 5,” mentiond Splinter. “That’s when I asked our guests to visit. Be careful, and don’t taunt him with your questions so much.”

A synchronized “Yes sensei” formally escaped the mouth of the three remaining mutant turtles. They all went in their respective rooms to find winter clothing. Donatello came back with other garments destined for Adrian. Snow has always been a source of joy for the traveller. Even if he had witnessed many different climates and meteorological phenomena, nothing could make him feel as giddy as Earth’s own frozen vapor. The fact that he had associated the sight of snow with Donatello’s presence might have been a good indicator of why he liked it so much. 

~

Outside, while their little group were making a snow sculpture, Donatello had asked Adrian to take a walk far from the others. Holding his special someone’s hand along the road, Adrian felt proud to be with him. Despite the shy nature of his partner, he showed much more confidence. His smile was growing by the second, not having to hide himself from anyone. Well, he still had to avoid humans, -and the cold- hence the snowsuit he was wearing. 

“I had something else to give you, Adrian.” Calmly said Donatello.

“Oh? You didn’t have to!”

“I insist. The water bottle was easy to make. I wanted you to have this.”

He handed him a booklet out of his pocket.

“This is a portable photo album with pictures of our group. I asked Mizuiro to help me print it.”

Adrian briefly looked at the pages in the book, but he decided to hug his partner for the moment being. He placed a delicate kiss on his forehead, hugging him even tighter. 

“You’re absolutely precious, do you know that, Donnie?”

“Ah… come on.” He shyly scoffed back. ~

(( Original art here ))

[womenhoodlooniness]

Mean Girls: Codependency Edition

//TW: Bullying, codependency, narcissism 

This is pretty much a two-parter with another post which I’ll link here. 

So as I mentioned in my previous post, I was ashamed with the realization that my private school girl dream was a not a perfect one. Most of the time it was a fun experience, but like everything else, there was underlining flaws. 

Including the girls that liked to bite back for no reason. 

It’s a shame that not every girl was supportive, friendly, and/or understanding. Sometimes it did kind of plagued the comfy, tight-knit environment the school sustained. Especially since if one thing was said, then next thing you know it becomes a thought in everybody’s minds. 

It was even more weirder since I was a freshman at this new school where I knew nobody. So having to deal with such behavior was always an odd thing because it was either A) I didn’t even know the person to even say such a thing about me or B)  I JUST GOT HERE, HOW IS MY QUIET SELF SO WEIRD TO YOU. 

I think part of the frustration also came from some sort of “culture shock” because I grew up in a school where it was predominantly Hispanic (Thanks to Chicago’s segregation) and now here I am dealing with a bunch of white girls judging me right off the bat. 

Where’s the femme support? I thought we were all gals for crying out loud?!?!

However, there was this one comment I will never forget. The comment that changed my entire life. This comment had a tremendous amount of impact with what had came after. This comment exposed me to a whole new kind of weirdness and uncomfy-ness. 

It was the start of my CODEPENDENCY. 

Me: “Sorry what did you say? I was not listening.” 

X: [Not even being talked to] “Oh that’s probably why you did not get the scholarship.” 

Other girls at the table: *Appalled by what has been said*

Me: *Staying quiet and confused by the weird fuckery these young white girls tend to have for some reason*

BUT YES. IT WAS WITH SOMEONE I KNEW. AND IS THE SAME PERSON THAT DID NOT CARED ABOUT ME BEING BULLIED BY Z. 

Unfortanely, before you know it, we became close and best friends later on...which was of course, 

a HUGE MISTAKE. 

So we became friends at first because we had the same music taste. So I guess from there on, she did not find me weird anymore. Z was still around but she probably did not want me around. She was most likely still bothered by me with my weird looking face and deep voice...

I must admit, there were fun times. I actually needed a friend. Which was probably the second red flag, other than being a good friend of my bully. I say this because this school had a unwelcoming taste to me that I so ignored and having a buddy by my side definitely soothed things out...out of desperation perhaps...

Especially since I was going through some rocky roads with my best friend and boyfriend at the time that I was afraid of losing. Basically, I really did feel like a damsel in distress. 

So what do I do? 

Be friends with somebody that I have a minor thing in common with. 

There were times of annoyance with X that made me question if she was a good friend for me. It was mostly her underlining “bully” humor which I’ll explain more in a bit. Not only with how she found Z’s “jokes” about me funny, but overall how she found the pettiest things funny. 

One time I cracked my phone so bad that I kind of felt like crying and just bothered by the whole situation. X ended up laughing which soon felt like she was laughing at me in the situation. I was too bothered by realizing that which made me whisper to her “fuck off” and other things because it really did not feel like a laughing manner. 

BUT there would be other times where she was going through something even though she did not feel the need to laugh if I poked fun at it. 

It’s as though X can take a joke if she is not perceived as the butt of the joke. Basically, where’s the fairness in that? 

I must admit, these kind of experiences where not as strongly considered as they should of been. To be honest, the desperation for X grew more, especially during sophomore year because I was also going through a rocky relationship with a guy so anything helped during that time. 

ANYTHING for myself to feel okay. 

During junior year was when the codependency grew stronger. We both needed each other’s comfort (Well, at least I did) since we had transferred to different schools due to the private school closing down. It did not help since I was having more trouble adjusting to my new high school, especially since the people who I thought were my friends flaked out on me. 

I had essentially became a lonely wreck since feeling lonely would crush my soul as soon as I would feel an ounce of it - anytime, anywhere, 

So we would facetime hours on end. Did our very best to stay in touch...

Junior/Senior year was definitely the year where the codependency was strong because there was numerous times where X would belittle me for what I knew/not knew. I was very much blinded by the codependency since I took this as guidance and advice. But there would be times where I feel so exhausted from listening to her and/or feeling like something had to be said to me. 

It’s as though X took advantage of my frail self while I was being overcome by the comfort of even having a friend around. 

There was times where I needed space from any kind of social interaction so I would put my phone on “Do Not Disturb” which later on she kind of demeaned me for it by saying 

“You know you can silence your phone while leaving the vibration on, right?”

Another time she yelled at me because I thought the concept of mail-order brides was stupid. But before I can explain myself (with a mind of my own) she got angry and started to explain how such a thing is necessary or what not. 

X was not willing to listen to me, but I was numbed to listen to her. 

Of course, the codependency broke me a whole lot that I never come to thought to stand up for myself. It made me blind to all the red flags. If anything, it’s as if I had forgotten I had a mind of my own. 

I was forgetting who I was, without having to have somebody beside me. 

X’s guiding voice started to have a patronizing tone to it. I was starting to realize that somebody I had looked up to was showing her true colors of being a burnt out gifted kid that felt like she had to be listened to. 

I guess I was never cool to her. I was always just the weird but nice girl to have around. 

It was during freshman year of college where I finally started to realize that maybe we did not need to be each other’s friends anymore. I started to take the red flags more seriously as they came along. 

I started keeping note with how I was more so becoming a friend in the background whenever X and Z and I hanged out with each other. I started to feel like more of the friend they had to invite. I just knew the other times they would hang, it would be responded with 

“Oh, we did not think you wanted to come.” 

Of course I started to accept with that potential thought, until it hit me that they actually could give less of a damn about me in their lives. 

I should of known when they complained about having to drive to my house to pick me up as it was across the tracks and would always ask when I would get a car...if they were really my friends then they would be more than glad to have me join along. 

No matter how bumpy the road would be. 

Every visit to X’s house and every hangout with both X and Z started to feel more weary and more awkwardly new every time. They would be sitting right across from me but I slowly started to feel like I did not know them anymore; they were becoming strangers to me. 

I would never forget what Z had said to X during one of the many times to tell her off....they also had a concerning friendship too of “bantering”

“Let her speak. Stop speaking for her like you always do.”

Z knew.

Overall, I realized X was not willing to see me grow and become a new person. I also accepted how X was not going to change her ways. My last straw was when she told me off about my relationship. I had put my trust in her to talk about such things, not for her to backstab me with information and to be the “know-it-all” of every situation. 

I got sick of it. 

It really bothered me. I found it disrespectful. Better yet, I bet you she does not even find it bothersome herself. I bet you she’s proud of what she said. Because that was her main thing: Not owning up to her actions. 

In other words, not knowing when she has done wrong. 

She was blinded by her own pride. 

After what happened, everything started to become more and more bleak as months went on...pretending to forget about each other. I had officially cut all contact when I had to change my phone number; we haven’t talked ever since last May. 

The best I can do now is accept my past self and improve/create a new one for the future. One that involves becoming the friend I wish I had but for other loved ones in my life. That in itself is a kind deed I’m willing to commit.

It is heart breaking to come to realize that X’s flaws really got in the way of our friendship. I went through so much shit with her only to be aware that she’s not a good friend for me. And to think I had a best gal pal that helped me through so many heart aches, girl drama, etc. only for me to think that it was all probably out of pity. 

Who’s to say if she still saw me as the weird girl that she met in freshman year, and nothing else?

X’s flaws does make me feel like something else was up with her besides being the gifted kid who had to grow up fast. Something tells me that she possess a narcissistic behavior. 

Having to be the “know-it-all”, always listened to, not accepting when they’re wrong, not taking accountability...

It was even worse since I so much of a naive, insecure girl back then. So anything that would of conquered over me, I would of just let it happen without even realizing. Making me not come to touch with the many red flags as well as having X liking how I was in a frail state of mind sometimes. I could not think for myself so it was easy for myself to become a puppet. 

I was easily a target for her desire to feel needed. 

I don’t want to be the ignorant person who’s making a diagnosis through a freaking Tumblr post but, one would wonder. In fact, I am probably the only one wondering and that’s okay! I was the one that got affected by her extreme behavior so I think I at least have the right to wonder if she does possess such a behavioral trait. 

I mean for crying out loud, X thought she did something when she tried to insult me for not getting a scholarship that she won. Mind you, that was our first interaction together too! 

But I am aware that perhaps codependency may not be the best term to describe our past friendship. Perhaps something like “one-sided” may be more appropriate but hey, this is what I saw and what I experience. 

Overall, I have a feeling this is more than just internalized misogyny. Who’s to say if narcissism is intertwined with such a concept? Severe or not? With that said, how many more femme friendships need to be ruined until this is seen as a serious issue? I remember telling my current girl friends: 

“Generally speaking, if we ladies don’t have each other, supporting each other’s backs, then we’re fucked.” 

I do find it ironic how X and Z would love watching David Dobrik (Another shitty Youtuber being cancelled) because of his "humor” of poking fun at things but turns out he could also be a sociopath/narcissist too, especially with the latest drama there is of him.

I guess life does imitate art. 

[artificialqueens]

The Scent of Your Rose Perfume (Nicky x Jaida) - Chae

A/N: I’m not dead! I’m so sorry Chapter Five of ViP has taken like a whole-ass month to update, it should be coming… soon-ish? In the meantime, I have a couple Oneshots/super short multichaps planned to take a break and fix my writers block. I am apalled that there isn’t more Jicky literature in this world, they literally act like a couple irl. When Nicky was crying about you-know-what the other day, I was inspired to write this, so blame her haha. Anyways, enjoy! (I also have an AO3 now!)

Summary:

Working at a Chanel store was supposed to be a high class gig. What Jaida Essence Hall was not expecting was the presence of a tall, blonde, drop-dead-gorgeous shady-ass-whore named Nicky Doll, who has a particular interest in being a total bitch.

aka

I was soft for Jicky and my friends helped me come up with this (hiiii 💯)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24474904

—–

Working at Chanel was supposed to be a high class gig.

Beautiful fancy women selling you purses and shoes in a power-cleaned sparking storefront? That sounded like the perfect way to make money to Jaida, and once she walked in for the job interview, it was over; her looks alone could have made her manager of the whole store on the first day.

What Jaida Essence Hall was not expecting was the presence of a tall, blonde, drop-dead-gorgeous shady-ass-whore named Nicky Doll. She fit right in at a first glance—French accent, smooth voice, looked like a fashion model—but was severely juxtaposed by her superpower to read a bitch down for filth while taking a hit from her juul in the back. Nicky was an enigma— a glorious, sexy enigma.

And she was a total bitch.

Exhibit One:

“Good afternoon ma’am,” Jaida smiled at the customer. The woman was wandering aimlessly around the huge store. She seemed like a nice lady, not experienced with the Chanel brand but not clueless either. “How may I help you?”

“I’m actually wondering if there’s a way I can buy clothes from those mannequins?”

Jaida raised an eyebrow. She must have been really rich if she was asking about actual garments. “Yes! You can. What were you interested in?”

“The striped pants, although, I’m not sure they’d look very good on me.”

The honey blonde pursed her lips. “Don’t say that sweetie, do you want to try them on, maybe?”

The customer laughed nervously. “Mmmm, I don’t want to ruin them, you know?”

And before Jaida could tap into her motherly and caring nature, a voice rang out from behind her.

“Those pants will match perfectly to the shirt under your jacket, madame. You’re not going to find ones like those anywhere else,” Nicky carried a purse in her hand, probably on the way to help someone buy it. But, of course, she couldn’t mind her own damn business.

Jaida glared at the platinum blonde, who just smirked back at her through her cherry red Mac lipstick. And then she did the unforgivable:

“I can help you check out, cherie .”

The unsuspecting woman nodded and trotted after the French Fiend, leaving Jaida to stare holes into the back of Nicky’s perfectly ironed blazer.

Exhibit Two:

“Jaida, the sales you’ve been making are insane!” Jackie scanned the documents. “You really are a valuable member of this team, and not just because you’re the prettiest.”

A shit-eating grin smeared itself on Jaida’s face when she turned to Nicky, who just raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Hear that, Nicolette? I’m the prettiest.”

“For an American.”

Jaida scoffed. “Chile, tell me that when you do better than me.”

“I am doing better, right Jackie?”

The persian manager looked up from what she was doing. “By a little, but you two are our top sellers.”

Nicky looked at the older woman coyly. God, Jaida wanted to punch the expression right off her perfect face. How could someone so disastrously beautiful be such a jackass? Jaida was constantly asking herself, Do I want to kill her, or kiss her?

Meanwhile, Nicky congratulated herself on upsetting and flustering the prettiest girl in the world, again.

Exhibit Three:

Of course Nicky was also friends with Jaida’s friends. Was the older woman expecting for the blonde to hug Heidi and Jan familiarly when they arrived at the bar? No. Did she? Yes.

“Nicky! Wow, when Jaida mentioned your name I didn’t know it was you!” Jan exclaimed when the Frenchwoman air kissed her cheeks.

“Well, there can be only one of me!” Nicky waved, turning to Jaida. “So, you do talk about me.”

“Yes, I talk about how much I hate you,” she rolled her eyes.

“She talks about how she hates you so much she wants to give you a big ol’ smooch,” Heidi teased.

Nicky’s eyes widened, looking at Jaida from across the round table knowingly, sipping her rose wine with a small smile.

“You know what, Heidi? Fuck you!” Jaida could feel her cheeks warm when she shoved her friend in the arm, taking a long swig of wine.

“No, you want to fuck Nicky, not me!”

The other girls, Jan, Jackie, and Crystal, burst out in laughter. Through her embarrassment, Jaida even thought she could see Nicky turn red, too—but of course she’d never admit or show to that. Jaida wasn’t going to admit anything either; she hated Nicky, and that was a fact.

“Jaida, take an Instagram story with me!” Nicky grinned evilly, standing up from her seat and wrapping a skinny arm around the shorter girl’s shoulders. Of course, Jaida forgot that Nicky had amassed quite an Instagram following that didn’t quite match her old-lady job, and mentioning Jaida (who too, was considered a ‘baddie’ and almost matched Nicky’s follower count—) would be good for her brand.

“Whatever you say, chile,” Jaida complied when the other woman turned her camera to themselves. Nicky pressed their heads close together and Jaida could smell her rose perfume and coconut shampoo as they made cute faces for the screen. And then, because of course she did, Nicky placed a ‘friendly kiss’ on Jaida’s cheek, garnering chuckles and ‘awws’ from their friends.

Jaida absolutely despised her.

But damn, she was hot.

——

It was just about time to close up the store, and it was Jaida’s job to check all two floors of the building and help/kick out whoever was left.

Soft music echoed through the little hallway leading to the stairs as Jaida’s heels clicked on each step. The familiar smell of rose perfume filled her nostrils when she approached the second floor, and her eyes darted around to search for a familiar shock of platinum hair.

Near a display of mannequins and a luxury couch is when Jaida spotted Nicky absentmindedly toying with the sleeve of a jacket and humming. She looked beautiful, as always, but there was something about the way her eyes were glassed over and the way she looked so deep in thought that made it impossible for Jaida to look away. Add on the fact that Nicky had such a pretty singing voice—she was a vision.

It took a few moments for the Frenchwoman’s icy blue eyes to meet Jaida’s. Pretty, perfect Jaida. The one who always got mad at Nicky in a way only someone like her would find cute. The one who always spoke her mind and knew exactly what to say and when to say it. The one who Nicky just had to do better than because her face and body were already so perfect, there was not much the blonde could do to one-up her.

Nicky smiled, and Jaida cursed internally when she felt herself get hot again.

“Nobody’s up here, right?” the dark-skinned woman took a tentative step forward, her arms crossed in front of her.

Nicky exhaled a laugh. “No, just me and you.”

“Right. Well, let’s close a few minutes early, then.”

“Mhm,” the blonde nodded, walking towards the other woman in what Jaida thought was her exiting the second floor. She was mistaken.

The taller woman walked straight at Jaida until her back was pressed on a wall, Nicky blocking a view of the marble stairs. Before Jaida could protest, Nicky traced a hand along the side of her cheek and the shorter girl was acutely aware of how she felt her perfectly long fingernail and how that feeling made her feel other things.

“What are you trying to do, Nicky?” Jaida managed to collect herself enough to ask.

“Nothing. I just like the way your face looks, mon chou .”

Jaida couldn’t help but snort and laugh. “You—you what?”

“You’re very pretty, Miss Hall,” her tone was serious, almost sultry.

“I know I am, now-” she paused when Nicky grabbed her chin. “Now, what is this?”

“What is what?” her eyebrow was raised playfully.

Well fuck. Fucking fuck. After all this time of Nicky being a bitch—a beautiful, funny, stupid-ass bitch—Jaida didn’t realize she was being that type of bitch. No, she couldn’t deny her attraction to the French girl, but she didn’t realize those feelings were reciprocated for anything else except teasing.

“Girl, I’m sick of you playing with me. I don’t know if you like girls or what, chile, just tell me.”

“I like you.”

“I like me, too. Now what?” the long haired girl straightened her posture, nearly reaching Nicky’s tall height.

Nicky scoffed, one side of her mouth curled up. “I thought you liked me.”

“Godammit Frenchie,” Jaida rolled her eyes, grabbing the short-haired woman’s wrist and dragging her next door to the dressing rooms. Each one was large, with faux-velvet couches, fresh white walls with black trim, and doors with locks that hit the actual ground. The shorter woman opened one of them, locked the aforementioned door, and gently shoved Nicky against the wall.

“I’m tired of this bullshit, Nicky. Give me everything you’ve got.”

“Merde , I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” Nicky licked her lower lip before roughly slamming her face on Jaida’s.

The first thing Jaida registered when their tongues met was how Nicky tasted like the rose perfume she always wore. The second thing was the release of tension that had built up over the two girls ever since they’d started working together, and god, that felt euphoric.

Nicky pressed their bodies even closer together, hands sifting through Jaida’s hair as she groaned into the kiss. Jaida slid her hands down the blonde’s back, further and further down until she could grope Nicky through the black fabric of her pencil skirt. She giggled in Jaida’s mouth, breaking the kiss to nibble on the shorter girl’s jawline. At that, Jaida squeezed her ass even harder, making Nicky tense up.

“That’s for making me look bad in front of Jackie.”

“Zut.”

“What’d you call me?” Jaida joked, pulling away.

“It means damn or shit, okay?!”

Jaida just kissed Nicky’s neck as a response, biting down gently on her pulse point and making her swear in French—again.

“If Jackie sees a hickey-”

Jaida bit down harder. “That one was for making me look bad in front of my customers.”

“ Jaida,” Nicky gasped.

“Can I take off this stupid uniform?” she fiddled with the buttons on the button up under Nicky’s blazer.

“Only if you do,” the blonde’s hands were at the hem of Jaida’s trousers.

And they followed up on their promises, finding themselves ass-naked on the couch with Nicky straddling Jaida, sucking on her face like she was sucking the beauty right from her mouth.

Jaida was the first to take Nicky’s breast in her hand, rolling the bud in her finger and drawing out muffled moans from the tanned beauty on her legs. She broke the kiss and placed a new one on Nicky’s other boob, swirling her tongue around her nipple in time with her hand. She looked up at Nicky, who was looking at her with the most beautiful expression she’d ever seen: eyes blown out, eyebrows curved upwards, mouth slightly open. When Jaida licked her collarbones and between her cleavage she turned her head upwards and bucked her hips into Jaida’s stomach, a murmured and closed-mouth moan escaping from her.

“Needy Nicky,” Jaida mumbled into her chest.

“What?”

“You tease me with all that, and chile, here you are begging for me?”

“Power bottom.”

Jaida laughed, leaving her breast with a pop and going back to kiss Nicky’s red-stained lips.

Her hand found itself in between Nicky’s legs, feeling the wetness surrounding her core. She gently stroked the folds of her labia, making the Frenchwoman moan quite loudly.

“Moumoune,” Nicky purred. “Go down on me.”

“Needy Nicky,” Jaida lifted the woman off of her, adjusting so that she sat between her legs and Nicky laid on the couch.

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Nicky’s voice was breathy as Jaida kissed her inner thighs.

“If you get to call me all your weird French nicknames, I’m calling you Needy Nicky,” she bit extra close to Nicky’s core.

“Jaida, please, ” she pulled the beauty’s hair.

“Brat,” she smirked, drawing back. “Apologize for embarrassing me in front of my friends.”

“Jaida, you salope !”

“Hm,” Jaida nearly stood up before Nicky whined.

“I promise I’ll be nicer, ma cherie .”

“I’m holding you to that one,” Jaida continued her assault on Nicky’s legs. “What does salope mean, anyway?”

“Whore.”

Jaida bit skin again, Nicky yelped. “Jeez, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, mon chou .”

“I hope that means ‘darling.’”

Nicky said nothing, the only sound that could be heard was her heavy breathing as Jaida finally reached her center, licking a line up her folds.

“Fuck.”

“That wasn’t French,” Jaida mumbled, before circling her tongue around Nicky’s clit. The blonde arched her back at the touch, attempting to grip the fabric of the couch.

As Jaida flattened her tongue against Nicky’s entrance, the girl let out an uncharacteristically high-pitched sound. When she teased her hole, Nicky squealed more. It was probably the first time Jaida had heard her speechless.

The dark blonde wet a finger and gently placed it inside of Nicky, peeking up to check on her partner.

“God—Jaida, that feels-” she grunted as Jaida curled up further. “You’re so good.”

“You want more?”

“Yes.”

Jaida could have sworn the face Nicky made when she added another finger was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen—adding on the sound that escaped her lips, a sound Jaida could have probably listened to forever.

“Nicky, someone might catch us,” Jaida cooed. The French girl couldn’t choke out a response when Jaida rubbed a thumb over her clit, just another loud moan.

“But you don’t care, do you?”

She shook her head.

“If Jackie came up the stairs, you’d just keep fucking yourself on my fingers if I stopped, right?”

She nodded. For once, Jaida was in control.

The long haired woman’s mouth was back on the bundle of nerves at Nicky’s core, sucking and darting her tongue all over it. Nicky didn’t even recognize her own voice as she kept whining, knocking her head back as she felt the knot in her stomach glow unbearably tight.

Jaida could feel the girl tense around her, so she made sure to keep her steady pace when the sounds in the room turned into staccato yelps.

“Jaida-” was the last thing she whimpered before releasing on her fingers.

Just to smite her, Jaida took the opportunity to place her liquid-coated digits between Nicky’s lips, basically forcing her to lick them clean. There was something satisfying, sexy, exciting, maybe even sadistic, about watching the girl who’d relentlessly sexually frustrated her suck on her hand like a baby.

It took a few moments for the both of them to calm down, Jaida flopping on the couch right next to Nicky and resting her hands on her own chest to steady her breathing.

“So,” she finally said.

“So,” Nicky replied.

“That was good.”

“You’re telling me!” Nicky flipped on her side to face Jaida. “That was—wow.”

“Nice to know I can do something right with you.”

Nicky’s face shifted. “What do you mean?”

“Well you’re always one-upping me, bitch! Better sales, better hair, better face, stealing my customers, stealing my friends—”

“Jaida, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t…” Nicky bit her lip. “I didn’t think it would be that—that noticeable.”

“So you are a bitch on purpose! Chile, I knew it,” Jaida attempted to lighten the mood.

“Honestly, I do it all because I want to prove I’m better than you, when I know I’m not. I have to work my butt off to get all of the things you get by doing nothing, because you’re perfect.”

“Chile! Shut the whole hell up. I work just as hard, if not harder than you. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You see my perfect facade, Nicky.”

The Frenchwoman stared, then smiled. “Well. Can I get to know what’s behind your facade, Miss Jaida?”

She grinned back. “I don’t know, Ms. Doll. You’ll have to take me on a date and see.”

That evening, Jaida could still smell roses on her uniform.

[lokemikaze]

Zuka Rant: Part 2 (2016 Yuki - Don Juan)

okay so. for some reason, the gang in the zuka server decided they wanted to torture me, and introduced me to the 2016 yukigumi don juan. i thought i was prepared, but uhhh apparently not - i didn’t expect this amount of pAIN D: i’m legit gonna spend the next week crying about this

if you don’t already know, don juan is a “womanizer” trash man who brings shame upon his family and doesn’t appreciate the people who love him - until he meets maria, who he for some reason falls head over heels for and ends up dying for. that is not the main focus of this essay, though; my wish is to expand upon my thoughts about don juan’s relation to mental illness. please note that this will touch upon heavy themes, including Bad Coping Mechanisms. i’ll say it again:

TRIGGER WARNING FOR DARK THEMES LIKE alcoholism and self-harm

so. where to start. perhaps i should first make a disclaimer and say that while i am quite Experienced with mental illness, i am by no means an expert, and everything i write here will be my own personal opinions and over-analysis. i also know nothing about the history of this musical etc., i went into this blindly and got punched by the pain

when we first meet juan (played by the amazing daimon, who does such a good job), he is at a bar, surrounded by women. he smiles his gorgeous little smile, and dear gods we’re all taken by this utter trash man. he pushes the ones who love him away in favour of having yet another fling as he empties another bottle. does this seem healthy? nah fam, this is a textbook example of actual self-harm - he may not even realise it himself, but the way he is dealing with his inner struggles is to drown it in alcohol and s*x. it is harmful to both body and mind, yet he uses it to push away the harsh reality and ignore his own emotions

there’s a very touching scene where we get to see young don juan with his mother as she dies. i think this is perhaps where some of his struggles started - he seemed to be struggling slightly even before this, but this is of course a moment that deeply affects him. he throws away his cross necklace, cursing god, and from then we can only imagine the path he took to get to the present. there is a very big chance he hasn’t actually dealt with the grief and trauma from seeing his mother die, and has instead repressed it. for years. and you know what we say about repressing emotions? uhh yeah it’s not good

so as i see it, the juan we meet at the beginning of this musical is a broken man who does not want to acknowledge that he is broken. he shows obvious signs of depression (i.e. pushing people away, losing interest in i.e. the women he desire), and he spends his days (unconsciously?) self-harming. he hides behind a smiling mask, when in reality he is filled with so much anger and grief, and probably - judging by his reactions later - is really out of touch with his emotions, unable to grasp any of them. it is, in fact, Sad Boie Hours

then, the ghost appears. or is it a ghost? i see this as a figment of juan’s mind - perhaps a hallucination? he clearly believes what he’s seeing is real, but nobody else can see what he sees. he is distressed by this (obviously), and reacts violently bc that’s the only way he knows to act. we can see him slowly losing his grip on reality, unable to make out the difference. as someone who has at several points in my life had hallucinations, i can confirm that the way he is acting is indeed very realistic for someone in that situation. not to mention that he’s haunted by guilt and trauma and all those emotions he has pushed down for so long. he loses some of the control he has over himself due to the extreme mental anguish he is going through.

then, he meets maria. it is love at first sight. he sees her, and talks to her, and cannot grasp - what is this feeling? why does it hurt, why does it feel like everything is changing? he finally has something that feels light in his life, something that ‘sparks joy’. maria gives him what no one else have been able to - a positive feeling that shines through the darkness of his struggles. he swears to change for her, to abandon his old ways and start a new and better life, and this is where i need to rant a bit about the costumes

as i said in my previous essay, i am a Costume Nerd, and i was a lot more pleased with the costumes of this production than in 2009 zukabeth (still salty). there aren’t many costume changes, but there doesn’t need to be. juan’s first outfit is such a Vibe, and i absolutely love it - and it’s completely full-on black. only black. however, after he meets maria and pledges to change, his costume also changes. he now has not only really pretty sparkle, but *white*. his all-black has adapted to include touches of white. there are of course multiple meanings that could be read into this, but what does it mean judging from the mental health viewpoint? well, black is often associated with depression and dark thoughts (hence the name *dark* thoughts), while white is associated with purity, joy and hope. my theory is that juan’s previously hopeless existence now has hope, something he wants to live for, someone he loves and cherishes and who keeps him going. there is light at the end of the dark tunnel, so to say.

then, maria’s fiance comes back from war and confronts juan. they agree upon a duel, and juan has what seems to be a panic attack. all of a sudden, the fragile happiness he created with maria is broken, and everything comes flooding back - including his hallucination ghost. in a following scene, he is seen with his (absolutely gay) friend, who tries to convince him to Not Do This. the ghost follows, and we see that juan is once again losing his grip on reality, lashing out and refusing to listen to reason. when the duel scene arrives, juan’s costume is back to the full black. his hope is gone, and he has reverted back into the anguished man he was.

in the beginning of the duel, juan fights mercilessly, wounding his enemy several times, each time getting more and more out of control. he sees this man as the obstacle between himself and the hope he tried to cling on to, and now that he has had a taste of happiness, he wants it back. he aims to kill, and gets angry when his target won’t. stop. getting. up!! this is when the good old hallucination ghost once again appears, telling him that he is only procrastinating the inevitable, that if he wins, he will lose anyway due to the sin of killing another man. you can *see* the moment when juan’s last grip on reality shatters, and from then on out there’s no hope of it ending well. he has given up hope, he has given in to the darkness, he has accepted as a fact that there is no good outcome for him. if he lives on, he will be plagued by his own struggles, unable to find a way out of the deep dark hole his mind has plunged him into. and so, he does the only thing that seems logical, and basically throws himself at his enemy’s blade. he states that this way, maybe he can live on in the love between himself and maria. my belief is that it was a simple way to commit s*icide that didn’t involve him having to actually do it himself. it makes it seem ‘accidental’, and lays the blame on someone else. 

and so, don juan dies. a painful, harsh death that absolutely punched my heart and wrenched the sobs from my throat (thanks for enabling my hyper empathy, daimon, well done). he dies with little else than the vague hope that maybe, he can die with love, and that something good will come from it all. a man who got too little time, made too many bad decisions, and had too many issues that he should’ve gotten help with ages ago goddammit. it is questionable if he was fully aware of his decision, being fully lost to his own mind by then, but what is unquestionable is that he suffered a lot. his entire life was filled with suffering, hidden behind a cocky smile. 

if you’ve read all the way here, thank you for considering what i had to say. i hope i remembered everything i wanted to say. i have no way to conclude this, other than to say “thanks, i hate this” to the sadists who threw me into this. it is a heartwrenching story that i honestly can relate to a little too much to (no, i am not a murderer nor a womanizer), and i felt don juan’s pain on a deep level. have i read way too much into it all? probably. then again, that’s the beauty of fiction - we all have our own experiences which affect the impression it leaves us with. and to me, takarazuka’s don juan isn’t about a cocky bastard who got too full of himself - it’s about a young man so filled with pain that it led to his demise.

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verification — beautiful

summary: his tsundere song where he cries because regret lol some sappy shit warnings: the worst verification i ever did but take it :~) wc: 1848 (not including lyrics or dates)

dated august 2011

straight from one practice to the next — it all becomes a cycle of habit when he swings from one room to the next. saving grace comes in a studio room, one shared with five other people only today, he’s lucky and it becomes hollowed out and empty by the time the clock strikes three am. what’s left is his own self ruination that comes in lapses of judgement — the mirror image of someone who’s shed the last morsel of dignity he possesses. 

she becomes all encompassing, the air that he heaves in. dance practice into vocal — rap, he skips for time inside the studio. because the formidable years of rap become set in stone, embedded in the presence of her. she’s his muse, always was. always has been.

yet, the distance that separates them on opposite ends of a belligerent battle field leave radio silence. a month of no-contact where ends of lines become the empty rings of no voice to pick up (but he knows, remembers how her frail voice breaks at the edge of their last conversation). he tells himself goodbye — tells her goodbye, undeserving as he leaves her in a standstill of uncertainty and doubt.

and still, he remains on bc’s floors like someone else’s possession. and she’s now merely hidden away behind closed doors of anonymity. a stranger, a nobody. the person who houses the other piece of his heart still straggled along.

but acceptance comes with keys that play a gentle melody. it’s gentle, like the soft touches of her fingers along his spine, engraining each and every memory skin deep. chords come into overlay, and he remembers — it’s her favorite chord he played deep inside his family’s pensions off in the countryside. a haywire frenzy of a road trip in back and forth arguments, hands thrown her fists balled into his chest as she heaves a heavy breath. and his own selfish dejection leaving sharpened words aimed towards each tear shed from her eyes. 

he writes his ode to her. writes every last saving grace of his heart inside a jazzy undertone (etta james was her favorite, the way her dimple softened when her voice hummed along, the way her eyebrows scrunched when she focused too much on the off-key notes of the keys). this becomes the first of the endless pit that he writes his heart to her because at the end of it, she holds every single card of his in her palms. like putty clay, he molds and moves to the shallow sighs of her chest and the laughter that oozes the soft melodies of spring inside his head. 

his fingers flit across the keys, starting from the basis of the chords recording (file titled: yeseul). romanticism plays, and it’s the wistful bittersweetness that rises when he thinks of her. thinks of the first time in a dusty pub where she split him dead-center with her off grid remarks only to stitch him back up with each kiss across his lips underneath the shadows of the street lights.

gyujeong has nothing without her, he’s aware. written himself to nothing when he’s no longer attached to her — but she doesn’t deserve him, he comes to accept. he doesn’t deserve the boy who carves his soul out to bc entertainment stepping over the eggshells of promises he’s curls his fingers over. he’s no longer the musical mastermind with the false bravado standing on the apex of the world — us against the world, it doesn’t exist.

they don’t exist anymore.

all he has are the meager keys, the lack of percussion. most of all, the support that comes as a safe haven for him. instead, what remains is him inside the standstill and barren echoes, somber melody of the pianos mixed in with the faux snares that hit the base. 

relatively simple, she’s always been relatively simple. liked the songs in subtle stares, mutters. the way the edges of her lips peaked up higher, ruby stained as it digs into the white shirt hung loosely around his frame (he’s kept the shirt, kept each remnants of her lips close). 

— 

dated august 2012

a year passes since he clicks back upon the title filed yeseul. a year — and time changes all, no longer trapped in the four walls and pigeon holed into the slavery of trainee life. it’s knight he’s propelled into, the fame, the stages. hungry eyes all prying onto him.

yet, it still doesn’t fill the gaping hole and bleeding heart that still paints her silhouette each time he closes his eyes. and maybe, it’s the fate of luck that has him in the same position — 3 am weariness, deep into a harddrive. one file, and it blares her name in black and white. yeseul, he clicks. 

(in retrospect, nothing’s changed. not his feelings nor the muse that pools inside his heart.)

the concept of change ranges clear: it’s curiosity. confusion in what she’s doing, a year of no-contact and his half becomes withered away to nothing — the ashes of her remnants still vivid and palpable. (if he’s lucky, he’ll see her once he closes his eyes tonight).

he wonders if closure is as good as it gets — the blight optimism that still clings on. once he lets go, will it fill the void or render it empty? he doesn’t want to know. doesn’t want to accept a view of him where there’s no her.

but he knows, it’s too late to cling onto optimism. not allowed when his rights are plainly signed away and he’s stuck inside the rooms housing a prison more than the independent grandeur of fame inside blaring lights. when he steps back, lets himself reel back in how far the distance parses between them, he accepts. knows he can’t go back now — not when she doesn’t deserve the shit he’ll put her through inside the tempest waters.

It seems I have to let you go now I’ll count down the days to a meaningless date a flower’s not my hand, it’s a butterfly’s stage I hope it flaps its wings again now bye babe

acceptance is the hardest. harder when he finds himself choked up on the words scrawled across the page — he wonders, if this is his heart breaking, shattering or if this is the resolution into emptiness. 

a year passes, and still he’s hung up on her knowing nothing. questions her whereabouts, picked up on the whispers of the crowd. but what’s left is the remains of what he’s held onto. how her eyes brightened at the mention of prada, chanel, and margiela and how his shaky fingers locked and slid into place with hers — a silent promise, never to be brought to full fruition.

broken beyond repair, he sighs. lets his eyes stare onto the blink screen as each letter continues on after another — a domino effect leaving him emptied, and the culmination of emotions to lodge themselves deep in his throat. seconds into silence, and he waits a beat because if he doesn’t, then maybe he’ll cry.

You’re like elegant Prada graceful Chanel sleek Margiela I fell for you I planned to do well but because of my inferiority complex I can’t have you, I can’t hold you you’re still so so beautiful Run

but he cries. lets the first taste of salty tears linger across his face, met with the bare knuckle that swipes it away. it’s the remission of her back into his memories, flooding through. and now, he drowns.

drowns inside self-pity for each mistake he’s made through violent shouts outside of a crowd, hostile arguments laced and lined with his own insecurities. the march up of his forceful fingers wrapped around her wrist, yanking her out to where the picture outlines of her own tears down her face would fuel the heavy sights heaved out of his chest. and each time her fists would ball up, battering against his chest shouting empty nothings fueling his own piqued vexation for her ruination. shallow words and a heavy heart — he regrets.

if time had rewind, he’d use it now.

use it for every time the mask of irrational insecurities poised itself as defense with the inability to vocalize each feeling of heartstrings being plucked. 

(if he could, he’d tell her how many times she looked beautiful in the early morning yawns, where the milky skin exposes itself to the ribbons of golden sunlight. how many times her laugh became the ringing alarm jolting him awake to see her sooner, and how many times he’d wish he’d take back the last words of ‘fine, let’s end it.’)

if she could see him now, no. if he could see her now — “i’m sorry.” comes out like a slipped whisper muttered inside his breath.

Someone supported your high value since when were you this beautiful you’re too much, without words I thought that but I wore a mask and hid from you

his fingers rub against his eyes, now rubbed raw from each and every blink unraveling the floodgates of tears. i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i’m sorry. comes in tandem repetition underneath his breath — a breakdown? no, it’s regret that drowns him whole for letting go. leaving the pinnacle of his happiness.

young and in love, he tells her sorry. 

— 

sobs loosen up easier when he’s alone. stripped of the weary eyes and stares of those around. gyujeong collects himself once more, just as he always has in each motion — from the toss of the empty cigarette carton to the eyes that don’t peel themselves from the blank screen. he tells himself, it’s okay. eyes rubbed red, the constriction in his chest eased into a full out vacantness.

he turns on the mic, just as he always has. 

catharsis only comes easy when it’s spoken soul heavy, heart deep. when the words spill out from a blank state of mind, and his breath held close feels inches from bursting out. (state awry, he hopes this song reaches her somewhere.)

he raps, hits the verses the way he always has. remembers the way her face lit up when his gaze peeked over inside underneath the club — on top of the world, and her frail palms clapped off-beat singing along to the songs he shared with her. but the club scene doesn’t apply, not now. not in the future — not when his past has been solidified with her. 

repeat in playback, and he realizes — it’s never been what he wanted. he doesn’t want to drip his words inside malice and spite, nor does he want to shout anymore. what he wants, is the opposite effect in the things she’s only ever instilled in him: the soft touches, grazes of her lips onto his and the subtle pushes of his spine hoisting him into where he’s standing now. 

his voice softens, lessens into a singing voice (the voice she tells him she loves, he hates). tears don’t fall like he’s let out, instead — it’s the steadiness of nostalgia that keeps his head afloat, hitting each word to the beat straight-on. 

there’s an addition he adds at the end — the layers of cello and the electric keys, her favorite setting. his fingers snap, add the reverb to keep the beat on play, and he wonders. questions. if it ever comes to seize the day where the song plays and lilts on to the beat of her. there’s an pull of the snaps, knowing how his own metronome plays to the rhythm of her beating heart.

somewhere, faraway. he hopes that she’s listening. she’s still a piece of him.

[rynhaswritersblock]

under the mistletoe | p.p.

a/n: i can't resist enemies to lovers...  was this inspired by a tiktok? that's something i'll never tell. xoxo, gossip ryn

summary: high school holiday parties can lead to unfortunate circumstances... especially when it involves your lifelong enemy and one godforsaken garnish.

warnings: lots of swearing, angst AND fluff, mentions of alcohol and gross horny teens

+ + +

You had no idea why you were at this goddamn party.

It was either the way MJ begged you to go or how the idea of a holiday food table made your mouth drool, but you somehow ended up standing in a stranger's house, music buzzing through your ears, with a resting bitch face as you watched the horny teenagers dance in a way that most definitely wasn't approved by Jesus.

Sure, you were most definitely a teenager, but you were lacking in the whole desperate-for-attention-so-let's-go-to-a-party-and-grind-on-each-other's-no-no-squares department.

You shoved another mini lemon cake into your mouth as you watched the crowd, almost entertained at this point. MJ had wandered off, probably to investigate the house, while you resided at the food table with about half of its contents already in your stomach.

Finally acknowledging your need for water after all the food, you walked over to the drinks, pouring yourself a cup and praying that it wasn't vodka.

It was.

You groaned, swallowing it down with a sting. The leftover liquor splattered into the sink as you dumped it down the drain then threw away the cup. Nobody needed any more alcohol tonight, especially with the horrid reek that filled the house.

The conclusion had been made- you were done with this party.

Thankful that you and MJ rode separately, you shot her a text and made your way through the crowd, eager to smell fresh air.  

You found yourself stopped in the doorway out of the living room, fishing for your keys, so preoccupied that you hadn't noticed Peter Parker right in front of you. You finally got your keys out, sighing as you raised your head to meet eyes with the curly-haired boy.

Your reaction spiraled from shock, to confusion, then to plain annoyance. To your right, the crowd had turned their attention to the two of you, music halting and people blocking the struggling Peter from an escape route. On your left, it was the exact same.

"What the fuck?"

Peter stops trying to escape the situation and looks at you, then shifts his eyes up to the ceiling. "Right over your head, dumbass."

You look up to see the stupid plant you'd always despised. Mistletoe. Sure, it was kinda cute, but under certain circumstances. Not when you were face to face with the boy you've hated ever since you were six years old.

"You know what, Parker?" you say, returning your attention back to him, ignoring the 'ooh's from the crowd. "Being this close makes it really easy for me to sock you hard in the face."

"Then do it."

Surprise catches you but you shake it off, cocking a brow at him. "Don't be stupid, Parke-"

"No, no, I mean it. I know you've wanted to lay it on me for a while and now's your chance," he says, almost too nonchalantly. The only thing keeping you together is the fact that the crowd is seeing Oh So Innocent Peter Parker's bad side. "Gimme your best shot."

You huff, balling your fists before glancing back up at the mistletoe.

It was some force. Not you.

In no way did you have control over the way you grabbed Peter Parker's face and smashed your lips together, nor did you control the way you felt when he kissed you back. Your lips tasted like vodka and cherries and he smelled like winter air and faded cologne. It was almost intoxicating.

Until the sound of the crowd eventually reached your ears and you hurriedly jumped away, barely giving the boy a look before shoving through the crowd, out the door, and down the walkway to your car.

"Y/N!"

A groan immediately fell from your lips. You stopped in your tracks, feet away from your car, from freedom, puffs of air forming from your breath against the cold atmosphere. Everything about this was too cliche, too weird, and simply too much.

"What, Parker?" you ask as you turn around.

A mixed look of embarrassment and bewilderment is painted across Peter's face as he stands feet away from you, panting. You don't notice how his lips are red and puffy, nor how his eyes show a desperate look you've never seen before.

"I, uh, I don't know," he pants.

"I..." you start.

An expectant look grows on his face.

"I don't know either," you shrug, "okay? But what I do know is that you've been an asshole to me my entire life. You always have to be such a perfect little white boy to everyone else in the world, yet you still have to be such an annoying shits to me all the time. Every since the first grade, you've been number one in everyone's eyes and I've been number two. Do you know what that fucking feels like, Peter? Do you? Cause I don't think you do."

You can't even read the look on his face as you sharply inhale, voice getting louder until you're yelling.

"And you know what, Parker? I know you think it's okay to just do whatever you want, but you can't just kiss me the way that you did and then come out here with fucking nothing to say!"

"What do you mean the way that I did?" he asks after a moment, voice soft.

"I mean, dumbass, the way you kissed me that made me finally feel like I was number one for the first time in my life."

Sounds of muffled music play in the background of the silence between you.

"You know, you're the one who kissed me in the first place," Peter finally retorts, defensive.

"What else was I supposed to do? No one in that fucking house would've let us leave unless I either punched you or kissed you, and no way in hell was I going to sock you in the face!"

"Why not, huh? You've been wanting to hurt me for so long, to get back at me for all of the shit you've been through, so why didn't you just go ahead and do it?" the boy yells, tossing his arms in the air in desperation.

You scoff. "Because I'm not a bad person, idiot! I would never physically harm you, especially in front of all those drunk imbeciles, who, by the way, own phones! That shit would spread all over the internet! Do you really think I'd do something like that?"

"Well maybe I just think it because I know you hate me despite the way I feel," Peter says, the defense in his voice strong yet getting weaker.

"I- What?" you furrow your brows. "Hate's a strong word that I only use when someone steals food from me, and most of the time I never even mean it! And what the fuck do you mean by the way that you feel?"

You hear the air catch in his throat, hesitation and regret and tiredness practically radiating off his body. You knew what he was gonna say, but you didn't acknowledge that.

"I'm in love with you, okay?"

And there it was.

His words ring in the air, painfully, making your head spin.

Your Consciousness had a decade long track record of each and every encounter you'd ever had with Peter Parker. It took long, complicated notes on each reaction and feeling you had while even just thinking about him. Consciousness was an animal and it picked up on everything. Consciousness knew you were in love with Peter Parker one year into knowing him and yet, somewhere in the mess of things, Consciousness slipped up the transmission of neurons. It tried for years and years to fix that.

All it took was for Peter Parker to show himself first.

"God, this is so stupid," you say, rubbing your face with your hand.

"Yeah, I'm aware."

A small smile cracked on your face, and Peter's expression mirrored yours. He takes a step towards you and offers his hand.

"Feud resolved?"

"Feud resolved."

+ + +

wait why am i kinda proud of this

[udunie]

Okay, you guys, here’s the part of the Gerard fic that I love (it goes on to a sex scene that I don’t like, cause it doesn’t seem to fit the tone of this part)

Warning for: prostitution, drug abuse, addiction, generally heavy themes

Also, this is basically not edited or betaed at this point, I just want to pick your brains about how to go on with this, cause I feel like ‘monster cock and fake tits’ isn’t the way to go... Please let me know what you think :D

ETA: wow love it when tumblr fucks shit up, anyway, fixed now lol

***

Stiles was just a month or two over eighteen when his dad died. He didn’t like to think about it. Or all the things that happened after. It was like whatever self control he ever had was buried with his dad, leaving him destined to make one bad decision after the other.

Stiles just wanted to forget. Preferably everything; not going to college, not being able to pay his dad’s medical bills, being forced to sell the house, living in his jeep and turning tricks on occasion to survive… He just wanted to escape it all.

First there was the drinking and the weed, and when those were not enough anymore to get him through the day, he tried other things… ecstasy, cocaine, whatever. With his ADHD, drugs didn’t always work as they were supposed to. Sometimes a little too well, sometimes not at all, or in ways he didn’t enjoy. Nothing really stuck.

It was exactly on his nineteenth birthday when he met Kate. 

“Want to try something new?” she asked, slithering up to him in the club. Stiles saw her around before, he knew she was selling something, though never really checked to see what. Lately he didn’t have the cash to get anything serious. “You look like you could use a little pick-me-up. You’re cute, so I’ll let you have one on the house.”

Stiles was a bit drunk and a bit high and very stupid.

“Wha’s it?” he asked, voice slurring a bit. 

“Silver Bullet,” she said, holding up a pill. It reflected the strobe lights weirdly. “It will shoot all your troubles dead, baby. That’s a guarantee.”

Stiles popped it into his mouth without hesitation, chasing the bitter taste down with the vodka tonic he managed to flirt out of someone.

And the rest was history.

***

Silver Bullet wasn’t like anything he ever tried before. For one, it worked; getting him high and happy and horny every fucking time. He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t tired or cold or lonely when he took it. Everything was fun and easy and sexy. It felt like being in love with every single person around him. 

At first, it was easy. Almost too easy. He took a pill and felt like he wanted to make love to the world. He picked up a few johns, had sex that felt way better than it had any right to be and by the time he crashed, he had the money for the next few pills. 

Even when he was sleeping, he dreamed about them, about having a whole palmful of those pretty, white pills. Even in his dreams, he could see the tiny, metallic looking particles in them. When he asked about it, Kate said that was the magic and he believed her. Stiles couldn’t imagine going for a day without.

Then Kate raised the price. Then she raised it again. And again. ‘Welcome to the free market, where demand sets the price’ she told him, laughing. He tried to look around for another dealer, but nobody was selling Silver Bullet, they all told him to fuck off if he even just asked about it.

It only took a month for him to start begging her. He sold the jeep, he sold his parents’ wedding rings, he had nothing more to give.

“I will do anything, Kate, please,” Stiles told her. The music was too loud in the club, and the lights too blinding and the shadows too deep. For a second, he thought about just… taking the little tin box of pills he knew she had on her with force, but it was a struggle to even hold himself upright. He was always so tired when he went too long without it.

She leaned back against the wall. Stiles wondered if her smile was always that cruel.

“Hm… Anything?”

“Anything, whatever you want, I will do it,” he said, the words rushing out of him. 

“Tell me I’m beautiful,” she said, fluttering her lashes. 

Stiles remembered seeing her through the haze of the drug. She’d looked like an ethereal being, like an honest-to-god angel.

“You… you are beautiful, you are the most beautiful woman in the world, I’ve never se-”

“Am I prettier than your mommy was?” she cut in.

She was standing so close, Stiles could almost taste the pill burning his tongue.

“Yes. Yes, you are, so much prettier,” he croaked, mouth dry.

She laughed, loud and harsh.

“Unfortunately, baby, flattery won’t get you anywhere,” she said. Stiles wanted to cry. “This is a family business, you know? What sort of a girl would cut her father’s profits?”

Stiles felt shaky and like he was about to throw up. He must have looked miserable, because Kate gave him a long, calculating look.

“But you know what? I can take you to meet him. Maybe you can dazzle him with your… talents.”

Kate was really the most beautiful woman in the world.

***

He was shaking during the whole car ride. He hadn’t had a high in three days, and he felt like he was about to die. Kate made him lie down, his head on her lap, and she stroked his hair, nails too sharp as they scratched against his scalp. The man driving the car - her brother, Stiles thought - gave him a few disgusted looks in the rearview mirror, but Stiles couldn’t care less.

He was going to meet Kate’s dad and fuck him and get high and everything would be fine.

Kate’s father lived in a huge house surrounded by a park and iron gates. It was like something out of a movie, but he was way too anxious to really appretiate it even as Kate led him inside. There was a double staircase in the entrance hall, and Stiles was told to wait there.

The place was big enough that he thought there should be an army of servants around, but everything was strangely silent. Stiles tried not to stare too much. All he could think about was getting his pills. Or maybe stealing something and pawning it off so he could get cash. But… Kate probably wouldn’t sell to him if he did that, right? It was hard to think with his whole body numb with need.

He spaced out instead, staring into mid distance, imagining how good it will be to get his pill and feel alive again. Stiles had no idea how long he just stood there until he finally heard Kate calling him from the top of the stairs. She sounded annoyed.

“Get your ass up here,” she bit out when she finally had his attention. “You don’t want to get him in a bad mood.”

Stiles didn’t. He ran up to her, not daring to touch the polished railing.

“Fuck, sorry,” he said, but she already turned her back, leading him to a set of tall double-doors. 

“Daddy,” she said, pushing them open. She sounded very different than when she was talking to Stiles. “Here he is.”

Kate’s father was an old, old man with short, white hair and a stern face that had Stiles shifting from foot to foot with nerves. He was lounging on a sofa in pajamas and a brocade house coat. His eyes were cold enough to make him shiver where he stood.

“Stiles, this is my father, Gerard. Daddy, this is the boy I’ve told you so much about.”

Stiles doubted that random junkies were a regular topic at the family dinner, but he didn’t say anything. He had a goal in mind, and Gerard didn’t look like he enjoyed people mouthing off.

The old man looked him over, like he was a piece of gum stuck on the sole of his shoe.

“Strip.”

Stiles swallowed, glancing quickly at Kate. She nodded her head at him, smiling in a way that made him second guess himself.

“Go on, baby, try to make a good impression.”

Stiles licked his lips, and got to it. He felt stupid and weird with her watching him undress for her father. Without the warmth of drugs in him, he was acutely aware of how boney and pale and… ugly he was.

When he was finished, he just stood there, eyes glued to a spot over Gerard’s shoulder, wanting to cover himself but knowing that he shouldn’t. 

“Don’t you like him, daddy?” Kate asked, sounding like she was pouting, but Stiles didn’t dare look at her again.

“I would have preferred a girl. You know that,” Gerard said. Stiles would have pissed himself if that much disdain was directed at him, but Kate just laughed, her voice sweet and light.

“But I don’t want to have a little sister or brother,” she said, teasing. “Chris is enough of a headache.”

Gerard barked out a laugh, sitting up straight.

“Damned right he is. Fine.” He picked up a shiny, darkwood box from the side table, opening it in his lap. It was lined with dark green velvet and there was an injection needle in it. It looked like it was antique, with little rings at the end of the crossbars. Beside it was a corked vial, filled with something that glittered like mercury, though lighter in color.

“Come here and get on your knees,” Gerard told him, not even glancing at Stiles. He clearly expected to be obeyed.

“I… What… what is that?” Stiles asked, watching him stab the needle through the cork and pulling some of the liquid into the syringe.

Gerard looked at him.

Stiles made the mistake of meeting his gaze.

Suddenly Kate was behind him, her breasts pressing into his naked back. 

“That’s the good stuff, baby. That’s the real Silver Bullet right there, the same one you love so much, just a thousand times better,” she whispered in his ear. “And if you want it, you better be a good boy.”

Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off the syringe. Just the mention of the drug made all his cravings rush back tenfold. He wanted it. He wanted to feel it so bad.

He dropped on his knees in front of Gerard without any more hesitation. He didn’t like needles, and he didn’t like him, but he wanted… He needed the high.

Stiles didn’t expect to be backhanded hard enough to make his ears start ringing. There was a dizzying moment when he forgot where he was or why. Gerard grabbed his jaw, his fingers biting into him.

“When I give an order, I expect you to follow, is that understood?” he asked, sneering into his face from up close. 

Stiles whined. His right cheek was burning. It would probably bruise… But it wasn’t even close to being the worst thing he ever got just to get high.

The man stared into his eyes for a long moment, maybe waiting for him to put up a fight, but all Stiles wanted was the Silver Bullet. 

“Good,” he said finally, patting his face where it hurt. “Open your mouth.”

Stiles did.

Gerard trapped his tongue between his knuckles and pulled it outward and to the side. His fingers tasted salty and a bit bitter.

“This way, it will get right to your head,” he commented, Stiles closed his eyes as he saw the syringe getting closer. He just wanted to be alive again. “Don’t move.”

Gerard injected him at the base of his tongue. There was a sharp bite of pain that made him suck in a breath. He could feel his mouth flood with saliva.

And then…

Stiles remembered how happy he was back when he was just a kid and his mom bought him exploding candy. It was sweet and sour and like he had a little firework going off in his mouth. This was like that, but he could feel it in his head, his skull was filled with exploding candy, popping and popping and throwing sparks of flavors and colors and shapes and smells in every direction, every nerve in his body sizzling and popping and popping… The world was suddenly and inexplicably beautiful. 

Everything was so pretty and bright and pleasurable that it almost hurt. 

He could feel his hips pumping into the air, body convulsing like it was caught in an orgasm that just didn’t want to end. There were still fingers in his mouth and he moaned, licking and sucking at them eagerly. He felt like he was a flame, radiating pleasure and everything around him reflected it back, just amplifying it even more until he was drowning in light.

***

“What a nasty little slut,” Gerard said, letting the boy kneeling in front of him suckle on his fingers, slurping around his knuckles like he was trying to give the blowjob of his life. His eyes were glazed over and he was twitching almost alarmingly. “It’s been… what? Forty seconds? And he already came twice.”

Kate laughed, leaning against the doorframe.

“You like him, don’t you?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Gerard did, but he didn’t want Kate to know. The girl had to learn to do better, even if she managed to do an adequate job with this one.

“Should have been a girl,” Gerard reminded her, pushing his fingers in as deep as they could go, nudging the boy’s tonsils. He didn’t gag, but his eyes did roll back. Ah, and he was coming. Again. “But I will take it.”

[dogbearinggifts]

Secret Alphabets

Umbrella Academy: Klaus/Dave

Author’s note: After reading this awesome post  calling attention to Dave’s obvious infatuation in the club scene, I thought about it for a while, especially about Klaus as the object of desire, the one being pined for rather than the one doing the pining (which, as @greenandhazy points out, is quite the departure from what we usually see when a main character meets their love interest. So, that’s what informed this oneshot here. 

Also tagging @lovinglydiego—if I tagged the wrong blog, let me know and I’ll change it.

“So there I was, chocolate pudding all over my cheeks, all up my ass crack, and all I could think was God, I am so fucking hungry right now.” 

Dave laughed. Not the insincere laugh of a pseudo-friend waiting to see how useful he’d wind up being, not the silence and rolled eyes of his siblings—a real one that tipped his head back toward the ceiling. Klaus had been smiling before, but he found himself laughing too. 

“So what’d you do?” 

“Waited for it to dry, peeled it off.” Klaus took a sip of his drink. Alcohol didn’t quite keep the ghosts at bay, not as well as drugs did, but it could quiet them enough to hear his own thoughts. “And let me tell you, that is not something I’d wish on…okay, maybe I’d wish it on a few people.” 

Dave laughed again. “No, I mean, did you?” 

“Did I….oh! Did I eat chocolate pudding off my own ass?” 

“Yeah. You said you were hungry.” 

“Nope. I learned an important lesson that day.” 

“Which is?” 

He took another sip. “That I do have standards after all.” 

“Really.” 

From Luther or Allison, that would have been an insult, a small verbal slap to remind him that what he’d said was a lie. But from Dave, it was the same sort of good-natured jab he might level at any other soldier in their platoon. “Sure I do! I mean, they’re low, but I’ve got ‘em.” 

“Well,” Dave said, leaning against the wall, “glad they’re not too high.” 

Klaus’ stomach fluttered, then twisted. Three different responses, ranging from flirtatious to borderline pornographic, popped into his head, but he didn’t dare voice any of them. Not for any uncertainty on his part—the looks Dave had given him, the ease with which he’d linked his arm through his, the way he stood close enough that Klaus could feel the warmth of his skin through his sleeve, left little doubt toward Dave’s preference. He could retort with any of the three quips he’d thought of—or the far filthier fourth one he’d just come up with—and had a feeling Dave would reply in kind. 

That was the problem. 

Klaus knew he’d let the silence go on too long, filled though it was by the music and mingled hum of dozens of conversations and dancing feet. Part of him would have been content to stand there beside Dave, feeling the closeness of him and drawing comfort from it, but he’d a hunch that any more silence would invite Dave to fill it with a more overt remark than his last. 

“Still no word from home?” 

Klaus gazed down at his drink, tried to resist a sip, and took one anyway. “If they did send me something, it’d probably just be a picture of them all flipping me the bird.” 

“Huh.” 

Letters from home weren’t common, but each man in Klaus’ platoon had received at least one since being shipped out—a few after that briefcase dropped him into their tent, most before that point. Klaus had made the mistake of mentioning that he’d never gotten a single letter since arriving in country, and while he’d had the good sense to be vague about how long that had been, he’d still made himself an object of curiosity for the others. 

No. Not curiosity. Pity. It was quiet, the sort that didn’t often surface in scattered remarks or louder exclamations, but he felt it all the same, pressing around him like the humid heat of the jungle whenever the topic of families surfaced. Each man in his platoon projected it to varying degrees, but it was always strongest coming from Dave. 

“What about your brother….Diego?” 

“Ah, c’mon. Guy’s got a busy schedule, pretending he doesn’t have a family.” 

Not that Klaus could blame him; he’d done much the same. Then again, if Diego vanished for weeks with no word, no one would assume he’d OD’d for the last time in some seedy backroom or alley or coded in an ambulance accompanied by exasperated paramedics unable to revive him. 

“Tell you what,” Dave said, and Klaus looked to him, saw him with his elbow propped against the wall. “I’ll tell my mom to meet us both once we get back to the States. Let her know I’m bringing a friend.” 

Klaus smiled. The notion of returning at the same time as someone you’d met out in the jungle—let alone knowing you’d return at all—was a dream. His first brush with enemy gunfire had been enough to tell him that, even without the mangled ghosts of former brothers in arms to scream the same warning. That first spray of bullets alone had made the notion of dashing for Hazel and Cha-Cha’s briefcase at the first sign of serious trouble look like the world’s worst joke. 

But unlike some dreams, this was one he liked. The thought of being shipped back with Dave, of sitting beside him on a train or whatever else he’d take back to the city from which they both hailed—it was one he could entertain for hours, one he’d hold onto long after the many rips and tears in the logic of it threatened to swallow the daydream whole. 

“No, I’m serious. I’ll let her know you’re coming, make sure she’s waiting. Tell her to bring more cookies.” 

“Fresh ones this time?” 

Dave laughed again. Klaus could listen to that laugh for hours. “If Mom saw the state of those cookies when they got here, she’d buy a ticket to the White House and give Johnson a piece of her mind.” 

Johnson. Right. Old Lyndon B. was president here in 1968. “Didn’t you say you wrote her already?” 

“Ah, yeah. Forgot about that.” Dave grinned. “Now that she’s good and mad about what the Army did to her cookies, the war should be over any day now.” 

The cookies had been little more than stale crumbs and broken pieces when Dave opened the package from home. Even so, the box had summoned every man in that tent like moths to a light bulb, set them hovering around awaiting their turn to snatch a handful of cookie pieces. Klaus hadn’t expected Dave to call him over, too—he was the new guy, after all—but after weeks of legendary Army food and tepid water flavored with iodine and grainy with the bodies of insects it had killed, those stale crumbs had tasted like heaven. 

He noticed Dave moving closer without raising his head, didn’t flinch as he ran a hand through his hair. The thought of what he should do occurred after that first touch, and by then Klaus could only close his eyes. 

Dave’s hand cupped the back of his head, pulled him closer. Not forcefully, not with any sort of coercion, but softly, in invitation. 

“Nobody’s gonna catch us.” 

Klaus opened his eyes. Dave’s voice was just audible over the somewhat muffled music, but it was the note of consolation that got his attention. His smile had turned gentle, comforting. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and it wouldn’t take much to finish the job. 

“It’s okay.” Dave moved a few inches closer, not quite close enough to press his body against his but close enough for Klaus to imagine how it would feel. “Or we can head somewhere a little more private, if you want.” 

Klaus bit back an eager reply. “Dave, I….” 

Fingers brushed through his hair again, and Klaus resisted the urge to trace the line of Dave’s jaw. 

“What?” The question was gentle, like one of those breezes just strong enough to cool the air. “Klaus, what’s wrong?” 

“Why?” 

Dave’s smile had faded a bit, but it curled ever closer toward a frown and Klaus spoke quickly. 

“I mean—why me?” 

“What do you mean, why you?” 

Klaus blinked. For a moment, he nearly brought all the unspoken things out into the light, but he didn’t know where to begin or what Dave had guessed already, if he was still wrapped up in the Maybe he has a problem stage or if he was already on his way to Even a fucking war zone can’t keep this guy clean. Whatever the case, he’d know sooner rather than later. 

Back in the present, or the future, or whatever the hell it was, Klaus wouldn’t have cared. He hadn’t cared with Antonio, or Alessio—he couldn’t recall which name he’d been given at introduction; all he remembered was a pretty face and a place to sleep, delicious osso bucco and a decaying sense of optimism—a belief that there was some good in him, good that Antonio or Alessio or whoever he was could fan into greatness once Klaus stopped longing for the next high. 

Three weeks. Three weeks under his roof, in his bed, and Klaus couldn’t remember his name. 

“Why not you?” 

Klaus could have offered a list—alphabetized, or in order of importance—but the look in Dave’s eyes kept the list in his head, kept any further words there too. 

There was tenderness in that glance—a tenderness he’d seen before, but never so pure, unmitigated by any flicker of disappointment or longing. It wasn’t the kind of look that tried to stare past what he was, what he’d depended on since his teens and what he’d done to get it, to see a few sparks of beauty and kindness underneath. No, from the way Dave looked at him, all of that alleged goodness was all he saw. He looked at Klaus as if Klaus was fun and joy and love and everything else he deserved. 

Dave leaned in closer, and Klaus knew he ought to pull away. Duck out of his embrace, head back out into the club and leave Dave alone. A little disappointment now would save him from far more heartbreak down the road. 

Dave touched his lips to his. 

It was a gentle kiss, so soft and subdued that for an instant all Klaus felt was the pleasant warmth of Dave’s lips; but soon he was aware of nothing but Dave, the scent and taste and feel of him, of being pulled closer and closer but still not close enough. He didn’t want it to end, didn’t want the moment to pass, wanted to freeze time and stay forever if it would keep Dave there. 

Too soon, Dave pulled back. Klaus watched that same smile tug at his lips, breath trembling as Dave’s hand brushed his hair, his cheek. For an instant, just an instant, it looked as if Dave might say something; but soon it faded back into a smile so warm Klaus had the sudden urge to cry. 

Love. The word sprang to mind with an ease that surprised him. He hadn’t heard it often, hadn’t said it often, yet there it was, written all over Dave’s face, in his touch. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t explain it, couldn’t guess at why it existed. He could only return it….or reject it. 

Without a word, with scarcely a thought, Klaus pulled Dave close and kissed him again. 

[michael-langdonahs]

Apocalypse: 1. Is it, the end? | Michael Langdon

Note: This is it. My version of the American Horror Story: Apocalypse season. Here it is. As a side note, I’d like to let you know that I’ll try to follow the same plot line they showed us, but I’ll give you more details. I‘m giving a romantic twist to it, and I hope you like it. This chapter is just an introduction like the first episode we got, but a lot of amazing things are coming. 

Riley is a new character, and basically the name of my protagonist. Be prepared, and let me know what you think, after that,

welcome to outpost 3.

It was a cold, cloudy day when Timothy and Emily arrived at the Outpost. He shook more than she did. She stayed serious only giving small glances to him while they entered through the mysterious entrance, then the cleaning process they had to went through because of radiation. White smoke covered both until some door opened in front of them.

“I am Wilhemina Venable, Welcome to Outpost 3” Venable started talking and Emily immediately looked to Timothy. They started following her.

“This is a fallout shelter?”

“It is now, long time ago, it was an exclusive school for men.”

“Subterranean?”

“The Cooperative to whom we owe eternal gratitude took charge of this place. They prepared for what it was coming.”

“The end?”

“No, the beginning,” Venable explained, walking at the same pace she spoke making emphasis in each word with her walking stick. “Cooperative have further plans for us. They are a collection of the dozen greatest minds mankind has to offer.”

They followed her slowly until they arrived at a particular bedroom.

“As purples, you’ll have a suite.”

“What is a purple?” Emily asked.

“The elite.” Venable looked at them seriously. “People here take seriously their roles, so purples wear purple, the grays gray.”

“Grays?” Timothy asked in response.

“Our working ants, grays are here to serve.” Venable stepped back a few steps and then turned around slowly.

“The house rules are simple, you will refer to me as Mrs. Venable. You may never leave the building due to the danger of radiation contamination and no unauthorized copulation of any kind. No exceptions. We dress for dinner. Cocktail is at 6pm, You will find the music room where we reunite, there is no excuse for tardiness when there is nothing else to do.”

Emily opened her mouth to say something, but she rather stayed quiet. Venable left leaving them speechless.

In the music room, Gallant, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, Stevens, Stu, Evie Gallant, and Dinah Stevens laid in the sofa. They observed each other with boredom until the saw Timothy and Emily arrive.

Gallant approach them immediately.

“What is happening out there?”

“It’s all gone,” Timothy answered and Emily shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s time we head to dinner. Our food is waiting for us.” Venable announced and everyone stood up walking behind her. “Due to our situation, we will need to reduce our food.”

“What do you mean? We barely eat.”

“Everything outside is lost. We are the last people on earth. And no matter what, I will take care of this place.”

She walked away and they received a white cube in their plates.

“What is this?” Emily asked.

“Is our food, sweetheart,” Evie answered.

“It contains every single vitamin we need to stay alive,” Dinah said nicely and they heard some screams coming from the previous music room.

They all turned to see whose voice was that from.

“Did someone else arrived with you?” Stevens asked and Emily denied turning to see Timothy.

“No, no one.”

“Well, apparently, we aren’t the only ones,” Gallant said crossing arms and rolling his eyes.

After some minutes, a girl with dark hair appeared being followed by Venable. She was thin and had big bright eyes.

“This is Riley, she will be joining you for dinner.”

“I don’t need an announcement.”

“Stay quiet and only answer when asked.” Venable gave her a disgusted look and turned around.

“Is that another one of your rules, mother?”

Gallant gulped and everyone observed them excited. Evie laughed and Coco rolled her eyes.

“You stay quiet,” Venable said finally retiring.

Riley walked a few steps sitting in the head of the table. She ate her cube while the other observed her carefully.

“Were you outside?” Gallant asked.

“I should have stayed there.”

“Are you Venable’s daughter?” Evie asked too.

“Yes, I am… Unfortunately.”

“You don’t look too much like her,” Timothy mentioned and Riley smiled.

“I’m already aware of it.”

She finished her cube and stood up from her sit.

“We are not allowed to move from here until she tells us what to do,” Gallant warned Riley but she sighed.

“You all can leave if you want. If she asks something, tell her I told you to do it.”

She said finally walking away in her long purple dress even more detailed than Coco.

Days passed and the routine stayed the same. They woke up, had breakfast, they stayed in the music room. In the afternoon, Riley fought her mother before dinner until both decided to show up and pretend everything was normal. Then, they went all together to the music room. Somedays, Riley went with them. Others, she went alone to her bedroom carrying a book in the crook of her arm. Nobody truly understood her. She was mysterious but outrageous with Venable. It seemed like she knew everything about them but no one knew anything about her.

One day, while in dinner they brought the radiation machine to them.

“What is happening?” Riley asked

“Our radiation detectors activated,” Mead answered and Riley nodded.

“Won’t you question that? Because since you arrive that is the only thing you have done.”

Mead went and started scanning them individually. Then, they took Gallant and Stu away.

“That is unfair,” Riley responded.

“That is true. The only thing I’ve touched is Coco’s hair. Listen to your daughter.” Gallant screamed.

“This is none of your business, Riley,” Venable answered

“In case anything happened to you, I am the one in charge. So, this is also my business.”

“My girl, the radiation detector sounded, we need to clean them,” Mead explained and Riley sat back.

“We will let you  know when the cleaning finishes.” Mead continued and took them away.

The dinner that day, Gallant appeared but Stu didn’t.

“It’s all your fault,” Stevens shouted at Riley exasperated.

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what happened.” Riley tried apologizing and he continued crying.

“You are just as rotten as them.”

Venable appeared in the moment before Riley answered and they all stared at her.

“Tonight, we’ll have a special meal.” She sat in the head of the table, next to Riley’s seat.

Mead started giving soup to everyone and they all tasted it with some notes of pleasure in their looks. Everyone but Riley, who stared at the meal not daring to try it.

“It’s Stu” Steven screamed and everyone starts screaming too. Only three people remained in silence, Venable, Riley, and Mead.

Evie continued eating but Gallant threw up in his own meal. It looked gross.

“Can you all sit?” Venable requested making everyone silent again. “We are not cannibals, this is only chicken.”

“Are you sure?” Riley asked and stood up from the table.

“You and I will have a conversation tonight after dinner. Now, everyone takes a seat and finish your meal.” Venable threaten.

“I need you to follow the rules in this place” Venable stated once she got in her bedroom.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The house rules. I thought I explained them to you when you arrived.”

“Oh, you did. The thing I can’t understand is why would someone follow those rules. They aren’t real, mother. You created them in order to have your own matriarchy in this place.”

“Who says they are not real?” Venable raised her voice.

“The Cooperative.”

Venable opened her eyes in surprise. “What do you know about them?”

“Not much. Just a bit more than you do.”

“Were you there before arriving here?”

“No, I wasn’t there. I was at the coven.”

“Now that you mention it, I do not want you playing to be a witch in here. This is normal people, and they do not need to know how much a failure of a daughter you are.”

Venable turned around with half a smile on her face. Riley sat in bed and right before Venable closed the door, she said:

“Be prepared, mother. Everything you do comes back at you.”

Eighteen months passed following the same routine. They did the same every day.

The same song repeated all the time, people had no idea, but they were Venable’s favorites songs. Riley knew it, but she felt so tired of everything, she spent most of the day lying in her bedroom. She spent her days reading books from the library they had in the music room. Some were classics, other witchcraft books and others spoke about philosophy and history. She loved reading, but she feared the day her books were all read and she died of boredom.

Dinner was developing in its own way. Everyone spoke as much as they wanted until Gallant exploited.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“Calm down,” Evie answered.

He threw his plate to the floor. Everyone observed patient. They were all a mess, but they were too mentally exhausted to help Gallant calm down. Venable gave Riley a look.

“At least you didn’t start this one.”

Riley rolled her eyes and they continued watching Coco intervene trying to calm Gallant. Venable stood up.

“We need to go outside, we-”

An alarm started buzzing, Riley felt something in her chest, so she stood up too.

“Something has trespassed the gates.” Someone announced and Riley walked a few steps.

“Let me handle this one.”

“No, you will not. You will stay here, fixing this mess while I go and find out what is that.”

Riley stayed there.

“Are you okay? You look pale.” Coco said to her and Riley nodded touching her head with one of her hands.

He was there. The alarm, it was him. She could feel him. She could almost taste him again. She laid back in a wall behind her, trying to find some strength to hide her excitement. “I need to get out of here.” Gallant kept whispering.

“I think it’s time for you to get some sleep. Big things are coming.” Riley announced with a smile and they gave her a weird look. She persuades them to get to their rooms, and she stayed there, trying to sneak to see him.

Seconds later, she knew he was there. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him. Deep inside, remains of him came alive just by the smell of him. Then she went upstairs and continued to follow her usual routine before sleeping. All the excitement tremble in her skin that she couldn’t sleep as much as usual but she knew things would be different from that moment.

[composereggwrites]

Featherfall

Fandom: Twewy

Rating: T

Word count: 1405

Characters: Joshua, Neku

Additional: Hurt/comfort, panic attacks, molting, immature jokes, let friends be sensual gdi

Feathers drift through the air, suspended in space, some fluttering their way to the ground.

The apartment is filled with them, scattered everywhere. Opening the door kicks them up, and they resume their lazy drifting.

“Okay, what’s up? It looks like you killed a dozen swans for their feathers in here.”

Joshua glances at Neku, and in the most petulant voice, says, “Save me, I’m molting.”

AO3 or below!

(Come hang out in my TWEWY discord!)

Feathers drift through the air, suspended in space, some fluttering their way to the ground.

The apartment is filled with them, scattered everywhere. Opening the door kicks them up, and they resume their lazy drifting.

Neku steps into Joshua’s place, tiptoeing around the mess.

“Josh, where are you?” he calls out, to receive a grunt in reply from the bedroom.

Unease settles in his stomach like a wad of cotton drenched in mucus.

Feathers are part of Joshua’s wings. His wings contain the essence of his Soul. Neku doesn’t know much, but he figures losing this much of your Soul isn’t good for anyone. He imagines it feels strained and pulled apart and incomplete, like if he lost his headphones, or his dominant hand.

Opening the door to Joshua’s room, he expects to find disaster, an injured friend, blood and guts or static bleeding from a wound.

Instead, he finds Joshua curled up in bed on his stomach, wings splayed out and hands clenching at his head, but otherwise fine.

“Okay, what’s up? It looks like you killed a dozen swans for their feathers in here.”

Joshua glances at Neku, and in the most petulant voice, says, “Save me, I’m molting.”

Neku snorts. “So you didn’t kill any birds then?”

A pillow hits him in the head. “I’m serious, this is awful. It’s itchy and painful and I can’t even scratch it because it’s metaphysical. Have you ever had your Soul itch? It’s not fun!”

Minding the wings, Neku plops down on the edge of the bed, expression softening. “Is there any way I can help?”

Silence falls, and for a moment Neku thinks he’s made a misstep, but before he can panic and apologize, Joshua sighs. “If you want, you can brush through my wings. Pluck the loose feathers.”

Neku swings himself up onto the bed further, settling with one wing over his lap as he starts to comb through it with his fingers. A cut-off whimper almost makes him stop when he plucks the first feather, but Josh waves him on.

“It hurts, but it’s like pulling a loose tooth. Stops the prolonged pain.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting under the white fluff, but when he sees the same black iron-wrought wings Reapers have, it’s unsurprising. What does surprise him is the thin, shimmering coating encasing the entire wing, a filmy skin, translucent creamy-white and humming.

It’s Joshua’s Music. The realization strikes him, but he keeps himself from recoiling at the thought. The hum vibrating throughout is his Music, and the translucent material is his Soul.

With steady hands, he runs his fingers through again, and presses down deeper at a bald spot. It’s digging into silly putty, surface unbreaking but moldable, and while the current buzzes under his fingers, Joshua melts.

The groan he makes freezes him, before he realizes it wasn’t out of pain, but relief. Aloe on a sunburn relief.

“Do that again. That felt good.”

Neku laughs, but complies, taking his time as he gives the wing a light massage. “You’re so needy.”

“You try molting sometime. Get a taste of this horrific pain, if you think it’s not that bad.”

“Nah, I’m good. I can see how grouchy it makes you. Mr. Grinch levels of grouch over here, no happiness allowed, huh?”

“You know, you shouldn’t be rude to someone who’s--” Joshua’s voice cuts off as Neku scratches near the base of the wing, sticking in his throat.

“Mm, there. That’s good.”

Neku scratches again, rolling his eyes as Josh moans. “Do you have to make those noises?”

“Embarrassed, dear? Nobody can hear us, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Dude, no!” He swats Josh’s head as they both laugh. “You just had to go there, didn’t you?”

“Where else am I supposed to go? I mean, you’re clearly helping me out with my problem.”

“I could stop, you know. I could stop and leave you itchy and miserable,” he says. The menace he’s aiming for is broken by his stifled chuckling.

“Rude. It’s always less satisfying to take care of such things by yourself,” Joshua says, deadpan, with no cracks in his facade.

“Oh my god, fuck you!” he says, realizing his mistake a second too late.

“I wasn’t aware you were into necrophilia, dear,” comes the lilting reply.

“I’m getting a divorce. I’m divorcing you over that joke.”

“We aren’t even dating.”

“A friend divorce, because you’re awful.”

Josh bursts, laughing hard enough to shake the bed, and Neku yelps when he suddenly flops over, draping his other wing over Neku’s lap.

He gets back to work as Josh’s laughter dies down, giving attention to the new wing.

“If I’m really that awful, you should’ve shot me when you had the chance.”

The wire snaps. Ice shards slice through his veins, cutting through his skin, cutting to the core. Time is fake and it burns at his brain. A gun is in his hands and the metal bites, the bullet bites, the countdown pounds against his skull. There’s red and dull violet eyes and cold concrete beneath his head and red, red, so much red--

A shriek stabs his ears, piercing through the liquid clog of fear. There’s a voice speaking to him, he realizes.

“--ku, Neku, breathe. Deep breathes, in and out, breathe.Yeah, yeah good--Like that. Slow, in through your nose. I’m sorry, shouldn’t have made that joke. Breathe out now. Everything’s fine, we’re at my place, not back in the Room of Reckoning. Deep breathe in, maybe unclench your hands? Good, thanks. Okay, breathe out. I’m going to count for you, five in eight out, okay? One, two, three, four, five...”

He listens to Josh’s commands, and the fuzz starts to clear, sight sharpening into solid pictures. Brain static fades as his hands relax. He lets Josh’s voice wash over him, quelling the panic, stormy waters turning calm. Simple numbers, simple instructions.

The eyes in front of him are brilliant, sparkling, nothing like the dead ones in his memory.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Josh breaks from the counting, but when he does, it’s to say, “Okay, feeling better?”

Neku nods. His head is still stuffed with cotton, but there’s less, thought processing is back online, and with that-- “Did you just Imprint me?”

“You were having a panic attack, what else was I supposed to do? Let you freak out forever?”

Which, okay, fair. “You could’ve not made that joke,” he hisses, but there’s no venom in his bite. Josh is Josh, he says stuff like this, Neku thought he was used to it. He’s joked like that before himself, it shouldn’t bother him anymore. It shouldn’t freak him out like that.

“Yeah, I didn’t think before I spoke, sorry.”

“It’s… I’ll be fine. Thanks for talking me through it.” The tunnel vision hasn’t  gone away yet, but sensation is trickling back. He doesn’t mention Joshua’s hand in his hair, doesn’t know how to put it into words yet.

“Least I could do. You should… You should rest, though, you’re probably tired.” He is, and once Josh says it, it hits him with the force of a tidal wave, crashing down on him until he collapses, laying sideways.

“I’ll still be here when you wake up, so sleep.”

Neku listens.

The pain in Joshua’s wings has faded, but an ache still pulses.

The fact that Neku is asleep, head in his lap, soothes his Soul, ruffled feathers healing back to normal. He should’ve known better than to make that joke, with Neku’s hand in his wing.

Around Neku, Joshua forgets that he’s dangerous. Forgets that normal people shouldn’t be able to touch his wings at all. Shouldn’t be able to hold up against the pure, unfiltered power of his Soul.

Neku is special, but even he can’t withstand everything. A seawall can only withstand so much, a tall enough wave can overwhelm it. Negative reminders, with his Music amplifying the related emotions? Joshua is lucky he only ended up with a few broken feathers, and not a dead friend.

Joshua trusts Neku with his Soul, trusts that he can put himself at Neku’s complete mercy, but even if Neku makes him feel alive, he needs to remember that he isn’t.

He can play pretend, breath and warm his skin and eat, but at the end of the day, the falling feathers are the proof of his consequences.

[stimtoybox]

Stimming, Access and Consent

This is something I’ve mentioned a lot at various times, but it’s popped up this week through conversations with my doctor, researching migraine triggers, yesterday’s post on the Version 2 Fidget Cube knock-off and this post on clashing access needs in which @stimful-gifts mentioned this blog.

Since I’ve been wanting to write a proper post on this for a very long time now, I’m taking this as a sign from the universe to let the inbox wait a while longer.

My thesis is this: stim toys change our immediate environment. To direct our movement, provide distraction or enable focus, they offer up something we can touch, feel, smell, move, taste, chew, manipulate, watch or hear, often in varying combinations. Some toys only impact our immediate environment; some toys impact a much larger space, including the space occupied by other people.

Stim toys wouldn’t work if they didn’t change our environment in some way.

Abled, neurotypical culture works on the idea that certain types of environmental change are acceptable, based on ableist assumptions of what humans can tolerate. Playing pop music, for example, is generally assumed acceptable in supermarkets and shopping centres. Perfume is also considered acceptable when one is out in public.

We have this idea that if something fits that unquestioned category of acceptable environmental change, we don’t need to ask permission to make that change in a shared space. The problem comes when people have needs that don’t match that category of “acceptable” - both the environmental access needs of ND and disabled people but also the needs of people who just don’t want to hear pop music while buying a loaf of bread. Even for able-bodied NTs, this system of assumption over seeking consent is unfair and needs to be dismantled.

It is natural to not question the changes stim toys make on the environment around us. Even we, folks who most often have significant environmental access needs (including the need to stim), are quick to disregard needs we don’t have if it falls into that intuitive, unquestioned, ableist category of “acceptable environmental change”. We’re trained from birth to evaluate everything this way, so of course we don’t think about it.

I’m autistic with the SPD fun package deal. This week my doctor gave me the additional word “migraine” in an effort to explain why I react so badly to so many things: chemicals, petrol, perfume, varnishes, movement, flickering, bright lights, loud noises, sharp noises, the glow of the computer screen. I get headaches, dizziness, vertigo, partial seizures. Your hands tapping on your phone screen will distress me. Your perfume and flashing lights will put me to bed. Your clicking will make me scream and snap. Clicking toys, noisy toys, rattling toys, toys with flashing lights, LED spinners, toys scented with artificial fragrance/perfume, toys with chemical odours, toys that have a lot of flickering movements - these will make me distressed, uncomfortable, ill or unable to stand. If these things happen in a space where I am already compromised (on a train where I’m dealing with motion sickness, or in a noisy/crowded space) it’s even more disabling.

There are a great many stim toys and bodily stims that will make me unable to be a comfortable participant in any given shared environment. (There’s even more objects that aren’t stim toys or bodily stims that do the same, although I’d argue that many of these are pretty stimmy, just more culturally acceptable. Perfume, for example.) There are a great many of my own stim toys and bodily stims that will make someone else an uncomfortable participant in any given shared environment.

As stimmers, we need to be aware of the changes our toys make to any given space and have active communication with other folks in that space. We need to seek their permission to change it. There is a very big difference between a person not wanting to go outside with someone using a chewable because they’re chewing (ableism) and a person who can’t bear the slurping sounds made by the chewer (conflicting access needs), and we need to be conscious of that difference and be willing to discuss alternatives.

(Sometimes there are no alternatives. Sometimes the only option is for the people impacted to be in two or more different spaces. That’s frustrating and unfair, but it’s also the reality of disability and conflicting access needs.)

If your toy changes the environment, you should get the consent of all the other people who occupy that environment before using that toy in a shared space. (Remember that your own private space is great for all these toys, and you have every right to use them when there is nobody else impacted by them.) We must start a culture of being aware of the changes our toys make and having discussions about using them. We need to empower ourselves with a broad stim kit so that we have options if one toy bothers someone in a space we’re sharing.

I actively encourage everyone to have as many different sorts of toys as is possible (aside from it being good practice for physical injury concerns) and even different variations of the same types of toy, as that increases the likelihood of finding something people around you can tolerate and decreases your frustration at having to take up a toy that doesn’t fill your needs of that moment. A chewable that makes fewer or quieter slurping sounds, for example, to swap for the one that bothers someone else, even if it isn’t your favourite chew pendant.

Safety and access requirements we need to consider in our toys include:

Is it made from something that might provoke an allergic response, like rubber or latex?

Does it contain a fragrance? Is that fragrance artificial (perfume) or natural (essential oils)? Does it have a chemical odour or contain chemicals that can be inhaled or smelt? Does it have a flavour that causes a scent?

Does it make a noise? Is that noise quiet or loud? Is it constant, like white noise, or periodic? Does it change in volume or intensity? Is it sharp and abrupt, like a click? Does it rattle?

Does it have any movement? Is that movement flashing, flickering or quick? Can that movement be distracting? Does the toy make you move? Are your movements repetitive or subtle, flickering or flashing, slow or quick?

Does it light up? Does the light flash or change in intensity? Does it change colour? Does it change gradually or abruptly?

Does it have a texture to which someone else might be exposed?

If the answer to any of those things is yes, we need to make sure that the people around us consent to that change in the environment they’re sharing with us.

For me, toys with flashing and LED lights (fidget spinners), artificial fragrances (anything not essential oils) and loud, sharp clicks are especially unsafe. Others will find latex to be dangerous. There’ll be other things I’ve left off the above list through my own lack of experience!

I’m not saying we can’t or shouldn’t use those toys. I’m just saying that if there’s any chance they’ll impact others in a shared space, we should ask. Ask your teacher or boss if anyone has any allergies, if it isn’t safe to ask your peers. Ask the people sitting next to you if they mind the click of your Tangle. It doesn’t matter if these people are ND/disabled or NT/able-bodied. We’re acknowledging that our toys can and do change the space in which they’re used and finding out if that change is going to be a concern for anyone.

(And if we can’t ask for consent, which is true of many very public places, we seek out the most low-impact toys we have in our kits: quiet, no scent, low movement, no lights or flashing, no rubber or latex. Toys like LED-light spinners are dangerous and shouldn’t be used in a public space, ever, unless everyone in that space has consented to it - and consented freely without pressure.)

By actively asking people ourselves, by not making people wait to request that we stop an annoying or difficult-to-experience stim, we’re building a culture where we’re all able to discuss more freely one’s sensory needs, where asking someone else will result in less frustration and aggression. By actively building a varied stim kit, we’re making it so a stimmer doesn’t feel they have to stop stimming - just change to a different toy, as it is incredibly important that we have the right to stim! By having conversations and giving ourselves choices, we’re creating a world where seeking consent for creating any kind of environmental change becomes a norm, and that can only help and empower ND and disabled people, regardless of whether we stim.

I need a world where people think to ask me before jingling pocket coins, stop playing with LED spinners in public or spraying perfume in a space I occupy. The road to building that, I think, starts by our showing people that the right thing to do is seek consent for those changes. It starts by my treating others how I wish to be treated. It starts by doing away with the idea that we can ever assume something won’t bother someone else and start instead assuming that something might.

TL;DR: many stim toys introduce change into the environment that impacts the people around us. As people who have sensory difficulties ourselves, and need that understanding from others, we need to be mindful of how others experience our stimming. We need to start a practice of seeking their consent to that change in spaces we’re sharing with others, regardless of whether they are ND/disabled or NT/able-bodied.

- Mod K.A.

[rnainframe]

Co-written by @gruvu! Here’s chapter 4!

The tag I’ll be using for this is #amfic!

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Alternatively, read it on AO3!

Virgil quickly walks ahead, a spring in his step. “Back to the elevator. We'll head up to the modern area of the facility- a detour through some other test track is going to have to happen, but no testing will be necessary. Just passing through. I can hack any locked doors in the way.”

Nigel follows, grumbling, “you gonna keep talking or what?”

“Is there a problem with that?” The Maintenance Core retorts, deadpan.

“Tangerine doesn't like chatty people. Or talking… in general. Believe me, he gets cranky.” 18 walks slightly beside Virgil. Honestly, she wishes the robot would keep talking. That accent is so fun to listen to; it has to be European, or… Swedish? Heck if she knows, it’s just a delight to have someone who is willing to talk to her, who isn't cheap enough to have her use vacuum tubes as transportation.

“Ah. Heh,” he chuckles, looking ahead. The accent’s Norwegian, actually. Virgil comes to a stop right before a room containing a proper elevator, not a tube he has to summon one to. “Here we are.”

“So, are we all getting on it conscious or am I getting deactivated first?” Nigel sarcastically side-eyes Virgil, bitterly folding his arms.

“Nobody but GLaDOS is being deactivated.”

“Pity.” 18 looks over her shoulder at Nigel, letting out a dramatic sigh. “It was actually pleasant when you were out. No testing, no lasers, no distasteful music.”

Nigel scoffs, “I have a good taste in music. Virgil does testing, too, you know. Nearly ended up killing some Olym-”

“I freed her, unlike you faking this subject out!”

Oh, that's a sore topic to mention for the subject. Just a bit, you know? With Nigel setting up this grand finale, then it literally crumbling apart. 18 stiffens at the memory; she still wants to sock him in the face and dangle him over a fire pit.

“Out of curiosity… how many humans have made it out of here?”

Virgil looks nostalgic. The sad kind of nostalgic. “...two. Just two. Number 01, some… Chell lady, I think. Took down GLaDOS once. And… a friend. But- also number… number… I don't know her number, but Mel was an Olympic track runner that was trapped in here. I miss her, but she's better off out of here.”

“How do you know? The world could be overrun with a plague. Or the undead, or aliens.”

“As far as I know, all humans are dangerous and violent, so it'd be overrun either way by something, ” Nigel adds. “Smelly things.”

“Oh, so I'm dangerous and violent? I thought I was good natured and gentle due to the constant, life-threatening testing that involves toxic goo that can melt diamonds.”

Virgil runs a hand down his face. “Get in the damn elevator.”

“He started it! ” 18 points a finger at the orange core. Still, she listens to Virgil, going into the elevator.

“How old ARE you?” Nigel exhales, following the subject.

The test subject sticks her tongue out in response, parking herself as far as she can get from Nigel.

Virgil rolls his eyes and taps his earpiece, getting his visor to come out. He focuses, then leans back with a grin as the cramped elevator begins to move. Seriously, can't these things be made to occupy more than one person at a time?

“We should be where we need to be in a couple minutes,” he murmurs, shrinking away from the other two after his temporary ego boost fades. Too little breathing room.

The cramped silence is deafening. Three people… okay, one person and two androids inside an elevator, and there isn't any conversation. There isn't even any annoying elevator music that you end up humming to, getting stuck in your head, and keeping you up at night. So 18 improvises, humming a little tune, looking around at the walls of the elevator.

After what feels like hours, the elevator slows to a stop, opening in the entryway to a chamber. Virgil is first to leave, taking a deep breath as if he needs oxygen and was getting suffocated in there.

“You okay there tin man?” The subject asked as she came out after him, “Need a paper bag or?”

“I’m fine, just… starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. I’m alright, now.”

“You better be, I’d hate to have you flake on us so we can’t go through with your dumb plan.” Man, Nigel is sarcastic as hell, today. Reaaaaal bitter. “Buck up, will you?”

“You were friends with him right? I think we need to talk about your choice of friends.” She ignoring Nigel as she gave the shorter core a soft pat on the back. Nigel hadn’t changed from whatever Virgil did to him...it was disappointing and she was trying to see if there was any of this human..maybe he was just a dick. Great.

“I have a lot of choices in friends I’ve come to regret. Anyways-” Virgil rolls his shoulders uncomfortably and ascends the small staircase leading to a corridor to the chamber. He seems nervous. Something is definitely off.

18 follows behind him, sticking close to the one android that hasn't tried to kill her. She isn't familiar with the area; it seems very...white. White panels, white floors, white ceiling. Boring as hell.

“Could use some gel,” she remarks.

“Only if necessary. I told you how expensive this crap is to clean up.” Nigel responds, hands in his pockets. “...seems a bit dark in here, even though the lights are all working.”

Virgil squints at a wall, focusing on a couple of panels. They’re twitching, malfunctioning-- some loose wiring is even sticking out of one’s mechanism. “...GLaDOS never lets anything like this slide. Maybe this track got shut down..?”

“Maybe…” The subject puts her two cents in, not really knowing anything about the facility. She lets out a yip at a surprise shock from a loose wire, taken off-guard by it.

“Ow… geez.” She glares at the wires, rubbing her arm. “Need some electrical tape.”

“Or repairs. I could do those, but we need to focus on the task at hand. Judging by signals I’m getting, we’re only a couple chambers away from the central one at the most.” Virgil muses, nodding in the direction of a door.

“...this is..too easy…” 18 mutters to Nigel, “when has Aperture made things easy?”

“A lot, actually.”

“I'm not talking about looking at you. This is..simple...straight forward. No complicated hoops to jump through.”

“It’s a possibly deactivated test track.”

“That's what is throwing me off…”

Virgil approaches the door, finding himself surprised when it opens on its own. “...guess I won’t need to hack it, then.”

“Another convenient thing… I don't trust this.” 18 wrinkles her nose. If she could remember, this might have reminded her of a horror movie. The dim lights, the shadows, the sparks. She does not trust this easy route, and nothing Nigel is saying is helping.

“Maybe we should… yeah, let's keep going. Nigel, you go through the door first.”

Nigel shrugs and walks through.

18 watches him go, tilting her head slightly. “Least Aperture made something…” Then, she remembers Virgil is there. “Heh, um… hey.” She forces a smile, but then, something pops into her head. Something had been bugging her, mostly out of curiosity.

“He mentioned before someone had tried to take over? They went crazy?”

“He was.. A friend. That went crazy, yes. Got shoved into “Android Hell” for punishment.”

“Why didn't you help him?”

“He hates me, after.. things.”

“That shouldn't stop you from helping. Friends don't give up on each other. Hate is just temporary. He probably would have gotten over it. I may not know what happened but I do know emotion. It's one of my smelly human talents.”

“With what happened, I doubt he will. It’s… it’s bad. Let’s go.” Virgil avoids the topic, picking up his pace as he walks through the door.

“Oh, this isn't over.” 18 smirks deviously for a moment before following after. Hate, doubt, et cetera. She doesn't need to dig in his head to know that he might have been human as well. Maybe… maybe she will ask about it later. Before she leaves. The thought is pushed away from her head. It’s… a terrifying thought for her. Yeah, she plays it cool in front of the cores, but that's because she has an image to keep up. When the time comes, she will just have to deal.

“Alright, next test chamber.” She clasps her hands together.

The next one is almost identical. Way too simple. Off-putting.

To think of it, GLaDOS is never this silent.

“What the hell is going on?” Virgil mutters. “There’s cameras watching us. She can see us. Why so quiet..?”

“Maybe she's sleeping? Or trying to throw us off?”

“Either way, I’m sure following through with Virgil’s dumb plan is going to be a mistake.” Nigel adds, under his breath.

“It isn’t dumb. It’ll work. Trust me. I’ve taken down bigger threats from this facility.” Virgil doesn’t add the fact AEGIS wasn’t as self-aware or had as much control over Aperture.

By the time the two get done bickering, 18 finishes the test. She leans coolly on the wall by the exit, waiting on them. It was easy. Way too easy. However, it was much more fun than listening to those two.

“...er, subject… whatever your name is. The test wasn’t even necessary to finish.” Virgil awkwardly comments.

“Must be instinct or something, right? You miss our track, don’t you.”

“Shut up,” she points at Nigel, then points at Virgil, “I'm test subject 18, buddy boy. I got bored with listening to you two. I don't miss the track, Nigel. At all.”

Virgil nods, “right. Is just 18 good?” He approaches the door. There’s a shift big enough to set him off-balance. “...uh.”

“Yes, that will- woah, you okay there?”

“Did you feel that?” He straightens his posture, leaning on a wall. “I think the entire chamber just tilted a little to the right. It’s… crooked, now.”

It is. The lights are flickering and a bit dimmer. Some panels are more loose than before.

“An earthquake? I know when I was testing with Nigel, the chambers would tremble. Guess I'm used to it.”

“Let’s.. Let’s go ahead.”

“Virgil, you’re gonna get us killed!” Nigel snaps.

“She might be trying to take the track down with us in it. Maybe she’s onto us. Let’s go, okay?” Virgil steps through the door. That.. isn’t an elevator room.

The usual corridor leads to a catwalk draped across a dark chasm. However, on the other end... the central chamber. GLaDOS’s chamber.

Is it a trap?

Probably.

“Oh hell no. Nope. Too easy. No.” 18 turning around hands raised, “I rather not have another robot try to kill me.”

“No, no, we can do this. We can do this. If… we run across, anything that happens to the track shouldn’t catch up till we’re across, right?”

“Virgil, this is insane. I’m out.”

“No, you’re not. We have to do this, Nigel.”

“Virgil. That is a long catwalk. That can EASILY be crashed. We need a different way. See that way is the obvious way. “

“And the only one, clearly!” After making a large gesture at the catwalk, Virgil defiantly puts out his visor and runs ahead without waiting for the other two.

Groaning, Nigel runs after. “Damn it, Virgil!”

“UGHHHH.” 18 screams after the two, going full sprint. This was SUCH a TRAP, VIRGIL! What kind of MORON blindly runs into one?! Apparently, all three of them.

Virgil skids to a stop, eyes wide. “Maybe you two were right.” A couple panels fall down from above, taking out a chunk of catwalk ahead. The metal platform buckles downwards. Panicked, Virgil looks around, then gets an idea. “There’s-- there’s a management rail right above us that that missed. We could--”

“Turn back? Yes, Virgil, great idea!” Nigel yells, fists clenched. “You’re going to get us KILLED.”

“--we could get across the rest of the way with that. Just-just hurry, we clearly don’t have much time. It’s angled downwards, a bit, so, er, 18-- if you, if you have something you could use to glide on that, or, uh--”

Nigel snaps. “That sounds… really stupid.”

Virgil snaps back. “It could work!”

18 interrupts. “STOP BICKERING AND DO IT!”

Virgil runs back a few feet and jumps up to the rail, frantically attaching to it. Nigel begrudgingly follows. “Come on, 18, the entire catwalk’s about to collapse-”

The catwalk groans under the subject’s feet. She isn't like them! She doesn't have an attachment to get on the rail; all she has is her paint gun, her boots, her jumpsuit and her (useless) apron. The apron! Shoving the gun in her jumpsuit, running as the catwalk falls, she mutters to herself, “robots suck.”

She tears the apron off and leaps up into the air. Time slows down. She slings her apron over the rail, squeezing her eyes shut. Her heartbeat is the only thing she can hear focus on.

In a matter of moments, the trio crash through a handful of panels, tumbling onto the floor of the central chamber.

This.. isn’t right.

Where’s GLaDOS?

It’s dark. The only source of light are red lights coming from beneath the panels making up the chamber.

18 groans, rolling onto her side. Oh. She's alive? Woo! Still alive… and in pain. She scraped her elbows pretty bad on the landing, but at least it isn't any worse. It was pure luck that she made it onto the management rail without getting shocked. Coughing and spitting on the floor, the test subject begin to chuckle.

Virgil wearily speaks up, pushing up onto his knees. “We made it, but..”

“Perfect timing. It was getting lonely without having anyone hooked up to this thing.” That voice is new. It doesn’t sound human, but it doesn’t sound entirely artificial, either. The voice seems to be.. coming from the chassis itself.

What the hell is that? What’s going on?

“That is... not a woman. GLaDOS is a woman, right? That doesn't even sound human. Kind of refreshing, actually.” 18 sits up.

“So, hi! Sorry about dropping in. We were just leaving, honestly, you know? So busy, and there's science to do.” The test subject responds to the voice. Nervous habit.

Something stirs. Wires. A lot of wires. “I heard your chatter. GLaDOS isn’t here to be deactivated. I took her down myself. She deserved it, she’s part of why I’m like this.”

“Who are you, exactly?” Nigel huffs. “Why you’re like WHAT?”

“Too much chatter. I haven’t figured out how to directly control this place myself, yet, despite being here longer than SHE was. So one of you is going to have to volunteer.”

“Volunteer?” Virgil steps back. “For.. for what?”

“It’s like myths where a god uses a human as a vessel. Come on. I’m impatient.”

The Maintenance Core immediately turns around. “Hell. No. Come on, hurry, we have to get out of--!!” He stops cold, tensing up with a yelp. His accents dim and flicker out of panic.

“VIRGIL!” 18 springs to her feet, stumbling. Looks like whatever sick program this is, it just got a volunteer. What is this, some kind of raffle?

Virgil breathes heavily, clawing at his back. “The-- my-- my port, something’s in my port--” Every plug on his port has some sort of wire jammed into it. That must feel unpleasant. “I didn’t want this, I shouldn’t have dragged you two al--hhHG--” Sounds like it hurts.

“Nigel, come on! Help me get it out!” She runs over to Virgil, grabbing onto a cord. Probably not the smartest thing she should have done, but she isn't going to stand there and let Virgil get hurt.

“Let go, don’t-- don’t… d…” Virgil’s head droops for a moment as his accents completely flicker off. Nigel grips one of the wires and gives it a hefty tug, grimacing at the effort needed. It won’t even budge.

“Damn it, Virgil, look where your stupid plan got us!”

“Yelling at him isn't working! Can't you hack!?” 18 shouts, knuckles white from her hopeless grip on a wire. They’re lodged in the ports like plant roots.

“Hacking,” Virgil straightens up, his accents coming back on, “isn’t going to help you.” His tone of voice is… wrong. It’s smoother and kind of off-putting. Plus, his accents-- they’re supposed to be amber, not RED. They’re RED. “The two of you are going to be a problem, aren’t you?”

Nigel takes a step back, then lunges at a smaller cord, hints of desperation breaking through his gruff disposition. “Get out of there, Virgil! Ghh-- whoever you are, get the hell away from him!”

“Your programming shouldn’t be letting you empathize, Nigel. You’re malfunctioning. You don’t want to be reprogrammed, do you?” Upon hearing the threat, the taller android shivers and lets go of the wire, pacing backwards and away from Virgil.

The subject goes for the wire that Nigel had been pulling, gritting her teeth and trying to at least loosen it up. Did this thing coat the tips in super glue? “I'm the ONLY one who can threaten him like that, you stupid piece of malware!” She yanks harder.

“Let go.” The corrupted android cooly demands, almost eerily calm.

“Or what?!”

“You won’t enjoy the consequences if you don’t.”

“I don't enjoy what's happening right now!”

“I warned you.” Some panels shift, causing 18 to stumble backwards a few feet. A claw comes down from above, grabbing for the subject.

Without thinking, Nigel breaks into a sprint, shoving her out of the way with a lunge.

“CLARA, NO!”

   The claw grabs him by the waist.

      And slams him incredibly hard into the wall, causing him to deactivate on impact.

[lauraxxtennant]

don juan in soho

Review & lots of spoilers below

Ok. So, you guys know by now that I was, let’s say, cautious about several aspects of this play prior to seeing it.

I was completely turned around on one of those things, though, and this was the inclusion of music/dance numbers and an actual. Duet. Between dt and adrian. This duet was the highlight of my night. I know!!! That’s bonkers!!! I thought I was going to find this the most embarrassing moment of my life, and yet!!!!!

Let me be clear, I love musicals. I love plays. I don’t usually find it beneficial to the material when a play tries to shoehorn in a musical number. I usually think it’s best for straight plays to leave the musicals down the road to their singing and dancing, and just act the damn thing. Added to this, the fact that david tennant is clearly desperate to be in a musical lmao made me think, ‘oh god, this is gonna be a disaster, he can’t sing, it’s gonna be embarrassing.’ HOWEVER. I fully admit that he sounded good tonight. Really really good. DJ & Stan basically get stoned and sing a (brief, TOO BRIEF) semi-romantic duet under the stars at the end of act one. It’s the best point in the play, and no one is more surprised by this than me.

There’s another brief musical number in the play by the cast (not including dt) where you see a couple of real life, floppy-haired teenage dt photos projected in the background (none that we haven’t seen before.) I also really liked the tiny snippets of music from the opera Don Giovanni, which gave me the shivers. I feel like this could’ve been used to greater effect actually; if the ~moment of revelation~ and the ending of the play were stronger, bringing in those strains of Mozart could’ve had a greater impact, really set a nice tone of doom about the place. But perhaps there were practical limitations on how much they could use of that music anyway; this play is, after all, not the opera Don Giovanni.

Before seeing the show, I was also dubious about what I’d heard re: the staging. It’s quite a sparse set, which I think is fine actually, and there’s an absolutely ridiculous moment where david tennant flies into the air on a rickshaw (yes, really) which clearly made him very happy so i can take that all in good fun lol. Therefore, the only gripe I have about the staging has to do with the whole statue-coming-alive thing (yeah...really.) More on that later, though.

The third thing I didn’t think I was gonna like but did, was the hospital scene. DJ receives a blowjob from Lottie (played by Dominique Moore, who is very funny in the scene preceding this where she actually gets to speak) whilst chatting up the bride (or, ‘the fox’ as DJ charmingly calls her...) whose wedding reception he has just ruined in his pursuit of her. The logistics of it are frankly ridiculous - nobody could get away with that in a hospital waiting room lmao, blanket covering the action or not. There’s a large bag sitting on the seat between him and the bride, hiding Lottie’s ministrations from her, but the rest of the people in the room can see what’s going on. So it’s bonkers. But it’s also hilarious. I’m incredibly impressed that david tennant managed to offer up such a variety of expressions over the course of several minutes, whilst also having a conversation with the bride. Several times you think, ok, he must be nearly done, this is the orgasm face...but nope, he keeps right on going, and he doesn’t even blush. Stellar receiving-blowjob acting right there. This is the funniest part of the play, imo.

As always, dt’s comic timing is great. But I think he mines more laughs through his delivery and physical comedy than the writing actually offers him. He deserves much better material. This play is a comedy but I get the impression it thinks it’s funnier than it is, or at least it thinks it’s more quick-witted and worldly than it is. Admittedly this comes down to personal taste as much as anything.  I did laugh aloud in places, but there were several times I heard someone a few rows back really, properly laughing at something I considered pretty tepid on the humour front tbh.

As I mentioned in my summary earlier, the staggering amount of alliteration in this play nearly made me lose my mind. Once you notice something like that - something repetitious in someone’s writing - it is so hard to tune it out. I know this sounds like a very nit-picky, minor thing, but it was honestly so irritating!! The line that’s been thrown about a lot in the promo stuff/reviews, ‘Satan in a suit from Savile Row,’ is truly just the start; that line is said by Stan, but DJ gets most of the excruciating stuff, including a dozen or so lines informing us that DJ cannot possibly be racist because he’d do it with, among other alliterative ladies, ‘a babe in a Burka.’

Talking of racism. There’s a terrible line about how DJ wants to fly to Alaska to have sex with a ‘furry little eskimo,’ which I didn’t find particularly pleasant or funny. 

The supporting cast is very non-white for a West End show, so kudos to the casting director for that, but it is unfortunate that DJ’s brother-in-law, who I have seen described in a review as a ‘black thug’ (!!!) is the maker of DJ’s demise.

There’s also a really tasteless scene where DJ is interacting with a homeless Muslim man. This is the scene I was referring to when I said something turned my stomach. He dangles his £6k watch in front of his face and tells him he can have it if he blasphemes Allah. I’m aware this is a direct parallel to a scene in Moliere’s Don Juan (wherein he offers a coin to a beggar on the proviso the beggar concedes to blaspheme; interestingly this scene was removed from performances at the time.) But the execution of this scene is just so tasteless and unpleasant. Oh, and also dt imitates the Muslim man’s accent at one point. Grim. 

Though DJ, in his monologue near the end of the play, riles against hypocrisy, he is so self-righteous in this scene that it’s almost unbearable; he goes on and on about how Allah hasn’t done anything for this homeless man, so why can’t he insult him (at first he wants him to call Allah a cunt, then he de-escalates to ‘twerp,’ neither of which the man does. Thankfully DJ throws him the watch anyway, ‘because of his integrity.’ But that this rich, vile, atheist man could shout in this other guy’s face about his religion...it’s horrible. Stan agrees, so at least our ~moral compass within the play (dubious) is on the audience’s side. But still, it’s very uncomfortable to watch. 

For me, this was the only shocking moment in the play. Though this play is billed as being filthy and shocking, there is nothing inherently shocking or controversial about a fictional portrayal of a womanising, amoral, cynical, privileged white male with an excessive sexual appetite, penchant for prostitutes, and evidently an addiction to drugs and/or drink. Those characters are, let’s face it, ten a penny in literature, on stage, and on screen. DJ’s liberal use of the word ‘cunt’ might shock some in the audience, granted, but I think this play thinks it’s more shocking that it is. The language in the play is clearly something dt relishes getting to perform, and I am not offended by swearing at all, and honestly quite like hearing him going for it (apart from that one time he calls a prostitute ‘fuckface,’ not that she seems to mind.) But it’s sort of a bit laughable, that lines like ‘I’m just a cunt with an eye for one,’ are trying so hard to provoke laughter and/or shock, when...it’s just not even that great a line? A lot of the ‘funny’ lines are phrased pretty awkwardly tbh.

Other absurd moments:

DJ declaring himself a radical feminist. (this is funny because aside from Marber’s use of that word in this one instance, the rest of the play seems to take place in a contemporary world where feminism never happened.)

The statue coming alive. I hated this lmao. I mean. It’s all hallucinatory/figurative I guess (i hope??) because it’s his own voice bellowing from the statue that DJ hears, foretelling his impending doom and indicating how much he despises/fears himself, but the surrealness of the statue moving about and pedalling him into the air on a rickshaw, it’s just...it’s embarrassing

‘I’m not a rapist, I don’t grab pussy!’ getting a huge laugh. a) the bar is truly low when you have to say at least the dude is not a rapist, b) i hate donald trump as much as anyone but this is one of those poorly-phrased lines i mentioned that aren’t actually very funny. It felt a bit shoehorned in tbh.

Elvira, DJ’s wife, is an oddly-conceived character. I understand that reflecting the convent-girl origins of this character in the modern day was gonna be tricky, but the modern-day equivalent Marber comes up with is not particularly believable. Rather than a nun he’s lured away from the convent to marry/take the virginity of, as in Moliere’s play, in this play Elvira is a charity worker who, after a two-year pursuit, DJ has finally persuaded to marry him. The reasons he wanted to marry her are the same as in the original: she’s a virgin, and won’t sleep with him before marriage. Once they’ve had their honeymoon, he’s off to bed Croatian supermodels, done with her now that he’s finally had sex with her. 

The suspension of disbelief comes in twofold: firstly, we have to accept that Stan and Elvira’s brother throwing around the words ‘she was an innocent’ and ‘she was pure’ (and the implication that she has now been corrupted) are likely phrases to be said these days. I mean, come off it. Secondly, Elvira’s speech - about DJ being terrible but at least he opened her up to physical pleasure! At least he showed her how magnificent all these filthy fantasies she didn’t know she had could be! She won’t be with him now she knows what he’s really like but she still loves him and always will! - all of that nonsense, it just didn’t ring true. Especially as we come into their relationship just as they are back from their honeymoon and he’s sleeping with someone else, so we don’t even get to see evidence of how he charmed her in the first place (she references that he was sweet and kind and acted so in love, but we never see these traits in DJ at all.) The actress playing Elvira, Danielle Vitalis, didn’t give a particularly strong performance imo, but I honestly don’t know how much of that was really her fault, given the ridiculous lines she had to say.

The final thing that rubbed me up the wrong way was the monologue near the end. The disdain for millennials from middle-aged male writers made a jump from online articles to stage with this one, or, if not targetted at that generation specifically this time, then at least at this digital day and age we currently live in. It elicited rapturous applause from the audience, and yeah, the ‘welcome to my vlog; today i bought a plum’ line was amusingly delivered, but I have no time for a character who is morally bankrupt claiming the moral high ground simply because he finds selfie/social media culture undignified and lacking in class. I might agree with him on his comments on the value of privacy, but this dude is shamelessly shagging his way through Soho (christ, I’ve caught Marber’s alliteration bug) and so I think his sermon on hypocrisy is a little tone deaf.

Are we expected to equate the unapologetic, relentless pursuit of ‘skirt, or occasionally, trouser’ with a life lived to the full, a life celebrating ‘free will and answering to nobody?’ It’d be one thing if DJ genuinely loved women, as in loved in the way dt’s Casanova loved women; a seducer and a bit of a cad, sure, but one who at least respected and admired rather than objectified women. But DJ generally seems to have contempt for them bubbling under the surface, and in any case, the only reason he is able to pursue this kind of life - one sexual dalliance to the next, a snort of cocaine here, a cigarette and a scotch there - is because his father is rich and can fund such an elite lifestyle. There’s also your typical middle-aged male writer cynicism about love dressed up as a philosophical, salient point about the unnaturalness of monogamy as opposed to the natural state of man being to ‘hunt his prey.’ Marber, mate - you ain’t saying anything new, here. Writers just like you wheel out this faux-philosophy about the human condition more times than I can count, and all it ever really tells me is that you wish you had the guilt-free option to have an affair yourself.

I say all this because it’s quite hard for me to decipher what Marber really wants us to take from this play. DJ is warned of his reckoning, promptly feigns contrition to ensure his father doesn’t cut him off, but feels no actual guilt or compulsion to change his ways. He then eventually gets his comeuppance, and Stan regularly tells us how despicable he is, but I still get the impression that, in spite of Stan’s warning, ‘please don’t be charmed, he’s not a loveable rogue,’ that’s exactly what’s expected of us. Indeed, Stan says at one point ‘just as we were starting to warm up to him!’ (I think after the homeless man scene.) But I…..was never charmed. Not even for a second. I don’t think anyone could be? Honestly? Because he clearly is despicable, he has no compassion, is selfish to the extreme, has received all the luxury and privilege being the heir to an earldom affords him, with none of the responsibility, has never worked a day in his life, and has only limited affection for even the one person closest to him (Stan, an employee he never pays and treats abominably.) As dt has postulated in interviews, DJ is a sociopath. And yet we are subjected to a lecture from him on the indignity of a world of selfies and vlogs and hypocrisy, as though those things, vainglorious though they can sometimes be, are more sinister and morally corrupt than his objectification and dismissal of every woman he comes across. It’s a bit hard to swallow, frankly.

DJ has great hair, tailored suits, tiny red pants, and the innumerable benefits afforded to him by virtue of being played by david tennant. But he’s never particularly charming. We never see anything of the kindness and gentleness that so charmed Elvira into marrying him. We never really see him seduce anyone, aside from Lottie (this seduction is essentially him groping her boobs in the guise of being a ‘specialist doctor,’ complimenting her assets and telling her she shouldn’t change herself in any way [she’d mentioned she wanted a boob job]) and the only other time we see him in a sexual situation is with four prostitutes, and he has evidently paid for their company. But we hear he has had sex with three different women a day for the last 25 years, and that he is ‘extremely fuckable.’ I mean, yes, to look at him, clearly sexy af. Yet I feel there was a twinkle in the eye missing for anyone to actually be compelled to go for it with him; for comparison, rather than returning to dt’s Casanova again, I’m now thinking about Tom Ellis in Lucifer, who does play a loveable rogue, and the contrast is pretty clear.

And I bring this up because I’m left here thinking: if there’s nothing really interesting about DJ, if he really is just one-dimensional, and selfish, a destructive man with delusions of self-importance, who’d ‘fuck a hole in the ozone layer’ if he could, then....why? Why are we interested in this man? Would we sit there and watch two hours of a female character doing the same thing? Would anyone even bother writing that, let alone consider producing it? I don’t think they would.

It’s an entertaining play because dt and adrian breathe humour into a script that is, occasionally, lifeless. They can’t save every line, but their chemistry is great and their relish for these parts is evident. The play isn’t as shocking or as funny or even as filthy as you’d expect, and I don’t think it taps into the moral quagmire it thinks it does; honestly, it’s pretty standard stuff. I still don’t know quite what Marber’s going for. Of course, there doesn’t necessarily need to be a ‘message’ or a twist or a social commentary to be figured out within a production. But I think if you’re adapting something that plays with the idea of a libertine repenting through fear of death/hell, and if you feel that won’t resonate in a contemporary setting, then the stakes ought to be raised in another way. The spectre of impending doom looming over him is pretty lacklustre, and, given that DJ would rather die as he lived than profess a simple apology to save himself, the ending isn’t very evocative at all - it’s actually a bit dull.

Best bits:

DJ & Stan’s duet

dt’s hair

stan’s endless exasperation at DJ’s antics

the hospital scene

the tight blue suit

dt looking so happy flying overhead in a rickshaw (despite the ridiculous statue driving it)

stan’s last few lines

i cannot stress this enough: dt looked super hot

Worst bits:

the homeless man scene

the patronising tirade against this vain new world

the elvira plot

the statue coming alive and foretelling his doom a la marley’s ghost in a christmas carol

the lacklustre ending

3/5 stars, could’ve been a lot better. with a different writer. and plot. 😂

[vivaciouswordsmith]

Chapter 8!

Chapter 8 of Four-Legged Fiend is up! As always, you can read it here, or beneath the cut. Enjoy!

Chapter 8: Fake AH Crew Rises

Bit by bit, the newly dubbed Fake AH Crew climbed the criminal ladder. 

A trickle of lowlifes and down on their luck youths came to them over time, and they painstakingly took little bits and pieces of other gangs’ territories. They still had to be careful, and worked more often in the shadows and the sidelines than not. If not for Geoff’s almost constant reassurances and dreams of standing atop Los Santos as rulers of the entire city, they’d have burned out and given up long ago.

Still, the first year was rough. There were several run-ins with the police, quite a few of which ended with someone spending the night in lock-up. Three attempts to capture some new turf resulted in firefights that the crew was forced to retreat from, tails between their legs. Exasperated by the crawling pace of their city takeover, Geoff started looking for more outside help. Anybody or anything that could give them a better, sharper edge over their competition was eagerly sought out for recruitment. No price was too much for Geoff, but even so, there were many candidates who either didn’t meet the mark, or simply checked the Fakes out and deemed them to be not worth it.

Some months later, Geoff finally got the bite he was looking for. A sniper up in Liberty City named Ray got in contact with him, expressing a desire for a change of scenery, and perhaps an apartment bigger than a bedroom that didn’t cost several thousand dollars a month. Geoff offered him a place to stay and a steady paycheck, and that was that. He was in Los Santos within the week.

With five men and one wolfdog in their crew, their ascent through the ranks turned into something that could only be called meteoric. They grew bold enough to pull off bigger and riskier jobs, and each take grew larger and larger. Soon enough they left the Los Santos slums behind and eyeballed the chrome and black apartments, and especially the penthouses. Sadly they weren’t quite up to penthouse levels of money, but Geoff remained optimistic.

With more and more money rolling in, their tastes became more and more refined. Stuttery, ancient cars were traded in for sleek super machines with purring engines and leather seats. Weapons were clad in every color of the rainbow, and ranged from practical to completely outrageous. Nobody in their right minds knew when the occasion for an accurate reconstruction of an 18th century bayonet might arise, but that didn’t stop the entire crew getting one apiece. Expensive and rare liquors soon sucked away a large chunk of Geoff’s money, not that he particularly cared. They were finally rising above the usual Los Santos grime, and that was more than enough reward. His heart swelled every time he saw their name headlining every paper in the city.

In a year and a half, they left their fancy apartment behind and finally made it to the penthouse of their dreams. It sat right in the heart of their city and spanned nearly ten thousand glorious square feet of building. It had three floors, ten bedrooms, God only knew how many other nooks and crannies, and, most importantly, a full bar. In the true fashion of the newly rich, they gave Ryan his own room, complete with a doggy door and closet full of toys.

They didn’t let the luxury get to their heads. While they were off the streets, they knew the carpet could be ripped out from under their feet at any moment. The LSPD was less dangerous to them now, yes, but they were still somewhat of a threat, not to mention the fact that they were now drawing the attention of the FIB and the nearby military base. There were also the numerous gangs who badly wanted their heads, and not in a sexy way. They were still criminals, and they still had their jobs to do. The difference now was that they were the ones near the top fending off desperate bottom feeders.

Still, the Fake AH Crew had plenty of opportunity for leisure, and they were content with their new place in the underworld. The good times stretched into the horizon, and they thought the party would never end.

It came as a bit of a shock, then, when Ray told them he was leaving the crew. Complacency was not for him, so he packed up and moved on to a new life. He promised to stay in contact, and the crew offered support if he ever needed it, and that was it. Only a week after the announcement, his things had been cleared out of the penthouse, and he was gone.

This left the crew in a bit of a pickle. Five main members could tackle almost any heist, and the varying skill sets left everyone feeling confident and sure in their positions. Four felt a little too vulnerable, plus their long-range awareness had dropped quite a bit. Several heist ideas were put back on the drawing board for the time being, and other jobs were called off, to the disappointment of the other various members of the crew.

In the meantime, Geoff started putting out feelers for a new number six. He hoped he’d be able to find one within his own crew, but in case nobody made the cut, he made sure to keep his options open. Six months later, he’d made no progress on that front, and the crew settled back into their four-man band.

They’d be okay. They’d survived much worse before.

Jeremy was excited. For the first time since he’d signed up with the Fakes, he’d been summoned to their main HQ. A year of grunt work and near misses had led to what he was sure was moving up the ladder. His sometimes friend Matt was a lot more skeptical, as he’d never heard of promotions being given out from the penthouse, but Jeremy remained optimistic.

“I’m telling you, this is it,” he said. “We’re gonna make it so big, Matt!”

“I don’t know.” Matt fiddled with the wire of his headphones and huddled against the gold-tinted wall of the elevator. “Nobody’s ever been summoned to the penthouse before. It doesn’t fucking happen.”

“Then this has to be a special case, right? Right?”

Matt just shrugged.

“God, I hate you sometimes.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors rolled open at that moment. A lone door stood at the end of a short hallway. Jeremy rocked on his heels and grinned. “This is it!” He walked to the gleaming mahogany door, and ignored Matt humming the funeral march along the way. He knocked on the door, and it swung open without further ado.

They were almost immediately confronted by the gigantic expanse of the main crew’s penthouse. A vast white couch sat in front of one of the biggest flat screen TVs Jeremy had ever seen. Both sides of the couch had tiny chrome mini-fridges next to them. Directly in front of them sat a set of stairs leading into another room, but they couldn’t make out any details. A kitchen stocked with silver appliances lay behind an island and a bar stocked with an insane amount of liquor bottles. Several abstract paintings Jeremy was sure had just been on display at the museum two months ago rested on the walls.

“Where the fuck is everyone? And why the fuck did the door just open?”

“I, uh, I don’t…really know.” He wandered over to the couch and glanced down at the papers scattered on the table. He squinted, but he couldn’t make out what the designs were supposed to be. “Boss said to be here at two.”

“And what time is it?”

Jeremy pulled his glove down and checked his watch. “Two o’ five.”

“Well…shit.”

They stood awkwardly in the room for a few minutes. Matt moved his headphones onto his ears, and music soon blasted from the cheap red headset. Jeremy took out his phone and fiddled with it. He read the message again, and confirmed that they were supposed to be at the penthouse at two. So where the fuck was everybody? Had they been duped?

‘Probably shoulda figured that out before coming here,’ he thought.

A jingling around the corner made Jeremy nearly jump out of his skin. He put his phone away, and elbowed Matt in the gut. He huffed in annoyance, but the music died immediately afterward. They straightened and made an effort to look at least somewhat professional.

The jingling moved around the corner, and Jeremy felt a thrill run down his back. He’d only seen the Fake AH Crew’s pet wolfdog once, and that was from pretty far away during a B-Team debriefing. Seeing him from about five feet away was a different experience altogether. His long black claws clicked on the varnished wood floor, and his maw clamped around a large bone. The markings around his eyes and muzzle really did look so much like a skull, to the point where it was chilling.

The wolf froze the moment he saw Matt and Jeremy standing in the living room. His bone thudded to the ground while his fur stood on end. Black lips pulled back to show off long white teeth. He moved forward with the careful steps of a predator ready to kill, still growling. His blue eyes burned with an animal ferocity.

Matt’s hand flashed to his waist. “We are going to fucking die here. Oh my God.”

“Don’t…do…anything,” said Jeremy. “You’ll just make him mad if you pull your gun.”

“Make him – it’s a fucking wolf!” Matt pointed at him and gestured wildly. “It’s already mad!”

“I hear he’s really smart, though. Maybe I can calm him down!”

“You want to try that, Dr. Doolittle? Be my fucking guest. I am not going to be eaten by a wolf.” Matt backed toward the door, hands slowly rising like the wolf held him at gunpoint. Another growl made him freeze in place.

“Hey, uh, it’s okay, boy.” Jeremy crept forward and held out his hand. “We’re part of the crew. We’re not here to, uh, to take anything, or hurt anybody, okay? We just want to talk to Geoff.”

“If you die, I’m going to put ‘Killed while trying to talk his way out of being eaten by wolf,’” said Matt.

“Shut up!”

Meanwhile, the wolf edged closer. Its jaws parted, and a few strands of saliva dripped onto the floor. Jeremy pulled his right glove off and offered his naked palm to the wolf. Either it would smell his hand, or it would bite him. He sure as fuck hoped it wouldn’t bite him. The smelling thing worked with cats, surely it would work with dogs too, right?

The wolf drew even closer, and Jeremy swallowed. The wolf’s shoulders reached his midriff, and his open jaws looked wide enough to take off his hand in a single bite. Dread edged into his stomach and threatened to weigh it down. He fought against the feeling.

For a few torturous seconds, the wolf’s nose skimmed over his palm. Hot breaths ghosted over the skin, and the horrible weight in his stomach grew heavier. Despite his earlier bravado, he was about ninety percent sure the wolf was about to make him a one-armed bandit at this point.

The beast huffed loudly and moved to inspect his chest and stomach. Jeremy slowly held up his hands and looked over at Matt.

“What? The fuck do you think I could do?”

“Good point.” He looked back down at the wolf, and met his bright blue eyes. “Gotta admit, I’m this close to pissing myself. Holy fuck.”

The wolfdog’s nose returned to his hand. He tensed and waited for fangs to rip into his flesh. However, it didn’t seem that was the case. The wolf grunted and got the bridge of his muzzle into Jeremy’s palm. He shifted the hand up and flipped it onto his head. He blinked. The wolf looked up at him and flicked his good ear. He moved his fingers behind the ear and scratched the thick hairs there. The wolf grinned up at him.

“Holy shit, you’re not dead.” Matt walked back over to them.

“I guess I smell friendly or something.” He moved his other hand behind the wolf’s ear stump and scratched there, too. The wolf’s eyes fluttered shut, and his white foot lifted off the ground and kicked once or twice.

A door opened behind them, and they jumped again. Upon turning around they saw Geoffrey Ramsey himself descending one of the staircases. He grinned when he saw the two of them standing in the living room.

“Oh! There you are. I was…wondering…when…” He trailed off when he saw the wolfdog begging Jeremy for pets. “You’re petting Ryan?”

“Uh…Yes?”

“Ryan never lets anyone he doesn’t know pet him.” Ryan’s ears twitched when Geoff said his name. He pulled away from Jeremy’s hands and wandered over to the Fakes’ boss. He gave the wolfdog a few pats on the head, and the pacified pup trotted down the hallway. “Seriously, never.”

“He’s not that friendly?”

“Not if he doesn’t know them.” Geoff flopped down on the couch and propped his heels up on the coffee table. “Anyway, back to business. You know why you guys are here?”

Matt and Jeremy looked at each other and said, “No,” in unison.

Geoff let out a breath. “Fuck. Well, as you know, we have an open slot on the main crew.” They nodded. “I’ve been looking for a replacement for a while, and ideally, I’d like to pull someone from the crew.”

A thrill zinged down Jeremy’s spine. “So…?”

“So, I’m going to be keeping a close eye on the B-teams for a while.” Geoff raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Maybe if one of you assholes does really well, I’ll try you out with the main crew. And if you continue to impress…” He gestured around the penthouse with one hand. “All this could be yours.”

God, that was more than Jeremy could have ever dreamed of. Barely a year ago, he’d still been on the streets, watching the Fakes from afar with nothing short of admiration, wondering if he’d ever even break through the bottom ranks. Now he stood in front of the boss of the entire crew and was offered the opportunity of a lifetime. Sure, it wasn’t given to him directly, but he still had a chance. And he was the one learning it straight from the source. That had to count for something, right?

Matt, ever the realist, decided this was the time to pop Jeremy’s little dream bubble. “And you decide we’re all fucking morons and not worth dealing with?”

“Then it’s straight to plan B. Hire someone outside the crew. Fuck, I haven’t researched this much in goddamn years. I’d rather not have to start up all that shit again.” He gave the two of them a serious look and straightened his bow tie. “You fuckers better impress me.”

“We’ll do our best,” said Jeremy. Privately he hoped he didn’t sound too eager. He’d get nowhere if they thought he was an asskisser.

“Good. Now get out of my house.” Geoff turned away from them and flipped on the TV.

“Uh…okay. Thanks for having us?”

A squeak from behind them made Matt and Jeremy jump about a foot into the air. They turned and saw Ryan standing behind them. A bedraggled, raggy brown cow toy hung from his mouth. It was missing one beady black eye and a good deal of off-white fluff escaped its body from a hole in its side. He stepped forward and dropped the toy on the toe of Jeremy’s boot.

“Uh…thanks?” He pinched a flimsy hoof between his thumb and forefinger and lifted the cow into the air.

“He wants you to throw it,” Geoff said. “He’ll annoy you until you do it.”

“Oh, uh, okay then.”

Jeremy cocked his hand over his shoulder, and the pup put his rump in the air and wagged his tail. He pretended to lob the toy down the staircase and quickly hid his hand behind his back. To his surprise, the wolfdog stood upright and growled. He lifted a paw and scratched at Jeremy’s jacket.

“Yeah, he doesn’t fall for that one anymore.”

“Really? He must be really smart, then,” said Matt. He reached down to pat the wolf’s head, but withdrew when he gave the shabby criminal a withering glare.

“He is and he isn’t,” said Geoff.

Jeremy finally relented and tossed the toy down the stairs. Ryan’s ears stood on end and he careened down the stairs to get it. His black-and-white tail waved once, and he was gone.

“Okay, so let’s get this straight before we go.” Matt toyed with the wire of his headphones and glared at his boss. “You only called us here, to the penthouse, where only the main crew works, the most prestigious place the Fakes own, where the rest of us fucks haven’t even stepped foot, because you wanted us to tell the guys you’re recruiting and you’ll be watching us extra close.”

Geoff turned around and gave them a look. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Geoff, you have a fucking phone! Why didn’t you just call us?!”

Geoff snickered and turned back to his show.

“Did he just call us down here just to make us come down here?” Matt asked Jeremy.

“Probably.” Jeremy shrugged and turned back to the door.

“Of course he did. Fuck me, how much time have we wasted?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to answer, but a litany of squeaks drowned him out. Ryan ran back up the stairs and dropped the cow toy at his feet. He squatted down again and wagged his tail. His tongue flopped out of his mouth and dribbled on the floor in between his paws.

“Sorry, Ryan. We gotta go.” Jeremy and Matt moved toward the door. Ryan picked up the toy and squeaked it again. “We’re leaving.”

“C’mere, Ryan. The boys’ll be home soon, and then we’ll take a W – A – L – K.” Geoff’s offer went unheard. Ryan bumped Jeremy’s hand with his nose and whined. “Jesus, Ryan, come here already!”

The wolf stood on his hind paws and put his front paws on Jeremy’s shoulders. Jeremy couldn’t help but swallow nervously. The beast was fucking humongous, definitely much taller than he was. And he was heavy, too. Jeremy staggered under his weight, but managed to keep himself from falling by grabbing Matt’s jacket. He got a face full of snuffling, whining skull-marked muzzle leaving a cold nose print on his right cheek.

“Ryan! Down!” He whined again and leaned more of his weight into Jeremy. “Ryan, get down right now, or you can kiss your treats goodbye!” The wolf’s good ear flattened against his head, and he dropped back down onto the floor. His tail hung between his legs, and his eyes were downcast.

He looked so sad and forlorn, Jeremy just had to do something. He knelt and scratched the wolfdog behind his half-ear. “We’ll be back, okay, buddy? We’ll see you again.” He rubbed the markings between his eyes and smiled. Then he grabbed the toy and tossed it into the kitchen. The pup turned on his heels and trotted off into the kitchen. They took the opportunity and left.

“‘We’ll be back,’ huh?” Matt asked. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Jeremy. “Do you seriously think you’re going to be picked for the new number six?”

Jeremy shoved his shoulder and scowled. “I don’t think anything. I’m just going to do my best and hope.” He reached out and pressed the button to call the elevator. “Fuck me, I hope this doesn’t cause too much chaos.”

“It’s the fucking Fake AH Crew, of course there’s going to be chaos.”

A loud howl sounded from behind them, followed by a burst of swearing. Matt let out a chuff of laughter. “Jesus, he must really like you.”

“That has to be good, right? Geoff said he doesn’t like anyone outside the main crew.”

“Oooh, it could be a sign.” Matt shook his head and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Jeremy kept quiet. His mind went to the job he and the other members of B-team would be taking that Saturday. In all likelihood, it would be fairly routine, but even so, the fact that the main five would be watching made his stomach roll. The pressure would be on to really nail each and every little detail.

Still, he’d rise to the occasion.

He’d do anything if it meant he could stand beside his heroes.

(Also, as a side note, my new laptop skin comes courtesy of @asking-ask. It’s adorable.)