#one of those days where i wake up and immediately open twitter to some bullshit

[dreadofthegrave]

ye ever wanty just wrap yersel up in tin foil nice and cosy and then just fucking get right inty the microwave and blow yersel up tae fuck

[duhragonball]

On Twitter, there’s a new movement that started up on... Thursday, I guess, with the hashtag #SpeakingOut, where women were encouraged to call out instances of sexual abuse.     I’m not sure if it started with the pro wrestling community or not, because earlier in the week I saw some stuff about comic book pros like Warren Ellis and Cameron Stewart, but maybe that was a precursor.   All I know is that right now, I’ve been seeing all sorts of names being dropped in the pro wrestling business, each of them accused of being sexual predators, or covering up for the crimes of others.    Some of the names I don’t recognize, because they’re independent wrestlers from promotions I’m not familiar with, but I’ve seen some names I do know, and that’s pretty tough to take.   I’m going to discuss this here. 

Predictably, I’ve seen some backlash to #SpeakingOut, which reminds me of the same bullshit talking points used by the #IStandWithVic crowd last year.   In case you didn’t know, Vic Mignogna was a voice actor who worked for Funimation and provided the dub performances for Broly in DBZ, and Eward Elric in Fullmetal Alchemist.   I think those were his two most famous roles.   Over the decades, Vic garnered a reputation for being a sex pest, kissing and inappropriately touching women and teenage girls at conventions, and harassing his colleagues.  I assume the release of the “Dragon Ball Super: Broly” movie in the U.S. in 2019 precipitated a newfound interest in those allegations, and fans started objecting to his bookings at 2019 conventions.    By mid-year, Vic was fired from Funimation and RoosterTeeth, and he responded to this by starting an ill-advised defamation lawsuit.   

Vic’s defenders are, to put it mildly, idiots.    There were professional lawyers on Twitter who explained, very clearly, why this lawsuit was a bad idea.   The main reason being that it was done in Texas, which has a lot of laws designed to make it harder to sue people for defamation.    I think Vic’s goal was to find some way to punish his accusers for making him look bad and getting him fired.   Winning the lawsuit, was a way for him and his supporters to feel like they “cleared his name”, except that was never how it worked.   If he had been arrested and tried for sex pest crimes, the burden of proof would be on his accusers to show that he really did bad things.   But he was suing people for slander, so that means the burden of proof was on him to show that they really were saying things that were demonstrably false and damaging to his reputation.    The main problem with that is everyone had been talking about his sex pestery for years, so it doesn’t make sense to single a few people out in 2019 and blame them for reinforcing something everyone already believed.  But the ISWV crowd kept insisting that this distinction didn’t matter, and that it was wrong to ostracize or turn against Vic without “proof”.   I see the same demands for “proof” being tossed around for all these wrestling personalities.  

I think there’s a couple of things going on with this.   One is simple denial.   If you’re a fan of someone and you find out they did something terrible, you really don’t want to believe it.   I was never that into a lot of these guys, but I know I felt pretty low when I first heard about Vic’s shenanigans, because I liked his work.    And I’m feeling that way about Warren Ellis now.   Not a huge fan, but I liked some of his stuff, and now I feel a little guilty by association for ever liking that stuff in the first place.   It would be nice, I suppose, to just pretend that I hadn’t heard those accusations, or that they weren’t real.    Then I could just go back to the way things were before, without all the uncomfortableness.   I just can’t do that, but it seems like a lot of people can and will.   It’s not about “proof”, it’s about putting up some sort of barrier that will excuse them from confronting an unpleasant truth. 

I think this is why you see people going out of their way to defend Christopher Columbus and Confederate monuments.    They want to believe that there was something noble about that stuff, because the alternative is to admit that a lot of the things they learned in school aren’t true, and a lot of the “heritage�� they cling to is built on white supremacy and slavery.    I don’t think anyone really cares about a Robert E. Lee statue, but I’ve seen people go out of their way to try to say Lee opposed slavery, like he’s one of the good Confederates, so he should get a pass.   Except he did own slaves, and even if he hadn’t, he still fought to defend a nation founded on slavery as a guiding principle.    Tearing down a statue of Lee is a tacit admission that Lee never deserved a statue in the first place, and everyone who admired him was wrong, and maybe the admiration was rooted in racism all along.   That’s a bitter pill for people to swallow, and a lot of them just refuse to swallow it.   So they deny and deflect, and do anything they can to make this about something else.   

The other side of it is just plain hatred.   I don’t know if Vic’s defenders were all misogynists to begin with, but it seems like they all got there, one way or another.   The train of thought always seemed to be “He didn’t do these things, but even if he did there’s nothing wrong with it.”   From what I saw, it really seemed like Vic’s backers were all fired up about defending a man’s right to creep on women in any way he sees fit.   “What, so kissing is illegal now?” No, jackass, but when you’re fifty-fucking-five and you kiss a seventeen-year-old girl who only wanted to take a picture with you, it’s pretty damn messed up.    When you use your celebrity status to try to mack on young fans, that’s messed up.   When you’re an established wrestler and you try to take advantage of up-and-coming wrestlers, that’s messed up.    And some of that behavior is totally illegal, but the sad reality is that most of these creeps will never get prosecuted for any of it.   That’s why the calls for “proof” are so hollow, because everyone knows it’ll never end up in a courtroom.  At best, some of these guys will get fired, and guess what?  “Innocent until proven guilty” doesn’t apply to employers.   I lost a job once because my “teamwork” wasn’t good enough, and that was the closest thing to an explanation I got.    Don’t bullshit me about “proof”.

I guess I should tie this train of thought in with Black Lives Matter while I’m at it.    I find it absurd that the police in this country are so out of touch that when there’s a nationwide protest against police brutality, their immediate response is... more brutality.   This, more than anything I’ve seen, is the reason to defund the police.    They appear to only have the one mode of conduct, and they don’t even know how to do things a different way.    If the situation is this bad, we may as well scrap the police as they are and start over.   If the cops wanted to fix this situation, all they have to do is treat people with respect and hold themselves accountable, but they can’t let go of their hatred for five fucking minutes and figure that out.   This is why you hear about those guys who make up stories about restaurants spitting in their food.   They’re paranoid that everyone’s out to get them because they know they deserve to face some consequences, so they’re constantly on guard for this sort of thing.  It’s sick. 

Somehow, people who support these guys end up supporting the very behavior they were supposed to be denying.    Maybe this is why Columbus is such a sticking point.   I never gave a shit about Columbus.   One of my high school yearbooks had a Columbus theme because it just happened to come out on the 500th anniversary of his first voyage to North America, but I never understood what that had to do with my high school.   I think there’s people that want to give him tons of credit, basically thank him for everything that’s happened in the Western Hemisphere since 1500, not in spite of his atrocities, but to retroactively justify them.   What I mean is, if you can convince society that Columbus was a great man, and that his achievements outweigh his wrongdoing, then you can also convince society that the wrongdoings aren’t actually that bad.    “The price of progress,” they can say.    It’s like the idea that Robert E. Lee is admired solely for his “brilliant” military mind.   His side lost the fucking war, so I never understood how he gets all this credit for being a great general.    The point is that if you can convince people that he was a noble man in spite of the slavery thing, then you can open the door to the idea that the Confederacy as a whole wasn’t That Bad, and that only opens the door to the idea that slavery wasn’t That Bad, and so on.  

Same deal with Roman Polansky and Woody Allen.    It amazes me that people will still try to defend those fucks, but it probably has a lot to do with all the other sex pests in Hollywood, who hope that everyone will stick up for them when they get exposed.   So you have this little chesnut about how “Yeah, they did bad things, but they sure made some good movies.”     The implication is that you have to accept a few sex crimes if you want good art.    And no, that’s not true, and even if it were true, it wouldn’t be worth it.   

I don’t know where things will end up with J.K. Rowling.   I’d like to think that one of these days, she’ll wake up and apologize for all this TERF rhetoric she’s been spouting.    That would probably be the best-case scenario.   More likely, she’ll cause an entire generation of Harry Potter fans to wrestle with their loyalty to her books.   There’s no job to fire her from, no laws to punish her, no government agency to step in.    She’s got no financial stake in repairing this PR damage.   There’s going to be an audience of bigots that will still kiss up to her no matter what she says, so her ego will be well-insulated.    Maybe a hundred years from now, people will be talking about tossing her statue in a river, as society admits that we don’t need to accept transphobia in exchange for YA literature.   

I don’t know, I think I went all over the place with this one, but I had a lot to get off my chest.   I think the overall lesson from this year is that we can’t put these people on pedestals.   Some of them are just hell-bent on letting us down, and it’s just a matter of time before their misdeeds are brought to light.   I see these dopes with Thin Blue Line flags and “I stand with [X]” hashtags and I’m like “Who are you supporting here?    What is it you’re standing for, exactly?   Why should they be worthy of your loyalty?”    And I think the answer is less about loyalty to a person or group, and more about sticking it to someone else.   Women, minorities, whoever.   They just want to stand by someone to spite someone else.    And that’s awful.   

[shookethbrooketh]

seven days

day one

summary: dan is stuck in the wrong timeline. one day, he kisses phil goodnight. the next morning, he’s completely alone. he doesn’t even recognize where he wakes up, and little details in the world around him have changed. he has no clue what’s happening or where to go next in an effort to fix it; all he knows is that he has to find phil.

genre: sci-fi, a lil bit of angst, happy ending

warnings: none (for now)

fic word count: 2.0k (but there will be more!) chapter word count: 2.0k

written for the @phandomreversebang !  inspired by the awesome moodboard by @maybeformepersonally !  beta’d (beginning to end) by @i-might-just-leave-soon !

a/n: i’ll be updating this fic every wednesday for the next six wednesdays, and then it’ll be finished (y’know, seven chapters)! after that i will, for the most part, retire from fic writing. thank you to everyone who’s supported my writing over the years! 

read it on ao3

“I’m exhausted,” Dan said, stretching his lanky body as he clambered off the couch. He and Phil had just finished the Game of Thrones finale, and he was ready to fall over in bed. He put out a hand to pull Phil off the couch with him, and the two of them staggered sleepily into their bedroom, not even bothering to brush their teeth. They collapse into bed, and Dan barely gathers the effort to rotate towards Phil and plant a goodnight kiss on his forehead. That was their evening tradition: a kiss on the forehead before bed. 

“Goodnight, Dan,” Phil muttered, the edges of his mouth twitching up peacefully as he acknowledged Dan’s kiss. 

“Goodnight, Phil.” 

That was the last thing Dan remembered. Of course, Dan remembered everything about Phil, but that was the last of it. He fell asleep beside Phil, the love of his life, and he woke up somewhere he couldn’t identify. At first, he simply panicked, concerned that he had been YouTuber-napped. Then he looked around the room and found pictures of himself. There were pictures of him with his family, pictures with his dog, Colin, and pictures with people he’d never seen before. The immediate fear dissipated into pure confusion; he didn’t remember taking any of those photos. 

Dan peeled himself out of bed and picked up his phone. He tried to look at it, but it was blurry, even though it was right in front of his face. He blinked a few times, but he could tell this wasn’t the blur of sleep. Eventually, he noticed a pair of glasses sitting on the bedside table. He glanced around for a moment before cautiously picking up the glasses and putting them on. With them, he could see the phone perfectly. That was odd, he thought. He had never been farsighted before.

His phone looked strange as well. The screen was smaller, and his background was of a man he didn’t recognize. When he unlocked it, he found most of the same apps he had the night before, but when he went to Twitter, his verification was gone, and he found that he had only 934 followers. Dan was no longer a YouTuber. 

Immediately Dan began to question what exactly he was, but at that point he had no care for such a thing. He threw himself into motion, throwing on a shirt he didn’t own and shorts he wouldn’t usually choose to buy. As he whirled through “his” apartment, Dan only cared about one thing: finding Phil. 

He tore out of the building, not stopping to think. None of his movements made even a bit of sense; he jerked his head left and right, attempting desperately to figure out where he was and ignoring the map on his phone. His mind was so clouded by his confusion and fear that he had no logic left. 

Dan took off aimlessly running down the street, a feat that was already uncommon for him, searching for anything familiar amidst the chaos. After a few minutes, he slumped into a bench and put his head in his hands. 

“What in the absolute fuck is going on?” Dan whispered to himself. He threw his head back and ran his hands through his hair, which he suddenly realized was straight. That was impossible; he would never be able to wake up with straight hair. 

After getting struck across the face with even more confusion, Dan finally managed to attempt to think about his situation. He looked himself up and down; the clothes he had picked up were all pastel pink. “What the hell? Is this some Opposite Day bullshit?” Dan swore again, unsure if he had the restraint at that point to utter a sentence without cursing. 

A cab approached, and Dan decided to wave it over. He climbed in and told the driver to take him to his old address; maybe Phil would be there. 

On the ride over, he pulled the small phone out of his back pocket and reopened Twitter. The account he opened up to appeared to be an aesthetic account devoted to the color pink. It had his name on it, but it certainly wasn’t his. 

He switched to the search function and searched ‘phil lester.’ A full page of accounts popped up, but, on first glance, none of them appeared to be Phil. He looked through them each, to no avail. Social media didn’t appear to be helpful in this situation. 

Before long, they were at his flat; they were much closer than Dan had anticipated. He paid the driver with money he found in the case of the phone, clambered out of the cab, and made his way up the stairs and to his door. He was sweating a bit after the walking; finally, he felt at home. As he knocked on the door, anxiety welled up in his stomach. Suddenly the door opened, and he found himself face to face with a very tall, very slightly dressed woman. “What do you want?” she said, a harsh tone to her voice. She clearly had yet to have her morning cup of coffee; it reminded him a bit of Phil. 

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, but have you seen Phil Lester?”

“Nope,” she said, slamming the door in his face before he even had a chance to apologize again. 

“Well, that was fun,” he said into the void. He backtracked down the stairs and realized that he’d sent the cab away. He took a deep breath, far more annoyed than the word annoyed could convey, and waited for another. Luckily, it came quickly, but the ride to their first London flat, which was his last guess as to where he’d find Phil, was a bit longer, so he still had to wait. He decided to take advantage of the time and explore the phone that had basically been dropped into his lap. As any normal Internet dweller would, he first searched through the camera roll. The majority of the camera roll appeared to be pictures for the pink Twitter account, but he’d find the occasional meme or selfie of him in all pastel clothes. He didn’t particularly enjoy it, but he supposed he could see why the fanfic writers seemed to take such a liking to it. 

Suddenly, his mind shifted to the life he’d built with Phil as he realized everything was gone. Not only was his relationship with Phil gone, but the fanbase they’d built was gone too. He was certain all the people that made it up still existed, but it occurred to him for the first time that he no longer had any fans. There were no longer blogs, Instagram accounts, or group chats dedicated to him. It felt freeing, almost, but also deeply saddening. All the lives he’d impacted were suddenly the same as they’d have been had he chosen to never upload Hello Internet in the first place. His heart swelled with determination to find Phil and return to a universe where the two of them had built their own universe. Thinking back to all the people who had told him on tour that he and Phil had saved their lives, he knew he had no choice but to find Phil. 

The taxi pulled up to their first London flat, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile looking at the building. He and Phil had grown so much in that apartment, and he still felt a bit as if it was his home. This time, being more realistic, he told the driver to wait before he made his way over to the apartment complex. He climbed another set of stairs that he was all too familiar with, and his body almost seemed to transport back four years as he relived his memories of that flat. 

This time, he was a bit more optimistic as he knocked on the door. He took a deep breath and stood there for a moment, a combination of hope and fear filling his lungs as time passed. Finally, he realized nobody was going to answer the door, and put his head down as he made his way back down to the taxi. 

Dan sighed and pulled up Maps to direct the driver back to the apartment he’d woken up in. Luckily, whatever stranger he had taken over the life of bothered to put “Home” into the app, because Dan hadn’t a clue how to get back to the building he’d ran from. He sat hopelessly, thinking of nothing at all until he arrived back at the apartment. He paid yet another driver with money that wasn’t even his and climbed even more stairs, only managing to find “his” flat because he’d left the door open in his frenzy. 

He slammed the door closed and flopped onto the bed he’d rolled out of. He had only one more idea. He did a quick Google search and pulled up the only resource he had left: a London phone book. He found nearly as many ‘Phil Lester’s as he did on Twitter, but none of them had Phil’s phone number. Still, too suspicious to give up, he called each number. Some of them didn’t answer, but it was clear that none of the ones that did were Phil. Well, at least they weren’t his Phil. 

Tears pooled in his eyes as he jerked forward. “Fuck, DAMNIT!” he shouted, throwing a punch into the mattress and then curling the sheets into his hand. “I don’t know what to do,” he said to no one at all. 

The truth was that there was no one there to hear him, and it was the first time in Dan’s adult life that he’d been truly alone. Sure, Phil had left for a few days, but he always knew his life companion would return. Now, he had no clue if Phil even existed at all. He was completely alone, with no one to talk to and no one to direct him. He was like a lost child, but he was a fully functional adult in a timeline he didn’t recognize. 

Really, this was just the existential crisis to end all existential crises waiting to happen. As if life, death, and time weren’t already scary enough, now he’s being thrown around like a rag doll with no significance from one timeline into another? There was so much to contemplate that he couldn’t even begin. He rolled over onto his stomach and made himself comfortable; it was going to be a long day. 

Dan did, in fact, spend most of the day contemplating his existence, but he eventually laid eyes on a laptop that luckily had Netflix downloaded. It turned out that a new timeline had plenty of new shows. In this universe, Queer Eye contained five British lesbians. He couldn’t pass that up, could he? 

After his third episode and plenty of tears, something in the credits caught Dan’s eye. “Wait,” he breathed out, fumbling to hit the “J” key and go back. He watched again, this time much closer, and slammed the space button to pause the show. On the screen in blaring letters was a header reading “Production Manager” and underneath it: “Phil Lester”. 

Dan spasmed forward, nearly knocking the laptop off of the bed. “Holy shit!” he shouted. Sure, it was possible that he could simply be a different Phil Lester--it wasn’t like there weren’t way too many of them already--but Dan could feel it: this was his Phil. 

Dan’s mind began racing; how could he use this information? He panickedly typed “phil lester uqeer eye” into Google, not caring about his own typos, and began scrolling. He found multiple websites that credited Phil for his work on the show, but not a single website told him any of Phil’s contact information. As he searched, time ticked late into the night. Dan usually stayed up long past midnight, but after a few hours straight of existential crisis, he was exhausted. Scrolling through multiple pages of Google searches can be quite boring, so Dan nodded off shortly before the night officially ended. 

Sadly, however, there were a few things Dan didn’t know as he dozed off that evening. He didn’t know about the reminder on the phone he’d neglected all day making sure he, or the him that used to live in this timeline, didn’t forget about his first day on the production of Queer Eye. And he surely didn’t know that while he slept, as the clock struck midnight, the world began to change around him. It was like he slept in a protective bubble, holding him in place as the timeline disassembled and reassembled around his body. At 12:01, his entire universe had changed once again. Dan slept through that night in bliss ignorance until he was woken up and his world turned upside down once again. 

“Daniel!” 

[thelighthousemp3]

Hey girrrl! First of all, I wanted to thank u for posting your fics. I've been struggling with anxiety and reading dianetti fics helps a lot! Second, can you write a fic settled after episode 18 of the second season, where Gina and Rosa go together to the Beyonce concert they won tickets for, and there they start to realize their feelings towards each other?

hi!! thank you for this prompt!! read on ao3 or below

Gina snatches the Beyonce tickets and waves them ecstatically in front of Rosa’s face, exclaiming something about how they’re her god-given right to own. Rosa simply smiles; she’s happy that the tickets landed with Gina. Gina’s the most enthusiastic person about Beyonce that Rosa has ever known.

To be fair, Rosa doesn’t know many Beyonce enthusiasts. She does her best to not get out much. But judging from Gina’s twitter feed (yes, she’s seen Gina’s twitter), Gina’s the most enthusiastic about Beyonce.

So yeah, Rosa Diaz has some thoughts on Gina Linetti and some on Beyonce. Who’s to judge her?? Everyone has quite a few thoughts on Gina Linetti (and Beyonce). Yeah, so Rosa’ll (never) admit that she’s listened to a few Beyonce songs upon Gina’s recommendation, even though Rosa never takes recommendations from anyone. But that doesn’t say anything.

Oh, it totally does say something. It screams that “Rosa Diaz is super gay for Gina Linetti!!”

It’s not something Rosa’s proud of. She could have decided to subtly crush on anyone, but her damn heart chose Gina freaking Linetti. The human form of the 100 emoji. The most dangerous person (next to Rosa) in the precinct. And Rosa knows that if Gina likes her back, they’d have the ability to take over the world (all while holding hands).

“Hey. Hey. Hey,” Gina says, waving her drink in front of Rosa’s face. “Snap out of it, Diaz. What’re you thinking about that’s more important than me, anyways?”

Rosa blinks a few times before taking a gulp of beer. “Hmm?” she mumbles, redirecting her focus to Gina’s face.

“Hey, sorry that you didn’t win the tickets. You know, because your boyfriend likes Beyonce so much.” Gina pulls a face of (fake) sympathy towards Rosa, who shrugs.

“No problem. They’re your god-given right,” she says. Truth be told, Rosa’s boyfriend doesn’t exist. When Captain Holt had pitched the riddle, Rosa had thought of Gina immediately upon seeing the Beyonce tickets. And that was why she had wanted to win the tickets so badly. She had wanted to take Gina to the concert, not some fake made-up boyfriend.

(Rosa had a whole story planned out. She would have invited Gina to the concert and made up some lie about her boyfriend cancelling. Then they’d go to the concert, and at the end, Rosa would tell Gina that she had dumped her boyfriend over text.)

“Rosa! Rosa!” Gina snaps her fingers in front of Rosa’s face, interrupting the detective’s thoughts once again. “Seriously, girl! Is there something really more important on your mind than me?”

Rosa rolls her eyes; she’s not going to admit that she was just thinking about Gina. “I mean, if the tickets mean so much to you… nah, I don’t like your boyfriend,” Gina says, pursing her lips.

Rosa squints at Gina. “Really? You haven’t even met him!” she says. The boyfriend may be fake, but Rosa’s still offended. She whisks a shot of tequila away from Jake and downs it.

“Well, I do know him well enough to know that he’s fake,” Gina mumbles.

Rosa’s eyes widen. “What? How do you know that, huh?” she demands, satisfied to see Gina grow a little bit smaller under intimidation.

“I just know, Rosie,” Gina says, squaring her shoulders with confidence. “I’m a better detective than all of you.”

“You don’t know that,” Rosa accuses.

Gina ignores this and just asks, “Why’d you want the Beyonce tickets, anyways?”

“If you’re such a good detective, then why don’t you just figure it out?” Rosa snaps.

Gina seems to ponder over this statement for a few moments. She takes a sip of her drink before looking Rosa in the eye. “Huh, Rosie, I don’t know,” she smiles. “But why don’t you take the extra ticket and come to the Beyonce concert with me on Sunday, hmmm?”

Rosa clenches her fists, bewildered. She blinks a few times. “Um, yeah, sure,” she stammers.

Gina grins widely. “That’s what I thought,” she says, snatching Rosa’s beer and taking a gulp. “See, I’m a really great detective. Don’t ask, okay, boo? I’ll pick you up on Sunday.”

“But―”

“I know where you live,” Gina says.

“Stalker,” Rosa mumbles under her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Amy dancing. Rosa quickly swipes the drink that Hank the bartender passes towards Amy, hoping to save everyone from the embarrassment of four drink Amy.

“Not a stalker,” Gina corrects. “Just very informed about everyone’s lives.”

Rosa rolls her eyes and grabs her beer back from Gina. She puts the bottle to her lips and takes a long draught, finishing the bottle off. “Gotta go,” Rosa gasps as she slides off of the bar stool and heads towards the exit to grab a cab.

“M'kay!” Gina calls after her. “Wear something nice!”

Rosa tries to avoid thinking about the heat rising to her cheeks as she quickly gets into a taxi, intending to crash as soon as she gets home.

The next day goes by uneventfully. Rosa stays boarded up in her apartment, ignoring seventeen memes from Jake, fifty-six texts from Charles, one email from Amy, and (unfortunately) nothing from Gina. She idly flips through the channels on the TV, sighing every so often and checking her phone to see if Gina’s texted her anything.

Nothing.

Rosa pulls her laptop closer and opens Spotify. She quickly logs in with Gina’s password (Gina has premium, okay? No ads. Don’t judge Rosa for having access to Gina’s Spotify) and within a few minutes, Beyonce’s newest album is blaring through Rosa’s apartment.

She doesn’t know when exactly she falls asleep, but she wakes up a few hours later with her phone blown up with notifications. Ten new memes from Jake, twenty-seven new texts from Jake, one new email from Amy, and… three new texts from Gina Linetti. Rosa ignores everything else on her phone and quickly opens the texts from Gina.

Gina: bitch stop using my spotify

Gina: i know ur listening to beyonce and while its a very sweet gesture i’d like to use my spotify now

Gina: u can listen to beyonce at the concert with me tomorrow

Rosa rolls her eyes and presses the home button on her phone, leaving Gina’s texts on read. She logs out of Gina’s Spotify and pushes her laptop away.

The day seems to pass incredibly slowly. Rosa can’t wait for the sky to go black so that she can collapse in bed after a day of absolutely no productivity.

Sleep comes to her sooner than she had expected. Shortly after sunset, Rosa falls asleep on her couch, resulting in several uncomfortable positions and stiff muscles. Oh, and also waking up at the literal crack of dawn the next day.

She still has many hours before Gina’s supposed to come and pick her up. Rosa decides to go for a ride on her motorcycle, hoping that it’ll take her mind off of Gina Linetti.

For a few hours, it seems to work. It’s just Rosa, the road, her bike, and the wind.

And then she decides to grab a coffee. She runs into Charles, and the first thing that he says is, “heard you’re going to the Beyonce concert with Gina!”

Rosa squints her eyes at him. “How’d you know that?” she asks.

Charles puffs his chest out. “I’m a detective, of course,” he says, taking a sip of coffee. Rosa stares him down for a few seconds before he deflates. “Okay, okay! Gina told Jake and Jake told five-drink Amy and five-drink Amy told me! And I may have accidentally slipped it into the Boyle weekly newsletter! Sorry, Rosa, but you and Gina would just be so cute together!”

Rosa sighs heavily. She grabs her coffee from the counter and drops a few crumpled bills in its place, swiftly turning around and heading out of the coffee place.

As soon as Rosa gets home, she decides to text Gina.

Rosa: u told jake we were going to the concert?? and he told amy who told charles who told everyone??

Gina: chill rosie

Gina: not my fault charles is a blabbermouth

Rosa: but u told jake?? who told amy who told charles??

Gina: i can tell jake bc he’s my best friend

Gina: can’t blame him for having a big crush on that amy girl he’ll tell her anything

Gina: and when that girl gets drunk she can literally do anything

Gina: can’t wait for the concert tho

Rosa: it’s not a date!! why is everyone saying it’s a date???

Gina: literally did not say that in any of my texts but okay

Rosa: no!! charles thinks it’s a date!!! so now everyone does!!!!!!!

Gina: ur using way too many exclamation points n it’s scaring me

Gina: if u don’t want it to be a date then it doesn’t have to be

Rosa: oh my god all i wanna do is see beyonce

Gina: yeah with me i know

Rosa: no!!!! who said that!!!! stop listening to charles!!!!

Gina: okay okay rosa chill okay?? ur really scaring me with the exclamation points

Gina: don’t murder anyone okay

Rosa: fine whatever but i’m THIS close

Gina: so ur still coming to the concert with me tho right

Rosa: fine

Rosa’s phone dings with a new notification. With irritation, Rosa reads it to see a new email from Amy. And then without knowing why, Rosa taps on it and opens Amy’s email.

And then she’s hurling a knife at the wall because Amy’s forwarded her an article that Charles has written on Rosa and Gina’s relationship. There is a whole paragraph about “unseen sexual tension” and then another on “what their babies would look like.” The email is signed off with a long apology from Amy.

Evening doesn’t come soon enough. Rosa’s already slightly tipsy by the time Gina comes to pick her up.

“This is my nice leather jacket,” Rosa mumbles as she opens the door, remembering Gina’s comment about wearing something nice.

“Are you drunk?”

“Did you read Charles’s article?”

“I don’t read those. I’m too dignified.”

Rosa lets out a strangling noise from her throat. “Yeah? Well, so am I, but that article is a ton of bullshit! Why is everyone all up in our business?”

“Oh, Rosie.” Gina pats Rosa’s arm a few times. “Drink this.” She thrusts a water bottle into Rosa’s hand. “You gotta sober up, girl! Or else you won’t remember the truly thrilling experience of going to a Beyonce concert with Gina freaking Linetti!”

Rosa chugs down about a fourth of the water bottle before looking hesitantly at Gina. “Why am I doing this?” she mumbles.

“Seeing Beyonce? Because it’s an experience, Rosa. And it’s the best thing ever, okay? You can’t back out now, so let’s go!” And with that, Gina tugs Rosa out of the apartment.

The car ride goes by quickly. Rosa ends up finishing the rest of the water, and by the time they get to the concert, she can feel her senses coming back to her.

Gina drags her through the line at the entrance, flashing the concert tickets at the security guard. “I’m also a celebrity, so I get in anyways,” she preens.

“That’s not true,” Rosa mutters under her breath. She tries not to think about Gina’s fingers digging into her wrist as they walk into the filled concert venue.

Somehow, Gina manages to get them to the front (It has a lot to do with Rosa’s intimidating aura, but Gina will claim that it’s because of her celebrity status).

And then Beyonce Knowles gets on stage and everyone goes completely wild. Maybe it’s the blinding lights or the wind that rushes through the room from the big fans or because of the alcohol still in her system, but Rosa’s feeling the ecstasy in the place as well.

Beyonce’s singing some song that Rosa knows she’s definitely heard but Rosa’s attention isn’t fully on Beyonce. Her gaze is fixed to Gina Linetti, the other popstar in the room. And she’s watching how happy Gina looks when her own lips turn upwards and a smile blossoms to her face.

Gina’s eyes dart to Rosa for a moment before returning to Beyonce. And then she notices that Rosa’s not watching Beyonce, and she turns back to Rosa. “What are you doing!” Gina says loudly. “You should be watching Beyonce!”

“Mhmm,” Rosa mumbles under the music. She halfheartedly looks to the stage. When Rosa’s sure that Gina’s attention is transfixed to Beyonce, Rosa sneaks a look at Gina again. Gina’s mouthing the words to Beyonce’s song now.

And then someone pushes next to Gina and Gina momentarily loses her balance, stumbling right into Rosa’s arms. Rosa’s eyes widen in response as Gina looks up at her, breathless. “Good catch, Rosie,” Gina says and returns her gaze to Beyonce.

But Rosa’s eyes never leave Gina. Not when she stops Gina from attempting to join Beyonce on stage and not when Beyonce dives into the crowd and everything seems to go loud and fluorescent. Not until the very end of the concert, when she loses Gina in the crowd for a minute when Gina scurries after Beyonce to get a selfie.

And then she can’t find Gina, even though people are making way for Rosa (because she’s scary, you know) and she’s calling Gina’s name in desperation.

Rosa finally gives up and somehow heads out of the venue, towards where Gina’s car is parked. She leans on the hood for a minute before her legs get tired and she jumps up to sit on the hood of the car.

“Rosa!”

She looks up to the sound of her name being called and sees Gina trying to run/limp towards the car with a single heel in her hand. Rosa slides off of the hood of the car and rushes over to help Gina to the car.

Instead of getting in the car, Gina sits on top of the hood and pats the empty area next to her. “Sit,” she says, so Rosa joins her. Gina starts unstrapping her other shoe, so Rosa idly stares out to the night.

“How was the concert?” Gina asks a beat later. Both of her shoes dangle from one hand.

“Huh? Yeah, it was good,” Rosa says.

Gina frowns. “You’re a liar,” she decides.

Rosa stares at Gina. “What?” she asks with disbelief in her voice. “It was Beyonce. Of course it was good.”

“It was Beyonce! It was fucking fantastic! Amazing! Unbelievable! Not just good,” Gina says. “And you weren’t even watching half the time. Yeah, Diaz. When you stare at me and think I don’t notice, I do notice. Ugh, wait till we go see Rihanna.”

“I don’t wanna make this a whole thing,” Rosa says hurriedly, preparing to get off of the car. Gina’s arm flies out in front of Rosa’s chest, abruptly stopping her.

“You don’t, but I do.”

Rosa looks at Gina with a bewildered expression on her face. “What?” she asks carefully.

“C'mon, Rosa! We both know that if we joined forces, we could take over the world! While holding hands and locking lips!” Gina says, rolling her eyes at Rosa’s expression.

“What?”

“You are an actual idiot. I thought you were a detective. Yet, here I, Gina Linetti, sit, trying to explain the most basic concept to an allegedly smart detective,” Gina sighs. “You like me. I like you. Wanna make out?”

“What about everyone at the precinct―”

“Blackmail files? Uh, duh! And my naturally beautiful and intimidating aura combined with your terrifying presence is sure to make them all shut up,” Gina reasons. “What do you say, Rosie?”

“I don’t know? Kiss me?” Rosa says.

So Gina does, and it turns out to be a great night.

[ofstarsandskies]

REPOST, DON’T REBLOG.

( 10 underused character questions. )

Introduction

Name: Ludger (Star) Will Kresnik Age: 20 (Mid-Game) / 22 (Post-Game) Your favorite picture of your muse: Can’t decide. 

Questions

01.  What would be their twitter name? What sorts of tweets would they tweet?

He’d probably go with something a little cutesy (I remember in an old ask I made it  StarOtouto) for his twitter name. And for what he’d tweet out, probably post some pictures of dishes he’s proud how they came out or “embarrassing” stories/pictures of things Mr. Crown Agent of Spirius gets up to since only Ludger knows the truth: Julius is a goof.

02.  What’s their favorite genre of movies? Of music?

Dramas. Star loves himself stories that can give his heartstrings a couple tugs, even to the point of possibly shedding a few tears. So his heart would melt at movies sort of like (using modern examples) Coco or Where the Red Fern Grows. 

As for music genre, hard to pin down. I’d say anything that’s got good “humming potential” since his brother’s done a good job at imparting with him the habit to hum songs; very loud stuff like Hardcore Punk would be kind of a turn-off though.  

03.  What’s on their top queue on Netflix?

Since someone’s gotta make this house run, some do-it-yourself shows, a few animated shows to keep Elle busy if she’s around (and for when he’s bored himself), and something sort of like Kitchen Nightmares to see what sort of things to look out for if he did open his own restaurant one day.

04.  What’s their favorite scent? Do they smell like that?

Star loves himself some floral scents like Lavender, Jasmine, etc. He’ll occasionally just buy some flowers for himself so his room and the house both look nice and smell nice, but he doesn’t go too out there since Lulu might try to eat them and get sick as a result. 

Ludger himself though doesn’t put on anything to make his smell distinct, but occasionally he might smell like some flowers he’s picked out for the house/the garden outside he plays with.

05.  Apple or Android?

Whatever his brother hands him works out, as he trusts the guy who works for the fancy company’s Technology Department. But if Nii-san’s judgment isn’t an option, likely Android because Android phones are cheaper and any way to save money after certain events.

06.  Favorite Season? Least favorite season?

Spring would be more his thing since that’s when the flowers start to come out and the weather’s not too hot nor too cold. It’s also a good time to go outside and watch some of the stars given the same reason. I can’t say there’s a season Ludger actively dislikes enough to make it a least favorite, but if there had to be a least, it’d be Winter. Because cold, snow, and any plants out there either have to “hibernate” or die. 

07. Are they a bottom or top or versatile?

Implying Ludger has to get action to be any of those [/slaps knee] But say the stars align... I’d say more of a bottom I suppose. 

08.  Describe their morning routine. Do they wake up early or sleep in? Do they press the snooze button a bunch of times or do they immediately get up?

She usually wakes up at dawn with no problem and, depending on where she is, goes through her morning exercises, takes a long, hot bath (or shower), and cooks breakfast. (The order can vary quite a bit day-to-day, and she may not always cook, it depends.)

09.  If they were to be compared to a canon character, who would that be? (Spirit animal)

Uh... I dunno where to go with this one lol. So I guess himself? 

10. Finish this sentence, muse:  What would ___ do?

“What would Nii-san do?” usually. Since no matter what kind of bullshit Julius gets up to, Ludger still trusts in the decisions his big brother makes. Mostly. 

Tag five people so they can get to know their muse too!

IDK, if you find it, congrats! Go nuts.

tagged by: @unborderedreflection Well I saw it on your blog so good enough.

[wellimhavinga3outof10day]

Thank you so much for your reply! I thank you so much for the opportunity to say which ship I miss, I just hope to not have you made pressured of writing something for my benefit because I didn't want that. If I will have to choose I would say that I miss your Destiel fics, I descovered your fics through them so I choose them :)

Awww, no, I don’t feel pressured at all. It’s always nice to hear that someone wants to read more of my writing, especially when it comes to Destiel b/c I often feel like there’s so much of it out there that my stuff gets lost in the shuffle.

I have a couple of prompts for them sitting in my inbox right now but I’m a little behind on the show atm and I’m also working on a multi-chap for them! It’s a fake dating AU based on a prompt from this post where Dean is a rockstar with a bad reputation in the tabloids and Cas is an actor whose last few movies have flopped. I always try to finish my multi-chaps before I post them, mostly for editing purposes but also to keep a steady update schedule, so it might be a while before I’m ready to post it.

In hindsight, agreeing to have Cas stayed in his house had been a mistake. Between the guy waking up at six a.m. every day and the weird health food he ate, Dean felt like he’d been committed to rehab against his will. If he so much as looked at a beer before noon, Cas got this disappointed frown on his face like the entire world was going to crash and burn if Dean got a little bit of a buzz before an arbitrary time on the clock.

           This particular morning, although morning was a rather loose term for 11:49 a.m., Dean woke to Cas on the phone. He tried to shut his eyes against the noise but to no avail. He could only hear snatches of the conversation, like Cas was finally trying to keep his voice down at four days of waking Dean up to such nonsense.

           “Twitter hasn’t even… picked up by the big outlets… tired of waiting…”

           Dean groaned and rolled off his bed. He hit the floor with a heavy thump and immediately regretted it. His room’s shag carpet was even softer than his silk sheets and he was half-tempted to just close his eyes again and sleep right there, no matter what damage it would do to his back.

           But he had more important, or at least less lazy, things to do.

           He pulled himself to his feet using his bed and threw on a black t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. After running his hands through his hair, he slipped a pair of flip-flops on and poked his head out the door just in time to hear Cas say, “The timeline is bullshit and you know it.”

           “Cas.”

           The other man’s eyes shot his way and a blush rose on his cheeks. Dean’s lip twitched but he swallowed down the smile, tried to replace it with annoyance. “Let’s get some coffee.”

           Cas hung up the phone. “We have coffee here.”

           Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s like living with Sam all over again,” he muttered as he headed for the stairs. Cas’ footsteps echoed behind him and Dean took comfort in the fact that, at the very least, Cas was more likely to listen to him than argue with him.

           Dean plucked a pair of sunglasses and his keys off the front table, then opened the front door.

           “We’re not supposed to—”

           “Sammy’s timeline is bullshit.” Dean stepped out into the blinding sunlight, half-regretting his clothing choices. Early September was still warm but not quite warm enough for shorts, but too warm for pants. He felt the chill work through his body as he stepped onto the front porch and motioned for Cas to follow him.

           As he locked the door, Cas shifted from foot to foot. “Should we be—”

           “Sam told us to go out,” Dean said. “Fan the flames. Play into the rumours. Sitting at home all day while you tell me not to get takeout for the fourth meal in a row and grumble over scripts for shitty alien erotica isn’t doing either of those things.”

           “They’re not for shitty alien erotica.”

           Dean snorted as he headed down the steps. “That one with the astronaut that starts with a full-blown sex scene before the alien dies? It’s like… gore erotica. Dark shit, man. Dark shit.”

           Cas grumbled something non-committal as he stepped into pace beside Dean. Dean played with the idea of taking his hand but it was a relatively quiet morning, what with his neighbours either fast asleep or already at work, and the paparazzi relatively sure he didn’t exist until the afternoon. They fell into an amicable silence, the kind that usually followed or proceeded some dumb argument about whether or not ketchup on toast was a meal. (Dean was firmly pro ketchup-on-toast but Cas kept going on about how public figures of their age had an image to protect. Please. If Danny Devito still got chicks, Dean could get chicks with a bit of a beer belly.)

[cyberphuck]

Golden Afternoon

As much time as we spent together, Adrian and I didn't actually share a lot of classes: we had different homerooms and different lunch periods and were even in different biology classes with the same teacher, like the educational powers that be wanted to keep us apart.

Or his mom did. I didn't know what kind of stuff witches could do. Adrian said she did stuff with plants, but maybe she had a plant that could warp the fabric of reality to keep that pink-haired girl away from her beloved only child. Chastity plant. Cockblock plant.

But she couldn't actually forbid him from seeing me, because even Mrs. Varsh knew that would only lead to me immediately becoming pregnant with his baby or something. So I could still come and visit him in his mom's shop after softball practice.

The best time to hang out with Adrian without his mom looking over our shoulders and making sure we left room between us for the Mother Goddess was just after he closed up the shop, around six. School let out at four, and I got out of softball practice at five thirty, which meant that after taking the bus to the library on Superior street and walking down to what some people called "Broomstick Boulevard" I only had to loiter among the foxglove and bergamot for fifteen minutes before Adrian locked the front door and we could hang out upstairs in the house, or downstairs in his mom's work room, where we were definitely not allowed to be under any circumstances. She kept a lot of cool stuff in there, though.

On a warm, bright afternoon on a day that hadn't bothered deciding whether it was late spring or early summer, I pushed open the door to Mrs. Varsh's apothecary shop, hearing the bell on the door jingle at the same time that magic prickled up my arm. Adrian called the feeling "like a spider wearing stilettos," and it got sharper the stronger the magic was. Sometimes it was pleasant. Other times not so much.

A pink-haired sophomore in dirt-smeared white pants and a Cooperhawks jersey didn't really fit in most places, but I stuck out like a goddamn pink-haired high schooler in a softball uniform in the shop, practically neon-bright in a place that was all earthtones and dusty sunlight filtering through the front window. There were three customers still browsing when I came to lean against the front counter where Adrian was marking things down in a ledger in his awful scribbly handwriting. He flashed me a "too cool and handsome to smile" look in greeting, and I gave him a "it's good to be so much cooler than anyone over thirty" nod back before turning to inspect what were considered impulse buys for a witch: bundles of sage, glass bottles, crystals of every color. Adrian was one of the slouchiest, sneering, fuck-the-system people I knew, so it was always weird to watch him stand up straight and smile charmingly at customers as they approached the counter, the piercings in his lips flashing as he said things like "Good afternoon Ms. Hemlock" and "Yes ma'am" and "Have a wonderful evening, say hello to the other ladies in your coven." I knew his mom was strict about manners, especially when it came to people who could give you crossed eyes and watery shits for a week if you pissed them off, but I still snickered at him and got a sub-zero glare in return.

A couple of sales and "Thank you ma'am, come back soon"s and insincere smiles later, Adrian was finally able to dash up to the front door and lock it, flipping the sign hanging in the window to 'CLOSED.' "I thought that broad with the purple hat was never going to decide what strain of marigold she wanted," he groaned as he came back to the counter. "For fuck's sake, if you've got a rash just get some cream for it. There's a reason western medicine exists, people, it's because it, like, works."

"It wasn't for a spell?"

"Nobody uses marigold in spellwork," Adrian snorted. "It's the main ingredient in poultices for skin conditions. She had her hands bandaged. Either she's been carving runes directly into her palms, which is stupid as hell, or she's got some kind of itch from forgetting to wash her hands after she works."

I wrinkled my nose. "Ew."

"Ew is right, and I wish they'd just take it to the clinic, because when mom finds out she's gonna make me wipe everything down with vinegar and lemon again." He leaned against the counter. "As if she isn't already piling work on me. I told her that if she wanted a slave, she should just build a Construct."

My eyebrows went up. "You said that to your mother?"

He shrugged. "Yeah." A pause. "Sort of. But she's been making me do all kinds of boring shit-- grinding down herbs, cleaning out the silk screens, poking plants."

"Grunt work," I said, stepping behind the counter and looking at the boxes of crystals lined up beside the cash register. "I bet you wouldn't have to do that stuff if you were a girl."

He throws his hands up. "I know! I'd be elbow-deep in all kinds of cool witchy shit by now if I were a chick, but I'm not even allowed to practice magic just because I'm a son instead of a daughter. I don't want to wear a pointy hat and dance naked under the moon or anything, I just want to learn to lay runes a little better. I've been looking at them, a little, and I think I can almost understand how they work. If I could just get a little training-- but if I even mentioned it to my mom, she'd freak out."

"That's bullshit." Stuck into a corner beside the register is a little white box about half the size of my hand; I winkle it out with my finger and then pull it towards me to open it.

"She hasn't found out yet, but I've been experimenting with-- oh shit, don't open that, Ash!"

I grin, already pulling the lid off. "What's in there, a horrible gooey demon? Severed finger? Used needle?" Nestled on a bed of cotton is a shiny black stone, a little chunkier than I was used to seeing in the shop. Someone's carved a simple little rune into it, rubbed with gold leaf to make it stand out.

"Don't look, it was supposed to be a surprise," Adrian whined, then shook his head. "God, I'm glad there isn't actually anything dangerous in there, I'd have a hard time explaining your stupid dead ass to my mom when she gets home."

"It's pretty," I said, staring down at it. "...Is it safe to touch?"

"Now you ask me," Adrian muttered. "Yeah, you can touch it. Just don't drop it, it's pretty fragile. I broke two of those damn things carving the rune before I figure out how to do it with a lighter hand."

I lifted the crystal out of the cotton, running a thumb over the rune. "What is it?"

"Black tourmaline." He wasn't looking at me. "It's a pretty standard protection crystal, with a really simple strengthening rune on it to make it, uh, louder." He rolled his shoulders stiffly, trying to look casual and failing. "It's for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah for you, and it was gonna be a surprise but you've got klepto hands apparently," he said, cheeks pink. "I was gonna cage it in something nice, like silver, and get a chain for it so you could wear it around your neck. It dispels negative energy and stuff. I thought you'd like it."

I could feel myself smiling, the crystal warming in my hand. "I do like it. It's really cool."

"...You think so?"

"Yeah. The gold looks good too." I looked up at him. "I know you could get into a lot of trouble for making this for me. It's kind of badass. Thanks, Adrian."

"Uh." He lifted his chin. "Yeah. You're welcome. I mean, you can't have it yet, it's too fragile to just carry around. But, uh. You're welcome."

"You said that." I leaned across the counter to kiss him on the cheek. "Dumbass. Hey, do you think your mom would let you off Saturday? They're doing that music thing in the park. I think it's just a dumb local band, but there's food trucks there too."

"Uh."

"Lots of people from school are going. If you want."

"Yeah, I--" he swallowed. "Yeah, I want. I mean." He cleared his throat. "It sounds okay. I'll go if you're going."

"You can text me tonight," I said, setting the crystal back in it's padded box and replacing the lid. "How long until your mom gets home? I brought that song I keep telling you about. You've got the thing to hook up to your stereo, right?"

Adrian shook his head, as if waking up from a dream. "Somewhere. I think it's in a drawer upstairs. C'mon." - Ko-Fi Twitter: @su1cidesauce

[galimatios]

sci fi ya au musings from twitter thread mostly nts

maybe i do want to write YA science fiction ya with gay and all my favorite self indulgent tropes and also plugsuits

I HATE MYSELF I IMMEDIATELY HAVE SCENES IN MY HEAD . ITS BEEN TWO GODDAMN SECONDS. I DONT EVEN KNOW WHO THESE CHARACTERS ARE YET tjinking about those rooms in that one ep of black mirror where youcan program jt tk show whatever you want on the walls. maybe projection of virtual reality vs reality as a major motif. simulations and distance... long distance relationships during a war in space action too... have to think about an enemy but maybe we rag on capitalism a littlle maybe some conglomerate is fighting a proxy war using aliens vs the govt the protags are in the military for theme.. war sucks bye but also theres dynamics i want

UM I CAN PUT BIG MECHA INNNNNNNN YEAHHHH anyway i want 2 loyal dog dynamics to juxtapose w eachother + platonic soulmate type protag duo, best friends , one girl one boy, theyre both equally important, some SHIT happens and theyre forced on different sides at some point one loyal dog is treated well, like an equal, will follow x to the end of the world the other is Not treated well. i want to explicitly make that relationship abusive so i can point at it in the text itself and have other loyal dog be like , that's not love. abandoned loyal dog gets adopted by main duo, ends up in a relationship w one of them (whichever one makes it gay), im ship girl with side character who inspires tf out of her, sort of like. theyre competitive and the side character is light years more skilled but girl wants the challenge, wants the chase, is fueled by the prospect of catching up so "wait for me" LAYS DOWN NONE OF THESE CHARACTERS HAVE NAMES OR DESIGNS OR ANYTHING BUT IM ALREADY ATTACHED TO THESE CONNECTIONS mc pair: one techy soft boy nerd who just wants to protect his family so thats why he agreed to help develop/operate tech bc he thinks this is how he can help headstrong pilot ace girl who has no one but wants to prove herself and make a name for herself so she'll be remembered she wants to win glory for herself and comes off as super confident but actually she's just. asuka evangelion except she doesnt crash and burn so bad bc she has the boy who sees thru it, you dont have to try so hard probably happens after a fight where she's reckless hes not one to get mad but this time he's pissed bc she was exceptionally close to dying, yells at her, why do you keep trying so hard to die kinda snaps her back to reality he wants her to rely on him more bc that's what hes here for anyway loyal dog defects from enemy + meets this pair after other loyal dog suggests he joins the crew, tech boy is kind to Everyone but loyal dog FORMERLY AN ASSASSIN ???????? TYPE?? SNIPER?? develops baby crush girl sips her drink :3c

I HAVE TO THINK MORE ABOUT THEM BC OH NO THEYRE CUTE but girl is chasing after some nb femme prodigy who she's rivals with and admires for more than just her skill theyre both emotionally constipated idiots tho so its like. (hand touch) thats enough for 100 years there is. so much tension. and prodigy seems so perfect on the outside but is actually in some kind of super strict fucked up program bc of her skill, and she hated it and is suffering ace pilot is the one to barge in headstrong and fuck everything up and get her out of there girl believes prodigy is amazing. really. incredible. a part of her feels like she'll never catch up . but even so watching prodigy walk into the unknown unflinchingly resolute ... it's both sad in a way bc she's being left behind but also she wouldnt have it any other way bc she thinks forward is the only way prodigy should be facing. its what inspires her. that strength ... h they definitely settle down together in the future tho bc i need ththattt

"when this is all over" said the prodigy, "come find me" this is so self indulgent anyway plotwise once both the govt and the enemy r revealed to be equally bad the main cast defect to a revolutionary group. they will Not win within the span of the novel but theyll have a small victory, very les mis one day more flavored, and even if they did not win they stood for something they believed in, did something to try and tell the truth... also i need more of a cast so i can kill characters off nice now all i have to do is fill all this in with world building and action and stuff and ill have a novel so many sci fi things have done the 2 pilot mind sync emotional thing right so if i do the same thing no one knows if i took it from one franchise or another i need to twist it around a little but i may have ideas haha i can. totally make this a part of my fucking huge sci-fi au really wanna call main girl lane and main boy khemrin . .. i cant unsee the girl as rey flavored so shes ending up w red hair and irish, but boy is SEAsian with a huge family, loyal dog who defects is african, prodigy is asian, other loyal dog feels south american prodigy... astrid is her real name but she may have a codename fsr? idk why i feel it. icarus? assassin defector... something that starts with an o or a d other loyal dog... i need to think but i also need to figure out the personalities of their respective pairs inserts minh as evil one. done. maybe mephis adjacent character for the... no mephis doesnt care abt anyone BUT hed be a great side character OH god what if au jonah and ambrose oh boy. FUCK jonahs probably there for some special task bc hes. attuned to some shit idk

I GUESS IM GONNA DEVELOP AMBROSE MORE ive only written him as a young adult but as a teen hes angry and rebellious and got drafted, ended up being a simple foot soldier but he meets jonah and a lot changes jonah's there on top secret bullshit, same program as astrid definitely has some shit to do With Experiments. astrid has enhanced eyesight/coordination on top of being an ace combat pilot, i think jonah might be able to open up warp gates or limited pocket space mephis is evil scientist who doesnt care abt casualties

I'm thinking about unnamed pilot lesbians and i am. enamored immediately holy shit god they're both so goal oriented and focused but once the fighting is finally over they finally allow themselves to embrace the intensity of their emotions for eachother and i am fucking perishing they were essentially raised as child soldiers so it's this clumsy process of trying to figure things out for the first time, this kind of innocent but intense and blooming love between two hardened soldiers, the years of war coming away when they're together for the first time actually fuck i did name them but i'm still not sure about ace pilot girl? i want to name her lane or something monosyllable, maybe i'll revamp raine and make her this oc instead... either way i'm just. ugh. UGH. FUCK. holy shit they love eachother so much

I"M GETTING REALLY FUCKED UP ABOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF THE PRODIGY (ASTRID) DYING IN THE LINE OF DUTY or well at least goes missing, presumed dead but raine just... doesn't believe it. astrid can't die. she's too amazing. there's no way fucking. huge disbelief. she refuses? raine going on a near suicidal self-appointed mission against commander's orders to rescue her, khemrin tries to hold her back but he can't, she' fucking gone speeding off on one of the fastest scouting ships she can hijack raine finding her alive but barely conscious in a damaged cockpit floating in space for who knows how long, raine unable to open the hatch and get to her but anchors her ship to hers, NOT EFFECTIVE BUT HER ONLY REAL CHOICE w/o compromising the air seal. makes the journey back astrid barely makes it to the space equivalent of a truck stop (unaffiliated) and raine calls for backup in panic and tries her best to tend to astrid's wounds an feed her and she's fucking PANICKING but trying so hard to keep it together astrid wakes up and raine's crying i don't have anything specific its just really soft and raine never Does this god when they meet again after the war, raine running her fingers over the scar left from astrid's helmet shattering h raine in a tux and astrid dressed like a princess and raine kissing her shoe sorry im gay bye

[bastardnev]

The King and the Prince

*honks la cucuracha horn* HEY GUESS WHO WROTE A FIC FOR A SHIP THAT ISN’T WADE/NEV

for @champnatalya!!

(like to ao3)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Pac | Adrian Neville Characters: Mustafa Ali, Pac | Adrian Neville Additional Tags: Denial of Feelings, nev's a Big Angry Gay Mess, mustafa's a Big Cutie, And a bit of a flirt Summary: A few lighthearted comments from Mustafa causes Neville to rethink how he'd been feeling the past few months.

If someone could kindly remind Neville as to why he agreed to spend the rest of his evening with a group of peasants, then that would be lovely.

He had originally planned on going back to his hotel room after 205 Live went off the air that week, getting some rest before heading off to the next location in the morning, but the rest of the division had other plans. Seeing as everyone was in a good mood, Cedric proposed going out for drinks once the taping was over, and they wanted the King to go with them.

The answer seemed obvious -- of course Neville was going to reject their offer. Why would he want to spend any more time with these guys than he had to? Between Raw and 205 Live, he spent two whole days of his week with them -- two days that he would have rather spent doing literally anything else. Did they really think that they could ask him to tag along with them on their late night adventures and that he would be eager and willing to go?

Then Gallagher went and made an offhand comment about being able to outdrink Neville in a way that 'only a gentleman could'. Nothing made Neville tick quite like snide remarks from the arguably inferior Englishman. Vowing to prove him wrong, Neville finally accepted their invitation, knowing damn well that he would be standing tall in the end just like the last time he and Jack had faced off.

Later, Neville was making his way back to the locker room following his main event match (and successful title defense) against TJP. He was actually in good spirits, having once again proven to the WWE Universe that there was simply no one else on the 'Neville Level' and as such there was no one who was good enough to take him down. And despite his prior hesitation, he was even looking forward to going out, the anticipation of getting yet another victory over Jack causing a devilish smirk to form on his face. He had already won one fight that evening, and nothing was stopping him from winning a second.

Neville pushed the locker room door open and immediately spotted Mustafa sitting at the far end of the room, playing around on his phone. Neville's smirk melted away, and his cocky expression was replaced with the usual annoyed one that he always wore.

Mustafa Ali had made quite a name for himself ever since arriving in WWE, earning a reputation among fans and colleagues as being one of the best high flyers in the company, and his sights were set firmly on the purple strap that could always be seen resting on Neville's shoulder. He had made his title ambitions quite clear, going as far as to tweet him about how it would take a 'Prince' like himself to dethrone the King. There would even be some times during their matches where Neville would knock him down only for him to defiantly stand back up, the fire in his eyes burning even fiercer, the challenging expression on his face unwavering. He had so much passion, ambition.

Neville hated that.

Their issues found their way outside of the ring as well. All it took was one passing glance from Mustafa for Neville's attitude to do complete one-eighty. An unusual feeling would well up inside him, almost as if there were butterflies in his stomach. Sometimes they would accidentally bump into each other in a crowded hallway and it would take a whole ten minutes for Neville to stop shaking. He felt... uneasy in his presence and would much rather be as far away from his as possible.

At the same time, if Mustafa weren't around, then Neville would be wondering where he was, why he wasn't hanging out with the other losers in the division. It was a unique hatred that not even Neville himself fully understood. He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

As Neville washed up in the showers, he toyed with the idea of simply ignoring him, but there was something nagging at him. Was Mustafa going with the rest of the roster to the bar? Would he be watching him obliterate Jack in their drinking contest? Hell, had he even been asked to go in the first place? Neville knew that whenever Mustafa had a match -- even if it was against a local competitor, as was the case that night -- he spent a good amount of time alone as he mentally prepared himself. It was possible that no one had gotten around to inviting him.

The way Neville saw it, he had two options. He could go through with his original plan of ignoring him, believing that if the other cruiserweights were really Mustafa's friends then they would have already told him about the evening's festivities. That, or he could simply ask him about whether or not he'd been invited. If not, then he could make fun of him for having fake friends who didn't truly care about him. The latter seemed more fun.

Neville shut the water off and quickly dried himself before heading over to his bag, digging around for more casual clothes to slip on. It was as he was sliding a t-shirt over his head that he look a look over his shoulder at Mustafa, who was still doing God knows what on his phone. "What, are you too busy screwing around on Twitter to even acknowledge your King?" Neville asked.

Mustafa finally looked up from the device, letting out a sigh through his nose before replying with, "The last time I greeted you when you came in the room, King, you told me to shut up."

"Maybe so." Neville took a seat on one of the benches, clasping his hands together on his lap and hunching forward. "But this time is different. I actually want to speak with you."

"Do you?" He looked a little surprised.

"I want to know what you're doing tonight." Neville smirked. "If you have plans to go anywhere."

"Uh... no, I don't," he admitted. "Why do you want to know?"

Huh. Neville thought. So they didn't ask him. What good friends he has! "How about you accompany your King to the local bar tonight? I'm in the mood for celebratory drinks. Or does someone such as yourself prefer to hole up in his hotel room? Is that more your definition of 'fun'?"

Mustafa's eyebrows raised at Neville's offer, what appeared to be a faint blush growing on his cheeks. Neville couldn't even begin to imagine what he was so bashful about. Then again, he had no way of knowing how the mind of a peasant worked. "Well?" He asked. "Answer me."

"King..." Mustafa let out a little embarrassed chuckle, the sound of his laughter as well as the smile on his face making Neville go a little red himself. What the hell was he laughing at? Was he mocking him?!

"I don't think there's anything particularly funny about this, Ali." Neville scolded him with a cold glare. "You should know better than to disrespect your King. Haven't you learned anything from the last time you did that?" Neville had no problem locking Mustafa in the Rings of Saturn once again if it meant getting him to behave.

"I'm not trying to be disrespectful at all." Mustafa raised his hands self-defensively, his grin having grown wider. "I just think it's funny, that's all. You? Asking me on a date? It's not what I expected."

Neville felt his mouth drop open, the slight shade of pink on his cheeks now having grown full-on crimson. What?! A date?! Mustafa thought that Neville was actually asking him out?! "Don't think so highly of yourself, Ali!" Neville shot up from the bench. "You're not worthy enough to be anything even close to my lover." His fists clenched. "I'm asking you because all of the others are going out tonight."

"So it's not just you? Damn. Here I was thinking I was getting some alone time with the King." Mustafa clicked his tongue, though he offered Neville a wink, which caused him to swallow.

"You had better cut that out--" Neville took a few steps towards Mustafa and abruptly stopped when the locker room door opened, and they both looked to find TJ now standing in the doorway. He looked between the two of them with a puzzled expression, like he wasn't sure what in the world he'd just walked in on. Neville backed away from Mustafa and snatched his bag up, huffing and storming towards the exit.

"I'll see you later, King!" Mustafa called after him. Neville ignored him and rammed into the door with his shoulder, stepping out into the hallway. It was as the door was closing that he overheard TJ mentioning the plans to Mustafa. Just my damn luck. Had I waited a few more minutes, that bullshit could have been completely avoided.

Where the hell did Mustafa get off saying those kinds of things, anyway? Did he really think that he was that important in Neville's life to the point where Neville would actually ask him out on a date? To the point where Neville would actually be interested in being in a relationship with him?

Christ, imagine if the two of them were actually dating? Neville's mind was suddenly flooded with images of the two of them hanging out before the show started, talking about their respective matches, actually being nice to each other. He thought of greeting him with a hug, giving him a good luck kiss, waking up next to him in a hotel bed... The same butterfly feeling that Neville usually got when thinking about Mustafa returned with a vengeance, and when paired with this context, it almost seemed... nice.

NO. Neville's eyes shot open wide, his grip on the handle of his bag growing almost impossibly tight. There was no way in hell that that was what was truly going on. Neville would be damned before he-- before he actually developed feelings for someone like Mustafa. Neville was the King, dammit. He didn't have time for crushes or things of that nature. Someone who was a constant thorn in his side couldn't possibly have worked his way into his heart...

...could he?

[danithebookaholic-blog]

NEW RELEASE! - Eye Contact

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Eye Contact

By Stacey Grice

Publication Date: June 21, 2018 Genre: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis: 

Dr. Andie Fine lives, eats, and breathes her job as a trauma surgeon. Another day, another surgery, another life saved. That is, until the night a certain car accident victim lands on her operating room table. The strange connection she feels with this particular patient impacts her in every way.

Vaughn Bennett is a brilliant artist whose life has been defined by a specific pair of eyes for over twenty-years. The only piece of a girl he could remember from an experience he could never forget. Countless sketches and thousands of hours trying to capture her likeness have haunted him. Waking up from a coma in a hospital room is not how he thought he’d finally find her. With one look, he knew.

Andie is a career-focused, medical professional.  Falling for a patient is out of the question, but Vaughn is determined to win her over. He elicits something in her that she’s never realized she was missing. No matter how hard she tries to fight it, he won’t stop until she’s his.

Until fate has a way of complicating things.

Goodreads

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Excerpt:

Prologue Vaughn 1995

It’s got to be at least ninety five degrees out here, I thought as the beads of sweat across my forehead started to become full enough to drip down my face. My mind raced as I walked home from school. Two miles or so in the hottest time of day was a small price to pay.

Ms. Hattie’s not going to be happy when Mr. Leake calls to tell her I was missing from his fifth period class. Screw him. He can call her if he wants. Whatever punishment she’ll dole out can’t possibly be as bad as dealing with Stephan and his punk friends.

They had been itching to pound my face in for days.

How was I supposed to know that bench in the courtyard was off limits?

When I was pushed in the hallway earlier, knocking my books out of my hands and scattering my folders and papers all over the halls for everyone to step on, I knew who had done it before even looking up. When the reflection of light gleaming off of the pocket knife peeking out caught my eye, I knew I was done for.

Of course they’d pick on me. I was the new kid and only in sixth grade. I hadn’t even been there for three weeks yet and already I’d found trouble.

I swear, I just can’t win. 

I thought I’d finally gotten out of hell. I had known my previous foster parents were creepy. They never did anything but smack me, curse, yell, occasionally spit at me—the usual bullshit—but when I was taken away a few weeks ago and placed in Ms. Hattie’s care, I didn’t argue. I ended up overhearing that the husband had been caught “inappropriately touching” one of the girls or some such crap. What a slime ball. She was only like six years old.

Ms. Hattie seemed kind, and my new foster brother, though a little older than me, had been pretty cool so far. I should’ve told him about Stephan, but I didn’t want him to think I was a wuss. I should’ve just let the idiot cheat off my paper.

In woodshop the previous week, I’d noticed him trying to look over at my quiz paper for answers and quickly covered my sheet, shielding it from his view. After later learning that it was his second year in eighth grade after not passing the year before, I regretted trying him like that. He was bigger than me with a nasty face that always looked like he was gritting his teeth. Now he’d found a new weakling to pick on. A few days later, I got pushed and cussed at for talking to a cute cheerleader named Molly in my gym class. I learned I wasn’t allowed to talk to her when all three of them cornered me in the boy’s bathroom and threw my backpack into the urinal after one of them pissed in it.

Maybe I need to show him I’m not a pushover. Maybe I need to knock his ass out and prove I’m not one to get messed with, prove I can hold my own.

No. I need to just bide my time. Stay safe and don’t rock the boat. I have a lot to figure out in this new school and this new house before making waves.

This is definitely a nicer neighborhood than my last one, I thought as I looked around, admiring the Leave-It-To-Beaver style, a stark contrast with just the month before when I had to walk home from the bus stop in the ghetto while making sure I didn’t give the wrong look to the dealers on the corner as I passed them. In Ms. Hattie’s neighborhood, everyone had a nice yard and a garage for two cars.

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I never even saw them, never heard a thing. One second I was looking forward and thanking my lucky stars for the pretty neighborhood then WHACK. It felt like a two-by-four had just been swung across my back. I fell to the ground, squirming and gasping to try to catch my breath, and a shadowed figure came into my vision, the glare from the sun up above making it impossible to see who it was. Then he spoke.

“I don’t know who you think you are, maggot, but you messed with the wrong guy.”

Stephan pulled me up off the ground by my shirt and spit in my face before the first punch struck my jaw. Almost immediately, I couldn’t see anything. Fists rained down onto my face, jaw, and nose, plowing into my stomach until I couldn’t stand up anymore. Then the kicks came, the voices of the two friends who followed him around like puppies taunting and egging him on in the background. I faintly heard laughing, felt more spit hit my cheek, and thought it was over, but then he topped it off with more pain by reaching down to grab my head with both of his hands and slamming it back down into the concrete.

Everything went black for a moment—I really didn’t know how long—and then I heard her. A girl was talking to me with a calm singsong voice, muddled and far away, but I could feel her touch like she was right there next to me.

“Don’t move anything. I saw them hitting you and they slammed your head down pretty hard,” she said with a breathy voice. I tried to get control of my breathing but couldn’t inhale without coughing, which made my head feel like it was going to explode.

“I called 911. They’re coming to help you. Do you live here? Close to here? What’s your name?” I could barely keep my eyes open anymore. Everything was fading in and out and the room was swirling, but I wasn’t in a room­—I was outside. I couldn’t focus on anything.

“Look at me. Please try to open your eyes,” she pleaded.

I looked up and saw the prettiest girl I had ever seen hunched over me. Her wispy blonde hair was blowing around her face and her eyes were light…maybe some shade of blue, bluish with little specs of… I closed my eyes just for a second; the light was too bright.

“No, please keep your eyes open. You can’t pass out.”

I tried my hardest to keep them open, not wanting to disappoint her. She looked like a kid, maybe even younger than me. The harder I tried, the heavier my lids got, and things were fading to black again.

“Keep eye contact with me. Just keep looking right here,” she urged, bringing her face closer to mine. The sun was completely behind her head and I could see her better. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. “Keep eye contact.” She lightly touched the side of my head, her fingers slightly in my hair to keep me still. “Keep looking. Keep eye contact. They’re almost here. I can hear the sirens.”

Her breath smelled like chocolate chip cookies and her skin was like a porcelain doll. She had to be an angel, which meant I was dying. Those jerks had beaten me to death—actual death. I’m going to be in so much trouble.

“Keep eye contact. That’s good. Just keep looking right at me.” Ms. Hattie was going to kill me if they hadn’t already. The sirens were loud and growing louder the closer they got. I tried to focus on her face. I watched her lips moving. “Keep eye contact. Keep eye contact.” She kept saying it over and over, almost like she was trying to remind herself as much as me. Her eyes were mesmerizing, even with as much pain as I was in. I was staring up at her, maintaining eye contact just as she instructed, then suddenly she was gone. Where did she go? 

I felt hands on me and heard male voices, grown-up voices, and then I heard her again. I couldn’t see her anymore but I could hear her.

“Three boys…hit him with a baseball bat…punched his face…kicked him over and over…ran away…bleeding…passed out…tried to keep him awake…I don’t know his name…”

It’s Vaughn. 

My name is Vaughn. 

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to know her name too, but the words wouldn’t come out. The men put a mask on my face, covering my mouth and nose, and rolled my body onto my right side, the sharp pain in my ribs igniting a fire in my chest. They rolled me back over onto some sort of board, and then they lifted me up and carried me away…away from her, away from my angel.

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Purchase:

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Author Bio:

tacey Grice writes contemporary romance novels that will surely take you on an emotional roller coaster. Known for her dynamic characters, you’ll get a tale that’s raw and unapologetic. There will most always be angst mixed with sweet, humor balanced with grit, and a whole lot of REAL. She likes to take each reader on a journey of courtship with challenges, triumph, inspiration, and a few laughs as well.

She lives in Northeast Florida her husband and daughter and works full time as a Labor and Delivery nurse. When she’s not nursing and/or crafting stories, she can be found spending time with friends and family, people watching, enjoying great food, and reading or relaxing at her happy place—the beach.

Stacey absolutely LOVES to hear from her readers so be sure to follow her on social media and join her Facebook fan/readers’ group.

Facebook / Facebook Group / Twitter / Instagram / Goodreads

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From one bookaholic to another, I hope I’ve helped you find your next fix. —Dani

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