#the articles that prove it always keep things vague

[circular-bircular]

Anyone who argues that DID is not trauma based is arguing against decades and decades of science. They’re following the DSM too strictly usually (using nearly arbitrary category labels to create a point) while simultaneously ignoring a vast wealth of research proving DID is based on trauma.

My question for everyone arguing that DID can be formed without trauma is: why? Why are you bothering to argue this?

“To prove Endogenic systems can exist!” Endogenic systems are not experiencing my disorder. Stop trying to fit a square piece in a round hole.

“It’s all anti-endos will listen to!” Block them. Ignore them! I would prefer you create an echo chamber over spreading misinformation about the disorder.

“But what about the .1% chance that there’s someone with non-trauma DID?”

You mean to tell me that you, yes you, are somehow the person who, after decades of people clamoring over each other trying to prove DID isn’t trauma based, has found the One Case of a system Who Has DID Without Trauma!!!! (And you can prove it’s not just a misdiagnosis of another disorder, or a misdiagnosis of a plural system, or a DID system in denial of trauma, etc etc etc etc etc!!!!)

Arguing that DID is not trauma based is relying on and resurfacing an argument used to discredit trauma victims and shove us back into silence. Please. Please. Fucking stop already.

[stellaestra]

I look into the spaces in-between in search of you (I miss you more than anything)

pairing: tim drake/mc [reader] author's note: old ideas from high school for me to write excerpts about as per usual and tim's my muse to explore these ideas on unless stated otherwise, if you see this posted on ao3, yes that is me too dw

this is unfortunately very self-indulgent hehe <3 mb babes p.s. this cld be taken as both ways? romantic? platonic? take your pick lol

word count: 1511 words

cw: um, mentions of injury? unedited // no beta read, we'll die like men here

---

It had been days since the last time Tim had slept ever since he found footage of someone that seemed eerily familiar to you, clad in a bright red jacket that was practically your signature back then. It was one of your favourite jackets after all.

He was getting a little too frantic and was rather adamant about them being you. He wanted to prove to everyone that you weren't dead but alive. 

He would delay the process of falling asleep if he had to.

“Red Robin.” He spoke into the mic.

“Access approved.” The artificial intelligence responded back.

“Where are they hiding you?” The words trailed off, his eyes were already glued to the screen. 

His icy blues scanned through the files; that includes, footage, clips and articles – each and every one of them, trying to search a certain code-name belonging to someone he once knew very well like the back of his hand and grew extremely fond of over the course of the years of knowing them.

The only footage that could have matched your physique was that single footage alone and it irked him to no end. 

He was already rather obsessed with the idea of trying to search for you and none of his family members nor friends managed to deter him away from his work.

However, there was a single tiny nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him of the possible reality that there was no way you would come back unless some kind of miracle brought you back to life like what had happened to Jason and he never really touched that particular topic whenever asked.

Only vague answers from him. He would always end the conversation before it started.

—

Meanwhile, you weren't quite pleased with the fact that you had to drop out of your current school and had to take online classes to finish your high school education for the sake of a diploma to show you completed everything that was necessary to proceed further into higher education. 

Well, at least there was some compensation for it, the organisation you were under was paying for your education so you couldn't complain as much as you would like. Whether you like it or not, you need to be under everyone's radar for the time being because you were relatively vulnerable while you were in the middle of recovering.

It was rather unfortunate that you had obtained a very life-threatening wound months ago, it took you ages to finally feel like your body was yours and move it the way your brain intended it to. 

The phantom pain of being stabbed was another thing to deal with in the midst of doing your everyday life now. 

Your recovery period was a lot more sedentary than you would have liked too. There was always a constant itch to do workout routines that was far too intense for your weakened state at the moment.

All in all, this was something they told you to do and it was to keep prying eyes away from you until you reached full recovery before being deployed back onto the field.

Staying with your grandma was pretty nice too, it had been quite some time since your family last visited her and it was always annual visits at the end of the school year for Christmas. 

Your other issue living in a more secluded area was, of course, none other than net signal stability. It kind of helped you to be harder to be detected and traced back but it still irked you that you would need to wait longer for your files to be downloaded.

Regardless, life has been much simpler and far less hectic than your usual ones back home. It was nice to be able to breathe for once instead of being dogpiled by both your school tasks and your other responsibilities.

It wasn't easy for your uncle to convince your parents for you to move away for your recovery period after your so-called hit and run accident which was a cover-up for your actual one. 

—

It had taken several months for Tim to get the final clue needed to prove you weren't dead and he finally got it now —

“Found you.” Tim muttered under his breath, sounding almost unhinged — wide icy blue eyes zeroed in on another footage he managed to scrape through the worldwide database, fingers hovering his keyboard. 

The teen had immediately booked the next flight available to where you were now regardless of the schedules that had lined up for him. He couldn't give a flying damn about it right this second now that he finally located your whereabouts they so desperately tried to conceal your presence from everyone.

He jumped to his closet, scavenging through his mess of clothes to throw into his carry-on luggage bag for him to bring with on his impromptu trip.

The next morning, he made his way to Gotham’s airport without so much as leaving a note to mention where he would be. He doesn't want anything to risk his solid decision.

The dawning realisation fell upon him when he touched-down at your home country airport. He was finally here. He was finally able to see you now. 

His next hurdle was to track you down to your very exact location and it wasn't going to be a breeze for him – he hated to admit and they covered your tracks far too well for any mistakes to happen. 

It took him roughly a week or so to get a clue of you. 

—

Tim spotted your silhouette from miles away before he made a beeline for you. He called out your name almost desperately, causing you to turn back and face him. 

You looked as pretty as the last time he saw you. A sheepish look plastered your features as you faced him fully. 

“...Found you.” He exhaled out, he was a little out of breath from sprinting to your spot. Call him crazy or whatever. He wasn't going to lose sight of you. 

“...Uh, hi, hey, Timbo,” you chuckled, your eyes betrayed you as there was a look of guilt behind them despite you trying to play it off coolly, “took you long enough, huh?” 

He remained silent as he stared at you, soaking in your presence and trying to etch everything about you right now into his brain. His icy blue eyes were starting to intimidate you right now because you rarely ever felt so exposed in someone's presence before. 

“Heh, well, don't let it get to your head,” you joked, running your fingers through your hair, “the only reason you were able to find me was because I let myself be found.”

“Shut up, I'm very upset with you right now,” His words sounded wet, as if he was fighting back his tears even though there was a deep frown set on his lips, jaws clenched and shoulders straightened (tensed). There was nothing else that indicated that he was about to cry other than his voice that carelessly betrayed him.

He had managed to trace you back to your home country was one thing, the other part was finding you at your exact location was another gamble.

He found you at the beachside of Sipitang, a town located in one of Sabah's district divisions, taking a walk while eating chicken wings skewers you had bought in a plastic dangling in your hands.

“Why, you want a reward for finding me sooner than intended?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at him, “the only thing I have on me right now is my chicken wings if you want some?”

He doesn't know what to do with himself nor what he would like to say to you now that he has found you, safe and sound in Borneo Island. He wanted to pull you into his arms so badly but he withholded himself from doing so because you would look at him weird for even attempting such a feat. 

You've known Tim for several years now and you would like to think you knew him from the inside out enough to take notice of his little quirks and decipher them to how he would like to be perceived as.

You opened your arms wide, inviting him for the hug that the other boy was trying to force himself not to give.

It took him a few moments to finally give in, and pushed his pride away to embrace you, taking you into his arms and feeling the warmth you gave away through your body. He hid his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent.

“I miss you.”

“I'm very much aware,” you chuckled into his shoulders, squeezing him, “don't think I didn't notice you snooping around our database, you loser."

“I need to prove to them you aren't dead and I need to see it with my own eyes.” He admitted, wounding his arms tighter around you.

“Of course you’d do that, you stalker.” 

“I really did miss you.”

“Me too.”

[acefaun]

My phone will sometimes recommend me articles to read, and this time it was “How to Sleep Better According to Your Astrological Sign” which, things like that are always so vague that even if the answers don’t fit you exactly you can still find a way to see that it applies to you, anyway..

So I scroll down to my sign and got slapped in the face I tell you, it said “try binge-watching fictional drama rather than replaying the exaggerated drama in you head” 💀💀💀RIPP, “also s3x will help” 🧍🏼… I was about to go to bed I wasn’t asking for a WAKE-up call 🤦🏼

The Gemini one though, really most of these were just shocking but ♊️: “the break from blue light is essential oh curious one” “turn off almost EVERYTHING””you need a distraction from your distractions””if silence is TOO CHALLENGING try a 🎉 NOISE 🧨 MACHINE 🤖”

That Yahoo article writer pulled absolutely ZERO punches

OMG THE AQUARIUS ONE: “Go ahead and watch a couple episodes of ‘Ancient Aliens’ and affirm that you were put here on Earth by ancestors from Venus” “Or listen to Halloween music if that’s your thing” HOW ARE EITHER OF THESE REMOTELY RELATED—-

The fact that it’s 1:30 in the morning and I was half asleep reading this. And I’m here reading the part that says “also s3x will help”.

But my brain is going so slow I sat here for five minutes going “… s…3…x…? What’s that?” And I kept repeating it over and over as three separate things. “S” “3” and “X”. And my stupid brain has no clue how to put them together. Like this had to be a code for something. So I reread it about ten times before it clicks and I just sit up and scream “SEX” into the silence of my apartment.

And dear lord I’ve never related more to Gemini advice. These past few minutes proved very well that I need a distraction from my distraction.

But I’m also not good with a noise machine so maybe I should take some Aquarius advice and listen to Halloween music. And then have the sounds of screams and howling to keep me up all night instead.

As another note: I spaced out for a minute and was rereading what I typed… only to stare blankly at the word Aquarius for a few minutes. Then I decided “That doesn’t look like it’s spelled right… Huedhaut isn’t an Aquarius.” And I was deleting it to fix it, but the minute I corrected it to Aquarium, I realized I had it right the first time. Because... Huedhaut isn't an Aquarium either. Is it offensive to call someone an Aquarium?? Even if it's a god???

Heh 😵‍💫 I need to sleep. It’s ironic you send me this when my brain isn’t working. HAHAHA A perfect moment in the night!

Have s 3 x with a zodiac god, my dearest. 🥰 It'll help you sleep better, apparently.

[wyrmfedgrave]

Pics: Part 4.

1 thru 4. Why is it that women are targeted so much in (not just) weird fiction?

Are women now buying these books more than our young men?

Are men into rescuing women from these kind of 'dinner's served' scenes?

Do tentacles fit in with your idea of slick, ropy bondage?

Why are you still reading this filler material?

Go on!!

Move along!

There's other stuff to read...

5. Finally, a guy's in danger!!

That shotgun's not going to help you, bub!

6 thru 8. The 1 thing that keeps im- proving is the look of Lovecraft's many creatures.

These artists have really busted their butts in revealing what Howard called 'indescribable'!!

The only thing that I believe has been long overdone - are the tentacles!

HPL didn't rely on multi-tentacled monsters for everything!!

There's plenty of other creatures that deserve modern artistic attention...

And, they're not going to wait for you patiently!!

1914: "Signs of Lovecraft's Times."

At the time of HPL's Bickerstaffe articles, he found himself writing in the shadows of WW1.¹

Which, with its incredible brutality & large number of dead, affected many people beyond the soldiers that had to fight in it.

This war was notable for its extensive use of new, deadlier technology.

The use of poison gas, long-range artillery & the extraction of nitrogen² to make ammo - all made clear the dark side of Science.

Also, in 1900, quantum mechanics³ began replacing the old, predictable universe - with a probabilistic one.

The once elegant rules of the past were now mere primitive thoughts.

Our understanding changed from the deterministic to something far more vague...

This could be interpreted as a move towards chaos - which Howard knew was indifferent to our very existence.

Azathoth⁴ anybody?

Lovecraft didn't use these ideas to merely sound more scientific.

Instead, HPL applied these concepts - by taking them to their most extreme possibilities.

Howard diligently kept up with all of the latest advances in the sciences that he was personally interested in.

Then, Lovecraft could portray such facts as leading to strife, madness & death!

HPL's best works always showcase his personal expertise in many of the im- portant sciences of his time.

Of course, many other writers have passed off Science as a dangerous endeavor.

But, most of these plot problems arise from their characters's ignorance of Science.

Howard finds his characters's plot problems in the completely opposite direction!

The scientists of Arkham University⁵ actually 'aid' in their own destruction - by being useless as heroes!!

Well, except for Professor Armitage⁶ - of course.

Lovecraft's scientists actually place too much passion in their work.

They attack their research with un- common vigor & ruthlessness.

Usually, fighting against less educated - but, more fearful scientists.

Just to get to toil in some make-shift lab.

Usually, these men fall prey to their own hubris, leaving frightful night- mares in their doomed wakes...

In HPL's stories, Science rarely helps the hero out of his predicament.

Instead, it's Science that reveals the catastrophic knowledge that dooms the hero - & all of his world!!

You Have Now Been Officially Warned...

Next: Part 5, Notes.

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY SUPPOSITION SUNDAY: The Warden

SPOILER WARNING!  It’s still a thing, and, if you haven’t yet, you still need to watch Megamind.  (If you have seen it already, however, you need to see it again.  Because it’s awesome.)

Yes, yes, the post is three days late this time.  Real life has to take priority and such. So sue me.  (Don’t really do that.  LOL!)

For that same reason—or more accurately because this week has exhausted me—I will attempt to make this post shorter than usual.  We’ll see how that goes.  My money is on “not well.”  LOL.

Anyway, today we’re going to look at a subject that often divides the Megamind fandom: the Warden and his relationship with Megamind. There are several fan theories—I mean, suppositions—surrounding this, but I’m going to be focusing on a few of the main ones.

The first of these is that the Warden was actually a father figure to Megamind when he was young, allowing him to be raised in jail not out of cruelty or disinterest, but because it was the only way to keep him safe from shadowy government agencies that otherwise would have performed all sorts of experiments on the blue alien.  This both accounts for why a child would be allowed to grow up in what is clearly a high-security prison for dangerous adult criminals—something that, admittedly, needs some sort of explanation—and fits with widely accepted sci-fi and comic book tropes. (From Area 51 to mysterious “Men in Black” type organizations, fiction is full of government agencies created to study extraterrestrial life and technology.)  Some even go so far as to suggest that the Warden may have tried to adopt Megamind officially, but was blocked from doing so by these same entities. On top of this, such an idea also offers room to re-imagine the Warden as a much more interesting, complex, and sympathetic character.  Indeed, there has been some excellent fan fiction written about this pseudo-parental relationship.

Art: Fathers And Sons Day by tabbydragon

There is some evidence to support this.  The first is that, although the Warden behaves harshly toward Megamind in the “jail-break” scene near the beginning of the film, Megamind himself seems to be trying to engage in a playful exchange: pranking the older man, wishing him a good morning, and even teasing him.  While some say that this is simply Megamind’s personality as well as his determination to always appear indominable, others suggest that, perhaps, the blue man is trying to recapture a lost amiability between himself and the prison Warden.  It is possible that, when he was younger and less villainous, Megamind might have exchanged friendly jokes and greetings with the man in charge of the jail he called home.  It has even been suggested that the Warden is so hard on the blue man at the beginning of the film not because he hates Megamind, but because Megamind’s life choices have hurt and alienated his father figure. This idea finds some support in the facts that, when Megamind leaves jail to confront Titan, the Warden wished him good luck, and at the end of the movie, that same man seems genuinely happy as he watches the television broadcast of his one-time prisoner being named Defender of Metro City.  Finally, there is some evidence from the comics which, although not truly considered canon, as I’ve mentioned before, do offer some material for fan theories.  In the “episode” entitled Bad Minion! Bad! Megamind runs into the Warden in a bar, and the latter offers the former advice.  There is certainly a somewhat fatherly feel to the scene.

The second theory is exactly the opposite: that the Warden either did not care for or outright disliked the former supervillain.  Unfortunately, as fun as the Warden/Father Figure concept is, this second, darker idea has far stronger evidence to support it in the film itself.  (Try not to hate me, everyone.)  These clues range from the obvious to the subtle, but there are quite a few of them to be found.

During the first scene in which we see Warden interact with Megamind, he doesn’t behave like an angry, disappointed father—at least not a good one.  He isn’t merely surly toward Megamind; he is absolutely nasty. The Warden verbally condemns the alien, telling him that he’ll “always be a villain,” and essentially steals what he believes is a gift for the blue man, even taunting him by saying: “I think I’ll keep it!”  This hardly seems like the actions of someone who once felt any sort of affection for the extraterrestrial.  That same portion of the movie holds another clue as well: the screens monitoring Megamind’s brain activity.  Indeed, in original concept art for the film, the system appears both more invasive and more nightmarish.  It seems that, far from protecting Megamind, the Warden may have actually allowed him to be experimented upon.

Next, there is the newspaper article at the beginning of the title sequence, which bears the headline “Hometown Boy Makes Bad.” It’s hard to see what the paper says, of course, even if you bother to really notice it, but luckily for us Liz (Demishock) wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post which, among other things, provides a transcript of the “news story.”  In it, the Warden is quoted as referring to young Megamind as a born villain as well as abnormal.  

You don't know this kid. I've watched the little criminal since he was in diapers. This kid is just a bad seed. I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him - I mean, have you seen the size of his head?…  It's not like he's a normal kid… I mean, have you gotten a good look at his gigantic blue head? I don't know where you come from, but where I come it's just not right.

Granted, there seems to be some truth to what the Warden is saying, as the article also mentions that Megamind, who can hardly have been more than seven years old at the time, has basically been put into solitary confinement for the safety of other prisoners following an unnamed incident, adding that the other inmates “refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.”  (This fits with the fan theory that young Megamind would have had to both fight and develop a fearsome reputation in order to protect himself. You can read more about that in the post How Strong is Megamind?) However, the Warden seems to dwell a lot on the fact that Megamind looks alien, and he displays an obvious dislike for the young boy.

Finally, there is evidence hidden in the school scene, although it’s easy to miss. In an amazing two-part video series, Megamind: A City of Deception. YouTuber The Theorizer illustrates several hidden clues about Megamind’s early life and how it it led him to embrace villainy.  (I will very likely write another post going into more detail about that at a later date.)  One thing that The Theorizer discovered is a seemingly innocuous detail in the background during the popcorn scene.  Take a moment to examine the images below.  Look closely at the blackboard and you’ll see a paper cut out of a school bus.  Look even more closely at that and you’ll find something odd: the bus is full of crayon-drawn children except for one figure: an adult male, riding in the back of the bus, who looks suspiciously like the Warden as he appears at the beginning of the film. 

In a movie where so much attention is given to small things—I mean, seriously, the animation team actually went through the trouble to write a news story for a paper that was on the screen less than ten seconds—this cannot possibly be a coincidence.  (You can learn more about the artists’ amazing dedication to detail in my post What’s Hidden in the Animation?)  Although it is vaguely possible that Megamind, painfully aware of how much his appearance was despised, chose to draw the Warden’s face instead of his own, most fans believe there is a darker reason for this oddity.  

Think about it: the Li’l Gifted School for Li’l Gifted Kids is built close by a jail with a strangely similar name: Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted.   It’s clearly a small academy, yet the only two known aliens in the city—who, by the way, have extremely different social backgrounds—both just happen to attend there.  And now the prison warden appears to be somehow involved with the elementary school?  It’s bizarre.  Add to this the fact that the young alien adopted by a privileged family—a boy who possessed super-strength and laser vision—seemed inclined to be a bully, (as is made obvious by the kickball scene,) and a disturbing fan theory emerges.  Adults realized that Wayne Smith, the child who would eventually become Metro Man, might prove dangerous if left unchecked, and came up with a plan to turn him into a hero instead.  Wayne was showered with praise, conditioning him to seek public approval, but a superhero needs a nemesis.  The strange-looking, unwanted blue boy who’d already been labeled a criminal would have seemed like the obvious choice.  If this is true, then Megamind was purposefully, albeit covertly, groomed to become a supervillain from a young age, and the Warden played a major role in doing that.

So there you have it.  Two competing fan theories concerning the Warden’s connection with Megamind.  Both have some evidence supporting them, and there are fans who are firmly dedicated to one or the other.  Which is true?  Did the Warden care for Megamind like a son but distance himself when the boy turned to villainy?  Or did he judge and despise Megamind but come around to liking him when he finally realized what sort of person the blue man was deep down?  The fact is that those questions can be argued for hours on end.  No matter which of these suppositions you prefer, however, the mere fact that even a minor supporting character is complex enough to offer room for this debate speaks to the impressive amount of work and devotion that went into creating this amazing animated film.

[winterhawk-olympic-bang]

Writer’s Workshop: How To End Your Story

How To End Your Story

Guest Poster: Flawedamythyst

We’re in the final furlong before the deadline for the first draft now, so it feels like a good time to talk about endings, and how to bring your story together to create a satisfactory one.

Have a read and then head over to the Discord Server where we have a channel for you to take part in a discussion based on the post, with chances to share your own ideas too.

How To End Your Story

There are traditionally six types of endings for a story:

Resolved ending - one with no lingering questions or loose ends. (Most murder mysteries and romances fall into this category.)

Unresolved ending - the kind of ending that leaves the reader with more questions than answers. (Usually for books that are part of a series. A lot of the HP books have endings like this.)

Expanded ending - expands the world of the story beyond the events of the narrative itself, with a time jump forward or a change in PoV.

Unexpected ending - a twist ending that the reader doesn’t see coming, but that should seem inevitable in hindsight.

Ambiguous ending - one that’s open to interpretation. Unlike an unresolved one, it leaves things to be interpreted by the reader so they have to decide themselves how it goes.

Tied ending - that brings the story full circle, and ends exactly where it began. Often the case for ‘Hero’s Journey’ type stories, where the hero ends up back home at the end.

You can read more about them here: https://boords.com/storytelling/how-to-end-a-story or here: https://www.masterclass.com/articles/ways-to-end-your-story but also in multiple other articles online just by Googling ‘Six Ways To End A Story’. 

But, of course, they don’t really tell you how to work out which one your story needs, or how to write one of them without falling into any of the traps that ends with an unsatisfying ending.

Motivation

Of course, often the hardest bit with an ending is actually getting there. Losing motivation is so easy, especially when you’re writing something super-long. I know lots of people get motivation by posting as they go and using comments/kudos as a spur, or even just by talking about it on Tumblr or other places and letting other people’s excitement buoy them up, but a Bang event like WHOB doesn’t allow for that. 

I’m going to talk a bit about ways to motivate yourself when you’re having to keep things secret from all but a handful of people, but bear in mind that this is something that really is very individual. Everyone writes for different reasons, and so everyone’s path to staying motivated is different.

For me, I think it comes down to focusing on why am I writing this story to start with? Any time I feel myself flagging, I think back to that reason and re-capture the original feeling I had about it. Often there’s a couple of different reasons. 

For example, when I was writing Look What The Cat Dragged In, my motivations when I wrote the first line were:

I want all of fandom to share with me the image of the Winter Soldier waking Clint up to threaten him while gently cradling a kitten in his hands, and 

I was writing it as a present for @kangofu-cb​. 

So, if I flagged at all, I was able to either reread that moment with Bucky holding the kitten and think ‘wow, I really do thing people will enjoy this mental image’, or I was able to think ‘I want my friend to have a nice thing’, and that helped me drive on and push through.

A lot of my personal motivations come down to ‘I want to share this scene/witty one-liner/visual of Clint pole dancing while dressed as Captain America with people’, so often just rereading what I’ve already done is really motivating for me, plus it also gives me the chance to see just how much I’ve already done, and what I would be dooming to be unfinished if I just walked away without pushing through.

You might well have different motivations though, which are equally valid. Maybe you started a fic for this event because you wanted to get a shiny badge, or to do something that your friends were doing, or you wanted to prove to yourself that you could write something longer than usual or outside of your usual wheelhouse. It may feel harder now than it did when you had that first idea, but that doesn’t change why you wanted to do it, and it’s actually easier now than it was when you started, because you’ve already done some of it.

And, if none of those motivations work for you, there’s always spite. ‘Oh, my brain gremlins think I can’t finish this? Fuck those guys, I’m going to prove those assholes so very, very wrong’ is completely how I powered through to finish my first ever novel-length fic, a million years and several fandoms ago. 

Resolution vs Ending

So, let’s move on to the ending itself. 

There are two parts to writing an ending: there’s the plot resolution and how that all gets tied up, and there’s the actual ending of the fic - the last scene, and the last place the reader sees the characters.

Sometimes the resolution happens only at the very end of a story and so those are the same thing, but I tend to think that makes things feel a bit abrupt. Especially for fics, which tend to be more character-driven than mainstream media and so need a wind down on how the characters react to the end of the plot for the reader. (This isn’t always true, of course, some plots do tie up neatly in the final scene. Every story is different and you’re the person best placed to judge what’s needed in your fic.)

So when you’re thinking about the ending, think about both parts. ‘How does this plot resolve itself?’ and ‘where do I want to leave these characters in the readers’ mind’s eye?’

Plotting a Story Resolution

You may well have already got a resolution worked out as part of your planning, but what if that ending doesn’t seem to fit any more, or you realise just as you get to it that you forgot to think about an ending at all and have no idea where to go?

First of all, don’t panic! If the rest of the story is there, you’ll be able to pull together the strands to create the best ending. Trust the bones of your story.

When I’m facing a blank page and no real idea of how I’m getting from the Depths of Despair moment to the happy ending, the first thing I do is reread the whole story in case that sparks a fantastic, fully-formed idea to appear on how to tie it all up. Mostly that doesn’t work, which is always disappointing, but it’s still a good place to start, because you have the whole run of the fic fresh in your head to plan from.

The next thing I do is make a list of all the things that I know definitely need to happen for the plot to be done. These don’t need to be in any particular order at this point and they don’t need to link up, you just need a list of what needs to go into the framework, however minor. ‘Clint wears Bucky’s hoodie and Bucky is smitten’ is a totally valid plot point to include, or even ‘include mention of recurring joke about muffins’. If you know something needs to be resolved but you don’t know how yet, just putting ‘resolve plot point with badgers’ is fine. Hopefully once you’ve started thinking through all the different bits, you’ll work out what’s going to happen to the badgers, and it’ll make sure you know it needs to be included somewhere.

If you have a beta/cheer reader who can help, it’s also super helpful to ask them what they would expect from the ending based on what they’ve read so far, or what elements from earlier in the story they think will be coming back/will turn out to be foreshadowing. Sometimes you’ll find you’ve written the clues to your ending into the earlier bits without really noticing, and you can throw them down on the list to be included as well.

Once you have everything you know needs to be included, you can shift them around into a rough order you think they need to go in, and start filling in the gaps. For example, if ‘Clint gets injured’ is there, you can add in ‘Bucky tends to his wounds’ as the obvious next step and maybe that would be a good time to throw in a muffin joke, and then Clint might need to borrow a hoodie if his shirt has blood on it, so you can tick those bits off as well.

It gets easier to see where the gaps are once you have it written out, even if it’s only things that you already knew would need to happen. Having it down in black and white helps your brain to move pieces around like a jigsaw puzzle, and start extrapolating on what comes in the gaps between.

Make The Ending Fit The Story

Think about what kind of story it’s been so far, and make sure that the ending you come up with fits in with it. 

You’ll know the general feeling that you wanted for the fic when you started writing, so that will give you a solid idea on how the ending needs to go. (Often for me this feeling is ‘schmoopy and loved up’, because I’m a softie. A lot of what I’m doing when I’m writing a fic is just clearing out of the way any obstacles that are going to get in the way of my characters being schmoopy and loved up. When there’s nothing left in the way, that’s when I know it’s the end of the story.)

You also need to keep the tone and pacing of your fic the same, and make sure that your ending matches up so it all feels like it fits together. This includes keeping the pace the same as it had been, no matter how tempting it is to rush through so you can get the thing finished already, or slow right down so you can add in a few thousand more words. 

Along with sticking to the tone you’ve set for the fic, try not to genre-shift - if you’ve written an action-packed zombie apocalypse fic, resolving the plot with domestic schmoop isn’t a great idea. The reader is invested in the style of story that you’ve written so far, so pulling the rug out on them will only give them whiplash, a vague sense of dissatisfaction or a persistent nagging feeling that zombies are about to attack. 

Unless you’ve written a domestic schmoop zombie AU of course, in which case I would read the hell out of it. ‘Curtain!fic but sometimes the undead interrupt’ sounds like a lot of fun.

And finally, make sure you maintain your characterisation. If the ending you want involves your character doing something wildly out-of-character, then that’s not the right ending. (I like to call this an Endgame!Steve ending. No, I’m not over that.) Even if your audience is invested in your story enough to overlook the incongruence, they will be having to overlook it rather than feeling fully invested in the journey you’ve created.

Chekov’s Gun

The most satisfying endings are the ones that tie up most, if not all, of the loose ends, and provide an emotional pay-off equivalent to the build-up. If you’ve been talking about something big that might or might not happen, and then it doesn’t, it’s narratively frustrating. In the same way, if you drop something big in that doesn’t really fit with what went before, it’s going to make the story feel unbalanced. 

Obviously that doesn’t mean you can’t have a surprise or twist ending but even if the reader is surprised by something happening, they still want to feel like they’re reading the same story. They need to look back with hindsight of knowing the twist and see how it fits in, and not how it stands out.

A good rule to follow is the Chekov’s Gun rule: If there’s a gun on the table in the first act, someone needs to shoot it in the second act. If you’ve been teasing something, make sure the pay-off is there.

And, of course, if someone’s going to be firing a gun at the end, go back and make sure it gets mentioned earlier in the story. It doesn’t need to be a heavy-handed anvil, but if you can drop in casual hints about guns earlier in the story, the whole thing feels more cohesive and thought out. No one needs to know that you only put those hints in after you’d finished the whole thing.

Loose Ends

Something I always like to do when I’m plotting exactly how the ending is going to go, is to go back through the whole fic and make a list of anything that feels like it could be a loose end if it didn’t get resolved. (If I’m having a problem working out my ending, often this happens at the same time as writing down all my ending plot points, as I described above.)

Some of those are obvious, like ‘Bucky and Clint need to kiss’, but some are less so. Did Clint think about how much he just wants to be done with all the drama so he can snuggle with his dog? Maybe throw in some Lucky cuddles somewhere in the finale so he gets the emotional pay-off. Has Bucky mentioned really want to punch a bad guy in particular in the face? Give him a chance to smack that asshole around a bit. Has there been a minor relationship drama along the way, like someone leaving their socks lying around? Have them either make a point of putting them away, or the other person just rolling their eyes and accepting it as a part of being with them.

It’s also important to think about where your secondary characters are going to end up, and if it feels like they’ve had an arc that needs resolving. Has there been another pairing with a bit of screen time or some background drama? Give them a chance to make out/make up. Has the bad guy done something that affected one of the other Avengers? Let them have a slice of revenge along the way.

For example, in my plan for Be All You Can Be, one of the original characters I introduced as other soldiers doing Basic Training, Havelka, didn’t turn up again after he’d been kicked back a level to another training unit. When I reread that, it became clear that he needed to prove himself somehow or his arc would be a depressing downward slope partially instigated by Clint and Bucky, so I brought him back at the end to do some First Aid and gave him a line or two to point to how his future was going to go, so the reader knew he was going to be okay.

You don’t have to completely resolve everything of course, and sometimes it is nice to leave a couple of things up to the reader’s imagination, but it’s nice for the reader if there’s a sense of things being tied up in a little bow. 

Ending

So, you’ve resolved your plot, how are you going to handle the actual final ending? 

Depending on how your story has gone, you might not need much after the resolution, or you may need several epilogue-y type scenes just to make sure everything is wrapped up.

Take a moment to think about what feeling you want the reader to take away from the fic. If it’s a romance, do you want to end with a warm fuzz of ‘aw cute’? If it’s been an angsty dig down into Clint or Bucky’s mental health issues, do you want a sense of optimism or catharsis? If there’s been a lot of action and drama, do you want a bit of peace and quiet for your characters to signal it’s all over with?

The best way to end any story is with a sense of hope, even if you’ve not gone for a completely happy ending, or have left yourself open for a sequel with some unresolved plot points. You want the reader to feel at least in some way uplifted. After all, regardless of whatever else has gone before, that’s the emotion they’ll have when they get faced with the Kudos button and the Comment box, so you need them in a good mood, right?

When you know what kind of feeling you want your ending to have, that will give you a major clue as to what the characters should be doing in the final scene.

One thing that can work well is bringing back something from the first scene or two and twisting it to be part of the ending. For example, at the beginning of Be All You Can Be Clint uses the song Make A Man Out Of You from Mulan as a way to torture Bucky, and then at the end, they watch the movie together while snuggling.

You do have to be careful not to be too heavy handed with that, and it doesn’t work in every fic, but I do like the feeling of ‘things coming full circle’ that you can get from doing it.

Afterglow vs. Too Much Ending

I always think that good stories come with a certain amount of ‘afterglow’: Just a scene or two to round things out and give a pointer towards the future. 

For example, in general, I don’t like stories that end with a first kiss, which is one of several reasons I usually find Hollywood romcoms unsatisfying. It feels like too much of a beginning, and leaves too many questions open about how things are actually going to go for the couple in question. As part of a complete ending, it feels more satisfying to have an ‘epilogue’-y type scene afterwards that will give you a sense of how things went from there, even if it’s just a couple of paragraphs about them planning their first date.

I’m sure we can all think of other times we’ve read or watched something and had a moment of ‘oh, was that it?’ after the last sentence/when the credits rolled. Abrupt endings without a bit of afterglow can leave the reader blinking a little and wondering where their damn cuddles are.

That said, you also don’t want to go too far in the opposite direction. If the plot is over, there’s no need to keep going with multiple scenes of fluff or porn that doesn’t really add anything. We don’t need to see their whole lives mapped out, and it can get fairly dull once the tension of the plot is over. Ask yourself if the three chapters of them having sex on every flat surface in their apartment is actually necessary, or if some of them can be cut and used as one-shot sequel/missing scene fics. 

In general if it’s not adding to either the narrative or emotional arcs, try to cap it at a scene or two. Just enough to feel like you’ve had a bit of post-climactic afterglow, but not so much that it’s starting to drag.

In Conclusion…

Ending a fic is, in so many ways, the most satisfying part of writing. You got right the way through your plot to the end! You did all the writing! Your characters made it through to their happy/sad/ambiguous endings! You deserve all the gold stars!

You just want your reader to feel the same way, by making sure the ending fits with what came before, ties up all the ends that need tying up, and leaves them with a deep glow of whatever feeling you want the overall story to convey.

And then you just need to do the editing, but that’s a workshop for another day...

[aion-rsa]

Midnight Mass: It’s Time to Talk About That Monstrous Twist

https://ift.tt/39I2zkp

This article contains huge spoilers for Midnight Mass. So help me God if you read this without watching the series first…

The version of Midnight Mass that Netflix advertised still would have made for a compelling horror series. 

An isolated, insular island community? Great. A young, charismatic preacher suddenly coming to town to shake things up? Perfect. That preacher proving capable of performing minor miracles? Love it, no notes! 

Of course, as viewers who have watched at least four episodes of the seven-episode series now know, Midnight Mass has one extra supernatural twist in mind that elevates an already interesting story to true mind-blowing status. Critics were understandably asked to keep this aspect of the show a secret before it premiered. So please indulge me as I finally slay these embargo demons and get it off my chest.

Vampires. Vampires! V-A-M-P-I-R-E-S. VAMPIRES! VAMPIRES VAMPIRES VAMPIRES! Literally like Dracula. And Nosferatu. Anne Rice’s Lestat. Stephen King’s ‘Salem’s Lot. Vampires. VAMPIRES, BRO, VAMPIRES.

For creator Mike Flanagan, a filmmaker influenced by all manner of classic horror, bringing the fanged bloodsuckers to life was a long time coming.

“My favorite vampire movie is (Werner) Herzog’s Nosferatu,” Flanagan told Den of Geek and other outlets prior to the premiere of Midnight Mass. “That film is the vampire story as high art. I also adore From Dusk Till Dawn. I read Dracula young enough for it to really burrow in for me. And I read ‘Salem’s Lot early enough to color an enormous amount of work that I’ll do for the rest of my life.”

Midnight Mass’s depiction of the mythological undead beast and how it can neatly fit into Christian dogma is one of the most satisfying horror twists in years. Now that the truth is out, let’s discuss Midnight Mass and how it conflates vampires and biblical angels. 

Mistaking a Vampire for an Angel

The interesting thing about Midnight Mass is that it clearly takes place in a universe where the average person has no knowledge of what a vampire is. Even Sarah Gunning (Annabeth Gish), arguably the most well-read person on Crockett Island, has to do some research into “porphyria cutanea tarda” (a.k.a. the real life “vampire disease”). This is similar to The Walking Dead’s approach to zombies, in which the “z” word and George A. Romero’s name are never spoken. This strategy in Midnight Mass allows for a truly fascinating case of mistaken identity.

While viewers immediately know that the creature Monsignor John Pruitt (Hamish Linklater) encounters is a vampire, he believes it to be an angel. Given how studied Pruitt is in the Bible and Cathloic theology, it’s entirely understandable why he would think a tall, muscular, bald-headed beast with fangs and leathery wings is an angel. As it turns out, the angels of the Old Testament can be truly terrifying. 

Not all angels are soft-featured human-like creatures with fluffy white bird wings. Some, like Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones are designed to intimidate God’s enemies. In the New Testament’s Book of Luke, an angel visits Zechariah and immediately asks him to “be not afraid” because the angel can see the poor guy absolutely shaking in his boots upon his arrival. Angels being terrifying is even something of an Internet meme, with users contrasting the phrase “be not afraid” with images of truly monstrous beasts. 

Not only does Pruitt’s vampire have the vague appearance of an angel, it also apparently holds the secrets to eternal life as promised in the Bible. By merely drinking some of the “angel’s” blood, a good Christian can live forever just like God says. Does that blood-drinking sacrament sound familiar? It did to Mike Flanagan.

“In Bible school I used to say ‘if the wine turns into Jesus’s blood literally and we’re drinking it so that we can live forever … that seems like a short leap to vampiric myth.’”

Of course, drinking the angel’s fluids in the case of Midnight Mass also leads to some unwanted side effects like a thirst for blood and extreme sensitivity to sunlight. Thankfully, good ol’ Bev Keane always has a Bible quote ready to go for that. When read through the proper perspective, the Holy Bible may as well be the original vampire story. 

The Rules of Vampirism

“The thing that I love about the vampire as a cinematic tool is how malleable it is,” Flanagan says. “We all agree that there is no canon. There are no rules. In fact, part of the joy is seeing what rules people cherry pick as they approach a vampire story.”

All depictions of vampires are indeed quite different. Vampires can range from the classic Stoker-ian monster to Twilight’s nigh-invulnerable sparkle bois. Midnight Mass’s version of the vampire leans towards the classic, albeit with some tweaks. In terms of appearance, The Angel (as we will be calling Midnight Mass’s O.G. vampire for simplicity’s sake) has a more bestial look like Nosferatu rather than an aristocratic one like Count Dracula or Anne Rice’s creations. 

“We winked at (Nosferatu the Vampyr actor) Klaus Kinski a few times when we designed our guy,” Flanagan says.

Though the Angel resembles Nosferatu in appearance, its vulnerabilities owe more to Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles. Religious iconography does not appear to hurt the Angel nor its thralls. Traditional human weapons like bullets or blades also do no harm (at least not mortally). These vampires are, however, tremendously susceptible to both fire and sunlight. Exposure to the latter for even a few seconds is enough to kill the Angel and his many acolytes. 

Read more

TV

Why Midnight Mass is Mike Flanagan’s Most Personal Work

By Alec Bojalad

TV

Midnight Mass Cast: Previous Credits From Hill House to Bly Manor, Legion & Sherlock

By Louisa Mellor

Like in Rice’s works as well, the path to creating a new vampire is quite simple. Step 1: Drink its blood. Step 2: Die. In Dracula and ‘Salem’s Lot, the method of vampire creation is merely being bit by one, zombie-style. Rice and Flanagan’s approach is quite a bit more intentional and interesting. It also opens the door for perhaps Midnight Mass’s most ingenious storytelling quirk: communion. John Pruitt is able to get nearly the entirety of Crockett Island to become a vampire by spiking the communion wine with his buddy’s blood. Then, all that remains is for them to poison themselves to death, Jonestown-style. 

The mass “resurrection” scene in which the congregation awakes as their new vampire selves also provides some insight to just how hard it is to contain the vampire’s overwhelming hunger. Riley Flynn was able to resist it when he turned because John Pruitt babysat him like a psychedelic mushroom guide. The plan for the rest of the congregation was to have their babysitters as well but that didn’t quite work out. Still, Riley’s dad Ed makes it clear to his wife Annie, that even if it’s hard to resist the call for blood, it’s not impossible. 

“When I saw them at the church, I thought it was something they really couldn’t help. Like something impossible not to do. But it isn’t, Annie,” he says.

Maybe if more vampires were like Ed Flynn, a whole island full of vampires wouldn’t be too bad of a thing in the first place. 

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

How to Defeat a Vampire

While every vampire story presents its own unique take on the creature, the answer on how to defeat a vampire is usually the same: by doing it together.

“We poor humans only have so much that we can give,” Flanagan says. “We’re ill-equipped as individuals to make any kind of meaningful stand. The only way evil in the world can be brought down is through collective effort. That’s something Stoker understands inherently. It’s clearly something King understands.”

Alongside the aforementioned Bram Stoker and Stephen King, Flanagan presents a small team of humans at story’s end who will do what it takes to defeat evil, even if it means dying in the process. Erin Greene (Kate Siegel), Dr. Sarah Gunning, Sheriff Hassan (Rahul Kohli), Annie Flynn (Kristin Lehman), Warren Flynn (Igby Rigney), and Leeza Scarborough (Annarah Cymone) are the six residents of Crockett Island brave enough to try to take down the Angel. All but two (Warren and Leeza) die. They do succeed in eliminating the immediate threat on Crockett Island but it’s possible the Angel made it away to suck blood another day, damaged wings and all.

What’s interesting about Midnight Mass’s “final crew” is that six appears to be the magic number when it comes to taking down a vampire. Stoker’s Dracula has six heroes: Jonathan Harker, Mina Harker nèe Murray, Arthur Holmwood (Lord Godalming), John Seward, Quincey Morris, and Abraham Van Helsing (of which, only poor American cowboy Quincey Morris dies). King’s ‘Salem’s Lot also has six: Ben Mears, Matt Burke, Susan Norton, Mark Petrie, Jimmy Cody, and Father Callahan (of which, decidedly more than one of them die). This strange bit of arithmancy is something we asked Flanagan about.

“The number was certainly not intentional,” he says. “Once it was clear that Riley was not going to be carrying the torch to the end it really was about asking ‘who are the characters who seem in the very beginning to be at a disadvantage and how do we empower them in the end?’ This was gonna be played out by Sarah Gunning, Sheriff Hassan, and everyone else who would get to just give a little piece.”

Considering that Erin and company were outnumbered about 117 to six, it was a pretty good showing for Crockett Island’s last humans standing.

All seven episodes of Midnight Mass are available to stream on Netflix now.

The post Midnight Mass: It’s Time to Talk About That Monstrous Twist appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3CPaitL

[sailorsunspot]

I found this reinako drabble i wrote 5 years ago while i was looking back through my old google docs, and i liked it so i finished it up! Not too much, just about 1600 words of fluff.

------------------------

Rei pressed the doorbell to Minako’s house before fishing her phone out of her pocket and glancing over the glowing display. 7:10. She told Minako she would arrive around 7:25, but knowing the vivacious blonde’s precarious relationship with scheduling, she had opted to show up just a little bit earlier. Her disapproving scowl was usually enough to stir up some sense of urgency into the blonde - and if the stars were aligned, they would - somehow - be ready for when Haruka swung over to pick them up.

She wasn’t holding her breath.

After a few minutes had passed, she found herself depressing the doorbell yet again. Her impatience proved fruitful as she heard the faint strains of a voice through the construct that separated them.

“Just a minute!”

Rei’s arms crossed over her chest by their own accord, a scowl settling on her features. But the rustling on the other end of the door was growing louder, and before she could grow impatient enough to test the doorbell once more, the fine white surface swung open to reveal a grinning Minako.

It only took Minako half of a second to drop the grin in favor of unenthusiastic disbelief as blue eyes raked over Rei’s form.

“Uhm, what are you wearing?”

“...What? Clothes.”

Before she could protest further, lithe fingers had wrapped around her wrist, tugging her into the home.

---

The first thing one noticed when they walked into Minako’s room was how reflective it was. There was a mirror on every wall, providing every possible angle a girl could dream of inspecting. And, more specifically, there was a single spot near the middle of the room that allowed one the privilege of looking themselves over without strain.

And it was the exact spot Rei found herself corralled into occupying.

With a scowl and a subtle flush of her cheeks, Rei turned to glower at the blonde. “This is stupid. I look fine.”

Minako was appraising her critically, her hand cupping her chin in an almost academic manner. “Yes, you look like you’re about to give a presentation to the board of directors about the state of finances last quarter. We’re going to a party, Rei - not a corporate merger.” She was so flippant and confident with her dismissal that Rei couldn’t help but peek back to the mirror, half-convinced she had missed something while dressing this afternoon. But the longer she inspected herself, the more convinced she was in her own righteousness.

She wore a rich burgundy turtleneck that clung in a shapely manner to her skin and complimented her naturally pale complexion and raven hair. Her dark skinny jeans were similarly tight, especially when paired with the high heels that did wonders to her already impressively long legs. The silver belt that dangled loosely around her waist offered her an understated flair. She didn’t look prudish or professional - she looked refined. Mature. Elegant. Words that - of course - would mean absolutely nothing to Mina.

“You’re crazy. I look good.”

“Sure Jan.” Minako drawled out, already digging through her rather expansive walk-in closet. Articles of brightly colored clothing flew around as she inspected and vetted each individual item, without a care for the mess that was progressively growing in the previously semi-clean room. “No but really; I get that you’re not into men, but does that mean we all must suffer?”

“Does it look like I care about you suffer- wait, what?” There was abject shock written on Rei’s features as her brain caught up with what Minako had just said, the makings of a blush crowning on the Senshi of Flame’s cheeks.

This was not something Rei was used to - or even comfortable with - thinking about, nevermind discussing. When they were younger, she had been among the leaders of the pack when it came to chasing boys. Her beauty and type-A personality had worked as a shining beacon for the opposite sex, but she found the thrill not in their attention, but in the reflection of her friends who marveled at her master with men. She did not date often - once in a while, and only with those individuals deemed truly impressive and desirable. But every time, the experience was regretfully lacking, until she came to terms with the fact that she simply had no interest in men.

They were an entirely non-sexual, non-appealing entity to her. When they weren’t actively offending her sensibilities, she felt entirely apathetic to their existence, the same way she might feel towards a floor lamp in the corner of the room.

But whereas she had acknowledged and accepted this fact privately, she certainly didn’t make it known to her friends. For this exact reason.

Minako stopped emptying out her closet in favor of poking her head out to look and laugh at Rei. “Hello! Goddess of Love here! You haven’t gone out with anyone in like, three years Reiko-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“- and you don’t even bat an eye when we did that university tour with all those hunky college dudes. That track and field team, with their short short short short-”

“Minako.”

“- short shorts. Hey, it’s okay Rei! Different strokes for different folks, you know? Besides, more for me!” The blonde ducked back into the closet and Rei was left with nothing but the shuffling in the background to occupy her mind. She considered denying what Minako had professed - for she didn’t have to be a psychic to know that no good would come out of Minako knowing this - but what good would that do her in the long run? The blonde dolt rarely let something as trivial as reality get in the way of her fun, so why should she even bother?

The answer came to her as she strode out of the closet, carrying what looked to be a flimsy shirt of a shimmering violet, which she threw triumphantly in Rei’s direction. “Okay, lesbo, try this on!”

Rei didn’t even bother to try and catch it. She had vague suspicions that she had turned as red as her shirt, but she couldn’t tell if it was due to mortification or indignation “WHAT?”

“My sweet summer child, it’s okay! This is a safe place!” She slide up beside Rei, clasping her hands on Rei’s shoulders, an earnest expression on her face that was undercut by shining eyes. “If you’re worried about the coming out process, don’t be - trust me, we all know. I can have Haruka whip you up a handy pamphlet or something, she loves that kind of stuff.”

Rei scowled, wrenching herself from Minako’s grasp and turning so she could focus the full extent of her most formidable glare on her. “What makes you think I’m like her?”

Minako wasn’t at all phased, the smile etched on her features wide and mischievous. She was the very definition of smug, a fact which grated at Rei’s already frayed patience. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Reiko.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, who could really blame you. I’m like a ten. I know. Now, c’mon! We don’t have much time!” There was a distinctive whine in Minako’s voice as she ignored the tensed, irritated body language Rei was presenting in favor of moving to tug Rei’s sweater off of her. She had always been an unreasonably brave girl.

Rei reacted the only way she could; with ferocious resistance. “Oh my God, get off of me!” She twisted away, stepping back, only to realize that Mina was particularly determined. As the two struggled over the cotton pull-over the strains of the battle could be heard in the form of growling profanities and high-pitched giggling. They were caught up in their own dance, wildly flailing limbs somehow managing to arc in near-perfect synchronicity.

Until they didn’t.

---

The rich leather upholstery of Haruka’s latest sports car was cold against her skin. The top Minako had picked out for her barely covered her stomach, and left little to the imagination otherwise. Self-consciously, she tugged at the front of it, before deciding on crossing her arms over her chest and scowling out of the window.

“Oh, man. I can’t believe you wore that.”

As the red violently erupted on her cheeks, Rei turned her sharp gaze to Minako, fueled by the righteousness of her fury. Minako grinned back, somehow managing to look cheeky and insufferable even with the wicked black eye she was now sporting. As Rei looked over the swollen purpling that surrounded her left eye, she felt her anger drain from her body in favor of something slightly more amenable.

She let out a half-hearted harrumph, turning her eyes to the front of the vehicle. She did not move when she felt the soft, gentle touch to her thigh.

“You look really nice.”

Rei blushed right to her toes. And this time, even Rei couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto her face. After a moment, Rei allowed her arms to unravel, doing her best to ignore the steady beating of her heart as she rested her hand atop of the troublesome girl’s tentatively. Minako laced her fingers between Rei’s.

“But I bet you’d look even nicer with all those clothes taken off.”

“Don’t push it.”

[cinnonym]

and as i look around (your eyes outshine the town)

Written for Day 3 - Arts & Crafts of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

Being with Kara Danvers had forty-two upsides that Lena could think of in the span of a second. The curve of her smile that Lena could catch a glimpse of every time she turned her head. The warmth of her hand in Lena’s, everlasting as if they weren’t trudging around outside at temperatures well below zero. The excited undercurrent in her voice as she talked on and on about her Christmas preparations and gift choices and menu plans.

Being with Kara Danvers also had one single downside. She had very beautiful eyes.

Usually, that particular circumstance counted as an upside too, and in fact featured in at least three of the forty-two items on Lena’s list. Four, if you counted ‘looking at Lena as if she were the eighth wonder of the world,’ because it was technically something Kara did with her beautiful eyes.

But hidden in the depths of all that beauty and admiration slept a secret superpower. Or, two secret superpowers, one being heat vision, of course. The other, Lena liked to refer to as ‘chandeliers’.

As was customary with metaphors, this wasn’t the most literal description. Naturally, Kara’s eyes didn’t really light up with a couple dozens of candles every time she saw something that ignited her passion. But if you pictured Lena’s life as an empty ballroom, dull and grey and with corners so dark even she didn’t dare go there, the effect that Kara’s enthusiasm had on her came pretty close to actual chandeliers.

One spark and her limbs unfroze, unbent from the position the world had forced them into when Lena was still a child. Two sparks and she felt like dancing.

Three sparks and she found herself in her current position, trying – in vain, one might add – to stop the street artist from thrusting his paintings at her.

“This is a misunderstanding,” Lena said, helplessly accepting canvas after canvas because she’d learned the hard way that the man would just drop them on the ice-frozen ground if she didn’t. “I wanted one painting, one single – small – painting.”

“You pay big, you get big.” The man grinned at her, the 750 Dollar Lena had given him safely stored away in the inner pocket of his too big coat.

And Lena had been worried it wouldn’t suffice, that she would have to run to the bank first, to take out more cash. She’d seen way worse art go for way more.

“No listen,” she tried again, “you get to keep the money. It’s a fair price for a painting. And your pictures are good, you really have an eye for people. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, it’s just that I only meant to buy one painting, for my girlfriend over there, you see?”

Kara, traitor she was, stood a few steps away, giggling over Lena’s mishap as if it hadn’t been her fault entirely. As if it hadn’t been her chandelier eyes that had made Lena almost trip over herself in her hurry to buy that painting, not bothering to stop and google the appropriate price for street art in advance.

The guy – he was almost a boy really, pale and beardless in his chequered overcoat – followed Lena’s gaze and whistled.

“Lady like that, she deserves many paintings.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lena said, exactly as sharp as she intended to, but the boy only shrugged.

“Looks like a muse,” he replied simply. “Makes me wanna do this.” And he grabbed his notepad and charcoal pen and started sketching.

Within a few seconds, he’d captured Kara’s likeness on the paper. The line of her nose, the curve of her lips, a single curl that had escaped from her hat, it all came alive under the artist’s hand, and as  Lena stood and watched breathlessly, he filled in Kara’s eyes with the light of a couple dozens candles.

“Here,” he said, winking at her as he – to Lena’s absolute horror – folded the paper and slid it between two of the canvases in Lena’s arms. “Christmas gift for my best customer.”

And before Lena could protest or even get out a ‘thank you,’ he’d turned away and vanished in the Christmas shopping crowd.

“You two seemed chummy,” Kara welcomed her back, still shaking with silent laughter as Lena staggered under the weight of her purchases.

“I think you mispronounced ‘thank you,’ love,” Lena muttered, but her mortification had subsided. She was suddenly glad about the encounter with the artist, glad she’d probably paid his rent for the next two months, glad to have met him.

Glad for Kara’s chandelier eyes, which were blazing on full force as she leaned in to plant a soft kiss on Lena’s cheek.

“Thank you, love,” she whispered, only a hint teasingly, and Lena smiled.

“You’re welcome. Now, you better come up with a way to get rid of these paintings, because there’s no way we keep all of them.”

“Aww,” Kara fake-pouted, “Why not?”

“Because there are like, twenty-nine of them.”

“Did you count or is that a guess?”

Lena spared Kara the withering glance of someone who barely resisted saying ‘Do I look like I guess?’ Kara adjusted her glasses.

“Right.” There was a pause, in which both of them tried not to laugh.

It didn’t go very well.

“I know,” Kara finally said, after Lena’d complained that laughing made it harder to balance the towering canvases. “In the spirit of Christmas, we could gift them to random passersby.”

Lena suppressed an eye-roll. “Only a Super would propose this.”

“And only a Luthor would reject the idea,” Kara shot back, and that, of course, rendered Lena unable to object to the proposal.

“Fine,” she sighed, “Do your hero thing. As long as you keep me out of it.”

The next day, Lena woke to several hundred mentions and her name trending on Twitter. Snuggling back into Kara’s embrace, she reluctantly opened the National City News app, fully prepared to see yet another accusation of murder, treason, or at the very least tax evasion.

What she wasn’t prepared for – what nothing in the world could have prepared her for – was a picture of her in a moderately photoshopped Santa hat, splashed on the front page of CatCo’s gossip column. Santa Luthor read the unnecessary colourful headline, and underneath that, Local Millionaire Struck with Holiday Spirit.

Lena blinked. She felt vaguely like in one of these dreams, where you knew that something was about to happen but before you could find out, you woke up and felt disoriented all day.

Except it had already happened.

She scrolled through the article in a daze. Apparently, one of the people who had been gifted with a painting by Kara happened to be the young artist’s aunt. She’d recognised the signature, called up her nephew and, upon uncovering the whole story, decided to go to the press.

She paid for my Philip’s admission to art school, she said in the article, which at least cleared up the question where the money had gone. I’ve always known Miss Luthor’s heart was in the right spot, but this proves it once and for all.

Although the lie was blatant enough for even CatCo gossip column readers to stumble over, Lena couldn’t help smiling a little. If she had to be all over the media, she by much preferred it to be for something like this.

And when she came across an unknown DM in her notifications that simply said ‘thx for the promo & good luck with the muse,’ maybe she looked at the charcoal sketch framed over her bed and smiled a little extra.

[shadowedoracle]

Fractured Lullabies - Chapter 1

Summary: Season 7 Woven Beauty AU. The Gold family has been separated by Drizella's dark curse. Now Detective Weaver, a widowed father to baby triplets, hires single mother Clarabelle French as his children's nanny.

Rating: E (For eventual smut)

A/N: So @moonlight91 left a comment on my Fluffapalooza fic last year about Rumbelle ending up with triplets. That sparked a vague idea that somehow morphed and finally grew into this whole Season 7 Woven Beauty AU.

Many thanks to the lovely @jackabelle73 for beta reading this.

If you spot any typos/ errors do let me know. Any other comments are always appreciated.

[AO3]

***

Weaver stared down at the pale yellow business card he’d been holding for over half an hour, wishing he had already gotten the energy together to call the number on it. But he couldn’t even seem to remember how to enter a phone number into a cell phone -- let alone remember how to hold a phone conversation. He ran his thumb along the navy lettering in a fancy old fashioned font on the business card reading: “Clarabelle French: Nanny”.

He felt moisture prick his eyes as he recognized it as the font Lacey used to use on her business cards. He groaned and tossed the card down onto the countertop, pacing the apartment’s small kitchenette trying to keep it together. He was not about to fall apart over a font, for fuck’s sake.

He knew he had been procrastinating, that he should have called the number immediately after Roni had handed him the business card. He knew too that this was not just a case of delaying the inevitable, but rather by waiting, he was sabotaging his chances of success and digging himself into a deeper hole. But despite that knowledge he hadn’t been able to persuade himself to make the call. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Roni’s judgment -- he did (her taste in partners aside). Indeed, she could read people better than many cops he could name. No, it wasn’t her recommendation that had him hesitating, had had him stuck in this loop for days now. No, he just didn’t want to have to accept that his wife was gone. Or that now his children only had him, a royal fuckup of a man without Lacey. He wanted to be able to stay here and look after them himself, but he’d used up all his leave and couldn’t afford to quit his job. Therefore he needed a nanny. But he didn’t want to need one, didn’t want to have a stranger in his home seeing what a terrible job he was doing of raising his children by himself. All week he’d been using variations of that fear and the accompanying paralysis to avoid calling. On the first day he’d been annoyed at himself, but had told himself it had been a long busy day and that if he rung first thing the next morning it’d all work out fine. Except he hadn’t called the next day either. He’d given himself a stern talking to that night and had resolved to call the following day. But again he’d failed to call. While it was true yesterday had been busy and exhausting, and that he hadn’t had a single quiet moment to himself until nearly midnight, that still didn’t excuse his delay. The situation was getting more urgent by the day, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t have taken a few seconds to type out a quick text message. But he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it -- because to do that would be to admit he needed this woman’s help. He knew that thought was ridiculous. He and Lacey had been talking about hiring a nanny for a while. They just hadn’t gotten around to making a final decision about whether to go down that path before she died. But now, instead of being able to talk all this through with her --  to discuss what they both wanted, to interview the candidates and agree on who to hire, together -- he had to navigate this all. Alone. What did he know about nannies? Even after reading countless articles online, he still felt like the answer was “fuck all”. He still had no idea what he needed, beyond someone reliable and trustworthy to look after his children while he worked. But how the hell could he be sure he’d make the right choice? He trusted his judgment when it came to suspects and witnesses -- he was excellent at spotting bullshit and dealing with scumbags. But unless this woman was totally unsuitable, how could he be certain she was not just alright, but that mystical “right fit” that he’d read so much about online? He wished he could have the reassurance of Lacey’s opinions to make sure he made the right decision. No, he couldn’t to do this -- not by himself.

He paced the kitchen restlessly without seeing where he was going and stubbed his toe against a cabinet and swore. Maybe he should just not call this woman, or not today anyway. He’d just continue using the daycare centre, that’d be simpler at least. But even as he thought it, he knew that was only a temporary measure, at best. The triplets hadn’t been doing well in daycare even before Lacey’s death. Plus even with the daycare discount the Seattle PD gave him, a nanny would probably work out cheaper in the long term. So he ought to just knuckle down and get started.

Yes, it’d so be easy for him to put off this decision for another day, until he was “ready” (a word that suddenly seemed to be used around him all the time since Lacey had died). But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself, limping back to sit on a stool at the kitchen island once more. It wasn’t about what was easiest for him; it was about what was best for his children. He was their father and just because this phone call seemed hard wasn’t a good enough reason for him not to do it.

Sure, they’d probably be all right in the daycare for a little while longer, it wouldn’t do them untold damage or anything. But eventually the same issues would come up again and he’d decide they needed a nanny. But then he’d have to try to hire one and do all the calls and interviews -- and whatever the hell else you had to do when hiring a nanny -- while juggling a full caseload and dealing with whatever was ailing the triplets that week. Anyway even if he didn’t hire a nanny, he’d need to find a babysitter for after daycare because his schedule was too variable. Even with the flexibility the force was offering him now, he couldn’t guarantee a case wouldn’t require him to work unsociable hours. Lacey’s schedule had been much more predictable and so she’d done the bulk of the picking the children up, as well putting them to bed when he was back late. He’d need someone who’d be able to do that on nights when his cases ran into the evening anyway. So he might as well hire someone who could be there all day and offer more consistency for the triplets. Plus it’d be a relief not to have to get all three of them ready for daycare and into the car each morning. . But even reminding himself why hiring a nanny was a good idea, didn’t help him pick up the phone because it didn’t change the truth: he didn’t want his wife to be dead and to have to make this big decision without her input. It wasn’t that he didn’t know some of what her thoughts would have been on the matter. She’d mentioned some things when she proposed the idea a few weeks -- or was it months? -- back. But they’d never discussed concrete specifics. Sure, some would say he was lucky to be free to make this decision independently: he wouldn’t have to compromise with her over something she valued more than he did or vice versa.  But he wanted to do just that, to discuss the details and argue over different candidates’ strengths and weaknesses. There was no way he could do this right without her. He was just an old cop who apparently still knew next to nothing about childcare, and even less about nannies. He trusted Lacey’s judgment and knew that, even though she didn’t know much about nannies either, together they’d have been able to work it all out and make the correct decision. Although... perhaps it wouldn’t matter anyway. Perhaps this whole call would be a dead end. It wasn’t likely that this woman would be free and able to take on his children at such short notice. So he was likely working himself up over nothing. Yesterday, the idea that this was likely a lost cause had made it easy for him not to pick up the phone. It had been so easy to convince himself that there was no point wasting either of their time -- even just inquiring -- given how improbable it was that she’d be available. But it had taken even more whiskey than usual for him fall asleep last night, and this morning he’d had to admit to himself that his cowardice yesterday was partially responsible. He couldn’t let that happen again. He didn’t want to be an alcoholic fuckup of a father. He knew what it was like to have one of those and he would never put his children through that. He took some deep calming breaths, and tried to focus on the fact that needing help with his children didn’t make him a failure as a father. Instead hiring a good nanny for them was actually him fulfilling his duty to do his best for them. He picked up his phone and found his favourite picture on it: Lacey, fresh out of the hospital, sitting in their bed cradling the triplets on her lap.  He stared down at the image of her smiling tiredly up at him and felt tears prick his eyes once more. The fact that Lacey, so full of life (even at her most exhausted), was gone was still unbearable. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the hole in his heart, or the feeling that he was missing a limb without her. A nanny was no substitute for a mother and, at the thought of everything his children and Lacey would miss out on, he felt a now familiar stabbing pain in his chest. She had believed and trusted in his ability to be a good father though, and he didn’t want to prove her wrong. He focused on the image of his children’s tiny scrunched up faces. They needed him to do this for them, Lacey needed him to do this for them. He couldn’t let any of them down.

Keeping those last thoughts in the front of his mind, he tapped open the phone call app. If she said ‘no’ that would be that. What did he have to lose? Maybe she’d even have some ideas who else he could try. He swiftly typed in her number and hit call before he could reconsider.

“Hello, Clara speaking.” A bright Australian voice answered.

Weaver swallowed hard, his practiced opening script slipping from his mind at the sound of a voice so like Lacey’s and sat in silence for a few moments, not even remembering to breathe.

“Hello?” The Australian voice said again.

For a moment an absurd hope that his wife wasn’t dead, but instead just had amnesia and had forgotten her family, bloomed in his mind and took root in his heart. He was just about to say her name, when the voice spoke again.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” It sounded so much like her and yet, the memory of Lacey on that cold slab in the morgue flashed before his eyes and pierced the bubble of his fantasy. His wife was dead, hoping otherwise didn’t change that. But if he didn’t reply now, he’d lose this nanny merely because she had the same accent as Lacey.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Yes, sorry. Hi...” He cleared his throat again, “Is this Clarabelle French, the nanny, speaking?” he managed, this time sounding a bit more like his usual self.

“Yes, speaking. Are you a parent looking to hire a nanny?”

With those extra words, he began to hear the differences between the voices. The nanny’s accent was almost identical to Lacey’s, that was true -- but it wasn’t Lacey’s voice. It was off somehow. The cadence was wrong, for a start, and there was some other dissonance that he couldn’t quite place. The train of thought sobered him, bringing him down from his fantasy. He remembered how to speak, how to call upon that air of confidence he used when dealing with suspects and witnesses. “Yes, I was given your business card by a mutual friend... Roni. I need to hire a nanny for my young kids quite urgently, and she mentioned you might be available.”

“How urgently are we talking?” She replied, crisp and businesslike.

“Ideally next week, Monday, if possible. But I understand if that’s too short notice for you.”

“I see...” She paused, thinking, “Well, I am available in theory, but it seems quite a short timescale to get through the whole hiring process.” He felt a thread of hope, perhaps this wasn’t a dead end after all and sat up straighter (even though she couldn’t see him). “I know it’s probably unusual. But I need to be back at work then and I don’t have anyone else to look after my children while I’m there.”

“Ah, so it sounds like you are looking for a live-out nanny, if you only want me there when you’re working. Is that correct? I’d need to give you the names of some colleagues if you’re looking for a live-in nanny, I’m afraid. And is your job full or part-time, may I ask?”

“Yeah, it’s a live-out position. It’d be full-time too but my own hours can be somewhat variable. Is that a problem?”

“No. Well... at least not in theory,” she said. “Also is this just a temporary arrangement you’re looking for, or a longer-term one? Because I only work longer term contracts.” “Well, ideally, it’d be a long-term arrangement, but that’d obviously depend on your availability as well as how well the children adjust to the new arrangements.” “That’s reasonable. Luckily for you, the client I had lined up recently moved away from the Seattle area so I could take on a longer-term contract right away -- assuming you decide I’m the right fit for your family. We can then assess how it’s going after 30 days, which is the standard trial period.” He nodded, remembering a second later she couldn’t see him and calling himself an idiot, said, “Yeah, that sounds fine.” “And can I ask what ages the children are?” “Right, of course. They’re triplets actually, 10 months old next week. Is that something you think you can handle?” She laughed. “Wow, baby triplets! Definitely must keep you on your toes.” “Yeah.” He smiled. “And triplets aren’t a problem for me -- I’ve worked with multiples before.” He could feel relief beginning to churn through him. This might just work out. “So would you be able to meet me later today to discuss the role in-person?” “I can’t do later today, at such short notice, I’m afraid.” She did sound genuinely apologetic. “But I could do any time tomorrow morning or early afternoon?” He nodded. “Sure, say tomorrow at noon?”

“That sounds perfect.” He could hear the vague sounds of her making a note of the time.

He tapped his fingers against the countertop, what was he supposed to say next? Right, meeting time and place.

“How about we meet at Roni’s? It’ll be quiet at midday. Then if we think things’ll work out, take it from there?”

He supposed it was probably an odd look to interview a potential nanny at a bar. But he didn’t have a sitter he could call on, and at that time of day the bar would be quiet enough he could probably persuade Roni to watch the children for a while, if necessary. “That sounds great!” She said brightly, not giving any indication she thought a bar was a strange place for an interview. Was that a good sign of her professionalism or a bad one? “But I, er, didn’t catch your name?” “Right!” He forced a laugh, even as he called himself a fucking idiot for forgetting to introduce himself. “I’m Detective Weaver…” He paused as he tried to think of what he’d read online about hiring a nanny. Was he forgetting anything major? He didn’t think so. “And now you have my number, in case you need to contact me about anything.” “Great! I’ll see you noon tomorrow at Roni’s. I look forward to meeting you,” she said.

They finished off the conversation and he hung up, dropping his phone onto the counter with a thud. He gripped the counter edge tightly as he tried to steady his breathing. After he’d gotten over the initial shock of her accent, that hadn’t been so bad. She might actually be available, so this might all work out despite how long he’d put off calling.

He looked around the kitchen to the sink full of dirty dishes, he ought to do those now he supposed. But just then a cry came from down the hall, so he pushed away from the counter and hurried to the nursery.

Brandon, the youngest of the three and furthest from the door, seemed to be working his way up to a big screaming cry. His face was red and crumpled and if Weaver didn’t quieten him quickly, the other two would wake up too. He picked up his youngest son, rocking him and crooning softly, “There, there now. Daddy’s here. What seems to be the trouble, lad?

But Brandon’s cries just continued and grew even louder and Weaver’s hopes of this being quick were dashed when heard a grumbling cry from Melissa, the oldest. It was going to be another one of those afternoons, he already could tell.

[vlindervin7]

All I really have to say about this is that, considering the fact that I spend all my time thinking of both druck and the get down, it’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner. You don’t need to have seen the get down to read this, but I would recommend watching this because it’s pure art. Enjoy

Read on ao3

David closes the door behind them. Matteo doesn’t immediately register what he’s seeing. David hadn’t exactly told him where they were going, just that he had something to show him. This isn’t what Matteo was expecting. 

He feels David come to stand next to him, but he can’t take his eyes off what he’s seeing. It’s a room, empty save for the lone mattress in the corner, and a few pots of paint and spray cans scattered all over the floor. And on the walls, from floor to ceiling, there is colour. Matteo immediately recognizes David’s signature art style that he’s been getting increasingly familiar with over the last few months, and it never fails to take his breath away. There’s so much of it, everywhere and Matteo’s eyes don’t know where to stop, each time they find something to take in, they find something else that demands their attention. It’s more colourful, bigger, and louder than most of David’s other art, almost like a living, breathing thing. It’s overwhelming in the very best way. 

David shifts next to him and it snaps Matteo back to earth and it occurs to him that he should probably say something. It’s a testament to how overwhelmed he is that all he can find to ask is: ‘What do you do when there’s no more space?’

He looks at David for the first time since they entered and oh, in all his awe he’d momentarily forgotten the most beautiful sight he’s still ever seen is standing right next to him. He’s heard some people say that art is always more interesting than the artist, but Matteo has everything he needs to prove that claim wrong right here. 

David breathes out a small laugh, looking a bit relieved to have Matteo responding, even if he’s amused at the direction Matteo’s thoughts have gone. ‘I paint over it.’

‘But then it’s all gone?’ 

The thought almost hurts, that all the beautiful things he can’t get enough of right now, might one day be gone because David needs to start over, and that he’ll never be able to see the however many layers that exist under this one. But then again, Matteo’s never been good with change. 

David shrugs. ‘Sometimes I take pictures, but it’s never really been about that. This is where I come to just feel. It’s not about making something aesthetically pleasing or whatever. I have my sketchbook and other projects for that. This is just where I let off steam.’ 

And Matteo can sort of see that. There’s no real harmony or continuation between the art on the walls, it’s a mix of colour and figures seemingly placed at random. With a jolt he suddenly recognizes his own face, and that’s a lot, the thought that David comes here to let his feelings do the talking where no one can hear, and he painted Matteo bursting with loud colours. 

Matteo reaches out to touch the wall closest to him, a sun or a big flower or maybe a disfigured face. He doesn’t know, but it’s pretty. 

‘I’ve never brought anyone here before’, David says, making Matteo turn around. ‘Not even Laura.’ 

His cheeks are that lovely red colour they are sometimes, and he looks nervous, unsteady on his feet and taking in Matteo’s movements. 

Matteo realizes how precious this is, how big of an honour it is to be shown this, essentially David’s soul on display, which is why he really doesn’t know what to say. He’s scared to say something that will ruin this moment that feels so delicate, or worse say something that won’t accurately convey how much this means to him. 

He pats his pockets and says a silent thanks to his past self for not returning the bright purple marker he’d borrowed from Mia. David looks at him in question when Matteo steps closer to one of the walls again, but he doesn’t stop him so Matteo keeps going. He finds an unmarked space in between swirls of blue, and in blocky letters, writes down ICH LIEBE DICH, before putting the marker away and turning to face David, self-conscious suddenly. He didn’t even ask. He hopes he hasn’t ruined his one chance to read the book of David’s heart, but no. When he catches David’s eye again, he’s beaming, so wide, and powerful enough to wake the butterflies that have been residing in Matteo’s belly permanently since a few months now. It really hasn’t been that long, no matter how much Matteo feels like he’s known David for years, and saying I love you still feels new, exciting although a familiar warmth has joined that feeling lately, making Matteo think that maybe this doesn’t have to wear an expiration date he hasn’t found yet. 

David doesn’t answer, not that he has to, it’s written all over his face and the walls around him. Instead, he bends down to pick up a red spray can. He shake it while coming to stand next to Matteo, an all black apparition contrasting with his bright art, and looks at the wall a moment before spraying, with such ease and comfort that it makes something hot unspool in Matteo’s belly, a bright red heart around Matteo’s words. It’s the sort of cheesy thing David himself would scoff at in movies, but coming from him it feels like the most special gesture in the world. 

Matteo feels like he’s going to catch on fire with all the love he’s feeling. 

For a moment they just stare at each other, laughing giddily. It reminds Matteo of that first time they hung out, like being a little kid again. 

David shakes himself out of it, and picks up a brush this time, before refilling his colour palette. Matteo watches him do it, wondering where this is going, but knowing he won’t mind if it’s not more than David doing his thing and letting Matteo watch, but when he’s done he turns back to Matteo and makes a sweeping gesture over the floor. ‘You’re free to use whatever you want.’

He feels warm at the permission, again feeling the weight of David letting Matteo free in the place that’s most his in the world. He doesn’t immediately take him up on the offer, though, distracted by the flecks of paints that have started appearing on David’s hands, his black shirt. He’d thrown his jacket and beanie in a corner when he entered the space and Matteo wonders if he’ll be careful with the state of his clothes or if he doesn’t care if they get dirty. 

He’s still just watching as David applies the brush to one of the blank spaces left, as he smiles without turning around and says, ‘Are you just going to stare at me, ‘cause you might want to get comfortable if that’s the case.’

‘Shut up’, Matteo mumbles, but he’s smiling at the smug tone David’s using. 

He doesn’t really know where to start, but he does want to try something. It’s always seemed fun to him to do graffiti, except the whole hiding from the cops thing sounded like too much of a hassle. This seems like something close to it, enough to be fun, even though he has very little artistic talent. It reminds him of doodling in David’s sketchbook, knowing it could never add up, but figuring it might make David smile later, the way he did when he watched him that first time. 

In the end he picks up a few spray cans and goes to sit down on the other side of the room where almost the entire lower wall is still a bright white. He shakes one of the cans like he’s seen people do in movies, and David earlier, and tries to vaguely spray the shape of one of the aliens in David’s movie. It’s not as easy it always looks to be, the easy way David had sprayed the perfectly shaped heart earlier. It’s messy and Matteo has trouble enough creating clear shapes as is, the can that feels too big in his hands not making any of that easier. He also didn’t know the paint would drip that heavily when holding the can slightly wrong. He tries his best, but the alien still comes out looking more like a grey green blue coloured blob than anything else. If anything, he gains a deeper appreciation for David’s art. 

The paint has dripped all over the floor and his arms and hands. 

Even if it was harder than it looks, Matteo was right in thinking it would be fun. He’s gone too long being in the same room as David without having his attention, though, and that’s significantly less fun. 

When he pushes himself up and turns around, David has his back turned to him like Matteo didn’t just catch him looking at him, silently laughing before turning away. He’s not even painting anything, just stands there in front of that half-painted forest view, innocently holding the palette in hand. 

‘Something funny?’

David slowly turns around, pretentiously holding the palette up with an innocent look on his face. ‘You talking to me?’, he asks.

Matteo pretends to play along, hoping to catch him in the act. “What do you think of my alien?”, he asks, pretending to be genuine. 

When David sets eyes on it, he laughs like he can’t help it. At Matteo’s raised eyebrows, he tries to hold it in, and holds up his hands, but he doesn’t entirely manage. ‘It’s… It’s very cute’, he says, morphing his face into a serious expression again. 

‘I’ll show you cute’, Matteo exclaims, launching himself at his boyfriend and smearing the paint on his hands all over David’s black shirt, and in the process accidentally knocking the palette over too, so that, now, the front his shirt is stained in a mixture of at least ten different colours.

Some of it’s even gotten on his pants. David gets very quiet for a moment, looking down at his clothes like he’s contemplating getting angry. Suddenly Matteo gets nervous. It had seemed like a good idea in the moment, something close enough to their usual play fighting, but maybe wasting David’s paint and ruining his clothes is taking it a step too far. After all, just because Matteo won’t spend more than five euros on an article of clothing, doesn’t mean David won’t either. 

The noise he makes when David grabs a large paint brush and smears it all over Matteo’s face, he decides to blame on the fact that he was worried his boyfriend would suddenly decide to break up with him, and not that he’s a big baby. Once he’s over the shock, he doesn’t hesitate to retaliate, though, and before he knows it, they’re both throwing smearing aiming paint at each other. Matteo’s laughing so hard he feels light, lighter than he’s maybe ever felt before, like every new drop of of paint that lands on his skin lifts him that much closer to unperturbed peace and he can feel it approaching, that happy state of mind where everything else becomes a blur and he’s able to simply give himself over to it and live in this moment with David forever. 

After a while, they’re not really battling anymore, instead have joined forces. They’re still using each other as a canvas, but it feels like art this time. The closest Matteo will probably get to making art as he picks out colours to addorn David with, and David does the same to him. 

The walls aren’t spared in their outburst, they’re being equally pelted. 

At one point, Matteo needs to stop because David, as lost as Matteo is in all of this, is almost dancing in the way he’s still creating beautiful things on these walls, all the while bringing his hands through his hair and messing it up, drawing Matteo close to him just to touch, and smiling through it all, never ceasing to smile. Sometimes he closes his eyes like he wants to soak in the rays of his invisible happiness, but he never stops moving. Matteo hasn’t prayed in a long time, but moving through this room with David, makes him think this is what it’s supposed to feel like. 

It makes sense now, what he’d said before, about coming here to feel because that’s what he’s doing. Matteo is this close to seeing the walls he holds around himself when he’s outside this room fall away, can see him come alive in a place in which he feels free. Freedom found in between these four walls. It should seem like a contradiction, but it’s not really. What both David and Matteo have in common, is that burning desire for a home, a place to simply exist as they are without the weight of the entire world’s gaze on their back, where they get to be part of something bigger without having to explain. 

That’s this room. 

There’s a moment David opens his arms wide like he’s standing in a sudden downpour and all Matteo sees is that bird he’d shown him when they’d just met, finally taking flight. 

He’s so full of light it feels like it should be dangerous to look at him directly, something that’s too bright to be observed by the naked eye, and a few months ago Matteo would’ve looked away in fear of catching on fire and having the whole world see him burn, but he’s not anymore. He’s so in love it feels like diving headfirst off a cliff, but he’s not afraid. Let the world watch as he falls and then, right when they’re all holding their breath watching him pummel to his death, take flight and surpass them all. 

They end up making out on the mattress, and Matteo loses his shirt but he can’t remember how it happened. All he can think of is David and his all-encompassing need to feel him against him. He shivers and is about to start whining when David gets up for a moment, but then he’s back, straddling him this time. He brings the tip of a paint brush to his shoulder and traces all over his collarbones and neck before reaching the other one. Then he picks out another colour and starts tracing figures on his stomach, arms, ribs, chest, waist. The paint is cold against his skin and it makes him shiver, but David is holding him down gently with one hand, and looking at him like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen, and really he’s mostly shivering with the weight of David on top of him and what it’s doing to his body. There’s nothing except David that could make him move right now. 

When David is satisfied with his work, he puts the paintbrush aside and lets his eyes sit heavy on Matteo’s bare skin, flicking up and down to his face, from his stomach, looking so serious like Matteo’s the piece of art he’s been working on for years, his magnum opus.   

Then, after Matteo is this close to making a sound because the undivided attention is on the verge of being too much, David bends over and then they’re kissing again. Less hurried, less frantic than before, but soft like the gentle music that plays at the end of an action-packed movie when the heroes finally find the peace they’ve been fighting for. That moment after an impossibly high note when the audience is silent for fear of breaking the magic, right before the star receives all the applause they deserve. 

It doesn’t last as long this time, a mutual declaration of trust. David settles his head on Matteo’s shoulder and they just breathe in the wake of all the beautiful chaos the room has had to endure. The toxic smell of the paint hangs heavy in the air, but Matteo feels like he’s never properly breathed until this very moment. 

When he deems it safe to speak, he says what’s been on his mind ever since he walked into the room. ‘There’s so much colour.’

Compared to David’s sketches and the art he posts online and the one he hangs on his wall, this room is so bright. Matteo wonders if it’s because David thinks he can’t afford to show his inner colours to the world for fear of having them tainted or if it’s something else. 

David must understand why Matteo decides to comment on that because he makes a small humming noise Matteo feels more than hears, before slightly turning his head so his mouth is free. ‘I’ve been really happy lately.’

They fall asleep right there, until hours later when they’ll have to face the outside world again. For now, they don’t think of what’s to come, though, too busy living in their homemade dreamscape. 

[terreisa]

Love Down the Line: Chapter 2

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch.  When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept.  Unfortunately she isn't really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma's teenage fantasies, Killian Jones.  With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn't come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life. 

Ch 1, AO3

~*CS*~

Portland, Maine- April 10th

Emma hadn’t intended to be late to rehearsal.  In fact, she wanted to be early to get a step up on Jones.  She figured just because she was doing Ruby a favor didn’t mean she couldn’t exert a little pressure on the guy at the same time.  By the end of a tour she was usually ready to kick everyone off the bus and finish the damn shows herself and she was good friends with Ruby and the others in the backing band.  Jones had to more than prove himself to her during the rehearsal turned audition.  He had to blow it out of the water.

Of course, that had been before she was the one showing up almost forty minutes late.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she huffed under her breath as she ran across the parking lot, the guitar strapped across her back knocking her in the ass with every step.

“You’re late Miss Swan.”

Emma grimaced at the sound of her manager, Regina Mills’, voice.  The woman was scary on a normal day with her custom designer suits, red soled stilettos, and three hundred dollar haircuts that made sure not a single dark hair was out of place, or grey.  She was holding open the door for her with a look of extreme annoyance or impatience or disappointment.  It could have been all three but Emma blew past her into the building and down the familiar hallways towards the space she and the others had been rehearsing in for years.

“I know, I know.  Sorry-” she shrugged in apology and nearly dropped the three notebooks and handful of loose papers in her arms.  Hugging them tighter into her chest she kept moving, “The bug wouldn’t start and I had to call Mary Margaret to borrow her car and then there was an accident on the highway.”

“And why couldn’t you have carpooled with Ruby?” Regina asked cooly as she followed, clearly unmoved by her tales of woe.

Emma stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and spun to face Regina, “Ruby can’t be here.  She’s not supposed to drive with the pills she was given.”

“She is and she didn’t,” Regina said with a roll of her eyes, pushing at Emma’s elbow to get her moving again. “Some other woman who has the manners of a barn animal is here with her.  If you keep inviting people to rehearsals I’m going to start charging for the privilege, maybe even turn it into a VIP package.”

“It must be Dorothy,” Emma smiled, her first real one since Ruby’s practically world ending phone call. “Good for her.  And the only other person who should be here is that Jones guy Ruby swears is worthy of replacing her.  She said he’s a session guitarist, do you not know him either?”

She’d opened the door that led to the rehearsal space, looking over her shoulder as she asked.  Regina raised an impeccably plucked brow and settled her gaze behind her.  Turning towards the room she immediately saw who the stranger was and promptly dropped everything in her arms in shock.

“Careful there, Swan, if you’re anything like every other songwriter I know those things are worth more than their weight in gold.”

Emma could do nothing more than stare as Killian Jones set his guitar aside and crossed the room to pick up the papers and notebooks at her feet.  He gathered them all and tried to straighten them before handing them up to her, a crooked grin on his face.  It faltered a little as she continued to stare at him before he chuckled and scratched behind his ear.

Killian Jones was definitely not the random guy off the street Emma had been imagining, he wasn’t even a vaguely familiar face she’d seen in the halls of their rehearsal space.  He had been the lead guitarist and second vocalist for one of the biggest rock bands in the world almost fifteen years earlier.  His band, Realm of Jewels' second album had gone multi platinum, they’d played arenas and headlined festivals across the globe.  Rumor had it that their third album was supposed to be even bigger.  Then there had been a terrible accident and half the band was gone in an instant.  Killian Jones had survived but emerged from the wreck with one hell of a dragon, in the form of alcohol and pills, on his back.

As far as she’d known he was just another rock star that had gotten lost in the world because of his addictions.  Apparently the story hadn’t ended there.  No, it had seemingly kept going with him ending up in her goddamn rehearsal space looking bashful and hot as fuck.

“You’re Killian Jones.”

He blushed and it almost killed her, “Last time I checked.”

“Realm of Jewels,” she challenged, wondering if he’d shy away from his past.

“Once upon a time,” he shot back, a glint of humor in his eyes as his blush faded.

She hummed, “Rolling Stone called you a ‘not so hidden gem in the rock world, poised to be among the pantheon of rock gods’ if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Good memory,” he grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And that same illustrious publication said you were on the road to being the Stevie Nicks of your generation.  A bit belittling but not far off the mark.”

“Belittling?” She asked sharply, her hackles rising.

He held up his hands in defense, “Not in the way you think, Swan.  If I had written the article I would have perhaps said that you were a talent beyond compare.”

“Oh,” she said, deflating a bit but still on edge due to him being there at all, “um, okay.”

She glanced around the room, trying to find a way out of the suddenly awkward silence that had settled between them.  Tink Greene and Will Scarlet, the other members of her backing band, were huddled by the drumset, watching them with barely hidden awe, clearly star struck at being in the same room with the Killian Jones.  Ruby was sitting on the couch, whispering to the woman sitting next to her, who could only be Dorothy.  Emma caught Ruby’s eye and not so subtly jerked her head back towards the hallway she’d just come from.

“Emma-” Regina snarled as she started backing out of the room.

“I’d like a minute with my guitarist if you don’t mind,” Emma said through gritted teeth, giving Jones an insincere smile that had his own widening in glee.

“Oh, do let them go, Your Majesty,” Jones said with a laugh. “I believe we still need to discuss certain terms and conditions of this little arrangement.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue that nothing was decided when Ruby pushed her fully into the hallway with surprising strength in her uninjured arm.

“Are you fucking kidding me Ruby?” She hissed as soon as the doors closed behind them. “Killian Jones?!”

“So you obviously know there’s no need for him to audition,” Ruby said with a sly smile. “I mean you have seen him in concert four, no fi-”

She covered Ruby’s mouth with her hand, shushing her as she pushed her further down the hallway.  They only made it three steps before Ruby licked her palm, cackling with glee when she yanked her hand back, disgusted.

“It’s not gonna happen.”

“Come on.  He can play, he’s available and he knows the songs.  This is the best you’re going to get and you know it,” Ruby stated proudly, her grin smug.

“The best,” Emma muttered, shaking her head and trying to keep hold of her temper. “The best?  Jesus Christ, Ruby, the second he steps out on stage it’s not my show anymore, it’s his.  I have worked too fucking long and hard for that asshole to come in and take it all from me in some bid to reclaim his glory.”

“Oh, oh no, Emma, that’s totally not at all what this is,” Ruby whispered, her face pale and looking stricken. “He owed me, big time, and I obviously didn’t think about any of that when I called it in.  Look, don’t repeat this to anyone.  Like, anyone.  But Killian hasn’t played in public since he got out of rehab.  That he even agreed to do this is I think big enough for him.  He’s not looking to steal the spotlight.”

“Then why is he here?” Emma asked, slightly mollified but still seething.

“He misses playing for an audience but I think he has a kind of block or something about going for it on his own,” Ruby said softly.  She gave a half-hearted shrug, “I’m just trying to help out two friends in one go.”

The last of her anger drained away at the sincerity in Ruby’s voice.  It wasn’t often that Ruby was the serious one in their friendship but when she was Emma always paid attention.  If she hadn’t she’d have still been waiting tables at Granny’s Diner and only playing her guitar at barbeques and bonfires for their small group of friends at home.  She also wouldn’t have been able to call Storybrooke home for that matter.

No longer angry but still infinitely annoyed she tipped her head back and let out a sigh, “Fine I’ll give him a chance on two conditions.”

“Excellent!” Ruby crowed.  Emma dropped her gaze back down and raised a brow at her, “Whatever the conditions he’ll totally do it.  He wants this, just doesn’t know how badly he does until you start making him jump through hoops to prove it to you.”

“Oh, only one of the conditions is for him,” Emma said with a smirk.

Ruby’s eyes widened, “What?  Why do I have to prove myself?”

“You don’t.  I just want to know how you can call Killian Jones, one of the most famous guitarists-”

“Who you had a poster of on your wall,” Ruby broke in with wiggling eyebrows and a giddy grin, “and a laminated photo in your-”

“Who had a very public and very destructive drug and alcohol problem, your friend,” Emma continued pointedly.

Ruby’s grin faded, “He was in the same rehab facility as my mom.  Well, one of them.  On one of her bad days I went for a walk around the gardens to cool my head a little and recognized him.  Had a bit of a fangirl moment, if I’m being honest.  Not exactly my finest moment since he was there to get his life back together and I go gushing about how great I thought he was before it all went to shit.  I could tell he was humoring me until I started talking about gigs and asking him how to improve my playing, then his eyes kinda lit up and he started offering me advice and some tricks for the road.  So whenever I went to visit my mom I would also stop by to talk to him about music.

“After my mom decided she was done being sober, again, I still went by to see him.  He needed a friend and I guess I needed to believe that someone could actually follow through with getting clean.  When he got out we stayed in touch.  Just a ‘hi, how’re you doing’ text every so often.  Until, of course, the arm thing happened.”

“And you never mentioned it because…?”

“I wanted to but it seemed-” Ruby shrugged, “like an invasion of privacy, somehow?”

Emma nodded, getting what Ruby meant but still a little hurt that she’d kept it from her.  She’d only admit it on threat of death having met him but Jones had been her number one celebrity crush since she’d discovered Realm of Jewels in her senior year of high school.  Ruby was a witness to it then and clearly still remembered that embarrassing fact.  Then it occurred to her that there were dark parts of her life that she wouldn’t want shared with a fan no matter how close of a friend Ruby was with them.  She nodded again, fully accepting the truth of what Ruby had told her.

“I’m not going to go easy on him,” she warned, spinning on her heel and walking back to the rehearsal room.

Ruby laughed, “I would have been suspicious if you did.  So what are you going to make him do?”

“You’ll see,” she said cryptically with a grin before opening the door.

“Finally,” Regina muttered as they walked back in.  She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Emma, “You may be a favorite of the owners here but we’re still paying for every minute this room has people in it.  So start playing or find somewhere else to work out your little grievances.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma apologized again, knowing that if there was something that pissed Regina off more than wasted time it was wasted money.

She felt Killian’s eyes on her as she greeted Tink and Will before moving to the piano.  It was like a phantom pressure between her shoulder blades that she was trying her best to ignore.  If he was trying to unsettle her she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction and if he was trying to figure her out she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.  When she finally had all her things set up how she wanted and ignoring him was no longer an option she turned to face him, valiantly trying to hide that she was still slightly shocked and unnerved that he was there.

“Ruby said that you’re a session guitarist now,” she began without preamble, hoping to gain whatever upper hand she could.

“I may not be hurting for cash, love, but a man does like to keep busy,” his voice dipped low at the end of his statement.  Paired with a raised brow and feral grin she had to hold back a snort of amusement at his innuendo.

“Not your love,” she shot back dismissively, “She also said that you’ve played on my albums?”

His grin faltered, “Aye.”

“And would you say you enjoyed the songs you recorded or were they just a forgettable few in a long set of recordings to… keep you busy?”

There was the sound of a violent snort and then a deep spluttering a cough that belonged to Will from behind her.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ruby rolling her eyes at her and Regina throwing up her hands in exasperation.  She kept her face impassive and gaze on Killian, pleased to see him fidget and scratch behind his ear in what had to be nervousness.

“Erm, well when I first recorded one of your songs I’ll admit I had no clue who you were and no interest in discovering more,” Killian admitted but instead of dropping his eyes he held her gaze. “Then I had the fortune of recording another one and found myself intrigued.  I’ve listened to everything you’ve released up ‘til now and I’ve enjoyed all of it, not just what I was hired to play.”

“Okay then,” she said as cooly as she could, despite the giddiness and disbelief running through her knowing that he liked her music. “Now I hope you don’t mind but I’d like to hear you play something.”

“Play something?” He repeated, flabbergasted.

“Just a few different songs,” she said innocently, “so I know you’ll be a good fit.”

His mouth opened and closed several times before he shot an incredulous look at Ruby.  Emma could barely hold in her laughter as Ruby shrugged and said nothing.

“Problem, Jones?”

He turned back to her, looking incredulous, “Let me get this straight, Swan, you can quote an article from Rolling Stone that was released well over a decade ago about my playing and you want me to audition?”

“Only if you want the gig,” she said with a shrug.

She could see the muscle in Killian’s jaw jumping, though she wasn’t sure if it was from annoyance or contemplation.  Either way it gave her a little inspiration.  While he continued to stew she pulled out her phone and did a quick internet search for what she needed.

“Fine, love,” he said, drawing her attention back to him.  He picked up his guitar and slid the strap over his head. “What would you like to hear?”

“Can you read music?” She asked with honest curiosity.

“I can,” he said warily.

“Good-” she turned to Ruby, “I need your Ipad.”

Ruby gave her a calculating look before slowly extracting the tablet out of her purse and handing it over.  Emma gave her what she hoped was a look of innocence before pulling up what she needed and handing it over to Killian. 

“Layla?  A classic-” he smirked and handed her back the Ipad, “and one I already know by heart.”

With that he started playing, amazingly, and Emma almost didn’t have the heart to stop him.  Almost.

“Whoa there, Jones,” she said loudly, waving her hands for him to stop.  He did with a discordant note and stared at her in confusion.  She handed back the Ipad, “I wanted you to play this.”

He looked at it and then back at her, his brow furrowing even more, “But I was.”

“No, you didn’t read the music-” she wiggled the Ipad at him, “You were playing the lead.  I want to hear you play the rhythm.”

“Ah,” he breathed, a look of bemusement and something that was too much like awe replacing his confusion, “I see.”

From there he played every unflashy guitar part she could throw at him.  He didn’t complain and his annoyance didn’t make a reappearance.  The others listened happily and even offered suggestions, though Regina had left with a disgusted huff after the fourth song.  They passed the tablet back and forth several times before she decided to end the teasing with one of her favorites.

Killian snorted when he saw her choice, “You do know that two great guitarists play on this one right?  Even playing rhythm on this one is an honor.  Although, the same should have been said for Layla, but I have enjoyed this little challenge.”

“Good to know,” she said, smiling. “I don’t want you to play rhythm on this one though.  If you don’t mind.”

“It would be my honor,” he hummed, handing her back the Ipad.

The chatter in the room fell silent as the familiar chords of While My Guitar Gently Weeps swept through the room.  Emma closed her eyes and let the music wash over her.  There was only one constant in her life and it was music, first listening, then playing, and finally creating.  It had never sent her back, never sent her to prison, and never forced her to send her child away.  As Killian played the last notes she felt the familiar pang of melancholy the song invoked in her but made sure the smile she gave him when she opened her eyes was genuine.

“Thanks.”

“Shouldn’t I be thanking you for giving me the opportunity?  I’ve never had to audition before-”

“Lucky git,” Will grumbled as he ambled by them, heading toward the snack table on one side of the room.

“Will Scarlet, drums, constant pain in the ass but our pain in the ass,” Emma commented lightly, batting away the Red Vine Will had tossed at her.  She hitched her thumb over her shoulder to where she’d last noticed Tink, “That’s Tink Greene, bassist, she’s small but she’ll knock you out if you mess with the current rotation of romance novels she’ll be bringing on the bus.”

Killian raised a brow at her, “I can’t quite tell by your tone but am I to believe I got the gig?”

“You had the gig as soon as she saw your pretty face and hot ass,” Ruby called out from her spot on the couch, causing Emma’s cheeks to heat up and Killian’s lip to curl.

“Yeah, well-” she cleared her throat, “We’ve, uh, already used up our reserved time for today and Regina won’t be happy if we stay late, even if we actually rehearse.  We’ve got a couple more weeks of rehearsals on Mondays and Fridays and then it’ll be almost every day until the tour starts.  If you need somewhere to stay just let Regina know and she’ll book the hotel room or whatever.”

“So I got the gig?” Killian pressed, his blue eyes glittering in mirth.

“You got the gig,” she sighed, rolling her eyes at his toothy grin. Then she let her features settle into what she hoped was a menacing look, “There’s some conditions.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding sagely.

“Your name isn’t going to be in any of the advertising, or brought up in interviews, and absolutely not on any of the damn marquees.  You’re being hired as a guitarist in my backing band, not as the feature player.”

He nodded again but with understanding, “Of course, I have no desire to upstage you or hijack the tour for my own needs.”

“Good,” she said, slightly surprised he agreed so easily. “This is also temporary.  Once Ruby gets the all clear from her doctor she’s back and you’re out.”

“As I wouldn’t want to keep a fellow musician, or friend, out of work I will happily step aside-” he gave a little bow that she refused to see as charming.

“And last, no groupies on the bus,” she added, fighting to keep her face impassive and the blush that threatened from pinkening her cheeks.

It had never been a set rule, in fact it was one they’d each bent a little one time or another, but a weird pressure built in the back of her neck at the thought of having to see and listen to Killian with some doe eyed fan.  Not that she cared.  She just didn’t want to get to know him that intimately, even if it was by proxy, when she barely knew him as anyone other than the rock star she’d had a crush in high school.

His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly before he laughed.  It didn’t sound forced or off but somehow Emma knew it was fake all the same.

“Understood, love.”

“Still not your love-” she held out her hand and his hand was calloused and warm when he grasped it, “Welcome to the band.”

[a-student-out-of-time]

ASOOT Timeline: September 2012 (We're All In This Together)

Once again, I cover a whole arc in one day (this time, it’s Twisted Aftermath). This update, while peaceful, features several shakeups to the status quo, which is always a fun time!–Timeline Anon

September 10:

Yasuke’s operation on Kanade (under the supervision of Kyoji and Kokoro) lasts until 4 AM. Her memories are altered significantly so that she won’t remember a good chunk of her life, especially all the murdery bits, and this changes her personality as a result. Afterwards, she is moved to a lab in the Biology Building so that tests can be run on her to make sure that she’s still healthy and that everything is in order. She’s told that she was in an accident three months ago that put her in a coma and caused her memory loss. The current plan is to send her to a mental health facility outside the country, but Kyoji will care for her until then and also keep in touch with her over video chat after she goes. He also plants evidence for the police to find that will convince them that she’s dead, while Nikei writes an article for his website about her “death” in the prison break.

Hajime wakes up in the Hope’s Peak infirmary at 8 AM and is given an update on things by Yoruko, who brought him there. The good news is that everyone’s all right, school’s been cancelled for the day, the fires are all out, and the police have the prisoner situation under control. The bad news is that three prisoners still have yet to be recaptured, and one of them is Maverick Storm. Also, 23 people are dead and 110 are injured as a result of the prison break and its aftermath. 

Hajime, Sonia, and Hibiki go see Kanade. They find her with the personality she once pretended to have: sweet, shy, and not at all murderous. They are relieved, but also slightly weirded out. During the twins’ reunion, both of them cry and apologize for how they treated each other before all this happened. They agree to work on being better. Hibiki can’t bring herself to hug Kanade, so they share an air hug instead. 

Privately, Hibiki cries to Hajime, Sonia, and Kokoro that Kanade is now exactly like the Kanade she knew growing up, but she can’t get the image of her as a killer out of her head. She also feels guilty for agreeing to Kanade’s mind wipe. The others reassure her that she’s not a bad person, and they all agree to never mind wipe anyone ever again. 

Tsurugi wakes up in the hospital, much to Kouhei’s relief, and vaguely remembers Kasugano pulling him back from the bomb. He’s a little more willing to talk with Kasugano now, but not much. Kouhei tells Tsurugi that the police have found a semiquaver hairclip and a few body parts that have been confirmed by DNA analysis to be Kanade’s. (In actuality, Kyoji made those parts, but they don’t know that.) Tsurugi wants to catch the criminals that are still loose, but Kouhei restricts him to desk duty until he’s healed. He holds Tsurugi’s hand and tells him that he’s glad he’s okay. Mikan appears and tells the pair of cops that Tsurugi will need to stay in the hospital for a day or two to make sure that there’s no lasting cognitive damage. Kouhei, now in charge of finding those missing prisoners, promises Tsurugi that he’ll be careful out there, and both agree that they need some time off sometime soon.

Umeko and Chiaki take turns chewing Yasuke out about his behavior. Umeko, as a quantum physicist, is not happy about how he lectured everyone about concepts he knows nothing about, especially since his theories are not backed by scientific fact, and Chiaki is especially pissed off at him for pressuring a traumatized Hajime into testing his theory and murdering two people for an experiment. Yasuke thinks that the Quantum Crew is doomed if they won’t get their hands dirty, but Chiaki emphatically disagrees and makes it clear that they will show him just how wrong he is. She finishes by saying that Yasuke is not their ally or their enemy, but if he ever turns on them, there will be hell to pay.

Hajime has a moment of doubt, but Chiaki has already come up with a way to prove Yasuke wrong. She thinks that the Quantum Crew needs more help. As such, she and Hajime decide that the time has come to let the rest of Class 77-B in on the truth of Kasugano, the Tragedy timeline, and the Quantum Crew.

Nikei, who’s just finished his article about Kanade’s “death,” is tired but reluctant to sleep for fear of nightmares. He confides to Taira that he tried to kill Kanade before the last reset, and he’s worried that it means he hasn’t changed at all. Taira tells him not to dwell on it or blame himself, as that’s not healthy, and to take it as a learning experience instead. She herself used to have trust issues because of a policy at her childhood orphanage that the kids had to tell the staff if someone did something wrong, which would result in the offender being taken upstairs and beaten; she got sent up a lot, but she also sent others up there, and it took her a while to get past that. The two of them share a hug, which soon progresses to cuddling, and Taira kisses Nikei on the cheek. She offhandedly says that she aspires to have a polyamorous relationship like the Cuddle Puddle’s. 

After Kanade asks Kyoji about her parents, he has to be the one to tell her that they left Japan and abandoned the twins. She cries, but he consoles her and offers her a place to stay with him until she can be transferred to the mental health facility. A grateful Kanade hugs her new caregiver, and both Kyoji and Kokoro promise to be there if she ever needs to talk about anything. Kyoji and Kokoro then have a bonding moment as they agree that they can bear the weight of this decision so that the rest of the Quantum Crew won’t have to. Kanade spends the rest of the night watching movies with Hibiki, who thinks that she can live with her choices if it means that her friends are alive.

Since Setsuka didn’t get the chance to celebrate her birthday the day before, she celebrates now, and she does so by getting very drunk. (She’s had a habit of drinking heavily since she was 16.) Umeko takes care of her.

Chiaki, Hajime, and Yoruko gather the entirety of Class 77-B, plus Chisa and Juzo, together at Chiaki’s house. They introduce them to the Voids, Taira, and Sora, and the new friends have a bit of bonding time (during which Nagito tells everyone that Kanata is going to be a member of Class 78). The Quantum Crew then shares the truth about the time travel and the Tragedy with Chisa, Juzo, and everyone in Class 77-B who doesn’t already know (Kazuichi, Akane, Nekomaru, Nagito, Ibuki, Teruteru, and the Ultimate Imposter). After a passionate plea from Chiaki, everybody present agrees to become allies of the Quantum Crew, and the Quantum Crew in turn agrees to help them with their own various issues. Hajime convinces Chisa and Juzo to keep this a secret from Kyosuke. With all that settled, the group turns in for the night.

Mikako tells Kokoro that she’s been having strange nightmares ever since her brain surgery, but when she describes the nightmares in question, they sound suspiciously like scenes from the Tragedy timeline. When asked to draw something from her nightmares, she does so, although she is briefly interrupted by Yamato showing up. The drawing turns out to be of a certain black-and-white bear. Kokoro tells Mikako and Yamato that this requires more investigation and that she needs to call an expert about it, but she’ll do whatever she can to help. As the siblings leave, Mikako hugs her mother and thanks her for saving her.

Kokoro immediately calls Yoruko; she’s concerned that Mikako might be developing the ability to see into the future. She sends Yoruko the picture that Mikako drew, and Yoruko confirms that it is indeed Monokuma. Yoruko assures Kokoro that the Quantum Crew will help Mikako in any way they can.

//Some days are quite hectic for our cast ^^;

[samanthalendo]

Why I Almost Went To UT Austin; And Why I Didn’t

(As a preface: I will be speaking mainly in vague details about my personal life and the college I ended up choosing. This is for my own privacy and comfort. In addition, I am not bashing the UT system or anyone who choose to go there; I have loved ones going there very soon, and I have a lot admiration for the school and all the opportunities it can afford someone. However, these are the reasons I will not be attending and some reasons any school might miss out on students they might have otherwise garnered. As well, all photos are mine unless otherwise stated. Enjoy!)

Let me set the scene.

Choosing a college is hard. It’s freakin hard. It’s even more difficult in the middle of a global pandemic. You can’t actually go anywhere, can’t take tours or go to fairs or get a feel for the city you want to call home. I struggled a lot with really connecting to any of the schools I was interested in. Lots of apathy towards the whole process. Despite all this, I had one school I had been interested in since the end of sophomore year, and I thought that was the only place I wanted to go. 

The University of Texas at Austin appealed to me for a few different reasons. In no particular order:

It was close to family.

I have tons, and I mean tons of family in Texas. This would have put me significantly closer to them and meant I had a support system when going to college. Making sure I would have a nice warm dinner and bath to escape to on crappy days seems pretty nice during global pandemics! Notably, however, it was not close to my immediate family. 

It was in a big city. 

Looking back I can laugh at myself and the idea I had for my college experience. At the time I was much more focused on the social and Instagramable side of the school I chose. Any time my parents suggested a school, the first thing I did was look for photos of it. If it didn’t have the feel I was looking for (young, new, hip, growing) I seldom looked further. 

Austin was exactly what I was looking for. A city with a 32.4% growth rate in the last decade (1), it screamed new and exciting. I wanted to be apart of that vibe during college, especially when I thought my boyfriend and I would be going to the same place (we are still happily together and just going to different schools, btw). Anything less didn’t seem worth it or fun enough. 

It’s a high ranking journalism school. 

Rankings are subjective so it absolutely depends on where you look, but UT Austin consistently ranks within the top ten journalism schools in the nation, which is incredible. I’ve wanted to study journalism since about sophomore year and I was so excited that on top of the aforementioned attributes, this would be a reputable place to study and get a degree from. Truth be told, I didn’t do nearly any research into the actual programs, opportunities, or benefits UTA offered, #foreshadowing.

UTA was the first school I applied to, and as such it established my expectations for how applying to a big name school would work. Let me just say it, the application process sucked. I ended up writing two full-length essays, only one of which I used and extensively edited, and at least five different short answer paragraphs. I believe I also had to submit a resume when I applied for the Journalism Honors program, though that was additional. It was intense, and quite honestly didn’t seem worth it. Up until this point I was pretty much riding the wave of, “Yeah, UT Austin, that’s a school people will respond positively to when they ask where I’m going.” As aforementioned, I hadn’t done any in-depth research into what programs UT had to offer me, but from what little looking I had done, nothing was jumping out at me. With nothing spectacular being shown to me on a silver platter, enticing me to #golonghorns, the arduous application process felt taxing and stressful. 

(A little side note on writing college essays: do not force yourself to write about something that doesn’t feel genuine to you. I don’t care if you think you have something that they’re bound to notice or admire; if you’re not passionate about it, you won’t get anywhere. As mentioned, I wrote two different essays when applying to UT. In my first essay, I wrote about leadership experiences in high school and how they shaped me. Important? Yes. Influential for me? Absolutely. But nothing I’m ready to rave about to anyone who walks through the door. That essay felt fake and artificial. I knew I didn’t like it or want it to represent me. So, I sat down and started writing about a situation that happened over the summer at my high school, one that really ground my gears. I couldn’t stop talking about how upset I was. I wrote all about the experience and how it made me want to be a better journalist and to always help to portray the truth. If anyone would like to know more about that story, let me know. The point is, I was passionate about the topic and it made it much easier to write believably. I didn’t just need this piece to represent me, I wanted it to represent me. I wanted the application readers to understand my frustration and feel all the emotions I felt in those moments. Pick something you feel that way about.)

I’m not going to BS and say that the application process will be fun if the school you’re applying to is the right one for you. All I’m saying is it should feel worth it, like all this hard work and effort is really going to culminate into your dream school. I definitely didn’t feel that with UTA, which was one of my first red flags. I felt very disconnected from the school, like I was just another fish in the pond of out of state applicants, hoping they’d like my bright colors over the next. 

A little background: I am, for the purposes of Texas schools, an out-of-state applicant. I don’t have residency in TX and I didn’t go to a public high school in TX, and this contributes heavily to UTA admissions. I’ll link a great article going further in-depth on the admissions numbers and percentages, but due to the advantages granted to TX resident applicants, approximately only 9% of UTA students are out of state (2). That number is so low because TX students in the top 6% of their graduating class, no matter their test scores, are automatically accepted. This means that on top of great grades, out-of-state applicants for UTA have ACT scores that are between 3-5 points higher and SAT scores that are about 150 points higher than their average TX counterpart. 

If you aren’t stressed out just reading that, teach me your ways because I was sure was.

This was sort of where the perceived animosity started between myself and UTA. I constantly checked my email and mailbox, hoping to get a letter or promotional email or something to indicate they were interested in me as a student. Seldom did they ever come. I got hundreds of emails from other schools and received nearly as much snail mail, but hardly ever from UT, even after I asked to receive their newsletters and an informational packet (which never came, BTW). 

I quickly came to realize that all of this was likely due to the fact that I was so far away, out of the UT sphere of control or influence. Most of the emails I received were from schools in my neighboring states or in my state, closer with a higher likelihood of recruiting me. A school in TX, where I did not study or hold residency, would not seek me out.

Here’s my issue. They didn’t have to seek me out. That’s fine, whatever, makes sense. But I sought them out. I signed up for everything. I filled out their long application, sent it in early. I tried to tour the school in the throws of COVID, having to settle for a self-paced walk about an empty campus to satisfy my need to know more about this school, to learn more about what it could offer me. None of my efforts proved fruitful, and it didn’t feel like the school really wanted me there. I wondered whether this was really where I wanted to be. 

By mid-November, while I wouldn’t have called myself discouraged, I would definitely have identified with the word antsy. When I sent in my application in September, they notified me that I would get my answer sometime in January or February. I can’t even explain how far away that felt. Especially being out of state, I wanted to know their decision as quickly as possible. The wait felt like an eternity.

My dad has always stressed the importance of not putting all your eggs in one basket. While I had shot my shot with UT and was waiting for the scoreboard to change, he was still exploring other options I had in the world of journalism schools. Without me knowing or really agreeing, he scheduled a tour with a school about two hours away from where we lived. It would be on a Saturday, just the two of us, and we’d make a day trip out of it. Honestly, I was more excited for the trip than the school itself. It had always been one I had turned my nose up at; to be fair, I did that with almost any school that wasn’t UT. 

We were about five minutes late to the opening presentation at the school. Quickly shuffling into the only seats we saw, some in the very front row of the socially distanced conference hall, we settled in for a lot of new information  coming our way. Though he had planned it, my dad didn’t know that much about the school either. We were both skeptical, a bit frazzled, and tired from having woken up around five o’clock that morning.

But with every slide, every question, every time the presenter opened her mouth, we were drawn further in.

It wasn’t just the feel of the school, or the location, or the looks. The facts didn’t lie. I won’t share too many so as to keep at least some privacy, but to say this school was my diamond in the rough wouldn’t be too much of an overstatement. Despite that, throughout the day and our two guided tours, I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, keeping me from getting too excited about this new school. I couldn’t help but think about UT and all of the emotional commitment I had already made to it. How excited my family was that I was hoping to go there, how happy my grandmother was that I would be closer to her. I thought of the teachers I had complained to about the long essays, the people who had edited those essays for me. I thought about the burnt orange hoodie sitting in my closet, towards the front due to how often I wore it. 

The new school won over both my heart and my head. While I really felt at home there, I also would have to have been dead to overlook all of the opportunities it could afford me. I was close to my immediate family and the town I had gone to high school in. I could come home often, visit family and friends more frequently than if I moved states away. Everything seemed right.

In between our tours, due to the nagging I was feeling, I tried to schedule a tour with UTA, to at least give it a fighting chance. I figured, had I not had an in-person tour of this new school, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Maybe a real tour would make me fall in love with UT again. However, when I tried to schedule one, all of the tours for the rest of the semester were completely booked, and the calendar wasn’t yet available for the spring semester. I immediately called to find out more, only to be told that they weren’t sure the state of in-person tours upon return to campus after holidays due to COVID. Looking back, I know it was a sign. UT had, for all intents and purposes, closed its doors on me. It was time I accepted the willing arms of the school I gazed upon with wonder, truly in limbo as to what might happen next. 

By the end of December, I was admitted and had committed to the new school. I wouldn’t find out about UT for another month, but honestly, I didn’t really need to. This new school had everything I could ever want, and UT had a fair amount of drawbacks. I didn’t and still don’t feel any remorse for committing without having known UT’s decision on me. 

I received an email January 29th, over a month after having committed to the new school, that I needed to check my UT MyStatus page. I never really worried about getting in due to my test scores and grades, but I felt a level of anger towards the school that I thought I had gotten over, and finding out I had gotten in after all would bring up new emotions. I checked the page, and sure enough I had been admitted to the University of Texas at Austin’s class of 2025. I wasn’t elated or jumping up and down with joy or breaking down happy crying in my parent’s arms. I was pretty stoic, thinking about all that could have been had I felt any more like UT really wanted me. 

(3)

All things happen for a reason. Because I didn’t feel much reciprocation in my love for UT, I instead found the school of my dreams, one that I know I’ll be much happier at. I wouldn’t change any of my decisions, except maybe stressing over the essays as much as I did. 

My final thoughts would have to be this: I don’t blame the UT system for not focusing as much on its out-of-state applicants. I mean, I do, but I understand that it’s often simply not in their best interest. I do think that they should have reached out, sent more newsletters, have actually sent me the information packet I requested, anything to make me feel more connected with this place I was dying to call home. While I know they aren’t very focused on bringing in students from other states, I think they should be, especially for those that are going the extra mile to reach out to them. 

The right school will have a lot of different things for every different person. For me, that meant being close to my immediate family, knowing I would have all of the opportunities I wanted, being financially secure, and feeling like the school wanted me, not just the other way around. UT didn’t provide me all of that. Finding the school that will is the most important thing. Your needs and wants may be different, but don’t toss all of your eggs in one basket. Don’t be afraid to change your mind and always keep looking for something better. For all you know, it may be out there.

(Thank you so much for reading! Links are below. This is just meant to be an opinion piece and is the first thing I’ve written for myself in a very long time. I hope you learned something and that this may be helpful on your college journey! Au revoir!)

1. https://www.austinchamber.com/economic-development/austin-profile/population/overview

2. https://magoosh.com/hs/college-admissions/ut-austin-admissions-the-sat-act-scores-and-gpa-you-need-to-get-in/ 

3. https://news.utexas.edu/2020/09/22/four-year-graduation-rate-tops-70-as-ut-austin-admits-one-of-its-largest-first-year-classes/ 

[morningfears]

Rose Tattoo [Chapter Three]

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Calum regrets not getting Stevie’s number when he had the chance. He’s not a big believer in fate but he’s hoping that the universe will see it fit to bring them back together. What he doesn’t know is that while the universe works hard, Ashton Irwin works harder.

Word Count: 5k

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Series Masterlist!

Calum tried his best not to let his mood influence his work. Though he sometimes had no choice but to let his personal and professional lives overlap - his job wasn’t exactly the typical 9 to 5 and his home life wasn’t exactly Leave it to Beaver -, he tried to keep the influence of one to a minimum on the other. He had always, for the most part, been able to keep his composure despite any personal turmoil.

Regardless of what was happening in Calum’s life, he always tried to check it at the door. He only spoke openly in the shop about his feelings when the neon blue open sign in the window was switched off and the plate glass doors were locked. Although Calum was often a sounding board for his clients, listening intently as they spoke about their problems or discussed music with him, he never delved too much into his own life. He had pictures of his son on his station and would answer the odd question about him but talking about Tāne made him happy. The negative things, the issues that popped up every now and again, never made it inside the shop. It was easier that way, to keep that boundary up, and it was easiest to keep that boundary in place when he pretended to be unaffected by whatever existed outside of the four walls of the shop.

The situation at hand, however, was not one that he felt capable of ignoring.

Calum had been in a bad mood when he arrived at the shop. Though his moods weren’t always discernible to those who didn’t know him, there was an obvious dark cloud hanging over his head. He wasn’t exactly known to be a chatterbox but he remained stoic and somewhat sullen as he tattooed his few clients. Some of the regulars, the ones who would return no matter how he treated them, chalked it up to him being overworked. They knew that he had to put in overtime after dealing with Tāne’s illness and imagined that it was just taking a toll on him. Those who were visiting Calum for the first time just imagined that was his personality.

None of his clients took it to heart and none of them really worried about the shift in attitude. His friends, however, could tell that this wasn’t related to overworking or even to a typical bad mood; something was wrong. Ashton had a feeling that it was related to El and the impending custody battle, there was nothing else that could upset Calum that much, so, when the last client of the day left the shop, Ashton bolted the door behind him and gestured for Michael and Luke to join him in the studio where Calum was cleaning up.

“Okay,” Ashton stated as he leaned against the counter near Calum’s station, “what happened?”

Calum, who had been so focused on cleaning one particular spot that he hadn’t noticed the boys surround him, flinched at the sound of Ashton’s voice so close to him but didn’t bother looking up from his work. Instead of answering verbally, he nodded in the direction of his coat and, curious, Ashton reached out to grab the pile of black fabric from Calum’s station. He almost asked why Calum pointed out the article of clothing but, before he could open his mouth, he caught sight of an envelope sticking out of the pocket.

Michael and Luke crowded over Ashton’s shoulder, Luke easily towering over the other two, as they read over the document. It was a court order, one that outlined the details of El’s suit against Calum and why she felt the need to file for primary custody, and Ashton felt a flash of anger on behalf of his friend as he read through the document.

The shop fell silent as Ashton, Luke, and Michael processed the typed words they’d read. It was surprising that she was attempting to not only step back into Tāne’s life after several years but to gain full custody when she was the one who left in the first place. Calum lifted his head, his expression weary and his shoulders slumped, as he watched Luke lean against the doorframe and fold his arms over his chest. Michael, one of Calum’s oldest friends, breathed a deep sigh as he took a seat on an empty stool.

“They came this morning,” Calum offered as an explanation as he returned his attention to the mess at his station. Calum looked like he wanted to say more, he looked like he had so much on his mind, on the tip of his tongue, but he kept quiet as he pulled off his gloves and shook his head.

“I can’t believe she’s actually going through with this.” Ashton, who was usually the most levelheaded among them, was fuming as he paced the floor of the shop. He held the papers that Calum had been served, the ones indicating that the first hearing in the battle for custody of Tāne was fast approaching, clenched in one hand as the other ran through his inky black hair. “She has no right! She gave him up. She can’t do this.”

“She never officially gave him up,” Michael, the one most likely to play devil’s advocate, pointed out as he shifted from side to side on a stool.  “She never signed the papers giving up her rights as a parent so, legally, she’s still got rights. Doesn’t mean it’s not a shitty thing for her to do, though,” he shrugged as he pulled his cap off and tossed it onto the desk beside him. “Why now? Why not two years ago?”

“Said it’s because she feels she’s in a better place in life now,” Calum answered, his tone detached and his face void of emotion as he dropped his garbage into the can before spinning to face Ashton.

“That’s bullshit. El is the same person she’s always been. And she’s not fit to take Tāne from you. If she wanted to be in his life, whatever. She’s his mother, fine. But you’ve raised him. She can’t do this.”

Calum watched as Ashton glared at the paper in his hands. He understood what Ashton was feeling because he was angry, too. He was angry that after several years of radio silence, of no birthday presents or greetings or attempts to see their son grow, El was trying to step back into Tāne’s life as if nothing happened. He was angry that she was trying to uproot their son’s life, as imperfect as it might be, only to throw him into a situation that he didn’t know and might not be comfortable in. He was angry that she felt he was an unfit parent even when he was trying his hardest.

But, most of all, he was sad. He was sad that his son wouldn’t grow up with two loving parents - or, at least, not with his mother and father. He was sad that his son wouldn’t have the same childhood that he did, one that he took for granted. He was sad that his son would someday learn the reasons behind El’s disappearance and that he would likely blame himself.

He was sad that his life hadn’t worked out the way he imagined it would.

Calum, however, didn’t want to dwell on the sadness. He wanted to move on, to get the custody battle over and to prove that he was the one who deserved to keep Tāne. What scared him, though, was the realization that, in most cases, the mother won. Whether they should or not.

“It doesn’t matter,” Calum finally said, cutting Ashton off mid-rant as he stood from his stool. “It doesn’t matter why she’s doing it, she just is. It doesn’t matter what she hopes will come from this. I just want to keep my son. If she wants to be a part of his life, fine. But she can do that here in the city. I don’t want to fight her, not anymore, but I’m going to.” Calum paused, staring at his closest friends for a long moment. It was easy to see the exhaustion on his face. He looked weary, worn from battling his thoughts and conjuring up ‘what-if’s’, and it hurt to see him that way.

Calum reached for his coat, ready to leave the shop, but he hoped that his friends would stop him. He knew that he didn’t need to be alone but he also didn’t need Tāne to see him this way. He needed to put the dealings with El out of his mind for the night, clear his head, before he even attempted to formulate a plan of action. And Ashton, the intuitive being that he was, realized this. Calum watched as Ashton grabbed his own coat.

“You’re not going home. The babysitter’s staying late tonight, remember?” Calum vaguely remembered arranging for the babysitter to stay later than she normally did but he couldn’t remember why. When he fixed Ashton with a confused stare, the older man shook his head and gestured for him to follow. “You’ll remember when we get there,” he offered, unhelpful, as they headed to the entrance. “See you guys tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder, waving goodbye to Luke and Michael before he guided Calum out of the shop.

It took Calum four blocks and several bouts of laughter from Ashton to remember that they were headed to a party one of his clients invited him to. He knew that the client, Noah, was a reporter and that he wanted to do a feature on both him and Ashton and while Ashton was thrilled for the publicity, Calum hadn’t exactly been receptive to the idea.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t flattered. He was. But he didn’t believe in the idea of celebrity when it came to his work. He was just doing what he loved and was glad that he’d been able to make a career out of it. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would be interested in reading about him and wasn’t particularly keen on opening up to the world. So, every time Noah asked, Calum refused and Ashton, the good friend he was, refused with him. However, the party was one thing that Ashton hadn’t let him say no to.

“It’s going to be fun,” Ashton assured him as they approached the bar the party was being held at. “You can get a few drinks, forget about El for the night, and then tomorrow, we can figure out what we need to do.”

“You really don’t have to get involved, mate,” Calum assured him as they checked their coats and lingered just outside the entrance for a moment.  “It’s going to be a mess and I don’t want you to have to deal with that. This is my problem.”

In true Ashton fashion, he rolled his eyes before he fixed Calum with a glare. “Like I would let you deal with this on your own. I love you, man, and I love Tāne. You guys are my family and I’m not going to just stand by while something happens to that family. I’m just as much a part of this as you are.”

Calum knew that his friends loved him and his son. He knew that Ashton, as well as Michael and Luke, had his back and would never let him down but to be reminded of it so explicitly was a feeling that he couldn’t describe. It made his heart ache in the best way and he only hoped that he could adequately convey his gratitude someday. However, before he could open his mouth to thank him, Ashton shook his head.

“Come on,” he laughed, nodding toward the bar, “let’s go get a drink.”

It was only then, as they entered the actual venue, that Calum remembered who Noah worked for. He saw the red Rolling Stone logo and a few prints of more recent covers lingering around the room. It was also in that moment that he remembered who else worked for Rolling Stone.

“Seriously? Ash, mate, come on,” Calum sighed as he glanced around the bar, not so discreetly scanning the crowd for a mop of green curls.

“What?” Ashton questioned, a grin on his lips as he nudged Calum in the direction of the bar. “I’m just here to see a few friends, network a little. No ulterior motives.” He paused for a moment, his gaze locked on someone Calum couldn’t quite see, before he added, “Oh, wow. Would you look at that? That looks like Stevie. You remember? The girl you tattooed. What are the odds?”

Calum rolled his eyes at Ashton’s obviousness and craned his neck to find Stevie. It took him a moment, there were more people with green hair in attendance than he ever imagined would be the case, but he finally spotted her sitting at the bar. He felt his mood lift as he caught sight of her and it surprised him just how excited he was to get the chance to talk to her again. He’d tried not to think about her, had tried not to consider the ‘what-if’s’, but a few thoughts crossed his mind. And now, looking at her once more, he was determined not to let her get away again.

However, his short lived confidence and determination were dashed as he watched the man beside her place a hand on her jean covered thigh. “Looks like I’m too late,” he sighed, hoping his voice didn’t give away exactly how heartbroken he was.

He didn’t have the right to be upset, not when he hadn’t even expressed proper interest in her, but he felt a burning in the pit of his stomach that he likened to sadness. It was unfortunate, he would’ve liked to have gotten to know her, but he didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.

“Um, I don’t think so, mate. She doesn’t look like she’s into that guy at all,” Ashton stated, interrupting his thoughts and drawing his attention back to where Stevie sat at the bar.

Calum could see where Ashton was coming from. Stevie looked annoyed as she nudged the man’s hand away from her thigh and shifted to face away from. He could see her place her hand over her drink and tense as the man got closer to her. He didn’t have to think about it, he knew that he needed to step in. So, without even glancing at Ashton, Calum said, “I’ll find you later,” and began pushing his way through the crowd of people to get to Stevie.

                                                     *******

Stevie bit her lip as the man to her left - some asshole from accounting that couldn’t take a hint - continued talking. He’d zeroed in on her the moment she arrived at the bar and had stuck to her like a shadow. She didn’t particularly want to be at the party in the first place, she was only there because it was a celebration of Noah’s promotion, and the man (Malcom, maybe?) was only making her mood worse.

“Lighten up,” he huffed, reaching out to touch her thigh once more even though she’d shifted away from him and stopped pretending to listen to his rambling. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m just trying to be nice. It’s not like you have anyone better to talk to."

Stevie felt her skin heat and knew that her ears were red in both humiliation and anger as she tried her hardest to ignore him. She wanted to reach for the abandoned fork on the counter and stab him in the hand in hopes that he would leave her alone, however, violence was not the answer - not if she wanted to keep her job - and she didn’t want to cause a bigger scene than necessary.

So, she pulled out the oldest line in the book. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend. Leave me alone.”

“Boyfriend? Where is he, then? Stuck in traffic?” Stevie had hoped that telling him she was waiting for someone would be enough. It usually was. However, this guy seemed persistent and she imagined that it would take an actual miracle for him to leave her alone unscathed.

She opened her mouth to retort, to tell the man that it really didn’t matter, but before she could say anything, she felt an arm wrap around her waist. “I’m sorry I’m late, love,” a voice that she immediately recognized as belonging to Calum - it was hard to mistake the raspy voice and hint of an Australian accent - cut through the din of the music. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

Stevie glanced up and caught the look on Calum’s face. He looked as annoyed as she felt - she knew he’d overheard the taunting from the accountant - and she felt him squeeze her side as a gesture for her to play along. However, she didn’t need any prompting as she melted into his embrace. He was warm, warmer than her even though she’d been trapped in the stifling heat of the bar for over an hour, and he smelled like cigarettes and a cologne that made Stevie want to bury her face in his t-shirt and get lost in the scent.

She decided that that would be taking Calum’s kindness too far and simply leaned into him as she sent the accountant a sickeningly sweet smile. “It’s no problem,” she assured Calum, glancing up at him with a real smile, “I had company.” She paused for a moment, wondering if she should be as petty as she wanted, before she decided that she had nothing to lose. She shifted her gaze from Calum to the accountant and asked, “What was your name again? You told me but I didn’t care to remember it.”

Stevie felt Calum’s chest reverberate with a stifled laugh as the accountant turned a garish shade of purple and sputtered a response. She couldn’t make out what he said as he slammed his glass onto the counter and left his stool but she imagined that it was for the best as she watched him stomp through the crowd and away from her. She and Calum remained intertwined for a moment, him with his arm around her waist and her with the back of her head pressed to his chest, before they both moved away from one another.

“Um, thanks,” she mumbled as she turned to face him with a sheepish smile. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. I don’t know why that’s so hard for some people.”

Calum frowned at her response and shook his head. “No, you don’t have to thank me. That guy shouldn’t have been an asshole.” Calum hesitated, his eyes narrowed in thought and his eyebrows furrowed, before he added, “The name thing was brutal, though. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Yeah,” Stevie laughed before she took a sip of her drink and shrugged. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Calum smiled at this and shrugged as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Maybe I can get to know some of them.” Calum glanced around the room, Stevie wasn’t sure at what, before he returned his gaze to her. He scrutinized her for a moment - his stare should have made her feel vulnerable, his eyes were intense and his gaze was heavy, but it didn’t. She felt oddly at ease with him and wasn’t surprised when he added, “I don’t really feel like partying. You want to go get some coffee?”

She knew that she had seen something in his eyes when she was leaving the tattoo shop. She knew that there was something lingering beneath the surface, something that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say, and she had had a feeling that he’d wanted to ask her for her number. She’d been mildly disappointed when he hadn’t asked but she didn’t let herself dwell.

She was a firm believer in letting the universe find a way and it seemed as if it had.

“I’m not a big coffee drinker,” she hummed, biting back a smile as she watched Calum’s face drop. She paused, letting the slight sting of rejection linger for a moment, before she added, “I could go for a chai latte, though.”

Calum blinked, surprised at her agreement, before he released a deep breath and shook his head. “That was mean. Now I’m not sure I want to leave with you,” Calum teased as he moved to fold his arms over his chest.

“I feel like you want to be here exactly as much as I do,” Stevie pointed out with a laugh as she reached for her bag and stood from her stool. “There’s a really good cafe right down the street. What do you say?”

Calum remained silent for a moment. Stevie met his gaze, her eyebrows raised, and watched as a small smile quirked his lips. “I say, lead the way.”

Stevie shot Calum a bright grin as she gestured for him to follow her. The pair weaved through the crowd - neither of them spotted Ashton and Noah grinning at one another as they did so - and gathered their coats before they stepped out into the cool night air. Nothing was said as they wandered down the sidewalk, still busy despite the time, in search of the cafe Stevie loved. The bar they were in wasn’t very far from the Rolling Stone office and she felt comfortable here, wandering her neighborhood.

Calum looked like he belonged there, beside her, but it felt strange to be accompanied by someone who wasn’t Noah as they stepped into the cafe. She hadn’t really attempted to make too many friends in New York, she hadn’t exactly been in the mood for companionship, but something about Calum felt right. He felt natural, as easy as breathing, and Stevie didn’t want to let a good thing pass her by.

“I take it you’re getting the chai latte,” Calum hummed as they stood in front of the counter and glanced up at the menu boards. When Stevie nodded, a small smile on her lips as she could already smell her tea being brewed - some might call it a problem when the staff knows you well enough to prepare your order the moment you walk in, Stevie called it convenient - Calum nodded himself. “I think that’s what I’ll have, too.”  Calum stepped to the counter to order and, to Stevie’s surprise, added her drink to his tab.

“Wait, no. Don’t do that! I can buy my own drink,” she protested as she pulled her wallet out of her bag and attempted to hand the barista her cash.

“I’ve got it,” Calum laughed as he nudged her hand away. “Think of it as an apology for putting you through twelve hours of pain. How’s the tattoo healing, by the way?”

Stevie glared at him for a moment but, upon realizing he wasn’t going to relent about the drink, huffed and shoved her wallet back into her bag. “It’s good,” she nodded as they took seats at a small table beside the window. “It looks great. Thank you, again. I don’t think I could’ve gotten a better artist for the first tattoo. Angela would’ve loved it.”

Calum smiled at this, a sincere look of happiness on his face, as he shrugged. “I’m sure you could’ve but I’m glad you think so.” He paused, thinking back to their first meeting, before he asked,  “You said it’s part of a bucket list, right? What else is on it?”

“A few cheesy things and a few very Angela things,” Stevie answered with a shrug as the barista placed their drinks on the table before disappearing to the back. “Go ice skating in an outdoor rink, go to the top of the Empire State building, go for a walk in Central Park, play roller derby, be in a race of some kind - she didn’t specify. A pretty even mixture of super cheesy New York things that I’m excited to do and a few kind of terrifying things I wish she was here to do instead.”

Calum’s eyes widened at Stevie’s description of the bucket list and he nodded appreciatively as he sipped at his latte. “That’s a lot to take on. I don’t think I feel so bad about the pain I put you through the tattoo anymore. Roller derby sounds rough.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Stevie shrugged before she took a sip of her own latte. “I went roller skating ever weekend when I was a kid. There wasn’t much else to do. Funny thing, the Empire State Building is the one I’m most afraid of. I’m terrified of heights.”

Calum laughed at Stevie’s admission, somehow not surprised that a girl who wasn’t even slightly nervous about roller derby was terrified of visiting the observation deck of a tourist attraction. “It’s not that bad,” he assured her with a light laugh as he met her gaze again. “Tāne’s terrified of heights and he liked the view. You kind of forget about how high up you are and just have to appreciate how beautiful New York is from there.”

“How is he, by the way?” Stevie asked, referencing Calum’s son who had been dreadfully sick the last time - which was also the first - she’d seen him.

“He’s better,” Calum nodded, a small smile on his lips, “thanks for asking. He’s still coughing if he gets too hot but,  otherwise, he’s back to himself.”

“I’m glad,” Stevie nodded.

After that, the pair lapsed into a companionable silence. It wasn’t awkward, not like Stevie imagined it would be, and that only lended itself to her theory that there was something about Calum that was comfortable. Something about him set her at ease, it made her happy. She wasn’t sure why she felt so carefree in his presence but it worried her slightly. She wasn’t the type to relinquish her anxieties without a fight. It was a problem she’d faced her entire life and she knew that. 

However, she also felt wary about anything that made her too happy. Things had never quite worked out for her. No matter how well they started, no matter how promising they seemed,  somewhere along the way everything ended up taking a nosedive. She wanted to believe that Calum would be different, that if she let him in and opened her heart to him, he wouldn’t destroy her. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to believe anything other than what she’d experienced throughout her life.

Happiness was not hers to attain. 

She felt the drop in her mood as she reminded herself that nothing good ever stayed in her life. It wasn’t Calum’s fault, though. She had just always been unlucky. So, instead of letting him know that she believed herself to be cursed, she placed her best fake smile on her lips and carried on as if nothing had changed.

They sat and drank their lattes, talking about music and art that they loved, until the cafe closed. Stevie contributed enough to the conversation to say that she spoke but she felt herself waning as the night went on. She excused it as exhaustion, she had been working overtime to complete a draft for her editor, and Calum - who didn’t have any reason not to believe her - bought it. As they stepped out of the shop and into the cool night once more, he smiled at her.

“Today started off as a bad day,” he admitted as he shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at her. “But it ended up being alright.”

Stevie smiled at this, genuinely pleased that she could help turn Calum’s day around. He was sweet. He had a good heart and a kind smile. He seemed like the kind of person that would do whatever he could to make others feel at ease and she wanted the best for him. “I’m glad,” she said and she was. She was happy that he was happy,  it was just a bonus that she was involved.

Calum smiled sheepishly at her as he said, “I would love to offer to take you on that walk through Central Park but I should get home. The babysitter has to head out soon. Maybe we can hang out again sometime?” When Stevie made a face, one that she didn’t mean to make, Calum grimaced. “It doesn’t have to be a date,” he amended. “No labels just two people, occupying the same space.”

Stevie wasn’t keen on getting his hopes up - though she desperately wished she could, she didn’t see herself having a happy ending with him or anyone else, for that matter. But she realized that spending time with him couldn’t be all that bad. If anything, it would get Noah off of her back about having friends outside of work. So, after a moment’s hesitation, Stevie nodded.

“Sure,” she agreed, “that sounds noncommittal and like something I can handle.”

Calum smiled at this, pleased that she was willing to see him again, and tugged his phone from his pocket. “Could I get your number? I’ll text you and maybe I can help with something on the bucket list,” he offered as he watched her type her number into his phone.

“Roller derby is planned for next week, if you want to join,” Stevie offered with a grin as she watched him pocket the device. When Calum’s eyes widened, she laughed. “It’s a girl’s only league,” she assured him, calming his nerves. “But maybe we can find something else to do.”

“Yeah,” Calum nodded. “We’ll find something else. Be careful on your way home.”

“I will,” she nodded, a small smile on her lips as she watched him hesitate to walk in the opposite direction of her. “I’ll see you later, Calum.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, grateful that this time, he knew that there would be a later. “See you later, Stevie.”

Although Stevie was hesitant to open her heart and Calum wasn’t sure what he was doing other than trying his best to move on from his past, they were both hopeful. The universe had worked in their favor - with a little help from Ashton Irwin - and they only hoped that it would continue to favor them both.

_____________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I’m so incredibly tired. Sorry for going MIA. Sorry for not answering any asks or messages. I’m honestly just not in the mood to socialize. I’m exhausted and my brain is fried, tbh. I’m working on my thesis (like, actually finishing it up!! So, if I disappear for the rest of the week, that’s why. It’s going to clock in at a whopping 75 pages. Pray for me) and my grandfather died on Saturday. I’m fine, I only met him a few times, but my mom is upset and I live right down the road from where they’re holding the funeral (funny that I’ve only met him a few times when I lived less than five minutes from him for two years, I know) so she’s staying with me and that is. Stressful. But it’s okay. If I can survive the next three weeks, I’ll be fine. Anyway, thoughts on Stevie and Cal?? I love them. I hope you do, too.

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijutreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle , @p0laroidpictures​ , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke​ , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss​ , @blueviiolence​ , @loveroflrh​ , @empathycth​ , @luckyduckydoo​ , @tobefalling​ , @bandsandbooksaremykink​ , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985​ , @wokeupinaustralia​ , @lucidlrh​ , @canterburyfiction​ , @cal-is-not-on-branding​ , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o​ , @jaacknaano​ , @findingliam-o​ , @old-zeppelin-shirt​ , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1​ , @sammyrenae68​ , @flowerthug​ , @calumsphile​ , @caitdaniels​, @drummerboy794​ , @writingfortoomanyfandoms​ , @x-lover-of-mine-x​ , @miliefayy​ , @sunaaii​ , @canterburyfiction​ , @sebrox40​ , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23​ , @bitterbethany​

[dixie12]

second little ficlet

jonny + random googling of his name + patrick’s = some interesting results

Jonny was bored. His mom had always told him “only boring people are bored, Jonathan,” if he ever complained about it as a kid, but to be honest, he never really did. He was always outside playing with his friends, or practicing on his own, if his friends weren’t up for. He usually ended up by himself, since not too many kids had the dedication that he did, but Jonny had never minded. There were always drills to run, imaginary games to play in, conditioning exercises to repeat.

That had continued even as he got older. There was always something to do in his training plan or his calendar. Even during his concussion, he had strict instructions to follow and clear milestones to hit during his recovery.

Now, though. There were just blank expanses of time rolling out in front of him. The best doctors in two countries were struggling to understand what was wrong with him, and he was stuck in neutral, nowhere to go, while they worked it out. They didn’t want him to strain himself physically, so his workouts were being kept very light, and without hours at the gym to keep his body and mind occupied, he was going a little crazy.

He was sulking one afternoon, just off the phone with Patrick, who couldn’t stop raving about “the rookies” and how “they’re really blossoming, Jonny, it’s amazing.” Fatherhood had changed Patrick, he thought grumpily. Old Patrick would never have used the word “blossoming” seriously. He let himself sink into a funk, thinking about how much better he and Patrick played together than any of the rookie prodigies Patrick was gushing about. Deep down, Jonny knew he was being a dick, even if the rookies would never know what he was thinking, but he thought he deserved to pout.

In a fit of nostalgia, he opened YouTube to look for highlights of him and Patrick. He didn’t do this often, can’t actually remember the last time he did, but damn they play such gorgeous hockey together, sometimes he liked to reminisce. 

He spent an hour watching videos of them, some hockey highlights, some the old commercials that they were forced into. He remembers hating those so much as a rookie, bitching about them constantly, feeling like he was way too mature to pose for pictures with Patrick and do silly PR challenges. 14 years later, he can’t help but laugh at how little he knew, how much growing up he had ahead of him. Still has ahead of him, probably.

He closes the tab with YouTube, suddenly wanting to read some of the old articles about them in their first few years, saviors of the franchise and all that. He’s trying to figure out the right search terms to pull up the articles he wants, trying all sorts of different combinations and laughing quietly to himself at some of the obscure articles showing up.

Finally, he tried “Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews love hockey,” because he vaguely remembers a headline from one of the old articles that sounded something like that. He’s scrolling through the results and right in the middle of the first page of Google results is a link to a website called Fanlore. He catches the words “popular pairing” and clicks, intrigued. 

He slams his laptop shut after registering the first few sentences on the page. What. The. Fuck. He and Patrick are a “pairing,” alright, but not a hockey one. This website seems to be saying that he and Patrick are a pairing like, romantically. If Jonny had pearls, he’d be clutching them now. He took a moment to say a prayer of thanks that Sharpy had never stumbled upon this information, shuddering at the thought. 

He tried to put the information out of his head, but he kept thinking about it. Did people think they were dating? Fuck buddies? Secretly and tragically in love? He thought after this long that he’d stopped being surprised by things fans did, but it turns out he was very, very wrong.

He got up, took a few laps of his apartment, stopping by the kitchen for a drink. He poured himself a few fingers of whiskey, not technically on his recovery plan, but whatever, learning that a small, devoted segment of your fanbase thought you were sleeping with your star winger deserved a break from the diet. 

He made his way back to the couch and opened the laptop slowly. The article was still open, and he made himself read it more closely. It wasn’t all that detailed, though, and it ended with a link to another website. He took a deep breath and clicked.

A bright red banner at the top of the page caught his eye, and he read the website name slowly. Archive of Our Own. He hadn’t heard of it, but he realized there was no reason he would have, really. The page was showing a list of the most popular stories about him and Patrick. He scrolled down the page slowly, fighting the urge to literally cover his eyes with his hands. 

He perked up at the second title on the list. He saw the words “Tazer the Sex Machine” and was interested. He bet no one wrote stories where they called Patrick a sex machine. He made sure he was in incognito mode and opened that one to look at more later.

“Jonny’s prostate is a gift from the gods,” he reads slowly. He doesn’t open that one. Just on the first page of results there were stories about Patrick getting knocked up and Patrick being a werewolf, in addition to all of the other stories about sex. Most of the stories seemed like he and Patrick were mostly themselves, just also banging like bunnies, and maybe also dark creatures of the night at the same time. 

Some of these were seriously long, too. Like, 150,000 words long. Jonny doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks that’s the length of a book. People are writing books about him and Patrick fucking. How did he not know about this?

Suddenly, he really wants to know if Patrick knows. It seems like something his sisters might have come across, but he can’t imagine Patrick knowing about this and not telling him. He wonders if PR knows. He’s pretty sure there are interns whose only job is to trawl the internet looking for sketchy things about the players. This has to fit the criteria, and he blushes hard at the thought of one of those poor interns giving Bowman an update about the internet porn about his players.

It can’t just be him and Patrick, he realizes, and a little more judicious searching, still in incognito mode, proves that theory correct. It’s everyone. He and Patrick are the most popular on the tea, but it’s Duncs and Seabrook, Shawsy and Bollig, even Patrick’s beloved rookies are in a few of these things. He picks a few at random and settles in to read.