#the courage to get to people getting liquified

[ballsballsbowls]

Started Nightborn and like

I am trying to be PATIENT with the story, it has to start somewhere

But it’s so hard to be patient with a story when you KNOW people are going to get liquified and shit, because you were told nearly 3 decades ago that people Got Liquified.

Not only is this not a spoiler, because we were told this happened in 1994, and because if this book remotely delivers on the promises of the old series, that’s not even, like, one of their real problems.

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XXII): Faith, Fear, and Scully Symbiosis, Part II

A continuation of Part I's (post here) look at Scully's faith, familial misunderstandings, and (supposedly) failed hope.

MEMENTO MORI, REDUX

Where we last left off: Maggie and Scully are clinging to each other, tears flowing as their last hope is ripped away.

What's interesting about this moment is that it mirrors their hug in Memento Mori; but unlike then, Scully has finally accepted she is as good as dead-- and, walls now lowered, is openly mourning. She grips her mother like a life raft, working her mouth to keep from breaking down completely. 

A few important things happen here: Maggie breaks off from crying to look upward, collect herself, and purse her lips-- so like her daughter, in fact, that it’s undeniable where Scully got her mannerisms from (well done, Sheila Larkin.) Her emotions solidify when Scully’s liquify, a symbiotic push and pull mother and daughter seem to share: one broken and struggling, the other stiff upper lipped and strong. 

The latter points to two key features of their relationship, from Maggie’s perspective: 

Maggie is emotionally based-- bleeding tears (Beyond the Sea, Memento Mori, Redux II) and venting her frustration (Ascension, Memento Mori) loudly and publicly.

While it's undeniable she loves each of her children, Maggie seems to gravitate to Scully the most: seeking her out in flashbacks (A Christmas Carol), advocating for her despite their disagreements (Beyond the Sea, post here), confiding in her about premonitory dreams (Ascension), and trusting in the people she trusts (Ascension, Paper Clip, posts here and here.)

Maggie is knit to but doesn’t fully understand her daughter-- and is aware of her shortcomings. Dana is “the strong one”: the one she calls first when Captain Scully dies, the one she expected would have her on her medical documents (One Breath, post here), the one she knows trusts her more than any other person on earth (Wetwired, post here), and the one who hurts her the most through continued reticence and distance (Memento Mori, Gethsemane, posts here and here.) 

In short, she loves her children equally but depends on Dana the most… which creates, again, a symbiotic push and pull between the two: Scully’s equally fierce inter- and independence, and Maggie’s reliance on and distrust of her daughter's decisions (post here.) Both women depend on people; and both have to learn to stand on their own two feet. (It’s a page out of Sheila Larkin’s thoughts on Mrs. Scully, really: “...someone who never gets to finish her college degree or find a career for herself, but mainly gets enmeshed in her family. You know, the Everymother. Part of her emergence in becoming self-sufficient was during the course of this show with Dana. I think Margaret is ever-evolving." Interview here.) 

"I know that you're afraid," her mother whispers, determined-- rising above her own pain in the face of her daughter's terror.

At the open avowal of her fear, Scully clings tighter, gripping her mother’s back with widened, terrified eyes. She's only prevented from prolonging the moment by Maggie's sudden withdrawal; and, still uncomfortable with showing unchecked emotion, Scully looks down while sniffling back snot-- distressed at her distress becoming public, but desperate to hear words of consolation. 

“And I know you’re afraid to tell me. But you have to tell someone,” Maggie insists, drilling courage into her daughter through her eyes. She is insisting, silently, that Dana address this pain instead of shy away from and be eaten up by it. As previously mentioned, Maggie acts, per Scully's flawed system, as her daughters confessor; but here, she reinforces her own human frailty: that she is a loving mother out of her depth. But that's not the full truth: she is also a loving mother one who sets aside the pangs of ego to get her child the help that she needs.

Scully weighs the wisdom of her words; sighs resignedly at their truth--

--and looks up, finally: determined, too.

Here, then, is when she tells her mother to call Father McCue. 

That detail is important: we see Father McCue in three consecutive scenes-- once on his arrival, once during a prayer session with Scully, and once with the family after her remission. Why, then, did he not drive over now, the day he got the call, instead of waiting twenty-four hours to pray with the dying?

Two considerations present themselves:

1. Nighttime visitation would be prohibited, depending on hospital policy. But that's only half an explanation.

2. Father McCue's duties and their requirements-- depending on the size, scope, and scale of his parish-- could have prevented him from shredding his calendar and marching straight over. (And as morbid as it sounds, there likely would have been a person or two who needed last rites read to them more immediately than Scully.)

If that be the case-- if he couldn’t leave his responsibilities to join Scully on her deathbed until the next day-- then that would mean he wouldn’t have had time either to come back again, that same day, when she was pronounced in remission. Meaning, Father McCue hadn’t left when Scully’s doctor brought in the final report. 

What does this mean, for the Scully family?

We’re told (later) that perhaps Scully, perhaps her family considers her recovery a miracle. And while that would apply because of their faith and beliefs, I have another tantalizing thought: that the doctor walked in while Scully was in the midst of her prayers, right after Mulder denounced Blevins to the FBI. It would fit with the dramatic bent of the show writers, and would explain Father McCue’s presence at the end of the episode. “A miracle” would also seem a little more plausible if Father McCue had been actively praying when it occurred, no? 

After Maggie leaves, after Mulder spends the night crying by Scully's bedside, after she wakes the next day none the wiser and they swap thoughts on his next plan of attack, Father McCue opens the door, appearing for his last rites visit. 

Seeing his approach, Scully feverishly reaches for Mulder’s hand-- the first initiation since her cancer diagnosis, to my recollection-- before he can slip away. She is no longer willing to fight and fight and fight-- i.e., she is no longer willing to push away her source of strength, grasping it to face a greater test of faith.

She clings to it as she whispers, “You’ll be in my prayers,” clings to it as he kisses her cheek goodbye, clings to it as he kindly lets them drift apart. Her face contorts into different stages of fear, insecurity, anxiety, and resignation: the same expressions, to a lesser degree, she’d used with her mother. This, in short, marks Mulder as a man she trusts as deeply as her first confessor (her mother.)

But, again, Mulder is not her intermediary, he is her “other fathers”-- a fact the episode drives home when Mulder teases, “Have him say a few ‘Hail Mulders’ for me.” While this functions as a witticism on the ‘Hail Mary’ chant-- a prayer to an intercessor-- he is, inadvertently, setting himself up as someone the confessor must pray for (read: to.) In other words: Mulder leaves room, literally, for Scully’s confessor, and unintentionally sets up a dynamic that will have Scully praying with her intercessor on his behalf.

The last scene of Redux II begins outside Scully's hospital room.

Her cancer is in remission; and Mulder, sits alone (again, post here) in the hospital hallway, processing. He strikes a cutting figure-- one lost in thought and overwhelmed; and one who is respectfully, ruefully following Bill’s wishes. An interesting note to leave their relationship on: lines strictly divided and enforced-- a tasty prelude to their second meeting in Emily. 

When Skinner joins him, he is jolted from his thoughts; and the two engage in FBI nitty gritty until Mulder drops the remission bomb. Awed, his boss immediately wants to congratulate Scully-- but, crucially, he asks Mulder, “Can I see her?” To Skinner, Mulder and Scully have become each other’s gatekeepers; and Mulder doesn’t bat an eye at that request (neither does she, when put in similar situations.) It's another interesting aspect of their partnership that Bill Scully will have to face soon.

“Yeah-- she’s in there with her family right now,” Mulder adds, looking back to their metaphorical spot, then down-- a thought sticking, but not stinging. “But I’m sure she’d love to see you.” 

Two things of note: Mulder could be, yet isn’t, resentful of the ostracization-- he’s made his peace, and is more than happy to sort his feelings at a distance. Secondly, his “sure she’d love to see you” remark is jolly and pointed: considering Scully’s recent suspicions of Skinner’s guilt, this statement implies (another) two things: 

Mulder already told Scully that he named Blevins, and that his conviction has convinced Scully. 

Mulder knows Scully would be more than happy to have some sort of professional from work interrupt the family stare session. Which also implies, per his tone of voice, that this fact about his partner-- her discomfort at being fussed over or made much of-- amuses him. (...Which, also, lines up perfectly with his surprise birthday song, loud clapping, and "whoo"ing in Tempus Fugit.)

Skinner dips to see his second agent (not at all bothered about invading family time), which provides us a last look at the Scully family. 

Scully turns quickly towards the door, slight (though ashamed at her former distrust) smile still in place when she sees it’s Skinner, not Mulder (which gives validity to the theories mentioned above.) Maggie is sitting on her daughter’s bed, caught mid-inhale-- teary and emotionally drained and relieved. And finally, Bill stands by his sister’s left, holding what I believe is her medical bracelet: teary himself, and unashamed to be caught staring at the proof (whatever it may be) of his sister’s remission-- the very image of a proud, overjoyed big brother. 

CONCLUSION

And that, as far as we’re shown, is the last look at the Scullys in Redux II. 

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[therealslimshakespeare]

Here to beg for smutty Gale and Maureen thoughts 🙏🏻🙏🏻 I love those two

Oh Nonnie, I’ve got a whole one shot charted out that i think you’ll enjoy immensely. Oh how I need time to write! However, let me give you this little backstory.

Our girl Maureen was sulking very hard over not being cool enough to be a pilot -those were the credentials as far as she could see- and having not applied herself very well to her arithmetic as a child, she was having some trouble even cutting it even as a bombardier. It was training, she went through a few crews, there were reshuffles, there were people getting nixed and people getting added and out of the fog came one pilot who actually had been at this longer than five seconds.

And he looked like that. He sounded like that. He took himself so seriously like that she wanted to bite him. And Maureen, I’m sorry to say, had been an excellent trophy hunter of men and exotic game only a few peacetime months ago and just because a war was on, she’d experienced no change of inclination.

She tried to buy him a drink. Got turned down. Allowed the petulance she felt for the whole situation to simmer over and fully had a little cry while he sat on the barstools begging her to understand it wasn’t her he was refusing but the liquor. She bought him a ginger ale instead.

And she called him by it every time after seeing how it made him squirm. Like a little boy getting his head pat for being ever so “good.” To Gale this was a pure mindfuck and one he was pretty sure came from him not yet adjusting to integrated life. Something about the way he lost all his bearings around her, admired things he used to hold in contempt when she exhibited them, and even ended up looking forward to a run in with her like some masochistic fool hopes he trips up and gets lashed for it.

When they start more training runs together, he ends up taking her far more seriously. He had to chew her out the first flight -in that horrible and measured way of his that’s so much worse than a yell- about her clumsiness. She cited her new bombsight as the issue, he called her an ignorant little wall flower without enough math skills. Maureen knew when not to cry, and this was one of those times so instead she just asked for help, and there’s nothing Gale Cleven is so susceptible to as the chance for helping people. Maureen also went back to her bunk after that dressing down and rubbed herself off furiously to the recollection of his intensity and the firmest hand she’d ever been shown.

By England they have become expected to be seen together, not in the way of Bucky and Buck or even Ida and Egan, but rather like Blakely and Douglass. Gale has somewhere along the way list count of the number of jeep rides he’s had to put her hands out of his lap and back in hers. That’s another thing he’s not sure how he allowed, technically he didn’t but she kept disobeying and he has dreams -actual dreams!- of taking her over his knee and dishing out a few smacks her father didn’t see fit to give that pert little ass in her flysuits.

He tells Bucky that once, thinking it a safe and generic thought. Bucky howls over it and places a bet on how soon Maureen’s hand stays in his lap and how soon Buck repays her with a handprint to her derrière.

All this while flying missions. It’s a bit fucked, and sometimes they admittedly both haven’t got much left for this nonesense, the skies take it out of them. Although Maureen would best like to combat those blues by having a man between her legs, and somehow, it feels moderately untrue to Gale to just hop on the next one even though she does from time to time. The way he seems either clueless or unsurprised by it is excruciating.

It makes her have a very venomously honest chat with him once when her courage is sufficiently liquified and he’s got no mission tomorrow. She asks if he loves Bucky instead and the man about swallows his tongue. “I’d understand-“ she’s very firm about it while Gale protests too much. The short of it is some admittance to not being in the market for girlfriends while fighting a war, the fact a kiss between them could get both court marshaled and well, yes, maybe what he needs he gets from his friendship with Bucky. He’s never been in love before and does she really expect him to suddenly learn to do it both ways?

She does. Even after telling him quite strongly that if her were to ask, Bucky would give that friendship to him “both ways”. Which is another topic to get court marshaled about and Gale says goodnight….After having let her chew on his earlobe an indefinite amount of time while she was suggesting this filth. He ends up back in the showers doing what used to be an occasional self care and is now and almost nightly occurrence.

And then. Egan is drunk, Candy is drunk, Biddick is drunk. One of them asks get to punched so they can feel something. One is reluctant as that’s a crazy ass thing to ask. The other is delighted at the opportunity to do so with no repercussions.

And that’s how Maureen badly hurts her hand on Bucky Egan’s face. While Egan goes to meet the new CO, a little knocked about and mildly dazed, Maureen gets hauled to the base hospital by Gale to get those busted knuckles sorted. It’s not a dire emergency, not even worthy of taking staff away from those who need it -this Maureen insists and maybe the staff agrees as after Cleven tells them he’s looking for gauze and antiseptic, they tell him it’s in the back room, have at it major.

And while back there, watching his intent little face cleaning her cuts and his voice gently berating her foolishness and also admiringly asking how she learned to punch like that -she tells him,

“Did you know I’m ambidextrous?”

And that’s how Gale Cleven got his first handjob in the backroom of the hospital.



[thebestpartofwakingup]

Watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre for the first time last night and…felt a little overhyped? Like the beginning is REALLY REALLY GOOD and the movie has some great set ups and set pieces but I’m just super not into chase scene horror and while I guess there’s some charm and horror in how matter-of-fact and fast a lot of the murders are I was expecting something more….drawn out? Especially with the main weapons being chainsaws and hammers. I was sort of expecting more scenes or scenarios where characters are stumbling with missing or maimed limbs, maybe something with the kid in the wheelchair being uniquely able to “tank” an injury or lose or sacrifice a leg without being “slowed down” or sacrificing one of his walking friends so he can escape?

And the introduction of the stun gun discussion in the opening doesn’t go anywhere. I really thought they were building to some sort of agonizing death for one of the characters at the hands of a malfunctioning stun gun drawing on the hitchhiker’s claim that the old mallet method is better and less cruel and less biscuits because it doesn’t liquify the animal

Or I was expecting stuff with like more meat? Like characters getting charged into meat lockers or hiding among cow corpses or half butchered animals?

The store owner/cook is a really neat concept but one that could’ve been better utilized or maybe more apt in a different type of horror movie. Someone who has no qualms participating in cannibalism or the processing of meat and human bodies but who doesn’t actually have the stomach or courage or drive himself to *be* a murderer, maybe a better comparison to someone who eats meat or works in a restaurant but who can’t actually stomach or handle killing an animal themselves. Or a hunter who is fine killing deer but doesn’t have the stomach to butcher an animal. The idea that the raising, killing, processing, and consumption of animals is all inextricably linked whether the animals are livestock or people is a really strong one BUT I feel like the movie doesn’t do much with that past the meat hook scene halfway in.

Like maybe a version where when the kids get to the gas shop they interact with some of the owner’s livestock and someone comments on how the pigs are so sweet or smart they couldn’t imagine being able to kill one and someone else brings up how they still eat pork or whatever, or maybe one of the kids doesn’t eat pork or beef because the animals are too smart or too cute or too sweet but they still eat chicken and fish. Or maybe the owner asks one of the boys for help killing a chicken or offers them the chance and they’re too squeamish to do it (except the kid that’s later strong enough to betray one of their friends to try and escape)

Maybe give him a creepy scene where he’s talking about this to sally while she’s half conscious. His weird anger at his circumstance is interesting but unexplored and the movie just sort of uses it as a cheap way to emphasize the tension and danger. You’ve been kidnapped by insane cannibals and the one you thought you could trust or who seemed the smartest and most reasonable is the most pissed off (but not at you so it has more awkward second hand vibes)

[save-the-villainous-cat]

HIII HOW ARE YOU DOING? LOVE THE RECENT WORK <33

Anyways, a snippet idea: Villainy is a side hustle for villain since they're a poet. They also have a huge crush on Hero.

Coincidentally, Hero has been getting anonymous love poems in beautifully decorated envelopes with pressed flowers AND YK I'M A SUCKER FOR ANYTHING ROMANTIC AND AESTHETICALLY PLEASING

And Hero apparently agrees with me because they're falling Head Over Heels™ for this anonymous lover and now they're trying to figure out who it is.

YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU'D LIKE WITH THIS PROMPT. I KINDA PICTURE HERO LEAVING A LETTER WHERE THE POEMS USUALLY APPEAR SO THE VILLAIN TURNS INTO THEIR ANONYMOUS PENPAL

“So…poetry, huh?”

Every muscle inside of the villain’s body froze, stopping dead in their tracks. Shit. Shit.

“Sorry?” Their voice was the opposite of steady. They watched as the hero slipped out of the shadows, a small smile on their face. Too shy to actually look into their eyes, the villain’s gaze dropped to the hero’s ankles where their cape was flapping around happily. With featherlight steps, the hero came closer.

“I can only recite the usual Shall I compare thee, bla bla bla, but your poems are…just wow.” No. This wasn’t happening. This was a dream, a nightmare the villain could escape in any second. They would wake up in their bed, fine and content and safe and without the hero knowing about the fucking poems.

Because that was just impossible. They should not know.

The thing was, the villain had in fact written love poems for over six months now. However, big however, the hero was (1) never meant to receive those, (2) never supposed to read those and (3) never, ever under any circumstances allowed to know how the villain was feeling about them. The villain had carefully written all those stupid poems and never sent them intentionally. There was a reason behind that.

People just didn’t wake up one day and had the courage to confess to their crush of five years. Those poems were supposed to be for the villain only because they had to let off some steam somehow.

The only one who knew about it was…their own sidekick. The villain cursed under their breath.

“I didn’t write those.”

“You sent them to me. And that’s your handwriting.” The hero was holding one of the letters, the latest one to be ridiculously accurate. The one with the pressed buttercups. “I think they are cute.”

No. It wasn’t cute. It was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The villain’s head was close to exploding and their brain was already liquified. This time, there was nothing that could have helped them wiggle out of this.

“You’re making fun of me.” The villain had always pushed the people around them away. It was normal to them, so why the fuck did it hurt so much now? “You’re mocking me.”

The hero’s expression shifted to confusion.

“I didn’t say that and I never intended to make you feel bad. I think they’re incredible. No one has ever done anything like that for me. I have never gotten any flowers.” The hero had to be joking. They deserved much more than just flowers. They worked so hard and got so little appreciation. All the media did was criticise them. “The way you write about me…you make me feel better about myself. To see myself through your eyes makes me believe that I’m actually good enough. You know, that I’m worthy of praise and love.”

No matter the magnitude of the villain’s embarrassment, if the hero truly felt like this, then pushing them away was clearly not the best thing to do.

“Are you serious?” the villain asked. Their rigid shoulders lost some of their hardness.

“Yes. I like the poems. They are great.” The hero turned the envelope in their hand and let their thumb go over the heavy paper a few times as they smiled to themselves.

“I meant the other things you said. You don’t think you’re worthy of love?” the villain asked. More or less shy, the hero’s head cocked up. It seemed as if their roles had switched. The hero seemed unsure while the villain’s confidence crawled back with shattered elbows.

“Doesn’t everyone think that?” the hero asked in return, scratching the back of their head.

The villain had to go home. They had to write more poems. Right now.

And their sidekick had to start praying to every higher entity they wanted to beg for help.

[juniorgman187]

Malchance (Reid Fic) - Part 2

Summary: The only thing reader can count on is her bad luck and what it’ll get her into. In this case, it’s the lioness’ den - the lioness being Cat Adams.

Category: Angst, Fluffy Ending Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Canon-consistent trauma, brief mention of daddy issues, blood, manipulation, yelling, deceit (Let me know if I missed anything) Playlist: Call Out My Name by The Weeknd Word Count: 5k

READ PART 1 HERE!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

“There’s going to be a key to cracking Cat,” Ms. Prentiss explained to me. 

“A key?” 

“You’ll know it when you find it.” 

That was probably the most ambiguous advice I could’ve gotten, but it’s the one she sent me into the field with and the one that loomed in the back of my head as everything unfolded.

The plan the team and I agreed upon, which ironically Dr. Reid knew no part of, was that after Cat and him went to the rink, they’d come back to his apartment, where I would be waiting. Posing as his concerned girlfriend, the unexpected presence of competition would enrage Cat. With the wrath of a woman scorned, she’ll be furious enough to slip up and make a mistake. 

I’ve heard that she’s done her best, or arguably her worst, when she’s prepared, so this curveball might just put an end to the reign of Queen Cat. 

As far as the outlined plan of events went, sure, it was simple. As for me? 

No shot in hell that I’d be able to pull this off.

There was seemingly no feasible reality where I could outsmart her until she made a mistake or keep on the facade long enough to deceive her. The entire success of the plan hinged on my abilities or her lack of propriety. Not exactly betting odds, if you ask me. 

And yet, against everything, I was still walking into the lion’s den on my own volition, making myself right at home, acting like this was exactly where I belonged. When in reality, this was the last place I should’ve been.

“You got this, okay?” Someone in my earpiece chirped. Just out of paranoia, I pressed the device further in, un-tucking the strands of hair behind my ear to better conceal it. Even that wasn’t enough to lower the specter of my doubt. I prayed that she was lax in her vetting tonight.

“Spencie!” A giggly shriek from outside the door sent one large shock wave through my entire body. It was so sharp like they were right there. The sound of heavy footsteps followed, and my stomach churned in anticipation. I already hated this.

How did I even get here? 

Oh, right - malchance. 

I contemplated cracking my knuckles to self-soothe, but then I remembered what Ms. Prentiss told me about ‘tells.’

“Bodily tells are how people can read the emotions you’re not directly expressing. A majority of what profilers use to study behavior is your body language. Unfortunately, some of the best profilers are the unsubs themselves. She’ll know what you’re feeling if you show her. So stay strong.”

Stay strong. 

Try as I might, I couldn’t keep the fear from washing over me when the pair of muffled voices outside became clearer as they entered the apartment. 

I must’ve caught them in the middle of something, but I couldn’t exactly deduce what, seeing as they stopped when they saw me, which was before I turned around.

Dr. Reid was floored by my being there, but at least, he had a look of recognition. It wasn’t enough that he merely distinguished me to settle the worry I had about the fact that the BAU hadn’t told him I would be here. If I could, I would have, but they each advised against it. They needed his raw reaction just as much as they needed her’s. 

One ghastly look up and down and I could tell she came to the exact conclusion the team anticipated she would - that I’m her new competition. 

“Spencie - who is this?” 

Her dehumanization of me made Dr. Reid viscerally guilty for having extended an opportunity to let yet another person suffer the corollaries of her cruelty. He shook his head softly at me as though to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ An interesting choice - that that was what he chose to nonverbally say to me first. He didn’t even ask me with his eyes why I was here or what I was doing - he just apologized. 

What has this poor man been through?

“I’m his girlfriend,” I answered for him before the silence could get suspiciously long. By inserting myself in the conversation, I was following what the BAU suggested I should do earlier. Stand your ground. You can’t be afraid to speak up to her. “I’m (y/n). You are?”

I held out my hand for a handshake that was never returned. Instead, all I got back was an ice cold stare. 

She’s reading your body language, an inner voice I didn’t even recognize called from within me. Soon after I realized it wasn’t my conscience speaking - it was Ms. Prentiss. I’d forgotten I had an earpiece, much less that there were micro cameras littered all over the apartment so they could have a firsthand view of this train wreck. How could anyone voluntarily watch this mess unravel? 

“And when did this happen?” Her voice went up an octave as she tilted her head with morbid curiosity, then let it roll back in Dr. Reid’s direction. “Spencer?”

“Five months ago,” he replied without missing a beat, keeping his eyes steady on mine. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve believed him, but that stare he was giving me said something more. What’s going on? He wondered.

Oh, Dr. Reid, if only I could tell you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” She asked through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. Suddenly, the surface of her expressions liquified then melted away until I could see well beneath the anger, revealing the bodily tells of humiliation. 

I was profiling her, and I didn’t even know that I could. 

“You made me promise not to talk about anyone else except you tonight, remember?” He remarked with an uncharacteristic amount of edge behind his words. 

His outer mask was liquefying and transforming in its own right, too. As Cat became easier to read, the Doctor was slowly morphing into the man I first met - the man who was furious enough to throw an entire set of books off a table. The man who’s darkness made him impossible to read - made it impossible to think he’d ever been seen or touched by the light. 

She huffed and spun her head around so fast, it made her hair whip up and over her shoulder. The stern look upon her face fell for the briefest moment, and if it hadn’t been for everything I knew about her, I would’ve thought she looked pretty. She was pretty. But her soul, her sensibilities, they just ruined her. It was a shame really. 

She was tainted by wickedness in a way that I never would be, and for that, she had already come to the decisive determination that she hated me. 

“So how old are you, (y/n)?” Like a hawk hovering over its prey, she began to walk around me in a tight circle so she could scrutinize my every angle, discover every flaw, and poke at every button she could find. Precisely why she asked that question, too. She wanted to know where the similarities started and ended between us. She wanted to compare herself to me. Size me up, tear me down - lioness v. lioness. If she was gonna play dirty, then so be it. Two can play that game. 

“I’m 28.” A flat out lie. I’m 26. 

“Wow, I didn’t realize you had a type, Spencer,” She ruefully chuckled.

“And what’s that, Cat?” I couldn’t see him, but he sounded so unamused. 

“Jailbait.” 

There wasn’t much I could do besides move on from the subject. “Cat? Is it?” Considering she hadn’t told me her name before, I think Dr. Reid purposefully included it in his response so that I’d have a reason to know what it was. 

Smart move, Doctor. 

I wanted to smile from the way he was helping me out and working together with me, but my poker face stayed on.

“Catherine Adams,” She drew out the name to assert herself. I didn’t get to call her Cat like Dr. Reid did. That was his name for her and his name only. She made that point crystal clear. When I finally shrugged, she pounced once more.

“You really have no idea who I am? I’m hurt.” She fake pouted and put a hand to her heart to feign offense. “Spencer’s never mentioned me? Not once in your five months of dating?” Her emphasis on the timing of our ‘relationship’ showed her knowledge of the deceit, but she needed to do more than just put stress on one word. I wouldn’t back down that easily. 

“Why would he? You mean nothing to us.” Nastier words have never left my lips, and yet, I still made sure they were coated in the harshest tone I could muster up the courage to use. 

She scoffed and stopped walking around me to pull on Dr. Reid’s arm and force her mouth to make contact with his ear. Despite the closeness, he still refused to meet her eyes. He kept them locked on mine. 

“I mean nothing to you? Is that so?” Her breath was a jarring enough sensation on his neck to make his eyes shut. He was beyond uncomfortable. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell her what you told me at the rink?”

“What did you tell her, Spencer?” I was forcing him to speak, not because of the case, but because I wanted to know. Was that wrong?

“I …” The words got caught in his throat. “I told her that there’s some part of my brain, some part that she somehow inhabits.” 

A pang in my chest told me there was still more. That pang would be correct.

“No, go ahead, Spencie. Tell her the rest. Don’t be shy now.” 

He forced himself to look away from me as he said, “And no woman, no matter how good, no matter how kind, no matter how …”

“Say it,” She demanded, firmly tugging on his arm harder. 

“No matter how sexy she is, can ever get her out.” He looked repulsed by his own admission, and if I was being honest, so was I. 

“Are you in love with her?” Although I was venturing far off script, it felt like an appropriate response as his ‘girlfriend.’ It was my response. 

“No. I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you.” 

He’s such a pretty liar. 

Cat must’ve been annoyed by her lack of involvement in the conversation as she felt compelled to step in. “Prove it. Kiss her like you kissed me out there and I might believe you.”

Pretending to be hurt wasn’t hard. Not when I didn’t have to pretend. 

“You kissed her, too?” I had to ask.

Imagine if I were actually this poor guy’s girlfriend. Forget me - God help that girl. Even if this was all for the sake of the job, that wouldn’t have made it any better hearing what he’d confessed to her or what they did. 

Dr. Reid looked incredibly apologetic for someone that had nothing to apologize for. Sure, I was playing his girlfriend, but I wasn’t actually anyone of value in his life. So why did he look like he felt so goddamn guilty? 

“Ugh hurry up and kiss already!” Cat stomped her foot impatiently. 

As she released Dr. Reid, she gave him a strong shove in my direction, causing him to stumble right into me. He’d caught himself by grabbing onto my hips, while I stabilized him by clutching onto his forearms. 

His eyes were piercing through mine. I won’t kiss you unless I have your permission. His eyes read. 

Fighting against every reflex in my body that was resisting, I leaned closer. Then, right as I closed my eyes, I felt it. 

Not his lips. 

Blood.

My blood.

The coin-like taste shocked my eyes wide open so fast you would think I never even closed them in the first place. Abandoning my grip on his arm, I used my hand to block the sight of my bloody nose. 

(Y/n), what’s going on? Ms. Prentiss asked in my earpiece. 

“My nose is bleeding,” was my answer for everyone listening - Dr. Reid, Cat, and the BAU alike. 

“Are you alright?” He unhesitatingly shifted out of the role he seemed to be playing. His guard fell down to the point where it felt like nothing else mattered but to know that I was okay. It wasn’t Spencer and his fake girlfriend talking anymore, it was Dr. Reid and me again. 

“HELLO?! What’s going on?” The minute Cat’s shrilly voice hit the air, Dr. Reid shut it down with a steadfast hand. 

“Not now, Cat! Time out.” He motioned a T before he let an invisible magnetic force freely connect his hands onto my hips again. It seemed like he didn’t even touch me on his own accord but instead, it was the mere gravitational pull that brought his body back to mine. “This isn’t a game anymore.” His tone was unwavering as he walked me away from Cat and into the bathroom. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He whispered in a familiar tone after shutting the bathroom door behind himself. “You can leave now. You don’t have to keep doing this.” As though I were his grandmother’s delicate china, he hoisted me in the air momentarily to help me onto the sink with an almost unnecessarily large amount of caution. 

“I’m fine.” While I attempted to wave off his concern nonchalantly, traitorous butterflies swarmed my stomach at the feeling of his touch. 

“Don’t tell me you’re fine!” He scolded through an outpouring of laughter. “I can see the blood!” He underlined his words by pressing the toilet paper he retrieved on the spot under my nose where the blood was centralized. 

“Then don’t ask!” I just as playfully responded. 

“Alright, fine, fine,” He jokingly put his hands up in surrender. “What should I ask you then?”

I wish I was more uncomfortable than I truly was. Maybe then it would’ve been easier to lie to him. But there was something about how close he was to me or how unrelenting his stare was that made sincerity spill out from my every seam. 

“‘Why are you even here if you’re just ruining things?’” 

He looked so hurt despite the fact that the depreciation was directed at me. “Why would I ask you that?” 

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?” My eyes flashed to the door to ensure it was closed, but without the ability to guarantee that Cat wasn’t right outside listening in, I lowered my voice. “I’m way in over my head here. I have no idea what I’m doing and I feel like I’m just making things worse.” 

“None of that is true,” It sounded like a reprimand, the way he was defending me to me. “The team wouldn’t have asked you to be here if they didn’t think you could do it … and anyway, it’s kind of nice having a partner in crime.” 

He needed to watch his step before he began charting dangerous waters from which he could never escape. I was already playing with fire by allowing any real genuine emotion seep out around Cat. Except now that he’d thrown me a lifeline with his insinuation of liking my company, I knew, at least to some degree, that the feeling was mutual. I briefly calculated the risk until I ultimately decided to let my boldness rear its ugly head.

With the speed of light, I clicked off my earpiece with one hand and turned off Spencer’s with the other. He caught my wrist only after I’d successfully disabled the devices from allowing the team to hear us and us to hear them. 

“What are you doing?” “Why didn’t you kiss me?” 

Our questions came at the exact same time, and yet I didn’t repeat myself. 

I knew he heard me.

It was out of turn for me, given that I’d only briefly calculated the risk of asking this before doing it. It came out suddenly and then I couldn’t take it back. But I blame his gaze for my oversharing. It brought me so much comfort that I failed to recognize the discomfort my question had posed. 

He sort of laughed, saying, “Your nose was bleeding.” 

Under any other circumstance, I would have believed him. Unfortunately, he was exceptionally unconvincing, precisely because he didn’t look very sure of that explanation himself. 

While I’m sure my nose bleeding was a reason not to kiss me, it was most definitely not the reason. My honesty itself felt something like a nose bleed. For one thing, it annoyed me and was beyond my control. But for another, I wished I could find the source and pinch it off to make it stop. Stop it before I spilled out the words, “Oh, I get it ... you just didn’t want to kiss me.” 

“That was definitely not the problem,” He said a little too quickly and a little too adamantly that it made my head spin. In that response - he sounded very sure of himself, a complete contrast to his previous demeanor. 

“So why didn’t you?” I wish I could tell you why I was pressing the subject so hard. I’d like to think that if you were in my position, you’d want to know the answer as badly as I do now, which is the best rationale I could possibly come up with to justify what I said next.

“If you weren’t scared and if you didn’t not want to, then why didn’t you?” 

“(Y/n),” He averted my eyes by turning his head to the side, revealing a side smirk of contempt. I should’ve been mad that he was visibly frustrated because if anything - he was the one being frustrating. Instead, all I could think about was how I wanted to kiss that smirky mouth. Maybe to make the smirky-ness disappear. Or to control it.

Make it mine. 

“You’re running out of excuses, Dr. Reid. You’re going to have to kiss me eventually, so let’s just get this over with already.” Did I really just say that? 

“I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Kiss me!” Yes, I really did. 

“I’m not going to kiss you.” 

“Just kiss me!” 

“(Y/n), stop.” 

“God, Spencer, just kiss me already!”

“No!” His eyes found me again; This time they were wider. “Not like this!” 

Silence. 

Then he cleared his throat as if they’d somehow cover the confession that had already been said. 

“Not - I didn't mean - I just. We can't like that because that's not … do you know? Like it's very ... that's not what-" He continued to stammer until he mouthed one last “What?” to himself in complete disbelief of the words that had left his lips and the words that were still struggling to. 

Our brains must’ve been working at the exact same speed because while he couldn’t find the right words to say, I was still trying to process everything he already had. 

Without waiting for my response, he fled from the bathroom. When the door slammed shut, I whipped my body around to face the mirror, my fist tingling with the urge to punch the stupid girl staring back at me in the reflection. 

I knew I couldn’t take refuge in here for much longer unless I really wanted to piss Cat off. Which I totally did, but not if I couldn’t guarantee that Spencer wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. As confused and pissed off as he made me, I never wanted to hurt him.  

Once this realization dawned on me, another one had followed.

This was the key to cracking Cat. I’d found it. 

Like an overexcited bull bursting through the gates, I pushed my way out of the bathroom door seeing red. I saw Spencer first, standing in the corner of the room to monitor Cat from a distance. The aforementioned lioness herself was perched in an armchair, slouching in it comfortably as though she’d sat in that very seat a hundred times before. Not a single display of care in her conduct for the people whose lives she was actively trying to ruin. 

“So you finally ready to kiss your boyfriend yet?” If sarcasm were a liquid, it’d be dripping from her lips. She was so casually destructive when she spoke, like a loose-lipped bomb capable of going off at any minute but deliberately delaying the blow until it was guaranteed to wreak the most havoc on the most number of people. Seeing her in that light only made things easier.

“Forget the kiss, Cat. In fact, forget Spencer all together,” I waved my hand in his general direction behind me. Like him, I was standing, giving me all the power I needed to assert myself effectively. “It’s just you and me now. Exactly what you’ve wanted since the minute you stepped in here.”

She laughed ruefully, if only to make me insecure. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you scoped me out. You were doing that to figure out how alike we are, right?” 

She straightened a little more to sit up in her chair. She was hooked. “Why would I want to do that?” 

With my right foot, I swiped the foot rest out from underneath her legs, making her feet fall flat against the floor. Caught off guard by my swift movement, her upper body hurled forward while I took my seat on the foot rest, placing me directly across from her.

It wasn’t for a lack of dominance that I sat down. No, it was that I knew I had power over her, and I didn’t need to stand up anymore to prove it. 

“Feel free to stop me when I’m wrong,” I told her emphatically, knowing that would never happen. 

“You have always wanted Spencer. That’s just a fact. But deep down, you know he’s never truly wanted you. Sure, maybe he likes, even loves, the allure of your forbidden connection, but he doesn’t like or love you. And now that I’m here, the person he claims he loves in a way he’s never loved anyone before, you want to know just how similar we are. Because the more similarities you find between us, the more it kills you inside to wonder why he would love me over you if we’re practically the same. But you’ve only judged me from the outside, and we both know looks only go so far. So I’ll make it easier for you, Cat. I’ll tell you anything you want to know that way you can come up with an answer to the question you’ve been asking yourself the entire night: ‘Why her and not me?’”

She couldn’t pretend to be unfazed anymore. I had moved her beyond that. She was finally starting to react. 

“You would only be this confident if you already knew the answer to that question.” She concluded through gritted teeth. Her body was shaking all over, like the rage inside of her was boiling and her body was the feverish, bubbling water. “Do you know the answer?” 

I had nothing to hide. “Yes, I do.” 

“Tell me!” She threw down an iron fist against the top of her thigh. “Tell me what the answer is.” 

“You have more confidence in my answer than you’re ability to figure it out yourself? Come on, Cat. You couldn’t have gotten this far without your intelligence.”

“I don’t want to figure it out. I want you to tell me.” Her fist clamped around itself harder. 

“You don’t trust yourself to ask the right questions?”

“Just. Tell. Me.” Jaw clench.

“Alright, I’ll give you one similarity to start. We both have daddy issues-”

“I don’t care! Just give me the answer.” Foot tapping. 

“My grandma used to call my dad a ‘Bastard’ in French actually -” 

“Tell me!” Bodily tell after bodily tell, and I knew, I had done it. 

I beat the betting odds. 

“Fine, Cat. I’ll tell you what it is,” I had her undivided attention, and if I had eyes at the back of my head, I’d see I had Spencer’s, too. 

“The fundamental difference between you and me is that no matter what - I would never, ever, do anything to hurt Spencer. I have no compulsion to hurt him as a way to assert power over him or to make him fall at my feet. I can do that without ever having to go to the lengths that you’ve gone to. The power you wield over him is borne from a long-standing vendetta, whereas the power I wield, I resist using against him for revenge because that is what a morally sane person does. While I use my influence to help Spencer believe that he is a good person worthy of good treatment, you are constantly trying to prove that he is a bad person deserving of bad treatment. That he is anything like you.”

Her eyes just barely starting to water marked the last semblance of emotion I’d seen from Cat before the team swarmed the apartment and whisked her away. Then, the proverbial veneer of her mask had glazed back over her face, never to come off again. 

As Luke escorted her out in handcuffs, she gave me one last look over her shoulder. 

“How did you know about my dad?” 

You might think I slipped up when I told Cat that we were similar because of our daddy issues, therefore accidentally revealing that I knew more about Cat’s backstory than I led on, but that was purely by design. I had done that with the specific intention of setting this exact moment in motion. 

This moment where she would recognize that she’d overlooked my ‘mistake’ because of her lack of propriety. This moment where she would have to face the fact that she’d been deceived and outsmarted by me. 

This moment that she would think about until the day that needle went into her arm - the moment she realized - she let me win. 

_ _ _ 

As twisted as it may seem, the end to the reign of Queen Cat called for celebration. Penelope - she told me to call her that and not Ms. Garcia - had prepared cocktails galore in the round table room, which I’d actually been invited to enter this time. 

“You exceeded any expectations we had. The best we could’ve hoped for was no casualties, so I’m thrilled with the way things turned out tonight, and we couldn’t have done it without you,” Ms. Prentiss pulled me aside to say. “If you want it, there’s a spot waiting for you here on the team, and I really think you should consider taking it.”

To her proposal, I said I’d have to think about it, given that I’d hate to bestow my bad luck upon the team, but after tonight, I was about ready to declare my malchance a thing of the past. 

At this rate, I couldn’t distinguish whether I was dizzy from the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream or the job promotion from Secretary to Supervisory Special Agent. In any event, I knew I needed air. I slipped out of the conference room, past the glass doors of the bullpen, and waited patiently for the elevator. 

I must’ve caught Spencer after coming back from his ride with Cat to the prison because when the elevator doors opened, he was standing just on the other side of them, looking lost in thought. 

“Oh, hi!” I chirped, realizing then that he and I hadn’t said a word to each other since the “Kiss Me Bathroom Incident.” 

“Hey,” he called back, his voice already sounding unfamiliar after its lack of use towards me.

“Long time no see,” I joked to first lighten the air that seemed heavy between us. “I was just going to go down to get some fresh air.” 

“I’ll join you.” 

Because I hadn’t expected him to say that, I fumbled awkwardly into the tiny space that seemingly got smaller by the second, especially now that he was filling the space with me. 

The silence was a little too suffocating for my taste, and I couldn’t afford to have my breath be any more restricted by that than it already was being in this slender cage next to Spencer. Just to occupy the absence, I started rambling. “You know I was thinking -” 

No sooner did I start speaking than my words were cut off by the sweet, sweet shut of my mouth because of Spencer’s. His lips wholly encompassed mine just as his hands did to my face. I was surrounded by him and for that my breath had truly been taken away this time, but in the absolute best ways possible. 

There was simply no air. 

His ivy-like enclosure around me somehow made the claustrophobic elevator expand. Or maybe it felt like it had fallen away entirely. Nothing else around. Just us. 

His hands moved wherever they pleased and I followed suit, letting my hands go where they wished, never staying stationary in one place for too long. 

I had to feel him everywhere. Filling everything. 

He’d pulled away first, biting my bottom lip with blunt teeth to take me with him, and then he forced my lip in its place by kissing it back, pushing his lips impossibly closer like he wasn’t close enough. He wasn’t just trying to restore my bottom lip, but rather fuse ours together forever.

He pulled away for real this time but not far. His face and mine were centimeters apart, our breathes mixing in the microscopic air betwixt us. 

Still breathless, he rasped, “I meant something like that.” 

Now, I can say with absolute certainty that my malchance was a thing of the past. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

If you’re on this taglist, I strongly suggest commenting, reblogging, or liking!

CLICK HERE TO JOIN A TAGLIST

malchance tags: @donald4spiderman​ @urie-bowie-mercury​ @rexorangecouny​ 

tags not working: @youhaveabadconnection @gloriousmuffinempathstudent 

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid​ @spenxerslut​ @you-sunshine​​ @spencerreid9​

[mortedeveles]

Model For Me

HERE: PART TWO 

PART ONE.  PART THREE.  PART FOUR. PART FIVE. PART SIX. 

Summary: Y/N has always been a timid and awkward person and artist when it comes to social interactions and it only gets worse when she asks her crush and best friend, Katsuki Bakugou, to model for her.

And not just any type of modelling; Y/N needs to do a composition of a nude male body. Luckily for her, Katsuki's personality is anything but shy and he doesn't hesitate to undress in front of her. It's for art, he says. But something tells Y/N that the boy has hidden and devious intentions, intentions that she has to unravel and discover. 

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles.

Genre: fluff, humor, suggestive content (a wee bit of NSFW themes)

TW: cursing, sexual themes, nudity.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!artist!reader

________

QUIRK: LIQUIFY! Y/N can manipulate any type of liquid to her advantage and can also melt inanimate objects, but doesn't work on animals, plants, or people. And at night time she can make any type of liquid into a solid!  

_________

a/n: so here’s the second part!! we have 2-3 parts left! the first part wasn’t proofread when i published so i’m going to fix any grammar errors it may have </3. i’m a new fanfic writing blog, so please consider checking out my other works, followng me and leaving a like and/or reblogging!! i would really appreciate it! enjoy!

Today had been a good day so far. You hadn't encountered any problems up until now- your hero training had gone smoothly, you even managed to beat Uraraka in a match!-so hopefully, you could ask Katsuki the dreadful question and not die in the process.

Hopefully.

Once the final school bell rang, you could feel your soul leave your poor body. It was nearly time. Everyone began to pack up and head out of the classroom when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

''Y/N?'' Momo looked concerned. ''School is over. Are you still coming over today?''

Shit. You had totally forgotten about that. Mustering a smile, you shook your head.

''I'm sorry, Momo, I won't be able to go today. I have some art projects to do,'' 

She nodded in understanding and patted your shoulder.

''Very well. See you later, Y/N. Take care!'' 

You offered her a wave and a smile. Once she had left, you dropped the facade and groaned. There were still some of your classmates inside and thankfully, Bakugou was one of them. You could feel his eyes burn into your side. He had agreed to stay after school, but you refused to explain what you needed.

Once the classroom was nearly empty, you took a shaky breath as you slung your backpack over your shoulder, rising from your seat and leaned against the exit.

You stared at the floor while you waited for everyone to leave and once the classroom had gone silent, you raised your head. 

Katsuki was the only one left. He was scowling as usual as he approached you, hands stuffed in his pockets.  

''So, what did you want nerd?'' Katsuki grunted. 

You swallowed thickly as you played with your hands. God, how were you supposed to ask him to model for you? All your previous confidence and courage had slipped away in the blink of an eye. You should've written it down...

''Um, well, you see,'' you stammered and coughed awkwardly. Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows and you swallowed nervously. His patience ran thin with every second that you were wasting.

''Spit it out already,'' he growled. 

''Okay so, IwaswonderingifyoucouldmodelnudeformecauseIneedamalemodelpleasedon'tkillme,'' you spoke so fast that all your words glued together and Katsuki looked shocked.

He didn't reply and only stared at you with an expression you couldn't understand. Was he mad? Did he even understand what you had just said?

''Hah?!'' 

Uh oh. You felt embarrassment course through your body as you shook your head in denial. No, no! That came out so wrong!

''Oh god, I'm such an idiot,'' you breathed. ''I'm so sorry Katsuki, I'll stop wasting your time,'' 

What were you thinking?! you yelled at yourself, shaking your head as you began to walk away. While you muttered incoherent words and cursed at yourself, you hadn't noticed that Katsuki had regained his composure and wore a smug grin as he reached out for your arm.

''You should really talk slower, shitty nerd. I barely understood what you said. Learn how to fucking speak, will you?'' he snapped, eyes blazing but there was a grin on his face, so you hoped that he wasn't as mad as he sounded. 

You froze when you felt Katsuki's warm and heavy hand wrap around your elbow. His grip was strong and firm but not to the point that it hurt.

Quickly, you turned around and nearly headbutted Katsuki. Luckily, he managed to dodge your head and snickered.

''Um, yeah okay...anyways, do you think you can do it?'' 

He sighed and nodded, releasing your elbow and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

''Tch. Okay, I'll do it.''

A few moments passed in silence until you realized he had agreed.

''Yes, oh my god, thank you so much Katsuki!'' you blabbered, jumping on the balls of your feet as a wide smile took over your face.

Katsuki snorted and watched you with mild amusement, his muscular arms crossed against his chest.

''I'm so glad you agreed, Katsuki! I was so afraid I was going to ask a random guy to model for me and that would've been so awkward-,'' you stopped and took a deep breath. Screaming and jumping around really did a number on you.

Once you had regained your breath, you met Katsuki's red eyes with a wide grin. He rolled his eyes and stepped forward, grabbing your chin with his fingers and tugging you forward.

''Woah! What are you doing?'' you stammered, feeling your heart beat so loud it was a surprise Katsuki didn't notice.

''Don't think I'm doing this for free. I'm only stripping because it's for art,'' he said with a scowl. ''And since I'm doing you a favor, you're going to have to do something for me,'' he grinned like a madman.

''What..what do you want..?'' your voice faltered. You felt your stomach twist and flip. Katsuki was so close to you...he smelled like a warm and rich campfire and toasted marshmallows...

His grin grew wider at your hesitance. You prayed that he didn’t notice how flustered you were.

''I'll tell you after the modeling,'' he stated, leaving no room for argument. You swallowed nervously and nodded.

''Okay, sure..''

''Tch. Whatever. Besides, the only guy you'll be seeing naked is me, so be glad I decided you help your ass out. Text me the details. Later, shitty nerd,'' he grumbled. You nodded vigorously and everything he had just said flew over your head. You waved him goodbye with a stupid smile on your face.

It wasn't until Katsuki left that you registered what he had just said. 

''Wait...'' you mumbled. 

''What the hell did that mean?!''

You could feel yourself getting flustered again. Damn him! It seemed that when he was around, all you could was act like a giddy idiot.

You two were close friends, but not the point where you were comfortable with physical intimacy. And since it was Katsuki Bakugou, you doubted he was cuddly towards anyone.

Whatever, you thought. I'll just ask Aneko what he meant.

                         ━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

You found yourself covering your tender ears as Aneko let out a shrill scream.

''Jeez,'' you complained. ''Are you a screaming banshee?''

Aneko frowned in response and swatted your head.

''Don't you get it? He likes you!'' she exclaimed. ''I've never been more sure about anything in my life! Trust me, I know what I'm talking about,'' she held her chin between her two fingers and had a thoughtful expression.

''I think he's the possessive type,'' she mused. ''Definitely. It's obvious from what he said. Not to mention that when he met me, he wanted to kill me for hugging you.''

You rolled your eyes but you could feel butterflies swarming in your stomach as a giddy smile escaped you.

''Maybe you're right,'' you said. ''I just hope nothing goes wrong..''

''Of course, I'm right,'' you could hear the smugness in Aneko's voice. ''When I have ever been wrong?''

You opened your mouth to protest, but Aneko shushed you and placed your phone into your hands. 

''You should text him already. When are you guys planning to meet?''

You shrugged.

''I don't know. It's better to do the art piece in one session so that I can capture the same lighting and shadows, but honestly, I don't think I can work for more than 3 hours straight. Besides, I don't think Katsuki would handle it,''

Aneko hummed in response. ''You're right.''

''Well, it's up to you. I have to leave, mama's making soba tonight,'' She pressed a quick kiss on your cheek before heading out of your room.

''Okay, tell your mom I said hi!'' you called after her.

''Will do!" Aneko's voice echoed from below.

Frowning, you stared at your phone. You wanted to finish the art project quickly, but you had no idea how to organize the sessions...

Hell, you had never done a live session with a nude model before, so you felt absolutely clueless. Most of your references were pictures you would find on the internet and art books.

After several attempts of typing and deleting, you decided on a final message.

Y/N: Hey Katsuki! Would you like to do the modeling in one session? It would be really long...like five to nine hours? Or would you rather do several short sessions?

Once you had pressed SEND, you stared at your phone for several minutes. No response.

Huffing, you threw your phone aside and laid down on your bed. Maybe he was just busy. Yeah, that was it, it wasn't like he was ignoring you.

You groaned and slapped your hands over your face. Why did you have to overthink everything?

When your phone vibrated, you jumped and quickly sat up. The phone vibrated again and you grabbed it.

Katsuki: I'll give you five sessions, three hours each. Take it or leave it, shitty nerd. We'll start tomorrow so text me your address. 

''I thought I was the artist,'' you grumbled. ''Why does he get to choose the sessions? I know he's the one modeling but it's not like he's the one doing the artwork...'' your voice trailed off as you finished reading the message and began to type a message.

Y/N: Sounds good to me! My address is xxx-xxx-xxx and do you think you could come around two o'clock? I'm free at that time.

Without another glance at your phone, you raced downstairs and headed straight to the dining room, where your mother was reading a book on the dinner table. 

''Hey mom,'' you leaned against a pillar. ''Can my friend come over at two o'clock tomorrow? He's going to help me with my art project,'' you smiled.

''Sure thing, hon. What's his name?'' She returned her gaze to her book, flipping through pages.

''Um..'' you debated whether to tell her Katsuki's name. She had seen the Sports Festival and boy, she did not like his murderous attitude. Maybe if you lied and used another name, she’d agree... But then again, she was your mother and would probably see Katsuki inside the house. The best thing to do was to come off clean. 

'’Bakugou Katsuki...'' you said meekly. Hopefully, she was so immersed in her book that she wouldn't pay attention to the name.

''Bakugou Katsuki?'' her sharp voice made you wince. ''The murderous boy from the Sports Festival? He's dangerous, Y/N! Why is he helping you?''

''Um...mom, he's kinda my classmate,'' you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. ''And he's friend, so don't worry about it. Once you get to know him, he's a very good person,''

Your mom sighed and clicked her tongue. ''I hope you're right about this. I have to attend something with your father tomorrow at one o'clock, so I won't be here,'' Phew, you thought. There wouldn't be any incidents and they wouldn't see a naked Katsuki in your room. 

''However,'' your mom said. ''I'm going to ask your friend Aneko to come over. She's a very polite and responsible girl, I know she'll keep you out of trouble.'' The urge to snort was so overwhelming you had to cover your mouth as you nodded in agreement.

Responsible and polite? That was the opposite of your friend Aneko. But you knew that Aneko was capable to turn into a charming exemplar student model when your parents were around.

''Yeah, sure mom. Thanks,'' you shot her a smile. She nodded in response and returned her attention to her book. You raced upstairs to your room and began to tidy your belongings. If Katsuki was coming over to your house, you needed a space where he could pose for hours. 

You pushed your desk, bed, and shelf against the walls, picking up everything from the floor and left a wide space in the middle of your room, in front of your wide windows. Since your family wasn’t rich, you couldn't afford an art studio. But you worked with what you had.

After an hour or two of tidying your room and fooling around, your phone's familiar ringtone blared. You picked up the phone and pressed it to your ear.

''What's up, Aneko?'' 

A loud shriek invaded your ears. Your lips formed a thin line and you pulled the phone away from your ear and kept it at a safe distance to ensure you wouldn't go deaf. Aneko was your friend and you knew she meant well, but she could be very vocal when she was excited. 

''Y/N L/N! My, my, I'm impressed. Your mom just texted me to ask me to come over your house and watch over you and your boyfriend Bakugou Katsuki! You sure are fast!''

You laughed softly as you sat down on the edge of your bed and swung your legs back and forward.

''He's not my boyfriend, Aneko,'' you reminded her. She huffed in response.

''It may not be official, but he's practically your boyfriend at this point. When you introduced him to me, he wanted to rip my head out for holding your hand and for hugging you! Not to mention that when you were cold and we were returning to your house, he slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around you so you wouldn't get cold anymore! And there's been so many other moments. The boy is rude and violent as hell, but I know he cares about you.'' Aneko's long speech left you speechless.

''Well...'' you laughed nervously. ''If you put it that way....''

''You just wait, Y/N. I know something is going to happen. You just sit tight and wait.''

A snort left your nose as you shook your head with amusement. ''I don't think so, Anne, but I'll hold your promise.''

''You wanna bet?''

You snickered loudly. ''Alright. I'm betting 500 yen that he won't ask me out,''

Aneko clicked her tongue in disapproval. ''Oh, Y/N, Y/N. Poor little oblivious you. I'm betting 800 yen and if I win you have to do whatever I say for a day!''

Oh damn. The bet was getting out of hand and you felt slightly nervous. Nevertheless, you kept your composure and smirked.

''Deal.''

                           ━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It had been an hour since Aneko had arrived at your house and the two of you had tidied the house. Right now, you sat on your bed with Aneko's head in your lap.

''So, when is he coming?'' Aneko asked as she stuffed her face with cookies. You glanced at your phone and frowned. It was nearly two o'clock and Katsuki hadn't arrived yet.

''He should be here soon. I told him to be here at two o'clock.''

''Do you think he has a big dick?'' 

''Aneko!'' you scolded her. ''Don't say that! Why were you thinking about that?!'' 

She shrugged nonchalantly and met your flustered face with a devious grin.

''I just said what you were too shy to ask,'' 

Your eyes widened as you gasped and slapped Aneko's arm. She giggled and rolled on your bed, enjoying your embarrassment. Flustered, you tackled Aneko and held her down.

Despite your disapproval of her crude comments, the deed had been done. And now, you were in fact, thinking about Katsuki's dick.

''Son of a b-,'' you snarled and tackled Aneko. ''No, I wasn't! Stop being such a pervert!" you held her down while she simply cackled at your amusement. 

You were about to launch a series of hits onto Aneko, when you heard aggressive knocking at your door. Both of you flinched. 

''Speak of the devil and he shall appear,'' Aneko said and smirked. 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It's gonna be okay, you told yourself. Calm down. You could hear Aneko squeal as you repeated the words in your mind.

She sent you thumbs up and urged you to go downstairs. Aneko was grinning like a maniac.

Another loud knock snapped you out of your thoughts. You raced down your staircase and peeked through the windows. Katsuki stood in front of the door, arms crossed, sporting his usual scowl. You unlocked the door and exhaled loudly.

Here goes nothing. 

tag list: @deneuves​

DM me if you want to be in my tag list for this short series! i have a question for y’all, do you like how i write bakuhoe? i’m trying my best to keep him in character. 

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles. Do not repost, plagiarize, or read my fanfiction without my permission.

[reynita9]

I’m at home at my mom’s house. I’m taking a few weeks here to get healthy. I am so fortunate to be here. she isn’t on my nerves yet we are both so traumatized by the times that we are being super kind to each other and grateful for the peace and company. My current hobby is to reply to people I like’s posts as if I know them even tho i don’t. and I love them from afar but have very little capacity to actually get to know them atm, even tho I’d love to in another world. Maybe I should see if anybody wants to be pen pals. I have hella cute limited edition Valentine’s Day postal stamps that would love to be out in the world. I’m thinking that’s a good idea but only If I can give myself the courage. because, I’m feeling like I should get off tumblr and instagram both for the weeks I’m here with my mom and nieces. tend the garden, read books, write in journal. get healthy. get nourished and rested again. take care of my nervous system and transmute the grief that lurks in my lungs. Anyways sometimes I sound drunk but I am not I just feel basically like somebody has whisked my brain with a fork. I always think about the tool that was used to liquify brains when pharaohs were being mummified. i wonder what life will be like when I am 45. will my brain be liquified? will I be a lovely mother to some good hearted feral children? why didn’t I let my ex teach me to surf how he begged me for 6 years. Now i would love to surf its so ridiculous. Kaaay. Okay. Ok I need to go to sleep. nighnight

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E27 (July 24, 2018)

This is a special SDCC edition featuring the cast... some of the cast! Marisha Ray, Taliesin Jaffe, Sam Riegel, Liam O’Brien, and Matt Mercer!

This episode was pre-recorded on Saturday, and hence there is a tragic lack of After Dark content. Please turn off all your lights after the episode airs to simulate the After Dark experience. Thank you.

Vox Machina: Origins will be back in 2019! The next arc (the first arc to really kick in for the home game) will be about meeting Pike and Percy.

Matt is going to have Taliesin design him a Mollymauk tattoo. Sam: “Does Taliesin get to pick the body part?” Marisha: “No, I do.” Taliesin: “We’re in committee.”

Realizing how much the dynamic was going to change has thrown everyone a bit off-balance. Liam’s glad Keg stepped up when she did after Molly went down. Caleb’s mental process was “How many can we save?” and knowing he’d have to just cut and run if he couldn’t bring anyone with him. He was very aware of the Scroll of Invisibility in the pocket.

An older game of Matt’s where Taliesin played had only two out of five characters survive after a disastrous fight. That session was Marisha’s first time watching the game after she and Matt started dating.

Leaving the coat was mostly a respect thing since it was such an intrinsic part of Molly’s character. It is pointed out that they might come across a bandit mugging people in that coat. Anyone who stole that coat would just be liquified. Liam points out that if Lucien/Nonagon/whoever returns as an NPC Big Bad of the series, leaving the coat might keep them on their good side.

Beau has a family history with tarot cards, which is why she always had a thing about them. The last meaningful conversation she had with Molly was over those cards. Taliesin: “I was watching, going, ‘Yeah.’” Marisha: “It means something, and Beau has some regrets about how that conversation went.”

Nott didn’t want anything? “Of course I wanted things. I wanted everything.” But it didn’t seem respectful. Taliesin: “I was backstage screaming, ‘LOOT THE BODY, just loot the body, what’s wrong with you!’”

Taliesin had several moments last episode where he had to drop everything and get ready to go when his new character almost made an appearance... but never quite did. 

Taliesin’s opinion of the funeral? “I feel like more money could’ve been spent. I mean, you ended up in a brothel. You could’ve done something.” Seriously, though, he cried. To Marisha: “You were a lot.”

Sam’s getting to the point where Nott’s point of view is like second nature. “It helps that I have had a lot of drinks in the past, and I know just from sense memory what that’s like.” Liam: “Nott shares your unbridled sense of id, Sam.”

According to Matt, the hardest part about preparing for the new campaign was creating something that simultaneously felt new and set itself apart from the first campaign without deviating too dramatically. He also felt like if the first episode was a dud coming off of the very dramatic ending of campaign 1, that would be on him. He was very aware that a lot of people would be jumping into the show for the first time since it would be a more accessible entry point.

There will be one shots and all sorts of new content associated with the new studio. Honey Heist 2: Electric Bear-galoo will be the first one! Marisha wants to start and focus with bite-sized content, shows that will lower some of the barriers of entry to D&D. A lot of people have discovered D&D from CR and want to get into it, but the PHB looks like homework, so they’re trying to make elements of it more easily understandable to a wider audience.

Matt likes to bring in guest stars, but doesn’t want to do it too often so that the story still focuses on the Mighty Nein. He’s excited to have this opportunity to bring in more of the folks they’ve wanted to have for ages, though. There’s always the possibility of guests having to cancel last-minute, which makes the whole process nerve-wracking. The focus is always on bringing in the people who only really want to be there for that part of the story.

Matt on dealing with directed anger from the internet: “Whenever somebody lashes out, it’s coming from a place of insecurity inside them. Most people. Some people are just dicks. But some people are just angry at the world and lash out at whatever’s in front of them.”

Matt on non-binary NPCs: “There’s plenty more out there.”

Mechanics they miss from last campaign: Marisha went from being “a versatile Swiss-Army-Knife toolbox to a... toolbox.” She misses the versatility of the spells. “Now I try to figure out other creative ways to do things.” Taliesin: “I miss having an enormous amount of distance from combat.” Sam: “The ability to speak. With confidence. That’s it.” Liam: “I miss the sheer satisfaction, and dare I say smugness, of stealth rolls.”

Taliesin on Molly as queer rep: “I love watching what’s been happening with the community in the last 15 years.” He had to ask his “young friends” to figure out the vocabulary, but he’s been focused on exploring new things and he’s delighted at how much it’s resonated with people.

Taliesin on Molly: “He’s still doing great in my head.” Matt points out that Molly’s already having major effects on the campaign and the motivations of the PCs right now (Taliesin’s so pleased).

Marisha: “After the first few times that I put the moves on [Yasha], we were at break, and I could sense that Ashley was wanting to ask me something, and she got up the courage, and she was like, ‘Hey, um, I’m just curious. Is Beau--’ and at that exact moment someone called Ashley to the stage, and I was like, ‘Bye!’“ They haven’t had a chance to talk about it since then. Beau’s looking at it a bit like deciding whether or not to get into a work relationship right now.

An unexpected theme of campaign 2 has been identity and trust. Matt on one of his favorite unexpected storytelling developments: “Having a group of self-entitled terrible people that had this one amazing individual come into their life and be taken away, and now realize they all want to become better people because of that.”

Sam mentions that the first year in the home game, the characters were a bit like cartoon characters, until they got comfortable enough to start letting them have real emotions. Now there’s been a lot more pressure to create a character that’s internally consistent and different from their first characters without being too different and outside their ranges.

Liam gets a question from a kid with the cutest voice and everyone loses it from the adorableness. What’s his favorite monster? “Well, my number one favorite monster is Matthew Mercer.” He’s a big fan of the beholder. “I really like that guy.”

Sam on being asked how he creates flawed characters: “I’m fascinated by flaws and how people overcome them and work around them and stuff, because in real life, I don’t have any.” For Nott, he picked a couple of weird character quirks and worked backwards from there. “The ‘why’ is the fun stuff.”

Matt talks about how we’re already facing a huge difficulty with prejudice in the world now, and he doesn’t feel like he should be forcing that awfulness into entertainment. He’s still finding the balance to give the players a chance to confront and defeat those ideas without it feeling hackneyed or unnecessarily painful to viewers dealing with those issues outside the game.

On resurrecting Molly, Taliesin: “Due to things I can’t necessarily go into, I don’t know if that would have even worked.”

Liam talks about how he never plays Renegade characters in video games and how it’s been a challenge playing Caleb. Liam: “The Mighty Nein isn’t really the family that Vox Machina was, at least not yet, but we are. We love each other and we love playing with each other.”

Marisha points out that when Molly talked about a silk flower, he said, “Here’s one that won’t die.”

[macbetha]

Preview 2 of Part II of Alone Together: A MakoHaru Zombie Apocalypse AU (preview one here) 

When Haru wakes up later that night, Asahi and Kisumi are asleep on the train floor curled up on either side of Tsukushi as usual. Haru picks up his flashlight and tiptoes over them on his short trip across the gloomy subway station to the bathroom. It’s haunting, wandering through an abandoned place that once bustled with life; it’s a new wave of disturbance-normalized. He yawns and swings open the bathroom door only for his heart to shoot up his throat. A lantern sits on the floor, casting warm shadows over the tiles, sensuous. He imagines a night in a bedroom full of dark promise would be lit no differently. The space looks so much more confined with Makoto’s frame standing so tall, casting shadows of his own. His bulky cargo pants are slung low over the ridges of his hips and Haru’s eyes climb the twin rows of Makoto’s abs. They flex with Makoto’s sharp inhale and Haru’s gaze snaps to the full of him, taking in everything and nothing all at once – Makoto’s hunched over the sink, frozen with a rag half-way to his face. Haru blinks dazedly at the realization that he was hiding freckles under the grime on his nose, and his throat is wet, dripping – “Oh – hi.” Makoto’s gaze drops like he doesn’t know what else to do or say. “Hey,” Haru huffs out, lungs malfunctioning. Neither of them move for a moment until Makoto straightens up. “I’m, uh, almost finished –” Haru waves him off and somehow makes it over to the sink in his muddled trance, stomach lost somewhere at his feet. “It’s fine.” Hell no it’s not, but what else is he supposed to do? He could wait for Makoto to finish washing up, but there’s something between them that would make his exit look like rejection. So Haru shuffles over to the sink and sets his flashlight and rag on the counter. He takes a glance at the mirror and mortification knifes his stomach – he’s filthy and sickly thin, but he can’t make this situation weird by being hesitant. So he drags off his cap, wincing when dust billows off his hair. Makoto is deathly quiet the entire time, the muffled splash from the sink the only indicator that he’s even still alive. Haru keeps razor-focus on the mirror as he soaks the rag and drags it across his neck, but he can’t help but sigh at the feeling of cold water – dust liquifies under the cloth, rolling down his throat in thin gray rivers. He smears the rag over his face, staring into the mirror and marveling at the boy who appears under the coating of grime. He doesn’t look like he remembers; physically, he’s gaunt with sunken eyes that look too big for his face, cheekbones sharpened by starvation. But he can also tell just how much he’s changed under the skin. He was never an expressive person, his features usually levelled in indifference, but now he’s disturbingly hardened. Only animals have such a look in their eyes. Sadness tightens his chest as he mourns his reflection in absolute silence. There’s a shift of weight to his left, and Makoto’s voice is gentle. “I have some soap if you want it.” Haru blinks back to himself and nods faintly at Makoto’s outstretched hand. He takes the soap with a brush of their fingers, come to find out that touching is a dozen times more intense when their skin is wet. Moving right along from that revelation, Haru bows his head into the sink to wash his hair while Makoto shaves. It seems as though he’s become an expert at shaving with a knife rather than a razor, his motions infinitely careful as he swipes the blade this way and that across his chin, using some sort of gel-slime Asahi made for such a task. The situation is domestic and surreal in equal parts. Dirt-rings stain the sink when Haru’s finished, but he can’t even describe how heavenly it feels to have clean hair. Even his head feels lighter. He feels the weight of a gaze and Haru glances at Makoto, who blushes as he turns back to his own mirror. He clears his throat while rubbing a towel across the back of his neck. “Your hair is darker than I thought it’d be.” Haru doesn’t know what to say to that or why it makes his stomach spin. “What color did you think it was?” Makoto shrugs with a sheepish grin. “Brown, maybe. I mean, I assumed it was dark, but – it’s black. Really black, like, almost blue.” He’s just making a statement, it’s nowhere near a compliment, but Haru still ducks his head to smile. “Thanks?” “It’s – you’re really pretty.” His face flashes hot. Slowly, he turns to face Makoto, but he realizes in that moment with thickening air and pulsing tension that he doesn’t have to say anything. He never knew words could be carried through gazes alone, but Makoto’s staring at him and saying everything he doesn’t have the courage to voice. Haru lifts his chin, feeling absurdly pleased with himself for some reason. His gaze drifts to the ink peeking from the inside of Makoto’s bicep and Makoto follows his gaze. “They’re sparrows.” He spreads his arm and turns it over as Haru steps closer to see. Sure enough, it’s two birds perched on twigs, their beaks turned upward to the heavens, eyes round with innocence. Haru finds himself reaching out like a flower stretching toward sunlight. He smoothes his thumb over the ink before he can stop himself, but he likes how warm and firm Makoto’s skin is, likes how he can feel the steadiness of his muscles underneath, so he keeps it there. “Do they mean anything?” Why, why, why does he care? Why does he ache to know? Makoto’s eyes fall half-lidded with a nostalgic smile. “One for each of my siblings. They were twins.” “What about the tattoo on your leg?” “Which one?” Now there’s a discovery Haru just might not be too lazy to make, but he refrains. At least for now. Makoto crooks a grin. “The one on my thigh?” At Haru’s nod, he says, “I, um – kind of adopted this weird philosophy after the world ended. When things used to scare me, I wouldn’t even acknowledge them and that made it harder to face them when I didn’t have a choice.” He shrugs as he looks down at himself, all the roving ink across the dips and grooves of him. “So I… came up with this idea to make myself see everything I was scared of before I actually had to go through it. Kind of like, looking at everything at a distance even though it’s right there, on me.” He ducks his head with another handsome, bashful laugh. “Sorry, it sounds so weird saying it out loud.” “It’s not weird,” Haru says, voice soft in the warmth between them. He arches a brow at Makoto’s hesitant hopefulness, quoting his very words: “We’re all dealing with this differently.” Redness seeps down Makoto’s throat as he mumbles, “The one on my thigh, it’s – it’s like an ocean in the bottle.” “You’re scared of water?” That’s – awful. “It’s just the ocean that makes me kind of nervous.” His smile turns self-deprecating. “Even now, after all of this.” Haru’s brows crease with a reassuring hum and a shake of his head. He might not understand Makoto’s fear but it’s not his place to, either. He should probably stop touching him now, it’s getting to a point that’s beyond polite curiosity, but the concept of boundaries is distorted in today’s world – either the walls are up and never coming down or people are hungry in more ways than one: starved for human contact and the emotion a touch can have. Makoto looks like he needs to be touched. So Haru taps at the tattoo sleeve of Makoto’s right arm. “What about all of this?” Makoto points to the line-art of an open clamshell with a pearl inside. “That’s for Kisumi. You know, since he wears that string of pearls.” He moves to the blood-red silhouette of a flying cardinal. “Asahi.” He flips his arm over to show the inside of his forearm and smiles at the tiny handprint. “Tsukushi. That’s actually his real handprint; he accidently got into the ink when he was just learning how to crawl, so me, Asahi and Kisumi put the print on some newspaper and traced it for tattoos. Their tattoos are over their hearts.” Haru’s eyes widen. “You got all of these after the zombies came?” Makoto chuckles with a nod. “Yeah.” He sweeps a hand over the ink fondly. “Asahi does them, though. I think art helps him.”   Haru’s brows scrunch then lift. “So these are… people you’re afraid of losing?” “Yes. And – and people I’ve already lost.” He glances at the twin birds on his bicep. Haru flattens his palm against Makoto’s naked chest, making his pec flinch. He studies the ink over his heart, the circular wind of ink with dial hands aimed north. “A compass?” Makoto parts his lips but doesn’t speak for a moment; the mere sensation of Haru’s hand leaves him speechless before he finds his voice. “My dad had one. I’m scared of getting lost by myself.” Being alone. Fingertips glide up Haru’s sleeve to the tattered cuff at his wrist. The space between them feels hotter, tighter; the walls are closing in like an embrace that he doesn’t know how to accept. “Sorry,” Haru whispers, but his hand is pinned to Makoto’s skin. He’s magnetized to him, palm drinking in a warmth that’s so much different than sunlight. Makoto watches him as he places his hand over Haru’s. In the pulsing silence, the drip of water from the sink is heavy and amplified; a droplet rolls down Makoto’s temple and melts into the tiles below. The rasp of his fingers has tingles swarming the back of Haru’s neck, but Makoto notices the hesitancy in Haru’s eyes and whispers, “I’m so sorry you’re afraid of people.” His sincerity alarms Haru, but the sharp shock quickly fades into something very warm and loud in his ears. “But I hope you know that I’ll protect you as long as you’re here.” He crooks a smile. “Even though you’ve kept me safe more than I have you.” Haru reels but his voice is just a lost whisper. “Why?” Why would you even want to protect me? Makoto is not impassioned, nor is he looking at him with the weight of an uncomfortably intense and sudden confession. His words are entirely simple. “Because I want you to be safe. And happy.” That alone is enough to make Haru’s eyes sting. With a careful breath, Makoto laces their fingers together over his heart and Haru is so fucking confused at how anyone could share such kindness like it isn’t the rarest thing in the world. Bitterness leaves his insides cold because the softest touches hurt the worst these days; feeling the grooves of Makoto’s knuckles is a sensation more powerful than the deepest of hunger pains. Every time Makoto’s patched him up these last few days, Haru hasn’t been able to stop remembering what it was like to have Makoto’s hands on him. Physical contact is a biological demand that all of them have. Even him, even after being afraid of it for so long. Touching is a need as much as food and water; it’s a requirement his body and the last remnants of his soul are screaming for in this moment.

[cayastrife]

My Father

Star Wars - POST-ROTJ One Shot - Han & Luke friendship inspired by: 

http://delannoie.tumblr.com/post/180139399750/the-truth-the-night-when-luke-told-han-all-a also on https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775284

A soft cooing rang in his ears, murmurs of nocturnal wildlife native to the small forest moon. The night's air was alive with song, even long after the victorious drumming had rung out, the bonfires reluctantly simmered down to mere ash.

Despite all their joy and elation, the revelers had eventually succumbed to the peace of the victor's sleep. All but one.

Han Solo was no stranger to the hustle and bustle of celebration, and had, of course, done his own share. But still sleep would not come to him. He craned his neck toward the small opening functioning as a window, yet could spy nothing but the trees' dense canopy beyond it. Not a single speck of starlight penetrated the heavy foliage.

Unfortunately, there was no way in the seven hells that Han Solo would be able to find sleep without either a clear view of the sky or the low, always arrhythmic humming of his Falcon's engines.

So, with a sigh of defeat, he slowly lifted himself from the thin mattress, careful not to disturb the small woman sleeping next to him. Perhaps more so than everyone else, the Princess deserved her rest.

A cursory glance around revealed little else of interest, until his eyes came to rest on the empty cot next to the entrance. His brows furrowed with a dawning concern. It seemed he wasn't the only one having problems finding sleep that night.

Noiselessly, he stepped out of the hut and paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His feet took him toward a larger, more open area at the edge of the settlement. Just distant enough to afford both a certain level of privacy as well as clear view of the sky above Endor. The very same space which had, until very recently, been occupied by the Empire's Second Death Star. And there, hunched over and dwarfed by the open space, sat the small figure of the other insomniac. Tousled dark-blond bangs covered his face; in his hands - one exposed, the other clad in its customary black glove - he cradled a long, metallic tube, almost longingly, reverently.

"Can't get a wink of sleep in those stuffy huts either, huh?"

The other man started, his eyes jerking to the new arrival.

"Oh, Han." he acknowledged simply before continuing. "Yeah, something like that."

Although bothered by the remnants of a strangely haunted look in the boy's eyes, Han decided to ignore the nagging worry and instead leaned casually against the wooden railing. A feat impossible for all but those immune to vertigo. He glanced up at the stars, the ghost of the battle station's silhouette casting an imaginary but palpable shadow.

"You're a hero, you know? You of all people deserve some rest."

The reply came quiet, barely audible.

"I'm no hero." Luke's words were laced with an emotion Han felt hard to place. "I…"

The smuggler turned to face his companion and raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me? You defeated Vader andthe Emperor. You more or less singlehandedly brought down the Empire!"

Han would have expected bashfulness, modesty - stars, even joy - but not the obvious twinge of pain contorting Luke's features. And even less he would have expected the confession accompanying them.

"I didn't, though."

There was a moment of confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't defeat the Emperor, Han." The small voice returned. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met, and Han was sure that, had the contact lasted longer, he would not have been able to bear its intensity. There was a pain in those blue eyes - now glassy and haunted by crimson shadows at their edges - a sadness so profound it seemed beyond consolation, beyond restoration. Han could only speculate at the source of such emotions, and the subsequent images constricted his throat, lending his voice the raspiness of the debilitated.

"What are you saying?"

The blue eyes avoided his this time, but the answer came nevertheless.

"It wasn't me, Han." There was a moment of quiet, even the creatures of the forest seemed to wait with bated breath, aware of the importance of the revelation ahead. "It was my father."

"Your father?" Han couldn't help but blurt out before the words even properly registered in his brain. "You just lost me, kid. Care to explain?"

If it was at all possible, Luke's already small frame collapsed even further, becoming almost too slight to support the shaking head.

"I don't know if I should." he muttered hesitantly. "Stars, I don't even know if I can…"

There was fear in those words, Han recognized. A fear that, once the truth was spoken, there would be no going back. That things would forever be changed between them.

Han adjusted his position, giving Luke more space while making sure not to distance himself further.

"Come on, Luke. We're basically family. Brothers. You're like a broody, awkward - need I mention slightly less handsome? - cousin twice removed." When nothing else did, that small jab earned him a smile. The tiniest, saddest of smiles, but a smile nonetheless. "Whatever you say, it won't change what I think of you."

Luke's eyes sought his for a moment, testing the veracity of his claim.

"I'll remind you of that…" Both voice and eyes seemed to say, even though there was less certainty in the latter.

Again, there was silence when Luke began to gather himself and the courage needed to say what must be said. When he spoke, his voice was low but calm and steady. The voice of someone far beyond the young Jedi's years, of one accustomed to hardship and suffering.

"When I first went to face Vader, I… I thought I could turn him. Bring out the good I felt in him."

"Good? In Darth Vader?"Again, Han found it hard to control himself, his disbelief bypassing his mind-to-speech filter.

"Please, Han…" Luke pleaded, asking to be allowed to finish before he lost the courage to do so. Raising his hands in apology, Han conceded. It was a while before Luke continued.

"I thought I could, but it wasn't– Iwasn't enough. I guess it started sinking in when Vader brought me to the Emperor. That was it. That’s when I finally realized there was no way I was walking out of that alive. But it didn't matter. It was the will of the Force, and I knew what I had to do."

Hearing how lightly the boy spoke of sacrificing himself, it took all of Han's self-control to keep from berating him then and there. To remind him of just how important he was to all of them, and just what he thought of a shoddy, ancient religious cult that sent its members on obvious suicide missions.

If Luke had picked up on any of those thoughts, he didn't show it and eventually continued.

"I might have learned since Bespin, but Vader was strong, and we fought relentlessly. My anger spurred me on… and my fear, knowing that all of you were walking into a trap down here. It gave me strength and… I injured him. I brought him to his knees in my rage."

A sigh escaped from the young man's lips, but it brought no relief. Only made way for that which was still to come.

"I almost fell, Han." He pressed out against an audible lump in his throat, fear reducing his voice to little more than a whisper. "I almost fell to the dark side."

"But you didn't." Han felt the need to point out, unsure of how else to reassure his friend. Helpless in the face of such powers at work.

"No. I couldn't." Luke conceded, although taking no pride in the achievement. "Not knowing what I would become. Having it right in front of me. Needless to say, the Emperor wasn't pleased…" A miniscule tremor overcame his hands as he likely recalled - relived- the moment. "Have you ever been electrocuted? It kind of feels like someone is liquifying your bones, and your muscles, your tendons…"

The shivers intensified, spread to his arms, torso and legs. An involuntary movement he likely never even noticed, so far removed from the moment was he, so caught up in reliving the events of the past days. Although in other moments he would be loath to admit it, Han felt the almost instinctive need to embrace his friend. To show him that he was there, that Luke was safe now, that no more harm would come to him. Never again. Not as long as Han had any say in it. But he restrained himself. He knew there was more that needed to be said. That all he had to do was listen. And so he did.

Before long, Luke continued.

"I pleaded with Vader. I begged him to help me. I never thought he would turn against his master; not really. But he did. Injured as he was, knowingthe Force lightning would kill him, he took hold of the Emperor and… 'disposed' of him.”

Han had been following the words attentively, but felt he was no closer to the revelation he had been led to expect.

“But didn't you say your father–”

“Vader is– wasmy father.” Luke interrupted in the smallest of voices cracking terribly halfway through the sentence, stunning Han into a momentary silence. The boy couldn't be serious about this, could he? The smuggler tried to catch a look at his companion's face, but found it hidden behind his tousled hair, steeped in shadows, unreadable.

“To be fair, the man who becameDarth Vader - Anakin Skywalker - was my father.” He clarified, his voice becoming less steady with every syllable, every fateful name. Every fresh, raw wound disturbed anew, an impossibly long way from healing.

Anakin Skywalker. Kenobi. The Hero With No Fear. Remnants of old memories long forgotten welled up in Han's mind, filling the gaps in half-formed theories and suspicions he had never consciously entertained. Not until now. And it actually made sense.

"Holy S–" A curse died in his throat as the implications caught up with him, his mind evaluating the new information against the background of all he had been told in the past few minutes. And there truly was no going back, he had to admit, as his heart both broke and grew for the boy at the same time.

"He was redeemed in the end, you know?" The small voice pulled him from his thoughts. "In his last moments, I got to see him. Truly see him for the first time. Without the helmet and mask. Not as Vader, but as myfather. He– I…” A small sob, the first of many, ravaged the boy, momentarily stole his words. “I couldn't save him, Han. I was so close. So close… He died in my arms…”

Han wasn't entirely sure if the sob escaped from his throat or that of the boy - or perhaps even both - but found he did not care. He hardly recognized his own voice anyway and welcomed the anonymity. Slowly, carefully, he sat down next to the young Jedi and placed a steadying hand on his shaking one.

“Luke…”

But there was more yet. More weight to add to a burden already so heavy it seemed far too weighty for any one man to bear.

“I took him with me. Down here, to Endor. Burned what was left of him.”

Han gave the boy's arm a comforting squeeze, feeling more inadequate than ever before in all his tumultuous life. In the back of his mind, he vaguely registered the fact of the Princess' involvement, the parentage of which she was likely still ignorant. To his own surprise, he found he wasn't bothered at all. How valid were his concerns, his suffering, when his friend had to endure so much more? How could he feel anything but compassion and the need to alleviate his sorrow?

“You said he was redeemed.” Han ventured, working the words around the lump in his own throat. “You saved the galaxy – and your father.”

A clipped, desperate laugh escaped Luke.

“Stars, I know!” As his voice gained in volume, it cracked even further, thick with tears and heavy with desolation. “I know he became one with the Force, but… I never got to know him. There's so much I wanted to ask; so much only he could have taught me. If only we'd had a little more time. Just a littlemore… I never even told him–“

Another sob racked his body and his gloved right hand flew to his eyes, shielding them as if the mere act could push back at the tears and return them to their origin.

Han forced himself to breathe and brought his arm around Luke's shoulders. How small they were, he realized with a sting of pain in his chest, how slight. How could they even hope to carry the burden placed upon them? Before his inner eye danced images from years ago, ages it seemed, of an innocent, sunburnt farmboy with wide eyes hungry for the wonders of the galaxy, a heart wide enough to hold compassion for all of its beings. How much of that had been lost, he wondered as he looked down first at the child at his side and then swept his gaze back up to the stars.

“If I know anything about the Force,” he ventured tentatively, “then your old man understands. Wherever he is now.”

Had Han not been listening closely, he likely would have missed the next words, small as they were, their immense weight keeping them from ringing far.

“I know… I just really miss him…”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of Han's lips as he turned slightly and opened his arms. Luke finally accepted the unspoken offer, his hands clutching at the smuggler's jacket in desperate need for support, for any sort of hold in a galaxy that seemed bent on toppling him.

And so they sat, not speaking another word, merely seeking and lending strength, comfort. Once nothing but strangers. Now far more.

Cousins. Brothers.

Family.

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter.

(Due to SOMEBODY suggesting replacement sign names, you may have a hard time figuring out which Horrible-Scope is for you. Just trust us, it really won’t matter anyway.)

Angry Cicada  

You are considered the symbols of carefree living and immortality, but we know you better than that. Your day-to-day life is stress filled and your life peaked seventeen years ago. Do yourself a favour; go to the beach and have someone bury you up to your neck in the sand for a few hours. Just be sure it’s at high tide so you don’t drown. 

Moody Sheep

You surround yourself with friends, but they don’t realize it’s for self protection and not social comfort. If one of them gets picked off, you’re still pretty safe. Trust Ralph and Sam to keep you on your toes this week.

Screaming Possum

The best part about being a Screaming Possum is… Getting to play dead. Except not. Possums don’t just play dead, they mimic being dead; going so far as to release a scent worse than if they evacuated their bowels. This week if you find yourself overstressed, consider overeating super-fatty foods and being trapped on the toilet for the whole day. Active ventilation is highly suggested.   

Crying Dragonfly

The only reason you’re crying is because you missed seeing “DUNE” in the theaters. Ornithopters are basically oversized steampunk dragonflies, right? This week channel your inner steam-punkedness, wear a top hat with gears on it, a wifi hotspot in it, and name it “Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Lan”. 

Absurdly Coloured Fuzzy Caterpillar

Are you hungry tonight, ‘cause you’ve eaten basically everything in that one book! Do us all a favor; go to sleep, liquify yourself, and transform into a butterfly so you stop eating solid food and slurp up liquids from then on. If you’re thinking ahead, you’ll need at least a month to make honey mead. Better get started.

Lonely Crow

Corvids are social creatures, almost never lonely. They travel in packs, protect one another, and are not against recreating an Alfred Hitchcock movie scene if you piss one of them off. Crows are like the stars in “West Side Story” - and before you ask which side they’d be, just remember that they are not above carrying knives!

Mean Mama Bear

Back in the day, “Mama Bear” was a female police officer on the CB. These days being called a “Mama Bear” might be seen as derogatory, but you know better; You’re all nice and calm to those people right up until you rip their face off… metaphorically speaking, of course! We would never suggest you should do something actually violent to someone that richly deserves it. That would be wro-o-ong! This week be on the lookout for witnesses. 

Scary Bat

Bats are more scared of you than you are of them - it’s just a fact. The North American “Big brown bat” isn’t really that big. They have a wingspan of 30cm, or just over a foot across, and weigh less than an ounce. Once they’re flying around your living room you’ll think they’re bigger. Just close the doors, open the window, stand near the wall, and let them find their way out. Do NOT use a tennis racket on them!  

Courageous Squirrel

The funniest part about squirrels is watching them get drunk in the fall and winter. The saddest part is when you find out the three hour power outage was because one of them chewed through a 500,000 volt powerline. This week challenge yourself to doing something supremely stupid because it’ll be fun. If you screw up at least the pain will be over quickly.

Capricorn (Neat Rock)

Some Geologic Philosophy for you to ponder: 

The easiest way to make new rocks is to break old rocks.

Is it wrong to take rocks out of the wild and keep them in your home, trapped?

No matter how hard a rock is, eventually the tears from the sky will break it.

Think deep thoughts this week and do something nice for a stranger… for the crater good. And may the quartz be with you.

Leaf

Leaves are far more important than people think. Trees breathe from them, create food in them, shade the ground with them, and humans have learned which ones to make tea from. Your wealth is in you simply existing and it’s underappreciated. You matter to everyone around you, even if they forget to tell you themselves; never forget that.

Pretty But Ready To Kill Betta Fish

Before you all dismiss this animal description as ridiculous, you better listen up. In college there are only a few animals you’re allowed to keep as pets in the dorms; fish in a bowl is one. Most small fish aren’t a problem, but Betta!? My then-girlfriend’s college roommate owned one, and it was quickly named, “Bitch”. On returning to the dorms after class Bitch was not in her bowl, or on the tabletop the bowl sat on. No; Bitch had jumped OUT of the bowl, and… not content with THAT, had managed to Magikarp-flop around on the floor, under the desk, and tangled itself into a bunch of dust bunnies, for an unknown amount of time. And just to prove how much a bitch Bitch was… she lived until well after the end of the semester! This week… Be a “Bitch”!     

And THOSE are your Hobble-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook and Discord.

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Break My Heart: Chapter 7 (A Solangelo Fanfic)

It’s here! Chapter seven of Break My Heart! Though this chapter is mostly set up for the highly anticipated Capture The Flag match (which is next chapter) and Nico and Will being friends (before some romantic development of course), I think that having them become close is important. 

Enjoy!

Read on Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Read on AO3 

Preview:

“Dad—uh, Hades, he says something like that. That the most important thing is to…well…to try to do good,” Nico said slowly. “That’s the best that mortals can do anyways before they die. So, don’t beat yourself up. Gods know that I do that too much anyways.”

“You call Hades dad?” Will asked, half-curious and half-jealous.

“I bit my tongue,” Nico said with a flat expression.

“You are really killing this motivational speaking thing, Nico. Really, you should consider doing it for a living,” Will said as he bumped shoulders with Nico di Angelo.

Will looked over Nico’s chart, and looked back at Nico. He sat, fully dressed, on the edge off his bed. He didn’t meet Will’s gaze, for whatever reason, but he was probably nervous about what Will might say. So Will reached out to pat Nico’s knee hopefully to get him to calm down, at least a little bit.  

“Hey, it’s only good news,” Will promised him, before retracting his hand. Nico watched it go, cautiously.

“Yeah…?”

“You are healthy enough to be discharged, which means I can go back to being a lazy shmuck,” Will chuckled and Nico just rolled his eyes.

“As if I would believe that for a hot second,” Nico grumbled.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Will said saintly as he stretched, and he felt Nico watching him closely. “What?”

“You are so relaxed around me. I don’t get it,” Nico said shortly. Will blinked. How the Hades had he managed to convince Nico of that? Will had been a nervous wreck around the kid for days. Not anymore, because, obviously, he had figured out everything and was cool.

“I…uh…” Will said slowly, trying to piece together anything that might make any sense. “Well, I like you so—“

“You like me?” Nico asked incredulously.

“Aren’t you the one who asked me to be your friend?” Will squawked, his ears going hot as he suddenly realized what he had just said with his stupid traitorous—well not traitorous but—stupid mouth.

“I…yeah,” Nico said, tugging at a rogue dark curl, and Will swore there was some color to his face. Will resisted the urge to smack himself with his own clipboard as he attempted to gather himself so he could put on the façade of smoothness.

“I just spent a few days in your company so I’m used to you. If you stay at camp everyone will get used to you too…or so I think,” Will explained as he palmed the back of his neck. “But I’m always going to be around, so, if you have any trouble settling in I want you to come to me. I know you don’t have a head counselor, so, I don’t mind filling in.”

There, Will thought to himself proudly. He was already doing a good job with the friend-and-confidante thing. Or at least he was trying his best, and that had to mean something. Maybe this was how Nico would come to trust him so much, and Will would help Nico until autumn and then Nico would feel confident enough to strike it out without as much help. That all seemed vaguely understandable to Will, and in the end, he would want to help Nico out anyways regardless of the dream. Will cared about Nico, and since Nico had asked Will to be his friend Will was going to give it his all.

And if he wants more than friends?

Sh. Bad thoughts. Don’t think about it.

“Aren’t I a little old for you to be doing the head counselor thing,” Nico said, his face scrunched up distastefully.

“Cheeky,” Will said as he reached over to ruffle Nico’s hair automatically. Nico immediately shrunk away like a feral creature preparing for a strike. Will immediately detracted his fingers. “Ah…sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No…no it’s…” Nico huffed, obviously annoyed at himself. “It’s instinct, mostly.”  

“No, I understand,” Will said as he let his hands drop to where Nico could see them. “Well, lunch is going to start soon. Want to walk with me?”

And so that was how Will and Nico ended up locking up the infirmary for the time being, and walking together towards the pavilion. Will waved hello and greeted the campers who all whizzed by him, while Nico hung back and watched the interactions. Will couldn’t bring himself to wave at Aphrodite Cabin, and especially Drew, who smugly smirked at him before sauntering with her group to get food. Will couldn’t help but wilt at that.

“You’ll win, especially if I’m on your team,” Nico said as if he were stating an outright fact.

“You do realize you can’t use your underworld-y powers right now, at least not without setting yourself back and possibly liquifying yourself.”

“I don’t need them. I’ve got skills,” Nico said as he glared off in the direction that Drew went towards the pavilion.

“I’m lucky that I have so many people who want to help me,” Will said with a chuckle. “Hopefully we give a half-way decent shot.”

Nico didn’t answer and for a moment Will didn’t think he would. Eventually though, he sighed.

“Dad—uh, Hades, he says something like that. That the most important thing is to…well…to try to do good,” Nico said slowly. “That’s the best that mortals can do anyways before they die. So, don’t beat yourself up. Gods know that I do that too much anyways.”

“You call Hades dad?” Will asked, half-curious and half-jealous.

“I bit my tongue,” Nico said with a flat expression.

“You are really killing this motivational speaking thing, Nico. Really, you should consider doing it for a living,” Will said as he bumped shoulders with Nico di Angelo.

“This is why I don’t talk to people, they don’t take me seriously and they never listen to my advice,” Nico said more to the air than anyone else, and for a minute Will was actually worried that Nico was talking to Hades and that Nico’s father was going to pop out from behind a tree and agree with his son. However that didn’t happen, and by some strange cosmic joke, Nico and Will walked to the pavilion together as friends.

“Hey kid,” Michael said, sitting next to him on the dock. Will sniffed, trying to hide his face from Michael. He had no clue how Michael had found him and he hadn’t thought he had made a scene earlier, but then again Michael always had that uncanny way of just knowing.

“How did you find me?” Will asked quietly, letting his legs swing absently out in front of him. He had ditched his bright pink flip flops somewhere on the path, and didn’t know if he would be able to recover them, but at that moment that seemed like a little worry.  

“I have a radar in my head that tells me where all of you brats are,” Michael said with a straight face, and somehow Will managed to summon a wobbly smile in return.

“No you don’t,” Will said with a half-hearted nudge of his elbow. Michael let himself be nudged, before knocking back into him playfully. Michael and Will just sat together in companionable silence for just a little longer, before Michael broke the news that Will had been dreading.

“Silena saw you running off this way,” Michael told him, and when Will curled his legs under his chin Michael’s face got pinched. “Do you need me to beat someone up? Because I will, trust me, I will—“

“They started going out,” Will blurted out, his traitorous mouth running away from him.

“What?” Michael said, blinking at Will before recognition dawned on him. Will felt himself redden at the scrutiny. “You had a crush on Silena?”

“No,” Will said before squeezing his eyes shut with all of his strength. “Well, I think she’s really pretty. But…no.”

“Then who—“ Michael started before letting out a harsh breath. “Beckendorf?”

Will summoned up all of his courage and nodded. Will wasn’t exactly sure of what he was expecting, however, when Michael clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed Will looked up in surprise. Michael’s expression was sympathetic.

“You aren’t mad at me?” Will asked him slowly and unsure.

“Mad at you? No way. Beckendorf’s a great guy. Everyone likes him, I can see why you’d get a crush on him,” Michael said with an approving nod. “Lee’s pretty broken up about it too. Though, I don’t think he’s figured out if he wants to steal Silena from Beckendorf or Beckendorf from Silena or try his luck with both.”

“What?” Will asked, his jaw almost unhinged from his head.

“Us Apollo kids tend to have dad’s proclivities, though, I’m pretty sure I’m straight. But a lot of us are gay, or bisexual, or poly and whatnot. I’ve kind of suspected for a while,” Michael explained before giving Will a solid shake. “I’m proud of you, kid. That was brave.”

“I’m not brave, I was really scared,” Will admitted as he hiccupped, the floodgates open and tears rolling down his face, of both heartbreak and relief.

“Being scared is part of being brave. If the thing you’re doing isn’t scary, then the actions you take aren’t being brave,” Michael said as he ruffled Will’s curls. “Thanks for telling me, Will.”  

“Wait, Will, you had a crush on Beckendorf too!” Lee suddenly shouted from down the docks and both of them turned around to see their eldest brother nearly hurtling towards them. Lee nearly scooped Will up, who squawked as Lee spun him around. “Broken hearts club, wooo! Let’s eat all the junk food and then go shooting!”

“Lee, you mother—Will was having a moment! With me!” Michael shouted at him.

“Yeah, without his biggest brother, little bro! And let me just say, William Solace, you have impeccable taste in men, also the ladies,” Lee said as he set Will down and put he put one hand on his shoulder and gave him a thumbs up with the other one. “I’m proud of—“

It was at that moment that Michael roundhouse kicked Lee into the lake. As Lee was half holding onto Will, Will ended up in the lake and by accident helped topple Michael on top of him. For a moment Will was under the water, before he was yanked up by his two older brothers.  They all surfaced, and laughed.

“Lee, you idiot,” Michael scoffed as he pulled himself up onto the dock, and helped Will and Lee up too. Michael shook his head like a dog, further spraying Lee with water.

“Down, Fido,” Lee said before Michael puffed up.

“You wanna fight?” Michael immediately dared.

“If you can stand losing again, wanna settle this on the archery fields? What’s the score now? 6-5 me?” Lee said with a widening grin.

“In your gods’ damned dreams!” Michael shouted back before whipping over to look at Will. “Get Kayla and Austin we are doing this right now!”

“Ah man,” Will sighed before giving a smile of his own and a laugh, the happiness inside him just waiting to burst out. “You guys are crazy.”

“You love us,” Lee said with a grin that Will knew he shared with him, placing an elbow on Michael’s head, causing Michael to nearly hiss at him—

Will woke up cold.  

He registered first that it was still nighttime, as that little part of him which promised him sunrise was always correct. For a moment he lay staring up at the ceiling, before he realizing he must have kicked off his sheets during the night. Will turned over and couldn’t help but smile as he saw Antonio’s dark curls peeking out from the mound of blankets from the bed in the bunk across from him, Austin’s foot hanging from above. He attempted to gather up his blankets and settle back down, but at that moment his brain felt too raw.

Instead, to keep everyone from waking up at his tossing and turning, Will slipped from bed. He padded by the window, whispering a hello to Ivy the Common Ivy, Sally the Spider Plant, and Al the Aloe Vera plant. Will stopped to, as always, admire the bowls. Violet and Sammy (who was currently at a contemporary dance intensive in New York City) had painted them for him, and the sight of them made him smile. Will walked into the bathroom and turned on the light, blinking. He registered his own face for a moment. He looked tired, sure, but for some reason he kept looking. Will followed the familiar lines of his face, before realizing something.

Will was older. Soon he would be older than Lee and Michael would ever be.

Will turned on the water, let it run warm, before splashing his face and scrubbing his neck a bit. Just to let the warmth soothe that old hurt that was threatening to come up. His battle-wired instincts picked up the soft padding of feet coming towards him.

“Will? Are you okay?” Emma’s voice came soft and worried. He saw his little sister pop her head into the bathroom. She had washed out the dye yesterday, and so instead her hair was blonde, much like his, but perhaps a little sandier in tone.  

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Just…a dream, is all,” Will promised her with a weak smile. “It was a happy dream, but it made me sad too.”

“Ever drifting down the stream—Lingering in the golden gleam—Life, what is it but a dream?” Emma offered her voice drawing power from the poem.

“Wordsworth?” Will offered and Emma grinned wickedly, with a snap she was once again his ordinary twelve-year-old sister.  

“Close, but no cigar. Lewis Carroll.”

“No fair, he’s a novelist.”

“And poet. Dear brother, open your mind and stop limiting yourself,” Emma said with a giggle before reaching up to squish his cheeks. “Has Capture the Flag stressed you out this much?

“I don’t know, maybe,” Will said meekly, pulling his sister’s fingers from where she was pinching his cheeks.

“You don’t have to go through with anything if you don’t want to,” Emma reminded him, far wiser than her years should have allowed. But then again, young kids always saw things clearly.

“I appreciate it…but I think Clarisse’s a little bit too pumped for me to back out now. I happen to like all my fingers and toes in working order,” Will said with a chuckle.

“Well, don’t worry too much. We’ll always have your back,” Emma said, sticking out her chest proudly, the motion reminding him so much of Michael that Will couldn’t help but smile fondly and reach out to pat her shoulder.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve all of you guys,” Will chuckled in return.

It was a cool morning, and with Camp Half Blood officially out of combat-mode, regular scheduled camp activities could once again ensue. That morning, Apollo Cabin was with Iris Cabin, and Demeter Cabin for Pegasus riding. So after breakfast, Will gathered up his siblings and brought them all over to the stables.

Personally, Will didn’t mind mucking out the stables and brushing the pegasi. Will had used to help at a local veterinarian clinic when he was a kid (and before he found out said veterinarian was actually a satyr and he was actually a demigod), and he had grown up around plenty of farm animals on his Papa’s homestead. Though some of his siblings grumbled about the work, they were with some fairly good cabins, which really made the difference when it came to working with the creatures. Demeter Cabin tended to not care about getting dirty, and Iris Cabin had unofficially adopted the activity as theirs since Butch Walker was basically the top equestrian in the camp (besides Percy Jackson, but bring that up to Butch and one would get a speech about how Percy didn’t count because his dad gave him a cheat code with Jedi-Mind-Tricking horses). Will knew how a bad day at the Pegasus Riding Activity could be fraught with more terror then any lava wall, so for once he was glad his luck seemed to be changing.

“Hey Will,” Katie said, her sister Miranda at her side. At the moment Miranda was trailing her fingers over hay, and the hay seemingly moved like the fur of a contented creature, it was sort of dizzying so Will tried not to look to close.

“Chosen a side for Capture the Flag yet?” Will asked hopefully, and Miranda allowed the rejuvenated hay to be thrown into Spirit’s pen. The appreciative pegasi stuck her head out and gave a neigh and began to munch. Soon enough Blackjack and his buddies Guido and Porkpie were all sticking their necks out looking for food, to which the Demeter kids obliged, Miranda walking off to join her sisters and brother with a wave while Katie and Will talked. During the summer, Katie was the head counselor of Demeter Cabin, since during the year she went back to school. Will would’ve liked Miranda—the year round counselor—to listen in, but Billie seemed to have drawn her attention but spitting sunflower seeds and making them sprout to the delight of the littlest siblings of all three cabins and Miranda’s chagrin.  

“Not yet, though, Piper’s offer of Lush bathbombs is enticing though,” Katie said good-naturedly, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Katie was very pretty, in the soothing natural kind of way, with deep set dark eyes and pretty hair always kept in French braids that did that thing where it looked like it was about to come out but didn’t. It was some magic that girls had, and that Will couldn’t reproduce when he braided his sister’s hair.  

“What? Katie—no! I know Piper’s far better looking than me, and is also offering you great bath products that I am personally jealous of, but you can’t join her team!” Will insisted urgently as Spirit the Pegasus, obviously taking his side of this whole debacle, reaching out to try to gnaw on his hair. He gently nudged her head back.

“Well another reason is that the Stolls are on your team right now, right?”

“No, you have to join my team because…because…because Ares Cabin is on my team! And Miranda likes Sherman—“

“Shhhhhh!” Katie gasped, nearly shoving her hand in Will’s mouth. “What in Hades is wrong with you, Will Solace! You don’t just blurt something like that out!”

“I think there are a few things,” Butch offered from where he petted Blackjack’s nose. Even if Will couldn’t speak horse—or flying horse, Will would put money on the fact that Blackjack’s snort meant, ‘what a freaking idiot’.  

               “I’m grasping for straws here guys. Come on, please?”

               “No dice, Solace,” Butch said with a shrug, before rubbing his shaved head. “Iris is with Aphrodite Cabin. Everyone knows that Percy Jackson has won almost every Capture the Flag match he has been in since he got here. I’d rather my cabin get out without being waterlogged or electrocuted—or worse, both.”

               “The man makes a solid point point,” Katie told Will.

               “Nico di Angelo is on my team, he’ll be killing plants left and right if he gets ticked off. We all saw him do that before. That is…if you don’t stop him?”

               Will’s last statement came out more like a question. Katie looked at him hard, and Will resisted the urge to shrink back. Really, he wasn’t great with confrontation. He liked to let other people handle the drama, while he tended to things behind the scenes. But he couldn’t get out of this one, and finally Katie blinked and sighed.  

               “You sneaky…” Katie said with a half-amused, half-ticked off look. She offered her hand and Will clasped it. “Alright, fine. Demeter Cabin is with Apollo, for the plants…and for Miranda. Maybe we can get Sherman and Miranda to be alone with their feelings for a while.”

               “I’ll do my best,” Will promised with a grin.

               “But only if you let me take a look at your plants,” Katie said very seriously. “And you send some people over to help in the medicinal section of our garden.”

               “Okay, okay. I promise.”

               “Well at least—uuuuh, holy hollering harpies is that Nico di Angelo? Walking to the stables? With live pegasi in them? Right in front of my eyes?” Butch suddenly blurted out his voice climbing a few dozen octaves, and both Katie and Will turned to see what he was talking about. In his mind, Will was already categorizing what sort poisonous plants Butch had to have been smoking to come up with such a ridiculous thing.

               But there he was, Nico di Angelo looking very ruffled and unhappy as he marched himself up to the three head counselors as their siblings began hitching up the pegasi to their reigns. He promptly crossed his arms over his chest as he presented himself, bad attitude and all, to the three of them.

               “Chiron told me that I needed to go to camp activities,” Nico spat out the phrase as if it had personally insulted him, his sister, and his dog.

               “You were in the mood for this particular camp activity?” Will asked in surprise. Nico just looked at him as if Will had literally gone crazy.

               “What do you think?”

               “Based on your expression, I’m going to say a solid no. Uh…so then why are you here?”

Nico just gave the three head counselors a long-suffering look before sighing and gearing to fess up.

               “I…if I’m just going to bother you I’ll go away but...Chiron isn’t going to let me wander around alone and…and I can’t stand being with Percy and Annabeth and Jason and Piper. They are all embarrassing, and I feel awkward and—“ Nico just looked at Will tiredly. The poor kid looked like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep, and Will was right there with him. “And…I didn’t think you’d mind.”  

               “I don’t mind,” Will said automatically.

               “I mind, you freak out the pegasi!” Butch accused.

               “Wanna fight?” Nico demanded, squaring up immediately, his jaw clenched and his eyes flashing.

               “No, let’s not fight. That’s not what we should be doing right now by a long shot,” Katie said firmly, trying to deescalate the situation. However, apparently neither Butch or Nico were getting the memo.

               “He can’t fly the pegasi!” Butch said jabbing a finger at Nico. Nico just turned to Will slowly, in his eyes he saw the dark flames of the underworld and the half-cracked madness of his dad and the sudden resemblance was something to behold.

               “Give me the gods-damned reigns of one of the freaking pigeon ponies,” Nico growled, almost rumbling with rage. Spite was a good look on him and a motivating force, Will thought feeling terrified and attracted, and pretty dang petrified.

               “Uh, Kayla and Austin are hitching up Spirit. I’ll be there in a second,” Will said, pointing over to the dun mare pegasus who was currently grazing by their feet, continuing to look up once in a while at Nico as if coolly assessing him. Nico walked over to them and Will whirled around to Butch and Katie and hissed at Butch, “what in the name of the gods were you thinking? Telling Nico di Angelo what not to do is like, the worst idea!”

               “No, Nico-kills-everything-he-touches getting on one of my pegasi is the worst idea!” Butch hissed back. “He is startling! Horses don’t do good with startling!”

               “Both of you, work it out!” Katie said as she flailed her arms before storming off to join her siblings.          

“I won’t let him run the horse into the ground…or the underworld or anything. Promise!” Will told him.

               “I’m watching you,” Butch said with a corresponding gesture before going over to where Blackjack was strutting proudly with Butch’s siblings as if he were on a New York Fashion Week runway. Feeling suddenly frantic, Will sprinted over, only to find Violet had sat herself on Spirit’s back. She looked at Nico, and Nico stared back up at her.

               “You can ride with me,” the seven-year-old announced boldly as she stroked Spirit’s mane. “Spirit and I are friends and I want you to be friends with Spirit too, and Will and Spirit’s friends can lead us!”

               “I’m…I’m not…I—“ Nico spluttered, face a shade of red. Suddenly Violet’s eyes went wide and wet.

“You don’t want to ride with me?” Violet asked softly. Will’s rational brain went sailing away.

               “Get on the pegasus,” Will suddenly found himself ordering, Nico was outwardly staring at him.

               “But…”

               “Just do it.”

               As if sensing a horrible fate awaiting her, Spirit side stepped initially as Nico tried to get on. However with Violet’s gentle shushing, and Kayla’s hand at Spirit’s side, the first hurdle was passed and Nico was on top of a live Pegasus with Will’s littlest sister.  

               However, immediately after that, things went totally awry. Porkpie and Guido trotted up ahead, taking a graceful leap and beginning to soar with two campers each. Cash the Pegasus trotted next to Spirit and with one look at Nico gave a startled screech and began tearing ahead, which subsequently spooked Spirit who began a breakneck climb and buck strategy, suddenly diving in the air like a bird looking to snatch fish from a lake. With a scream from both Violet and Nico, suddenly they were out of the saddle and sailing through the air.

               With a swear, Katie threw out her arm, and Will jumped in front.

               Suddenly Will was laying in a huge pile of hay that had gotten loose from its boxes, underneath a very comfortable weight. Will looked up at the same time that Nico di Angelo did, eyes met, electricity making his hair stand on in because close—way too close—and subsequently his face burst into heat. Nico scrambled off, and Will looked over and breathed a sigh of relief as Violet bounced on top of Katie excitedly.

               “See! I told you it was a bad idea!” Butch shouted as he landed Blackjack and attempted to calm down Spirit.

               “No harm no foul,” Will shouted back before groaning. His arm and shoulder were definitely sore, probably sprained from grabbing Nico at such a fast momentum. Will went into his fanny pack and pulled out his square of ambrosia and broke off a piece, looking at how Katie was rubbing her back Will snapped a piece for her too which she accepted greatfully. Will looked over at Nico who was currently making a completely unreadable expression as he stood apart from the others, his jaw working, and Will could see the seedling of doubt being born and Will reached—

               “Nico! That was awesome! Do you see how far you flew!” Austin said with a wide grin, rushing up to Nico with Will’s gaggle of siblings.

               “What?” Nico said slowly, not meeting Antonio’s hanging high-five. Antonio quickly transitioned it to a wave, to which Emma giggled into her palm.

               “Crazy stuff, but you grabbed Violet so she didn’t fly too far. Fast thinking,” Kayla said as she nudged Nico in the ribs. “Alright, I admit it, it was pretty hero-y.”

               “I want to do it again,” Violet said very seriously.

               “No,” everyone said in unison, and Violet pouted.

               “You aren’t mad?” Nico asked, more to Will then to anyone. “I mean…your sister—“

               “I said, no harm no foul. That applies to you too,” Will said, rolling his much better feeling shoulder and arm. “This is Camp Half-Blood, horrible decisions get made every day. That’s part of the gig. Violet, next time I think we’re going to let Nico just watch for a bit before letting him go. Spirit needs to get used to him on the ground. You guys all go ride, I’m going to chill with Nico and get him caught up.”

               “Caught up?” Nico asked before staring at Will. “Next time?”

               “You need a cabin to go to activities with right? Welcome, Nico di Angelo. You’re now an honorary member of Cabin Seven. Prepare yourself mentally, after this we have Arts and Crafts with Ares Cabin. Ergo, you are stuck with me.”

               “Oh, great.”  

               Nico turned away, but Will would bet five gold drachmas that he was hiding a smile.  

[duaneodavila]

The Battle Of The Billionaires As Elon Musk And Jeff Bezos Try To Out-Carnegie Each Other

A century-and-a-half ago, Andrew Carnegie began building one of the greatest personal fortunes the world had ever seen. The industriousness and rapid innovation characteristic of late 19th Century America, along with a lot of low-wage workers and occasional union-busting, propelled the Carnegie Steel Company into the upper tiers of corporate success. Carnegie sold the company in 1901 to J.P. Morgan’s United States Steel Corporation for the tidy sum of $480,000,000 — about $14.1 billion in today’s money. Carnegie briefly became the richest person in America.

And then he did something unusual with his money: he started giving it all away. Andrew Carnegie gave away some 90 percent of his fortune to worthy causes, with a special emphasis on local libraries, education, scientific research, and world peace.

Carnegie had a unique approach to philanthropy and wealth inequality. A lot of people asked him why he didn’t just pay his workers more if his goal was to do some good with his wealth. And his basic answer to that criticism was that once a person’s basic needs were met, they were better off having a man of wealth like him make the decisions about how to invest any surplus in order to produce the most beneficial results for the community. Carnegie thought that if ordinary people simply got a bit more money directly, they’d buy a little better food, a little better drink, and a little better house. But more important to the growth of the community than its individuals having a little more material comfort were societally useful things like universities, libraries, and scientific achievements, and the workers weren’t going to put the surplus wealth being generated into those types of things without a little intervention from a guy like him.

Right now, there are a number of billionaires who are following Carnegie’s basic philosophy. Bill and Melinda Gates, for instance, are credited with saving millions of lives (and in turn generating billions of dollars in economic activity) through their health initiatives. Warren Buffet is following a little different model than Carnegie but has pledged to give 99 percent of his wealth to philanthropic causes, which is good. But today I want to focus on the society-building efforts of two of the buzziest billionaires out there: Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk.

Neither of these men are quite in the “full philanthropic” stage of their careers; they haven’t sold Carnegie Steel to J.P. Morgan yet (they do both already engage in a bunch of charity-only work on the side and Musk did get rich by selling off some of his early companies, although he remains very actively involved in his current ones). But what is really interesting are the efforts on both their parts to make societally good initiatives into businesses that are actually themselves profitable.

The competing space companies Blue Origin, founded by Bezos, and SpaceX, founded by Musk, are probably the best examples of this. A lot of people scoff at the idea of billionaires and their rockets being good for society when there are people on Earth who still have trouble paying their mortgages, and that’s valid. But space exploration has been and will be a very good thing for all of us. In addition to leading to CAT scans, baby formula, portable computers, camera phones, and a host of other societally useful inventions, space travel is fundamentally necessary to the ultimate survival of our species. Someday, the Earth is going to be a charred cinder, and if we haven’t figured out space travel by then, that’s the end of our species.

Of course, you also have Musk’s efforts, through the newly profitable automaker Tesla, to transition us away from an energy system in which we burn liquified Jurassic-era plankton to make our cars go. Even if you’re a climate change denier, maybe you can still get on the trolley for this one and at least help prevent the 53,000 premature deaths caused in America every year by all of us involuntarily huffing ancient burned plankton fumes all day as cars zoom by.

And then there’s Jeff Bezos’s love for and defense of good journalism, critical for the long-term health of any democracy. This is exemplified most prominently in his ownership of the “Amazon Washington Post” (as a certain subliterate Washingtonian refers to it), but perhaps exemplified most endearingly in his recent response to attempted dick pic extortion. Now I’m no defender of dick pics generally speaking, but if that is Jeff Bezos’s thing and Lauren Sánchez is OK with it, I’m certainly not one to judge. When the sleaziest, slimiest, least-ethical publisher in the business got ahold of Sánchez and Bezos’s personal photos and tried to use them to extort the richest man in the world into publicly lying about the objectivity of their garbage tabloid, Bezos had an epic response. Was anyone else reminded of the scene in The Dark Knight where Morgan Freeman tries to explain to that sniveling accountant how it’s a bad idea to try to extort Batman? I was lukewarm on Bezos before, but he has definitely gotten my attention now. He displayed some genuine courage there, stood up for real journalism by smacking down a bodily fluid-soaked Kleenex of a tabloid, and hey, did the right thing. That still matters to some of us.

I get people’s arguments that maybe our system shouldn’t allow for billionaires to exist in the first place, but at least these guys are using their wealth to fund interesting, Carnegiesque endeavors. If you ask me, that’s a damn sight better that using one’s wealth to fund a vanity project campaign for the presidency.

Jonathan Wolf is a litigation associate at a midsize, full-service Minnesota firm. He also teaches as an adjunct writing professor at Mitchell Hamline School of Law, has written for a wide variety of publications, and makes it both his business and his pleasure to be financially and scientifically literate. Any views he expresses are probably pure gold, but are nonetheless solely his own and should not be attributed to any organization with which he is affiliated. He wouldn’t want to share the credit anyway. He can be reached at jon_wolf@hotmail.com.

The Battle Of The Billionaires As Elon Musk And Jeff Bezos Try To Out-Carnegie Each Other republished via Above the Law

[bnrobertson1]

Chin Up, Algorithms

Greta Van Fleet is known for three things: (1) Shamelessly sounding like Led Zeppelin, (2) Getting critically shat on for shamelessly sounding like LZ and (3) being the cause of people attacking the music press for, you know, just not getting it, man.* I haven’t had the privilege or desire to meet the band of Detroit teenagers, but I don’t like the thought of these up-and-comers, who so clearly have the world by the tail, being down about the cruel nature of living in the public eye. So, I decided to encourage them the only way I know how: by giving them Pump Up Speech they’ve essentially begged me for **.

*Sample quote: “It’s like an awesome new version of Led Zeppelin and refreshing for people who (like myself) are overloaded with electro-pop and generic rap that is dominating the airwaves and Spotify streams.”

** in my mind

[SETTING: BACKSTAGE @ University of Phoenix Stadium. Although the stadium walls shake with blandly enthusiastic anticipation, the band is depressed after some especially rough reviews. The label has flown me in to get them in a better headspace before they go “shred” with Imagine Dragons in front 100,000 people in the desert. They await my arrival in their green room.]

BONGO DRUMMER (I’m guessing his name is Derrrbb) [flustered]: Well, the label said they’d…

SMASH. Before anyone even realizes the door has been kicked open, Derrrbb’s head gets hit with an unidentified object and caves in like whatever politician you don’t like being questioned by whatever politician you do like.  

All are silent. There is a vacuum in the air that all present notice and appreciate, a calm before the storm heavy with some serious truth debris.

I stand motionlessly, a cricket bat (name: BAM BAM) dangles in my hand like a windchime. Finally, I animate. The next five minutes consist of me smashing any and everything that needs smashing. Vanity mirrors. SMASH. Two Man Harps. SMASH. Curling irons. SMASH SMASH SMASH. To add to the effect, my face is bleached with flour meant to resemble narcotics. Red dye, surprisingly sweet, is also on my face for even further dramatic effect, although it is mixing with the flour, making a fairly delicious combination that is difficult not to lick. I then remember I left all that fake drug crap back in my van, so we’re on the real deal, baby. My eyes start twitching as my pupils dilate. Fucking Great Van Fleet. I was saving all that for Frasier night at mom’s house. Oh well, might as well get this over with. Taking a slightly manic British affectation, I speak.

“Listen. Up. You. FUCKS!!!”

I find the closest “Eastern” instrument and spend close to half an hour tirelessly destroying it with BAM BAM into pieces so infinitesimal that it would be nearly impossible to prove that it ever actually existed. An Imagine Dragons’, let’s say, oboist(?) cries in the background, I tirelessly smash the Sitar out of its misery. Noticing I’m distracted with obliterating instruments, Greta Van Fleet’s lead singer slowly starts to gain some courage, finally speaking “Hey man! Th….”

“SHUTTTTTT ITTTTT,” I politely interrupt, picking up the lead singer, let’s call him Gene, by his VERY COOL  “Indian” apparel, discus throwing him into the sun. I finally take a deep breath. Then another. Then I seethe for fifteen minutes before speaking.

“Perhaps, I should start from scratch. I’m here because your record label paid me enough a volcano-choking amount of dough to fly here and give you boys a pick-me-up because you’ve been down in the dumps with all this negative pWess. You know, a little pep pep. Maybe a pat on the noggin, a drink at me teet. And yep, boys, it’s been brutal. Look what it says here [picking up a stray computer]: ‘derivative,’ [I throw the computer at the regular drummer like a throwing star, it sticking in his head, killing him instantly] “vampiric,” [I just punch some dude for having a pube stache], “totally passionless” [I consider how many pounds of pasta a crazy busy Olive Garden goes through the day].

I continue. “And so what? Did you really get into rock n’ roll to impress critics. CRITICS!?! Some 45-year old cumrag making in a year what you do you do in a day selling your ‘Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack?’ Do you think for one segment of a second that one of those keyboard warriors wouldn’t change places with you? They’d floss with the bones of their young just to have one person applaud them out loud, much less a 100,000 at one time.

Full name: Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack* with individually numbered Bansuri

So what do they do? They talk shit on the internet like the true desperados they are. Real John fucking Waynes, this lot. ‘Oh, they’re just some product made by record industry focus group testing?’ Oh really? Well guess what else is- EVERYTHING. But there’s hope: all the stuff you get in return does not know the difference. Let me assure you, gentlemen, breasts and narcotics…” [and this point I disappear for 45 minutes. I return very, very excited to continue our chat].

“YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH. Where was I?!?! Buildings! No. Oh Greta Van Fleet. So yeah like I was saying, your record label didn’t think they were signing the new Lou Reed or the new Daft Punk or fuck even the new Seven Mary fucking Three when they got you to sign on the dotted line. They just have enough data to know people like Led Zeppelin’s sound and to know that you fill that bill quite nicely. Sure, those Steve McQueen-esque critics may call you “derivative” as they take a break from their marathon love-making, but guess what- so is everybody who has ever used the word ‘the.’ Plus, derivative or not, none of you are in your sixties going on about Satanism and asking for stupid amounts of money, so the powers picked you. Plus you didn’t seem to have any pre-existing medical conditions.  But don’t fool yourself: each and every one of you cash registers are just glorified human-shaped SONOS machines. Play these songs, get your paycheck, and then exhaust all of your senses- especially which ever one tells you to ever speak. I LOVE THE LIGHTS!

Anyway, boys, think about this: Your songs have been played billions of times. BILLIONS. Add that all up and that’s more time than the entirety of Mr. “I have a Graduate Degree Yet Make Less than $35,000” Journalist McFuckFace has been on this planet, or any other. Don’t let him sting you with limp-dicked insults, boys. You have won. Look at this [picks up $10,000 guitar]. And this [picks up a huge pile of vaporizers with both hands]. ALL THE VAPES IN THE WORLD! AND THIS! [I open the treasure chest full of jewels that is in the room for some reason. I take a few of the jewels out and starts rubbing them all over my body for, let’s say, 20 minutes.]

[I continue.] Critics get to be “smart,” you get to be “rich and famous,” which is another way of saying you get to be anything you want, except smart, which is overrated. Just ask the chess master who lives in the park next to my 9,600 sq. penthouse suite. He asks for the cheese on the wax paper of my morning bagel I’m usually far too hungover to eat. That’s the type who “know about music.” When you’re thinking about what type of ice sculpture Wedding 9 should have, he’ll be teaching a Community College Class about the “Evils of Capitalism,” and mates, he’ll know that truth as soundly as you won’t remember one fucking fact about him.  

My point, my little gold mines, [I take the bassist’s face in my hands] my beautiful little gold mines [that’s not the bassist. I don’t care]  is that none of this shit matters. We’re just here for a blip, so make it a boom. Who cares if “the right people” respect you? Or if that cute girl with the thick-brimmed glasses who keeps uncracked Pynchon nearby admires your mind? I’ve got bad news for you all: none of you are Thom Yorke. I also have great news: NONE OF YOU ARE THOM YORKE. You’re not doomed to spend your days thinking about the feelings of a vacuum cleaner replacement part or some shit. Embrace your inner hedonism- that is the true spirit of LZ. Not some stolen blues riffs and shark fucking (google it). Let your creativity run wild with how you put things in and out of your bodies. AND BECOME A GOD FOR IT.  

So sorry, people will not be studying your album notes decades from now looking for clues into your genius or how the structure of some ballad is meant to mirror some fucking world ill. And that shouldn’t bother you one bit- worrying about how the future will consider you is for academics and people who think because their current life blows that it will somehow be championed in the future because they didn’t have the gall to do anything in the present. If they’re lucky they’ll get a paper towel made in their honor. If we’re lucky, that paper towel will be produced using child-labor and earth-destroying products. Nothing wipes the shit grin off their “sophisticated” faces quite like hypercriticism, and buddy, we’ll assure you there’ll be plenty of that.  

So people are calling you just a rip-off of Led Zeppelin? Congrats, you’ve hit the gold mine. Now all that’s left to do is shine. Oh, you’re welcome. Now fuck off.”

As I start to leave, one of the band member’s asks a question about “authenticity” and whether I wondered whether aping the musicians who aped other musicians “problematic.” My brain- whose resting speed is somewhere in between a figuring out how to fly and a full blown aneurysm- weaponizes, liquifying all remaining members who are in the room. I take the liquid and make ceremonial “Energy Pendants,” where I put a drop or two in a vaguely “spiritual” rock (I call them ‘crystals’), selling them for $3,500 a piece. I become a millionaire and marry Kate Upton on the moon. Oh, and because I’m so well liked and wealthy, the actual Led Zeppelin plays the reception. They play a 14- minute version of “Kashmir.” It slays.  

THE END  

[kristencyg507-blog]

After Great Loss, It's Generosity That Sees Us With.

Keep up to date with our newest information and also receive brand-new words updates, post, and also more. After that it is just generosity that makes sense any longer, only compassion that links your footwears and also sends you out into the day to gaze at bread, just compassion that increases its head from the group of the globe to say It is I you have been looking for, then chooses you everywhere like a good friend or a shadow. When this episode of Compassion mores than, directly over to his Spotify playlist of Senator Jimmy D's biggest hits. Self-compassion is treating yourself with the very same compassion and also care you would certainly treat a friend," says Kristin Neff, a teacher of psychology at the College of Texas at Austin and the leading scientist in the growing area of self-compassion. As well as though the impacts of generosity can not be determined, I trust that when we cross social separates to befriend each other, the power of disgust is overcome with the power of love. But when pre-schoolers at the Center for Exploring Healthy Minds at the College of Wisconsin participated in a curriculum that had them consider the advantages of compassion - and utilized re-enforcers like giving a kid a sticker in a compassion yard" poster for being nice - the anticipated shift toward selfishness as they went into kindergarten at age 5 was reduced the effects of. So, folks, whether your generosity comes naturally or it takes a little press to get it going, it doesn't matter. For many people, generosity is not component of their on a daily basis vocabulary and also ideally, this partnership could assist alter that - for individuals who deserve to be commemorated for their own acts of compassion or that are seriously seeking kindness on their own. Staff member acts of compassion consist of arbitrarily distributing bunches of blossoms, spending for individuals's acquisitions in cafes, hairdressers as well as shops, offering coffees in the high street, spending for a bus path for the day, offering muffins as well as bacon sandwiches to the neighborhood authorities and fire station, and providing cost-free snacks at the movie theater. Jaden ended up being Life Vest Inside's youngest Compassion Ambassador throughout the year-long United States tour and also he spoke with kids about just what The Compassion Trip suggested to him personally and how youngsters could motivate significant modification worldwide. For more in regards to simply click the following site have a look at the web-page. Groups, companies, federal government companies and others likewise are picking a different week of the year for their staff members to conduct generosity surges," with police officers at the neighborhood jail taking the first week. The Tranquility First Prize identifies 5 youngsters between the ages of 8-22 for their courage, capability and compassion to develop collective modification. Prior to you know what compassion really is you must shed things, feel the future liquify in a moment like salt in a damaged broth. Instead, after much gazing and also sighing, we're entrusted an instead extra undermined use guts and also kindness. Another good friend and also fellow mother, Becca Schwartz, supplied to help transform the graphic into physical indicators as well as offer them for an affordable cost to help spread out the message of compassion. Tim Coleman has operated in education and learning for 16 years and is the daddy of 2 youngsters, ages 3 as well as 5. And must you want to make the subtler and softer side of yoga method your foundation, think about Yin, Restorative, or Nidra classes. One basic method of recognizing or demonstrating compassion is to reveal appreciation to handy editors by means of the (give thanks to) button. To assist you do that, he provides 22 short phases concerning how compassion could make a long-term difference in your house, workplace, community, and also institution. With over 300 recommendations including acts of generosity, philanthropic donations and also even more, Acts of Compassion let's you post your good deeds to social networks to inspire others. Like the majority of clinical antidepressants, generosity stimulates the production of serotonin. I went to regarding 5 stores searching for the ideal coat since many were out of stock or means overpriced. As its name suggests, Kindness Hot Yoga exercise is practiced in a reasonably warmed, humidified area and also leads pupils with a detoxifying mix of reinforcing, extending as well as balancing presents that is both challenging and also relaxing. Taking part in acts of kindness generates endorphins-- the mind's all-natural pain reliever! Tiny Generosity assists whenever feasible to reconstruct your homes of targets that have actually been damaged or damaged throughout times of dispute. A timeless spiritual text from one of the best Indian teachers, Sri Ramana Maharshi, A stunning edition with wonderful pictures and quotes.