#// @ me last night why did i not save a vid of him normally talking without the sweat

[surging-eyes-seeing-through]

I think I speak for the people when I say we are all giving you a group hug. Open your arms wide im certain there's a lot of us!!

"..."

"... I... I'm flattered, really. Though, I'm not sure why you all care so much..."

(Whew, just barely caught myself there. I'd rather not start crying in front of all these strangers...)

[delicrieux]

—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”. 

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing.  word count—2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie​:  y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!” 

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

queen rly went from  🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing. 

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.” 

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live 

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜 

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall. 

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets. 

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout. 

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times  u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

[bigasswritingmagnet]

When History Comes Calling ch 2/14

Fandom: Mass Effect Rating: Teen Pairing: none, some background Fshep/Garrus

Summary: In 2170, Mindoir was attacked by slavers. Hundreds were taken  captive, hundreds more were slaughtered. Kiryn was the only Shepard to  make it out alive. For years, he buried his grief, kept his head high,  and did whatever he needed to survive.He survived Mindoir and the batarians and when the Reapers came he survived them too.

But  when the war ends and he escapes his batarian masters to the Citadel,  the discovery that his twin sister is alive and well might just be the  thing that breaks him. The Hegemony's greatest assassin will remember  what it means to have something to lose.

AO3 link in notes!

belated and special thanks to @reblob-blob for beta-ing, and @snuffes @thehumantrampoline for their assistance <3

---

His plan had been sound - find the largest assortment of refugees in the safest location. Keep a low profile. Get the lay of the land in the world outside batarian space. He remembered the Citadel being touted as a beacon of safety and civil obedience, but after 15 years in his… particular profession, Vondur had learned that there was always a seedy underbelly. Sure, he was going to have to start from scratch, but with his skills it wouldn’t take long to rebuild his reputation. 

In practice, though. 

In practice, it was hundreds of shipping crates stacked on top of each other, the smell of unwashed bodies and dirty laundry, a constant jumble of voices crying and shouting and arguing, bright lights glaring down like spotlights. Guards at the exits, eyes suspicious and watchful; dull-eyed bureaucrats processing the new comers without sympathy or interest.

It felt like the slave pens. 

He found a dark corner out of sight of the main crush of people. It looked out over one of the Citdael’s arms, the orange city glow dotted with spots of black where the power was lost or the buildings crushed to rubble -- the night sky turned inside out. He wrapped his hands around the railing and tried to find the moment. 

It was a technique his very first instructor had taught him, and one that he had come to rely on heavily. Ignore the past, ignore the future, ignore even the present. By the time you acknowledge the present it is already the past. Find the moment you are in. The breath in your lungs, the beating of your heart. The feeling of cold metal warming against his palms, the light reflecting off passing ships lighting up the insides of his eyelids...

The feelings that the present was stirring up - old fear, nausea, memories of being helpless and alone -- all faded, leaving him clear headed and calm once more. 

When Vondur opened his eyes, the world had righted itself. He was still here, but now he could think. And he could notice, consciously, the person coming up behind him. He’d been aware of their presence, but only by instinct. Now he could analyze the clues he’d picked up -- perfume, the rustle of clothing, the weight of the tread -- and know not to attack the civilian human female coming up behind him. 

“Excuse me?” 

He pretended to be surprised when he turned. The human gave him a shy smile. She was small, about five foot even, with her blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Younger than he’d been expecting - maybe 16 at the most. Either fashion hadn’t changed in the last 15 years, or the colonies were more fashion forward than he remembered them being, because her clothes would have been considered retro when he was her age. 

Most interesting, however, was the lanyard around her neck. From here he could see the word ‘volunteer’ in big orange letters on the ID card that hung from it. 

“Hi there! My name is Sarah. I’m a volunteer for the Citadel Refugee Project. I help new arrivals get settled in after they’re processed.” 

Her words had the patter of a memorized script, but suddenly she hesitated. 

“So, um, I’m not sure if anyone told you-- and I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but I’ve been seeing a lot of them and-- I thought, if it was me I’d want someone to make sure I knew-- I just-- it’s just that I--” 

“It’s okay,” he said, giving her a casual, nonthreatening tilt of the head. 

She straightened up and cleared her throat, and didn’t quite meet his eyes when she said “administration can get you in touch with a doctor who can deactivate and remove batarian control devices.”   

Vondur, having only just righted himself,was once more knocked off course into a whirl of unpleasant memories.

Like all slaves, Vondur had received the implant when he was first captured. At first, he had been constantly aware of it, perpetually afraid that any bump or electric shock would set it off. As the years passed it had become normal, a part of him the same way his biotic implant was. Filomet never had cause to threaten him with it, let alone put it to use. Most of the time, Vondur didn’t think of it at all. 

Vondur reached up a hand and touched the back of his head. In the soft place at the base of his skull was his implant. Just above it, a thick ridge of scar tissue that did not completely hide the small, hard lump of the device.  

Remove it? 

Why shouldn’t he? He was a free man, now. Able to choose his own path. He would never need to answer to anyone else ever again. Yes, he’d planned to keep up his… profession, but now they would be his jobs, his choices. The payment would be entirely his, not whatever sliver of a percentage Filomet felt generous - or frightened - enough to pass his way. 

He could choose who he would kill. 

Sarah was looking up at him nervously. He did a mental check of his expression - impassive, neutral, displaying no trace of the shock she’d given him. Good. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice as level as ever. “I would like to see the doctor.”

 Sarah said she would walk him to the office -- a handful of desks -- located in one of the courtyards -- the squares of space the shipping containers opened into. It was staffed by actual employees of the CRP. They managed identification paperwork, locating families, finding temporary housing, medical support, ensured steady supply delivery, and in general jumped the bureaucratic hoops Citadel administration demanded be jumped.  These were the souls who actually solved the problems, Sarah said. 

“The Citadel set up the camps and they send food down but they don’t really care. They spend more time making sure nobody gets into the rest of the station than they do helping people.” Her voice held a heavy bitterness that surprised him; the kind that came from experience. 

“You’re a refugee,” he said, and she gave him an awkward half smile and a one-shoulder shrug.

“Yeah. I mean, I was. I guess I’m technically a citizen of the Citadel now. But I came in on one of the shuttles. I made a lot of friends down here, and I knew what it was like. It didn’t feel right to just… leave and never come back” 

“Understandable,” said Vondur, who didn’t understand at all. He had made friends - or at least bonded - with some of the other slaves in the pens. When Filomet had taken him away, Vondur had not looked back. He wanted to get as far away from that part of his life as possible. 

I did help them, he thought, irrationally defensive, I saved them in the arena. I stopped Filomet from using bait slaves. There was nothing else I could have done. It’s not like slaves can buy slaves, or free them. I needed to focus on survival. There's nothing wrong with that.

Sarah was still talking. She was, it seemed, quite the chatterbox. And very… peppy. 

“It’s not so bad down here. Especially now the war is over. The Reapers were kind of a major bummer, y’know?” She flashed him a grin. 

‘Major bummer’. Billions dead, worlds destroyed, your understanding of galactic history and your place in it completely upended… 

“Mmhmm,” he said. 

“They do holiday celebrations, and you can go to virtual classes- oh, and we have vid nights now. You should definitely submit a suggestion, because they’ve played Fleet and Flotilla like a billion times. What kind of vids do you like?” 

Vondur floundered for an answer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched an actual film. It would have been on Mindoir, but he couldn’t think of a single title, couldn’t even remember what kinds of vids he used to watch. 

“I don’t watch a lot of vids,” he said. That was a legitimate response, right? Plenty of people out there didn't watch vids.

“Oh. Well what do you like to do?” 

This one was even worse, because Vondur did have answers, and not a single one of them was something he could say to this girl. He liked working on upgrades for his sniper rifle. He liked to spar and train to improve his skills in killing people. He liked to practice shooting. 

He liked to work. Not to kill. But everything up to that point, the challenge of it, the rush of adrenaline. There was, in his heart, a grim satisfaction in a difficult task completed.  

“I like to read,” he said, lamely. Desperate to change the direction of the conversation, he said "And you?"

“I love vids. I want to make my own when I’m older. I especially like the classic stuff. Did you know the Blasto vids are based on a human series from the 1970s? It’s called Dirty Harry; you should check it out. Blasto wishes he could be that cool.” 

“Definitely,” he said, wondering what the hell a Blasto was. An argument broke out ahead of them, catching Vondur’s attention. And oh, by the glorious Pillars of Strength, there was a familiar face in the crowd. 

Vondur stopped suddenly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I think I see someone I know.”

Sarah beamed up at him. 

“Of course! I’m so glad for you! I’ll see you around-- wait! I forgot to ask you your name!” 

“Thomas,” Vondur said. He'd chosen the name as one that was average and inconspicuous, but not too average or inconspicuous. Then, because it was a thing he remembered people said, added “Call me Tom.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Tom,” she said, and stuck out her hand. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing, but just a moment. He shook it, and gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. It wasn’t a very big one. 

“Same to you.” 

He waited until he was sure she wasn’t going to stick around to watch, and headed for the group of arguing batarians. They’d lowered their voices, but their body language told him they were barely holding on to their tempers. They were too busy to notice his approach, and Vondur liked that just fine. 

It was so much more fun this way.

“Hello Ukarem,” he said, and watched the batarian go rigid. Very, very slowly the batarian turned and looked up at him. Vondur felt no small satisfaction seeing all four eyes go wide with stark terror. 

“Vondur,” he rasped. 

“Isn’t this a funny coincidence. Glad to see you made it to safety.” 

The batarian opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled groan. Vondur glanced at the other batarians. He didn’t know them, but from the looks on their faces, they knew him. 

He put a hand on Ukarem’s shoulder, dug his fingers in. He could feel the batarian trembling. 

“Let’s take a walk. I’d love to hear all about it.” 

“But…” one of the other batarians tried, braver than the rest. Vondur looked at him, focusing his entire attention on the lone soul who dared. Holding eye contact, Vondur tilted his head back ever so slightly. You are so beneath me, so little a threat, the movement said, that I do not need all four eyes to watch you. 

It didn’t matter that Vondur didn’t have another pair; body language was body language, and Vondur knew how to send a message. 

The batarians edged backwards, and Vondur steered Ukarem away. 

They walked in silence for a minute or so, as Vondur led them to a less crowded area. 

“I have money,” Ukarem said. 

“That’s good,” Vondur said, mildly. “Financial stability is very important.” 

“If this is about that job on Camala--” 

Ukarem had provided wildly inefficient intel on the state of the target’s security. Vondur had been shot several times, and very nearly died. His target had managed to escape; one of Vondur’s few failures. Because the target was human, rumors started that Vondur had botched the job on purpose out of species sympathy. He’d had to kill several humans in very nasty ways to repair the damage to his reputation. 

“Clouds long cleared,” Vondur said, in that same mild tone. “How long have you been on the Citadel, Ukarem?” 

“I was in the Terminus system on business,” he mumbled. “Came here as soon as I heard they were taking people in.” 

“Really? Why not Omega?” 

“Seemed safer. The reports that were coming through…”

Vondur walked him over to the railing where they could watch the ships go by, hidden behind several large potted plants. Ukarem tried to dig his heels in, babbling nervously. 

“Look, Vondur, you don’t have to do this, I can make it worth your while, whatever it is--” 

“I need a favor, Ukarem.” 

The batarian froze, then relaxed, relief pouring off of him in waves. 

“Oh! Oh, yeah, sure, sure. Name it.” 

Vondur leaned casually against the railing, looking out at the ships rather than at Ukarem.

“I think my least favorite thing about the Citadel is how suspicious they are. You can’t just walk in and out. You need paperwork. An ID card, birth certificate, background checks, proof of citizenship…” He looked over at the batarian. “You know what I mean. You have to be in the system if you want to get anywhere out here.” 

“Yeah” he said, but his expression was puzzled. “But… you were born out here. Couldn’t you just…?”

“I wouldn’t want to raise a fuss,” Vondur said. “A lost child, presumed dead, escaping his dreadful masters and regaining his freedom, rising from the ashes of destruction to take back his old life? That would attract a lot of attention. The kind of attention that could be very…  disadvantageous for someone in my field of business. But most importantly, Ukarem, I don’t want to.” The last was said in a voice hard and cold and full of dark promises.

“Right, right, sure, of course.” Ukarem was nodding very hard. 

“Besides, if I went the legal route, well, I wouldn’t need your help. You’d become rather useless to me. And you like to be useful, right Ukarem?” 

More nodding, Ukarem having apparently lost the ability to speak. 

“You have friends on the Citadel, right? Friends who can get me what I need?” 

The nodding continued. 

“You should let them know I’m willing to pay a little more for express delivery. I’m in a bit of a rush.” 

Nod nod nod. Vondur worried Ukarem’s head would go flying off.

“Oh, and before I forget… I’m still getting settled in, but once I am, you can let your friends know that my services are available. On a case by case basis, of course.” 

Ukarem froze mid-nod, his eyes very wide. 

“Really?” he blurted out. “But-- but you’re not-- you’re--” 

Vondur patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave. 

“If your friends could get back to me in the next two days, I’d really appreciate it.” 

As he mixed in with the other refugees, following the herd towards the daily food distribution, Vondur wondered why he didn’t feel as light as he’d been expecting. He’d just solved several major problems in one go. Now he had the right connections, he was going to get the documents he needed, he’d be able to find some work…

So why was there some deep, biting dissatisfaction in his mind? 

It was Ukarem’s surprise that he was looking for work. The sentence he hadn’t dared to finish. ‘But you’re not a slave anymore.’ Idiot. This was his trade, his craft. Throw away fifteen years of work honing and perfecting his skills just because he didn’t have to? What else was he supposed to do? He didn’t know how to do anything else. He didn’t need to know. And this life had been his choice. Filomet had stood in his cell and given him options, and Vondur had chosen. A short, brutal life in the mines, or the best weapons and training Filomet’s money could buy. 

It had been an easy choice, and it had been his. 

It had.

[violetsmoak]

maybe this is how it starts [2/?]

Cover & Disclaimer 

Author’s Note: Sorry it took so long since the last update. I ended up deciding not to pants this thing and just do whatever with the chapters, but I went and found an honest-to-goodness plot. Go me! So, to further said plot, have some Jason and Roy Bromance. Because as far as I’m concerned, the best jaytim fics I’ve read always have Roy and Jason doing their girl-talk thing.

The Red Hood’s base of operations is in a bomb shelter beneath the One Police Plaza in Gotham. It’s chilly inside, which doesn’t bother Jason under normal circumstances, but then everything is pissing him off today.

There are a lot of things Jason has learned to endure over the years—torture, death, total mental and physical exhaustion, unending moral dilemmas…

All of them are just more of what life has to throw at him and what he responds to with a smirk and the middle finger. Physical limitations are something for lesser men—men who were never trained by Batman or the League of Assassins.

And yet…

If there’s anything that might drive him almost to the point of Lazarus-Pit-crazy, it’s itching.

“It’s decided. I’m going to kill Ivy,” he growls, slopping another handful of aloe vera over the expanse of his arm, leaning back so as not to drip the green gel onto his keyboard.

Whatever was in the venom from the vampire-plant hybrids, the rash has lingered for the whole week without a sign of improving. He has a peevish hope that Tim is having a worse time of it, since it’s his fault Jason is even in this situation to begin with.

Can’t even fucking go on patrol without wanting to tear my skin off every goddamn minute.

He’s been trying to fill the time doing the whole research schtick for a few of his ongoing cases but has barely even been able to focus on that. It’s irritating and leaves him alone with his thoughts much more than he’s comfortable with.

It’s been three months of pushing down any acknowledgement of what happened. That for the first time in his life, Dick Grayson is dead. Not somewhere being Nightwing or filling in as Batman, but dead. His predecessor-mentor-not-brother-but-yeah-sorta-brother got himself unmasked and killed.

Jason is not entirely sure how to deal with the new reality, and it’s possible he’s been more adrift than he would ever admit. But the cure to that is denial and distraction, which is why when the giant screen in front of him fills up with a picture of Roy making finger guns, he accepts the vid call.

“I swear to God, Roy, if you’re calling to tell me you’ve been evicted again and need money,” he trails off, feigning annoyance despite being glad for the interruption.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” his best friend replies dryly, fiddling with something metallic and sprouting wires. He squints at Jason. “Dude, what’s with your arm? That rash is fugly.”

“Compliments of a soon-to-be-dead Poison Ivy and an idiot in a cape.”

“Heh. Which idiot?”

“The one who’s supposed to be the smart one.”

Roy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask for clarification, either because he knows who Jason is talking about or because he knows he won’t get an answer. “That’s more polite than you’d usually put it. You feelin’ okay?”

“No, I’m not feeling okay, I’ve spent the last week scratching my nuts off!”

“Man, come on! TMI!”

“You know what I mean.” Jason rubs his back against his chair, seeking relief from a spot he can’t reach to scratch. “Fuck Ivy…”

“I thought you liked Ivy.”

“Respect. I respect Ivy. I don’t like her.”

“How did you even end up running into her? I mean, greenspaces aren’t exactly your thing.”

“I told you already, I was saving the moron in the cape. Who’s damn lucky I did, because I wasn’t even going to take that route last night.”

All because he’d (not that he’d admit it) been thinking about Dick. Which he had been for months now, a fact which he’s pretty sure influenced him to help Bruce and the rest of them go on that suicide mission to get back Damian Wayne’s body. He’s still a little in shock that the whole thing ended in the kid’s resurrection and not a second explosive and painful death. But then, he’s living proof that it’s possible, so maybe he shouldn’t be.

Roy must sense the direction of his thoughts, because he changes the subject. “So, have you given anymore thought to that idea I had?”

Jason gives himself a mental shake.

“No. Because going after Kori reeks of desperation, and you’re better than that.”

“Am I? Am I really?” Jason exchanges looks with Roy, who then sighs. “Fine. So how long are you hanging around Gotham? Because, by my count, this is the longest consecutive amount of time you’ve spent there since before you died. Family hasn’t grounded you, have they?”

Jason scowls. “They’re not my family.”

“Right, okay, sure. That’s why whenever there’s a fart jammed out that way, you go running—shit!” One of the devices he’s working on emits a minor explosion.

“I go back because it’s my city and I have stuff to take care of.”

Rapists and human traffickers won’t break their own kneecaps.

“And because the Bats are your family.”

“I’m going to shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That was an accident, and you know it. This time it would be on purpose,” Jason grunts, using the heel of his hand against his arm. He winces when the action brings on equal parts of relief and pain, since his skin’s already been clawed almost raw.

Roy snorts in disbelief.

Jason pauses for another moment, considering his best friend, and then decides what the hell, they aren’t the type to keep secrets from each other.

“Demon brat’s alive,” he says at last.

Roy startles, dropping his soldering iron. “Whoa. No shit?”

He was the one who showed up to drag Jason out of the bars he’d practically destroyed in the days directly following the kid’s death. He knows the exact depths to which Jason was or wasn’t affected.

“No shit. It was this whole…thing. Ninjas and boom tubes and a Chaos Shard.” He doesn’t mention the overly-sentimental team-up with the Bats, or the surreal “birthday” dinner afterward. Damian and Tim had been almost pleasant to each other, and Jason had caught Bruce watching him with such overwhelming gratitude in his eyes he’d had to duck out early.

It’s still weird to him when he sees anything other than judgement in the older man’s eyes.

Roy whistles. “Damn. He okay?”

“I didn’t really stick around for the group therapy session. I’d say so—the little shit got superpowers when he woke up. I figured I should make myself scarce before he took it into his head to throw me like a javelin.”

“Didn’t we do that once with Kori?”

“Kori’s end goal wouldn’t be for me to go splat.” 

“Not unless you left the toilet seat up again.” 

“That was you.” 

“Can’t prove it.” 

“Of the two of us, who was practically raised by a British butler that wields guilt and disapproval like the Lasso of Truth? You think I will ever in my life dare to leave a toilet seat up?”

Roy sniggers and Jason smirks, and the tension hanging in the wake of their conversation fades somewhat. Humor is how they have always dealt with this kind of stuff.

“Still, that’s pretty heavy,” Roy says after a beat, reaching for a pair of wire strippers and electric tape. “I get why you’ve been hanging around there. I mean, what is this, three out of four now? Four out of five?”

“Huh?”

“Dead Robins. You should start a club.”

“Who says we haven’t?” Jason grumbles. “I’m the goddamn president.”

“I’m just saying, I see why you’re staying. Going by the balance of probability, the moron in the cape is probably next. It’s, like, his turn or something. So I get it—you want to keep an eye out.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “Drake’s not going to die if I have anything to say about it. No one gets to kill my replacement except me. When I feel like it.”

If I feel like it.

He and Tim have sort of come to an understanding of sorts in the past few years, if only in a professional sort of way. Exchanging information or giving the heads-up on a rogue showing up in each other’s territory. Occasionally sharing a bite to eat.

And saving each other’s lives, apparently.

The idea that a grisly death awaits Tim just because he had the misfortune of being a Robin bothers Jason more than he likes.

“When you feel like it?” Roy prompts. “You’re just trying to sound tough to cover up the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“The thing where you feel like you have to step into big brother’s shoes now,” Roy informs him. “With Dick gone, that’s you, man.”

Jason physically jerks away from the screen, staring at Roy. “Fuck no. That’s not my deal.”

“If you say so.”

And just…no.

He jokes about it, sure. Calls them ‘bro’ or makes pointed remarks related to family or siblings, but it’s always tongue-in-cheek and more mocking than serious. It’s just to get a rise out of them, to remind them how he really doesn’t fit in with Bruce’s messed up idea of a ‘family’.

Besides, he’s pretty sure even if he wanted it, he’d be a shit older brother—he doesn’t have any of Dick’s likeability or sense of responsibility or general concern for everyone’s welfare. And Bruce’s kids all have their own level of fucked-up that, coupled with his own many and varied list of issues, could very well land them all in Arkham.

No way he’s going back there.

“Sorry, you’re breaking up,” Jason says flatly, and terminates the call before Roy can get too smug or think he’s actually on to something. He glares at the blank screen for a few minutes, and then queues up all the overseas cases he’s been flagging the past week.

Time to get the hell out of dodge. Before I get called to babysit or something…

֍

Tim is not keeping tabs on anyone.

At least, no more than usual.

The myriad of windows open on his workplace computer screen, showing several different sources of surveillance footage, is simply his method for remaining prepared for whatever crisis is inevitably coming.

(There’s always a crisis coming.)

And he’s definitely not watching out for Jason, even if his eyes keep drifting toward the grainy image of the Red Hood followed by traffic cams in Montreal, where he’s infiltrated a human-trafficking operation.

Tim justifies it as pre-emptive damage control, in case he needs to send someone to save Jason from himself.

(Never mind that Tim never did this before three months ago, never mind that Jason’s mellowed out a lot in the past two years and has developed something almost in the realm of good judgement, never mind that—)

As if to make the point to himself, Tim focusses his attention on the other windows. Damian at Wayne Manor, singlehandedly lifting the roof onto what appears to be a new pet enclosure while Alfred watches, bemused. The kid still has superpowers, which is another mark against the existence of a higher power—what kind of benevolent force would give the brat heat vision?

Bruce isn’t in Gotham; last Tim heard, he’s gone to the Hall of Justice, probably to figure out how to drain off Damian’s powers. There are no camera there (and if there were, Bruce would probably have disabled them by now), but the tracer Tim slipped into the cowl the last time they met is still going strong.

Tim pretends he doesn’t know that Bruce knows he put it there; he hates feeling like he’s being humored.

Steph is in class, Cass is out of the country, Barbara is at a information management conference in Metropolis.

They’re all fine.

And he’s not keeping tabs.

He just has to be ready. In case he needs to shut down the power for a city block or remotely cut camera feed, if it looks like someone is about to die or be unmasked.

Not again. Never again. Not like Dick, won’t let it happen—

The speaker on his office phone trills. “Mr. Wayne? Your eight o’clock is here.”

Tim shakes off his disjointed thoughts and reaches for the intercom button. “Send him in.”

Warrick Powers has a face Tim would very much like to punch.

Maybe if he was in uniform, he would find an excuse, but at the moment, he is fully immersed in his Timothy Drake-Wayne persona. Any attack on the CEO of Powers Technology would not only bring a few dozen lawyers down on him and Wayne Enterprises, but it would also wreak havoc on Tim’s image as a feeble, recovering cripple.

Which would be a waste, since he’s been cultivating that image for over two years.

His crutches are long gone, but he still carries a cane with him everywhere for ‘bad days’. It’s not even really a lie, since there are mornings after he hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours where he needs something to fidget with. Some kind of prop to offer a believable reason for his pauses. It’s better if people think he’s reliving the shooting that supposedly injured him, rather than pay attention to the obvious sleep deprivation or concealed injuries. 

“Tim! Great to see you again,” Powers declares in a false voice that would do even Brucie Wayne proud. “Glad you could fit me in this morning.”

“It just so happened I needed to speak to you about something,” Tim replies with an insubstantial smile.

“Excellent, excellent,” Powers says vaguely, by-passing the usual polite handshake and sprawling in one of the chairs across from Tim. He hasn’t said so out loud, but it clearly bothers him having to do business with a teenager. “I just wanted to come by and tell you that our little project is right on schedule. Ahead of it, in fact…”

Out of the corner of his eye he watches the footage of Jason outside a restaurant in Chinatown and he suppresses the urge to swear.

The idiot had better not be messing with the Ghost Dragons, because I cannot deal with that right now.

Though, the older man is in civvies, so it’s entirely possible he’s just grabbing lunch.

And…nope. Wishful thinking. Damn it, Jason.

If his suspicions about what’s about to happen onscreen are correct, Tim’s going to have to put an end to this meeting faster than he expected.

Powers is still rambling.

 “…we could move up the launch by a month or two without sacrificing quality. Maybe even release it as a limited-edition prototype. For a higher price, of course, but people have been waiting on this model for five years now, they’d pay for it.”

The older man chuckles; it doesn’t reach his eyes, which remain cold and calculating as a snake’s. The overall effect makes Tim’s skin crawl, in a different way from the lingering phantom itch of Ivy’s toxin.

(Stupid mistake. Shouldn’t have been anywhere near Robinson Park without backup, even if it was recon. Another stupid mistake—)

“Thank you for the progress report, Mr. Powers,” Tim says, cutting his thoughts off before they can become too rambling, “but that was not the reason I agreed to see you today.”

“Oh?” Powers looks politely interested.

“I received a tip two weeks ago from a concerned individual that Powers Tech has been dumping toxic waste,” Tim tells him, careful to keep his inflection mild. The term ‘concerned individual’ is loose, but it was Ivy that mentioned it to him and told him to fix it or she would. He doesn’t remember if that was before or after she let her plants have their fun, though. “We take that kind of accusation very seriously. The entire reason Wayne Enterprises agreed to collaborate with your company was because you’ve boasted about your eco-friendly containment practices.”

Powers expression doesn’t betray anything; in fact, the way his eyebrows raise, and his mouth turns downward in confusion, anyone else might consider him legitimately affronted.

“And you believed it? Come on, Tim, I’m sure WE gets half a dozen similar accusations a week. It’s just the granola movement trying to shut down our operations. They’d be happy if we still did things the Amish way.”

“Maybe. But those accusations don’t usually come with evidence to back them up.” Tim slides several folders across the desk. “Only a percentage of your industrial waste is being disposed of responsibly, I imagine for publicity’s sake; the rest, you’re burying in the sublevels of your main facility.”

Powers lips thin ever so slightly. “Hearsay.”

“We do our due diligence in these matters. Some of your employees were willing to confirm the report—anonymous now, but willing to come forward in the event of a formal investigation,” Tim says. “There was also an undercover investigation commissioned by…outside parties.”

No need to admit he was the outside party.

“The results indicate that not only are your containment measures insufficient, but the run-off from that waste is close to entering the groundwater, which could jeopardize Gotham’s entire water supply. Possibly even on a global scale if it gets to the ocean and reacts with the salt water.” He holds his hands in front of him. “I’ve held back on having this released to the public as a curtesy to you to get your affairs in order today.”

“What?” Powers growls and there’s not even an attempt to keep his charming mask on.

“I’ve asked you here so that we can finalize the dissolution of Wayne Enterprises partnership with Powers Tech,” Tim continues. “It’s a fairly cut and dried situation, so there was no need to call in the board.”

“That isn’t going to happen—”

“In exchange for an uncontested dissolution of our agreement and a clear plan to fix the problem, I continue to keep this information from going public—along with several other discrepancies I’ve discovered in your company, many of which are such blatant health-code violations that if they’re made public, you’ll be declaring bankruptcy by nine o’clock tonight. Personally, that isn’t the path I’d choose; your recent indiscretions aside, Powers Tech has the potential to do great things—if it’s being run by someone with half a conscience.”

Which you clearly don’t possess.

“You’d do well to watch your tone, boy,” Powers growls. “Does your father know the career suicide you’re committing right now?”

“He trusts my judgement or I wouldn’t be sitting at this desk,” Tim shrugs, unconcerned, and slides two more folders across. “These are to dissolve our partnership. Feel free to have your lawyers look it over, but I am serious about the nine o’clock deadline. If you intend to keep your company operating for the foreseeable future, you will sign it and send it over before then. You’ll also make an announcement that you intend to step down from your position as CEO, since you are taking full blame for your company’s blatant disrespect for environmental laws.”

“I will do no such thing! That’s tantamount to an admission of guilt—and I have no intention of going to jail over these…these fabricated accusations.”

“The choice is yours, of course. And you are pretty well-off, so even though this is an open-shut case, I’m sure you’ll land in a white-collar institution that’s nicer than most of Gotham’s criminals enjoy. But make no mistake—either you come forward on your own, which will be helpful in negotiating a lesser sentence, or you wait for the evening edition of the Gotham Gazette, which I know won’t paint you in a very favorable light.”

“This is blackmail.”

“Actually, it’s extortion,” Tim corrects him, reaching for his half-filled coffee cup. As Powers eyes gleam at him, a small smirk forming, Tim continues, “Oh, and just so you know, anything we’ve said in this meeting is completely confidential. I took the liberty of installing a scrambler in this office, which knocks out all mechanical devices. Your phone and the recorder in your pocket won’t have caught any of our conversation. To ensure neither of us chooses to play any unfortunate quotes out of context, of course.”

“Of course,” Power grunts tightly.

“I would go with the first option,” Tim says, switching back to the previous conversation with ease. “This way your company’s stocks won’t fall too badly. And this way your son has a chance of being a better man and better CEO than you. I look forward to discussing the changes with Derek at the Green Energy Expo in Hong Kong next week.”

Powers looks as if he’s about to jump across the table and throttle Tim, who casually reaches for his intercom, “Mr. Powers will be leaving early, please ensure someone can escort him down to the lobby.”

“I can find my own way,” Powers snaps, shoving his chair back and grabbing the folders Tim gave him. “And this isn’t over, you jumped-up little brat. You’re going to regret this.”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that before,” Tim replies, adopting the cold, distant smile of Janet Drake. “Have a nice day, Mr. Powers.”

As soon as the older man has stormed from the office, Tim lets out a breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. It only occurs to him when the tight feeling in his chest dissipates. He leans back heavily in his chair, feeling like he’s run a marathon, which makes no sense. It’s not the first time he’s had to strongarm a partner or competitor.

He notices he has been bouncing his knee up and down under the desk, and scowls. Good thing Powers didn’t notice that, or he might have taken it as a weakness.

He’s hungry, but the effort involved in procuring food is too much. The stupid cane is not worth it, and despite his stomach complaining, he has no appetite. Not worth it.

On screen, Jason flips a table through the restaurant window. 

Damage control, Tim decides, relegating his hunger to the back of his mind and preparing to scrub any footage of Jason’s activities. It’s not keeping tabs.

So, yeah, Tim’s in denial and Jason doesn’t do warm and fuzzy family feelings. And Roy is way more observant than he would like heehee.

Sorry there was a lack of direct jaytim interaction this chapter, but I’d kind of like this fic to be more than boy-broods-about-other-boy-every-chapter. I find it makes for a more authentic slow-build relationship if they also have other stuff going on in their lives. But next chapter, we shall have dialogue once more!

TBC

NEXT CHAPTER ( in progress)

[tawneybel]

Because I mentioned I was going to eventually get rid of my old shower curtain, my mom surprised me and got me an Edward Gorey one. Gashlycrumb Tinies! 

One of the recent ghost books on ghost I read mostly just (intentionally or not) taught me how to fake spooky sh*t at seances but in the entry on mirrors it mentioned looking into one at night was considered bad luck. But that’s kind of hard to avoid. I already knew using candlelight to look into a mirror is considered to be unlucky but I think a cellphone’s flashlight doesn’t count. Anyway, going to the bathroom at night is going to be spookier. :D 

Life’s been kind of hectic lately, mostly due to things outside of my control. I want to get a new job this summer. And fix my sleeping schedule. I’ve been getting stress dreams again for the first time in a while. I don’t count a bad dream as a nightmare unless I wake up terrified but it still sucks. Going to ask my doctor if melatonin is a good idea.  

My dog (see above) had a nasty cough after getting knocked out for some dental surgery, which is supposed to be normal, but it lasted for a while so we took her to the vet. And it turns out that the reason she was scratching on my door every night to be let outside was because of a UTI. She’s doing better now. 

Mm, there’s a lot more things to talk about but I’ll save that for another post. 

The Dark Knight: There was a scene where a bunch of men got their uniforms stolen and they were tied up and g*gged. I watched the trilogy out of order. To be honest, I get kind of bored watching these but the villains are cool. Bane’s darling but now that I’ve seen Venom I prefer Eddie Brock. Jonathan Crane is kind of cute, too. 

Now I finally get why people like the Joker so much. He gives not a single f*ck. So many things could go wrong at any moment during his plans, he relies so much on luck, but he has so much confidence. I feel like if tried to slide down a hill of money I would hurt myself. The best scene was the Joker walking quickly out and away from the hospital. Also, the bank heist in the beginning. 

Crimson Peak started to get good when Edith and Lucille were having the butterfly discussion and ended up being better paced than I thought it would be. But after Carter got his head smashed in, I’m not sure why Edith would go with Thomas after that. 

Gothic horror is actually fun to learn about in school because the genre’s progenitors would probably be into yandere and monster f*cking. It’s like... In the first art history class I took, we were looking at Renaissance paintings and there was a fair amount of stuff with a de*th and the maiden motif. The modern equivalent would be a lot of metal album covers.

Brain Damage: I was looking for infestation movies and I’m so glad I stumbled upon this. Not because it’s particularly good but ‘cause the MC is super cute. Basically the talking leechy thing pumps Brian full of an addictive fluid through the the back of his neck and they have a faux symbiotic relationship where Aylmer gorily eats other people’s brains.

There was a scene where Brian’s brother answers the phone lying on his stomach in his und*rwear. Followed by a scene where Brian takes his pants off and you see his t*sh. Also a very brief M/F/M thr*some dream that gets gruesome real quick. 

The Stuff: If you’re into The Blob, you’ll probably like this. The mode of killing is a bit different. Stuff’s alive and controls people from the inside. 

A Cure for Wellness: Shout out to his movie for showing n*ked/scantily clad old people without getting weird about it. Within the first half hour I was surprised when it didn’t do well at the box office. The visuals draw you in but it was probably too long and could have been better. I wasn’t expecting to it get kind of fantastical. It’s got existentialism, surrealism, mystery... Uhhhh... I’m not sure whether to classify it as fantasy or sci fi. 

Venom: Hits so many k*nks. Dan’s cute, Anne has good taste in men. Carlton Drake gets symbioted. Actually, I’m not sure if he or Eddie is sexier. The first guy to get possessed in the Eminem video is also cute. Best line is Venom saying, “Look at her. She has no idea we are going to get her back.” The Rorschach-like ending credits were cool. 

Sleepaway Camp: Before I watched this, I already knew the ending. Sort of. To be honest, I expected “Angela” to be an offensive portrayal of a trans woman but the situation was more like David Reimer, minus g*nital m*tilation. The ending itself... Aunt Martha may not have gone on a murder spree but she’s the scariest person in the film. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said there’s anything terribly special about this film. Based on the synopsis of the sequel, I’m probably not going to watch the rest of the franchise. 

Hell Fest: Pretty typical modern slasher but the atmosphere is great. It was also funny. I’m just gonna use bullet points for this.

“You know what? He deserves at least some dignity after death.” “Let’s give him a b*ner.” 

When asked if he mentioned something about having a f*tish for p*ddles, Gavin answers, “I have never said that in my entire life.”

Why did Asher get hotter while he was struggling and getting stabbed in the eyeball?

It took me a minute to recognize Tony Todd. Sad. 

Men in Black II: At no point in the film did Serleena, who is capable of transformation and has tentacles, transform into a male und*rwear model. :’( 

Fullmetal Alchemist: (The manga.) A military fantasy that raises some good questions about ethics. And dat solar aesthetic. The chimera designs were so cool. Envy is a cruel, skimpily dressed shapeshifter with a grotesque “true form” and Lin gets willingly possessed by Greed. So that’s right up my alley. 

Break My Heart 1,000 Times: Good time to read this. It takes place in February. Read this because I Still See You has Richard Harmon. The book started off decently but I didn’t like the protagonist’s behavior near the end of part three. And there’s some sexism. Like hysterically slapping her love interest and blaming herself for not having any weapons in her room because she’s a girl. Seriously, I keep a bigass King James Bible on my nightstand. If anyone breaks in, they’re getting brained by the Good Book. Or a lamp. Or the nightstand itself. But hopefully my dog would maul an intruder first. 

Christine: Wasn’t really into it but you might be if you’re into corruption, e.g. a nerdy guy becoming slightly more physically appealing jerk*ss. 

The 100: I got teary-eyed when Clarke and Lexa were saying goodbye and then the latter accidentally gets short. Poor Murphy can’t catch a break, as usual. Started season four the other day. 

Hostel: DUMB REASON TO GO “OUT OF BOUNDS”, FELLAS.

Going into this, I thought I’d like Jay Hernandez’s character the most but then I found the other guys cuter until the end then I really liked Paxton. Weirdly enough, I found Alexei cute. There’s decent whump but I’m not into v*mit. 

I think I saw an ad with the guy who tortured Paxton when I was in elementary school but I mistook it for something from one of the Saw movies. This was obviously before I had any interest in watching these kinds of movies. XD  

Songs of the Day: I’ve been listening to a lot of Dead inside the Chrysalis/Dedderz lately... I’m crushing on Manek Deboto. He should be the one wearing a th*ng in the She’s So Rad music vid! If they ever do  “He’s So Rad” they should include Elm Street’s Jesse Walsh and Brian from Brain Damage...

[thissupposedcrime]

another fiery night, you feed my hunger for your love

Veronica, James thinks as he watches Lance destroy a hospital room, did nothing to prepare them for her brother.

In which the war ends, and the MFE pilots try to visit the paladins in the medical wing. Emphasis on try. 

implied plance, jeith/jaith, sheith

Ending the Galran invasion doesn’t miraculously grant the MFE pilots free time. The world needs rebuilding, and, unlike Voltron, James and his team aren’t going to fly off into the sunset or fight in the cosmos. It’s up to them to transition from defending to protecting without the Voltron forces’ support. Drills continue, outreach expands, sleep schedules don’t shift to peacetime hours.

But it doesn’t take any cajoling on James’ part for the team to unanimously agree to use their unscheduled time to visit the paladins in the hospital wing. Parents and civilian allies have long been sent home. The MFE’s sterling reputation for never truly disobeying orders or requesting special privileges can afford the dent of ignoring visiting hours.

Foolishly, they begin by visiting Allura. James respects her, both as a dignitary and a fighter, but he underestimated her willingness to answer all of Leifsdottir’s questions of Altea, especially once Coran and Romelle return from finding dinner, flagrantly ignoring the rules of when they can be in the medical wing. Rizavi only encourages them all, hitting James’ chair the first time he gently reminds Leifsdottir they can visit again. It takes multiple frustrated nurses and Kinkade lifting Leifsdottir off the ground for them to escape, silencing Allura’s attempts to explain the Altean alphabet to Leifsdottir. Coran’s voice echoes through the closed door.

Leifsdottir’s repeating the symbols’ sounds to herself as they walk down the hall. Kinkade nods along. One day, an Altean or an unknown alien are going to accidentally reveal secrets to Kinkade, assuming his silence means ignorance. This nursery tune will come to haunt them all if Kinkade finds it worth mentioning.

“It’ll be a super quick visit, we promise! They deserve it, don’t they? Cooped up like this can’t be fun,” Rizavi chirps to a nurse on duty as they near Lance’s door. Sometimes you just need to sicc her on someone to save the rest of the team. James’ acknowledgement of this is why he’s team leader.

Besides, Veronica has tracked in over a dozen family members to see Lance, all loud exuberance and youthful love. The staff know half of the MFE don’t speak above a normal sound level most of the time. It’s fine.

Rivazi knocks and nudges Lance’s door open once he calls out. She immediately falls back against the door, shoe having slid against two bouncy balls. Numerous others litter the room’s floor. James isn’t going to be the one to ask.

Lance is cheerful, in good spirits. He dutifully answers all of Leifsdottir’s questions, ones gotten from Veronica, as if she hadn’t had breakfast in his room or darted over to see him in-between afternoon meetings.

He requests information on how Earth is recovering, gets excited watching the newest vids on the datapad James brought with their appropriate security clearance. It’s a good meeting, if brief.

“Hey, guys, before you go, can you help refill this for me?” Lance asks, reaching across his bedside table for a large circular container and gesturing to the balls on the floor. “Normally the balls bounce back but they spilled all over when my family visited. Veronica refused to help me,” Lance says the last part forlornly, like Veronica is a great source of sorrow.

James knows better after spending a war with her. “Why wouldn’t she help you?” This has to be a trap. From the corner of his eye, he notices Kinkade and Leifsdottir methodically fill the container with over a dozen balls the size of a fist.

Lance smiles back, and, if his throat wasn’t so sore, would likely try whistling and staring at the ceiling in a parody of innocence. “No idea. Guess she’s not used to indulging my every whim anymore. Oh thanks!” He says to Kinkade as he takes the container. Settling it on his lap, Lance grabs a green ball and tosses it lightly in the air. Cradling it against his palm, Lance pulls his arm back and throws the ball against the opposing wall. It is shockingly loud.

“Holy hell!” Rizavi screeches. Kinkade and Leifsdottir stare at the ball, watching it bounce back to Lance’s bed. Lunging over the side, he catches the ball, only to throw it again, the thump louder.

Veronica, James thinks as his team watches, did nothing to prepare them for her brother.

After three more tosses, the ball fails to come back, rolling under the bed. Kinkade lets it. He does not offer to pick it up.

The loss does nothing to stop Lance, who ferrets through the container for a blue ball, slightly larger than the last. Satisfied, he uses it to batter the other wall twice more.

“Why?” Rizavi finally breaks the ice to ask. James really wishes she didn’t. It’s a member of Team Voltron. It’s easier just to accept this sort of shit and focus elsewhere.

“You’ll see,” Lance replies brightly. “Hey, did anyone keep track of how many times I hit the wall?”

“Seven,” Leifsdottir offers. Considering they don’t have visual contact face to face during most of their exercises, they’ve all ignored James’ attempts to teach them morse code. Still, he blinks no in her direction.

“It was seven,” she repeats. That’s not the no he meant, if she actually knew what he was signaling.

“Huh. Wow. Okay. Better up my game,” Lance says, mainly to himself. James reaches for the container, thinking of Veronica and everything she doesn’t put him through.

He’s too slow.

Lance continuously clutches balls, only to toss them at the wall again and again.

“Why?” James tries. Kinkade subtly tries to peer at the medical documents at the foot of the bed. James prays it lists a concussion and that the defender of the universe’s fate isn’t like this all the time.

“You’re supposed to have seen.” Lance sounds confused, borderline mildly distraught. James thinks of excusing himself to call Veronica about her brother when the door swings open with a wild, harsh bang!

Katie Holt, clad in an oversized shirt and shorts, pushes past Kinkade, single-minded focus on Lance. One hand clutches a pillow. The other holds what appears to be a video game, but James doesn’t get more than a glance as she shoves them into Leifsdottir’s hands.

“I! Was! Trying! To! Sleep!” Each word is punctuated with a beat of her pillow against Lance’s prone form, and his muted, low groans. Finally, she rears back and hits him across the face, stunning him into silence and leaving the pillow on the bed.

“Excuse me. Sorry about this,” Katie says to Leifsdottir, seizing first the wires and connecting them to the television in the corner and then what is proven to be a game system, which she plugs into the wall.

While she’s been working on her electronic set up, Lance has moved on the bed, leaving her plenty of space and placing her pillow next to his hip. A second blanket has materialized out of nowhere. Katie climbs up, making herself comfortable in the bed. Stretching out, she hands Lance a controller, keeping the other for herself. When the game boots up, she wiggles a bit more, elevating the pillow and her head by resting it against Lance’s stomach.

James and his team watch in silence, glancing at each other for mutual confirmation that they’re the normal ones in terms of team dynamics.

“If you move on me during a boss fight again, I’ll choke you with the wires.” She’s not even looking at Lance, watching the pixels on the screen load.

“That was one time!” He complains, loudly.

“One time,” Rizavi mouths. They’re spectators now. James tilts his head toward the door, but it goes noticed by Lance.

“Veronica says Pidge is a nice girl and should be allowed to rest without me distracting her,” Lance tells them, answering a question James forgot he asked. “Veronica doesn’t know the truth.” He winces as an elbow gets him in a sensitive spot.  

“Hi guys. Sorry for interrupting. How are you feeling? Shiro told me none of you were injured but it’s nice to know for sure,” Katie Holt says, truly noting their presence in the room for the first time. James’ hand raises in a half wave, almost against his will.

“Everyone came out fine, thanks for asking,” James responds. “It’s nice to see you up. Do you need anything? We can talk to the staff on our way out.”

“A change of room,” she announces, brightly. Lance’s knee twitches in response, jolting her left arm up for a moment. She presses it back down as Lance sticks his tongue out at her.

“Technically, you’re no longer in your room,” Leifsdottir points out.

“Unfortunately,” Katie agrees, but it’s clear she’s content curled up here, Lance’s hand occasionally patting her hair.

Despite the regulations she’s breaking and the adamancy of the doctors to keep the paladins calm and medicated, James doesn’t think for a moment of reporting either of them. Katie stares him down all the same, her mother’s daughter, as if she doesn’t trust him not to walk out and rat them out to the first doctor he sees. Lance is busy making jovial remarks to Rizavi and Kinkade, but James knows the battlefield, knows the synergy of two people bonded. Lance is primed to respond in anger if Katie does, even if he doesn’t look it, seemingly distracted and happy.

He thinks of telling off Hunk, of the tension with Keith no one was prepared for. James understands this is a team of long memories.

“It was really kind of you guys to visit,” Lance says as Katie stops sizing him up, shifting to talk technology with Rizavi and Leifsdottir. It’s a silent tag team, and terrifying in its effectiveness.

“We should let you rest,” James decides. All but Rizavi, finally getting a chance to geek out, look ready to move on.

Kinkade agrees. “We still need to greet Hunk and Keith.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t think you’ll be able to tonight? Hunk had a long day and is asleep,” Katie tells them. Rizavi despairs.

“Wait, what? He couldn’t last for a little while longer?” Lance interjects.

“Hunk had Shay bring him two large sticks, so he and Keith have been using them to prop open their doors and shout across the halls at each other, so Hunk is exhausted between seeing his family and telling Keith all of their stories.”

“Did it put Keith to sleep?” James forces himself to feel nonchalance at her answer. This was a courtesy visit, and Keith the most injured of all the paladins by far. While the team has been awake for nearly a week, he’s only on his second day.

“No, but Shiro’s with him, and I know they haven’t gotten a chance to talk yet since he woke up,” Katie says, seemingly blase, but James catches her glance at him and then quickly look away to stare at the television.

“Captain’s here?” Kinkade asks.

Of course he is, James does not think.

“We all got a chance to see him. You might ask him about how Hunk’s doing during you meetings” Lance offers.

James takes the solution for the dismissal it is.

this will probably get added to a larger story I’m writing about James before, during, and after the war, but in case I cut it, I thought to at least share it with people who might like it.

let me know if you liked it/it seems ooc/have ideas or prompts

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #134

“i got detention ‘cuz i made a face; nobody believed me that it’s stuck that way.”

If you were to die today would your life be complete?  No. How good is Coca-Cola?  It's my second-favorite soda. Who was the last person you took a picture with?
  My niece Aubree <3 Do you have a bad temper? 
 No. Do you know anyone who is pregnant right now?
  One acquaintance, one old friend off the top of my head. Have you ever had someone pick you up off the ground and carry you?  Mom when I passed out. If you were in the hospital, do you think any of your exes would come see you?  Girt probably would, and he's the only one I wouldn't have a problem with visiting. If you were kicked out of your house, would the last person you texted take you in?  I'm sure they would, but it's more realistic I'd live with my dad. If you were immortal for a day, what would you do?  Skydive. What fictional place would you most like to go to?  Yo can I go to Azeroth. Who has impressed you most with what they’ve accomplished?  UHHHHHH.  I'm honestly not quite sure.  But Mark is like super high on the list, if not #1.  I'm not well-informed on a lot of people's accomplishments lajsfdaowe. What’s something you like to do the old-fashioned way?  Hmmmm.  Good question. What is one thing you really want but can’t afford?  Lmao dude I want so many expensive things atm. What is the most impressive thing you know how to do?  I almost snorted reading this question because like do you honestly expect something impressive of me.  I... guess I understand Sony Vegas well? What are some of the turning points in your life?  Uhhhh meeting my ex, the divorce, discovering my passion for photography, the breakup, re-uniting with Dad, r e c o v e r y. What’s your cure for hiccups?  NOTHING.  NOTHING WORKS. Don’t you think it’d be cool to see a colossal squid?  FUCKING NOPE THEY ARE SPAWNS OF THE NIGHTMARE REALM. What kind of steak do you prefer?  When I ate meat, I liked medium well. Has anyone ever cheated on their significant other with you?  Yes, allow me to (not) tell you about my stupid 12-year-old self. Are you fascinated by outer space?  *cue the Mark "Space is Cool" mix* Do you answer your phone when it’s a number you don’t recognize? Never. When washing your hands, do you wet your hands or put soap on first?  Put the soap on. When was the hardest you ever cried? What was the circumstance?  The night of the breakup.  I had left the house to walk to Jason's, and Mom got in the car and kept driving in front of me to stop me (I was too practically catatonic to run).  Eventually gave up, she drove me home, and when she opened the door, it was my goal to run to the kitchen and slit my throat, but the moment I made the action to run, she pretty much tackled me and I sobbed my lungs out for like 30 minutes.  Fuck that entire night. Who were your last 3 Facebook messages from and what do they say?  "lol but hey thats the world we live in lol well goodnight honey and i hope to speak to u again" from Leslie, "How quaint O:" from Girt, "Its okay :)" from Amanda. Who was the last person to comment on your Facebook status? What does the comment say?  Sara saying "YEP" when I shared a picture of straight people dating versus lesbians and it was spot-on. Which do you use the most, smiley faces, kisses or hearts?  Faces, probs. Do you like sweet or salty popcorn? Ohhhh both.  But I've gotta side with salty. Have you ever had to put your hand over someone’s mouth to keep them quiet?  Once. Have you ever fed a wild animal?  Yes. The last time you packed, where were you going?  Sara's. Do you believe in astrology?  Definitely not. Do you have an accent?  Not really, but you can pick up a southern tone with some words.  Example, my "your" sounds more like "yer," usually. Has someone ever made you a Build-A-Bear?  No. Do you sing in the shower?  I have been a tad bit lately...  I used to never. Are you satisfied with your current camera? My phone camera is SHIT, and I need a new actual camera.  55-200mm lens is broken, the other one's automatic focus setting is and I'm not great at manual focus. Have you ever been in a choir?  In Catholic church, yes. Does it bother you to have dirt on the bottom of your bare feet?  Y E S Has anyone ever told you that you have a big butt?  I literally have the flattest ass of any female you'll ever meet. Do you often skip breakfast? Pretty much daily now, yeah.  I'm fasting and don't eat until 11, so breakfast's passed. Last person who drove you somewhere (besides your parents)? Nicole. Who last grabbed your behind?  I'm sure it was Chelsea being her crazy self. Do you eat raw cookie dough?  Yeah dukes up salmonella. Do you watch Grey’s Anatomy?  No. Would you survive in prison?  No.  I would find one way or another to kill myself. Do you drink? Smoke? Do drugs? Why, or why not?  Rarely, no, no.  I drink usually in celebratory settings to loosen up some and sometimes just because I like the flavor of weak, fruity alcohol.  Smoking's gross, drugs are ew. What was the first cigarette you ever smoked?  Never smoked. Are you scared about the end of the world?  If I'mma be in it, hell yeah.  But it's not something I actively worry about because I don't think it'll happen in my lifetime. Do you prefer landmarks or street names when being given directions?  Landmarks.  I don't know street names for shit. Do you read the prologues in the beginnings of books?  Yes. Where is one place that you’d never be caught dead in?  Never be caught dead in, ever... uhhhh... nothing's coming to mind right now.  Oh wait.  Probably a strip club. Apple Jacks: yay or nay?  YAY. Do you have a favorite Scooby-Doo movie?  Yeah, but I don't remember which one. ;-;  It's that one where the girl says her name is Mary Jane and Shaggy goes, "That's, like, my favorite name."  Totally went over my head as a kid lmao. Have you ever met a guy for coffee?  No, I hate coffee anyway. Who is your pet most attached to in your family?  Teddy's most attached to me, I'm the only one who has any physical contact with Venus and she trusts me, Bentley is bonded with Mom, and Mitsu is still apprehensive of anyone. Does the last person you shared a bed with mean anything to you?  The whole world and more. What do you normally do when you’ve had a really bad day?  Cry, have a shit attitude occasionally, a nap is common, talk to Sara, binge my favorite Markiplier videos. When is the next time you will wear a dress?  Hm.  Maybe this summer if I'm confident enough in my body by then lmao. On the main page on YouTube, what’re the three recommended videos? 8-BitGaming beating SCP: Containment Breach, a DanAndPhilGAMES video of Golf With Friends, and then an 8-BitRyan vid of the full release of Raft. Do you know anyone from Canada? Yeah, my former roommate's ex. Are thongs sexy? Yeah, but oml I know I couldn't wear one. Did you grow up in a healthy environment? I wouldn't say "healthy," no.  My dad was an alcoholic at the time, parents always fought, and our neighborhood was dangerous. Heavy rain or heatwave? Heavy rain, easily.  Fuck the heat. You have a choice to shoot your father or die, what would you do?  I hate these damn questions, but I'd rather die.  My father deserves the longest and happiest life possible without the betrayal of his daughter. If killing yourself meant saving the world, would you?  Yeah.  It's a lose-lose situation for me; if I didn't, I'd still die if the world's gonna end. Who knows your most darkest memory or secret?  Jason and Mom should know, and whoever read those specific surveys. Who was the last person you almost went out with?  Meh.  Juan.  We talked and hung out once in... late 2016 I think and I was pretty confused as to how I felt about him.  Meanwhile, he hasn't kept it a secret in the least he's liked me since freshman year.  He's always treated me like a gentleman should, but I know the dark and disgusting parts of him.  Glad I decided against it. The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, or The Beatles?  Stones. What does your grandma call you?  Just my name. And what do you call your grandmother?  Grammy. Would you rather have a pool or a hot tub?  Pool. Do you think ‘everything bagels’ are disgusting?  No, but I have to be in the mood for one. Do you find serial killers fascinating?  I wouldn't call them as a whole fascinating, but what has to be going on in their brains to create such grotesque desires and creativities. Do you have high blood pressure?  No. Have you ever pumped gas?  No.  I'm 22 btw lmao. Have your parents ever caught you drinking?  I mean Mom's seen me with a drink when she didn't know I'd gotten one, but I wouldn't call it "caught" since I'm allowed to and I made no effort to make it secretive. Do you prefer writing by hand or typing? Typing.  Writing makes my carpal tunnel act up quickly, and besides, typing's way faster. Think of one of the biggest decisions you've had to make in your life. If you made a different choice, how different would your life be now?  Panicking and telling Mom when I overdosed.  I took way more than what I should've taken of a cold medicine I can't even look at now, but I don't think it would've killed me based on how I felt, but then again, the fluids or whatever I got to purge it could've saved me; however, I feel like I would've killed myself through another method if I didn't tell her.  It all led to the psychiatric care I needed. Have you ever taken a course on CPR?  No, but I should. Do you wear a watch? No, I don't even own one. When are you at your most energetic? A little after waking up.  Just gotta get over the initial drowsiness. Do you like playing cards? If so, what's your favorite game?  I don't really enjoy card games.  I liked Magic: The Gathering tho when I was with Jason, but I wasn't that good at it considering it's got like a billion rules.  I'd still play with someone who knew how to, though.  I loooove the PS3 version that was made for it, it was much easier and I found it relaxing.  And I adore the artwork like jfc. What are your parents’ natural hair colors? What is yours?  Extremely dark brown, black, dirty blonde but turned to brown. How do you react to random strangers suddenly trying to make conversation with you?  I get nervous. Do you like Slim Jims?  YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS MAMA. Have you ever been in a castle? The Disney World castle, if that counts? Would you rather write a mystery or love story? A love story. Are you afraid of getting shots?  No.  I don't like them, but. What do you currently hear?  "Pour Some Sugar On Me" cover by Ninja Sex Party. What’s one text that you saved?  Two texts from Sara that I love way too much. Have you ever cut your own hair?  No. What’s your favorite color combination? Probably orange and black bc Halloween. Did you share a locker at school? No. Have you ever sang karaoke?  No. How old were you when you went on your first date?  Huh, I dunno.  Just the guy and myself?  Probably dinner with Jason at 16? Has anyone besides your family seen you naked? Yeah. Would you rather have strep throat or an ear infection?  Holy fuck, after my last ear infection?  Strep. Where was your first job?  GameStop. Have you ever been to a night club? No. Do all good things really come to an end?  No, not all. How many people do you trust with your life?  Three. Are you too kind for your own good?  Don't think so. Have you ever held a baby? Yeah. What's your favorite '90s TV show?  The Nanny. What are you favorite book series? Warriors. Favorite superheroes?  I know he's technically an anti-hero, but does Deadpool still count?  If not, uh.  Batman I guess. Would people consider you more immature or mature? Mature, probably. Would you say most of your friends are older or younger than you?  Younger. If you have a significant other, do you get jealous of people a lot? She knows I was insecure as fuck in the beginning.  Now, nope. Who was your best friend in the fifth grade?  Ummm I think Quiata? Do your parents still help you financially?  I don't have a job.  So. Have either of your parents ever been in trouble with the law? Don't think so. Do you have a preferred brand of bottled water?  Essentia.  Thanks for not having it, NC. Are you more prone to overthinking things, or being too impulsive?  Hunny I overthink if I have to pee or not if it's not a massive need. How bad are your worst cramps on a scale of 1-10? Eh, maybe just a seven thanks to the pill. Have you ever thrown up from cramps?  No. List three people you had a hard time forgiving.  JASON, Dad, Mom multiple times. Who was your first celebrity crush?  Jesse McCartney. If applicable, what form of birth control do you use?  The pill.  But it's for cramps. Are you happy with your gender?  Yeah. What gender do you identify as?  Female. What gender were you born as? Female. Have you ever gotten high off a prescription medication?  No. Have you ever used a tampon?  Yeah. How old were you when your parents talked to you about puberty?  I don't think it's something we ever properly "talked" about, but rather indirectly when Mom taught me how to shave and told me when to start wearing a bra. How many people have you known who were suicidal?  Sadly, I think MOST people I know/most friends. What's your favorite pain reliever? Advil. Who has the cutest baby/babies you know? My nephew is literally the cutest child I have EVER seen. Do you have a lot of people blocked on Facebook? Actually yes, but most because Mom instructed me to block them when I was younger.  A few are of my own volition. What color is your razor/shaver?  Orange and white. What's your boyfriend/girlfriend's sisters name? She doesn't have any sisters. Do you like the sound of violins?  YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. Would you be interested in going on a blind date?  Even if I was single, no. If you formed an unhealthy habit, would it be smoking or drinking? Oh boy, idk.  I think an alcohol addiction is more dangerous, but smoking has disgusting consequences. Have you ever bought a video game expansion pack? No. Do you wish YouTube had been around when you were a kid?  Nah.  I wouldn't want the risk of an earlier technology addiction. Do you remember preschool?  Yes. What color(s) was your backpack in high school?  Browns and black.  It was a Ouija board design. What health conditions do you have?  Physically, baaad dry scalp, dry af skin in general, inactive MRSA.  I've been over my mental ones enough. Have you ever collected seashells at the beach?  Yeah. Did you ever take dance lessons?  Yeah, for many years. If you took dance lessons, what was your favorite style of dance?  Modern. Have you ever worn a tutu? No. What was your favorite vacation that you went on as a child?  Disney World. Have you ever had braces?  Yeah. What is your favorite photo editing site? (or what do you use?) I don't use editing sites.  I use Photoshop, Lightroom, or PhotoScape. How many times did you take your driver's test?  I haven't yet.

[everydayispurple]

Lust comes in many forms here in Hollywood, as well as out there beyond the Tinsel where it’s a tad more… normal? You’ve got your sexual lust, power lust, wanderlust, object lust, lust for intimacy, lust for that which dare not speak its name, follower lust, lost youth lust, future lust, pornographic lust, biblical lust, virtual lust. Anyway you skin it, though, lust is interestingly something wholly contained to our own psyche. It has no antecedent, no binary, only fractal likenesses spreading out over history, the now, and the speculative future. Sure, two lusters may collide between the sheets following a plastics convention in Islamabad, around a hearty bowl of moqueca de camarao in a Bahian resort, or a ’67 Porsche 911 in Pebble Beach. But what’s to say these individuals’ lust for the other’s body, the soup, the auto, is equivocal, let alone measurable? No, lust, in its rawest form, is something we must repress, exercise, weigh, or value entirely on our own.

Consider the new record from superstar, Lana Del Rey: Lust for Life. When considering, might we assume this particular “lust” to have some corrupted layer to it? Some sort of invasive, or melancholic, or alienating undertone? Something mysterious?* Why might we? Well, because those are the sort of insinuations we tend to foist upon the Lana Del Rey we’ve come to know, or presume we know, over the last near decade, be it through the multitudinous, oft-confounded media halo around her, or perhaps our own desire for her to personally fulfill on some of the themes bandied about her discography. Lana Del Rey is mentally unwell. Lana Del Rey is violence-obsessed. Lana Del Rey is lost in an abandoned era. Lana Del Rey is… happy? “I think I was feeling happy that I was present, and not afraid in a way that I couldn’t enjoy my everyday things,” the musician says of the new record’s title, sat in blue jeans, cross-legged on the floor of a Chateau Marmont hotel suite, enjoying French fries and a Diet Coke on a balmy, breezy Friday afternoon. “I’m the kind of person that really loves those things. Like when I drive, I love every road, and I can’t believe that I’m in L.A. I love the architecture, grabbing a coffee, striking up conversation with the people I encounter. And I hate when I can’t enjoy the little things because in the back of my head I have concerns or preoccupations. So for me, it was that sort of lust for life. It was kind of just about happiness.”

Are we ok with that? Can we appreciate a lust from Grammy-nominated Del Rey if it’s not tortured or muddied, glass eyed, drowning in itself? Can this fifth full-length follow previous efforts with titles like Born to Die (2012) or Ultraviolence (2014) with calm, with appreciation for the light and the trees and the way our foamy cappuccino looks so god damned beautiful? It doesn’t really matter, for we’ll never know this lust’s exactitude as I suggest above, and that’s ok. And anyway, nothing is more undefinable or elusive than happiness. What does matter is that the songs on the record possess an incredible richness in production, there’s some excellent and legendary guests on a few tracks, and from the artist’s point of view, a kind of carving down in scope, what I’ll venture to call a distinct maturation in her oeuvre. “The record has fewer dimensions,” she remarks. “But they’re more beautiful than in the past. I had no idea that would make it easier to talk about.” Has this ease with discussing the content perhaps coincided with a sort of softening, or openness toward her in the arenas of public or journalistic reception? “I feel that,” she says thoughtfully. “And it’s helped me be more open as well. Because it’s hard to talk about your innermost feelings if you feel the reception will be cold. And I hung back for a while. I did a handful of interviews, but not many in the last few years. But also I was writing and writing, and digging through stuff, and not writing things as easy to digest or discuss. It still comes from me, but as I’ve evened out as a person, I don’t have as much I don’t want to say. I feel comfortable.”

Comfortable could describe the carefree roost Del Rey and fellow pop success, The Weeknd, take atop the “H” of the iconic Hollywood sign in the title track music video for Lust for Life, which shares its name with a seminal record from another pop chameleon – Iggy Pop – and is released a few days before our sit down. The treatment is surreal and campy, almost goofy, in a manner that decadently rams home this happy sentiment, this appreciation for the minute to minute. The two sweetly croon about taking off one another’s clothes, but remain fully and stylishly swaddled, canonically perched up there above us all, as if a second set of lovers might be drifting on some paddle boat below through the “O,” only to be serenaded into an amorous spell before vanishing into the night. The video ends with Del Rey overtaking the frame, batting her signature lashes before a sort of cat-ate-the-canary-like smile spreads over her face and all succumbs to darkness.

An evening out as a person. Ironic then, and downright fun, that while this evening out of Del Rey’s personal temperament has found its sonic outlet – refined and leaner – the artist steps into the cosmically perverse, rehearsed, and beautiful universe of celebrated artist David LaChapelle. Here, instead of playing Lana Del Rey for her cover shoot, which we’ve chiefly only ever seen, she embodies everyone else. Their lust, their dreams, their encumbering. The singer enlivens her Instagram geotag “Hollyweird” with some proper role playing.

“Da-vid La-Chapelle. Whoa. Da-vid La-Chapelle,” Del Rey says breathily, demonstrably dropping her jaw, while recounting her 14 hour photo shoot with the art photographer. Yes, David LaChapelle: that scramble-slinging riot boy of the Wild West, whose pumped petrol from Pepsi cans, breast milk from dad bands, and inimitable flair from celebrity after celebrity, all of course while flooding museums and arming utopianistas, while whirling through fame and hurt and photo sets and inward plunges and friends and cities and applause. Da-vid La-Chapelle. And fittingly, one of the more influential molders of modern lust, and in particular Hollywood lust, all prismatic and decadent, of the last 50 years.

“I just couldn’t believe it,” Del Rey says. “Because I always make things really hard to work, because I don’t want to talk that much. So I had defiantly said to someone, ‘Don’t ask me unless David LaChapelle is shooting it.’ And then I get a call from Stephen Huvane [a partner in Slate PR], and he’s like ‘David LaChapelle is shooting it and you’re going to do it.’ So when I got to his studio, which is like a few blocks from my house, I was blown away. He’s amazing. And he thinks big picture, and different picture, and textures, and he doesn’t want to do a simple portrait right now because that’s not where he is in his life. And I’m the same way. I don’t want to make a pop record if I’m feeling more acoustic, for instance. And so he’s very true to his own space. There’s not that many people that I would follow into the unknown, so to speak, but with him, I would probably do most of what he suggested.”

I speak to LaChapelle over the phone. He’s just had lunch with his staff at his Hollywood studio, and no, he “doesn’t want to” discuss the process behind Del Rey’s photos technically, or even creatively – save to say that he’s happy with the images. When questioned why he determined to create the cover story, given he so rarely creates editorial images for magazines anymore in light of global exhibitions and museum showings, he remarks, “I have had a relationship with Flaunt for a long time. Lana’s a down-to-earth person. I like her writing. I saw her show at the Hollywood Bowl, and really liked the music, and that inspired the concept and ideas for the photos. Lana was interested in the artistic angle, not a promotional angle, which I really liked. Much more interested in creating art than promoting something.”

A couple weeks back, on set at LaChapelle’s studio, upon Del Rey’s arrival, he points to a handful of easels containing perhaps 15 vintage photographs, blown up large, the pixels swelling. These nostalgic, quotidian moments are today’s creative template. The content? There’s your requisite, slightly tilted living room snap where subjects stare stonily at a television, taken from an adjacent La-Z-Boy. There’s vacations to national parks. There’s weddings. There’s piss ups. There’s youth and death and that gray, cumbersome in-between period where we mutate as far as we can from either end, only to return fundamentally unaltered. It’s all very American, very pastoral, archetypes piled atop clichés, atop Heartland mores. At the bottom of the centered easel is an August haze-soaked summer camp scene of your requisite teepees, oak trees, and some white guy in profile sporting an American Indian-style headdress. Having this particular morning all witnessed Pepsi’s whitewashed plunge into the hellfire of failed advertising with their now retracted Kendall Jenner spot [which pretty inarguably suggested the Black Lives Matter or Women’s March movements viable plot points for Pepsi as Great Equalizer], concern is raised over cultural appropriation and the risks run. LaChapelle considers the concern, but shakes his head and supplies, “It’s not appropriation. You’re just playing a character.”

True. Playing a character is borrowing or homage, whereas appropriation could be said to mean taking and using without permission. And in the case of Pepsi: bastardization, insensitivity, myopia. In her videos, it could be said that Del Rey has stepped into a variety of self-representations, or roles, and this adventure into the unknown with Mr. LaChapelle certainly demonstrates her chameleon-like aptitude for character making on photo sets. Still, she shares the unfamiliarity and challenges for her in extending this to song.

Notably, there is a track on Lust for Life, recorded with Sean Lennon, a layered and playful number that explores, among other things, John Lennon and Yoko Ono – a canonical deity of lust and artistry if ever there was – that sees Del Rey refreshingly step outside her own paradigm. “I felt like it belonged to someone else,” she says of the single, “Tomorrow Never Came.” “And I never feel that, because I like to keep everything for myself. I thought it might be strange for Sean to sing a song about John and Yoko as well. But I think the fact that I sing, ‘Isn’t life crazy now that I’m singing with Sean.’ It points to the fact that we’re both aware. I didn’t want it to come out exploitative in any fashion. Not that it would. Still, I wanted to be as careful as possible. I wanted it to come across layered with this sort of meta narrative mixed in. In a way it’s a song about a song.”

I speak over the phone to Lennon, currently in New York, who originally received a very simple version of the song from Del Rey with only her vocals, guitar, and an organ. “To me,” he shares, “Ninety-nine percent of what is magical about that song was already contained in her original vocal performance. I felt like it was my job to simply highlight and accentuate what was already there in her voice and melody, and in her lyrics. Everything I played was merely ornamental, like tailoring a ballroom gown on an already stunning woman: the only way to mess up is if you take away from or disguise the beauty that is already there.”

Considering the lineage in the song and their first collaboration together, I ask Lennon what he learned from the experience. “She has exceptional taste,” he remarks. “I told her that working on her song was a valuable lesson since I often modulate and take unintuitive chordal and melodic twists and turns, and she reminded me that you can be perhaps even more compelling if the melodies and chords feel natural and intuitive, not contrived or disorienting as in my music. Anyway I’ll never forget when she called me after I sent her what I did and her first words were ‘It’s perfect!’ I almost cried with joy because I honestly don’t think anyone has ever said that to me about anything I’ve ever done. It was a very good feeling.”

Beyond the meta-awareness of the lyrics and rich instrumentation [Lennon added “acoustic six- and 12-string guitar, electric guitar, lap steel, upright bass, vibraphone, harpsichord, orchestra bells, drums, and Mellotron strings, and shaker”], a particularly resonant lyric repeats itself a handful of times: You weren’t in the spot you said to wait. I ask Del Rey if there are running themes of stasis or waiting elsewhere on the record. “I think that’s why I felt that of anything on the record, that wasn’t my song,” she considers. “I didn’t feel like I was waiting for anything. It’s really not about anything personally, except that I love the sonics of it; the filters. I try to be as careful as I can that I’ll want to sing stuff on stage that I write. And that song will be an easy one to do because it doesn’t pull at any heartstrings or anything. And I know it’s special to Sean as well, because he’s his dad’s biggest fan. And so I like that, in a small way, they had a moment, in whatever surreal way that could happen.”

And so with maturity, and the cool calm that Del Rey has amassed, five albums later, she’s able to play someone else, it seems, in song. But like she mentioned, that was a step outside the norm. And I’m not sure the world is all too ready for that anyway. Earlier, as Del Rey arrived in the lobby of the Chateau, we shared a hug and swapped some chit chat while her surprisingly young and surprisingly English manager, Ben Mawson, secured a suite for our interview. Mawson, returning, mentioned his ambitions to visit a mystic in Santa Barbara, smoothly coaxed Del Rey’s cars keys to do so from her reluctant hands (like any accomplished manager ought), and left us and his tab in a stylish puff of smoke as the singer and I strolled toward the elevators. We’re welcomed by a member of the Chateau’s attractive staff, who shares some familiar sweetness with Del Rey, and enters the elevator with us. After some run of the mill small talk regards Del Rey’s new L.A. home of which the staffer has some knowledge, the singer in turn asks how things have been at the Chateau, the Hollywood fixture for celeby notables, bolognese bowls, and rabbit holes. “Oh you know,” the woman remarks. “Things change out there in the world, but here, they stay the same.”

The change out there in the world has indeed been pretty seismic. Accordingly, you have my personal favorite track on the record, “God Bless America,” an unbridled spanker of a song that’s title refrain is followed by, “And all the beautiful women in it”—that’s instantly echoing through your melon and one in which Del Rey remarks, “Yeah, I went there.” She describes the song, of which Mawson shared earlier his reluctance to release as a single, given the tendency of Del Rey to net the mentioned public polarization, “It has some strong messaging,” she says nodding. “Some iconography, with Lady Liberty, fire escapes and the streets, and I do get a little New York feel when I listen back to it.” I tell her the song feels grandiose in production, anthemic in verse… very New York in fact, a sparkling pile of empire and accomplishment. And while New York (and its banks) have churned out the free world leader and a boys club not so concerned about everyone therein being blessed, moreover the “beautiful women in it”—reminding us that grandiosity has its pitfalls—“God Bless America” could easily ascend the ladder as a 2017 rally cry.

I ask her if she feels the appropriative nature of the song title may stir any pots of sorts.”Well, it’s the God word,” she says measuredly. “But the phrase has wider meaning. It’s more of a sentiment. When I wrote it I didn’t feel like it was confined to a traditional portrait of the Lord, as some sects might see it. It was more like, ‘Fucking God bless us all and let’s hope we make it through this.’ She further explains the genesis, “When all the Women’s Marches were happening, I had already written this song, because I had been hearing a lot of things online. And I have a sister, and a lot of girlfriends, who had a lot of concerns about things that were being said in the media by some of our leaders. And I saw an instant reaction from women, and I was like, ‘Wow. There is no confusing how women are feeling about the state of the nation.’ And so without really trying to, I felt compelled to just write a song and say we are all concerned. And it really made me think about my relationship with women. And I felt proud of myself, because I do love the women in my life. And I take care of them, and I ask them what they think about music, and guys, and problems, and I thought it was so cool that I’m really right there in the same boat with them. And sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I feel like I’ve got my finger right on the pulse of what’s going on, and then some of my music comes out and it’s like, ‘Fuck, that was a miss. Fuck, that’s not what people feel, at all. But with this, I was right there with everyone.”

Considering the caution from management around the track, I ask Del Rey if the potentiality for rib kicks, or what have you, is particular to her, not just someone famous. Does she feel she’s been on the receiving end of a sort of media lust? A presumptive, dutiful debunking of myths? “Perhaps,” Del Rey considers. “Or the journalists don’t have enough going on personally andthey feel like their contribution to current culture is myth building. It’s either one. It’s a broad mix. And I’ll definitely take accountability for how my energy has informed a lot of not true stories. But 50% of that has just been someone’s personal agenda.” Still, despite the pricks and pokes over time, Del Rey does feel the media is incredibly important and worth fighting for at the moment. “That’s why I do love journalists,” she says, “when they’re not assholes, because writers are critical thinkers. They’re people who think it’s important to have conversation, and conversation can lead to change.”

I’d agree: the fundamental purpose of media is to present the facts and propel conversation. That, of course, has been tossed into the bullshit blender of late; a corrupted election, orchestrated intel leaks, and in turn media’s brandishing “the enemy of the people” by the venal and orange President Trump, has the press in a pretty gobsmacked, beleaguered position. So ass over heels that even the governing party’s own Fox News mascot, Bill O’Reilly, has finally been ousted for sexually pawing and verbally gnawing on women whom his employers have considerably paid off over the years to keep hush. It’s a mess out there, right or left or between. “I feel like this election jolted almost everyone who was floating around, feeling weird, whatever… right into the current moment,” Del Rey says. “I know several people that had a sort of drifter mentality that are now in the thick of it, considering things, and considering their own contributions, and what matters. I’ve known what matters to me for a long time, so I was already kind of there, but I didn’t really see it going this negatively. I feel like we’re in a bit of a Hitchcockian experience, and you’re in a scenario, and every day you wake up and you can’t believe the things being said and done are real. And I think some people are questioning if this shit is actually happening, like especially with the North Korea issues, which are really the scariest because you’re talking about nuclear annihilation.”

The world is in an extraordinarily tenuous place. And while it could be said, certainly for the sake of this piece, the earliest seedlings of civilization were wrought with lust for power, we are, it seems, at somewhat of a tipping point. On the topic of the Women’s March, I share a video of the protests in Caracas, Venezuela, where some two million people were marching that morning against President Nicolás Maduro, dozens of whom were reported killed by police or government backing loyalists. I remark that the collectivist, community-making nature of protest could perhaps only be likened to the power of song. Is there anything on the record that explores this swell of community-making here and around the world at present? She considers. “Well, I have a song that’s quite aware about the collective worry, about whether this is the end of an era. It’s called “When the world was at war we kept dancing.” But I actually went back and forth about keeping it on the record, because I didn’t want it there if it would make people feel worse instead of better. It’s not apathetic. The tone of the production is very dark, and doesn’t lead to a fucking happy feeling. And the question it poses: Is this the end of America, of an era? Are we running out of time with this person at the helm of a ship? Will it crash? In my mind, the lyrics were a reminder not to shut down or shut off, or just don’t talk about things. It was more like stay vigilant and keep dancing. Stay awake.”

Given the pace and intensity of the environment in our surrounds of which the artist speaks, I point out that there are still moments on the record that feel lonely, or lost in expectancy, far from active. I cite a lyric: “We get all dressed up to go nowhere in particular.” Del Rey shares that she’d had a phone call with a friend earlier that day, about their personal lives, their music, and she states that he too raised that when talking about artistic stall as a demonstration of stasis. She disagreed with him. “It wasn’t about stasis. I meant that you don’t need to have anything to do to get dressed up and feel special.”

We live in a culture where pressure and precedent abound, one in which women are constantly challenged with not feeling special based on their body, their skin color, their age, their social position, their follower count. Does she agree? “It’s more like we just don’t have as much cultural practice at taking the time to appreciate ourselves for who we really are,” she says. “We spend a lot of time when the nation was founding building government, money, and then getting the education system down, so it’s not like some cultures where you take time to mediate, et cetera, on your own dreams, wishes, self worth. I think it’s not enough practice. It’s not like they teach you that in school. But I think that that’s changing too. That’s actually a lot of what the record is about. Even in “God Bless America”… ‘Take me as I am, don’t see me for what I’m not… Only you can save me tonight.’ It’s about seeing people: what they’re actually doing. Who they actually are.”

In that sense, Del Rey is championing the same values as her influential predecessors, few and far as they may be, or as bamboozled by the power systems in which they thrived. Consider “Beautiful People,” where she trades verses and coalesces on the chorus with the one and only Stevie Nicks, of whom I refer to as a bonafide badass. “I didn’t know what to except or that I could even ask her, Del Rey remarks. “When I went through ideas of women that could really add something to the record, she was the one we kept coming back to. ‘Bonafide badass’ is a great phrase for her. She’s really real. And she’s still fucking touring, which baffles me. There are so few women doing that. You’ve got Courtney Love, who works, sings, tours… there’s not that many women who were making music in the ’70s or ’80s who still make music. It really is pretty crazy.”

We’ve been speaking for a little over an hour. I return to a conversation we’d briefly shared on the photo shoot regards this, Flaunt’s music issue, and its theme (“heartbreak”), determined before we’d secured Del Rey as our cover subject. She’d been briefed on this by her publicity team and was admittedly wary about aligning. Again, that embodiment dilemma. Appropriation? Role playing? “Everything I’ve done in the last two years,” she says with confidence, “I would never say anything that wasn’t true. Even in the music. That’s why I was nervous about me being on the cover, and in big font “The Heartbreak Issue” because the thing is, I don’t feel heartbroken. So I didn’t want to continue a narrative that didn’t apply to me. Because the only person who truly cares about whether I continue that narrative, or any, is me. So I have to do my due diligence. And it doesn’t always work, but I’ll be damned if I don’t fucking try.”

Del Rey is indeed expected to carry her narratives, whether they’re isolated in meaning to her or not. It comes with the territory I suppose. Perhaps the reason the public has not allowed her persona the room it allots to certain other celebrities to role play is because it conversely feels her not a role player, but an appropriator. Not of cultural identities, or pivotal historic movements, ethnic/religious/nationalistic identities, but of emotions. Did Lana Del Rey, for instance, scoop up the proliferate sentiment of feeling forlorn when she broke out in 2008 while the economy was breaking down? Why if she sings about manipulation are we assumed she’s manipulating or manipulated? Why if she sings about getting dressed up for no reason but to feel special does one imagine her at home, dressed up, going nowhere? Does someone who writes and sings so pointedly and consistently about love defy its fundamentally inarticulable nature? Is this love borrowed or stolen? From us? From whom? How can we tell? Why can some musicians sing about all sorts of shit, and everyone grants them the concession to do so. Why does Lana have to be her music? Some would argue it’s this collision of singer/songwriter—of whom we expect to sing from the experiences of the heart—with that of pop queen, whom we expect to sing about and for us. Others might speculate that Del Rey’s aim is true, that her heart is her guiding light, that this is more than music. And finally, others might suggest that’s the responsibility of art; to cull from emotions everywhere, permission or non, and distill into something accessible. “I know a couple of people who love to write,” she says as we’re collecting ourselves to leave the hotel room, “and love to rhyme, love melodies, and I do too. But to me it’s so much more than that. It feels like a life’s work and it feels like it’s really important just to me, so I put a lot of time into it.”

A lust for life, and whatever you make of it. And what Del Rey is making of it is music; earned and owned up to, as the world continues to take from us and we from it. We walk to the balcony and open the French windows. A web of canopies drape the Chateau’s garden courtyard restaurant, bustling with late lunches and tea service. We remark that beneath these canopies, it can feel so glamorous, so suspended. From up here, though, you see it’s just industrial plastic, mildly in need of a good dirt rinse, the patrons beneath it smudged out like those who didn’t sign the waiver in a reality TV dance, playing a role, all but recognizable.

* Some adjectives describing Del Rey in recent international journalism include: a) “a confounding mystery” – Brian Hiatt. “18 Things You Learn After Two Long Days with Lana Del Rey,” Rolling Stone, June 24, 2014. b) “mysterious and much-debated.” – Sean Hennessy. “Ice Breaker,” GQ, October 6t, 2011. c) “Is this the mysterious Lana Del Rey? –  Natasha Stagg. “Lana Del Rey: Wild at Heart,” Dazed, April 17, 2017. d) “a paradox” – Barry Walters. “Darkness Comes Alive: The Paradox of Lana Del Rey,” NPR, June 20, 2014. e) “married her music to a mysterious image.” – Paul Harris. “The Strange Story of the Star Who Rewrote Her Past,” The Guardian, January 21, 2012. f) “weirdly shamanistic” – Bruce Wagner. “Lana Del Rey on Why Her Pop Stardom ‘Could Easily Not Have Happened’,” Billboard, October 22, 2015.

Written by Matthew Bedard Photographer: David LaChapelle. Stylist: Brett Alan Nelson for The Only Agency. Hair: Anna Cofone for The Wall Group. Makeup: Pamela Cochrane for Bridge Artists. Styling Assistants: Tony Devoney and Richie Garcia.

[midiaryofus]

Part 2 of why I said I don’t see a future with you..

January 25th 2018

The last post, it seemed more on a loving note. But there is a negative side, to why I said I don’t see a future.

The first reason is simply. We’re different. We want different things.

To you, it’s normal and completely fine to go three days without texting a girlfriend type person.

I used to be afraid, of my flaws and admiring them. But now, I’m like, “yeah I’m a judgmental bitch”. And I don’t care. I’m a judgmental bitch, and you’ll fully agree with me on that later on in this post.

Everybody wants different things in a relationship. I’ve been in enough to know what I do and don’t want.

And after being in so many effed up relationships..I •need• consistency.

I’m an understanding person. I can understand someone who has a busy schedule. But in a relationship, I need someone who can spend time with me. It really bothers me that we’re almost at the 2 year mark, but haven’t watched a single movie, tv show, anything together. We haven’t done so many relationshipy type stuff. It bothers me.

(we've still never watched a full movie. We've only watched like 20 minutes of the kissing booth together in Sept 2018 -this commented added -feb 2021)

In my fantasy’s, you hold me, you want to. You don’t yell at me. You look at me like I’m the person you love. You think I’m amazing. You can’t image being with anyone else. You feel so deeply about me. You match my own feelings for you. You hold me so tightly that the broken pieces of my heart get pushed back together.

In reality: you don’t. You don’t talk to me. You don’t want to be with me. You don’t think I’m amazing. You think I’m a waste of time. You don’t say anything flirty when I send dirty pics.

Last night

(This is the part where you call me a judgmental bitch).

I watched porn. It was just a video on the main page. Usually I just watch a guy and a girl doing it. That’s pretty much all I’ve been watching since we’ve gotten close. Because when I watch that stuff I think about you.

So I was watching it, and the guy in it, he’s the type of guy I fall for.

He said “I don’t get off first, I’m a gentleman”. And to that I just laughed but yeah that’s really good of a guy, to let a girl go first. But anyway, I started to see his personality and liked more of what I saw. I ended up going back to the start of the video, and I watched the whole thing though it was 22 minutes. And after that, I watched more of his videos.

I watched 9 of his videos. Maybe now you know where I’m going with this..

So. I though, “what if I watch more of these vids What if I watch 9 of them. The same number of girls Damien’s been with. Maybe I’ll be able to better understand.”

(why did I think that would be a good idea? I deeply apologize for this post. I erased a ton of disgusting judgmental crap)

I thought parrot was waiting for someone special. And I didn’t realize before him that I was too. But he wasn’t. He just wanted whatever he could get.

But then, you told me 9. (I’m sorry. I’m a judgmental bitch)

(yes you are)

You told me 9 and I wondered why. You told me 9 thought, that you weren’t waiting to save anything for the girl you end up with. Just doing it with whoever you’re with. No big deal.

When I’m with you, you just make me feel like I’m the only girl.

But when we’re not together, I don’t feel that anymore. Don’t feel like I’m the only girl. That there’s been many girls.

But it’s no big deal right? It’s just sticking a penis in a vagina. And I know nothing since im a virgin and I should go get fucked so I can stop playing the virgin card, right?

I’m sorry I hurt you.

I never told you this. But. When you told Chris, “she’s playing the virgin card. She wants me to regret being with those girls or whatever. I don’t regret being with the girls I’ve been with.” Something along those lines. It really hurt me.

So I finished. Watched the 9 videos. I cried.

(Dear 2018 me, why TF you crying over his past? He didn't cheat on you. Just because he's been with other girls, doesn't mean he'll keep doing that stuff with other girls while talking to you. That's His past, not yours, leave it alone.

Sincerely, 2021 me. Ps, stop talking about your ex's so much, it's annoying for me to have to keep going through these messages and deleting parts where you want to random insert an ex. It's an ex. Leave them in the past where they belong.)

Some people, try to avoid things. I was doing both. Trying to avoid them but also trying to understand them.

I mean, guys are so braggy and full of themselves. “Yeah I’ve fucked this many girls. I’m gonna fuck a girl tonight.”

I don’t want to be with someone like that.

I don’t want to make you feel bad. If you were my guy friend, and we never fell in love and we were only just friends, I’d tell you something different.

I’d tell you, that it’s fine, however many girls you’ve slept with. That there’s nothing wrong with it. That, the girl you’re with needs to get over her issues and either accept the number of girls you’ve been with, or walk.

I’m not a judgmental bitch to my friends. I listen, I care, I understand.

And maybe that’s why guys end up falling out of love with me. Maybe you’ll fall out of love with me.

I’m better at being a friend than a gf. It’s different, when I’m the gf. It’s my ass on the line. It’s my heart on the line. And my heart doesn’t want to get shattered. I look too deeply into things. I obsess. I get addicted. I’m just horrible at being a gf. But being a friend, it’s the complete opposite.

If you knew me as a friend before knowing me as a gf, you’d see me differently. I mean, I tried. But you didn’t want to be friends, you wanted to be with me after having one talk with me.

And yeah, the girl I was when we first talked, it’s apart of me. Our first talk was something out of a movie. I can understand why you fell so hard for me.

Or maybe it was just after the ass pic that you fell hard for me. Idk.

But, it’s like a curse. Once I get close to someone, all these bad things come out.

Like, when I’m friends with a guy, it doesn’t matter to me. How many dating apps he has. If he’s ever cheated. I don’t ask because I’m not into him so I don’t care. I signed up to be a friend, not invade his life.

When I have feelings for someone, it’s different.

I feel like, if I’m the gf, I’m allowed to stalk. I’m not invading cause his world is my world and my world is his world. I want to know all about him. And want to know if he’s ever cheated, all about his past, how many dating apps he has, everything. And then I judge his past. Because if he can do it in the past he can do it again.

And I also learned that from parrot. I saw the way he treated his ex’s. I thought I was different. Gosh, even one of his crazy ex’s who came after me, laughed at me for thinking I was different. “You think you’re different? Lol. Hunny he’s going to fuck your over like he did to every girl.”

That’s where I’m going to leave this post for now. There’s still more things I want to say. But right now all I’m going to say, is that I’m sorry.

(Once again, I'd like to apologize for my past behavior. I seemed to have this weird belief that if someone has sex, they'll keep doing it, even in a relationship, especially an online relationship. I also felt like, you belonged to them and not to me. But you've always done a good job of making me feel like it's only me. Which is how it's suppose to be in a relationship, right? I feel my past experiences deeply screwed up my brain. I apologize for that.)