#i imagine their cat would be less avoidant and more Confrontational about other people

[piningpercussionist]

I feel like Kim and Roxie would have a cat that's an absolute fucking bitch to everyone but them and I felt like you needed to know this

(I should be revising rn and I'm thinking about this bitchass roxipine cat the brainrot is real)

Oh my god... just like my cat for real.....

(The bastard herself; I tried to find photos where she looked upset/angry but there are. So fucking many photos of her to parse through I cannot understate.)

Anyway. Y e s. I am ascribing to this.

[jamestrmtx]

The Bebop Blues - [Animal Crossing | Tom Nook x Reader]

[Gender-Neutral Reader | Slow Burn + Tragicomedy]

Summary:

As wonderful as life might be on the island, there's no doubt you both have a past that's worth better kept there.

Nothing good comes from dwelling too much on your regrets, nor does it benefit the progress you've made up until now.

When life gives you lemons, drown them in sugary water and make lemonade.

Chapter One | And They Were Business Partners

[Previous] | [Next]

Lights grow dim, an instrumental starts to play, and conversations lower to murmurs as he steps on the stage. His gaze, always droopy, appears far more lidded now. His chest rises and falls at slow intervals, almost matching with the bluesy beat of the song. He grabs the microphone and brings it close to his face, right before it can bump with his snout. Then, he closes his eyes and begins, voice not once faltering as he recites each line with ease. It's hard not to feel awe with how different he seems while singing, though you brush that off to focus more on him. Regardless of his good odds towards success, his knowledge in business, and his penchant for progress, the man was meek with matters beyond those. Still, you try not to judge based solely on that. Not only is it one of the most impolite ways to establish a perspective on someone, but you don't want to create a strict nor one-dimensional view of him in your mind -- and even less, now that you've known him for so long.

The melodies that follow when he ends his song become a blur as you contemplate his choice of music.

You'd heard him mention it being his favourite a long, long time ago -- back when the island had only just managed to have an upgraded Resident Services building and back when there were only two other villagers living here besides you. It's almost half a year after that you're able to hear him sing so frequent and freely, and it leaves you to wonder over what a successful man like him could be troubled with. The both of you were the main, key people responsible for allowing the island to thrive as much as it had to this day, and -- every occasion where he appeared to be in a tight spot -- he relied on you without fear over making himself appear weak or incapable.

So if the island was doing well under his care and he had you around for whenever stuff got too complicated for him alone, then what was he feeling down about?

Or was that song simply one he liked for its melody, and nothing more?

But if so, why did he seem so different when singing it -- far more melancholic in comparison to his usual self? 

Either way, you have little time to think about that now -- with the sound of him calling your name from afar. You turn to him and bite back a smile at the sight of him trying to shimmy past the growing crowd. In spite of the sudden chaos, he meets your gaze and gestures for you to follow him off to a less crowded area, farther away from those lining up to sing their heart out for what's left of the night. 

His directions lead you to the beach, though the chilly air sends you backtracking in your steps, avoiding the water at all costs; it's about twice as icy as the wind, and the few, stray droplets from each wave reach your face, making you stay back like a cat would do when confronted with a spray bottle.

As often as you enjoyed swimming and doing pretty much a bit of everything around the island, you're not feeling up to it presently. The night's far too cold and dark, and -- though it doesn't snow on the island -- it's more than clear winter's here. You search through your inventory for some warmer, cozier clothing, yet you realize you've nothing but your tools and swimsuit with you. All other items had been stored away early this morning, in order to carry all the materials necessary for your next big project. Had you known karaoke night would last this long and had you known more stuff would be involved after it, you would've prepared yourself accordingly.

"I'm afraid I don't have a coat with me, but…" 

Nook approaches your side and stands right beside you, almost brushing shoulders in the process. 

"We can stay like this for a moment, if you don't mind." He then excuses himself to retrieve something from his pockets, yet he stays close to you while he does that. When he finds what he's looking for, you see it's a song, but -- unlike Slider's disks -- his has no album cover, title, or any of that sort; only your name can be seen scribbled on it at a first glance. "This…" he mutters, trailing off in his words. "This is for you, (Y/N)." Nook offers it to you and takes his gaze elsewhere once you have the disk secure in your hold. He says nothing else, and -- instead -- waits, though all while simultaneously pretending not to.

When you flip it over, you see it's one of your top three favourite tracks: K.K. Metal, but sung by him.

...Yeah.

Not exactly what you'd expect a mellow guy like him to be capable of singing, yet a persistent curiosity helps you imagine him trying to match his voice and attitude with the wild beat and quick pace of the song.

You thank him, and -- being the small villager that you are -- stand on your tiptoes and offer him a kiss on the cheek.

The man takes a few steps back and keeps his hand pressed right against the spot you've kissed. Bright pink spots his cheeks, but it's not quite like the embarrassed reaction a villager taught you when you just discovered how to display emotions. Rather, he seems to have transcended beyond the realms of the game's possibilities, just enough for a new emotion to be unlocked. You mimic the expression out of pure custom and end up feeling as if you've crammed an entire college textbook into your mind -- likely due to you already having all emotion slots occupied.

Nonetheless, you huff out a breath and fight through the headache; then, you look back at Nook, who's frozen in that same, shocked state.  

Now imagine a hamster when it hears something: ears perked, eyes wide, body still and straight, standing on two legs and all that -- but blushing, as well.

That's the emotion he's displaying to you right now.

"Are you okay?" you ask, placing a hand on his shoulder and getting him to look at you. "Do you… Do you need me to call a doctor?"

It takes him a minute, but he eventually snaps out of it.

"It's quite alright," he says, shaking his head. "But… May I, by any chance, return your kiss?"

Though his word choice goes beyond awkward and odd, you smile and nod, replying with, "Sure -- Now, c'mere!"

You tug him by his shirt's collar, stand on your tiptoes again, and bring him closer to you, allowing for him to kiss you back, something proven to be difficult with how long his snout is. Still, he persists and presses a quick one to your cheek. It goes a similar way as to when people wearing eyeglasses try to do the same thing. It's an endearing act from his part regardless, prompting you to tug him in for a hug.

"Happy one-year anniversary, Tom," you say, words murmured. "I'm glad to have met you." A pause follows, though you soon continue with, "It's not everyday people get to have landlords like you -- with no rent deadlines, and… no threats of being kicked out whatsoever, y'know?"

Nook chuckles and replies with, "Happy one-year anniversary, (Y/N)." He then takes a steady breath and lets it out after. "You claim that, and yet you've paid every single debt so far."

"What can I say?" You grin and direct a playful wink at him. "We make great business partners, don't we?"

His ears droop, as does his tail and gaze; it's an abrupt change when being compared to the mood he was in since you both finished with karaoke night. The man seems disappointed, yet you don't think much of it. If something was wrong and he was attempting to hide it, you needed to find a more subtle way to approach him and try to get him to open up more with you.

"...Yes." A sigh leaves him, though it's barely audible and could just as easily be confused with the soft winds of the beach. "Truly so."

Wanting to cheer him up, you settle down on the sand, smile, and extend your hand out to him.

It's cold, but having him nearby helps you with fighting that off. He takes your hand and stays waiting until you pull him to sit next to you. "What's troubling you, Tom?" you ask, brow furrowing. "You know I'm here for you." Your eyes scan his face, looking for anything out of the ordinary in hopes of gaining a hint without having to wait for him to say something.

His eyes squint into a gentle smile, yet the words that follow contrast with it. "I'm afraid this isn't…" Nook hesitates. "This isn't something you can help me with." He looks away for a split second, distracted by a moth fluttering next to a lamppost, who each time gets closer and closer to it. "But even so… Thank you for your concern," he adds, grabbing your hand again and squeezing it tight.

"Of course." You squeeze his back and return his smile. "Anytime, old friend!"

[Previous] | [Next]

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

May i request vivienne x mc where mc leaves vivienne after a huge fight and doesn’t come back, only to have her find mc not only living in Japan but also finds her figure skating her heart out during after hours because mc’s best friend owns the skating rink facility. Vivienne stays and watches mc skate but when mc sees her, she ignores her because mc is tired of empty promises and dancing around everything that goes on between them. Especially their feelings. Little bit angst but fluffy ending

Warning: Mentions of toxic behavior.

...

“Fair warning, Vivienne, but this is stalker behavior.”

Vivienne swallows, feeling the words curl around her heart like barbed wire. The thing is, after so many wounds, what’s a few more?

So all she does is pause, ignore it and mask it with her trademark smoldering smirk, her expression all teasing confidence.

“Never thought I’d hear that jab from you, Jace. You learn something new every day.”

Jace stares at her with all the judging intensity of a spectator, the kind that knows when the character on screen is going to crash and burn into a hopeless little thing. Vivienne meets their gaze with a defiant one of her own, because she won’t let that happen.

She’s too familiar with the bitter feeling of a mistake. She knows when to stop. What she’s doing right now? It doesn’t feel like that. It’s light with the possibility of a new beginning, raw with the pain of a past confrontation that demands healing. It’d be easy to bury it in her past, adding more to the ever-growing pile, but Vivienne has grown tired of running and escaping and pretending everything is alright behind a fake smile and- and… She simply had to change. For the better.

She needed to face everything. Make it right.

And MC… that’s her biggest regret. And her first priority.

…

She has been to Japan before. The memory feels like it belongs to another lifetime.

The urge to run it’s overwhelming. She sees anything or anyone that reminds her of MC and her body tenses like a cat about to bolt away from visitors, yet she marches on, determined. An hour later she finds herself in front of a skating ring facility, bigger than she had initially assumed it to be.

“I didn’t expect anything else but the very best for you, MC.” Vivienne murmurs, her pace slowing down for the first time ever since she left the apartment the Poppy had in Japan. Doubt began to creep in like a flood, snuffing all the courage she had managed to gather, rooting her in place for a long minute, hesitating.

People were beginning to stare. Well, they were more like brief, curious glances, but Vivienne felt each of them like a prickle in her conscience.

She could turn back. MC wasn’t expecting her. No one would know about this other than Jace and-

No. No, no. No.

If she went back to the Poppy’s apartment without at least a brief conversation with MC, everything would have been for naught. The failure would otherwise crush her. She needed to face this. Otherwise, had she even changed at all?

She took a deep breath, trying to piece her courage back together. Slowly, she made her way in.

…

MC didn’t have a talent for ice skating, but her passion more than made up for it. She glided along the ice, effortless, easing into a slow spin along the ring, as if she was taking in the view of everyone skating alongside her. Vivienne hadn’t been here for more than a second and she was already mesmerized.

Her body is graceful and relaxed as she goes, completely in her element. From this distance, her expression is nothing but a fleeting mystery – the seductress gets the sudden urge to chase after her ethereal figure, to marvel intensely that someone this perfect exists. Vivienne had seen MC on many situations before, but nothing quite like this. She looks so free, her movements light like a leaf caught in the wind, and the light falls on her in such a way that she might as well be glowing.

Her happiness shines through, and a slow, loving smile settles on Vivienne’s lips before she can even register it. Her hands grasp the edge of the ring and the cold sensation startles her out of her reverie, not sure when she had come so close, but basking in it.

This is the effect MC had on her. She had missed it.

Caught in the warmth of her melancholy, what she sees next hits much harder. One glance up reveals the full-splendor of MC’s face, less than a meter from where Vivienne is standing. She is there one second and gone in a blink, speeding to the other side of the ring, but it was enough time to burn her expression into Vivienne’s mind: a full-blown scowl, barely softened by the sheer surprise of a memory long forgotten, buried deep into the ice. There’s a clarity in her eyes that stuns Vivienne and steals her courage away, and they speak clearly a decision from long ago: MC doesn’t want anything to do with Vivienne anymore.

The urge sparks again and Vivienne throws herself forward, not caring one bit about the stares she receives. She circles the ring in record time, intent on following MC who is already heading for the exit, her pace surprisingly brisk despite the skates she is still wearing.

“MC!” No response, save for MC’s hands curling into fists. “MC, please wait!”

Still, MC does have some distance advantage. It’s all she needs to get to a room and shut the door in Vivienne’s face just as she catches up. It’s one of the rooms not open for the public, she distractedly realizes, only for staff. There will be no pressure for MC to open the door, though. She only needs a few minutes and a call for security to escort Vivienne out, but like hell Vivienne is going to let that happen without saying her piece.

“I’ll leave you alone after this, I promise.” Vivienne says against the door, raising her voice just enough to be heard over it. “Nothing empty about it, I assure you. I— I’ve had… some time to think. I’m sure you’ll be glad to know the rest of the Poppy gave me plenty of lectures and no rest whatsoever… Zoe most of all. And I deserved it, because I didn’t… I didn’t really take the time to notice how you were feeling. I just wanted to protect myself, and that was too selfish from me. It’s true I was scared to enter a relationship, but I had no right to act the way I did, to… to try and manip—”

“Leave, Vivienne.”

The seductress took a sharp intake of breath, wishing she had all the time in the world to make this right. “Hear me out.”

“I’m friends with the owner, you know. Security would come in a second.”

Despite her suspicions getting confirmed Vivienne can’t help but smile, moving one hand to press it flat against the door and lean there. “Don’t go all Karen on me now, MC. Just give me five minutes.”

“I won’t listen to anything you say. I know better than to believe in your words.”

“I’ll say it again: there will be no more empty promises between you and me.”

MC snorts, on the other side of the door. Vivienne wants to imagine she’s also leaning against it, arms crossed, defiant. There’s a beat of silence which makes her heart swell, and at the next second she’s back to tumbling over her words, almost desperate.

“It didn’t realize it as soon as you left. I—I thought I was safe. That no one could hurt me now because I had driven them off, again, but then I began to feel like I had lost a crucial part of myself. I didn’t realize how much those nights we spent together talking meant. I didn’t realize that at some point I had begun to… to feel safe, and accepted, I just kept my guard up and manipulating you so you wouldn’t get any closer. Not once did I stop to think about you, and the way I dismissed your feelings, even when you tried to talk to me—”

“Please, leave. I don’t want to deal with this.”

“MC…”

“Today was supposed to be fun.”

“MC.”

“It’s just— you can’t honestly expect me to believe this. That you’ve changed. It’s only been, what, three months? There’s no possible way—”

“There is.” Her hand falls to the handle, the other automatically moving to search for a pin to pick the lock, but she freezes mid action and forces herself to keep them still against her sides. The one who must open the door is MC, voluntarily. “I was just made aware of your side of the story. It took some time for me to fully process it, admittedly, but once I did—”

“Yeah, sure. Real convenient you didn’t process it sooner.”

“Once I did, I realized how manipulative and… and, frankly, toxic I had been. No one deserves to be treated that way by their partner—”

“Funny, I don’t remember you saying we were in a relationship back then.”

“To be honest, relationships are… tools, for me. It’s my job in the Poppy. My biggest mistake was operating like you were a mark, when you obviously weren’t.”

“You’re sounding like a real knight in shining armor.”

“I’m… merely admitting my faults. I was stupid.”

“The biggest moron to have ever lived.”

Vivienne blinks at that, letting her head drop against the door with a dull ‘thud’. “I can’t deny that. It’s the truth.”

“Right… well, I’m glad your toxic behavior is out in the open now. I… I was warned, in the beginning. Nikolai and Remy told me how used you are to running away. That as a thief you were amazing but as a romantic partner you were a mess. I didn’t listen. I thought I could get through you.”

“And you did, I just…”

“Yes, yes, you realized it too late. And after the whole Poppy yelled at you, probably.”

“…you aren’t wrong.”

“You said what you wanted. Can you leave now?”

Vivienne hesitates, torn. “I feel like there’s more to say.”

“Frankly, I don’t care about you or whatever you feel right now.”

“May I come another day, then?”

“Are you seriously asking that after—? No, no, I don’t want to see you anymore. I left for a reason, you know.”

“I’m well aware. I just want to show you that I have changed.”

“And what, do you expect a medal? Just go.”

Vivienne doesn’t. She grips the handle tight, trying to let it anchor her. “Please…”

There’s another pause. MC’s voice is softer, quieter when she continues. Vivienne almost has to strain her ears to listen. “You always avoided any important subject I wanted to talk about. You always danced around my feelings. No, you looked for specific actions or feelings to take advantage of them. I don’t want to go through that anymore. Whatever we had is over. Leave.”

“I didn’t come here trying to start dating again.”

“As if we ever were before.”

“The fact is you did get through me. You were one of the few people I ever felt safe around. I’ve already accepted I destroyed any chance I ever had with you… I just want to part on good terms. I can’t stand the thought that I hurt you.”

“I’m calling security.”

Gritting her teeth, Vivienne takes a few steps back from the door. “I understand. I respect your decision, MC. I’m… glad we could talk. Goodbye.”

…

The universe has a twisted sense of humor, sometimes.

She’s seating alone in front a café, reading a book Remy had recommended to her long ago, trying to look for a distraction. Her mind won’t stop replaying the conversation she had had with MC almost a week ago, and the memory only makes her soul twist in agony and regret and a little bit of frustration. Not for the first time, she finds herself wishing to go back in time and slap her past self across the face, for hurting a wonderful woman such as MC.

“I’m a mess,” she muses, staring at the book in her hands without really reading it. “A complete mess. I never do things right when it comes to these types of situations…”

Dean flashes briefly across her mind and she scowls.

“I swore not to play with my loved one’s feelings like you did, and yet here I am.”

The chair next to her scrapes, as if someone had suddenly dragged it out. The sound makes Vivienne go tense, one hand already preparing to poison whoever had managed to surprise her. That shouldn’t happen. She’s normally hyperaware of everything that happens around her, as any thief would be.

Just how distracted is she?

“Careful there.”

Vivienne blinks, startled, pressing her back against her chair like a caged animal. “MC?” She breathes, wondering if she’s hallucinating.

“Yeah. Hey.”

“What… what are you doing here?”

MC presses her lips together. Vivienne’s eyes are immediately drawn towards the action, and then she forces herself to meet MC’s eyes, intent on not making this awkward.

“I mean—”

“Jett called me.”

“What?”

“He explained things further. It’s not enough to make me want to mend our…” She cuts herself off, looking away for a moment, but Vivienne catches how her lips had stretched around the ‘r’, and her heart beats with abrupt panic when she realizes MC had been about to say ‘relationship’. “Not enough to make me want to return to the Poppy.”

“But it’s enough to make you want to hear me out?”

“I want you to listen to me.”

“Ah. Of course. Go on.”

MC’s eyes are like volcanos waiting to erupt, two intense pools of chocolate that Vivienne can’t help but drown herself in. “You said you wanted us to part on good terms. I don’t think that’s entirely possible, but having this conversation will help us both. You said it yourself – you manipulated me to ‘protect’ yourself, because you were scared. You made empty promises, like you would if I had been a mark. I was interested in you because you were a mystery. You presented yourself like this very experienced, seductive young woman, but I knew there had to be more. I never really got past your shell, mostly because you were toxic, but also because I didn’t want to force you to tell me what was going on.”

That was true. MC had always been respectful, skidding around subjects that seemed to bother Vivienne. She was ready to talk if Vivienne was ready, on those few sleepless nights. At the time, Vivienne had thought that it was because she had MC perfectly in her control when in truth MC had let her, because she trusted her.

And she had fucked things up, as usual.

“You say that you understand how much you hurt me, I say you don’t grasp it entirely. You wouldn’t have come here otherwise.”

“I’m tired of running away.”

“Anyone would be.”

“But it was because I was tired that I decided to come here. I wanted to set things right, even if it meant we’d go our separate ways later.”

“I’m glad you at least acknowledge how bad you were, even if it took something like this.”

“You helped me change for the better.”

MC hums, skeptical. “I hope your… next relationship has more truthful communication in it.”

“I’ll try to apply that to all my relationships, romantic or not. Well, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my job…”

The only two people Vivienne felt she could have been with were out of her grasp, anyway, one dead and one so deeply hurt she wanted nothing else to do with her. There was no point in pursing a romantic relationship anymore.

“I’ve noticed you guys haven’t done any heists lately.”

“We’ve been laying low. Mainly it was so the others had more time to tell me off, which I appreciate. And… what about you? Are you doing better?”

“A lot. Ice skating is very therapeutic once you get the hang of it.” She smiles, then, something small and easy to miss. Vivienne treasures the sight. “My friends have helped, too. I’m not hurting, anymore.”

“I’m glad.”

MC nods, silent.

“Thank you for approaching me, MC.”

“Thank you for letting me go. We won’t meet again.”

The words sting, but Vivienne doesn’t feel like she’s crashed and burnt. She feels free, for the first time in ages.

“Goodbye, MC.”

“Bye.”

[alarriefantasy]

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Own the Scars by crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)

Words: 144k

Louis has never felt like he was good enough: for his stepdad, for his life-long best friend, for the life he's supposed to want. After an accident that nearly costs him his life, Louis' parents send him to rehab where he’s forced to face his demons. On the long and difficult road to recovery, Louis must confront the truths he’s been avoiding about his future, his relationships, and his sense of self-worth. Because before he can love anyone else, he’s got to learn how to love himself first.

Now In A Minute by thealmightyavocado

Words: 150k

13 feels like yesterday for many people, but for Louis it actually was.

More than anything in the world, Louis Tomlinson dreams of growing up. Simply skipping over all of the awkward, embarrassing years of teenage existence and getting on with life. Real life.

So when thirteen-year-old Louis wakes up in the body of his thirty-year-old self, he expected everything in his adult life to be picture perfect. And maybe it is. He has it all…or so it seems.

Except his favorite person and lifelong best mate, Harry Styles, is totally missing from the equation and Louis doesn’t understand why. He has a lot of catching up to do and as adult life turns out to be more than what he bargained for, Louis can’t help wondering why a life that seemed so perfect, feels so empty.

Or the 13 going on 30 au that should have been done years ago.

♡ credit to the owner of the manip

♡ past themed recs here

[b-rainlet]

I promised to answer this in a seperate post so here it goes!

(Sorry this took forever but...I think the length explains why ajsnsns)

For @honestmrdual who asked for Alice +/vs/or Jervis!

Slight warning??? For the discussion of kidnapping since I mention Alice and Jervis within my Rotten AU

Also Murder. And Suicide.

Also Incest. Duh.

Jervis vs. Alice

That's...a hard one but also super simple? Like, I don't think either of them would want to fight the other, you know?

Of course Jervis doesn't wanna hurt his love but Alice also would rather avoid a confrontation with her brother.

But since as long as one of them is alive, they're gonna play an eternal game of cat and mouse, it would've come down to a fight eventually.

And even though in canon Alice dies, I think she would win.

Because canon seems more like an accident than a strategic suicide (even though Gordon words it like it's one).

But if it came down to a one on one fight?

I mean, Alice is shown to be willing to shoot Jervis whereas Jervis never truly threatens her.

Like yeah, she's tied up but he doesn't threaten her with a gun (like he does at the Lee/Valerie/Jim tea party for example) and when they meet on the roof he's mostly super happy to see her, he doesn't even think about defending himself??

He just stands there, arms up and obviously wanting to touch/hug Alice.

(Which…I think about often ansnsnsn)

So if they didn't need Jervis around for longer, Alice would've definitely killed him.

Shot him. Stabbed him. Lit him on fire. Whatever she could think of at that moment.

And Jervis probably would be super surprised because?? Alice??? His dear sister?? Why would you hurt him like this if he only wants to keep you safe???

Also I have made a post before about how he never once tries to hypnotize her - possibly because she's immune but that's never outright stated so maybe he also just...wouldn't do that to her. And I lose my mind every time I think about that for more than two seconds).

Also also, if I am already rambling - when am I not - the way it would've given Alice way more agency if she would've chosen to die the way Jim seems to imply she did.

Since he goes 'She would've rather been dead than spend any more time with you' or something like that and you could argue that yeah, she does pull away from Jervis but I think that was more 'I need to get away' and less 'I'm actively choosing to get impaled now'.

Just imagine!!

Jervis once again pressing Alice to his chest, watching Jim and Harvey fight tweedle dee and tweedle dum, when suddenly Alice pushes away, frees herself and stumbles into the room.

And everyone freezes for a moment because she's yelling at them to stop and Jim's telling her to go hide somewhere while Jervis is trying to reach for her without getting shot but she's having none of it.

She's sick of running, sick of hiding, she doesn't wanna live the rest of her life like this, always looking over her shoulder, always ready to vanish again, never truly able to build herself a life, to make any friends, to do more than survive.

Mostly, she wants to be able to wash all the blood from her hands, wants to stop being responsible for people getting hurt, the ones close to her and the ones unfortunate enough to be in her brother's way.

It's her fault Jervis is in Gotham, it's her fault Jim nearly died, it's her fault Jervis manipulated and maimed and murdered his way to her.

Not to mention she's a killer too! It's in her blood just as much as it is in Jervis' and she's tired of it, of all of it.

And it seems for a second she's gonna go to Jervis willingly and stay with him (which is an option she knows, but it wouldn't stop the running and the hiding, wouldn't stop the detectives from coming after them) but no.

Instead she picks up Jervis' gun (that I think he discarded in that scene? If not, he did now ajsjsjs) and she shoots herself.

And everyone would yell at her not to do it, voices shouting and people running toward her before there's this loud bang and then there's silence.

For a very long time.

Anyway, since Alice made it very clear she chose to die, it would be harder for Jervis to delude himself into thinking Jim somehow forced her or tore her away from him (although he would probably still manage, it's Jervis after all) so maybe, they'd actually get to arrest him (because I can see him just...falling to his knees and not moving after Alice is dead. Maybe cradling her in his arms. There's no real reason to go on now after all).

But even if he gets dragged away like in canon, this minor change would've made Alice' death a lot more driven in my opinion.

(And if we still need her impaled then imagine her speech and then she lets herself fall backwards with her eyes closed and her arms outstretched and she still ends up on the pole).

(Plus, because I like multiple endings, two possibilities I would also consider very sexy but wouldn't make sense in canon since they need Jervis around:

Jervis kills himself after seeing Alice die - much like Victor Fries tried to do, because what kind of life is this if the one person worth living for is dead?

 Alice pretends she's willingly going with Jervis but she used the time she had while she was monologuing to acquire a weapon (maybe one of the needles Jervis used to draw her blood) and once she's close enough she goes for a hug and ends up stabbing him in the neck multiple times until he's falling down in front of her, slowly bleeding out, murmuring her name with his eyes open in shock.

Just....some musings you know akjssksm).

Jervis + Alice

Do I even need to answer this? xD

They're on my top ship list, they're right up there next to Jecco and Jerelina, but they also have scenes within canon that make my mind go !!! like Jerome/Lee and Jervis/Ecco do.

They're just....good. Very good.

I have...a lot of thoughts and AUs for them but I think I shared them all already because I can't stop blabbering about them lmao.

Although I gotta say I've been thinking about them within my Jeremiah/Ecco/Jerome AU (aka the Rotten Fic)

Specifically about Jervis being Alice' legal guardian since she was about 10 or even younger (since their parents died very early in her life) and Alice isn't exactly being held captive but everytime she tried to run away while she was growing up, the police simply brought her back to her brother.

Because she was a minor and he was her 'loving and worried' big brother - who also could be very persuasive and knew how to manipulate people in his favour - and soon she was known as a 'notorious runaway' and the people she tried to plead for help only smiled at her in that condescending way people do when they pity you.

'Ah there she is, the little Tetch Girl, poor thing, lost her parents so soon. Now she's a troubled kid, running away, telling lies. She can be thankful her brother is so patient and loving with her.'

And surely all the tales she likes to spin about her brother crawling into bed with her or giving her 'special baths' are simply a sign for her overactive imagination, a hurt child making up all sorts of morbid things to get some attention.

And now she's around 20 and she knows she's old enough, an adult now, they would have to at least listen now.

Or she could simply try and get away, out of town, the police can't escort her back to her house anymore, they can't stop her at the train station and tell her she's a bad girl for worrying her brother like that.

But she also knows Jervis would never let her, he would come after her and he would kill everyone she would dare to care about besides him.

He would find her no matter where she hides.

It's safer when she stays, for her and for all the people out there she will never get to meet.

I simply like the idea of Alice basically being in a kidnapping situation but no one realizes. She's the sweet girl living with her brother, she belongs at home with her brother, what is she talking about being 'at her brother's mercy'.

And it's gotten to a point where he put her out of school with the promises of 'homeschooling' to 'help her anxiety' and oh, isn't he such a sweet and caring brother?

Taking it upon himself to teach her at home, what a big sacrifice it must be for him to completely focus on his little sister like that, to make sure she doesn't get left behind!

(And of course, since Jervis can be...persuasive, no one questions whether he actually has a teaching degree or anything of the like, no, Alice is shoved into his arms with smiles and waves).

And as Alice grew up, got to a point where her words couldn't be brushed aside as child's talk anymore, she learned to play her part. Made some…mistakes, said the wrong thing to the wrong person and had to live with the consequences.

(Consequences the other person can't live with anymore).

So if some newer neighbours notice that Alice is never seen outside? Well, she's a shy girl, no need to be worried!

Her brother is such a gentleman and he does make it a point to introduce the both of them to everyone who moves into their street, did the same when they first moved to Gotham, going from door to door with little Alice on his hand to prevent any rumours from spreading to make a good first impression!

And even if someone does worry, they only need to wait until Jervis is gone for the day to ring the doorbell. Alice will open and invite them inside, will play nice and portray the little sister Jervis told her to be.

The neighbour will come back home thinking 'Oh well, the girl is a shut-in, nothing too out of the ordinary. It's a dangerous city after all' and Alice will remain in her room and fight back the panic inside her, knowing that if she didn't do her job right and they get suspicious....accidents happen all the time.

Of course this routine is gonna get disturbed once Ecco enters the scene but let's not get ahead of ourselves👀👀👀

(Anyways the inherent horror of being kidnapped and used by strangers - aka Ecco and the twins - vs. Being permanently kept in a glass cage that no one else can see except you and no one can ever hear you scream for help - aka Alice and Jervis)

Jervis or Alice

Okay that's a hard one! Like, harder than choosing between Ecco and Jervis because Jervis and Alice are kinda on the same level here.

I love Jervis. You know if you've seen even just a fraction of my blog lmao.

But Alice.....so much potential. Such a good fucking storyline.

(Jervis and Alice as two sides of the same coin? I'd even say they have a big 'star-crossed lovers, one can't truly exist without the other' vibe. I mean, you could even compare them to 'B*tjokes in a way - only the who hunts who down is flipped).

Also Alice is very pretty and I have an obvious preference for girls in pretty much any piece of media I consume.

But then you have Jervis, who isn't only involved in the Alice storyline but is also part of the J Squad.....you have the legendary Jerome/Jonathan/Jervis team up and all three of them being horribly into each other....Jonathan and Jervis basically being an old married couple....the way Jervis looks at Jerome which still has me losing my mind....also you have the Ace Chemicals Episode which single-handedly saved the 5th season......the superb Ecco/Jervis interaction......fuck, this is hard.

I love Alice and I need to talk about her more often but I think Jervis wins simply by having more interactions with other characters (and oh to have Alice around for longer.....have her face off against Jervis on the regular.....Bruce deserves a little ragtag team of protoheroes in my opinion so why not add Alice...).

...But I am getting off track :D

[the-bees-knives]

Hi yes hello. I saw that you rebloged the oc ask thingy and I'll be ordering for the whole table. Can I get a 2, 3 ,5, 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 32, 34, 37, 41, 45, 48, 50, 51, 55, 60, 65, 68, 69, 70, 73, 78, 83, 87, 89, 93, 96, 98, and 99? All for Biscuit. (IM REALLY REALLY SORRY I JUST WANNA KNOW MORE ABOUT THEM 😭)

This got real long... answers under the cut!

2. What are their favourite possessions? Why? (sentimentality, history, price, etc.)

His favourite possession... is you! ✋👁👁

Jokes aside, Biscuit isn't too materialistic. However, he does like the hairband he uses for his braid; it was a gift from his mother! The bow he wears around his neck is also a remnant of a modification of his uniform from his previous place of work. Biscuit used to work both as a mascot and a cook (it would switch depending on the situation) at his family's diner (restaurant? i don't know the term), and he added it because he thought it looked cute (also he couldn't do anything too feminine :( so this was the best he could do).

I will note that the cutlery embedded into him is not a part of his favourite possessions, despite his unwillingness to part with them. They're more like a part of his body, I guess?

3. Do They get jealous easily? If so, what usually causes it?

If Biscuit formed an attachment to someone and then saw them with someone else, he'd be wary of the new person, if not jealous. They'd have to become acquainted with Biscuit to ease him, though that might not always work. He'd still probably try to drag his companion away. Basically, he's pretty protective (possessive?) over those he likes.

5. What's their reputation like? Does this reputation contrast what they're really like?

I'm not sure how others would see him. Either it's "eccentric cosplayer (who's really in character)" or "weird dude". Probably the first one, as normal people couldn't survive with knives in their body for that long. Mostly Biscuit's just a weird dude though.

7. What's their "type"? What romantically attracts them to another person?

Biscuit doesn't really have a preference on appearance, it's more based on personality. Either it's someone who can care for him or someone who's just as feral/zero-braincell'd as him. He normally takes care of his victims, but he doesn't see that as attraction; it's more like caring for cattle before you eat it. If someone cared for him though, he'd be into it. As for the other one, it's just a feral power couple; both can be absolutely insane together (Run).

9. If they could change one part of their appearance, what would it be?

Spine that can turn 180 degrees. Reasoning: he has to sleep on his stomach because of the knives, but then his feet are bent uncomfy while on his stomach. Rotate spine for comfy feets. Plus, it'd be a cool party trick.

10. What's a simple thing that brings them joy?

Pets/physical affection. (Unfortunately, by unintentional design, this man is Unpettable.)

12. What's their position in their friend group? (leader, mom friend, chaos goblin, etc.)

The chill goblin: you can sit with him and have a nice hat, but if anything gets the interest of his one (1) braincell, he will go absolutely feral.

13. How forgiving are they? What do they consider unforgivable?

I think he's pretty forgiving, considering. If you attacked him, he'd probably consider it as play-fighting or something. He won't like it if you mess with his personal belongings, but he'll forgive you if it's for a good reason (for him) or if you give it back.

As for the things he'd find unforgivable, touching the two knives sticking out of his head is an absolute no-no. (The ones in his shoulders are sort of meh; he won't like it if you touch them, but he won't try to kill you for it.) The knives in his head are really sensitive, so he'll become agitated quick and snap if you try to move or remove them.

16. What food do they absolutely hate?

fish yucky >:(

17. Do they show a lot of affection, or are they pretty reserved?

If Biscuit had an s/o or a good friend (you know, people he's not interested in for food), he'd be pretty affectionate; he likes them and wants to show it! He might get a little close though, so make sure to set (and remind him of) personal boundaries.

19. What's their unusual quirk?

I don't know why, but I imagine that Biscuit can bleed infinitely. If you were to remove any of the knives embedded into him, the wound will just keep bleeding until they're inserted back in. I don't really have an explanation for this, but he is a human, so??? I just think it's neat.

20. Are they easy to wake up in the morning, or grouchy and sleepy?

While Biscuit does get up early, he's particularly lazy and groggy. It's kind of like those moods where you want to go back to sleep, but you can't because your body's awake.

21. What's their ideal date like?

Anywhere really, so long as his s/o is giving him attention.

32. What are they like at parties? Party animal, or awkwardly sitting in the corner drinking punch and reading?

Party animal, except everyone else is sitting in the corner trying to avoid him. He doesn’t really think before speaking, so he says whatever without any filter. (Plus, the knives don’t help. No, he won’t remove them.)

34. What’s their favourite drink? (Coffee, tea, juice, hot chocolate, soda, etc.)

Biscuit is a milkshake lad. His favourite is strawberry-banana!

37. Are they a hopeless romantic, or is that stuff just not for them?

Biscuit has a “love-at-first-interaction” mentality, like if someone shows genuine interest in him, then he wants to be with them and chases that feeling (and them).

41. What would they dress up as for Halloween?

Bold of you to assume that he’d even need a Halloween costume.

All jokes aside though, Biscuit has No Patience to put a costume together (or even look for one), so he’d probably just go with his normal wear. People have already mistaken the knives as cosplay/props anyway, so it’s just less work, instant results.

(He does have the old mascot suit, but he can’t wear it anymore without it hitting the knives.)

45. Are they always late, on time, or early?

None of the above, he forgot that event was today.

48. How dramatic are they?

Biscuit’s not the type to start drama, nor is he extremely emphatic (is that the word?) with his speech. He’s just kind of vibing.

50. Why would they be a good partner for a road trip?

Fun(?) to do activities with; will probably suggest random stuff to do if there’s no set itinerary (will probably suggest it anyway). If you’re looking for a spontaneous road trip, he’s your guy.

51. Why would they be a BAD partner for a road trip?

Will Never Sit Still; must be kept under watch constantly, otherwise he’ll run off to who knows where. (Just keep him on a leash or something)

55. Choose a vine you think perfectly encapsulates their character.

This video has pretty strong vibes of brainrot, so I think it's appropriate.

60. What sappy thing will they cry at? (romance movies, cute cat videos, etc.) Would they deny crying about it later on?

Biscuit loves all types of animals, especially furry ones (so dogs, cats, bats, rats… bean toes are a plus). So he’d absolutely cry if shown cute pet videos and gush about how precious and baby each one is. No denial either, if you confront him about it, he’d just justify it by gushing about them more. (He doesn’t have any pets of his own though. I wouldn’t trust him with a pet.)

As a side note, if he found out his victim was a beastkin or could turn into an animal or something, he’d be really conflicted on whether to harm them or not, but would ultimately decide against it.

65. Do they give people a lot of nicknames?

Biscuit isn’t creative enough to make genuine nicknames. However, if he forgot your name (and he probably would), he’d just name something off of your appearance (“pink jacket”, “shark guy”, things like that).

68. Are they easy to fluster? What would you have to do to truly fluster them?

Biscuit can only really be flustered by people he likes or people that he thinks are close to him. He’ll melt and nuzzle you if you surprise him with something nice, physical or otherwise :)

69. What’s their dream vacation like?

Go to the countryside and run around and be feral. Then chill in the evening and take a bath, because he needs to make sure his knives are clean.

70. Are they a good liar?

Biscuit doesn’t even try to lie. He’s really impulsive, and he doesn’t see what’s wrong with what he does. If he tried to lie, it’d be stupid/simple and obvious that it’s a lie, but he’d stick to his guns and insist that it’s true. Though, his voice/expression wouldn’t fluctuate, so you’d have to believe either in common sense or him.

73. Are they more book smarts, or street smarts?

Street smarts; this man’s head is empty (except for the two knives in there but).

78. What’s something they’re really bad at?

Almost anything that involves careful planning and concentration to complete. Things like puzzles or sewing; if it doesn’t give immediate satisfaction, then what’s the point?

The only things that Biscuit does pay attention to are cooking and, by extent, caring for his victim (as they’re a part of the cooking process).

83. What are they like as an s/o?

Loyal and (possibly) clingy. Will want to accompany you for days, then vanish out of thin air due to impulsiveness (will absolutely forget to feed his victim during this time, if he has one). Forgets about physical boundaries, but means well (trying to show affection).

Biscuit’s love languages are, in no particular order: physical touch, acts of service, and quality time. Personal hug-buddy that can cook :)

87. Do they like spicy food?

Yes he does! I like to imagine that he incorporates spice from time to time into his dishes. I don’t know what his tolerance would be though due to lack of experience (I will perish).

89. What would they get into a petty argument over?

Which animal is the best? Answer: it’s all of them. (Though he does have a preference towards furry animals, he tries to be unbiased in this argument.)

93. What type of movies do they like to watch?

Both gorey horror movies and feel-good movies (especially if they have animal protagonists). They’re just fun to watch.

96. What’s their sense of humour like? (Dad jokes, morbid humour, basic knock-knock jokes, stand-up comedy, etc.)

Physical humour, stand-up, and maybe surreal humour. Anything else might be too complex for him.

98. How competitive are they?

He’s not very competitive on his own, though if someone challenges him to a contest, he’s still going to try to beat them for the satisfaction of it. Don’t challenge him to a contest if you want to have chill times with him.

99. What would they wear to a formal event? Describe their outfit!

Biscuit has No Standards when it comes to social events, so he’s going as normal. If he had to dress fancy though (and if he had access to it), he’d probably just wear a simple pink dress shirt and dress pants + suspenders. Slick his hair back too. The knives stay.

(I don’t even think he can enter most shops with the knives, fake or not. I don’t know; I’ve never entered an establishment with visible knives before.)

This was a long post, so let me know if I missed anything;;

[castielific]

The list

AO3 Link

Tags: Supernatural, Destiel, Alternate Ending, Canon Compliant (up to 15x10), Human!Castiel, First kiss Summary: 

Once there are no more monsters, the only thing left to fight for is happiness.

Here is my take on our boys’ happy ending. I hope you’ll enjoy it. 

**************************

"I hate you", Dean grumbles into his elbows. His arms are on the table, his head buried into it as he squeezes his hands over his ears. 

"I think he’s getting better," Sam lies, hiding his grimace just in time so that Dean doesn’t see it when he raises his head to glare at him. 

Dean opens his mouth, but is cut off by a particularly shrill note that makes him feel like someone is drilling right into his tympans. Even Sam can't help but squeeze his fists in pain, crumbling the edge of the book he's trying to read. 

"'This would be good for you, Castiel'," Dean says, imitating Sam. "What about us, Sam? This doesn't feel good for us!"

"It's not so bad," Sam offers miserably. 

Yes it is. It's even worse than bad. Dean flinches in pain at every horrible noise that resounds all around the bunker as Cas continues to play - or more like, tries to play - what Dean thinks is supposed to be 'Twinkle twinkle little star' on his newly acquired violin. 

Truth is, it is all Sam's fault. Dean can't ressent him that much though, because the look on Castiel's face when they went to the music store was worth the torture they've been enduring for the last two days. 

Since God has been defeated, they've all been having a serious case of cabin fever. Heaven and Hell have closed up their doors, angels and demons alike running home with their tails between their legs. Even the common monsters have gone into hiding. Apparently the Winchesters killing God has impressed them enough that they've all decided that they better keep quiet. Of course, they're still there, but smart enough not to do anything that might attract the wrath of the hunters. Apparently, they are exceptionally good at hiding when they want to because the only case the brothers have had in the last six months had been a rogue vampire that went on a rampage. He was still young and out of control. It took three hours to take him down, the whole deal was done in less than a day, even counting the drive. 

In short, hunting has become boring. All they've had to keep them busy have been some random salt and burn, nothing exciting. The rest of the time, they've stayed cooped up in the Bunker and it didn't take long for them to go crazy. Each in their own personal way. 

For his part, Sam has gone a little too far on his healthy lifestyle penchant, to the point that it became borderline unhealthy: Running up to three hours a day and eating nothing but vegetable smoothies. It lasted two months before he realized that all it was doing was giving him diarrhea and making his shins look like basketball. So now he's taken to digitizing and translating every book in their library….which sounds as exciting as getting all your teeth pulled out, if you were to ask Dean, but at least it passes the time. 

Dean's way of coping was on the polar opposite as his brother's: he decided it was as good a time as any to learn to cook better. Dean has always loved cooking and has been having a blast since they found the bunker. For the first time of his life, he has a home and a kitchen of his own. Until now, between the Amara, the Men of Letters, and all that crap with God, he never had time to really enjoy it, limiting himself to the few recipes he already knew: burgers, steak, and breakfast food. With the hunting gig slowing down though, he had all the time in the world to try his hand at more ambitious things like roast, chili, lasagna and way too many pies. 

His personal wake up call  came when he tried to put on clothes one morning and couldn't find any pants that fitted him anymore.They hadn't had a case for three weeks, and he had to admit that he became a little too familiar with sweatpants. When confronted with the terrible truth of his every single one of his jeans being suddenly too small, he had no other choice: he spent the whole day dismantling the dryer to find out why it was shrinking all his clothes. Sam had a blast mocking him and Castiel, with his usual discretion, was quite pointedly avoiding looking at Dean's stomach during that conversation. Dean spent a long time in front of the mirror after that. He regrettably had to admit that his stomach resembled more Father Christmas's belly than David Beckham's abs at this point. He started to follow Sam's health routine the very next day. Or, tried to, at least. It didn't last long before he couldn't take the smoothie torture anymore, and decided that limiting his pie intake to two per week and doing some exercise should be enough. 

Sam and him actually came to an agreement on food after that, and while Dean would never ever drink a kale smoothie again, it actually wasn't so bad to add a little more salad to his plate. 

All in all, it was a difficult time for everyone, but especially for Castiel. 

Castiel used to be an angel with a Godly purpose, a mission grander than anything people could even imagine. Then suddenly Chuck was gone, and the angels were gone too, and he just became a puny human with no real purpose, a soldier of God with no God to serve and no war to fight. Easy to say that he quickly joined Dean in his sweatpants' aficionados club. Except where Dean was happy to indulge in a laziness that he never really had a chance to try out before, Cas soon fell into depression. Even the best pies Dean made seemed tasteless to him after a time. He was lost in a human routine that he could find no pleasure in. It came to a point where he didn't even sleep in his own bed anymore, never leaving the couch except to satisfy the most basic needs. Sadly, on most days, showers didn't seem to be considered as one of those needs. 

Once they had their breakthrough about their own miserable situations, the Winchesters decided to tackle their new mission: helping Cas. 

It was Sam who proposed that they should all write a list of things they always wanted to do, but never had time for. 

They took a trip to the Grand Canyon on the very next day, dragging a reticent Castiel along. Their road trip lasted nearly a month, because they kept getting distracted by new destinations. Sam wanted to see the Harold Washington Library, Dean wanted to go to Baltimore to go to the Dangerously Delicious Pies shop he heard about while searching for new pies recipes, and so on. 

Castiel never asked to see anything, pretending gloomily that he used to be able to go anywhere in a flap of his wings, and therefore had seen everything he ever wanted too. Dean dragged him to an amusement park anyway, because he was pretty sure the angel had never been on a rollercoaster before. Dean regretted that pretty fast when Cas became strangely fond of them, saying that it reminded him of flying. They took so many rides that Dean threw up and Sam's nose bled for nearly one hour after. 

Still, it seemed like a wake up call for Cas. He spent the rest of the drive home lost in his thoughts or scribbling a list on the back of a gas station's receipt. He even asked them to stop in Utah on the way back to see the largest bee hives in the US. They ended up buying so many types of honey that they now have a cupboard full of it in the kitchen. 

They had been back to the bunker for two days when Cas declared he wanted to learn how to play an instrument. They went to a music store, where Castiel tried on every instrument from a harmonica to a full drum set. After the obligatory harps jokes, Dean tries to entice him to buy a guitar, and learn all the best Zep songs. Cas was too polite and knew better than to criticize Dean's taste in music, so he chose the guitar. Dean wasn't oblivious to the way his friend kept lingering in front of a black violin though, so he relented and bought that instead.

He's sorely regretting it now. 

It's still totally Sam's fault though, he was the one to come up with the idea of this stupid list in the first place. 

**********************

"I've decided what I want," Castiel declares as soon as the movie's credit starts rolling about a month later. 

Sam snorts, waking up from the doze he'd fallen into. He blinks at them, wiping his eyes tiredly. 

"I said no cat, Cas," Dean reminds. Apparently, one of Cas' item on his stupid list is to get a pet.

"I don't want a cat."

"I'm allergic to animal's hair," Dean reminds him, suspicious. Last night Cas declared he wanted a Camel. A freaking camel. 

"Of course, Dean, your health comes first," Cas concedes amicably. "Although, I do wonder if you're not using this as an excuse, and would not have been amenable to adopt a pet anyway, were it not the case."

Dean scratches under his ear. "What? No. Of course, I'd want one. I love animals. Just, no snakes or anything that eats living food. I know you, and you would just end up saving all the mice or something."

"You know, they do make hairless cats and dogs," Sam pipes up, smirking when Dean sends him a side glare. 

"Those are majestic creatures, indeed, Sam, but I much prefer the softness of fur. Don't you Dean?"

"What." What kind of question is that?

"Wouldn't you like it if you could have a pet with a soft fur that didn't make you sneeze and suffer so much?"

"Huh. I guess?"

"Good," Cas concludes with a jut of his chin. "His name is Honey," Cas announces, raising the kilt that was on his lap to reveal a…

"What the hell is that thing?" Dean shouts, jumping to his feet. 

"Honey is a texel guinea pig," Cas says, cuddling the little beast to his chest. The pet starts emitting a little noise in pleasure as Castiel caresses his fur. It has long curly hair. Its head is black with a white spot on the top while the rest of its body is a mismatch of large black, white and orange spots. 

"It looks like a freaking sheep!" Dean exclaims, sending a betrayed look to his brother that is already kneeling next to Cas and petting at the small animal. 

"See, Sam, we do have a guinea pig now," Cas says proudly, making Sam chuckle at what is obviously a private joke between them. 

"We don't have anything! I'm allergic, Cas, remember? My health…," Dean finishes, faking a cough. Sam rolls his eyes while Cas squints at him. 

"I don't think you are, Dean. Honey has been on my lap all night and you haven't shown any signs of allergy. I've looked at you closely to make sure."

"Do you think he likes kale?" Sam asks, taking the little beast on his own lap as he sits on the ground. 

"I think he might, Sam. The internet says guinea pigs need to eat a lot of vegetables. Do you want us to go and try to feed him some?"

"Yes!" Sam declares, squeezing delicately the pet against his chest as he gets up. 

"But-," Dean tries to protest. 

"I bought him a little hammock that he really likes," Cas tells Sam as he gets up too. 

"But I haven't-"

"That's cute! I want to see it!" Sam says eagerly.

"My allergies…," Dean finishes lamely as he watches the two other men leave the room without a look in his direction. He scowls, staring at the beer he's still holding. He sulks for all of thirty seconds before he grumbles. "Dammit, I want to see the tiny hammock too. Guys, wait for me!"

**********************

"Oh, that's...that's a nice...tree."

"It's supposed to be Sam," Cas says with a pout, looking at his very first painting.

"Yeah no, I mean, behind him? The big woody thing?"

"That's you," Castiel pouts, looking dejected. 

Dean grimaces, inclining his head to try, and identify himself in the glob of paint on the canvas. 

"So you're not Van Gogh," Dean finally declares. "Or Mozart. The important thing is that you wanted to give it a try and you did. If you liked doing it, then that's what matters, no matter the end result," Dean tries to reassure, squeezing his friend's shoulder reassuringly. He learned his lesson when his words about Cas' lack of music skill were not so delicate, and the ex-angel ended up giving him the cold shoulder for a whole week. 

When he looks back at him, Cas has a small smile on his lips and a look so full of...of something, that Dean can feel his cheeks warming a little. Seconds pass and Cas keeps staring until Dean clears his throat, forcing himself to look back at the ugly painting.

"What's next on your list?" 

A hand pulling on his arm makes him turn back toward Castiel. Dean barely has time to react before his friend's lips brush with his. It's so fast and soft that he's left blinking in confusion, wondering if that really happened. 

"This was."

Cas is still smiling, even though Dean recognizes the worried line creased between his brows. The hunter opens his mouth, but doesn't know what to say. To say that he wasn't expecting it would be an understatement. To say that he never thought about it, a lie. To say that he regrets it…

"I liked doing it," Cas declares, nodding his head in satisfaction. "Now I want to ride a horse."

"A- a horse?"

"Unless we can still get a camel?" Cas teases, acting hopeful. He sends Dean a wink - a goddamn wink - before he grabs his painting under one arm and leaves the room. 

"Ride a...Wait. Cas! We're not getting a horse either! Cas!!" 

*************************

When Dean finds him, Castiel is sitting on the bench Dean made from the trunk of one of the trees they had to cut down to make this space into their garden. The sun hasn't set yet, but the end of september's evenings are already colder. The last flowers of the season are blooming, and the vegetables they planted in the spring are starting to wilt, only a few tomatoes popping red among the green and yellowing stems. 

Cas is bending forward, forearms resting on his legs. His eyes are closed and for a minute, Dean is worried that something happened, that he's sad or sick. He's reassured when he hears the low murmur of Cas' words, see the slight smile at the corner of his lips, the one Cas always gets when he's trying to be funny. 

His friend hasn't heard him approaching yet, so Dean waits, trying not to eavesdrop on a conversation he's not supposed to be a part of. 

Dean takes the time to check on the apple trees he planted instead. They're too young yet, too small to give any fruit, but by next year, maybe...He can't wait to bake a pie with his own apples. He rolls his eyes at the thought, that's so domestic. Yet here he is, planning on planting strawberries and raspberries, checking on the squash that is starting to grow and wondering if it'll be ready by Thanksgiving. 

Vegetables are Sam's thing. Flowers and the small hive they've built are Cas'. Dean is in charge of the fruits. 

They planted their garden over the underground garage, hidden by such a large ply of trees that there is no risk of anyone stumbling upon it by accident. They had to cut down trees, dig out every root, and plow the whole area to prepare the soil. They've spent nearly all spring and a good part of summer working to create that little bit of garden on the Bunker's roof. They've bought so many gardening tools that they're already making plans to build a shed here in the spring. 

It's nice. The bunker is feeling more and more like a home, like a place Dean could feel himself growing old in, maybe. 

They've talked about buying a house, especially Sam, but somehow they can't see themselves leaving anywhere else than in the bunker. It's their legacy, the place they were always meant to be, and they've come to love it despite all the horrors that happened there in the past. 

Maybe it will change someday. Maybe Sam will want to marry someone, to buy a more traditional place with a white picket fence where he can raise kids without fearing that they'll choose a cursed object or weapon laying around as their next toy. Dean has noticed more and more of Eileen's clothes in the laundry, more of her things left behind every time she comes to visit. He hopes it's only a matter of time before he's not surprised to see her at breakfast anymore. 

By the time he's checked on the fruit part of the garden, Cas has stopped praying and is observing him. The sun is setting, painting an orange glow behind him, and for a second it nearly looks like Cas has a hallo. 

"You told Jack about the horse riding lesson?" Dean asks as he straddles the bench to sit next to his friend. He rubs his hands against the cold, blowing into them to try and warm them up a little. 

"Maybe," Cas says with a mocking smile that makes Dean balks. 

"Oh, come on, you promise you wouldn't tell anyone about me falling on my ass!"

Cas chuckles at the memory of Dean's horse throwing him into a giant mud puddle. Dean had cursed for a whole ten minutes as he struggled to stand up but kept falling right back on his ass. It made Cas laugh so much that he'd started crying. That's a thing Cas does now, he laughs. He does it more and more, and Dean is amazed by it, every single time. 

"Technically, I didn't tell anyone anything," Cas argues with a smirk. He's not wrong. They have no idea if Jack can even hear their prayers now that he's taken charge of and close up Heaven. That doesn't stop them from regularly praying to him, especially Cas. 

"You tell Sam and I'll bury your damn guinea pig next to the tomatoes," Dean threatens. 

"No you won't," Cas says with a fond smile. 

"No, I won't," Dean admits, pouting half-heartedly. He's actually come to like the damn beast. Which no one would actually know if Honey didn't start screeching every time Dean comes near it, calling for the treat that he knows Dean will give him. It was supposed to be their little secret but Honey blew their cover more than once. Dean is still pretending he hates the little ball of fluff, on principle, even though no one is fooled anymore. 

"You were right about the horse, I hadn't realized the amount of dejection it actually produces," Cas concedes. "Also, my bottom is sore from the ride," he adds, squirming a little in his seat. 

Dean chokes a little on his saliva at the image that brings to mind. Honestly, even without the innuendo, watching Cas ride a horse, hips rising and bending over the saddle, has done quite a number on Dean's libido. If he hadn't been questioning his sexuality before, he would definitely be now. Good thing he already was. Cas kissing him has been the only thing on his mind for days now. They haven't talked about it, and Cas is acting like it didn't even happen, but Dean has barely slept since then, spending his nights thinking about Cas' lips on his, and how he might possibly maybe want to do that again. 

"Did you kiss Sam too?" he blurts out. It's not the most subtle or delicate way to bring up the subject, but apparently that's what his brain has chosen to say. Damn you, brain! 

"Why would I kiss Sam?" Cas asks, looking genuinely astounded by the question. 

"Wasn't that on your list?" Dean asks, scratching the back of his neck. 

Cas squints at him like he's the most idiotic thing he's ever seen and, well, Dean probably is. 

Dean squirms under the stare, rubbing his hands again, as much against the cold as in nervousness. The ex angel gives a long suffering sigh before he grabs Dean's wrists. He pulls on his hands until they're under his own sweater. Dean is so startled that he just looks at the bulge his hands are making over Cas' stomach with wide eyes, not daring to move his fingers. They're nestled between Cas' tee-shirt and his abdominal muscles. It's so warm under there that his skin is tingling from the temperature difference. 

"You're an idiot, Dean Winchester," Cas declares. Dean looks up, and Cas is looking at him so fondly that it makes him blush a little. 

"Yeah," he sighs. "I know."

"I must be one too, because I would very much like you to be my idiot for as long as you would have me," Cas confesses, a little shy as he draws patterns on the shape of Dean's fingers over the tissue of his sweater. 

"I'm not sure, Cas," Dean says, making the other man tense up. "Are you sure you want to be stuck with me forever?"

It takes a minute for Cas to get his meaning, brow furrows intensely before they relax in realization. 

"That was my plan all along," Cas says, his smile so wide it's showing his gums. 

And yeah, knowing Cas, it probably was. Cas would have stayed by Dean's side forever whether he was an angel or a human or even a God. Hell, Cas was ready to stay by his side when Dean was turning into a monster bearing the mark of Cain, and when he was a demon. He wanted to stay by Dean's side even when Dean was cruel and screaming at him to go. It was the irony of it all, wasn't it? It always felt like Cas was leaving him, running away for angel business or whatever, but Dean never ever doubted that he would come back. He always knew Cas would come back somehow. After all, even death could never keep Cas away for long. 

Dean slides his hands a little higher, making Cas shiver as they travel over his torso under his shirt. Dean's fingers tightens around the cloth, and pulls Cas closer, close enough that their noses are nearly touching. 

"And now it's mine too," Dean sworns,resting his forehead against the other man's. He cradles Cas' jaw, passing a thumb under one of his eyes. The stubborn angel refuses to close them, even though they're so close that he's going cross eyed. Still, he keeps looking right into Dean's green orbits and hell, that must mean Dean can't keep his eyes off Cas either

When they kiss, it's sappy and tender and sweet and everything Dean always thought he could never have. The relief he feels makes Dean wonders if it isn't everything he's been waiting for all along, without even realizing it. 

Cas is right by his side, as always, and Dean is damn well going to keep him as close as he can for as long as he possibly can. And hey, he knows the guy ruling Heaven now, so that might just be forever. 

The End. 

[janaikam]

My second to last commission for the @mlbforblm drive. This one was a pool request by @chatnoirinette for a djwifi date with marichat/ladrien. Because I’m marichat trash I decided to make this one with djwifi and marichat. I hope you all enjoy!

Thank you @marikittynoir for betareading!

Summary: Walking back home one night, Alya spots Marinette letting Chat Noir into her room. Alya and Nino accidentally uncover a bit more than expected when confronting their friend about the situation.

X

“Nino, I’m fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve walked back home alone.” Alya held her phone close to her ear as she glanced from side to side, watching for cars before crossing the sidewalk.

She was passing by her old college, Francois Dupont, which meant she had only a ten-minute walk left until she got home safe and sound.

Unfortunately, Nino wasn’t having any of that.

“Yeah, you do, but normally you’re walking in the daylight not the middle of the night!” Nino exclaimed on the other end. She could just imagine him pacing in his room, worrying about her. Nino was super sweet and she loved that he cared so much, but times, like this, it could be really annoying.

“I didn’t mean to stay so long at the library on purpose, but hey, at least I didn’t stay until dawn again! Plus this time I called you,” Alya pointed out.

The library Alya had just come from was this new 24 hour one that opened up. They had regular library hours, but if you wanted to stay behind and do your own research they let you pay for a membership. Alya had jumped on the opportunity as soon as she heard that they had a whole section on superheroes. There had been many times when she either stayed at the library all night or fallen asleep and Nora had to come pick her up because it got too late.

Tonight she really tried to leave at a decent time. She had even set an alarm, but that darn snooze button would be the death of her. She had been doing some research on past Ladybug miraculous users for the Ladyblog, and by her probably 10th time pressing snooze, she had noticed a bunch of college-aged students glaring at her. She had packed up everything really quickly and exited the building before checking the time on her phone. It had been 11:00 P.M.

“Do I have to start coming with you to make sure this stops happening?”

Alya rolled her eyes as she stopped at the crosswalk not too far from the Dupain-Cheng bakery. The bakery lights were off, but she could see Marinette’s bedroom light still on. Hmm. Maybe she could throw pebbles at her window like a little Romeo. But then Marinette would convince her to stay the night and she couldn’t afford to do that.

“No, dad. I’m fine. In fact, I’m about to pass by Marineee…” Alya trailed off, staring blankly at Marinette’s balcony.

Alya watched as Chat Noir landed on top of the balcony. He knocked twice before Marinette’s head poked out of the trapdoor and she kissed him on the cheek before moving so Chat could enter her room.

“Alya?! Are you there? What’s wrong?” Nino’s panicked voice interrupted Alya’s racing thoughts.

Alya gulped as the crosswalk light turned green, but she didn’t move an inch too scared that she might unravel what she just witnessed.

“Nino, I think Marinette is dating Chat Noir.”

                                                           XXX

No one could ever say Nino never supported Alya.

Alya wanted to be the power duo at Just Dance? He broke out his best dancing shoes and helped her climb to the top.

Alya wanted to chase akumas? Nino was there by her side, making sure she didn’t kill herself in the process.

Alya wanted to be a superhero? Nino was Rena Rouge’s number one fan and everyone knew it.

Alya wanted to help track down Hawkmoth? Well, Nino was more than happy to give the old fart a piece of his mind.

But when Alya suggested her best friend was dating the cat-themed superhero of Paris? Well, that was just a little too hard for him to believe.

Ignoring the fact that Marinette has a giant crush on his best friend, Chat Noir just wasn’t her type. Marinette never seemed to be interested in the boastful arrogant types. At least from what he remembered about her. But then again he could be wrong about her. Heck, he could even be wrong about Chat Noir. Yet none of that even began to explain why the two of them would be spending time with each other that they would start to even date.

It just made 0 sense.

“Nnnniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooo,” Alya drawled. “I know what I saw. Marinette kissed Chat Noir and then proceeded to let him into her room!”

“Maybe it isn’t what you think it is?” Nino suggested hopefully.

“What am I supposed to think, Nino!? That my best friend is just sneaking a boy in a leather-looking magical catsuit into her room in the middle of the night for the heck of it?”

Nino shrugged. “They could just be friends who are hanging out? Chat Noir doesn’t always have to parade around as Paris’ superhero. He’s probably just a normal everyday person and Marinette decided to help him feel normal. I mean Marinette is super nice about those things.”

“But the kiss! The Kiss, Nino!”

“Uhh...maybe they’re friendly? I mean we’re French. We kiss in greeting.”

Alya gave Nino a deadpanned look.

“What else am I supposed to say? There are so many other logical explanations for why Marinette would kiss Chat Noir as he snuck into her bedroom.” Nino paused for a second. “Okay, that sounded really bad as I said it, but c’mon Alya. You really think Marinette would start dating Chat Noir?”

Alya tapped a pen on his cap. “That’s what I’m going to find out!”

Nino groaned, knowing Alya she’d devise some crazy scheme to get Marinette to confess that she was dating Chat Noir.

“Alya, please, don’t do anything stupid,” he begged.

“Stupid? Who me?” Alya blinked innocently as she walked towards the door. “Relax, I’ve got it all figured out.”

Alya winked at him as she exited the apartment.

Hopefully, Marinette has better luck than me convincing her.

                                                          XXX

“On your left!” Adrien shouted as he moved his cat-themed character across the Marshmallow Marsh.

Thanks to Adrien, Nino just narrowly avoided a sugar bomb. Maneuvering around the sticky mess left in its wake, Nino was able to catch up to Adrien’s character as they reached the end of the marsh and the end of the level.

Candy Chompers was one of Adrien and Nino’s favorite games ever since they discovered it two months ago. They had been enamored by the sugary sweet world and all the characters and adventures that came with it.

It was really a nice change from the games that guys their age played. Less violence and gore. More cute adorable animals wanting to save their world from being overrun by the evil Candy Lord.

As the next level loaded, Nino felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He shifted his position on Adrien’s couch so he could reach the phone.

Nino groaned as he read the text from Alya. So Marinette failed at her job yesterday.

Adrien glanced at Nino. “Everything okay?”

“No.” Nino paused the game, running his hand through his hair. “Apparently, Marinette and Chat Noir are dating and it seems Alya is making us go on a double date Saturday.”

“Wait, Alya found out Marinette and Chat Noir are dating?” Adrien asked, almost fearful.

“Yeah, crazy right?” Nino set his controller on the arm of the couch. “I always thought you two would get together.”

“Heh, yeah, Marinette and I. Definitely won’t happen now. Cause she’s with Chat. Hehe.”

Nino raised his eyebrows. Adrien was acting weirder than usual. And that was saying a lot, considering he always had the lamest excuses when akumas happened. Nino never really questioned the excuses though. Whatever he was doing when they occurred was Adrien’s business.

“So you’re going on a double date with Chat Noir?”

Nino nodded.

“Awesome. Great. Amazing.”

Before Nino could ask about Adrien’s weird response, Adrien unpaused the game, forcing Nino to refocus on the level ahead.

Adrien’s behavior was weird, but maybe he just had more feelings for Marinette than Nino thought. Man, he really shouldn’t have mentioned the double date in front of Adrien. Poor dude.

                                                          XXX

“I still don’t see why you had to invite them over for a date,” Nino said, watching Alya pull out her famous chicken casserole from the oven. The smell of the dish alone was enough to get Nino’s mouth watering.

Placing the hot dish on the stove, Alya turned towards Nino. “I needed to see if this little kitty is good enough for our Mari.”

“Alya. He’s a superhero. You’ve had interviews with him. How can you say he’s not good enough for Nette?”

There was the sound of voices coming from Alya’s front door, so Nino moved to go open it. From what he could tell the two people outside of it were arguing.

“For all we know, Chat Noir could just be keeping up appearances. Knowing the entirety of Paris is watching, he could have just put on this fake personality, and underneath he’s just this ugly troll, trying to hurt our precious Marinette.”

Nino rolled his eyes at his girlfriend’s antics.

“Why are you dressed like that?” One of the voices in the hallway said. Kind sounded like Marinette if he really focused on the voice.

“I thought that this was appropriate.” Wow, that sounded a lot like Adrien. “Especially considering they think that—”

The voices stopped as soon as Nino opened the apartment door.

Huh, so it was Marinette’s voice he heard, but definitely not Adrien’s.

Marinette and Chat Noir looked like little kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Both of them looked extremely stiff as they stood next to each other right outside the apartment door.

“Oh, you’re here!” Nino jumped at Alya’s sudden appearance behind him. “Nino, don’t make them stay out there all night.”

“Yeah, c’mon in!” Nino moved aside to let the couple in.

“You came at a perfect time, I just took out the food. I’ll bring it out in just a second!” Alya said, walking back into the kitchen.

“Okay, Alya. We’ll be at the dining table,” Marinette responded, leading Chat over to the table in the dining room.

Nino wasn’t sure if it was just him, but Marinette seemed extremely tense like she was a mouse stuck in a field of mouse traps.

There was an awkward pause at the table once the three sat down. Neither of the couple in front of Nino seemed very eager to strike up a conversation. Probably just nerves.

Considering the circumstances, Nino figured that they never really expected to go on a double date ever, so now being on one was likely very weird.

“Uh, so, Chat, what do you like to do for fun?” Nino asked.

“Oh, you know. Everyday teenage boy things. Play video games, flex in the mirror, save princesses. Normal everyday activities. Hehe.”

“What games do you play?”

“I play a bit of Ultimate Mecha Strike III and Cand—OW!”

Nino watched confused as Chat Noir brought his foot up to his face and cradled it. Marinette didn’t seem at all concerned by her boyfriend’s antics. Instead, she was glancing back towards the kitchen where Alya was adding some finishing touches on her casserole.

“Oh, so you and Marinette must’ve bonded over your love for UMS3. She’s like the queen of that game. I still have yet to meet someone who could beat her at it.”

Chat Noir scoffed. “I’ve beat Little Miss Constipation Girl here at UMS3 multiple times.”

Of all the names to call Marinette, that had to be the weirdest one ever. He definitely had to ask about that later. As far as he knew , the only people who knew about the constipation incident were him, Alya, the girls, and Adrien. Well Nino only knew because Adrien had told him about his trip to London and Alya filled him in on some minor details after the fact.

Marinette either blushed in embarrassment at the nickname or at the fact that she wasn’t an unbeatable mastermind at UMS3. “You only won both times because you cheated by distracting me!”

“A true champion knows not to get distracted by the tiniest of things.” Chat had a smug smirk on his face as he watched Marinette turn as red as a tomato.

“Why you mangy little all-”

“Dinner is served!” Alya announced, interrupting Marinette.

Whatever the incident was surrounding UMS3, Nino was definitely never going to bring that up again for fear of his life or Chat’s life.

“So what were you guys talking about?” Alya asked, taking the seat beside Nino.

“Nothing much. Wow, babe this looks amazing. Let’s dig in!” Nino exclaimed, quickly grabbing a serving of the casserole.

Chat and Marinette followed suit while Alya gave Nino a look that read, ‘What the heck is going on?’. Instead of answering the exact question she was thinking, Nino turned towards his plate and started filling his mouth with food.

Alya shook her head at his antics, grabbing her own portion.

The next few minutes were spent in a comfortable silence as everyone dug into the food.

Alya really out did herself this time. Maybe Marinette should sneak around with superheroes more often if this is how Alya ends up cooking.

“You’re a hungry little cat aren’t you?” Alya asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Looking up, Nino saw Chat with his claw (paw?) on the spoon for the casserole dish.

“Sorry, I didn’t get to eat a whole lot today and this is really good food, Ms. Ladyblogger.”

Nino, along with Alya and Marinette, looked at Chat concerned. Of all people, Nino would’ve thought a superhero would eat enough to stay healthy. Superheroes like Chat and Ladybug were always out there running around stopping akumas. Not eating enough food? That was practically a death wish.

“Nino, could you go get the leftover coleslaw from our lunch earlier. I think Chat needs it more than Ella and Etta.”

Nino immediately complied, more than eager to help out the poor boy who consistently saved Paris.

“No, you don’t have to!” Chat started shaking his hands, trying to stop Nino.

“Dude, we have a model friend who doesn’t eat enough as it is and I always make him eat some of my leftovers. As far as I know you’re not a model, but you save Paris like everyday so a healthy diet is a must.” Nino pushed the bowl of coleslaw into Chat’s arms. “Here, take as much as you want.”

“Oh, um, thanks. I’m not really sure what to say.” Chat blushed.

“You don’t say anything. Just eat.” Marinette grabbed the coleslaw from Chat’s hands and filled his plate with a nice serving. Alya did similar and picked up the casserole dish, piling even more food onto his plate.

“Oh, okay then.” Chat picked up his fork and stared at his plate now full of food.

“I don’t see a lot of eating going on there.” Marinette had her hands on her hips, watching Chat to make sure he would eat. Chat clearly didn’t want to test Marinette on the topic of food, so he complied by eating the food in front of him.

“I think I finally get it. Marinette is dating Chat to make sure that he would be eating enough!” Alya shouted after a few minutes watching the two.

“Wait what you think I’m dating Chat!?” “That’s exactly the reason!”

Marinette and Chat blurted at the same time.

Nino furrowed his eyebrows at Marinette’s statement. That didn’t make a lot of sense considering they were currently on a double date.

“Wait, what do you mean you and Chat aren’t dating?” Apparently, Alya also picked up on Marinette’s statement.

“Um, well you see Chat is here, umm, filling in for Adrien because you mentioned how you saw me with my boyfriend and I’m dating Adrien hehe.” Marinette smiled unconvincingly.

“So you’re not dating Chat Noir?”

Marinette shook her head. “I’m not...did you think I was?”

“Uh, yeah! I saw him sneak into your room one night and you kissed him on the cheek!”

Marinette glanced at Chat. “Oh, uh, you saw that? Chat and I just hang out sometimes. Giving each other cheek kisses and all.”

Alya blinked while Nino grinned at the explanation. It was practically the same explanation he had given Alya when this whole thing started.

“Oh. Then that means you’re dating Adrien?”

Marinette nodded.

“And Chat filled in because Adrien couldn’t make it?”

Marinette nodded again.

“Uh, I have a question.” Nino felt the entire table’s eyes on him as he spoke. “Why did Chat volunteer if you and Adrien were keeping your relationship a secret? Why not just say Adrien couldn’t come instead of outing your secret to three people?”

“Adrien and I are bad at keeping secrets?” Marinette said more so as a question.

“Clearly.” Alya sighed. Nino could tell she was just as confused as he was.

There was just something about her story that didn’t add up. It was really bugging him, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

Unless it was…

“Hey, Nette, did you ever tell Chat about the prescription incident?”

“No, why?”

That was it. That was what didn’t make sense. “Why did Chat call you ‘Little Miss Constipation Girl’ earlier?”

“Uhh…”

“There was another constipation incident!”

Alya gave the pair a look of disbelief. “As much as I could believe Marinette had some separate constipation incident. I feel like your actions suggest otherwise.”

“I mean it’s not like there’s anything ba—Oh my gosh, Chat’s Adrien.” The answer just hit Nino like a bullet train. How could he have been so blind. Adrien was the only dude who even knew about that stupid constipation incident. And then his actions lined up almost perfectly with how Chat acted. Even his reaction at the dinner invite. He was probably completely confused on who he was supposed to show up as.

“How could I have been so blind!” Alya exclaimed next to him.

“I guess we let the Chat out of the bag, huh?” Chat whispered to Marinette.

“No, you did!”

“Nah, it was a team effort.”

[un-beel-ievable]

Obey Me! Headcanons/Mini fics: Love in Bloom 💐 (Part 2)

Author’s note: Please do not repost!! If you like my writing, please leave a like and a comment (and follow me to see similar content in the future :D)! 

Part 1

_____

Asmodeus 👄:

The sprigs of coriander tucked into a small, plastic bottle stood out like a sore thumb amongst the vases of flowers Asmo had strewn around the room. Asmo sighed in dissatisfaction at the sight before moving the bottle to his bedside table, hoping that it would look less out of place there. The coriander was a gift from you, and while he appreciated everything that you gifted him...couldn't you have given him an actual flower? Coriander was more of a herb, wasn't it? Shouldn't you have given it to Beel instead?

As Asmo mused over where a good spot to place your gift would be, his bedroom door creaked open. Asmo glanced over his shoulder briefly to catch a glimpse of blond hair.

"Dinner's almost ready." Satan stops beside Asmo to blink quizzically at the coriander. 

"It's from MC." Asmo sighs.

Satan studies his younger brother, taking in the furrowed brow (Wow, that's a first...Asmo's usually so concerned about getting wrinkles.) and the barely concealed emotion in Asmo's eyes. Irritation? Confusion? Hurt? Satan wasn't sure, but what he did know was that Asmo couldn't have been 100% happy with getting what was essentially a kitchen spice. "You know, MC borrowed a book from me on the language of flowers the other day."

"And?"

Satan picks up the makeshift vase, a cryptic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Coriander symbolises one's hidden worth. A merit that you may not realize yet."

_____

Beelzebub 🍔:

The two of you were enjoying a picnic lunch in the school courtyard. It was a cool day, and the gusts of wind chilled you to the bone even though Beel had loaned you his scarf. You glanced over at your companion; he seemed fine, albeit a bit subdued. He wasn't chowing down on his burger as quickly as he usually did...usually he would have turned his puppy dog eyes on you by now, pleading silently for a portion of your food.

You elbow him in the side, and he looks at you curiously. "Penny for your thoughts? You seem a little down."

He gives you a rueful smile, placing his half eaten burger back in his lunch box. "You've got me. I was just thinking about Belphie...and everything that happened the other day."

You shudder, the memory of Lucifer's demon form flashing quickly before your eyes. You couldn't imagine what Beel must have felt in that moment...and the deja vu he must have experienced. Watching the people he loved slip through his fingers not once but twice, unable to do anything to save them. It must have been awful. You glance around at your surroundings to distract yourself, and notice a cluster of snowdrops growing in the shade along the side of the school building.

You stand up suddenly, startling Beel. "What do you know about the language of flowers?"

Beel blinks in surprise at the sudden change in the topic of your conversation. "Not much."

"In the human world, there are people that believe that different sentiments can be expressed through using different types of flowers." You turn towards Beel, directing his attention towards the snowdrops. "Did you know that snowdrops represent hope? They're one of the few flowers that can survive the cold...and when they flower, they do it so beautifully, despite the harsh weather they had to endure."

"You've been through hell and back...but you're still standing. And if we ever have to face anymore horrors, -not that I'm not hoping that you never have to deal with anything so scarring ever again- I know that you'll be fine."

Beel smiles softly, reaching out to take your hand in his. "I know I will...as long as I have you by my side."

_____

Belphegor 🛏:

You notice ever since Belphie has been freed from the attic, he'd been avoiding you. He'd been eating breakfast early, returning to his room before you came down to eat. He'd leave the room he shares with Beel when his twin invites you to come hange out. When he runs into you in the hallways, he'd immediately turn tail and flee in the other direction.

This cat and mouse game was exhausting, and you were determined to confront him about it. You finally corner him in the observatory tower, where he often takes his afternoon naps. He smiles nervously at you as you stand over the bench he's lying on with a stern look on your face. "Ah...MC. Good to see you..."

"Enough, Belphie." You cross your arms. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

He sits up slowly, rubbing his head. "I didn't think you'd want to see me. I know I've caused both you and my brothers a lot of hurt...and I know it's got to be weird having me around after everything that's happened. Besides...everyone's been acting so awkwardly when I'm there. I figured you guys would be better off without me."

You purse your lips, but otherwise don't respond. Without saying another word, you leave Belphie alone in the observatory.

When Belphie gets back to his room a few hours later, he discovers a bundle of white flowers and a card lying on his bed. Beel tells him that you had dropped off the gift a while ago. The message on the card reads:

White tulips represent forgiveness. I hope that with time, you learn to forgive yourself. Everyone's happy to have you back...don't you ever think otherwise. Your brothers and I care for you very much.

For the first time in many, many years, a genuine smile lights up Belphie's face.

[vaire-gwir]

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.6

Or: I lost a Friend on ao3.

I really can’t let this one go, every time I’m ready to resign myself to the fact that I won’t finish it, I have to write another chapter. 

It’s winter again, and for the first time in a while, Lambert dreads the coming of spring. He refuses to go to Kaer Morhen cause he knows he won’t find peace there, so he decides to remain south. Eskel being the good and worried brother he is, finds him eventually. I wanted the reunion to be so much better than this, but I can’t seem to write anything happy lately. 

Be kind, english is not my first language and there’s a reason why this blog is called fillingless pie, keep that in mind. 

****

Lambert was passing through Velen when he decided he was not heading north. 

Something about this place gives him the chills. He's never been here with Aiden, they spent plenty of time in Novigrad and Oxenfurt, but they purposely avoided stopping in Velen, mostly because no one was paying them enough to face ghouls, mercenaries, and religious fanatics all at the same time. 

The stained statues, dripping with fresh blood and caked with the remnants of old sacrifices, creep him out. Their empty eyes seem to follow him around, everywhere he looks there's a shrine or a wooden sculpture of some kind, and he can feel their silent judgment. 

Lambert has never been religious, not before being a Witcher and not after, especially not after. If there were Gods, it's hard to accept they grant powers to certain people only to have them play with formulas and tweak mutagens until they could create a bunch of monsters to hunt other monsters. How did the Gods allow things like Witchers to happen?

A long time ago Aiden told him he didn't believe in the Gods because they're a useless device to instill fear, they demand sacrifices and tributes but do nothing when it comes to helping a miserable bastard out. They turn a blind eye to starving communities while rich Lords thrive and get wealthier by the day. 

<i>So much for justice, right? We're told to not anger them, but no matter how hard folks try, they still never answer people's prayers: I've heard poor farmers begging for their fields to be fruitful, and yet all they got was a scorched square of land and starved, I've listened to innocent mothers pleading for their children's lives and yet they had to bury them, I caught children praying for their father to return from the war and all they got was a bloodied sword in his stead. 

If the Gods were listening, they wouldn't allow that, don't you think? If they allow all this to happen, either they don't care about us or they're not really there. I'd rather believe they're not there. </i>

The icy wind howling between the trees surprises the Witcher and tears him from his dark thoughts as he instinctively pulls his cloak tighter. Lambert hadn't noticed how winter silently crept up to him, soon everything will be blanketed in snow, and he should have made its way up to Kaer Morhen weeks ago to retreat to the old keep and wait for spring. 

For the first time in a long while he dreaded the coming of spring. He had nothing to wait for this year, spring sounded as lonely as summer, as sad as fall, and as bitter as winter.

And now it was too late, he told himself, the passes would already be covered in snow and it was too dangerous to climb up the Killer in this weather, it was a treacherous path even in summer. It was a pointless risk to take considering that he could find half-decent work pretty much everywhere, he told himself it all depended on how picky he was. 

And if he's lying, well, no one is here to call him out. 

Because truth is, Lambert doesn't want to go home this year, home is gone and stone walls are no different than the bricks and rocks of any other village. 

He won't find comfort or safety in Kaer Morhen, there's nothing he can do there besides chasing shadows around every corner. He's not bringing another ghost to the party, the old castle is already too full of them. 

Home was just a word. Somewhere to let his guard down and stop feeling like he was constantly out of place. It was acceptance, understanding, safety. It was the chance to feel something else besides anger and disappointment. 

Home was that room at the inn north of Kaedwen where Aiden waited for him at the beginning of every spring, the first time they met there, as soon as Lambert picked up the trail of Aiden's scent his heart started beating so fast he was worried everyone else could hear it and by the time he got to the front door his hands were shaking like a blushing maid. 

He felt so stupid and happy and relieved to meet his lover again, he almost couldn't believe Aiden came all the way there for him. 

 Home was that clearing in the forest out of Redania where they spent the night huddled on the same bedroll after they were kicked out of a tavern, a petty argument turned into foul words and by the time they were forced to leave Lambert had never seen Aiden so annoyed and upset. 

Anger was his thing, it looked out of place in his green eyes. Lambert wanted so bad to go back and set the whole place on fire on principle, cause they don't deserve it, they didn't do anything wrong, and he would have done so, consequences be damned. 

But Aiden said that people rarely get what they deserve and curled up on his side, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and asking Lambert to stay. Suddenly nothing was more important than holding him close.

Home was the empty house by the river where they fucked until sunrise, the cave where he told Aiden he loved him for the first time, the room at the palace in Beauclair where he was so jealous he almost screwed up but Aiden forgave him anyway. That was home, Aiden was home. 

But Aiden was gone. Spending the winter between forgotten walls and frozen gardens is no different than spending it anywhere else if you don't care for the coming of spring. 

And he has no way to explain to his brothers what has happened. He’s not going to face his makeshift family knowing they’ll smell the stench of despair right off of him miles before he reaches the keep. He'll have to tell them what happened, there will be questions on their lips, and he doesn't have any answers. 

The wasteland surrounding him seems to reflect his mood so well, possibly because he has a different understanding of emptiness now: it's not only in the absence of things that were there, it's also in the impossibility to go back to a previous state, as if the shape of what's missing was still occupying an invisible place, so it's not truly empty, it's full of the shadows of those things that are gone. 

And maybe going back is not the point.

Spring is not as alluring and promising as it was before, the rain is not refreshing, the sun less warm, the shadows are always stretching long in front of him, they don't offer relief but only fear. 

But it was not spring that was alluring and promising, it was the chance to see Aiden again that beckoned him out of the keep, to kiss him, to tell him any stupid thing that crossed his mind, or just to sit in silence. 

The rain is still the same, but it won't cling to Aiden's eyelashes anymore, it won't fall on his face, it won't trace imaginary patterns on his shirt when it drips from his curls. 

The sun is still as warm as before, but its bright rays won't dance on Aiden's skin in the morning mist while they're sleeping, and it all seems a bit pointless now if he can't have it with Aiden. 

Lambert doesn't find it fair that nothing on the outside has changed. His whole world collapsed and he almost expected the real world to start crumbling too. 

Nothing will change in two weeks or in two months, it's not a new season that will make him whole. Days are still slipping from his hands, and nights are filled with the same nightmares he had months ago. He'll still be empty and lonely in spring, just like he was in winter, just like this scorched earth has always been. 

Before meeting Aiden he had always lived life like that, without holding any expectations or hope, accepting things as they were, his only defense against the world was his anger. But he's not the same person he was before, much like a snake that sheds its skin can't wear the old one again no matter how much it misses it. 

No, he won't go to Kaer Morhen this time. Every inn, every tavern, every empty house can be almost like home, cause when it's dark and he's weary and he can't bother to scrape monster's blood off of his skin, he can pretend that Aiden is getting food downstairs and he’ll be back in a few minutes, he's talking with their employer, burning a body, getting supplies, he'll be back, he just has to wait and behave. 

And when the illusion holds, he can breathe easy again for a few minutes, cause he knows he’ll wait until the end of times if it means he gets to see bright green eyes and a cheeky grin emerging from the doorway. 

It's not a permanent solution, but he lives by the rule of whatever helps you sleep at night, one more lie won't make any difference. 

It's exhausting, searching for Aiden's face in every single person he sees, but that doesn't mean he knows how to stop doing it. Just like he doesn't know how to stop seeing the damn cats. 

All of a sudden there's an abundance of felines everywhere he goes, nobody owns them, nobody sees them, but even in the middle of all this ruin, he has seen a gray cat jumping out of the rubbles. Its green eyes seemed almost out of place, too bright, too full of life, too clear. Beautiful things don't belong to ruin, almost in the same way Aiden didn't belong to him. 

The cats will follow him all the way to Kaer Morhen, his madness will chase him wherever he goes. 

He can already imagine the peaceful, repetitive life of the winter days at the old fort disrupted by his silent confrontation with a nonexistent cat, and his brother, his perfectly sane and normal brothers, as normal as they can be, even Geralt's bard, and Vesemir, all watching him while he trails after an invisible animal.

That would be something to explain. 

Lambert is still carrying Aiden's medallion with him, he can't bring himself to leave it behind after all this time. 

  He vowed he was going to burn it, throw it in a river, bury it in the middle of a nameless forest, but it's still in his pocket, the weight of it anchoring him to reality when he's drifting through the nightmares. It doesn't burn as much as before, or maybe he's familiar with that slight physical pain by now. 

Some things are easier than others to get used to. Loss is not one of those things. 

And if the Wolf wasn't so lost in his own thoughts, he'd notice the pack of ghouls moving in circles around the ruins of what once was a village, but his mind is not keeping up with his body, it's still focused on the gray cat amidst the ruins, and the creatures pounce before he can even figure out they're there. 

Rookie mistake. 

***

In the end, it’s Eskel that finds him in spring. 

Lambert is investigating a shipwreck along the Pontar river, near Ban Ard, the fourth in a month. He's sure it's sirens he's dealing with, but he hasn't found a single clue yet. 

The first rays of dawn greet him on his spot at the end of the bay and the first thing he can think of is that Aiden would have liked it here. He clenches his fists so tight that the dark leather creaks audibly, frustration and disappointment settling in his veins like a snake. 

Maybe that's why his mood is darker than usual, a sleepless night out on the shore in the middle of winter will do that to anyone. 

Maybe it's because he's not eager to go back to the inn, the maid swore they never let any animals in, and yet there was a ginger cat on the windowsill of his room when he entered and his stomach flipped every time its green eyes moved in his direction. 

It's the same maid that greets him when he gets back to the inn, she's tending to the animals as she say "there's another one" when she sees him, "I sent him upstairs, he said he knows you? I figured...well, I don't want to get in trouble."

Lambert stares at the entrance puzzled: it's a bit too early for Witchers to be this south. He used to be the first to leave the keep as soon as the snow melted, the others always stayed a bit longer. Unless it's not a Wolf. 

He doesn't know many other Witchers that well though, he has vague memories of his brief encounter with the Caravan, he has seen a Bear in Kaer Morhen a couple of times, and once while they were out on a hunt he saw Eskel talking to a Viper. He wouldn't say he knows any of them.

As he walks through the tavern, a familiar scent finds his way into his senses: beneath the leather and the steel he can smell amber, and sandalwood, with a hint of something raw, welcoming, citrus and apples, it's a warm scent, one he knows very well, he used to wake up to that scent on his pillows. 

Eskel always smells inviting to him, like sitting at the table when you're hungry or waiting for a cake to come out of the oven. 

How weird, the only two people he ever loved in his life were nothing alike: Aiden smelled like the sea, or the crisp clean blankets drying in the first rays of summer, fresh, spicy, promising, tempting. Eskel was comfort and quiet, reassurance and furs that have been left to warm by the fire draped over the bed. 

 He stops in front of the door, unsure, for too long. His mind is having a hard time figuring out why Eskel is here, did he happen to pass by, why is he not in Kaer Morhen, what if something happened...

The door opens not even a minute later, and a blur of red and black armor surrounds him distracting him from the questions crowding in his mind. He finds himself enveloped in a tight hug, strong arms circling his shoulders, pulling him closer, muttering something he can't focus on.

When he was younger he used to think that Eskel was the safest place he could find, it's funny how some things never really change. 

He’s worried, Lambert can tell something is bothering him, but for some reasons he looks almost...relieved? That's a first, he finds it hard to believe anyone can feel that way  when they see him. 

"How did you...What are you doing here?" Lambert's confused expression doesn't hide his reluctance in breaking their embrace. 

"Lambert, we thought...I was worried." Eskel doesn’t ask why he did not come home or what happened to him, he clutches him for a moment longer, silently grateful he finally found his brother. 

Fear is a big part of the winter months. Concern and worry sat in their chest like a stone every time they walked through the frozen courtyard. It's something every Witcher experiences, it comes from not knowing how many of those they left the previous season they'll find the next one.

This year, winter had been an ordeal for Geralt and him, Vesemir kept saying they shouldn't worry too much, but it's impossible to do so when they have no idea of what happened to their brother and the list of things that could have gone wrong is endless. 

It's tough, they already have so little, that the idea of losing it is unbearable. Whoever makes it to the castle first is bound to spend at least two awkward and anxiety-filled weeks waiting not so patiently for the others to finally, finally show up. They all know what it's like to lose a brother.

"It's early. You should be in Kaer Morhen," Lambert says trying to avoid his eyes. He sits on the end of the bed as if putting some distance between them could help him explain his brother's presence. 

"I left as soon as I could. Asked around in Ard Carraigh and a friend told me a Witcher was looking at the shipwrecks along the Pontar, figured it was worth checking out."  Eskel stares at him intently to check that the younger Wolf is not wounded or recovering from some injury. The fact that he doesn't find any doesn't settle his concern. 

"It's sirens," Lambert adds scowling. It didn't make sense for Eskel to be here this early, not for such a shitty contract. First job of the season was usually a big one for them, but he must have had a reason to travel so soon just to take a look into this.  

"I'm not here for the sirens," Eskel interrupts, his voice low as he crosses his arms over his chest. He leans on the small table in front of the bed and Lambert can see the way he's staring at him, he has that focused frown on his face, the one he always gets when he's engrossed in a book or when he's trying to plan the best course of action before a hunt. 

It makes him nervous enough to start ramble: "I can't find anything cause of course those fuckers disappear as soon as they feed and I have no idea where their nest is, but I'm on it, and I know it's sirens, you shouldn't worry about that. No point in coming all the way here at this time of the year, I can handle a couple of bloody fishes, and the sailors..."

"I'm not here for the damn sirens! I'm here for you!" Eskel snaps. Lambert immediately shuts up and lowers his eyes to the floor, the room falling into a tense silence. 

Eskel sighs. He sees Lambert fidgeting on the spot, legs bouncing slightly, fingers torturing a frayed thread on the blanket underneath him, unable to settle. Eskel hates himself a bit for putting him in that position. 

"You didn't come home." Eskel keeps his voice soft, trying to mask his concern. He used to be the one to help him calm down, relax and unwind when he was on edge, he shouldn't be making it worse. 

"I spent winter south before. Things happen." Lambert shrugs as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

He was surprised when he met Eskel outside of Beauclair an early fall afternoon of some years ago. It was always nice to run into your brothers on the Path, that brief moment of respite was worth all the hard days of traveling. 

Lambert felt almost sorry for lying when he said he couldn't stay long because he had a contract. Almost. 

In all truth, he was just eager to go back to Aiden, their little room seemed better than an entire palace. It felt natural, almost too easy, mentioning that he had a good job here and he wanted to spend the winter in town. He couldn't tell the real reason why he was so keen on remaining here, but thankfully Eskel didn't question him. 

The memories of those peaceful and carefree days together still cling to his mind, gnawing at his inside in painful bites. 

He doesn't know that Eskel thought happiness and quiet suited his brother so nicely he secretly hoped to find him in the same frame of mind next time they'd meet. 

"Exactly. Things happen, usually not nice things to us Witchers." Eskel sighs and rubs the lower part of the scar on his face out of old habit. "Do you remember that year I got held up on elf business and I was three weeks late?" 

"Of course I do, some of the worse three weeks of my life," Lambert mumbles. He didn't think it could get any worse than not knowing if one of the most important people in your life was alive or not. Now he knows it can get worse. Knowledge hurts more than doubt.

"You said I should never scare you like that again or you were going to kill me yourself." Eskel grins at the thought, the memories of Lambert clinging to him well into the night and muttering every now and then <i> don't ever do that again</i>. "Can you imagine how I felt when you didn't come at all?"

 Lambert keeps his eyes trained to the floor, unable to look at his brother. He never thought Eskel would miss him like that, he's not someone others usually miss. He's more like the type of person others can't wait to get rid of, the sooner the better. 

Fear of losing someone is etched into their souls from the first trials, when they have to deal with the horrible truth, many won't survive. 

Lambert remembers being in his room with tears still stinging in his eyes, trying to be strong, telling himself he made it through the woods and it would be easier now that the trials were done. And when he thought the worst was over, he quickly discovered it only just begun. 

Every year the apprehension and dread only ease when they're all finally together in the main hall. Lambert has been in the position of waiting for Eskel or Geralt to arrive, every day being a torturous collection of wasted hope. 

That's why Eskel's words hit him differently. He should have known better. 

"I...I had something going on...I'm not...I didn't think it was a big deal." Lambert knows he doesn't deserve his kindness or patience. 

He's always been a selfish bastard, and the fact that they're here in this room, and he's trying to come up with some excuse for his stupid behavior is proof enough.

"Why not? Do you really think you're not important to us? To me?" For a split second, Eskel wonders if maybe his brother didn't want to be found. He wasn't accidentally late, he hasn't been held back like they all thought, he consciously decided to not go home to them. 

For reasons unknown, Lambert didn't think Kaer Morhen was safe for him anymore. And that hurt. 

"Lambert, did something happen?" Eskel silently moves to sit next to him on the bed, his hand laying on his shoulder. His senses scream at him that there's something different in his brother's frown, in the way the lines on his forehead seem more pronounced, in how he seems to be so blank.

Lambert was always the only one of them to express everything in extreme, be it something he was passionate about or the anger that seemed to torment him at times. He was rarely measured or composed, he was everything or nothing, no in-betweens. 

That's what's different in him now. There's no fire in his eyes, no mounting feelings waiting to explode, it's like something was taken from him. 

He doesn't know what's wrong with his brother, but something is off. He's hurt, not in a visible way, but it's there, like a cut you can't see but it keeps bleeding. 

This type of wound, he doesn’t know how to heal. He can’t give Lambert some Swallow and let him sleep it off, there’s no injury to stitch or bone to fix, yet he can see his brother is bleeding and broken. 

[seunqs]

[ a long get to know me tag ]

tagged by: losers @woosohn @yeonjuins

what day is your birthday?

27th june! it’ll be on a monday next year

what’s your favourite colour?

blue! a rather specific shade of light sky blue but i also like dark blue! might be misleading because everyone would think beige/black since that’s the aesthetic i like + almost everything i own is black...

what’s your lucky number?

i don’t have one i think but i tend to say 7 if i’m asked?

do you have any pets?

sadly no >:( will get one in the future idc idc

how tall are you?

158cm tiny i wna be abit taller

how many pairs of shoes do you own?

off my head i think 3 pairs...? just 2 black and 1 white that i rotate depending on the outfit i’m wearing

favorite song?

asdjekw i don’t think i have one specific one but recently i’ve been listening to maniac by nct doyoung & haechan!

other honourable mentions: a book of love by ha hyunsang, wide eyed blind by saint raymond, irreplaceable by nct dream, lmly by jackson wang. that’s all i have off my head

favorite movie?

surprisingly i’m not big on movies... but i’ll always answer parent trap when someone asks! why do i sound like i always have prepared answers in my head for various questions... okay that’s bc i do.

what would be your ideal partner?

@june look away i already know you’re gna say this sounds a lot like someone..

shy... is the main characteristics lmao idky it’s not even like i’m outgoing but i tend to find myself liking shy-er boys over the outgoing ones! aaa those with very obvious leadership qualities and quietly cares and looks out for those around them :’) tsundere! i think shy may appear cold sometimes but i’m rly :’) when the shy ones become very affectionate in private or when you get to know them better :’) or shy with strangers but very goofy and silly with their closer social circle heh those that are more cat-like than dog-like, only approaches you when they’re comfy. okay also shy but willing to speak up when necessary! doesn’t let themselves get bullied for being quiet and also pls speak up for me i hate ordering food pls do it for me HAHAHHA also if they’re passionate about something they like/are good at! good listeners too heh doesn’t need to always have the best advice, just if they would sit with me silently and listen to me and give me a hug afterwards :’’’’’) i think i’m on the touchier side too so if they don’t dislike that it’ll be nice! OH someone who’s good at cooking too bc i hate cooking and the kitchen in general.. i’ll do the dishes though HAHAHAH ok that is all there is a certain idol in my head that is the embodiment of my ideal type and i hate him >:(

do you want children?

no... not so much bc i don’t find them cute or i can’t handle them but i think it’s a commitment that scares me! bringing up the child well with the right character and values ajksdbwkje i don’t know if i’m up to that HAHAHAH

have you gotten in trouble with the law?

nope @woosohn @yeonjuins pls be proud of my direct no why are the two of you......... 

bath or shower?

shower! i don’t know if i’ve actually taken a bath before... probably when i was younger HAHAH i think i’ll get bored in the bath and i much rather be relaxing in bed than in the tub

what color socks are you wearing?

barefoot at the moment! the socks i own are mostly solid colour socks / simple cartoon or animal patterns but all ankle socks that can’t be seen with my shoes

favorite type of music?

i listen to pop, r&b and indie! that’s about all and favourite depends on the mood!

how many pillows do you sleep with?

just 1! and a bolster too

what position do you sleep in?

either on my back with hand over my head lmao or turned to either sides while hugging my bolster and face buried into the bolster

what you don’t like when you’re sleeping?

when it’s too hot! canNOT sleep if the weather is too hot. also if i get woken up rudely, by screaming or someone smacking me awake LMAO just tell me nicely to get up and i’ll be out of bed in 10mins pls give me awhile my brain is turning on HAHAHA

what do you have for breakfast?

recently i haven’t woken up early enough for bfast or my family is just about to go out to buy lunch by the time i’m up hahaha but on the days that i’m alive for bfast, iced coffee and any pastry sitting in the fridge! my family is big on pastries like croissants and cakes like banana and carrot cakes! so one of those but the iced coffee is a constant in my first meal of the day

have you ever tried archery?

nope and idt i’ll be good at it tbh....

favorite fruit?

strawberries, apples, peaches! there are some seasonal favs where i rly like them for a period of time and then suddenly not anymore but these 3 are the constants

favorite swear word?

hahahaha i dont think i have a favourite one..... but i say tf a lot and mf for kpop boys who make me more flustered than they should

do you have any scars?

i don’t think so! i have a few stretch marks around my waist and tummy tho 

are you a good liar?

yes... HAHAH i used to get scolded so much for lying as a kid lmfao

what’s your personality type?

isfj-t has probably only dipped to isfp-t once but if not constant isfj!

what’s your favorite type of girl?

HAHAHAH uh.... okay with all kinds i think? except people in general who try too hard

innie or outie?

innie. was this question necessary tho AHHAHAHA

left or right-handed?

right-handed

favorite food?

ramen! but i like lots of food lmfao tiramisu, pork belly, lots of noodles, also lots of rice, beef, cakes, ice cream, i think i’m more salty > sweet!

favorite foreign food?

japanese ramen, korean cuisine!, lasagne

are you clean or messy?

clean

most used phrase?

i think alot of keyboard smashes, lmao, wtf, HAHAHAHHAHA, sigh, i’m tired LOL

how long does it take for you to get ready?

depends! fastest i think i can get out of the house 20mins after i’ve woken up. longest probably an hour where outfit is taking a while and accessories needs to be chosen

do you talk to yourself?

in my head yes.

do you sing to yourself?

not often but i sing out loud for the family to hear LOL in my head very often a song is playing up there

are you a good singer?

nop. i don’t think i’m a BAD singer but wouldn’t classify as good either HAHHAHA

biggest fear?

wow so many things but i think biggest is complete darkness, i need to see and know what is going on around me. i sleep with a night light on heh 

are you a gossip?

with closer friends yes def HAHAH my school culture tends to have lots of tea that my friends and i don’t like to get too involved in but we do talk about the gossips that goes around hahaha have also been in the center of gossip way too often

do you like long or short hair?

long! can’t imagine myself with short hair.. used to have reallllyyy long hair that goes beyond my waist and cried when i cut it to slightly below shoulder length. that’s the shortest i’ll ever go

favourite school subject?

wow nothing i don’t like school lmfao but humanities and language are way more bearable than math and sciences

extrovert or introvert?

introverted

what makes you nervous?

unpredictable situations, being alone in public (contradictory because in private i would strongly prefer to be alone but i don’t enjoy being alone in public i feel judged HAHAHA), also currently waiting on a reply for something and that’s been keeping me anxious the past 2 days :’)

who was your first real crush?

when i was 13/14, tablemate in school that was kinda shy and had very limited social circle but talked to me endlessly in class lmfao he apparently liked me too but we never dated and went to different schools at 16 y/o. we’re still kinda in touch though! we talked quite a fair bit last month just catching up but he’s more of an acquaintance now

how many piercings do you have?

2! just one normal lobe piercing on either ears, don’t think i’ll get anymore

how fast can you run?

back in school i used to be one of the fastest girls in my class LMFAO i could clock 12.5 minutes for a 2.4km run. stamina came from dancing since i had to run laps before dance class 2 times a week. but that is long in the past and now i get tired from climbing more than 4 flights of stairs pls spare me

what color is your hair?

naturally black but dyed brown! my hair has grown quite abit since i dyed it though now its black at the top and brown from above my ears onwards

what color are your eyes?

a very dark brown lmfao almost black

what makes you angry?

irresponsible people. just pushing responsibility to others or avoiding their responsibilities. don’t need you to do a good job with your responsibilities, just don’t make your issues my issues. and if its a shared responsibility like group projects, then do your part to contribute and don’t expect others to cover you

selfish people, in many ways. just being self-centred, not caring about how others feel, doing things for personal gain at the expense of others

speaking in a passive-aggressive/sarcastic manner. i say this even though i’m afraid of confrontation but i much rather someone outright tells me they’re unhappy about something or wants to get a point across. i hate when they talk about it sarcastically or tries to sugar-coat their words to make themselves look less aggressive about their words. tell me straight as it is, if you’re already gonna talk about something bad don’t piss me off with your attitude at the same time

do you like your own name?

rae is nice! has a very nice ring to it and looks pretty!

do you want a boy or a girl as a child?

i don’t.. want one.. but both have their good and bad i can’t decide.. i want a puppy

what are your strengths?

is this an interview question i have had a few interviews over the past weeks i am well-prepared for this HAHAHA

i think i’m pretty resilient! i bounce back from bad times pretty quickly or i psycho myself to see the situation positively. but it is ofc coupled with a lot of complaining to the people around me first

although i hate unpredictable situations and having to quickly adapt to new settings, i think i adapt pretty quickly too. flexible? easy-going? idk what’s the right way to call it but yeah something along those lines. good at it but i still enjoy my stability and calm don’t want to have to quickly adapt to new situations.

what are your weaknesses?

very emotional HAHAH used to be much worse but i often let my emotions rule my head. i think i’ve improved A LOT though i used to be so bad but i think i’m now able to make rational decisions even if im bawling LMFAO

this sounds like a compliment but i’ve been told this too often as well. i tend to be way too nice to people who don’t deserve it. even if the person doesn’t deserve it or they’ve pushed all my buttons in the wrong way possible, i would still try to be as nice and polite as i can. really helps with me working in the f&b industry lmfao.

what’s the colour of your bedspread?

dark blue / grey! 

colour(s) of your room?

white & wood (throughout my house actually + green from the plants in the living room) @yeonjuins says i live in a muji showroom

[rockscanfly]

Fear Itself (TMA/YJ Crossover)

Moments later Kaldur was confronted with the sight of Wally reclining lazily on the deck of his boat. 

The lanky ginger was dressed for the beach, freckled nose smeared in sunscreen and oversized aviators perched high atop the mop of his red hair. Wally had procured a neon pink deck chair from somewhere and was throwing birdseed to a pair of seagulls leashed to the chair’s arm.

Wally toasted Kaldur with a frozen, dubiously fruity drink as he climbed fully from the hold, bright purple umbrella shaking gently in the cold Atlantic breeze. “Aloha, amigo! Pina colada?”

Kaldur suppressed a smile. “It’s two degrees Celsius out here,” he said, eyeing the reddening tips of Wally’s fingers. “And it looks like you took your time preparing your entrance.”

“What’s an eldritch abomination without a good entrance?”

Kaldur’s hiding out from his greatest fear: himself. Wally swings by to knock some sense into his old friend.

Kaldur awoke in hold of his small ship to the sound of seagulls. 

Quietly, he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder to the deck. He grit his teeth as he imagined emerging into the open air, nausea rolling in his gut. It had been weeks since he first forced himself back onto the open waters he once loved, but exposure therapy was apparently only so effective. Agoraphobia was an unfortunate affliction for a climate scientist conducting deep ocean sampling. 

Kaldur tightened his grip on the ladder and hauled himself upwards. Seagulls.

Which was alarming, because when Kaldur had allowed exhaustion and anxiety to drive him below deck for the night, he’d been in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Too far from shore, by a far margin, for seagulls.   

Or do you mean a Vast margin? The smug, playful voice of Wally West sing-songed in Kaldur’s head. 

Moments later he was confronted with the sight of the man himself reclining lazily on the deck of his boat. The lanky ginger was dressed for the beach, freckled nose smeared in sunscreen and oversized aviators perched high atop the mop of his red hair. Wally had procured a neon pink deck chair from somewhere and was throwing birdseed to a pair of seagulls leashed to the chair’s arm.

Wally toasted Kaldur with a frozen, dubiously fruity drink as he climbed fully from the hold, bright purple umbrella shaking gently in the cold Atlantic breeze. “Aloha, amigo! Pina colada?” 

Kaldur crossed his arms pointedly, raising a brow. “We’re on the Atlantic, not the Pacific. Hawaii is further from here than the Arctic.” 

Wally shrugged, failing to hide a shiver as another crisp gust blew across the deck. “Tomato, tomato. It’s all impossibly large stretches of empty water to me, my man.”

Kaldur suppressed a smile. “It’s two degrees Celsius out here,” he said, eyeing the reddening tips of Wally’s fingers. “And it looks like you took your time preparing your entrance.”

“What’s an eldritch abomination without a good entrance?” Wally dismissed, sipping from his drink through a frankly excessive silly straw. Its bright twists and turns reminded Kaldur of another redhead. 

Wally grimaced as the cold drink went down his throat. “It’s a little chilly,” he said brightly, nonchalantly attempting to tip the rest of the frozen drink over the side rail. A spray of cold saltwater splashed up over the deck, soaking Kaldur’s fellow scientist’s brightly patterned shirt. 

“Ah!” Wally exclaimed, flushing brightly when Kaldur cocked his hip, blonde eyebrow climbing to new heights. Wally not so subtly eyed the entrance to the hold that Kaldur had emerged from, fingers and toes curling tight as the wind blew fresh chill through his wet clothes. “If you’re cold though,” Wally said, shameless, “I don’t see why we can’t do this below deck.” 

Kaldur shrugged, arms flexing underneath his thick sweater and windbreaker. “I’m quite comfortable, actually.” Kaldur strode over to the side of the deck nearest Wally, studying a few apparatuses secured to the side railing. “We can talk while I collect my samples, and then you can leave.”

A pale hand shot out, just barely stopping short of gripping Kaldur’s wrist. “Kal,” Wally whined, giving up all pretext of not being absolutely freezing. “Below deck, please.” 

Kaldur sighed, turning to climb back into the bowels of his boat. Wally followed close behind him, muttering incomprehensibly about Kaldur’s poor taste in oceans. With most other people on the planet, Kaldur would have banished any intruder on his self-imposed solitude to somewhere Away. Nowhere dangerous, mind. At least not intentionally.

Barbara has picked well by sending Wally West to fetch him. Kaldur had been foolish for attempting to hide out in the middle of the ocean. He was alone, to be sure. But he was alone in the Vast, and at its mercy.

That mercy, in the form of a pre-hypothermic physicist shivering under three of Kaldur’s warmest blankets, accepted the cup of coffee that Kaldur passed him gratefully. “Roy misses you.” 

Kaldur sipped his coffee. “And I him. That is very much the point.”

Wally reached behind him, rummaging in Kaldur’s cabinets. “No creamer? Sugar?”

Kaldur shook his head, smirking gently against the rim of his mug.  

Wally grimaced. “Gross. But also, hey? I thought you came out to conduct climate research.” 

“If I can help save the planet while avoiding hurting those I love, I see no reason not to do both.” 

“You’re not though,” Wally said, pumping his fist when he found a small jar of honey. “I mean, I’m sure you’re helping with the planet saving bit,” he amended, stirring what must have been half of the jar into his mug, sipping it gingerly as it overfilled. “You’re pretty garbage at the other half, though. What if I told you you could do both if you came back?” 

Kaldur resisted the urge to ask why Wally bothered with coffee when what he really wanted was just hot sugar. “I fail to see how inevitably feeding off the innocent and sacrificing their souls to The Lonely will help with either.” 

“Not being around people won't make you less lonely. That’s fucking stupid,” Wally pointed his dripping spoon at Kaldur emphatically, flicking droplets of sticky sweet coffee all over Kaldur’s clean table. “And you’re not stupid. Just kind of a coward,” Wally added, slurping on the spoon. “Sometimes. About people, mostly. Roy, specifically. It’s okay, he’s useless too. But also, we need your help to stop the apocalypse.”

Kaldur subtly stole the honey jar back, securing it before the redhead could dip his saliva covered spoon back into the jar. “I’ve assisted in stopping numerous.”

“Not like this one.”

Kaldur sat quietly, hands folded before his face in contemplation as Wally finished explaining how the world was going to end, ‘for realzies, bro’, if the fears didn’t work together to stop it. 

“So,” Wally pressed after the silence stretched out into minutes. “You ready to come back, or what?”

“I still cannot see where I fit in this picture.”

“Bitch me too, what the fuck,” Wally laughed, then sobered. “But actually. We don’t have, like, a plan-plan yet. Dick and Babs are piecing what they can together, but meanwhile it can’t hurt to have as much manpower as possible on board. They need peeps to do like, missions and shit,” Wally waved his hand dismissively. “Intel gathering, etcetera.”

Kaldur frowned. “And I assume that your current mission would be classified as recruitment. No.”

Wally took a long sip of coffee, fixing Kaldur with an indulgent look. “And why, pray tell, the fuck not?”

Kaldur took a sip of his own coffee. “I will not risk bringing harm to others while Barbara is still without a plan, Wallace.”

Wally set his mug down, leaning forward on his elbow. “First off,” he said, raising a finger, “Don’t call me Wallace. Second off, hey dude? We’re all dangerous. You’re not special.”

Kaldur sat back in his own chair, prim. “And how many souls have you fed your god?”

Wally grimaced. “Not my point.”

Kaldur crossed his legs. “And it remains mine. Leave.”

Wally glared, standing. “God, I forgot how annoying your self-righteous schtick can be. Don’t know how Roy puts up with you. No, dude,” Wally slicked his hair back, fixing on a winning smile. He extended his hand to Kaldur, beckoning. “Not unless you’re ready to come with, drama queen.”

“It appears I wasn’t clear. My apologies,” Kaldur sighed, setting his cup down with a firm clink. He fixed Wally with a cold green stare. “Leave me alone.”

The Vast’s avatar had enough time to scowl. “Oh fuck y—” 

And then he was gone. 

Kaldur uncrossed his legs, balancing shaky elbows on braced knees as he buried his head in his hands. Sweat prickled his brow. Banishing another Avatar was always difficult, but Kaldur was amongst the strongest of their generation. And he’d been doing this for a longer time than most people his age. Certainly much longer than Wally West. 

Kaldur had just enough time to mull over the greater implications of Wally’s words before something landed with a loud thud on the deck.

Loud, wet footsteps stomped rapidly down the stairs. Wally, looking like a soaked ginger cat in his waterlogged Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, flung out a shaking finger to point accusingly at Kaldur. He was missing a sandal. “That was fucking cold.”

Kaldur raised a brow. “Then go somewhere warm.” With a decisive flick of his wrist, Wally was gone. Again. 

Kaldur had just enough time to catch his breath before another resounding thud came from overhead. This time Wally launched himself down the stairs, eyes furious as he reached for Kaldur. Kaldur made another sharp gesture, vanishing the redhead moments before his shaking fingers could close on Kaldur’s collar. 

This sequence of events more or less repeated for a half hour. Kaldur amassed a barricade between himself and the stairs to keep the increasingly furious physicist at bay. They were both trembling, Kaldur’s sweater having soaked through with sweat. Wally, increasingly pale and drenched from his plunges into the freezing oceans, limped down the stairs after their tenth round. 

“You. Are. Ridiculous,” Wally panted, clinging shakily to the stair railing. 

“If you continue this foolishness, you’re going to drown in the Atlantic,” Kaldur shot back breathlessly from where he’d collapsed back onto his bunk in the far corner of the cabin. “Conserve your energy. Go home.”

“Stop being a bitch and come with me,” Wally hissed. “You can’t out stubborn me, Kal.”

“Goodbye, Wally.” With a grunt of effort, Kaldur sat up and waved his hand, banishing the ginger again. Alone, he collapsed back against the thin mattress, gasping for breath. 

No thud sounded overhead. The screams of seagulls and the slap of waves against the small boat were the only sounds that greeted him. 

Kaldur caught his breath, allowing his eyes to close as he listened to the screech of the gulls. After a few long seconds, he hauled himself up, snagging an inflatable emergency raft on his way up the stairs. Quickly throwing a survival kit and two life jackets over one shoulder, Kaldur grabbed Wally’s discarded drink, squeezing his eyes shut as he focused on the younger man’s presence. Finding was never Kaldur’s forte, and as an avatar of The Vast Wally would be especially difficult to find in the ocean. 

But Kaldur, for all his youthful best intentions, was a fully realized avatar of The Forsaken. Wally was drowning, terrified, and alone. And that fear sung to Kaldur’s god like blood to a shark. 

Quickly, Kaldur inflated the raft, lashing the life jackets and emergency kits to the inside. He removed his boots and coat, then grabbed hold of the outer rope. 

Squeezing his eyes tight, Kaldur allowed himself something he’d starved himself of for months. He pictured Wally, visualized his exhausted arms failing, slowing in the water. That wild head of red hair sinking beneath the freezing waves into the empty black. 

Kaldur pictured his drowning friend’s loneliness and allowed himself to feed. 

The icy water punched the breath from Kaldur’s lungs. Luckily he had always been a powerful swimmer, and more immune to the cold than most. He ducked under the water, kicking down into the depths. It was too dark to see, so he allowed the addictive fear of Wally’s mind to guide him. Seconds, hours later, Kaldur’s laid hand on a flailing limb. Quickly he grasped Wally around the middle, kicking them both up to the dim light.

They broke the surface seconds later, gasping. Kaldur managed to tow Wally along to the raft, unhooking one of the lifejackets from the side and wrestling Wally into it. That accomplished, he pushed himself into the raft, reaching down into the water to haul Wally after him. 

Kaldur accomplished the next steps of rescue silently. Shaking, Wally could barely help strip himself of his soaked clothes, teeth chattering around rasping coughs. Once Wally was bare, save the lifejacket, Kaldur swiftly wrapped him in a blanket 

Kaldur stripped next, wrapping himself in another emergency blanket as he set up the emergency heater to boil water for cocoa. Hot, sugary liquids were the best thing for someone coming out of hypothermia. Once the water was done Kaldur pressed a tin mug full of the stale, lumpy hot chocolate into Wally’s shaking hands. Then he settled next to the shivering ginger on the raft, rearranging their blankets so Wally could leach some of Kaldur’s body heat. 

After spilling a good third of the mug, Wally finally got some cocoa down. His shivering died off gradually, going from wracking tremors to normal teeth chattering. 

Kaldur finished his own mug of cocoa, gagging at the taste. He’d never been a fan of sugar. “Please don’t do that again.”

Wally’s teeth chattered. He stared at Kaldur, squinting peevishly. “Think that's my line, dude.”

Kaldur took one of Wally’s hands in his own, rubbing it rapidly to bring warmth back into the pallid skin. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Wally grinned, pressing closer under the emergency blanket. “Promised I’d bring you back. There’s some very dangerous people who will kick my ass if I break that promise. Who miss you, by the way, asshole.” 

Kaldur set down one hand, taking the other. He kept his eyes set studiously on Wally’s hands, watching pink rush back into the pallid skin. “I’m not worth this.”

“Dude, you just handed me my ass on the closest thing I have to a home turf inside the atmosphere.” Wally tugged his hand from Kaldur’s, setting both on the other man’s tattooed shoulders. He shook Kaldur gently until the other man looked up at him. 

Wally smiled, teeth still gently chattering together. “You’re stupid strong. I know it's like, the opposite of what you’re comfortable with? But we need you. And not just for your cheery disposition.” 

Kaldur colored, dark cheeks flushing. He shrugged off Wally’s hands, instead pressing closer and tugging the emergency blankets tighter around the both of them. Silence sat heavy between them as they watched the little camp stove bring more water to a steaming boil. “How many will die, if Barbara is right?”

Wally scrubbed his hands through his wet hair, shaking red curls out like a dog. “Everyone, man.”

Kaldur held his breath. Let it go, gradually. Remembered a different time in his life, huddled with a different redhead under the serene peace of the night stars. It wasn’t that long ago. His agoraphobia had been getting better before the hospital ward. 

Before, out of his depth and panicking, Kaldur had taken fifty Corruption infected victims and fed them to The Lonely. “I don’t want to return to what I was.”

Wally shifted closer, bumping his knee against Kaldur’s own. “You’ve got people this time. We’ll keep you in check.” The human warmth of him was comforting, especially as the adrenalin of rescue wore off. Kaldur could feel the crushing anxiety of the open sky and ocean creep back up his spine. His agoraphobia was always worse when he was tired. Wally continued, “I mean, we’ve figured out fixes for the rest of us. Just. Trust us.”

“You know it is different for me,” Kaldur said slowly. “There is a reason I am what I am, Wally.”

Wally laughed. “Dramatic? Insufferable self effacing? Kind of a cold fish?” When Kaldur didn’t reply, Wally shrugged, throwing an arm over Kaldur’s shoulder and pulling him close. “Nah, man, I get it. You weren’t a random pick.” Wally gripped Kaldur’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “What you don’t get is that we’re all like that. If you don’t jive with your entity, it just eats you.”

Kaldur raised a brow. “Jive.”

“Shut up, I’m hypothermic,” Wally shot back. A few seconds passed. “When can we get out of here?”

“I’d like to retrieve my boat. And some clothes.”

“So no popping back into the manor, bare-ass naked and entangled in one another’s arms?” Wally waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Kaldur thought he might be attempting a wink, but it just looked like something had gotten into the physicist’s eye. 

Kaldur still smiled, despite himself. Barbara really had chosen well, sending Wally to retrieve him. And not just because of the other man’s entity-granted power set. Wally had a talent for making it difficult for people to take themselves too seriously. And, being somewhat self-aware, Kaldur could appreciate that he was, at times, a little ‘dramatic’. “I think Roy’s suffered enough on my behalf without having to witness that.”

 Wally grinned. “Spoilsport.” 

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

A/N: One part of a WIP The Magnus Archives/Young Justice cross over I’ve been mulling over for over a year now. Kaldur is an Avatar of The Lonely because, well, DUH, and Wally is an Avatar of the Vast because of lightning imagery and the fear of being insignificant (a major fear in his season 1 incarnation, it seemed). Let me know what y’all think! 

[theatticoneighth]

Watching The Queen’s Gambit; on the Remarkable Unexceptionality of Beth Harmon

‘With some people, chess is a pastime. With others, it is a compulsion, even an addiction. And every now and then, a person comes along for whom it is a birthright. Now and then, a small boy appears and dazzles us with his precocity, at what may be the world’s most difficult game. But what if that boy were a girl? A young, unsmiling girl, with brown eyes, red hair, and a dark blue dress? Into the male-dominated world of the nation’s top chess tournaments, strolls a teenage girl with bright, intense eyes, from Fairfield High School in Lexington, Kentucky. She is quiet, well-mannered, and out for blood.’

The preceding epigraph opens a fictional profile of Beth Harmon featured in the third episode of The Queen’s Gambit (2020), and is written and published after the protagonist — a teenage, rookie chess player, no less — beats a series of ranked pros to win her first of many tournaments. In the same deft manner as it depicts the character’s ascent to her global chess stardom, the piece also sets up the series’s narrative: this is evidence of a great talent, it tells us, a grandmaster in the making. As with most other stories about prodigies, this new entry into a timeworn genre is framed unexceptionally by its subject’s exceptionality.

Yet as far as tales regaled about young chess wunderkinds go, Beth Harmon’s stands out in more ways than one. That she is a girl in a male-dominated world has clearly not gone unremarked by both her diegetic and nondiegetic audiences. That her life has thus far — and despite her circumstances — been relatively uneventful, however, is what makes this show so remarkable. After all, much of our culture has undeniably primed us to expect the consequential from those whom we raise upon the pedestal of genius. As Harmon’s interviewer suggests in her conversation with Harmon for the latter’s profile, “Creativity and psychosis often go hand in hand. Or, for that matter, genius and madness.” So quickly do we attribute extraordinary accomplishments to similarly irregular origins that we presume an inexplicability of our geniuses: their idiosyncrasies are warranted, their bad behaviours are excused, and deep into their biographies we dig to excavate the enigmatic anomalies behind their gifts. Through our myths of exceptionality, we make the slightest aberrations into metonyms for brilliance.

Nonetheless, for all her sullenness, non-conformity, and her plethora of addictions, Beth Harmon seems an uncommonly normal girl. No doubt this may be a contentious view, as evinced perhaps by the chorus of viewers and reviewers alike who have already begun to brand the character a Mary Sue. Writing on the series for the LA Review of Books, for instance, Aaron Bady construes The Queen’s Gambit as “the tragedy of Bobby Fischer [made] into a feminist fantasy, a superhero story.” In the same vein, Jane Hu also laments in her astute critique of the Cold War-era drama its flagrant and saccharine wish-fulfillment tendencies. “The show gets to have it both ways,” she observes, “a beautiful heroine who leans into the edge of near self-destruction, but never entirely, because of all the male friends she makes along the way.” Sexual difference is here reconstituted as the unbridgeable chasm that divides the US from the Soviet Union, whereas the mutual friendliness shared between Harmon and her male chess opponents becomes a utopic revision of history. Should one follow Hu’s evaluation of the series as a period drama, then the retroactive ascription of a recognisably socialist collaborative ethos to Harmon and her compatriots is a contrived one indeed. 

Accordingly, both Hu and Bady conclude that the series grants us depthless emotional satisfaction at the costly expense of realism: its all-too-easy resolutions swiftly sidestep any nascent hint of overwhelming tension; its resulting calm betrays our desire for reprieve. Underlying these arguments is the fundamental assumption that the unembellished truth should also be an inconvenient one, but why must we always demand difficulty from those we deem noteworthy? Summing up the show’s conspicuous penchant for conflict-avoidance, Bady writes that: 

over and over again, the show strongly suggests — through a variety of genre and narrative cues — that something bad is about to happen. And then … it just doesn’t. An orphan is sent to a gothic orphanage and the staff … are benign. She meets a creepy, taciturn old man in the basement … and he teaches her chess and loans her money. She is adopted by a dysfunctional family and the mother … takes care of her. She goes to a chess tournament and midway through a crucial game she gets her first period and … another girl helps her, who she rebuffs, and she is fine anyway. She wins games, defeating older male players, and … they respect and welcome her, selflessly helping her. The foster father comes back and …she has the money to buy him off. She gets entangled in cold war politics and … decides not to be.

In short, everything that could go wrong … simply does not go wrong.

Time and again predicaments arise in Harmon’s narrative, but at each point, she is helped fortuitously by the people around her. In turn, the character is allowed to move through the series with the restrained unflappability of a sleepwalker, as if unaffected by the drama of her life.  Of course, this is not to say that she fails to encounter any obstacle on her way to celebrity and success — for neither her childhood trauma nor her substance-laden adolescence are exactly rosy portraits of idyll — but only that such challenges seem so easily ironed out by that they hardly register as true adversity. In other words, the show takes us repeatedly to the brink of what could become a life-altering crisis but refuses to indulge our taste for the spectacle that follows. Skipping over the Aristotelian climax, it shields us from the height of suspense, and without much struggle or effort on the viewers’ part, hands us our payoff. Consequently lacking the epochal weight of plot, little feels deserved in Harmon’s story.

In his study of eschatological fictions, The Sense of an Ending, Frank Kermode would associate such a predilection for catastrophes with our abiding fear of disorder. Seeing as time, as he argues, is “purely successive [and] disorganised,” we can only reach to the fictive concords of plot to make sense of our experiences. Endings in particular serve as the teleological objective towards which humanity projects our existence, so we hold paradigms of apocalypse closely to ourselves to restore significance to our lives. It probably comes as no surprise then that in a year of chaos and relentless disaster — not to mention the present era of extreme precariousness, doomscrolling, and the 24/7 news cycle, all of which have irrevocably attuned us to the dreadful expectation of “the worst thing to come” — we find ourselves eyeing Harmon’s good fortune with such scepticism. Surely, we imagine, something has to have happened to the character for her in order to justify her immense consequence. But just as children are adopted each day into loving families and chess tournaments play out regularly without much strife, so too can Harmon maintain low-grade dysfunctional relationships with her typically flawed family and friends. 

In any case, although “it seems to be a condition attaching to the exercise of thinking about the future that one should assume one's own time to stand in extraordinary relation to it,” not all orphans have to face Dickensian fates and not all geniuses have to be so tortured (Kermode). The fact remains that the vagaries of our existence are beyond perfect reason, and any attempt at thinking otherwise, while vital, may be naive. Contrary to most critics’ contentions, it is hence not The Queen’s Gambit’s subversions of form but its continued reach towards the same that holds up for viewers such a comforting promise of coherence. The show comes closest to disappointing us as a result when it eschews melodrama for the straightforward. Surprised by the ease and randomness of Harmon’s life, it is not difficult for one to wonder, four or five episodes into the show, what it is all for; one could even begin to empathise with Hu’s description of the series as mere “fodder for beauty.” 

Watching over the series now with Bady’s recap of it in mind, however, I am reminded oddly not of the prestige and historical dramas to which the series is frequently compared, but the low-stakes, slice-of-life cartoons that had peppered my childhood. Defined by the prosaicness of its settings, the genre punctuates the life’s mundanity with brief moments of marvel to accentuate the curious in the ordinary. In these shows, kindergarteners fix the troubles of adults with their hilarious playground antics, while time-traveling robot cats and toddler scientists alike are confronted with the woes of chores. Likewise, we find in The Queen’s Gambit a comparable glimpse of the quotidian framed by its protagonist’s quirks. Certainly, little about the Netflix series’ visual and narrative features would identify it as a slice-of-life serial, but there remains some merit, I believe, in watching it as such. For, if there is anything to be gained from plots wherein nothing is introduced that cannot be resolved in an episode or ten, it is not just what Bady calls the “drowsy comfort” of satisfaction — of knowing that things will be alright, or at the very least, that they will not be terrible. Rather, it is the sense that we are not yet so estranged from ourselves, and that both life and familiarity persists even in the most extraordinary of circumstances.

Perhaps some might find such a tendency towards the normal questionable, yet when all the world is on fire and everyone clambers for acclaim, it is ultimately the ongoingness of everyday life for which one yearns. As Harmon’s childhood friend, Jolene, tells her when she is once again about to fall off the wagon, “You’ve been the best at what you do for so long, you don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us.” For so long, and especially over the past year, we have catastrophized the myriad crises in which we’re living that we often overlook the minor details and habits that nonetheless sustain us. To inhabit the congruence of both the remarkable and its opposite in the singular figure of Beth Harmon is therefore to be reminded of the possibility of being outstanding without being exceptional — that is, to not make an exception of oneself despite one’s situation — and to let oneself be drawn back, however placid or insignificant it may be, into the unassuming hum of dailiness. It is in this way of living that one lives on, minute by minute, day by day, against the looming fear and anxiety that seek to suspend our plodding regular existence. It is also in this way that I will soon be turning the page on the last few months in anticipation of what is to come. 

Born and raised in the perpetually summery tropics — that is, Singapore — Rachel Tay wishes she could say her life was just like a still from Call Me By Your Name: tanned boys, peaches, and all. Unfortunately, the only resemblance that her life bears to the film comes in the form of books, albeit ones read in the comfort of air-conditioned cafés, and not the pool, for the heat is sweltering and the humidity unbearable. A fervent turtleneck-wearer and an unrepentant hot coffee-addict, she is thus the ideal self-parodying Literature student, and the complete anti-thesis to tropical life.

[clawsanddiamonds]

IC PORTION; BASICS —

CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS: Selina Kyle / Catwoman

FACECLAIM: Morena Baccarin

AFFILIATIONS: Most notably, herself.

AGE (physical age as well, if different): 37

SPECIES (human, metahuman, alien, etc): Human

IS YOUR CHARACTER’S IDENTITY SECRET OR PUBLIC? Secret

IF SECRET, OR YOUR CHARACTER IS A CIVILIAN, DO THEY HAVE A CIVILIAN OCCUPATION? Hell no, unless you count thievery as an occupation. Her pockets are deep, certainly enough to sustain a temporary stay in Sokovia.

DOES YOUR CHARACTER LIVE IN THE MOUSEHOLE? IF SO, WHAT ARE THEIR DUTIES? No

DESCRIBE SIX TRAITS (3 positive, 3 negative) YOUR CHARACTER HAS AND HOW THESE AFFECT THEM: +Bonus: LOVED BY CATS. + Adaptable and independent: She will do what it takes to survive. Selina’s survival instincts are almost unparalleled - whatever it takes to make it, she will do it. She has worked so hard to create herself from the ground (under, even) up, and refuses to let anything stand in her way. She makes her own rules and only follows those, and even then sometimes changes things up. + Charismatic: Social engineering is the name of the Catwoman game, and it is something Selina excels at. Despite the manipulation piece, there is no denying that Selina Kyle has charm and will be the center of attention if that’s what she desires. She excels at manipulating social scenarios to exactly what she desires them to be, and to be successful at that she certainly has to be charming with dazzling smiles and easy-flowing conversation. + Intelligent: Strength and intelligence go hand-in-hand in the world Selina has found herself in, and she was blessed to not be lousy of either. Selina’s intelligence is often as quick as her whip, and she’s quick on her feet (ha) and outside of the box as well. Her heists and plans are usually overly organized and well thought out with a large deal of thought and planning behind them, always with many contingencies in case things go awry. Selina is able to process things very quickly and react in kind, an absolute necessity in her line of work. - Selfish / narcissistic: At the end of the day, Selina’s one and only priority is herself. While, at times, she certainly can show compassion and concern for others, her biggest concern is her own wellbeing and her comfort. Selina’s need to be self-serving and independent is number one, and overrides most other desires and needs in her life. - Distrusting / doesn’t play well with others: Letting people in is something that Selina avoids at all costs, considering her history and the things that she has been through. Her initial instinct is to distrust (and usually dislike), and it is hard to sway away from the initial impression. After all, her survival has depended on this many times over. Feeling attached or contained is anxiety-driving for her, and therefore, she avoids it. Those that she does let in and trust are few and far between, and those relationships are often complicated: Selina is not above sabotaging these relationships out of fear, and to prove that she needs no one. - Calculating: Selina is always ten steps ahead, which can certainly be seen positively in many lights but her intentions are usually poor. When pushed, Selina can be manipulative, cruel and devious. Her cunning is always razor sharp and her plans and heists will use strategies crafted precisely to the weaknesses available to her. After all, anything you can do, she can do better.

POWERS AND/OR ABILITIES: peak human condition, extreme agility, near perfect balance and reflexes, acrobatics, hand-to-hand combat, martial arts, boxing, disguise, stealth, thievery, proficient with most weaponry she can get her paws on.

WEAKNESSES: Physically, she’s absolutely human so there are absolutely downfalls to that. Personality wise, she’s absolutely unable to back down from a challenge and struggles with a conflicting internal moral compass quite a bit and has a pathological need for freedom.

IC PORTION; DETAILS —

WHAT BROUGHT YOUR CHARACTER TO SOKOVIA? In short? The masquerade hosted by the UN had certainly caught her attention, and Selina found herself an alias and managed to snag an invitation. Unfortunately, things got a little dicey before she managed to snag any real items of interest, even if she did make off with more than a few wallets and some jewelry. However, consider her interest piqued enough for her to make a temporary stay in Sokovia after the disaster that was the masquerade. After all, there’s definitely more she can do here.

DID THEY SIGN THE ACCORDS? WHY OR WHY NOT? No.

PROVIDE 3-5 HEADCANONS RELATED TO YOUR CHARACTER: Selina quietly donates funds under various aliases to group homes and charities dedicated to young children that grew up in similar situations as she did, trying to save other girls from the horrors she had to face so young. Selina was severely claustrophobic as a child and teen, and still feels a sense of panic when enclosed in tight spaces. She has an extreme fear of being trapped, doesn’t like to feel blocked in, though has been able to hone in one her ability to keep the panic down as she’s gotten older. Selina thoroughly enjoys dancing, in just about any facet. It’s a way to let loose, almost like fighting without the bruises and the blood. Dislikes background noises, such as music for the sake of just having it on or the TV on in the background. Selina much prefers the quiet. Selina associates Catwoman almost as a separate entity, a separate part of herself that she has become reliant on. She feels as though she is a different person when she puts on the suit - stronger, angrier, less concerned about the consequences of her actions. Catwoman has become a part of her, personally as well as professionally. Selina has a slight sense of disgust for the vigilantes that include children in their antics and take them on as sidekicks. She works alongside them at times and has a desperate urge to protect the children, especially after seeing most of them injured or tortured and some of them die.

CHARACTER BIO — tw: everything. e v e r y t h i n g. drugs, alcohol, pedophilia mentions, teenage prostitutes, murder, suicide ...everything.                                                                                                                                          

In life, there are really two choices: you adapt, or you die. Selina prided herself on avoiding the latter, which meant she excelled at the former. A tragic backstory goes hand-in-hand with most Gothamites, and Selina was no exception: her mother died by her own hand when Selina was just a child, leaving her and her sister in the care of a father unfit and unwilling for the job, leaving the girls to fend for themselves. Social workers made quick work of plucking Selinga and Magdalene from the Kyle household, depositing them instead into Sprang Hill, a group home of sorts. Selina found that Sprang Hill was not much better than being out on her own, and found herself fighting to keep her and her sister safe. Her behavior was considered less than appropriate and ideal, and so Selina was sent away from Sprang Hill at the age of eleven, separating her from her sister. Sea Gate was worse than Sprang Hill, worse than Selina could have imagined, and so the fight for survival continued. The director of Sea Gate was cruel and believed in harsh discipline, and seemed to have a mission to break Selina and make her compliant, though he was largely unsuccessful. She was about thirteen when she learned of the director’s crimes, primarily embezzling money from the program, and was bold enough to brag about her findings. This resulted in Selina finding herself back on the streets, but not before the man in question tried to have her killed: Selina was drugged, thrown into a bag and tossed into the ocean to prevent her from going to the authorities. (Silly man, didn’t he know that cats have nine lives?) Selina survived, and returned to Sea Gate to demand that all records of her be destroyed and that she be let go, scott free. Back on the street, Selina joined the Alleytown Gang, which was a community of sorts consisting of pickpockets and thieves run by a woman who went by Mama Fortuna. Selina was already a skilled pickpocket and thief, fierce to her very core, but this was where she was able to further hone in on her thieving skills. However, her time with the group did not last long, as Selina found herself suffocating under Fortuna’s thumb. Survival instinct kicked in again, and Selina was forced to take extraordinary measures: at the age of fifteen, she resorted to prostitution to earn money to keep herself afloat. It was here that she met Sylvia, a mother hen of sorts to help guide Selina through the new world she found herself in. Sylvia did her best to protect Selina, and found herself beaten nearly to death when she took on customers too rough for the green-Selina to handle. However, Sylvia’s protections didn’t last long as Selina dug a hole for herself with a pimp named Stan, who Selina began to see personally outside of work as well. She thought she was in love at seventeen with a man at least twice her age that abused her heavily. She was left in an alley after a particularly bad confrontation with him, and the detective questioning her in the hospital got nothing but lip and attitude back despite trying to help her. Selina was left with a phone number of a man that the detective said would at least teach her how to defend herself: Ted Grant. Initially, Selina put the number aside and went right back to work on the streets and right back to Stan. She was given more “kinky” clients with a slinky cat costume to go with it, playing the part of a dominatrix for her customers. It was then that Selina decided to call the number she’d been given and train with Grant, deciding she needed to put her safety first in even trickier situations. Selina took to training like a cat to cream; she was able to learn an eclectic mix of fighting skills to have in her back pocket for when things went awry. After a client gave Selina a whip to use in her dominatrix role, Selina went to Ted and demanded he teach her how to use it as a weapon rather than a toy used for sex work. Selina took another young prostitute under her wing, a teenager named Holly that Selina saw quite a bit of herself in: too young for this, but out of options and Selina did what she could to protect her, much as Sylvia had once done for her. While she was training with Ted, Selina met and began working with Stark, a criminal mastermind that helped her hone in further on her thievery skills. Stark took Selina on as something like a partner in his crime industry, and Selina kept this a secret and continued to work as a prostitute as a cover. It was around this time that Selina witnessed Batman in action for the first time and saw him escape from the police. She felt inspired by him: anonymous, unstoppable, feared and used this inspiration when she donned the catsuit she’d been given to use as a dominatrix as her own costume to conceal her identity, reclaiming the suit for herself. Donning her catsuit as something akin to a suit of armor, Selina quit being a prostitute, beating her pimp (Stan) within an inch of his life and leaving him in the same alley that he’d left her for dead in. Luck would have it that as she unmasked herself, she would run into her sister for the first time since they’d been separated all those years ago. Overwhelmed and filled with a sense of dread and terror, Selina ran and this caused her sister to pursue her. Stan took note of this, and once recovered enough to enact his revenge, would kidnap Magdalene and use her as a tool to trap and contain Selina. The situation quickly escalated, with Batman saving Magdalene though Stan did not survive the encounter. Selina realized that wearing the catsuit made her feel different - empowered, enraged, and severely out of control. She swore she would never wear it again, not after the near-death of her sister and Stan’s demise. However, as fate would have it, Selina found herself slipping into the catsuit again after Holly was beaten nearly to death by a police officer who had hired the teen as a client. She nearly killed the officer, stopped by another intervention from Batman himself. Selina’s legacy as a career thief as Catwoman started there, primarily on the East End of Gotham where she targeted crime bosses with fewer morals than she had herself and deep pockets. She set her sights high and decided to go for gold and quickly climbed to the top, opting to plan a job against the one and only Carmine Falcone. She was half successful, clawing and permanently scarring Falcone’s face with the metal claws she used with her catsuit during the operation, though ended up needing a rescue from the one and only Batman himself yet again. The relationship between the Cat and the Bat remained conflicting as such: sometimes on the same side of the coin, while others on the opposite, with occasional team ups when they weren’t on opposing sides. A team up with Stark, her once-mentor, led to Selina betraying him and making off with the loot intended for both of them (valuable diamonds which would sustain her and her lifestyle for quite some time); this was a power move that surely proved that Selina was able to take care of herself, was controlled by no one and proved that she was an incredible thief in her own right. Selina Kyle was transformed. Street-kid turned criminal turned prostitute turned socialite with the money Catwoman procured from her heists. She was finally reaching the heights she never thought she could, what she felt she always deserved, and was licking up each and every second of it. Catwoman began to work internationally, organizing detailed and major heists globally rather than confining herself to Gotham. Catwoman continued to tip the scales into vigilantism at times when she was not off scoring, working with her own brand of personal justice on cases that she deemed worthy of her attention and action. However, despite it all, she always had her eyes on the prize and her priority was always set on one thing and one one thing only: herself.

EXTRAS —

Myers Briggs: ISTP Hogwarts house: Slytherin, Ravenclaw a close second Zodiac: Pisces Sin: Greed, Pride

[sanders-sides-fic]

Cousin’s support

2,868 words

triggers: implied death, cheating, cursing, being kicked out, mentioned toxic relationship, mentioned hate against polyamory (please let me know if I should add anything else)

It started with a tragedy.

Roman and Remus moved back into the cold, abandoned house about a year after it had happened. Not much had changed, but that surely didn’t help. The only reason they even still had the house was because their parents had bought the property and had the house built there, and it’d been payed off right away. Their parents hadn’t been rich, per se, but they had always had the habit of saving wherever they could so they didn’t have any debts to pay. They’d only been in debt once, and that hadn’t even been for more than three years. Roman and Remus had had… interesting parents, if you wanted to say it like that.

Anyways, the house was all theirs, and they didn’t have to pay rent. So, while both water and juice had been caught off without anyone to pay for it, the house was theirs still. The only problem was that there was a lot of renovating to be done. And both Remus and Roman were university students. In other words: Both twins were broke. Absolutely broke. That had been the reason Roman initially had the idea to rent some rooms out to friends, kind of a shared living kinda situation. Their friends had basically lived with them anyways. Patton, not liking the quiet of his often empty apartment, was thrilled at the idea. Logan has said that it was only logical, and since everyone of them would benefit he agreed. 

Remus, however, said that it would only be fair on the condition that it meant he would be allowed to invite some of his friends as well. And Roman agreed, though not without hesitating. Not because he had anything against it as such, but because Remus had a habit of picking rather strange fellows as his friends. But the two that he choose were more than alright with Roman, and he suspected the older twin had taken Roman’s concerns into consideration.

Yes, Remy and Janus were alright. Remy was nice enough, tough a bit chaotic, and he wasn’t home most of the time anyways. How that man worked, slept and payed for all that coffee was beyond any of his room mates, but he was caring when it came down to it and fun to be around in general. And while Janus was a teasing, flirting, dramatic liar with enough flair to pass as a character on a broadway production and a never ending pool of sarcasm… Well, he had strict morals, though it was anyone’s guess what those were, and he made a point to almost force the others to take care of themselves. Even with - hopefully - empty threats, if needed.

And the six of them were surprisingly functioning rather well. They complimented each other, were there for each other, filled in wherever another one fell short, and made sure to pull each other out of harmful habits. Within five months after the house was renovated and they’d moved in for good none of them could imagine living without the others.

Until the 19th of December.

It was cold. Well, cold for Florida. 37 degrees weren’t exactly cold for winter anywhere else, but… Well, it was chilly with the wind blowing mercilessly and it was raining cats and dogs out there. So when someone knocked, at almost nine in the afternoon no less, they were all surprised.

They’d been sitting in the shared space and talked, throwing popcorn at each other as they debated Disney. But the knocking had sounded urgent, even though it had been just three knocks. It was Remy who stood up and went over, opening the door - and he gasped when he saw who it was. The others could see them as Remy still blocked the view, but if Remy had gasped like that it couldn’t be good. A lot of concerned glances were exchanged. 

“Uh, hi… Hi, Remy.”, a voice hesitantly spoke up, almost a mumble. It was a rough voice and it sounded like they had been crying. Even less good.

“V?! What are you doing here? What… You didn’t walk here, did you?”, Remy cried out. Silence, but apparently they had answered one way or the other, because Remy gasped again. “Gurl, it’s raining. Scratch that, it’s pouring out there! You’re gonna die.”

“Gee, thanks. I hadn’t noticed.”, they said and one could basically hear the eye roll. Then there was a sigh. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do and… God, I feel so stupid, but… Can I, like, crash on the couch? If, if your room mates don’t mind? I just… You know, I just don’t know where to go.”

Remy didn’t even miss a beat before he answered: “Gurl, of cause. Come in!” And when he stepped to the side, he revealed a figure in dark clothing. His purple hair dripped from underneath the black and purple patchwork hoody he wore, his purple converse had to be drenched too and the black jeans clung to his legs. He was shivering ever so slightly and even with his head lowed slightly, you could see the way his eyeliner was running. The guy, V, gave Remy a doubtful glance but stepped in anyways.

“Wait here, I’ll go get a towel.”, Remy said to him as he closed the door. The guy nodded, not looking up. Then he turned to the other people in the room. “Would you guys mind making a coffee- no, not that. Tea? Uh, a hot chocolate? Something to warm him up.” Patton, of cause, nodded right away and jumped up.

The guy himself flinched at that, looking at Remy almost panicked. “Oh, no, that’s not… I don’t need-” But Remy was gone already and he cut himself off with a sigh. For a few moments he just stood there, shifting uncomfortably in the silence as Patton rummaged through the kitchen. Then he took a deep breath and looked over, a shaky smile playing with black lips. “Uh, hi? Sorry to just drop in on you. Uh… Janus. Remus. ‘s been a while.”

And Roman hadn’t noticed, but next to him Janus had been frozen and this seemed to snap him out of it. He’d never seen Janus jump up that fast, or reach out to someone with such a concerned look on his face, fingers hovering just above someone else as though he was afraid of them disappearing if he did. “Virgil?”, he whispered breathless. And the guy nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Virgil, what happened? Why are you here? You live on the other side of town and you… Is that blood?”

For a moment Virgil looked confused, but then a light seemed to dawn on him and he touched his left cheek, bringing his finger tips back red. “Oh. Oh! That fucker scratched me.”

“Who did? It wasn’t Jurij, was it?” That was Remy, coming back with a black towel in his hand and a few clothes of his own. Virgil hesitated, but nodded after a few seconds. For some reason, that seemed to make Janus angry. “Your boyfriend hurt you?” Virgil nodded again.

“Well… I mean, I don’t think he was thinking clearly or he wouldn’t have… God, why am I even defending him? He’s just… God! I hate him. I fucking hate him!”

Silence. It was Remus speaking up this time: “What happened?” Virgil glared at the wall for a little bit. Then he took a shuddering breath, fists clenched and tears welling up in his eyes.

“He cheated on me. Didn’t even leave the room to pick up her call. Got angry when I confronted him, said I had no right to be mad about it. So I broke up. And he… lost it. Slapped me, yelled, called me a pretentious slut, pushed me out the door and locked it. The neighbors eventually threatened to call the cops because of the noise, so I…”

“Walked here? In the dark? While it was raining?” Virgil nodded again.

“I would’ve called or taken the bus or something, but I don’t have my phone or money, so…”

“Shit. Shit, Virge, I’m so sorry. Do you want me… I can go over there and make them choke on their own blood, if you want.” Virgil cringed at Remus’ words. “Ah. I see you haven’t changed much.” Remus only flashed a grin that just looked way too proud.

“Well, you go change and dry up. Don’t worry, I got you covered. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”, Remy interrupted, patting Virgil’s shoulder. And Roman’s heart clenched when he saw the hesitant hope building in Virgil’s dark eyes. “You sure? I mean, I just panicked. I can figure out something else if you want me to, probably. I don’t… I don’t wanna be a bother.”

And Remy put both his hands on Virgil’s shoulders, looking deep inside his eyes and went: “No - Do you hear me? - fucking way.” And when Virgil didn’t look convinced yet, Remy placed his hands on his hips in what he called his “bitch, please”-pose. “How many times did you let me crash on your couch when I was drunk and lost? And even if ya didn’t, gurl, you’re family. Now, get your ass into the shower before you get a cold or, so god help me, I will smother the living hell out of you with blankets and cookies. Got it?”

Roman had never seen Remy showing his care fore someone so openly on his face. Not once. And Virgil quirked a smile and mumbled a thanks, before taking the towel and the clothes and vanishing into the bathroom. How he found it on the first try, Roman did not know. It usually took him ages to find the right door in his friends’ places, and Virgil hadn’t even asked for directions.

Janus stayed where he was, trembling in unadulterated rage, perfectly manicured hands clenched into fists tightly enough to color them white. “I’ll kill that asshole. I can’t believe him! Seriously. Pretentious slut? No right to be mad?”

“I share the sentiment, hun, but Virge wouldn’t approve, so no. Still… I knew that bitch was no good.”, Remy forced out, teeth gritted.

“Of cause not!”, Remus exclaimed in a high pitched screech, “You know what he said at the beginning. Every fucking word out of his mouth was either a lie or a red flag. I seriously don’t know why Virgy even liked him. He’s an asshole, and not the good kind either!”

Janus relaxed in what looked like defeat. “Yes, well, sometimes we accept the love we think we deserve.”

“That’s bull. Virge deserves so much more!”

“And you think I don’t know that?!” That was the first time he had ever seen Janus scream. Not raising his voice, literally screaming. “But he doesn’t. Besides, you study psychology, don’t you? So you should know very well what manipulation does to you.”

Silence.

“I think three of us are pretty confused right now. Mind telling us who this is?”, Patton asked from next to Roman, a mug of steaming hot chocolate with cream and sprinkles on top. He’d used his own, the glittery and colorful ones, and the food coloring had started to sip into the cream. It was a sign of how much Patton cared, even though he obviously didn’t know Virgil any better than Roman himself, and he wondered briefly if he’d heard what Virgil had said about his now-ex earlier. But mainly Roman wondered when the hell his friend had come back into the room.

“Yes, naturally.”, Janus said, because of cause it was Janus who managed to calm down enough to at least put on a calm facade first. “This just now was Remy’s cousin, Virgil Black. He used to go to school with Remus and I, and that’s how we became friends with Remy in the first place, frankly. Virgil is also the one Remy talks about when he says he won’t come home for the night because he’s staying at his cousin’s.”

“Virgy used to be closer to us back in high school.”, Remus took over, and such a soft voice was all wrong coming from Remus. “But his ex was a dick, and when we found out that he was a dick he decided to push Virgil away from us. Made us look like the bad guys and guilt tripped him and all that. It usually wasn’t that bad until we found out that…” At this point he shared a look with Remy, who nodded once. So Remus continued: “Well, Virgy is ace and polyamorous. And he hadn’t been out to anyone but his friend for a while, but suddenly the entire school knew. That was on him.”

“And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he called him a whore. Said being polyamorous meant he was easy, which is just… just, no. So we had a little intervention, and… Well, the bitch couldn’t cut me off because I’m his family and he wouldn’t ever leave his family behind, but-”

“-but he got Virgil to stop talking to us. Or any of his friends, as far as I heard.”, Janus sighed. Remy shot him a glare for the interruption, but nodded in confirmation.

“So, let me sum this up.”, Logan asked, eyes squinted and mouth pressed to a hard line. “Virgil is Remy’s cousin, who just get kicked out by his ex-boyfriend, who has double standards and considers it fair to cheat on him, after ending a toxic relationship. Said ex-boyfriend manipulated and isolated him, thus leaving you two unable to help. He has no where to stay and decided to turn to Remy, which lead him to walk to the other side of the city, at…” Logan glanced at the clock “nine p.m., in the rain. He is most probably emotionally scarred from this toxic relationship, and might feel insecure about his romantic orientation. Did I miss anything?”

Three people shook their heads. Roman took the chance to glance at his room mates. Remus looked angry, Remy looked defeated, Janus looked absolutely heart-broken (which was just such a wrong expression on his face), Patton had pressed one hand on his mouth in horror as silent tears feel down his face, and Logan, well, Logan looked absolutely furious.

He himself felt all of those feelings as well.

“I usually showed up unannounced. Otherwise Jurij would schedule something there so I couldn’t come. And whenever I brought up that Virgil might want to leave him… Virgil would never talk about it, but whatever he said made him ignore all my calls and stuff for a week at least.”, Remy sighed, plopping back onto the couch and running his hand through his hair. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

“I agree. Although the end seems to have come in a suboptimal form, from the sounds of it that may prevent him from coming to future harm.”, Logan agreed, his voice still angry but also achingly soft.

It was quiet for a little bit, the shower running the only noise in the entire house. Then Remus looked at Roman, and - dear Shakespeare - he couldn’t stand his twin’s usually bright and mischievous eyes being filled with such a pleading look. “I know we said both of us were allowed to invite two friends each, but…”

Roman knew what he was asking. And even if the way Remus looked at him hadn’t been enough to convey the urgency of this request, Roman wouldn’t have dreamed of saying no. He’d want to help Virgil no matter what. So he gave his brother a soft smile. “We never figured out what to do with the room on the end of the hallway, anyways.”

Remus’ face lit up instantly and Janus and Remy looked just as excited. Patton nodded with so much urgency that it made all of them chuckle lightly. Logan rightened his already perfectly positioned glasses and hummed in agreement. “It does seem to be a good decision. If he’s related to Remy and friends with both Janus and Remus I don’t see a reason to mistrust him. And splitting the power and water bill with one more won’t do any harm either. So, as long as Virgil himself agrees…”

Remy laughed at that. “Oh, don’t worry. He won’t, but I’ll get him to understand it’s not a bother sooner or later.”

And Remy was right.

So, while it had started with a tragedy that had left both Roman and Remus with an empty place in their hearts, Roman was happy with what had come from it. Six room mates he adored and, as he watched Janus straightening out nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt for the tenth time at least, next to Logan nervously scanning through a novel, and as he saw Virgil coming down the stairs, giving the two of them a smile… Well, Roman was happy for them. Even though the rest of the house had had to suffer through some serious obliviousness and flirting disguised as arguments. It had been worth it in the end, though.

Seeing three of his best friends going on their first date was worth all of it.

General tag-list: @gattonero17 

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Random Review #3: Sleepwalkers (1992) and “Sleep Walk” (1959)

I. Sleepwalkers (1992) I couldn’t sleep last night so I started watching a trashy B-movie penned by Stephen King specifically for the screen called Sleepwalkers (1992). Simply put, the film is an unmitigated disaster. A piece of shit. But it didn’t need to be. That’s what’s so annoying about it. By 1992 King was a grizzled veteran of the silver screen, with more adaptations under his belt than any other author of his cohort. Puzo had the Godfather films (1972 and 1974, respectively), sure, but nothing else. Leonard Gardner had Fat City (1972), a movie I love, but Gardner got sucked into the Hollywood scene of cocaine and hot tub parties and never published another novel, focusing instead on screenplays for shitty TV shows like NYPD Blue. After Demon Seed (1977), a movie I have seen and disliked, nobody would touch Dean Koontz’s stuff with a ten foot pole, which is too bad because The Voice of the Night, a 1980 novel about two young pals, one of whom is a psychopath trying to convince the other to help him commit murder, would make a terrific movie. But Koontz’s adaptations have been uniformly awful. The made-for-TV film starring John C McGinley, 1997′s Intensity, is especially bad. There are exceptions, but Stephen King has been lucky enough to avoid the fate of his peers. Big name directors have tackled his work, from Stanley Kubrick to Brian De Palma. King even does a decent job of acting in Pet Semetary (1989), in his own Maximum Overdrive (1986) and in George Romero’s Creepshow (1982), where he plays a yokel named Jordy Verril who gets infected by a meteorite that causes green weeds to grow all over his body. Many have criticized King’s over-the-top performance in that flick, but for me King perfectly nails the campy and comical tone that Romero was going for. The dissolves in Creepshow literally come right off the pages of comics, so people expecting a subtle Ordinary People-style turn from King had clearly walked into the wrong theatre. Undoubtedly Creepshow succeeds at what it set out to do. I’m not sure Sleepwalkers succeeds though, unless the film’s goal was to get me to like cats even more than I already do. But I already love cats a great deal. Here’s my cat Cookie watching me edit this very blog post. 

And here’s one of my other cats, Church, named after the cat that reanimates and creeps out Louis and Ellie in Pet Sematary. Photo by @ScareAlex.

SPOILER ALERT: Do not keep reading if you plan on watching Sleepwalkers and want to find out for yourself what happens.

Stephen King saw many of his novels get adapted in the late 1970s and 80s: Carrie, The Shining, Firestarter, Christine, Cujo, and the movie that spawned the 1950s nostalgia industrial complex, Stand By Me, but Sleepwalkers was the first time he wrote a script specifically for the screen rather than adapting a novel that already existed. Maybe that’s why it’s so fucking bad. Stephen King is a novelist, gifted with a novelist’s rich imagination. He’s prone to giving backstories to even the most peripheral characters - think of Joe Chamber’s alcoholic neighbour Gary Pervier in the novel Cujo, who King follows for an unbelievable number of pages as the man stumbles drunkenly around his house spouting his catch phrase “I don’t give a shit,” drills a hole through his phone book so he can hang it from a string beside his phone, complains about his hemorrhoids getting “as big as golfballs” (I’m not joking), and just generally acts like an asshole until a rabid Cujo bounds over, rips his throat out, and he bleeds to death. In the novel Pervier’s death takes more than a few pages, but it makes for fun reading. You hate the man so fucking much that watching him die feels oddly satisfying. In the movie, though, his death occurs pretty quickly, and in a darkened hallway, so it’s hard to see what’s going on aside from Gary’s foot trembling. And Pervier’s “I don’t give a shit” makes sense when he’s drilling a hole in the phone book, not when he’s about to be savagely attacked by a rabid St Bernard. There’s just less room for back story in movies. In a medium that demands pruning and chiseling and the “less is more” dictum, King’s writing takes a marked turn for the worse. King is a prose maximalist, who freely admits to “writing to outrageous lengths” in his novels, listing It, The Stand, and The Tommyknockers as particularly egregious examples of literary logorrhea. He is not especially equipped to write concisely. This weakness is most apparent in Sleepwalkers’ dialogue, which sounds like it was supposed to be snappy and smart, like something Aaron Sorkin would write, but instead comes off like an even worse Tango & Cash, all bad jokes and shitty puns. More on those bad jokes later. First, the plot.

Sleepwalkers is about a boy named Charles and his mother Mary who travel around the United States killing and feeding off the lifeforce of various unfortunate people (if this sounds a little like The True Knot in Doctor Sleep, you’re not wrong. But self-plagiarism is not a crime). Charles and Mary are shapeshifting werewolf-type creatures called werecats, a species with its very own Wikipedia page. Wikipedia confers legitimacy dont’cha know, so lets assume werecats are real beings. According to said page, a werecat, “also written in a hyphenated form as were-cat) is an analogy to ‘werewolf’ for a feline therianthropic creature.” I’m gonna spell it with the hyphen from now on because “werecats” just looks like a typo. Okay? Okay.

Oddly enough, the were-cats in Sleepwalkers are terrified of cats. Actual cats. For the were-cats, cute kittens = kryptonite. When they see a cat or cats plural, this happens to them:

^ That is literally a scene from the movie. Charles is speeding when a cop pulls alongside him and bellows at him to pull over. Ever the rebel, Charles flips the cop the finger. But the cop has a cat named Clovis in his car, and when the cat pops up to have a look at the kid (see below), Charles shapeshifts first into a younger boy, then into whatever the fuck that is in the above screenshot.

Now, the were-cats aversion to normal cats is confusing because one would assume a were-cat to be a more evolved (or perhaps devolved?) version of the typical house kitty. The fact that these were-cats are bipedal alone suggests an advantage over our furry four-legged friends, no? Kinda like if humans were afraid of fucking gorillas. Wait...we are scared of gorillas. And chimpanzees. And all apes really. Okay, maybe the conceit of the film isn’t so silly after all. The film itself, however, is about as silly as a bad horror movie can get. When the policeman gets back to precinct and describes the incident above (”his face turned into a blur”) he is roundly ridiculed because in movies involving the supernatural nobody believes in the supernatural until it confronts them. It’s the law, sorry. Things don’t end well for the cop. Or for the guy who gets murdered when the mom stabs him with...an ear of corn. Yes, an ear of corn. Somehow, the mother is able to jam corn on the cob through a man’s body, without crushing the vegetable or turning it into yellow mash. It’s pretty amazing. Here is a sample of dialog from that scene: Cop About To Die On The Phone to Precinct: There’s blood everywhere! *STAB* Murderous Mother: No vegetables, no dessert. That is actually a line in the movie. “No vegetables, no dessert.” It’s no “let off some steam, Bennett” but it’s close. Told ya I’d get back to the bad jokes. See, Mary and Charles are new in town and therefore seeking to ingratiate themselves by killing everyone who suspects them of being weird, all while avoiding cats as best they can. At one point Charles yanks a man’s hand off and tells him to "keep [his] hands to [him]self," giving the man back his severed bloody hand. Later on Charles starts dating a girl who will gradually - and I do mean gradually - come to realize her boyfriend is not a real person but in fact a were-cat. Eventually our spunky young protagonist - Madchen Amick, who fans of Twin Peaks will recognize as Shelly - and a team of cats led by the adorable Clovis- kill the were-cat shapeshifting things and the sleepy small town (which is named Travis for some reason) goes back to normal, albeit with a slightly diminished population. For those keeping score, that’s Human/Cat Alliance 1, Shapeshifting Were-cats 0. It is clear triumph for the felis catus/people team! Unless we’re going by kill count, in which case it is closer to Human/Cat Alliance 2, Were-cats 26. I arrived at this figure through my own notes but also through a helpful video that takes a comprehensive and complete “carnage count” of all kills in Sleepwalkers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmt-DroK6uA

II. Santo & Johnny “Sleep Walk” (1959) Because Sleepwalkers is decidedly not known for its good acting or its well-written screenplay, it is perhaps best known for its liberal and sometimes contrapuntal use of Santo & Johnny’s classic steel guitar song “Sleep Walk,” possibly the most famous (and therefore best) instrumental of the 20th century. Some might say “Sleep Walk” is tied for the #1 spot with “Green Onions” by Booker T & the M.G.’s and/or “Wipe Out” by The Surfaris, but I disagree. The Santo & Johnny song is #1 because of its incalculable influence on all subsequent popular music. 

I’m not saying “Wipe Out” didn't inspire a million imitators, both contemporaneously and even decades later…for example here’s a surf rock instrumental from 1999 called “Giant Cow" by a Toronto band called The Urban Surf Kings. The video was one of the first to be animated using Flash (and it shows):

So there are no shortage of surf rock bands, even now, decades after its emergence from the shores of California to the jukeboxes of Middle America. My old band Sleep for the Nightlife used to regularly play Rancho Relaxo with a surf rock band called the Dildonics, who I liked a great deal. There's even a Danish surf rock band called Baby Woodrose, whose debut album is a favourite of mine. They apparently compete for the title of Denmark’s biggest surf pop band with a group called The Setting Son. When a country that has no surfing culture and no beaches has multiple surf rock bands, it is safe to say the genre has attained international reach. As far as I can tell, there aren’t many bands out there playing Booker T & the M.G.’s inspired instrumental rock. Link Wray’s “Rumble” was released four years before “Green Onions.” But the influence of Santo and Johnny’s “Sleep Walk” is so ubiquitous as to be almost immeasurable. The reason for this is the sheer popularity of the song’s chord progression. If Santo and Johnny hadn’t written it first, somebody else would have, simply because the progression is so beautiful and easy on the ears and resolvable in a satisfying way. Have a listen to “Sleep Walk” first and then let’s check out some songs it directly inspired. 

The chords are C, A minor, F and G. Minor variations sometimes reverse the last two chords, but if it begins with C to A minor, you can bet it’s following the “Sleep Walk” formula, almost as if musicians influenced by the song are in the titular trance. When it comes to playing guitar, Tom Waits once said “your hands are like dogs, going to the same places they’ve been. You have to be careful when playing is no longer in the mind but in the fingers, going to happy places. You have to break them of their habits or you don’t explore; you only play what is confident and pleasing.” Not only is it comforting to play and/or hear what we already know, studies have shown that our brains actively resist new music, because it takes work to understand the new information and assimilate it into a pattern we are cogent of. It isn’t until the brain recognizes the pattern that it gives us a dopamine rush. I’m not much for Pitchfork anymore, but a recent article they posted does a fine job of discussing this phenomenon in greater detail.

Led Zeppelin’s “D’Yer Maker” uses the “Sleep Walk” riff prominently, anchored by John Bonham and John Paul Jones’ white-boy reggae beat: 

Here it is again with Del Shannon’s classic “Little Town Flirt.” I love Shannon’s falsetto at the end when he goes “you better run and hide now bo-o-oy.”

The Beatles “Happiness is a Warm Gun” uses the Sleep Walk progression, though not for the whole song. It goes into the progression at the bridge at 1:34: 

Tumblr won’t let me embed any more videos, so you’ll to travel to another tab to hear these songs, but Neil Young gets in on the act with his overlooked classic “Winterlong:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RV6r66n3TFI On their 1996 EP Interstate 8 Modest Mouse pay direct homage by singing over their own rendition of the original Santo & Johnny version, right down to the weeping steel guitar part: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VT_PwXjCqqs The vocals are typical wispy whispered indie rock vocals, but I think they work, particularly the two different voices. They titled their version “Sleepwalking (Couples Only Dance Prom Night).”

Dwight Yoakam’s “Thousand Miles From Nowhere” makes cinematic use of it. This song plays over the credits of one of my all-time favourite movies, 1993′s Red Rock West feat. Nicolas Cage, Lara Flynn Boyle, Dennis Hopper, and J.T. Walsh https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tu3ypuKq8WE

“39″ is my favourite Queen song. I guess now I know why. It uses my fav chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kE8kGMfXaFU 

Blink 182 scored their first hit “Dammit” with a minor variation on the Sleep Walk chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sT0g16_LQaQ

Midwest beer drinkin bar rockers Connections scored a shoulda-been-a-hit with the fist-pumping “Beat the Sky:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSNRq0n_WYA You’d be hard pressed to find a weaker lead singer than this guy (save for me, natch), but they make it work. This one’s an anthem.

Spoon, who have made a career out of deconstructing rock n’ roll, so that their songs sometimes sound needlessly sparse (especially “The Ghost of You Lingers,” which takes minimalism to its most extreme...just a piano being bashed on staccato-style for four minutes), so it should surprise nobody that they re-arrange the Sleep Walk chords on their classic from Gimme Fiction, “I Summon You:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=teXA8N3aF9M I love that opening line: remember the weight of the world was a sound that we used to buy? I think songwriter Britt Daniel is talking about buying albums from the likes of Pearl Jam or Smashing Pumpkins, any of those grunge bands with pessimistic worldviews. There are a million more examples. I remember seeing some YouTube video where a trio of gross douchebros keep playing the same progression while singing a bunch of hits over it. I don’t like the smarmy way they do it, making it seem like artists are lazy and deliberately stealing. I don’t think it’s plagiarism to use this progression. And furthermore, tempo and production make all the difference. Take “This Magic Moment” for example. There's a version by Jay & the Americans and one by Ben E King & the Drifters. I’ve never been a fan of those shrieking violins or fiddles that open the latter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bacBKKgc4Uo The Jay & the Americans version puts the guitar riff way in the forefront, which I like a lot more. The guitar plays the entire progression once before the singing starts and the band joins in: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKfASw6qoag

Each version has its own distinctive feel. They are pretty much two different songs. Perhaps the most famous use of the Sleep Walk progression is “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers, which is one of my favourite songs ever. The guy who chose to let Bobby Hatfield sing this one by himself must have kicked himself afterwards when it became a hit, much bigger than "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling."https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiiyq2xrSI0

What can you say about “Unchained Melody” that hasn’t already been said? God, that miraculously strong vocal, the way the strings (and later on, brass horns) are panned way over to the furthest reaches the left speaker while the drums and guitar are way over in the right, with the singing smack dab in the middle creates a kind of distance and sharp clarity that has never been reproduced in popular music, like seeing the skyscrapers of some distant city after an endless stretch of highway. After listening to “Unchained Melody,” one has to wonder: can that progression ever be improved upon? Can any artist write something more haunting, more beautiful, more uplifting than that? The “need your love” crescendo hits so fucking hard, as both the emotional and the sonic climax of the song, which of course is no accident...the strings descending and crashing like a waterfall of sound, it gets me every fucking time. Legend has it that King George II was so moved by the “Hallelujah” section of Handel’s “Messiah” that he stood up, he couldn't help himself, couldn't believe what he was hearing. I get that feeling with all my favourite songs. "1979." "Unchained Melody." "In The Still of the Night." "Digital Bath." "Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?" "Interstate." "Liar's Tale." “Gimme Shelter.” The list goes on and on. Music is supposed to move us.

King George II stood because he was moved to do so. Music may be our creation, but it isn't our subordinate. All those sci-fi stories warning about technology growing beyond our control aren’t that far-fetched. Music is our creation but its power lies beyond our control. We are subordinate to music, helpless against its power and might, its urgency and vitality and beauty. There have been many times in my life when I have been so obsessed with a particular song that I pretty much want to live inside of it forever. A house of sound. I remember detoxing from heroin and listening to Grimes “Realiti” on repeat for twelve hours. Detoxing from OxyContin and listening to The Beach Boys “Dont Worry Baby” over and over. Or just being young and listening to “Tonight Tonight” over and over and over, tears streaming from my eyes in that way you cry when you’re a kid because you just feel so much and you don’t know what to do with the intensity of those feelings. It is precisely because we are so moved by music that we keep creating it. And in the act of that creation we are free. There are no limits to that freedom, which is why bands time and time again return to the well-worn Sleep Walk chord progression and try to make something new from it. Back in 2006, soon after buying what was then the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, I found myself playing the album’s closing track over and over. I loved the chorus and I loved the way it collapses into a lo-fi demo at the very end, stripping away the studio sheen and...not to be too punny, showing its bones (the album title is Show Your Bones). Later on I would realize that the song, called “Turn Into,” uses the Sleep Walk chord progression. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exqCFoPiwpk

It’s just like, what Waits said, our hands goes to where we are familiar. And so do our ears, which is why jazz often sounds so unpleasant to us upon first listen. Or Captain Beefheart. But it’s worth the effort to discover new stuff, just as it’s worth the effort to try and write it. I recently lamented on this blog that music to me now is more about remembrance than discovery, but I’m still only 35 years old. I’m middle-aged right now (I don’t expect to live past 70, not with the lifestyle I’ve been living). There’s still a whole other half life to find new music and love and leave it for still newer stuff. It’s worth the challenge, that moment of inner resistance we feel when confronted with something new and challenging and strange sounding. The austere demands of adult life, rent and routine, take so much of our time. I still make time for creative pursuits, but I don’t really have much time for discovery, for seeking out new music. But I’ve resolved to start making more time. A few years ago I tried to listen to and like Trout Mask Replica but I couldn’t. I just didn’t get what was going on. It sounded like a bunch of mistakes piled on top of each other. But then a few days ago I was writing while listening to music, as I always do, and YouTube somehow landed on Lick My Decals Off, Baby. I didn’t love what I was hearing but I was intrigued enough to keep going. And now I really like this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMnd9dvb3sA&pbjreload=101 Another example I’ll give is the rare Robert Pollard gem “Prom Is Coming.” The first time I heard this song, it sounded like someone who can’t play guitar messing around, but the more I heard it the more I realized there’s a song there. It’s weird and strange, but it’s there. The lyrics are classic Pollard: Disregard injury and race madly out of the universe by sundown. Pollard obviously has a special place in his heart for this track. He named one of his many record labels Prom Is Coming Records and he titled the Boston Spaceships best-of collection Out of the Universe By Sundown. I don’t know if I’ll ever become a Captain Beefheart megafan but I can hear that the man was doing something very strange and, at times, beautiful. And anyway, why should everything be easy? Aren’t some challenges worth meeting for the experience waiting on the other side of comprehension or acceptance? I try to remember this now whenever I’m first confronted with new music, instead of vetoing it right away. Most of my favourite bands I was initially resistant to when I first heard them. Queens of the Stone Age, Kyuss, Guided by Voices, Spoon, Heavy Times. All bands I didn’t like at first.  I don’t wanna sleepwalk through life, surrounding myself only with things I have already experienced. I need to stay awake. Because soon enough I’ll be asleep forever. We need to try everything we can before the Big Sleep comes to take us back to the great blankness, the terrible question mark that bookends our lives.