#I had two really bad experiences at Mass in a row and it was. honestly rly damaging.

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

u know it’s bad when ur doctor literally goes “hey you need to take a break from Lent/going to Mass this year until we work through some stuff”.

[bradshawsbaby]

Piggie backing off that other anon, I feel like for more of a fluffy church fic, I mean most of the ones I’ve seen are smut (no shame at all) Reader could meet Bradley while re-lighting some of the candles that accidentally got blown out, then see each other at the hard deck..meet cute but make it “grief is a bitch”.

Not that I met my husband while I re-lit candles and he asked (I shit you not, in a CHURCH) wow, were you in some sort of house fire? Science experiment gone wrong?” (Joke but still) it sounds pretty rooster coded honestly.

I also feel like Hangman makes a bunch of “innocent church girl” jokes and reader throws a drink in his face, cause given the chance, no matter how much you are in love with Hangman, you’d throw a drink in his face 😂

Okay, first of all, how come I’ve never had a meet cute while lighting candles at church?!

Secondly, I thought this was a really cute concept, so I decided to write a little drabble about it! Quick fun fact: I chose Mary, Star of the Sea as the church in this little story because it’s where I went to Mass when I was in San Diego. It’s such a pretty little church!

Today wasn’t the first day he’d seen you.

For the past few months, ever since he’d returned to San Diego, Bradley had been periodically taking a drive over to La Jolla and stopping in at Mary, Star of the Sea, the small, peaceful church where he’d taken to lighting candles for his parents. He found the trip calming, especially when he was having a bad day, and so he didn’t mind going out of his way to get there.

Though he didn’t plan it intentionally, he began to notice that you were often there at the same time he was, slipping quietly into a pew to say a few silent prayers, or lighting some candles of your own. The two of you never spoke, even when you were the only two people in the church, but you would sometimes catch his eye and offer him a small smile or a nod on your way out the door.

He’d be lying if he said the thought of your pretty face wasn’t one of the reasons he didn’t mind going out of his way to visit Mary, Star of the Sea instead of one of the many churches that were closer to home.

Today was his parents’ wedding anniversary, and he was feeling the sting of grief particularly hard. He hadn’t even necessarily been conscious of what he was doing that morning when he grabbed his keys and hopped into the Bronco, but before he knew it, he was standing on the front steps of Mary, Star of the Sea and gazing up at the Spanish mission style bell tower.

The church was empty when he arrived, the hallowed walls cool and inviting as he walked quietly down the center aisle before veering off towards a small nook where several rows of candles sat waiting.

“Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad,” he whispered reverently as he lit two candles, one for Goose and one for Carole. Turning and ducking into the nearest pew, he lowered his head and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes to force back the tears that threatened to start falling.

It was then that he heard the soft rustle of movement and glanced up to see that he was no longer alone—you were here again. Wearing a pretty yellow sundress that reminded him of the California sunshine, you had your head bowed slightly as you lit two candles, just a few spots down from where he had lit his.

Bradley didn’t mean to stare, didn’t mean to intrude upon your privacy, but he couldn’t help it. You were just so lovely, and he felt drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. He noticed that your lips were moving silently, and then caught the single tear that spilled down your cheek.

Compelled, he quickly rose from his pew and reached into his pocket for the clean tissue he’d just grabbed that morning. “Excuse me?” he murmured gently, not wanting to startle you. He held out his small offering as you turned your head.

“Oh,” you gasped, clearly surprised. “Thank you,” you added politely, taking the tissue from him and quickly dabbing at your cheek. “That was very sweet of you.” You hesitated a moment, biting your lip, then added, “I’ve seen you here before.”

Bradley nodded, smiling softly. “I like to stop in when I can. It’s peaceful here.”

You smiled as well, nodding in understanding. “It is,” you agreed. Raising a curious brow, you indicated the two candles lit near yours and glanced up at him.

“It’s my parents’ anniversary,” Bradley explained, not feeling shy about telling you why he was there. “They’re both passed now, and I was thinking of them today.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” you replied softly, glancing downward for a moment. “It’s my grandparents’ anniversary today,” you explained, indicating your own candles. “My grandma passed away last year, and my grandpa followed a few months later. It’s their first anniversary with them both gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, too,” Bradley murmured, feeling a sense of connection to you, a kindred kind of loss.

“I’m sure that they’re happy we’re here to remember them,” you smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I think so, too,” Bradley grinned, his heart feeling lighter than it had that morning. He paused for a moment, his pulse starting to race, but then said, “Hey, um, there’s this good little coffee shop around the corner that I sometimes go to when I’m here. Would you maybe want to go with me? My treat.”

Your eyes lit up, and Bradley thought his heart might just explode. “I would really love that.”

“I’m Bradley, by the way,” he introduced himself, offering you his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley,” you beamed, slipping your hand into his as you told him your name. “I’m glad you took the drive out to La Jolla to come here.”

Smiling over at the four candles the two of you had lit, Bradley nodded. “Me, too.”

[sophiamcdougall]

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART TWO) I am back. I have barely eaten or slept and Tumblr has tried to murder me and this post multiple times, but I have survived. Thank you for your patience.

Part One of my attempt to explain the seismic experience that is 2020 Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is here. 

Ready? I assure you, you are not, but let’s proceed. So Sanremo rages pitilessly on.  Now everyone knows what’s at stake, and everyone, including your humble recapper, is exhausted, but doing the gay/chaotic best they can.

As the final battle to save Amadeus, Rancore, Italy and THE WORLD approaches, Achille Lauro has a last message for the troops. And I’m not deducing this, he literally said it on Twitter. 

...Hold me I’m scared.

Meanwhile (sort of) (go with it) (time isn’t real at Sanremo)  a minor drama  has occurred offstage. Singer Tiziano Ferro made an ill-advised joke about Fiorello’s interminable comedy bits, some idiots on Twitter ran away with it, and poor Fiorello was upset! This is minuscule in Sanremo terms. But consider the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. Consider hurricanes. But who is Tiziano Ferro?

Hold on. We’ll get to it. For now ...

Fiorello is dancing seductively for an absolutely delighted Amadeus while dressed as a rabbit. And wearing a blonde wig. Is there a rational explanation for this? I mean, sort of. But also no.

And then he worries Amadeus might give him herpes, which causes Amadeus to freaking snap.

“No, no!” yells the mercurial Fiorello. Amadeus isn’t worthy of his kisses yet. He ricochets out of Amadeus’s arms and into the audience and “passes on” the kiss to a guy in the front row. 

“Incredible things are going to happen tonight!” yells Amadeus, who has no fucking idea. ”Beautiful things,” corrects Fiorello. 

But just because Fiorello is a mayhem elemental on a mission of love doesn’t mean he hasn’t got feelings. 

Enter Italy’s sweetheart, Tiziano Ferro.

Actually, Tiziano’s been there all along. He’s the specialest of special guests, singing through basically his entire back catalogue every night. Which why it really was unfair of him to pick on Fiorello --   it’s not his fault he’s literally got to stand there and babble nonsense for aeons on end, Tiziano! He’s just serving the hungry chthonic entity that is Sanremo, same as you.  

While the gay mayhem (the gayhem, if you will) surges around him, Tiziano  has been fighting the good gay fight in his own steadfast way, so far untouched. His mere presence is a message of hope in itself, he knows this, and is determined to make it count. Ten years ago he was closeted, convinced coming out would end his career, and suicidal. Now happily married and gloriously successful, he is here to demonstrate that “it gets better”. He radiates such wholesome joy and resilience that everyone loves him.

So anyway, Tiziano didn’t mean to hurt anybody because he would never, and now he wants to make things right. So will Fiorello forgive him?

Ah, what better gesture of reconciliation than to goofily sing a  love song written by Fiorello himself. Of course Fiorello forgives Tiziano, because Fiorello loves everyone, good and bad, (after all he loves Amadeus the most). But he is also a chaos being, and he is working harder than anyone else to channel the divine madness of this deranged Sanremo Festival into anyone who gets close. Tiziano, watch out!

Seems TIziano naively thought he could lean in for a staged, nearly kiss, but  Fiorello’s very soul is antithetical to “nearly” anything.

“My husband’s going to divorce me!”  wails poor Tiziano, but Fiorello has never felt so alive. This is Sanremo, bitches. Rules like “sixty-year-old men can’t be danger twinks, Fiorello,” have ceased to apply. He is an apostle of Achille Lauro, he has accepted the sermon of Benigni into his heart: it is time for PHYSICAL LOVE. While not quite ready (yet) to fuck everyone in the orchestra pit, he is throbbing with readiness, to frolic all over the theatre giving all the guys he can get his hands on THE KISSES OF HIS MOUTH.

Naturally this sparks further firestorms of chaos. “Do it again!” begs grizzled rocker and high-ranking competitor Piero Pelù. Electrified by the touch of Fiorello’s lips, he is later to be found running shirtless through the auditorium where he steals a handbag.

Everyone is kissing everyone, age and orientation be damned. Summoned by the gay sorcery unfolding, 65-year-old queer rock goddess Gianna Nanini manifests and is kissed worshipfully on the lips by 36-year-old duet partner Coez.

There’s also some kind of song competition going on I guess. 

This happens:

That’s Ghali, GUYS, IT’S NOT WORKING, rappers ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES ALL OVER THIS STAGE, WE’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.

(...  it isn’t really Ghali and don’t worry. This is a gag? Which I still don’t really get? And nor does sweet anarchist cherub Fiorello whom we will later discover is currently being physically restrained from rushing onstage to tend to the fallen rapper’s wounds.)

The real Ghali raps in Arabic which among other things is a big old “me ne frego” of his own to Italian Trump-tribute act and failed wannabe prime minister Matteo Salvini. Then he gets close to Fiorello, which can only end one way.

All the boys are crazy for Fiorello’s kisses but Amadeus still can’t have any

It’s already a difficult night for Amadeus.  TV presenter Antonella Clerici enters and far from standing a step beside him, righteously rips the piss out of him, which to be fair he accepts with grace.

And as for Achille Lauro ... ...No.  Patience. The time to bear witness to the last stand of Achille Lauro is not yet come. There are other forces stirring at Sanremo.

Chaos has its dark side.

The gun on stage is cocked and loaded. This is it. ENTER MORGAN.

... and enter Bugo,  who trails in behind Morgan, looking dazed and haunted. But whatever, it’s a million o’clock in the morning, aren’t we all. 

They start to play.  Italian Tumblr dozes fitfully on its sofa, idly crackshipping Amadeus and Fiorello. Utterly unprepared.

So most of us don’t notice what’s happening ...

... until the music just stops.

No one’s paid attention to the Morgan and Bugo in days. As far as I’m concerned Fabrizio Moro has already been avenged and my bloodlust is slaked.  The song - apparently written wholly by Bugo - honestly, isn’t bad, but Morgan’s been tuneless throughout and their duet/cover last night was cringeable. There have been some major reversals in the rankings but at this point there’s almost no way they’re going to be one of them.  And Morgan is not happy.

So Morgan changed the lyrics (and this isn’t even last-minute improv, he fucking printed it) to attack the one person who still had faith in him, blaming Bugo and Bugo alone for their poor performance so far. On live TV. In front of millions. After screaming at Bugo backstage just minutes ago. And he expects Bugo to just stand there and take it.

"Me ne frego to that shit,” thinks Bugo, and becomes the unexpected self-care hero of Sanremo as he vanishes into the night.

And that’s how I learned the Italian word for pandemonium. 

Morgan has the absolute nerve to ask what’s going on. Amadeus breaks out in visible cold sweat. Fiorello is thrown bodily onstage to DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING, OH MY GOD.

It’s long past midnight and a bunch of worried middle-aged men in sparkly jackets are scampering around yelping “Bugo? Bugo! BUGO? BUGO!!!” and that, I am here to tell you, when you are already delirious from exhaustion and shitposting-induced hysteria, is more than enough to tip you right over the edge.

Italian Tumblr resigns itself to never sleeping again.The memes aren’t going to make themselves. 

Translation: ”Is Bugo there?” “What’s happening?” “Where’s Bugo gone?” “I have to go and see where Bugo is.” “Bugo left.” “BUGO!”

Morgan wants vengeance. Fiorello, adorably indifferent to the fact that he was shoved on stage to, you know, entertain the audience, wants to find the missing waif, wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup. So they both rush offstage and Amadeus is left alone in a living anxiety dream.

The audience are booing.  The 70th fucking Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is falling to pieces on his watch. For all he knows murder is going on backstage and he picked known powder-keg and scoundrel Morgan for the Festival. The buck stops with him. And he has no lines, no back-up, no idea what to do about it.

And then Fiorello, angel of misrule, avatar of lawlessness and love, strolls back onstage. He looks confident and relaxed, like a man with all the answers.  Which he is.

“Have you got Bugo?” Amadeus inquires desperately.

NO RULES, NO MASTERS, NO SPONSORSHIP MONEY. ME NE FREGO.

Everything is broken. And somehow everything is OK.

Everyone, Amadeus included, bursts into hysterical, cathartic laughter.

“Is this my fault?” Amadeus asks. “YES!” crows Fiorello, lovingly forcing Amadeus to face his sins and his nightmares in a healing atmosphere of radical acceptance and mass psychosis.

And that’s how Amadeus learned that the real Sanremo was inside us all along.  And what he needs in this glorious maelstrom was never a beautiful woman standing a step behind him. It’s a chaos pixie dream boy at his side.

It’s time to cast out toxic masculinity and become a better man.

So Amadeus wraps up the show as best he can and then out of pure human compassion, he and Fiorello personally wander the streets of Sanremo looking for Bugo until four in the morning.

Bugo and Morgan are automatically disqualified

And now let us witness the final passion of Achille Lauro. Who is this Achlle Lauro kid anyway? How intentional is all this? Is he the Messiah, or a very naughty boy?

SO YEAH. Anyway, everyone’s wondering what the fuck Achille and his producer/guitarist Boss Doms (yes, really) are going to do, and BE, next. Achille’s first three looks were inspired by St Francis of Assisi, David Bowie, and Marchesa Luisa Casati. 

So ... Freddie Mercury, maybe? Elizabeth I? Jesus Christ?  And after the flurry of kissing Fiorello whipped up .. 

Will they ... can they ... dare they...

Do you even need to ask?

I have no idea how the crazy bastards who guessed “Elizabeth I” did it. 

Achille thrusts his hips against Boss’s backside. Drops to his knees before him and lets the shape of the microphone speak for itself. Briefly chokes him. And throughout they are tender, elegant, and utterly, regally dignified.

And then, at last.

A  joyous chorus of maenad-like shrieks rings out across Europe. If you’re in the Greater London area and your ears are still sore, I’m sorry. That was me. 

That’s it. Achille Lauro and Boss Doms ascend into heaven and pass into history. 

Not even they can give more to Sanremo.

The dust settles. 

The dawn breaks.

WE FUCKING DID IT! RANCORE LIVES! WOUNDED (as are we all) BUT SMILING AT A WORLD TRANSFORMED! (Not only that but, after starting at the bottom of the leaderboard he’s been catapulted up into the top ten and wins the special prize for Best Lyrics!)

And Amadeus?

Well, let’s hear from him in his own words.

Because Fiorello asked him to, Amadeus is wearing a blonde wig to look like legendary TV host Maria de Filippi. Amadeus doesn’t normally sing, but because Fiorello asks him to, he joins him in song.“A WORLD OF LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!” they chorus. It’s the hymn of the new day. 

“He can make me do anything!” Amadeus sighs to the audience. So Fiorello asks him to slow-dance.  And they do.

The prophecy has been fulfilled. Amadeus has let love into his heart. He has surrendered to the holy power of gay chaos. He is a man reborn. 

He didn’t find Bugo on that long, gruelling dark night of the soul, because incredibly,  poor Bugo never left the theatre and spent the night literally hiding in a cupboard.

But he found something else. 

As Sanremo finally, mercifully approaches its end, Fiorello grapples him close and, all teasing cast aside, whispers fiercely in his ear:

And somehow it was.

And toxic masculinity?

To find out why don’t we - and I am sorry about this - check in on Matteo Salvini who would normally be rage-tweeting up a Trump-style storm by now. He loves bitching about Sanremo for being “rigged by the left”  or occasionally letting a non-lily-white performer win, and this year he even tried to organise a boycott. Let’s see how that’s going.

This, the gayest-ever Sanremo in history, is the most-watched Sanremo in 18 years, with an incredible 60% audience share.

“Me Ne Frego” flies to the top of the Spotify charts.  (And though the judges are still cowards and traitors who left Achille in 8th place, there is no doubt across the media who the real star of the festival was. ) And Salvini’s “boycott” just meant he effectively banned himself from making a peep about it.

So who won the festival?

ALL OF US.

Oh, you meant literally.

This guy. His name is Diodato and his song is called “Fai Rumore” (Make a Sound.) It’s fine.

And that was Sanremo. It wasn’t a dream, it was a place. And you, and you, and you were there.

[itsnothingofinterest]

So here’s an idea worth considering: Shigaraki can now give quirks to people, and if we were to assume an average person could handle even 2 without danger of turning into a vegetable (as is what happened to people AFO gave quirks too, as shown in the chapter 59 flashback), he could give extra quirks to PLF members to make them even more dangerous & powerful. So if we were to go along with that assumption, here’s what kind of quirks I think would be cool if he gave each of his lieutenants.

Dabi: The perfect quirk for him is probably Super-Regen, allowing him to use his flames at a far greater capacity than he’s already instant killing people with while still having far less lasting harm done to his body (So long as he makes sure he doesn’t burn so bad it can’t heal, like Endeavor did to that one Nomu’s head). Not to mention it’s just a great quirk to have on one of your best, yet most reckless fighters. And one last point; it’d work great with his Frankenstein's monster motif if he had that extra bit of immortality.

Toga: If I thought he still had it available, I’d recommend John-chan’s Warp, because that would be absolutely broken on Toga ‘cause she could just summon Deku & his friends one by one to pick them off. Sadly that may not be an option anymore, so we’ll have to go with something that a) synergizes with her current abilities and b) works against Izuku and Ochaco. First thing that comes to mind is Short-Range Instant Teleportation: This would allow her to instantly get out of everyone’s sight to sneak around, dodge Deku’s super-strong attacks, and let her move around in the air if Ochaco got a hit on her.

Spinner: Honestly, anything works for this guy. I mean I’m not one to say Spinner is useless because facts are; he’s very strong, well armed, and sticking to walls is nothing to sneeze at, but none of that is stuff you aim to synergize with. But if we’re to try anyway, I suppose I’d recommend a long-range attack like Air Cannon; something powerful that his impressive muscles could handle the strain of, that he could use from walls for better angles like a living turret, and if he could use it to move around like Bakugo’s explosions then that’d be good too. That kind of mobility combos well with sticking to walls.

Twice (Shut up Shiggy will revive him just you watch): I think there are two ways to handle Twice, one is to boost his original quirk and other other is to protect himself. The first idea is Touch-Based Mind Control, allowing him to clone the enemy, immediately touch them (since they come out of Twice’s hands) and have control of a clone of the enemy. The other option is something like Hardening or Steel, to keep himself safe and resilient, which has the added benefit of making all of his clones extra dangerous. Either works, but I imagine they’d go with the 2nd option before the first after his very near death experience. That said, the first would fit the doppelganger motif better so idk.

Mr. Compress: Honestly, he’d probably request some kind of illusion quirk. Illusional Clones, a quick to create a number of non-solid duplicates of any item, which will move exactly as the original does. Essentially, he can copy & throw a marble, toss it at someone, un-compress it into a boulder, & suddenly a dozen boulders are headed right for you, but only one’s real so good luck figuring out which one to dodge. Of course he can also use it on himself to make a bunch of duplicates to avoid attacks and distract people as he runs away (I mean the illusions run away too, but the heroes still need to identity the real one so it’s useful.)

Redestro: The best quirk for him would probably be a Healing of Barrier quirk, something support-based that would put him on the battlefield with the job of keeping others alive. This not only makes him very useful, and puts his inspiring self right next to all of his loyal devotees, it’d also build up lots of stress to fuel his original quirk. I mean if there’s anything that could stress you out more than running an entire company on top of a massive cult your ancestor founded centuries back, it’s being responsible for a few hundred lives at a time.

Geten: So I have 2 ideas here. one to synergize with his already powerful quirk, and another that just seems to fit his personality while making him far more dangerous. The first is Deposition/Condensation, the ability to take moisture from the air and make it into ice or water (which he will then turn into ice), allowing for a near limitless supply of ice for him to use. The idea that seems to fit his character more would be a Quick Shut-Down ability similar to Erasure. Geten would be able to shut down the enemies plans and then instantly take them all out with a massive ice attack. This feels like it fits Geten because he values the power of quirks beyond anything else, so to shut down the opponent’s quirks would leave them completely powerless from Geten’s perspective.

Skeptic: The best idea I can think of for this guy is an Item Size-Up quirk. He needs items about the size of a person with the upper limits of a fridge’s mass to make puppets from, right? Well, what if he could just carry around some stuff in his pockets, make them human-sized, and then make them into puppets. From there, he might be able to do one of 2 things, depending on how his quirks interact: he could either remove the effect of the quirk on the item to make the puppet very tiny, or he could use it on the new puppet to make a giant puppet. either way, he’d be able to do this multiple times to create an army of tiny and/or giant puppets, and each option has it’s own applications.

Trumpet: Once again, almost anything would work for him. His job is to order around large mobs from the back-row, so what he needs is something he can use if the backrow gets flanked and his vulnerable self gets targeted. We probably want it to be something a bit more offensive than what was given to Twice though, because the more inspirational it is to see, the better. I’m gonna go with Lasers, I think. It just feels like it’d fit him, you know? But secondary choices run the range from Telekinesis, to Size Manipulation, to Super Strength. Anything that’d impress an audience.

In conclusion: I really hope Shigaraki uses All For One to make his allies even more awesome; Thank you and good night.

[wewillwriteyou]

39 quote pls - and the boys get the wrong idea! Either deaks or Benny please

Thank you so much for the ask anon! We decided to go with the handsome Ben for this one 💗 We really hope this is what you were looking for! 🤸🏼‍♀️✌🏼🌸

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Quote [39]: "Hey, you left your bra at my place"

Warnings: probably just a bad sense of humour, some language, references to alcohol, but it's mainly FLUFF and "pure, bad comedy", so safe territory for everyone

Characters: Y/N & Ben Hardy

Word count: 1.3k

Written by: @sweetgcreature 

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Request a story from this prompt list!

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How could I forget something like that?

The voice inside your head asked again, while you kept an eye on the road and the other up in the skies; black clouds were massing among themselves, suggesting another autumnal storm. Luckily you had almost reached your destination and, with weather like that, you saved yourself from the usual traffic jam.

He's not going to say it to the others, I'm sure.

You repeated like a mantra, trying to convince yourself you were safe, away from any kind of unpleasant situation. You had already had a rough week, with the moving in into the new apartment and the work schedule you thought more than once you wouldn't have made it to the weekend.

But there you were, climbing the stairs with a bottle of white wine in your right hand ready to settle into a chill and funny evening with your favourite people in the world.

Relax, Y/N, he probably didn't say a thing. We're talking about Ben, after all! He's always so shy and reserved!

Your inner voice said one more time before you let your hand knock on Rami's apartment's door. A second later Lucy appeared in front of you and a wide smile curved her lips. After a warm hug, she invited you to follow her inside.

"You'd be surprised to know who our chef is, tonight" she giggled, taking the coat from your hands, while you were walking down the short hallway to reach the kitchen.

"Please, tell me it is not Mazzello" you joked, ensuring that you used the perfect pitched tone so that Joe could hear you even from the other room. And you weren't wrong; the scene that welcomed you in the kitchen was even funnier than expected.

Joe was cooking, or better, burning something, while Rami was shouting and gesticulating in complete panic. Gwilym in the meanwhile was laughing his ass out, abandoned on the little couch in the corner with his fingers wrapped around a cold beer.

Everyone was there. Except Ben.

Awesome! If he's not here, he hasn't said a thing! I am safe!

"We're gonna end up ordering Chinese food as always" Lucy's giggles interrupted your thoughts, as she disappeared a moment in the bedroom to leave your coat on the bed with the others. You smiled and finally entered the kitchen.

"If I knew we were setting fire to Rami's new wooden cabinet, I would have left work earlier" you announced, patting Gwilym on the shoulder before walking towards the chaotic couple struggling with the pans and the carbonized food.

"The bottle of wine is well accepted, but your sarcasm isn’t, Y/N" Joe immediately talked back with a straight face. The seriousness of the situation lasted exactly a second because as soon as you saw Rami's terrified expression you all burst out laughing.

"At this rate, the only thing we'll be able to taste will be nothing but Y/N's wine" Lucy commented, joining you and the others in the kitchen.

"What about Ben? – Gwilym suddenly questioned and you couldn't help yourself, but snap your head when his name was mentioned – Y/N? Did you text him or something?"

No, I just slept with him last night. But, despite the ambiguity, nothing serious; there's a good reason why I stayed at his place.

That's what you thought.

"Nope. Why should have I texted him?"

That's what you said.

The silence suddenly flooded in the room and all the eyes were on you. Your cheeks flushed and your heartbeat increased by the minute.

"What?" you couldn't imagine that a simple word of only four letters could cause such a wave of hilarity, but apparently you were wrong. They all started laughing.

"Oh c' mon, Y/N! It's so evident there are some vibes between you two" Rami stated, with the same tone someone uses to tell something that it's obvious.

And from there, a long, debated and animated conversation started to fill the atmosphere. You, on your side trying to disprove their theories, while they had probably already set the date for your and Ben's wedding. You felt like a boat that rows against the current and you decided it was better to give up.

You were saved from that awkward situation, when something in the pans behind Joe literally started to burn, causing a big, stinky cloud that replenished the whole kitchen. Rami almost had a mental breakdown, while Gwilym stood up at the speed of light to help Joe; you and Lucy ran towards the window and opened it immediately as little coughs were escaping from your mouths.

It was in that moment of complete chaos that someone knocked on the door. You noticed that the three men were still in panic and Lucy was trying to ventilate the whole room, trying preventing all of you to die because of a burned chicken's plume.

"I’ll check who's at the door" you suggested and quickly left the hell behind your back, already picturing a pissed neighbour ready to complain about the noise and the terrible smell that were coming from Rami's apartment.

Shit.

"Ben!" you said instead, seeing his figure as soon as you opened the door. God, he was dreamy even with a grey sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. You scrolled your head, subtly looking away from his green eyes.

"Y/N! How long" he joked, winking at you. You nervously laughed and nodded, moving a little on the side to let him enter the apartment. He immediately sniffed a strange odour and you couldn't help, but chuckle.

"Joe" that was the only thing you said, and he giggled as well.

"Got it. Don't need to know more" Ben replied, lifting his hands in the air.

The situation was rather embarrassing, as you both knew something had changed from the previous night. A thin layer of nervousness had fallen between the two of you.

Nothing had happened. Ben had simply let you stay at his place because your new apartment was full of painters and you honestly didn't want to sleep in a house that smelled like paint and solvents. But sharing the same bed and waking up together had indeed been an experience. A good experience.

Sure, if you hadn't forgotten something important at his apartment it would have been better but from the way he was acting, he looked as if he hadn't even noticed, so you started to relax.

But, as the best military generals teach, never let your guard down.

"The disaster happened in the kitchen, I suppose" Ben finally said, breaking the silence and pointing the room at the end of the hallway with his thumb.

"Good intuition" you playfully replied, inviting him to walk ahead of you. He chuckled again, but when you found yourself halfway into the corridor Ben stopped and turned around to face you.

"Hey, before I forget about it – the silence had fallen in the house, and you were ready to bet all your money that the others were listening even to the smallest part of your conversation.

Please don't say it.

- you left your bra at my place"

Aaaand … he said it.

Four heads popped up from the doorframe, all smirking to the scene before their eyes. You covered your face, all blushed and hot, with your own hands and Ben, seeing you so flustered, slowly turned around and flushed as well realizing how bad what he had just said sounded.

Judging by the expressions of your friends, you knew it would have been a long night for you and Ben.

[the-desolated-quill]

Quill’s Swill - The Worst Of 2019

Congratulations! You’ve made it through another year! You’ve faced many obstacles and overcome many adversaries to arrive here, at the dawn of a new decade. So as we prepare to leave the 2010s and make our way into the 2020s, lets take a look back at the challenges and hardships of 2019. And by challenges and hardships, I of course mean shitty fiction and media.

Yes, it’s time for yet another edition of Quill’s Swill, where we mark the absolute worst stories that the industry had to offer over the past year and proceed to tear them to shreds. Think of it as like voiding your bowels before the New Year.

As always remember that this is my personal, subjective opinion. If you happen to like any of the things on this list, that’s fine. More power to you. Go make your own list. Also bear in mind I haven’t seen everything 2019 has to offer due to various other commitments. So as much as I really, really want to, I can’t put Avengers Endgame on here. I know what happens. It sounds fucking terrible, but I haven’t seen the film, so it wouldn’t be fair of me to put it on the list, even though it would most definitely deserve it.

...

Seriously, read the synopsis of Endgame on Wikipedia some time. It’s like fanfic written by a nine year old. It’s truly shocking. And now it’s the highest grossing movie of all time? Give me strength.

All In A Row

Don’t you just hate it when you’re expected to parent your autistic child? Like actually show love and care and consideration to your offspring. Look at him, expecting you to treat him like a human being. Selfish bastard! If only there was a play that explored the horrors of having to be a decent person to your own flesh and blood and how objectively awful it is. If you’re one of those people, then the play All In A Row will be right up your street.

Premiering on the 14th February at Southwark Playhouse in London, All In A Row was a total shitshow to say the least. The playwright, Alex Oates, claimed to have ten years of experience working with autistic children, which you wouldn’t have believed if you saw the play as the autistic child at the centre of the play, Lawrence, seemed more like a wild animal than a person. In fact two of the main characters compare him to a dog. And if you thought this wasn’t dehumanising enough, Lawrence isn’t even a child. He’s a puppet. Yes, it’s as bad as it sounds.

All In A Row seems to place all of the blame for the family’s predicament on the autistic child, who’s presented as barely functional, bordering on bestial. There’s no effort to really make an emotional connection with Lawrence (how can you? He’s a puppet!) as the play instead focuses on how this kid has effectively ruined this family’s life because of his autism and aggressive behaviour. Speaking as someone on the autism spectrum, I can say quite confidently that this play is fucking despicable. Badly written, badly conceived, insulting and downright mean spirited. I wouldn’t want Oates looking after my autistic children, that’s for damn sure.

Anthem

EA is back and this time they’re dragging the critical darling that is BioWare down with them.

Anthem was a desperate attempt to jump aboard the ‘live service’ bandwagon, trying to replicate the success of other video games like Overwatch, Destiny and Warframe. They failed spectacularly. The game itself had more bugs than A Bug’s Life, loot drops were often stingy and unrewarding, loading times were farcically long, and the story and worldbuilding was fucking pitiful. Oh yeah, and if you played it on PS4, there was a good chance it could permanently damage it. Thankfully I have a uni friend with an Xbox One and they allowed me to play the game on that. It was a crushing disappointment, especially coming fresh off the heels of Mass Effect Andromeda, which didn’t exactly set the world on fire back in 2017.

It didn’t help that EA’s reputation was in tatters thanks to the lootbox controversy of Star Wars Battlefront II and having to try and win back the trust of fans, but worse still reports began to service of what went on behind the scenes at BioWare during the game’s development. Apparently the game’s story and mechanics kept changing every other day as the creative directors and writers didn’t have the faintest idea what kind of game they wanted to make, and the developers were often forced to work obscenely long work hours in abusive crunch periods to get the game finished for launch. It got so bad that, according to an article on Kotaku, some members of the team had to leave for weeks or even months at a time to recover from ‘stress casualties.’ 

To think this was the same company that gave us Mass Effect, Dragon Age and Knights Of The Old Republic. Thank God that Obsidian Entertainment is there to pick up the slack on the RPG front because I think it’s safe to assume that BioWare won’t be around for much longer at this rate.

The Lion King (2019 remake)

Here we go. Yet another live action remake of a Disney classic. Excpet it’s not live action, is it? Well... it’s live action in the sense that Dinosaur was live action (remember that film? Don’t worry if you don’t. No one does). Real locations but CGI characters. Millions of dollars spent on cutting edge tech to create photo realistic animals... and the film ends up duller than a bowl of porridge that really likes trainspotting.

It’s not just the fact that The Lion King remake is yet another soulless cash grab from the House of Mouse, it’s also the fact that it’s done really badly that upsets me. The Lion King works as an animated film. Bright colourful images, over the top song and dance sequences and vibrant character designs. As a ‘live action’ film, it just looks awkward and stilted. None of the animals are very expressive, leaving it up to the poor voice actors to carry the film, and to cap it all off the CGI isn’t even all that convincing in my opinion. At no point did I look at Simba and go ‘oh yeah, he looks like a real lion.’ It’s so obviously fake. In fact it reminds me of those early 00s movies like Cats & Dogs or Stuart Little where you see the jaws of the talking animals moving up and down like some messed up ventriloquist act or something. And here’s me thinking cinema has evolved past this.

BBC’s The War Of The Worlds

Remember Peter Harness? That guy who wrote that Doctor Who episode about the moon being an egg? Yeah, he’s back and he’s doing an adaptation of H.G. Wells’ War Of The Worlds. And guess what! It’s fucking ghastly! :D

The three part BBC mini-series was without a doubt some of the worst telly I think I’ve ever seen. It’s staggering how clueless Harness is as a writer. For starters he managed to achieve the impossible and somehow made a Martian invasion of Earth boring. I didn’t even think it was possible, but somehow he pulled it off. Then he sucks all tension out of the story by revealing the ultimate fate of the Martians at the beginning of the second episode, so now any threat or danger has been chucked out of the window because we know that the main female protagonist Amy at least would survive. And then finally he takes a massive dump over the source material by having humanity weaponise typhoid to kill the red weed rather than just having the Martians die of the common cold like in the book. Because God forbid us Brits should be presented as anything other than heroic and dignified.

So what we’re left with is a poorly realised allegory with ineffectual horror tropes full of OTT progressive posturing in a pathetic attempt to make Harness and the BBC look more liberal than they actually are. There’s no effort to really explore the themes of imperialism and colonialism outside of casual lip service, and we barely get a glimpse of the dark side of humanity. Everyone is presented as flawed, but basically awesome or, in the case of Rafe Spall’s character, utterly gormless. Our TV license fees help fund this shit, you know?!

And if you think this was bad, just wait till New Year’s Day where we’ll get to see Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss’ butcher Dracula. Can we stop giving these beloved literary icons to these hacks please?

Glass

I liked Split. It wasn’t an amazing movie, but it was entertaining with some good ideas, a great performance from James McAvoy and was a true return to form for M Night Shyamalan. That being said, I wasn’t keen on the idea of it taking place in the same universe as Unbreakable. I feared it would be a step too far and we’d end up having something like... well, something like Glass.

On paper, Glass isn’t a bad idea. The idea of superpowers being a delusion is legitimately intriguing and could have been a great post-modern deconstruction of the superhero genre. Except Shyamalan never actually does anything with it. The first act drags on and on with absolutely nothing happening, none of the characters really grow or change over the course of the film, Bruce Willis in particular is basically only here for an extended cameo as his character does pretty much nothing for the majority of the film, and then the entire film is undermined by that stupid Shyamalan twist. Turns out superhumans are real and there’s a big cover up. Oh great! So not only does it render the entire film pointless, it also undoes what made Unbreakable and Split so good. They’re no longer people capable of extraordinary feats via rational means. They’re just superhuman. They can do anything. Sigh.

Shyamalan... maybe it’s time to give up the director’s chair, yeah?

Cats

Oh come on! Don’t act surprised! Did you honestly think I wouldn’t put Cats on this list?!

Cats, without a doubt, is the worst film of the decade and, yes, the CGI is terrible. Not only are there these sub-human cat mutants running around, we also have mice and cockroaches with child faces, James Corden coughing up furballs, Taylor Swift trying to give the furries in the audience boners, Idris Elba looking disturbingly underdressed and Rebel Wilson being... well... Rebel Wilson. It’s a disaster of a film. And really, should we even be surprised? We all knew this was going to suck. And no it’s not because of the CGI. I thought the CGI in Pokemon: Detective Pikachu was creepy as well, but at least it had a decent script and good performances to back it up. No the reason why Cats sucked is because... it’s Cats. It’s always been that bad. No amount of ‘advanced fur technology’ was going to change that. It was still going to be a confused, plotless mess with one dimensional characters and bad songs.

The only consolation I had was that I didn’t waste money buying a ticket. A friend of mine snuck me into the premiere and we watched it in the projector room. The plan was to make fun of it and have a laugh, but we didn’t even do that because honestly there’s nothing to really make fun. There’s only so many times you can take the piss out of the CGI and honestly the film was just boring more than anything else. It doesn’t even have the distinction of being so bad it’s good like Sharknado or Tommy Wiseau’s The Room. It’s just bad, period.

I just hope we don’t see something similar happen to Starlight Express. Just think. Anthropomorphic, singing trains on roller skates. Shudder.

Star Wars: The Rise Of Skywalker

Finally we have yet another cynical cash grab from Disney.

I confess I didn’t exactly go into The Rise Of Skywalker with an open mind. I was never all that keen on a sequel trilogy in the first place, and neither The Force Awakens nor The Last Jedi ever convinced me otherwise. Admittedly they weren’t bad movies. Just derivative and painfully uninspired, and I was expecting more of the same for Episode IX. What I got instead was quite possibly the worst Star Wars film since Attack Of The Clones. Yes, it’s that bad.

This film is very poorly made, filled with plot contrivances and logic holes galore. I lost count of the number of times the protagonists got into a dangerous situation because of Rey constantly wandering off like a confused toddler lost in a shopping mall. Oh and we finally find out who her parents were and it was quite a twist, but only because it was really stupid. Of course we didn’t see it coming because nobody would have guessed it would be something that moronic. I feel JJ Abrams’ stupid ‘mystery box’ philosophy is to blame for this. It’s derailed countless franchises before such as Lost and Cloverfield, and now Abrams has fucked up Star Wars because he’s obsessed with mystery for the sake of mystery and Disney are so lazy that they couldn’t be bothered to plan an actual trilogy out properly beforehand. Instead they just wing it, making it up as they go along, which led to Rian Johnson ‘subverting our expectations’ and left Abrams desperately trying to pick up the pieces. 

In fact a lot of The Rise Of Skywalker seemed designed specifically to appease people of both sides of the wide chasm The Last Jedi had created. The roles of characters of colour like Finn and Rose were significantly reduced, Poe and Finn don’t end up together because of homophobia, but we do see two women kiss in the background of one two second shot that could easily be cut out when they release the film in China, Kylo Ren gets his stupid redemption even though he hasn’t fucking earned it, Lando Calrissian shows up for no fucking reason, Rey is given ‘flaws’ relating to her parentage in order to combat those accusing her of being a Mary Sue, but they’re the boring kind of flaws that don’t have any real impact on her character, and that ghastly ship Reylo is made canon even though it makes no sodding sense in the context of this movie, let alone the whole trilogy. They even go to the trouble of baiting us with a FinnRey romance before pulling the rug out from under us. Then, just to add insult to injury, the film retroactively ends up making the entire original trilogy completely pointless. All because Disney wanted more dollars to put in their Scrooge McDuck money bin.

The Rise Of Skywalker, and indeed the entire sequel trilogy, should serve as a cautionary tale against the dangers of hype and nostalgia. The reason The Force Awakens was successful wasn’t because it was a good movie (because lets be brutally honest here, it really fucking wasn’t). It was because it gave gullible Star Wars fans warm fuzzies because it reminded them of A New Hope whilst tempting them with the vague promise that things might get more interesting later on. And when that didn’t materialise, quelle surprise, the fanbase didn’t take it very well. I would love to think that this will serve as an important lesson for the future when people go and see Disney movies, but who am I kidding? I guarantee at some point we’re going to get Episodes X, XI and XII and we’ll have to go through this sorry process all over again.

So there we have it. The worst of 2019. May they rot forever in Satan’s rectum or wherever it is stories go to die. Tomorrow we’ll take a look at the other end of the spectrum. Yes it’s the Quill Seal Of Approval Awards! The best of the best! Who shall win? The suspense is killing me! Ooooh, I can’t wait! You’ll be there tomorrow, won’t you? Of course you will. How could you not?

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (10/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Rated explicit. This chapter 4.4k words.  (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Finally a familiar setting makes an appearance... (again, all text below the cut due to story spoilers)

_____________________________________

Chapter 10

While he didn’t have a lot of experience in his life doing walks of shame, Patrick felt like going downstairs in the Rose house the morning after Alexis’ funeral in yesterday’s clothes would have to rank as pretty bad on anyone’s list. He’d left his luggage in the car, so he pulled his wrinkled shirt and pants back on and snuck down the spiral staircase. The goal was to find someone to ask where his car was so that he could get his toothbrush and a change of clothes.

Fortunately, the Rose family didn’t seem to be awake, and a nice woman in the kitchen showed him where to go to get into his car. He was back upstairs and in the shower before David had even woken up, although by the time Patrick had shaved and dressed and brushed his teeth, David had started to stir.

“God, I slept for twelve hours,” David said, looking at his phone.

“You probably needed it.”

“I don’t know how I would have gotten through yesterday if you hadn’t come,” David said. “So thank you.” He got out of bed and pulled a pair of sweatpants out of his armoire.

“You’re welcome.”

“And listen, if in the cold light of morning, you regret asking me to come home with you—”

“I don’t regret asking you to come home with me,” Patrick said, his hands going into his pockets. “Do you regret saying yes?”

“No,” David said, rocking on his heels as they regarded each other across the room. David finally broke the tension, moving past Patrick into the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush. “So did you have a return flight booked already?”

Patrick nodded “Yeah, for tomorrow? I wasn’t really sure, I thought about booking it for today, but—”

“No, tomorrow works. I’ll see if I can get a seat on the same flight.”

“You know, David, I flew economy.”

David’s head whipped around and he grimaced in the midst of brushing his teeth, making a drop of toothpaste foam run down his chin. “I’ll also see if I can upgrade you.”

When they ventured downstairs to get something to eat, David’s father was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a photo album. Patrick hadn’t gotten a good look at him the day before, so he was struck for the first time by the dramatic resemblance between father and son. They even styled their hair similarly, swept up off their foreheads, although the elder Rose’s hair was shot through with grey. He was also struck by the fact that the man was wearing a suit at such an early hour in his own kitchen. Perhaps he was one of those people who always wore a suit, no matter the occasion.

“Oh, David, I didn’t…” He paused, registering the presence of a stranger in his house. “... didn’t think you would be up so early.”

“I cried myself to sleep at seven o’clock last night,” David said, opening the refrigerator.

Since David didn’t seem inclined to introduce him, Patrick went over and held out his hand. “Hi, Mr. Rose, I’m Patrick Brewer. I’m a friend of David’s.”

“Nice to meet you, Patrick.” Johnny Rose stood up and took Patrick’s hand; his handshake was firm as he looked back and forth between Patrick and David, probably trying to figure out what ‘friend’ meant.

“It was a lovely service yesterday,” Patrick said, automatically shifting into politeness. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Patrick figured he’d probably been told ‘sorry for your loss’ enough to last several lifetimes, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“Ah, well, thank you. Did you know Alexis?”

“I only met her once,” Patrick said.

David pulled a large, half-eaten fruit tray out of the refrigerator, presumably leftover from yesterday, and began picking through it. “I’m going to go out of town for a few days,” David announced with a suddenness that made Patrick wince.

“What, now? Why?” Johnny said.

“I need to get out of this house. I need to get out of New York.”

“David, you can’t just abandon your family when you’re needed! Your mother, in particular, needs you to be here.”

“Okay, my mother was on so many pills yesterday at the funeral that I’m not convinced she even knew I was there,” David said, meeting his father’s anger with a wellspring of his own. “And look, I get it: I’m tempted to swallow half a pharmacy and wash it down with a liter of vodka right now too. Which is part of the reason that I need to get away from here. Just for a week or so.”

Patrick hadn’t realized any of that, and he felt a surge of sympathy for David that nearly brought him to his knees. He was also aware that this was a private family interaction that he definitely shouldn’t be witnessing, so he tried to shrink back against the wall and be as unobtrusive as possible.

Johnny sank back down into his chair, the fight drained out of him. “Okay, David, if that’s what you need. Where are you going?”

David turned to Patrick. “Where are we going?”

“Umm, it’s a town called Oak Grove. It’s about four and a half hours northwest of Toronto.”

“Four and a half hours!” David said, looking annoyed by that fact.

“Second thoughts?” Patrick asked him.

David tried and failed not to smile. “No. Just reconsidering my playlist for the trip, that’s all.”

Johnny was scrutinizing Patrick now, probably upgrading him from ‘friend’ to ‘man who is stealing my son away from me at the worst possible time.’ “And what’s there?” Johnny asked.

Patrick laughed uncomfortably. “Nothing. It’s my home.”

“It’s a quiet place where I can deal with stuff,” David said. “Okay?”

“You need to talk to your mother before you go, at least,” Johnny said, resigned.

“I will,” David snapped. “You and Mom could do the same thing, you know. Get away somewhere. You don’t have to stay here in this house that’s filled with memories of Alexis as a little girl.”

Johnny looked at David with sad eyes. “The memories are a comfort to me right now. You may want to forget, David, but right now, all I can bear to do is remember.”

~*~

“I’m leaving for the airport in half an hour!” David called to his mother through her locked bedroom door. He’d been busy the day before, dragging Patrick with him into the city to collect his personal belongings from the gallery (the realtor was going to be showing it to prospective tenants the following week, he’d been told) and to get some clothes and books that he wanted from his apartment. Having Patrick with him through that whole process, it helped. Particularly at the gallery, where Patrick kept up a steady stream of gentle teasing about the art which probably should have pissed David off, but it helped put everything in perspective as he locked up and walked away from that space for what was probably the last time.

It would have been easier to just spend the night at his apartment in Chelsea and get an Uber to the airport the following morning, but he still hadn’t spoken to his mother and he felt like he owed her that before he left town. So they went all the way back to the house even though it meant getting up even earlier to make it to JFK in time to board their flight. And then Moira refused to make an appearance all evening, making the whole trip pointless.

Finally now, when David was bleary-eyed from too little sleep (he’d shared his bed with Patrick again, but his lack of sleep stemmed from nightmares and not from anything remotely sexual), Moira opened the door.

“You’re leaving,” she said flatly, her eyes accusing him.

“For a few days, yes. Just to get my head together.”

“And who is this man that your father tells me you’re traveling with? What right does he have to abscond with you in the family’s hour of need?”

David was grateful that Patrick was already outside, packing the rental car. “He’s a friend who traveled a very long way to be with me when he heard what happened to Alexis. He’s the only person in my life who offered to do something like that for me. The only one, and I…” David felt tears rising to the surface again, and he didn’t want to cry right now. He was so tired of crying. “I don’t know why, but I need this. You and Dad have each other, and I need this.”

“You can’t escape grief by running, David,” she said, suddenly more lucid than he’d seen her all week.

“I can try.”

~*~

JFK was a crazy place at the best of times, with its security lines doubling back on themselves endlessly, an entire cross-section of America packed into the rows. Then came the infinitely long concourses, bright yellow lighted signage casting a sickly pallor over everything, people movers broken up at regular intervals that made it impossible to adjust to the speed at which the stores on either side rushed by: slow-fast-slow-fast.

Today it was crazier than usual.

Literal hare krishnas had accosted them between the rental car return and the departures level, trying to shove flowers and pamphlets into their hands, and David couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen that happen in real life or if it was just something he knew about from movies. Patrick apologized for refusing what they were offering as he and David dodged them, their rolling suitcases clacking over the floor.

Then, weirder still, there were protesters (he assumed they were protesters, but he honestly wasn’t sure) being arrested en masse in the check-in area; at least two dozen men and women on their knees, surrounded by police, white zip-tie restraints around their wrists.

“What the hell is going on?” David asked.

“I don’t know, I haven’t looked at the news in days,” Patrick said, concern evident on his face.

While he stood at the ticket counter and waited for Patrick to check them in, David opened twitter, searching ‘airport protest’ ‘JFK protest’ and ‘#JFK’, only pausing to hand over his passport when Patrick nudged him and asked for it. Twitter told him nothing useful, so next David tried scrolling through the news, looking for some clue about what was happening. He noticed a story that indicated LAX had been shut down the day before, but before he could click on it, Patrick was steering him away from the counter. David liked how Patrick was taking control of everything. Airports made him anxious under the best of circumstances, and all of this weirdness and his exhaustion was making it worse.

“Where are you going?” Patrick asked when David started to get into the TSA precheck line.

David frowned at him. “Going through security.” Duh.

Patrick was looking at the board passes. “You don’t have precheck.”

“Uhhh, yes I do. I have Global Entry.”

“Maybe it expired,” Patrick said, steering him into the regular security line.

By the time David had endured the indignity of being forced to remove his shoes and letting his socks touch the airport floor, the protesters were forgotten. At least he’d managed to upgrade them to first class, David thought as they finally took their seats on the plane.

“I’ve never flown first class before,” Patrick said, letting his not-very-long legs stretch out as far as they would go. It was adorable, David thought.

“I mean if you have to fly commercial, it’s an absolute requirement. Although it won’t be very impressive for a flight this short. Let me take you to Japan and then you’ll see what first class really is,” David said.

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “You want to take me to Japan?”

David squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the headrest, not answering. He was so tired. Airport anxiety and lack of sleep and grief were a toxic cocktail in his system, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to scream at a flight attendant or burst into tears in the next thirty seconds, but it was likely that one of those things was going to happen.

He felt Patrick’s fingers brush the palm of his hand and then he threaded their fingers together. “Is there anything I can get you, David?”

Oh, okay. Crying it was, then. David shook his head, eyes still closed, aware that a tear was leaking out of the corner of his eye, in full view of Patrick and everyone filing past them into economy class.

He felt Patrick’s other hand settle over their clasped ones, and Patrick didn’t say anything, he just sat there and held David’s hand. David couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held his hand, and that thought made more tears flow.

“I’m sorry,” David whispered, because he knew he was being embarrassing.

“How about we put a moratorium right now on you apologizing for expressing sadness. Okay?”

David nodded, wiping at his eyes. “Okay.”

~*~

“So this is your car,” David said, standing in the Toronto airport’s remote parking lot, aware that his lip was curling with disdain at Patrick’s sensible Toyota.

“Yep,” Patrick said, muscling David’s suitcase into the trunk. “What did you expect?”

David sighed. “This. I expected this.”

He settled into the passenger seat and closed his eyes, trying to reclaim the fitful sleep he’d found on the plane, but his eyes kept popping open. Shifting around to try to get comfortable, David looked over and watched Patrick maneuver them onto the highway for what was evidently going to be a long drive. “What was it like, growing up so far away from the nearest airport?” David asked.

“Well, there’s Sudbury Airport, but it’s expensive to fly anywhere from there—”

“I meant so far from an international airport,” David said. He still hadn’t really wrapped his head around the fact that when Patrick said a thing was expensive, it meant something very different than when David said something was expensive.

Patrick shrugged. “I didn’t really travel much, so it wasn’t something I thought about.”

Shaking his head, David shut his eyes again. “We’re so different,” he whispered.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because the next thing he knew, the car was stopped. The driver’s seat was empty, but he could see Patrick standing beside the car, filling it with gas. His sleeves were pushed up, and the sight of his bare forearm through the window made a frisson of desire shoot up David’s spine.

Patrick got back in the car and cranked the engine.

“Where are we?” David asked.

“Elmdale.”

“I’ve never heard of any of these places. I think you’re making them up.” David huffed. “Where’s Elmdale?”

Patrick smirked at him. “It’s about a half hour from Schitt’s Creek.”

“Now I know you’re making them up.”

Laughing, Patrick put the car in gear. “I lived in Schitt’s Creek for six months. I assure you, it’s real.”

“Why on earth would you live in a place called…” David trailed off, the name poised behind his teeth. It was triggering a long buried memory.

“Schitt’s Creek?” Patrick supplied.

“Yeah, no… sorry, it just reminded me of something my dad did when I was a kid. Said he’d bought me a town with a disgusting name like that.”

Patrick’s eyes were wide, although he was carefully watching the road as he drove out of the gas station parking lot. “Your dad bought you a town?”

“I don’t think he actually bought the town. It was a dumb joke.”

“Okay.”

“I’m hungry,” David said. “Let’s go see this shitty creek place where you used to live and get some food.”

“There’s better food here in Elmdale,” Patrick said, signaling a left turn.

“I want to see where you lived when you ran away from the heterosexual prison of your childhood.”

“It wasn’t a— Why?”

David threw his hands up. “I don’t know!” He didn’t know. He just had a sudden feeling that it was important. “Is it in the wrong direction?”

“Kind of. Not, like, the opposite direction, but it will make the trip longer.”

“Does Schitt’s Creek have a restaurant?”

“It has a café where the food is moderately edible,” Patrick said, stopping at a stop light. “You really want to go there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, his voice pitched high on the word. He switched his turn signal off and when the light changed, drove straight through the intersection.

When David got bored with the repetitive landscape of trees and farmland, he pulled out his phone, opening Instagram. It took a few seconds of scrolling before he realized he was looking for an update from Alexis. She’d called it proof of life once, he remembered, posting a selfie so that David would be reassured that she was safe.

He went to her Instagram and scrolled through the pictures. He wondered if he should try to have her accounts taken down, or if it was better to leave them up until the companies behind them went under, a monument to the life of Alexis Rose.

“Since we’re here, I should show you the town sign,” Patrick said, the car slowing down as he pulled over on the side of the road.

David shut his phone screen off and looked up. “The what?”

“Come on,” Patrick said, taking off his seat belt and getting out of the car. Uncertain what was happening, David did the same, and looked up.

“Oh my God.”

Patrick chuckled. “I know.”

“Oh my God.”

“I never found out what the story was behind this, and at this point I think I prefer not knowing.” Patrick reached his arms up over his head and stretched, twisting his torso back and forth.

“‘Where everyone fits in’? The slogan makes it so much worse.” He stared at the woman who was bent over in the picture, holding a bucket over the stream she and the man were wading in. She certainly seemed happy, and not at all put out by being fucked in the ass by the guy behind her, as it appeared was happening in this insane painting.

“I heard kids drive here from all over to get pictures with the sign. So maybe it’s good for local businesses.”

“But at what cost?” David said, kicking at loose gravel as he stood next to Patrick’s car. Then he shuddered, a full body shudder that took him by surprise. Someone just walked over your grave, mijo, Adelina used to say.

“You okay?” Patrick asked.

David held his hand out and touched the tall grass that had grown at the side of the road, dry and dormant from the receding winter. Sunshine hit each rustling blade, making each of them individually glow, too perfectly yellow to be real.

“David?”

“Yeah.” He withdrew his hand. “This place feels… do you feel it? Too real. Hyperreal.”

“Hyperreal?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Magical. It feels magical.” And then he blushed, because that was a very stupid thing to say.

“Maybe that’s why people like the sign,” Patrick said, teasing him.

David didn’t mind being teased. “Maybe if I go up and touch the sign, I’ll be transported to another time in history.”

Patrick laughed. “Oh man, Rachel loves that show.”

“She is correct,” David said, trying not to think too hard about Patrick’s sexually frustrated wife getting what little satisfaction she could out of watching Outlander. He shook himself to dispel his little flight of fancy; he probably just wasn’t used to seeing this much nature at one time, and it was making him loopy. Opening his car door, he flopped back into his seat. “You said there was a café?”

~*~

“This is the ugliest fucking place I’ve ever seen,” David proclaimed.

Patrick stopped the car in a parking space in front of Café Tropical and got out. “Yeah, it’s not the most picturesque downtown.” He looked around at it and imagined seeing it through David’s eyes: the cracking pavement and the boarded up general store. The lack of even the smallest effort by the town’s government to clean up the trash on the side of the road or to even plant a few flowers. It was no wonder David hated it on sight. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

The café was deserted, perhaps because it was four in the afternoon — too late for lunch but too early for dinner, and perhaps because it was one of the few places left in what passed for a downtown that was still open, other than Bob’s Garage. David paused inside the door as if a hostess was going to come and seat them, but Patrick knew that wasn’t how the café worked. He made his way directly over to a booth and sat down, David following him.

Twyla emerged from the back, menus in her arms, and she stopped and exclaimed when she saw Patrick. “Patrick! I thought you moved away! What are you doing back in town?”

“Just passing through,” he said, taking one of the menus she handed him and grinning as David reacted to the size of them. “This is David Rose.”

Twyla smiled, her sunny disposition lighting up the place like always. “Nice to meet you, David. I’m Twyla, and I’ll be your server. Can I get you guys something to drink?”

“Just water for me,” Patrick said. David ordered coffee — well, first he tried to order a macchiato but when Twyla didn’t know what that was, he ordered coffee.

David gave him a horrified look. “These menus—”

“I know.”

“You lived here?”

“Yes,” Patrick said evenly, feeling self conscious. “You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

David twisted up his face and looked back down at the menu. “What’s safe to order?”

“Umm, the turkey sandwich is okay,” Patrick said.

David flipped the pages of the menu back and forth, his brow furrowed. “I’m getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu.”

“About the menu?”

He stopped fidgeting with the menu and looked around at the other booths and tables and the garishly painted walls. “About this whole place. If I didn’t know better, I would swear I’ve been here before.”

“My grandmother thought it was because Schitt’s Creek is a liminal space,” Twyla said, making David jump as she put their drinks on the table. “Are you ready to order?”

Patrick ordered the turkey sandwich. David crossed his arms over his chest. “What is a liminal space?”

“She used to say that there was usually a solid barrier between different dimensions, but that here the barrier is as thin as tissue paper. She would tell me that if I concentrated hard enough, I might be able to see a shadow of something from a parallel universe in this one.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, trying to put a stop to Twyla’s rambling. He liked Twyla, but her stories could be a bit unhinged. “David, did you decide what you wanted to eat?”

David ignored him. “A shadow,” he said to Twyla.

“Yeah. Also, she told me that she could summon small objects from other universes to this one.”

David met Patrick’s eyes briefly as he suppressed a smile. “Oh, really?”

Twyla wasn’t oblivious to their skepticism. “I know, I didn’t really believe her either. But that’s what she claimed! One time she lost an earring, and told us all that she summoned a replacement from a parallel dimension!”

“Or maybe she just found the missing earring,” Patrick said.

Twyla smiled. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Anyway,” she said, turning back to David. “What can I get you?”

David ordered a salad, and Twyla collected their menus and disappeared.

“She’s very… colorful,” David said.

“Yeah. Twyla’s a character. Always cheerful, even when she’s talking about some seriously dark stuff from her childhood.”

“Like stories about her crazy grandmother?”

“Usually about the men her mother brought home,” Patrick clarified, which David answered with a sympathetic cringe.

The food they were eventually brought barely lived up to Patrick’s earlier ‘moderately edible’ characterization, but he got David to smile and even laugh a few times, and that made this detour more than worth it. After the plates were cleared, Patrick ordered a coffee to go along with David’s third cup, and they lingered in the booth, talking about nothing: music and TV shows and the transcendental perfection of a good grilled cheese sandwich.

After they walked out of the diner, instead of going back to Patrick’s car, something caught David’s eye and he crossed the street. Patrick followed him, stopping beside him next to one of the windows of the empty general store, where David was peering inside.

“What?” Patrick asked him.

David was quiet for a few seconds before answering. “I don’t know. This place…” He put his hand up on the glass. “There’s something about it.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to shiver, because he’d felt the same way when he’d moved here. The general store used to catch his eye every time he went to the café, like something from inside had called out to him, just outside the range of his hearing.

Shaking himself from some kind of reverie, David turned to Patrick and raised an eyebrow. “You have brought us to a very creepy place, Patrick.”

Patrick pinched his lips together, refraining from pointing out once more that David was the one who had wanted to come here. “So let’s get back on the road.”

David’s shoulders slumped. “How much longer?”

Pulling out his phone and looking at the time, Patrick responded, “I guess we’ll get there by eight.”

“It’s just, the thought of more driving is making me want to lie down and cry.”

“I was doing all the driving, David,” Patrick said, struggling to be patient with David’s mood.

“I know, I’m sorry.” David had enough self-awareness to look chagrined. “I’m just exhausted.”

Patrick took a second to remind himself what David was going through and he took a deep breath. “My friend runs the motel in town; we could spend the night there. Although I’ll warn you, it’s pretty run down.”

David squinted at him. “So like everywhere else in this town, then.”

Chuckling, Patrick took his hand and led him back to the car. “Pretty much.”

Chapter 11

[angryinternetduck]

Good Years

1.7k words on Zayn in One Direction and potential inspiration for Good Years.  Warning: this fic deals with anxiety and also a little bit of alcohol abuse! Please stay safe!  Also - slight use of bad language.  When she was little, Walihaya Malik loved to sing karaoke. She loved to sing her heart out, and the only thing that made the whole experience that much better than a fancy microphone was singing with her older brother. 

Which meant Zayn was constantly roped into the singing festivities. And most of the time, it was fun. It was only less than wonderful when she asked him to play about every other night. Singing the same songs over and over again multiple nights in a row wasn’t exactly Zayn’s idea of a good time. 

It was exhausting. There was nothing worse than that heavy feeling of weariness that came with the lack of energy that it took to have fun. Or worse, to look like you’re having fun, which happened any time Walihaya gave Zayn the puppy eyes when he’d collapse on the couch after a song. 

Going on tour with the band was trying to look like you’re having fun constantly. 

Constantly meaning every single night. 

For a year. Straight. 

And then again. 

And again, and again. 

_____________________________________________________________

Zayn felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

He felt like his ribs were contracting, like his chest was caving in on his lungs. 

They had a show in a few hours. He didn’t think he could do it. He felt light-headed and sick and he had a headache. Liam kept telling him to eat, but Zayn couldn’t even look at Niall’s jumbo platter from Nando’s without wanting to hurl. 

All he wanted to do was go outside. He wanted to sit in front of a tree and draw and just be alone in the silence and the sunlight. He wanted to breathe, to feel the wind and the sun and the nature and watch the clouds and the birds and the flowers. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even open a bloody window without hearing the screaming masses. He loved the fans, he really did, but they got on his nerves when they stopped him from going outside and suffocated him. 

He went through the motions during rehearsals and sat in the toilets during the in-betweens, almost wanting to throw up just to get the feeling of nausea out of his stomach. It didn’t work, and Zayn wanted to call quits on the show. 

He didn’t. He couldn’t. 

_____________________________________________________________

1 AM, GMT+1 - 2 HRS. POST-SHOW

LONDON, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM

ROOM 112, THE RITZ

“You think we’ve wasted all our good years?” Zayn asked quietly, staring at the ceiling of Niall’s hotel room. “No doubt about it,” Louis replied. There was a clink, and Zayn looked up to see his glass of whiskey magically refilled. 

“Ah, cheers,” Zayn murmured, taking a sip. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry sighed, reaching for the bottle himself. “We’re gonna be dead tomorrow.” Zayn gave a wry smile. “Wouldn’t mind that all that much,” he said, and Liam nodded. “Be a bit of a relief, wouldn’t it?” 

“It’s too late for this shit,” Niall murmured, and Zayn smiled, knowing that he was curled up in his bed, practically already asleep. “Go to sleep, Ni,” he said. “You’re just -” Niall cut him off with a pillow thrown in his face. 

“I’m trying,” he insisted. “You lot are too bloody loud!” 

“Oi!” Louis exclaimed. “You’re the one who invited us!” 

Niall groaned. “No, I didn’t! I said I had a few bottles of Guinness, and if you wanted to come up for a few minutes, you could! Not that we should stay up talking shit until two in the bloody morning!” 

“You should really know better by now,” Harry said through a yawn. 

“We really should sleep, though,” Liam murmured, but he didn’t make any moves to get up. “Maybe we should just… not,” Zayn said. “We could just… refuse.” That got a laugh out of Louis, who chuckled and stood up with a stretch. 

“That,” he said, heading for the door, “would be quite entertaining. Good luck with that. Night, lads.” Zayn yawned, shifting into the sofa he was lying on. “I’m not moving,” he grumbled, and Liam sighed. “You’ll get yelled at tomorrow…” 

“You know how many fucks I give?” Zayn asked, and Liam sighed again, evidently already aware of his answer. “How many, Zayn?” he asked tiredly.“Zero, Payno,” Zayn said. “Zero. No fucks. Nada. I could not care less if I tried. And I’m not trying.”

“Right,” Liam said. “Night, then. Harry? Comin’ with?” 

A clink. Zayn peeked an eye open to see the bottle of whiskey, empty on the table, and Harry dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” he slurred, and he followed Liam out of the hotel room. 

“Night, Ni,” Zayn mumbled. 

Niall gave him only a loud snore in reply. 

Zayn got in trouble the next morning. 

He still didn’t give a fuck. 

_____________________________________________________________

Zayn closed his eyes, gripping his mic tight and holding back the tears. Just an hour more, he told himself. One more hour, and he’d be in bed. No more people, no more screams, just him and the silence. 

The music began. The crowd roared. 

Zayn bit his lip as the tears threatened to spill over. 

A crowd of tears, he thought miserably, forcing a smile to his face. 

A crowd of a thousand tears. 

_____________________________________________________________

“Honestly,” Louis said softly, watching the crowd with a frown, “I would rather be anywhere else right now. Like, the North Pole sounds about perfect at the moment.” Zayn gave a weak attempt at a smile. “Imagine leaving, right now? Just… walking out? Think there’d be a scandal?” 

Louis laughed. “Oh, you bet. World would probably go up in flames, it would.” 

“If only,” Zayn murmured. 

“If only,” Louis echoed. 

And then he was smiling, running down the platform with all the energy in the world, and screaming and bouncing and jumping up and down and singing with all his heart like it was no big deal. 

As he walked down the platform himself, barely keeping a smile on his face, Zayn wondered how the bloody hell Louis could agree with his miserable notions one moment and be beaming and laughing the next. 

For the life of him, he just could not figure it out. 

_____________________________________________________________

MIDNIGHT, PDT - 1 HR. POST SHOW

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, UNITED STATES of AMERICA

A CLUB SOMEWHERE IN BEVERLY HILLS

Zayn felt like 

he was on top 

of the world. 

Everything was spinning, everything was blurry, he heard voices screaming loud as bloody hell and Zayn loved it because nobody liked silence after a good show. He was drinking some sort of alcohol, dancing with the boys, drunk off his face. 

He was a superstar, he kept thinking. 

He was at a club, in Beverly Hills, in the United States of America. 

Him. Zain Javadd Malik. That little boy from Bradford.  

Was a star. 

Who’da thunk?

Not Zayn, that’s for damn sure. 

 He wished he could feel like that forever. He was absolutely content, bouncing and laughing drunkenly but somehow completely calm and still and collected at the same time. He could breathe, he could think (mostly), he didn’t have a worry in the world. 

Nothing in the world could ever bring him down. 

He was sure of it. 

The hangover the next morning brought him down. 

It was rubbish. 

Zayn vowed never to drink again. 

He broke that vow the next night, after the next show. 

The next morning brought another vow, and the next night brought another broken one. 

It was a vicious cycle. 

_____________________________________________________________

A fan. 

Zayn couldn’t remember her name. 

She was nice, and proper fit, if Zayn recalled that much, and had a nice smile. 

And she asked Zayn, Are you okay?

And she said in such a way, in such a tone, that Zayn almost broke down and started crying right then and there. She’d touched his elbow, just a bit, and looked into his eyes, and asked, and it took all of Zayn’s strength not to collapse in sobs. 

“‘Course I’m alright,” he said instead. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Shows in your eyes,” she said quietly, “when you’re upset. If somebody holds pain, deep inside them, they can usually keep it off their face. But you can’t keep it out of your eyes, Zayn.” She paused, giving him a smile. “Don’t keep it all in, eh?” she told him. “Can’t have you dying on us.” 

Zayn swallowed back the tears and nodded. 

“I’ll do my best,” he said truthfully. “Just for you.” 

_____________________________________________________________

Zayn stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, a little drunk. 

He watched the ceiling fan spin round and let himself think.

He was done with One Direction. 

They’d go off, do their thing, and Zayn would do his. 

ZAYN. 

They were already starting the album process. 

Zayn hummed a melody they’d pitched, remembering that drunken conversation in the Ritz of London. He thought of all the crazy times he’d had with the boys, all the insane concerts and ridiculous fan experiences. He thought of the amazing fan mail and the countless compliments, of the trillions of Tweets and colorful signs. He thought of the kindness of the fans and the love they’d given, of their loyal support and unrelenting adoration.

But then he thought of the drugs and alcohol and hung-over mornings spent face-first in the toilets. And he thought of all the mornings spent face-first in the toilets not because of hangovers, but because of pressure and tension and fear. He thought of the panic attacks and stomach-wrenching stress and suffocating afternoons spent trapped in screaming-mass surrounded hotels.

Staring at the ceiling fan, Zayn realized with a start that he was already 22 years old; he’d basically reached his prime in life but was only just beginning his career as a soloist and - dare he say it - his career as a serious artist with respectable music. 

All he could do now, he thought tiredly, was pray he hadn’t wasted all his good years. 

_____________________________________________________________

Tell me: 

1. your thoughts on Icarus Falls 2. if any of the boys’ solo songs makes you cry  3. if you’ve ever been to a 1D or solo concert 4. your thoughts on panera bread or! 5. Tell me anything!!! Feedback is always much appreciated :) 

[halcyonnhood]

Alumni Band (Michael Clifford)

Summary: Nellie and Michael were best friends in high school and in marching band. They reunite through alumni band. Platonic love.

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: literally PG.

Warnings: me being a soft bitch

Authors Note: I'm back from the dead for .02 seconds. I wrote this while manic and haven't bothered editing it. Incase people aren't aware of what Alumni band is: it's basically just graduates of marching band getting back together and performing (usually.) I'm going off my experience, I literally just did alumni band in October (I was the second youngest.) and we always go to practices and then perform together with the high school band for homecoming games. Tons of fun. I'm also scared people won't like this as much because it isn't romantic and doesn't include smut. Fun. Enjoy!

I will probably make a second part in the future which might be romantic, but I'll probably stick with some platonic!Mikey. Double bonus, Nellie is a plus size character. I didn't feel the need to explicitly say that in this part. We'll explore that in the second.

The band room still smells musty and sweaty, a smell that somehow comforts Nellie Reed. It's been years since she had last stepped into her second home, but everything still looks the same. Chairs were still set in messy rows, music stands placed out of the way in the corner, and there are crumbs everywhere (despite the ‘no eating’ policy). There's a couple of new photos placed randomly along the walls, a disney world trip from 2018, the new drum major beaming proudly with majorettes. It brings back memories of her own high school years and how much she genuinely misses marching band. Of course she does, she wouldn't cancel plans for nothing. She only does it for homecoming week anyhow.

The rest of the alumni band seems to be taking their sweet ole’ time. To be fair, some of them are very old. Nellie has already paced laps around the room multiple times. Looked at photos. Peeked into the uniform closet, viewed the same old uniforms, and quickly shut the door before the odor could become too pungent. After all, the poor cotton uniforms only get dry cleaned twice a year and sadly they still smell like sweaty teens. She pulls out a music stand and takes out her piccolo to get some practice in. Well, that was the plan before a few frames beside the director's podium catches her attention. Upon closer inspection the first frame holds a picture of her, Kellen Loxley, and Michael Clifford at their final senior football game. It had been rainy and cold, both her and Kellen falling multiple times in the mud, yet the three of them were laughing in the picture. Her heart swells at the sight, she had never been so happy and content until that night. The second frame showed Hadden Beaupre's smiling face, she knew why the picture had remained there years after their graduation. He had died a couple nights before graduation after getting in a car wreck with Nellie and Michael. And the picture captures exactly how she remembers him, red curly hair spilling onto his forehead, freckles speckled across his dimpled cheeks, and green eyes shining brightly. God, she missed him. She missed them all.

Her introspective thinking is abruptly interrupted, “Staring at his dopey smile was probably your biggest downfall, ya know?”

She immediately recognizes the voice. She honestly believes that she could identify him anywhere.

“You're just jealous I stared at him, Clifford.” Nellie chuckles. She turns around to be met with none other than her high school best friend. Except he wasn't a teenager anymore and he definitely filled out his once awkward, gangly body.

“Me? Jealous? I could never.” Michael chuckles.

“Whatever you say. I didn't even think you'd show up,” She comments, “Let alone with bubblegum pink hair,”

Michael let's out a laugh, “Can you blame me? I know Jennings hates it and it'll be a good laugh. He can't make me bleach my hair like the good old days,”

“You're the dumbass who would dye it weekly despite knowing the rules,” She rolls her eyes. “I'm surprised you aren't bald from all the chemicals,”

Michael was trying to come up with a witty comeback when the double doors swing open and their old band director peeks his head in, “The rest of the alumni are on the field, apparently they still can't follow directions,”

The practice isn't going as smoothly as it did in high school. Nellie's section is filled with ditzy, forgetful thirty and forty year old women who rely on her to teach them everything. They forgot the very basics, but she's kind and teaches them anyway. While she's helping a woman named Janice with arm swings, she makes eye contact with Michael who is giving her a “are you serious?” look. She just shrugs and gives him a frown, because honestly, this sucks. Michael just smiles from across the field and it sends her back to their freshman year. It had been hot, both of them exhausted and ready to go back home, but they still found enough energy to mouth words to each other and make silly expressions. He looks the same, with dyed hair and his neck strap hanging to display his silver saxophone. It HAD to be silver, his fourteen year old self had claimed. It's unique, unlike every other boring gold saxophone. Of course the boy wanted to stand out, even his hair shows that.

“Will I see you at the game?” Michael questions after practice.

“Do you really have to ask?” Nellie gives him her signature smile. The one reserved just for him.

He chuckles, “It's not polite to assume things,”

“Of course you'll see me there, Mikey.”

The week passes right before Nellie's eyes, it feels that way, but she knows she's just giddy to see Michael again. The duo hasn't been the same since graduation, while at one time they used to be inseparable, now she's lucky to get a text once a month. It was usually saying about the same thing each month, “Hey, I hope you're doing well Nel. Hopefully I'll be home soon. 🖤” Except he never really came home until this week. She wanted to be mad at him, she should be mad at him, but she's too understanding for that. They're both adults with adult lives and that's okay. His adult life is just a little more exciting than her own though, a famous band, cool ass friends, and screaming girls willing to fall at his feet.

Nellie had a pretty bland life in comparison. She stayed in the same small, dead end town working as the city schools music therapist and occasional music teacher. While he was out touring the world and being rich, she was earning two dollars above minimum wage and eating microwavable dinners in her one bedroom apartment. She just wishes she could have the comfort of having Michael closer. At one time it was a reasonable wish, now it seems like too much to ask.

Michael is going to arrive at the high school late. According to the text that he had sent her. It's half expected, he was never on time to begin with and some things never change, she knows that. It isn't a big deal, yet Nellie can't help but feel a little hurt. She just wants to talk to him while getting ready, but the man is nowhere to be found and she's surrounded by strangers again. Not how she wants her night to go and definitely not what she had pictured happening. She had pictured getting there early together and having half of the evening to fool around and act like teenagers again, he had other priorities in place though. And she is definitely not one of them.

Nellie glances down at her phone for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. He hadn't bothered texting her again and there's only twenty minutes until pregame. And while she loves her best friend, she can feel anger and disappointment stirring up deep in her chest. Michael had spent the past few days texting her consistently and talking about how excited he was to relive his old marching band days. How excited he was to spend the evening right along with her. The least he could do is actually fucking show up and she's not sure that he even would. So, she lines up for pregame with the flutes and tries to rid herself of the negative emotions. This is a night for fun and remembering why she was so passionate about music in the first place.

Pregame is still hell. It's not particularly long or challenging, but it's still tiring in its own way. It's only when the band is marching off the field that Nellie spots soft pink hair through the mass of uniforms and alumni. The sight makes her heart race much faster than the marching and crowd could have. The fact that he actually showed up almost cancels all the frustration from before and all she can focus on is getting close to him as soon as possible.

“You showed up,” Nellie says once the duo is sat comfortably in the band stands.

“I told you that I would,” Michael raises an eyebrow at the girl.  

“I was beginning to doubt that,”

“Nel, I have never lied to you” He tells her with a softer tone.

She just plays with the keys of her Piccolo, “Yeah, you do Mike. You usually do every time you claim you'll come home.”

“You know I can't help that. I always make plans and things always pop up. I'm here now, let me make it up to you,”

“I really don't wanna talk about this anymore. I'm going to get hot chocolate, want some?” She asks while handing him her beloved instrument.

“We need to talk, I don't want things to be bad between us.”

“I don't want to now, Michael.”

Nellie wants to stay and talk, it's what she's been craving for months on end. To just cuddle up next to him and talk about everything they've missed. She wants to know all about his famous life, tours, and new friends. She wants to tell him all about her students and how she's successful in her own way. But she doesn't, she turns and walks down the bleachers stairs. Away from Michael and any bad moods that began to cloud her mind. She's just going to get them some hot chocolate and let the cold breeze cool her off before she goes back to him. Their friendship is something they both value and she doesn't want to ruin that due to bitter moods and hurt feelings. They'd work it out, they always do.

As promised, Nellie returns with hot chocolate and the two sip it in silence during the game. He doesn't bother trying to say anything else to her, but doesn't pull away when she cuddles up to him for warmth. They stay like that until halftime when they follow the high school band to warm up. Then onto field. The show feels natural and familiar, the one thing that both Nellie and Michael missed. Throughout the show she can occasionally see his pink hair moving smoothly across the field or see glints of his silver instrument. It fills her heart with nostalgia, no different than the rest of this week.

“I'm sorry I never come home,” Michael tells Nellie after the game.

She turns to watch the boy, his hair sticking to his forehead and green eyes studying her carefully, “I'm sorry that I was being a dick earlier. I was just kinda hurt that you were late. We don't get much time together.”

“I know. I wish it was different but with to-”

“Yeah, tour.” She cuts him off. “I would know more about that if you talked to me.”

“I should've made more time for you. I know,”

“I just want my best friend, Mike.” Nellie says and looks away from him.

Without warning, Michael pulls the shorter girl into his chest and hugs her tightly. She melts into the warm embrace and squeezes him softly.

“I can't take anymore time off. But I was thinking, why don't you take a little vacation and come with us for a month. Or two. I'll show you LA, you can see new places.” Michael tells her suddenly with wide eyes as if it surprises him too.

“Mikey,” Nellie whispers softly. “I have work and bills. I can't just leave like you can,”

A cheeky smile pulls at his pink lips, “And? Work for us,”

“Yes, because you totally need a music therapist,” Nellie rolls her eyes.

“We need…” Michael trails off, “Music lessons? You have a degree in music education.”

“Oh, so now a band with number one songs needs a music educator,” Nellie laughs at the thought. “Especially with all your famous friends,”

“Luke and Ashton can't read sheet music,”

“Luke plays piano,” She deadpans.

“By ear” Michael grins down at her. “You know that isn't proper. C'mon, Nellie.”

“As fun as that so-”

This time Michael cuts her off, “We'll pay double whatever this district offers. They really don't offer much, I would know, we both went here,”

“Fine.” Nellie grins.

Michael wraps his arms around her tightly and spins her around with joy. Nellie starts in a fit of giggles and hugs him tighter than ever before. She finally gets to see her best friend every single day. No more late nights waiting for texts and feeling let down when plans change. Suddenly doing Alumni band is the best decision she's ever made.

“I can't wait for you to meet the boys, Nel” Michael rambles, “You'll love them and oh my god all of the food in LA? To die for. I have so much to show you."

“I can't wait, Mikey."

[unwarrantedopinions-blog1]

AJR/Fletcher/3OH!3 @ ISU’s Braden Auditorium

A different take to the blog this post. I went to a show alone up in the Blono area. For those of you who are reading this and aren’t local, it’s Bloomington-Normal which is the home of the Illinois State University Redbirds. Pretty campus, nice majors, etc. Definitely worth checking into if you’re in the market for college. I have a lot of friends who go here / have went here. The parties are dope, the bar scene is hype, and it’s a great little place overall to spend 2-4 years if you have that kind of time and money.

FIRST IMPRESSION:

This was my first concert at Braden Auditorium and I am going to give it about a 7.5/10 rating for the venue, 8/10 for the vibe, and artists individually will get reviews/ratings later on in the blog. The venue was actually really well ventilated and it stayed cool inside despite the fact that it was packed as fuck and everyone was flailing around like an octopus at a rave. Parking was big and spacious, I conveniently parked closest to the doors not even knowing where I was going. Shout out to Brady for getting me where I needed to go via Snap since I was clueless. It was more or less just following the masses. (Doesn’t that lead to mass murder or cults?) The merchandise was right inside the doors and everything was front and center. AJR was the only artist that had merchandise out so I bought their short sleeved tie dye shirt (I’m a slut for tie dye) and their dusty rose hoodie with “100 BAD DAYS 100 GOOD STORIES” on the back because obviously. That’s my favorite song off Neotheater. I think it was reasonably priced. $35 T-shirt and $65 hoodie. Lucky for me, I brought exactly $100. Amazing on me.

I’m really not a fan of “assigned seating venues” so that was a bummer at first but the chair was super convenient when I wasn’t feeling it for the middle set. The facility is super nice, the security/assistants were super nice, the vibe was super nice. Overall super nice. The box office workers were SO kind helping me get my ticket (obviously I needed a physical ticket for the collection) and pointing me in the right direction to my seat. The people I sat around were kind as well. I had a group of girlfriends to my right, a couple to my left at first, and friend groups ahead and behind. As the Fletcher set went on and I was sitting, I had a weird guy come up and sit in the empty seat to my left. He got creepy after a few minutes and, GOD BLESS, the two girls that were together behind me saved the day and pulled me up to the next row back with them. After a while he tried talking to the group of girlfriends that were to my right originally and after talking with them I found out they were 17!!! So I told them I’d walk them out to their car after the show and they were so appreciative. Girls helping girls is what this future needs to become. Aside from that little stutter, the seating was not the best but wasn’t the worst. Neutral rating there, but for future reference I am gonna try to avoid assigned seating venues. Dat shit lame.

The thing I like the most about this experience for myself was that I was able to let myself feel. I have an issue with bottling up my emotions and I don’t ever process them, I just shove them to the back of my mind and wait until the shelf is too full and one falls off and I deal with it when the glass breaks. So being able to sit here, reflect on my emotions, feel things for what they are at their own face value, it was really nice. I heard all of my feelings loud and clear, I cried tears of happiness, sadness, confusion, excitement. There was so much going on in my brain that I couldn’t hold any of it in. Music is one of the only things that allows me to feel freely and deeply, so this experience helped me sort through what I’ve been holding onto. Some days I wonder why I hold on. I think this is a good habit to get into: going to a concert alone once a month, maybe twice. Not just for me, but for anyone who has a deep connection with music, artists, albums, etc. Overall, a pleasant experience for what I dubbed “Solo Sunday”.

ARTIST REVIEW:

3OH!3 - The first artist up on stage was 3OH!3 and I am honestly so emo over that itself. I’ve been into them since I was in middle school so that was a dope experience. I didn’t think I would see them in concert in my entire life let alone be a few feet from them so that was super surreal and I felt so starstrukk (puns, lol). Honestly, they’re so hype and their humor is very plain, but it’s still funny. I loved their set, recorded half of it on my phone, and will probably blare them on the hour long drive home. It was seriously such a great moment for me, my 13-year-old self was LIVING HER BEST LIFE and I can’t say 22-year-old me could’ve complained either. (10/10)

Fletcher - Fletcher was the second artist out of the trio. Let me start by saying her voice is AMAZING and she is TALENTED. But it’s too loud and strong for the mic and that needs to be adjusted so it doesn’t sound so blaring and shitty. I wasn’t really feeling her set so obviously I sat and started this blog. You could barely understand half the words she was singing when she got quiet, you could only hear her when she was loud. Aside from the sound, her lyrics were spot on for any girl going through literally anything. “Wish I could get a little undrunk so I could uncall you, at 5 in the morning I would unfuck you”. Bruh. My CHEST. Who said she could come for my life like that? This is wack as FUCK, I got called out hard on the whole set. There’s just something about the emotion in her voice that make the lyrics hurt 10x more and I think that is what makes a good artist. I think she talks too much midset and between songs, but maybe she will learn as she tours more that not every song needs an explanation for why she wrote it or when she wrote it or where. Overall I think her lyrics were good, the sound was okay, but the set was mediocre at best. Maybe an artist better on recording compared to live, will definitely give her a listen and fair chance. (7.5/10)

AJR - First off, let me just say that AJR was/is/always will be a (not so) subtle obsession. Neotheater (album review post coming soon) got me in my feelies so fucking hard that I couldn’t breathe. It was a cheap rib shot and it made me want to reevaluate everything I’ve ever said or done in my entire life. Seeing them live, being in the same building as them, it had my feelings on a whole different level. This album has been my rock for the last few weeks on repeat and helping me through this rough patch of my life. Being at the NEOTHEATER WORLD TOUR was unreal. They bring so much hype and playful banter to the stage, seeing them interact with one another (they’re brothers slash the “they were roommates” vine) was so wholesome. The gig was INCREDIBLE. I recorded most of the set to have for the bad days and the sad days. They are fun, upbeat, and quirky in the best way. I cried for the first 4-5 songs because it was so surreal to me and I was just in awe of the fact that the music that I listen to so I can make it through the day sounds 10x better in person. The vibrations in your chest and the pounding headache you find yourself not minding, the amazing crowd that feels the same or similar to the way you do, and the hype that everyone in the place felt. It was all amazing and I will never miss another AJR show again. I really just sat there and soaked in my tears the whole set. It was satisfying in a weird way to connect with something so simple so deeply. (10/10)

THE DRIVE HOME:

The drive home was hype while I sat in the lot trying to leave all the way up until I got out of Blono. It began as a light jam session of “I’m Not Famous” and “Burn The House Down” in the lot, transitioned to 3OH!3 on shuffle (skipping for all the high tempo bops), and then winded down with a play through of Neotheater in its entirety. From the moment I hit the highway from the last exit taking me home, I started the album from the beginning. I let the words sink it, the emotions connect, and I was a bawling mess. I sang, I cried, I bobbed my head along time the heartbreaking truths the lyrics were throwing at me. I revisited painful things from my life, I planned out new future plans. I took my present life into consideration and started working on a plan to get it back together. By the time I got home, my face was covered in teary mascara streaks and my eyes were bloodshot and burning. My cheeks were red and I felt so exhausted. Letting my emotions get out in their own way made me feel like a new person. The months upon months of bottled up feelings are gone and it’s time to start over with new ones.

FINAL THOUGHTS:

I enjoyed myself. That’s a phrase that will rarely come out of my mouth. But hey, it’s true. The experience was one of a kind, it was extraordinary, it was everything I wanted it to be. $50 to see a life altering show (dramatic, yes, but not entirely wrong either) was a steal. I would recommend an AJR headliner any day regardless of the openers. 3OH!3 as a headliner would slide if they had good openers. Fletcher as a headliner would be cool if you like that kind of thing. Don’t go to concerts alone unless you are adequately prepared to be alone. Help those around you, enjoy the moment, live for the now. Let those around you enjoy things in their own way. Be kind, be compassionate, be supportive. Enjoy the time you have because your days are numbered, regardless of the total amount. And when you think you shouldn’t do something because you don’t wanna go alone, do it anyway. It will be good for you and it will bring a new meaning to self care. I feel weightless and so wholesome. I am ready to tackle another week, month, and year.

[fidelcastrato]

Saturday Night Dead

A dull roar floods a small, derelict house and about a block of surrounding land all of a sudden, followed shortly by a piercing screech which acts as the conditioned stimulus to roughly 30-40 people between the ages of probably around 15 at the youngest, up to pushing-40, causing a mass salivation in response to the promise of real, proletariat, bullshit-free Punk Fucking Rawk™. Brando Murely himself sits on a cinder block outside the door, just enough out of the way of the crowd distractedly making its way inside, everyone in the middle of a conversation, turning around every few seconds to give their latest opinion on the eternal IHOP v. Waffle House crisis, shouting-match phone calls, drunken wobbling, stoned hobbling, and oh-that-sweet-cocaine's-a-calling. From Brando's arm dangles eazily-breezily a small bucket, perhaps formerly housing some domesticated plant, with the word "DONATIONS" written in sharpie on the side. He is only a few brainwaves away from REM sleep, that sultry temptress.

Avey and Fyo take their sweet time. The openers are about to play, now sound-checking, if you can really call it that (not to be rude, but the opening acts of these kinda shows were more often than not either local upstarts or local failures, and lacked some level of expertise in regards to acoustics, dynamics, levels and such), but they have both just lit a new cigarette. No worries, though; they've been around enough that they know the path straight to the front, if it should turn out that The Ushi Onis were worth front row listening.

Towards the back of the house stood in solidarity the introverts so in love with music, but so out of touch with people, the old farts who didn't really care anymore but still attended out of habit, the few (if extant) devout fans of another band on the line-up who just wanted to get it over with already, and the stray college kid; not any art or philosophy major, no, just some regular Joe (and hilariously enough, one independent study in "Crime and Punkishment", a locally famous zine, reported that 73.7% of these people were actually named Joe) who happened upon this utterly obscene proceeding via a stack of coincidence and misfortune--maybe they were there with some punk ladyfriend from class.

In the middle, by far the largest section, you could find pretty much anybody from anywhere. Regulars who still hear the heartbeat of the scene, newcomers enthusiastic but not enthusiastic enough to put themselves out for judgement if they happened to accidentally nod their heads a bit with the music (mortified.....), and that strange demographic that seemed to place itself starkly in the middle of all the aforementioned alignments; middle-of-the-roaders through and through, to the point where they have risen above the road, and the ideal of the road, and smugly glance at one another and then down to you as if to imply a transcendence which those of us who have ever experienced anything in extreme can never know of.

Front and center, ears blasted to bits and facial muscles entering anaerobic respiration due to excessive smiling, the All-Stars of the scene danced alongside strangers, either naïve or drunk. The frontmen of the most famous local bands, the influencers, both silent and megaphonic, the photographers, the beauties, the hype-builders, the next band, the people who arranged this show in the first place, all of them stood in almost equal amounts of admiration as the performing act themselves. The rich and famous of the DIY; the proletariat bourgeoisie; the broke stock brokers; the soothsayers and the fortune tellers; basically, the people you want to know.

"Hey, let's make a film tomorrow" says Fyo.

"About what?" from Avey.

"Who cares? Let's climb that billboard at the top of the hill. Let's hop on a train and record the city from like, some weird dutch angle, or something. Let's see how many cats can fit in one box."

"We could never find enough cats for that. All of our friends have like two cats at least, including me, and that still wouldn't be close to enough."

"Let's give the camera some 4-aco-dmt and see what happens."

"Easy on the Adderall, bub."

Fyo had a pretty publicly-known problem with stimulants, which he was recently combatting with a burgeoning benzodiazepine habit. Avey's personal dog hair was Kratom. Both of them partook in casual use of just about every recreational substance at this point, always especially eager to try something new. They still more or less had a handle on their sanity, but not without their eccentricities. Both had a deep love for consumption and creation of art, primarily music; between them they owned a veritable arsenal of digital and analog synthesizers, samplers, ancient MIDI keyboards, melodicas, and various novelty instruments collected over the years. Each had their own individual recording endeavors, as well as a joint operation making full use of their combined setup. They had played shows, Fyo more than Avey on account of having played in front of various kinds of audiences since the age of 15, from dull high school jazz band performances to the exact kind of venue they found themselves at tonight--in fact he'd played at this house several times already in the past year. “Holy House”, one of the few legit punk houses remaining in the city after a long string of misfortunes over the past two years lead to some places being shut down, others burning down, some simply forgotten about, living on only in the ink of flyers taped to the walls of just about every DIY art kid in the area--it was kind of like collecting baseball cards. Avey had played a couple of the more fleeting art spots once or twice, but was generally overcome with anxiety at the last minute.

Now three cigarettes in a row have been smoked, throughout yet more overly-anxious stim-fueled artistic brainstorming, both Avey and Fyo silently assuming that tomorrow would in reality consist of the same events as every other Saturday; recovering from the debauchery of the previous night, maybe with a half-hour or so of absent-minded musical improvisation.

The Ushi Onis had completed their set, and from what they heard from outside, it was agreed that their nonsense conversations were about on equal footing with the music, as far as time-wasting went. Not that they were bad, it's just.....it seemed as though they'd heard this same band hundreds of times, despite the fact this was their debut show. It seemed to Fyo, who had been in attendance for, shit, a decade now, that every show more-or-less went the same these days. You could even predict non-music related events. There was the guy who got way too drunk and was basically floating around the crowd, eyes only half-open, flailing around off-rhythm in a disconcertingly unhuman way during particularly intense performances--Fyo himself had been this guy on more occasions than he'd like to admit, as well as more occasions than he could literally remember. There was the creep getting kicked out for being creepy; that was a very strict rule for this scene, "NO CREEPS". You'd see it on basically any given flyer. House shows did tend to attract these creeps, what with the combination of pretty, young, and drug-addicted attributes of many of the female frequenters. Thankfully, Fyo had never been that guy. There was the kind of slapstick situation that occurred immediately after every band played, where the members of the other bands playing that night would come up and say "Hey, great set, what pedals do you use?" and then annoy the shit out of the poor guys just trying to fucking get their drums in the van, only for the same thing to happen to the original complimentary artists. Nobody ever learned their lesson. Nobody ever learned their lesson, forever and ever. This pretty much sums up the stagnation that Fyo has recently come to observe within the scene.

"Hey, I'm done here, if you are. Head back to my place?"

"Right you are."

The four-minute drive back to Fyo's apartment left just enough time to blair at obnoxious volume Avey's favorite song by The Mountain Goats (at least, his favorite song that day--the song changed frequently, but The Goats always remained Mountainous). On the way upstairs, Avey got a text from Tomie: "Beck pulled through. Pool party?"

So Avey said to Fyo; "Beck pulled through. Pool party?"

"Fuckin duh."

Tomie was a close friend as well as ex-girlfriend to both Avey and Fyo. Beck was their communal coke dealer. Fyo was the only person in The Crew whose apartment had a pool, and it was the deep depths of summer, so late night swimming was a common occurrence. Tonight, Tomie had brought Beck along (who surely had more coke, and anyone can see that hanging out with a coke dealer, who definitely had plenty of coke to spare, would certainly turn out to be a fun time--Fyo knew this from experience, as an old friend, Jericho, also happened to be a coke dealer before moving off to.....fuck-knows-where; Fyo wasn't sure WHY they hung out so much exactly, or why Jericho had given him so much free coke in those days; Jericho was gay, but Fyo didn't really feel like he could possibly be desirable enough to warrant such favor, especially with his [back then, at least] very socially awkward mannerisms, even after several lines of really honestly pretty great coke--although, Fyo [himself being hetero, this only now in the narrative needing to be made clear] usually thought the same thing about ladies he spent time with, and surprisingly often was proven wrong) as well as invited Fitch, who invited Les, who invited Beck, who invited Lil, who invited Vick, who invited.....

.....

Noujeff.  

"Wait you say WHO the fuck is coming to my apartment???" Fyo demands answers.

"Shit, I'm sorry Fyo. I didn't know Vick was friends with him, don't know why he still is. We'll tell him to fuck off once he gets here, waste some gas at least. But hey.....The Crew here ain't gettin' any younger, so let's fuckin' get to it. Pick a record already."

The Crew was, in no particular order:

Avey, reserved but strong-willed and resilient, and disarmingly cunning; he once got Fyo, his on-and-off-again girlfriend Elise, and himself a free pass to this really exclusive music festival in what can only be described as an "experimental city"--FORM Arcosanti was the name of the festival (the town being just "Arcosanti"), located smack dab in the middle of the deserts of Arizona, where Fyo first glimpsed that now-out-of-reach image, occasionally dreamt or half-remembered, of a lone mountain, in the middle of one of the least forgiving deserts in an entire superpower-nation's worth of land, one of the hottest and driest places around, soaring so high into The Places We Cannot Reach, the great heights, the domain of myth and fiction more than anything, of a mountain seen from the road of a lonely desert which had a peak covered, even here in the frenzied peaks of July, the radioactive horror show burning of July, a peak covered in SNOW. Beautiful, nostalgic (and always nostalgic, for there was no "winter" in Arizona), almost, no yes certainly CLEANSING snow. The rest of the trip only got better. That is all we'll say of it, for now;

Fyo, the one whose thoughts we gain direct access to (to hell with a fourth wall; give me 50, 500, 5,000,000 more walls, and I will break them all), generally responsible, has a dependable job as a pharmacy technician, "almost" a real job, and two major flaws; here we move into

 1.) Intense Manic Episodes On a Yearly, Predictable Basis

-----

Every year, in the period of time spanning between around March and June-Mid-July, Fyo would suffer an intense clinical episode of mania; he would become obsessive over ideas so obscure and opaque that he only sounded like a lunatic when describing them, and indulged in drug abuse as if suicidal, and more than once now had indeed proven to be so. Fyo would and did argue, however, that during these periods of admittedly (even by him) questionable ties to reality, his artistic output became noticeably higher in both quantity and quality than what was usually found in his "seasonal depression" (so-called) episodes during the months of October-February. No psychiatrist has yet explained this adequately.

 2.) An Unhealthy Obsession With All Forms of Art, As Well As the Definition of Art Itself

-----

From a very young age, Fyo had shown great interest in art, and strangely enough but of course conspicuously naturally, surrealist art in particular. At 12, on a family vacation to Florida for the purposes of the (back then affordable even by the lower-middle-class family, with some planning) relaxation of the beach and the primal thrill of the Great Twin Amusement Parks, he devoted a day to visiting the Salvador Dali museum in St. Petersburg, Florida; a couple years later, the very first band he was in (at 15 years old) was named after Dali's "The Burning Giraffe". Then he gradually caught on to the growing web of obscurities, myths, exaggerations, half-truths, genuine enigmas, and philosophical contradictions that were accepted by some as truth, and saw the art embedded in life; and in the mirror, he saw the reflection of such, and in that he saw things that moved him in ways he was naïve to previously. That's how he got older. That's how he saw that the waking life was just as absurd as the dream. All that mattered was which space he occupied at a given time;

Tomie, as mentioned previously was both a close friend and ex-girlfriend to both Avey and Fyo. Each relationship was separated by such distance (spatially and temporally) that it really didn't matter, everyone had moved on cross-country and it was just nice to have people just fuckin' caring about each other, you know? Tomie was not afraid to bite into you in a very personal way, as long as she knew it would help you. She was a great ally to have in the world, if sometimes blunt; but this bluntness was out of a genuine kindness and invariably proved effective somehow. If you trusted anyone's advice, it was Tomie's;

Fitch, constantly in-and-out of jail for something or other, after so many years the circumstances blurred out a bit. Being eternally and self-admittedly impermanent, he always seemed almost as if acting in repentance to the best of his abilities; but around people like this, hope for repentance was laughable;

Lil, probably the most adult of the group, an ex-girlfriend of Fyo from back in the day, had worked her way to a very well-paying analytics gig. She still found herself hanging around with these wannabe artists and revolutionaries, for whatever reason; she was certainly always welcome, and that gave her a warm, content feeling.....

"Pick a goddamn record" says Lil.

Every time The Crew got together for some midnight coke-fueled swimming, someone got to ceremoniously choose a record from Fyo's collection, off of which the cover of the cocaine would be inhaled. It was Fyo's night. He was having trouble deciding. The record that was chosen would also be played on the record player while the lines were being drawn and erased; the lines themselves were on the sleeve, the small but not ignorable visual component of the LP. He looked through his stack; Joyce Manor (played a show with them before they became big--frontman was kind of an asshole. No.), The Antlers (far too sad for shamelessly inhaled thrills), Talking Heads (no, we'll just end up putting "Once In a Lifetime" on repeat), no, no, no, no.....LCD Soundsystem? Hm. Yeah, this one. Sound of Silver, talk to me.

"Fuckin' finally. Okay let's get this train wreck a-rollin'."

Greed filled the eyes of everyone in the room. Along with record-choosing duties came the first line of the night. Fyo lays down one FAT fucking line, finely crushed almost down to the individual molecule it seemed, grabs the closest straw, leans over and looks down at the snowy mountain range here in the middle of the silver desert, and unflatteringly snorts with all his might, and feels each crystal immediately begin its own personal attack on his neurotransmitters, leans back to make sure everything falls into the mucous membrane, nothing wasted, except for Fyo himself, and steps back to fall comically onto the couch, a smile of contentment and even relief overtaking his facial expression as Nancy Whang chants "You can normalize. Don't it make you feel alive?"

This. This is the life.

[rughydrangea]

I was in Washington, D.C., last week for my oma’s interment. (The explanation always makes my family look bad, but: she died in 2011, we’re only interring her [ashes] now for a lot of reasons, most of which come down to my dad and his brother being lazy, and the fact that she’s being buried in Arlington, a military cemetery with a bit more red tape than the average local parish.)

Going up to the interment service, I had a lot of worries. My oma’s funeral, held the week she died, when I was 20 years old and new to the world of grief (a world I have basically taken up permanent residence in since that very week), was an incredibly traumatic experience. I feared the interment would be similarly horrible. It actually wasn’t. My uncle cried (he was watching a priest bless an urn containing all that remains of his mother, I can hardly blame him), but the rest of us held it together. The priest was honestly unexpected. I mean, the fact that my oma was Catholic is not news, (her funeral was a mass!), but still, I wasn’t expecting a priest here, in this almost familiar corner of Arlington where my opa was buried 28 years ago. But logically, of course a priest would be there. I had never heard someone say ‘may choirs of angels sing you to your rest’ unironically before.

I couldn’t hear most of what the priest said (not that there was a crowd; far from it. But I was in the second row, and his voice was soft). But one thing did stand out to me. He was very old, and evidently old-fashioned (‘in a military family, no matter the rank of the person who serves, the wife is the general in the house’ was one gem he produced), and looking at my grandparents’ dates, and how far apart their deaths were (opa: 1918-1990; oma: 1921-2011), he said that in cases like this, there must be recriminations in the after-life. ‘Why did you leave so early?’ ‘Why did you make me wait so long?’ And like, that’s not novel, it’s not deep or anything, but it got to me, weirdly. The thought that my oma isn’t just in heaven (though let’s be honest, if we’re going by Catholic rules, she’ll be stuck in purgatory for a while), but that she’s not alone. That my opa, a man I never knew but who my dad has so painstakingly reconstructed for me, was waiting for her. That the two of them, sinners both, who hurt others and were terribly hurt in return, could hope for some kind of redemption, not just through God but through each other. I understood, not for the first time, why religion exists. How it can give you the strength to live through another day. I hope to God she knows that her family finally laid her to rest. I hope my opa really was waiting for her, asking what took her so long.

[jiminelli]

#MONSTAXinBerlin Experience

hey everybody. some of you might know that MONSTA X recently finished their European tour in Moscow and previously visited Berlin and Paris. I was lucky enough to visit their show in Berlin and even get a group picture ticket. Sadly, this trip was not as fun as it was supposed to be. The concert was amazing and the boys were incredible but everything before and after the concert was a disaster. I know it sounds lame but it’s still kind of hard to talk about it so it took me several days to finish this post, therefore please excuse any grammatical errors. Here I am now, to tell you everything that happened:

Sasaeng fans 1.0

Let’s start with the sasaeng fans. There were different… let’s call them events, happening with sasaeng fans at the concert in Berlin. My friends and I arrived in Berlin on Thursday, the concert was on Friday. We arrived around 12pm and went into our hotels. After checking in, three of us wanted to see if we can find the arena easily with the city map, you know, so we wouldn’t struggle the next day. So we went to the arena, which was like 8 minutes away from our hotel by walk and let me tell you, we almost had a stroke or something. One of my friends had arrived a day earlier as she was staying for her vacation there as well and had messaged us at 7am on Thursday while we were still in the train on our way that people were already lining up in front of the arena. We didn’t take it serious and told her to stay calm; who would have thought those people were actually staying there 37 hours before the concert was supposed to even start? So when we arrived at the arena at 1pm, about 100 people were already chilling there. 

Now, this didn’t start on its own. There was one specific girl who ruined this experience for all of us and I swear if I would have seen her that day, I probably would have slapped her or something. I’m not pro-violence but jesus, this girl is the devil in person. Apparently she wasn’t even German but Italian and she got herself some Portuguese and German supporters, all underage and wannabe hoes or some crazy sh*t like that. So, usually at K-Pop concerts over here in Europe, there are people (fans) who organize the merchandise and like fan events and everything, so drama and chaos would be avoided. They also do the numbering, which is usually combined with checkup times, so you don’t have to stay in front of the arena the whole day. But this girl thought, she could just start a numbering on her own and started giving out numbers at like 11am on Thursday (remember, the concert was Friday), giving herself and her followers, the first few numbers. By doing this, a mass panic broke out and hundreds of people rushed in front of the arena to line up and get a good spot for the concert. 

Organisation

One of my friends had booked a hotel right in front of the arena, so when she saw all the people starting to line up and handing out numbers, she rushed down and called us, basically screaming at us to move and get a number. Our group of friends was divided into three smaller groups though, everybody chilling somewhere else. At this point, none of us moved because that friend is usually one to break into panic mode without any reason, so all of us kept chilling until like 6pm. The promoter of the concert had arrived and “officially confirmed” the numbering and added this: everybody who had a number until 6pm was allowed to go home until 2am. Then they’d have to come back in front of the arena and line up again to keep the numbers, until 10am where the official wristband distribution was supposed to be held. Anybody who did not have a number until 6pm would have to stay in front of the arena the whole night until 10am to keep their spot in line. Two of our three groups managed to rush to the arena and get themselves numbers but my group was in the middle of Berlin having dinner/lunch. The reason why I say “officially confirmed” is because that - excuse my language - asshole appeared for like one second, laughed at all the kids waiting in front of the arena and thought “okay lol that’s funny, let’s just keep doing that, without giving them shelter and any form of security” and left again as people started complaining. As an adult and as the responsible person of this whole event, you can’t just let teenagers sleep in the open in front of a building. It was storming, we had an actual thunderstorm happening from like 1am until 4am, soaking everybody who stayed in front of the arena from head to toe and leaving them like a block of ice. They did not provide any form of medical help to keep them warm or from dehydrating, nor did they let them get inside of the arena or even under the roof so none of the kids would get wet. Another thing is that many of the people sleeping on the streets were underage. I don’t know how it is in other countries but in Germany, if you’re underage you can only stay outside until midnight. If you’re under 16 it’s 10pm as far as I know. But that didn’t bother neither security, nor the promoter. 

My friends, who got numbers around 6pm, went back to the arena at 2am and stayed there the whole night. I don’t want to sound dramatic but they’re honestly traumatized from that experience. It wasn’t just a little rain that came down that night. We had severe storm warnings for that night. Me and two other friends who did not get a number ignored the promoter and did not stay the whole evening and night, like boi who the f do you think we are?? All of my friends were 18+ so it was our own decision what we’d do. My other two friends and I decided to show up around 5am to at least get a decent spot in line. When we showed up, I was honestly in complete shock. My friends looked horrible and the security didn’t even care how they felt. Not even about the small children in line. Many had left during the night because it just got too much. A lot even felt so bad that they started selling their tickets. Honestly guys, I don’t know how to put it into words so that you can even get a little glimpse of how horrible it was. We tried to lift those up who had been waiting since 2am and took care of each other. the security had said that we cannot leave the line until 10am but all of us made a deal that we would be able to leave the line if we just told each other where we’d be going like to the bathroom or to change into dry clothes and things like that. 

During the first 5hours that we waited, so many rumors spread that I can’t even recite them all. It was a mess. Such a mess that even fights between VVIPs and VIPs broke out. VVIP was the highest ticket category which officially included a Hi Touch OR Group Photo and front row. VIP was the normal standing ticket behind VVIP. Naturally, everybody thought that VVIP would be let in first and then VIP but security kept changing plans. First they said, we would be let in together, then they said it’s going to be 50 VVIP and then 50 VIP, always switching. We went crazy, honestly. VVIP started arguing that it wasn’t fair because we paid much more money for our tickets and on the websites where tickets were sold, they promised you front row tickets but if VIP is let in at the same time, there is no way for all VVIP to be in front row. VIP argued back that it was only fair because they had also been waiting there the whole night and deserved front row tickets (gurl, should have just spent the money and bought some then but whatever). For the following 5 hourse they kept changing plans, misinformed us over and over again until at 10am MyMusicTaste posted a statement and said that VVIP will be let in first, followed by VIP and then seated tickets.

Now, at 10am we were supposed to get our wristbands but guess what? We didn’t. We had to wait until 11:30 to get the wristbands and they told us to be back at 3pm otherwise we’d lose our number in line. So all of us went back to our hotels, tired and exhausted as hell and the first thing all of us did was sleep. At 3pm we were back at the arena and the security had managed to organize everything a little better and divided the lines into sections so it would be easier to have an overview, which was great. But then when we lined up again and it was again past 3pm, we asked a security guard when they would do the check-up, so we could go have lunch or something - none of the securities knew about a check-up. They had again spread false information and everyone had turned up for nothing. We were honestly about to lose it. From there on, everything went by okay, it started raining around 5 or 6pm again but me and my friends had super sexy plastic ponchos to keep us at least kind of save from the rain.

Let’s jump forward to the concert: The concert itself was lit af like no lie, it was one of the best concerts I’ve been on. (If you want to hear more about the concert itself, leave a message in my inbox otherwise this is only going to be even longer) But again, the security. They didn’t let us film and literally attacked us with their flashlights so we would put our phones away. For me personally, it wasn’t really such a big of a deal because my phone is shitty anyway and the pictures never turn out great but some people wanted to at least take one video or picture as a piece of memory, you know. One security guard even ran up to people and did this hand movement to them after blinding them with his flashlight:

It was scary af like dude we get it, we’re not allowed to film BUT CAN YOU NOT THREATEN OUR LIVES FFS???? 

Another thing that was really inhuman, was water distribution. Now, I don’t know who to blame for this because I have no idea of these people were also security or just staff from the arena but this was one of the most inhuman acts I’ve ever witnessed during concerts. Normally, security has a bunch of water bottles lying at their sides to distribute them during the concert, especially if they see that some are having trouble with their circulation. Not during this concert. They freaking sold the water for - grab onto your chairs - 4,50EURO. For each tiny bottle of water which maybe held 300ml, they wanted 4,50€. I thank God that the Monbebes around me were some of the sweetest people ever because some would actually buy a bottle of water and share it with everyone around them. So many people got dragged out during the concert because security would not give them water. The boys were worried like crazy, especially in the end when girls fainted in front of their eyes as they were conversing with us. Security should be there to keep the artist AND the fans safe, not treat the fans like garbage.

Which brings me to the last point of security treating us like sh*t and leading to sasaeng fans 2.0. Most of my friends (and I) had chosen the group photo ticket instead of Hi Touch. We had already heard rumors earlier that we would be 20 fans on one picture, instead of maximum 10 like they usually do. We didn’t think much of it because many things that had been said before were also just false information so no second thought was spared. As the concert finished, security again failed to organized us properly into two different sections: Hi Touch and Group Photo. It took them forever. When Hi Touch finished, it was our turn to take the pictures and security created four lines for 20 people each, so that it would be easier for them to let people in. My friends and I were 10 people in total and we hoped that if we went in last, we’d get a picture with only us on it. It was a chaos again, so we went in some time in the middle and security wanted us to go in with another group that were already 12 people. We were like “hell no, we ain’t gonna be 22 fans plus 7 members on one damn picture” so we talked to the only nice security guard there and he let us wait, so we could go in as the first ones for the next picture. Which leads me to the next disaster:

Sasaeng Fans 2.0

Before I explained what happened, I want all of you to know that in no way I’m saying that fansites are crazy, stalking psychos that don’t know how to behave. This is just my experience with two explicit fansites and maybe they’re not even usually like this but this whole chaos just made them lose their shit, I have no idea.

Anyway, so my friend walked around the corner behind the wall where the boys were standing and the first thing she does is start running, jump and throw her jumper across the room so it would not be on the picture with her. Now you have to imagine a tall, very skinny girl, running like a giraffe, not even glancing at anyone but Wonho and awkwardly throwing her jumper at a security guard - all seven started laughing and security lost their shit. I went in second, trying to bow and say 안녕하세요 to every single member while all security guards yelled at us to keep walking to the end of the line. I stopped in front of Shownu and Wonho who were the two last ones but these two fansites sprinted their way over to us and boxed me out of the way so that I stumbled to the side to Kihyun who was standing next to Shownu. He opened his arms for me, as if inviting me to stand next to him and as I moved closer, security screamed at us again to sit down in front of the guys. We weren’t even allowed to stand next to them. So I knelt down in front of Kihyun and one of the fansites apparently was a Kihyun fansite because lord help me, I’ve never seen look at someone like this. Never. And I never want to see this expression ever again, I feel like it might haunt me in my dreams. Kihyun even moved away from them and he looked so frightened, it was heartbreaking. This is not how you treat another person, idols are just as human as us. I was sitting on my knees and then another security guard screamed that we were squishing the boys and that we should move forward - which I want to mention, was so unnecessary because the boys just followed us to the front and leaned into us anyway. Honestly, I felt actually kind of humiliated because I had to scoot forward like a little kid while Kihyun was standing right behind me. My friends had it even worse, apparently they weren’t fast enough for security and they got pushed, making several of them fall over and onto each other. Minhyuk and Changkyun even stretched their hands out for them, trying to help them up and keep them in place, like c’mon security?? Just give us 2 more seconds and we would move. The boys were so worried that we were harmed and the security just kept screaming at us. One girl moved so she was sitting next to Wonho but that was also not okay according to security so they threatened to kick her out if she didn’t move to the front, making us all go even quieter. There are no words to express how frightened we all were in that moment. The only thing that I clearly remember from the actual second of taking the picture is Kihyun leaning over me as if making sure, I was okay. It lasted maybe three seconds and then security ran up to us, grabbed us and made ups stand up again, shoving us out. While being pushed out, I wanted to at least thank someone from the boys and the only one that I had some kind of chance to look in the eyes was Wonho because he was the last one in line. Honestly, I will never forget his worried expression when I thanked him. He looked at me as if to makes sure I was fine and his eyes were actually full of hurt. Like guys, I’m not kidding. They all care so much for their fans and that’s the only thing that helped me not to cry over this traumatizing event. Because we could feel and see that the boys did not want this for us. They wanted to interact with us, they wanted to talk with us and help us. They tried and from what my other friends told me who had Hi Touch, they actually managed to push some of the bodyguards off the fans. 

One girl who is going to be on the same group picture as me, took a voice recording of our picture and you can hear the chaos. You can even hear my 감사합니다 at Wonho lol. The recording only lasts 57 seconds and that’s exactly how long it took them to traumatize us and kick us out again. I don’t think I have anything left to say, except that Paris seemed to have a very similar experience and I really hope that nobody will ever have to go through that again. My legs and some parts of my arms are still bruised and as hard as I try, the anxious feeling thinking about the group photo experience is not going away. 

If you have any questions regarding the concert itself or anything mentioned in this post, feel free to leave me a message in my inbox. I’m sorry this post is so long but I tried to explain everything that happened so that those of you who made it through the post, get a better impression.  

I hope all of you still have a nice day/night and keep or start supporting our boys MONSTA X ♥

[unluckybug]

Fluffy Bugs and Spotted Cats CH2

AO3

FF.NET

Summery: 

Adrien Agreste is the unluckiest boy in all of Paris. Marinette is the luckiest. Fate likes its balance, so what is the counterbalance? If Adrien were a bit luckier, Marinette would be a black cat. It all adds up, in the end. (AU Chat Noir!Marinette and Adrien!Ladybug)

Chapter 2

Somehow, Adrien Agreste had snuck out of the mansion.

Ok, maybe he was a superhero now, but none of that ever mattered to the eyes-of-a-hawk-Nathalie, who never let him out of her sight.

He kind of felt bad, because his father would probably yell at her and this driver for losing track of Adrien. Oh well, it was her job to keep track of him, and it was his job to act his age, and do what he wanted.

“Adrien! This is so exciting! Your first day of school!” Tikki exclaimed from beside him, taking up a spot near his side as he ran towards the school. He really appreciated Tikki’s company lately, just because she was always so honest and nice with him all the time. In Adrien’s experience, you never really met honest people with good intentions. He could tell that she really did want what was best for him (even though she was a bit hesitant about him running away to begin with), and she was one of the only beings he’d met since his mother’s disappearance that had treated him like a human being.

“Yeah, I'm pretty nervous. You think people will like me?” He answered, giving the kwami a sidelong glance. He continued his light jog towards the school at a steady pace.

“Of course! You're Ladybug, the luckiest guy in the city! Everyone’s going to love you, Adrien.”  

~

The next day, she came to school with the unlucky Miraculous in her satchel. Before she left, she remembered what Plagg said about Ladybug needing Chat Noir to defeat the akuma, so she decided that someone else needed to wield the Miraculous.

Couldn’t be too difficult

Plagg also told her that she was the only one that could wield it, but honestly, if she could wear the miraculous, anyone could. Didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Despite everything that happened in the past day, she couldn't help but let her mind wander to more mundane things. Would she have Chloe Bourgeois in her class for the third year in a row?  With her bad luck, she wouldn't even be surprised. She continued to draw nearer and nearer to her homeroom, and she grew more anxious. She didn’t quite understand why she was nervous, school would probably be just the same as the year before that, and the year before that. Something was different she felt, but she chalked it up to her horrible day yesterday. Marinette reached the door, and took her first step. Her blue eyes flitted across the room, searching. Seeking, she forgot what she was looking for. Even in this typical classroom, she felt abnormal, and out-of-place. She didn’t belong all of sudden. That first step through that door reminded her that she was bestowed a power that she wasn’t strong enough for. It felt as though the entire classes eyes were on her, knowing what she was afraid of, all her darkest secrets. She shifted as if to avoid, and and in her action, her eyes caught Alya’s. She remembered Alya at the stadium during Ladybug and Chat Noir’s appearance, putting herself in danger despite the odds stacked against her. Alya loved superheros; she was kind, forgiving, and dauntless. She would be a great Chat Noir. With that thought, the weight on her shoulders was forgotten, as she stepped with purpose towards her best friend. Of course, that’s what she wanted to do, but the universe seemed to constantly remind her that what she wanted was not what she got. She tripped, and the world spun; Marinette hit the ground hard, for the second time that week.

Blue eyes blinked. She didn’t remember the floor being this warm. Upon further inspection, she saw green eyes and blonde hair beneath her, and she was was frozen as a sense of deja vu overtook her.

“I know I’m new, but I didn’t expect for you to fall for me so quickly.”

Under normal circumstances, she would of been a blushing mess. Don’t get her wrong, but this boy was definatly 1000% her type. But all she could see when she looked down was Ladybug. Her pun loving partner was also kind, and fearless- just like she wanted to be. He was also cocky, just like the green eyes that stared back up at her. She needed to stop staring into his eyes that drew her closer, and she involuntarily rolled her eyes as she stood up.

“Please, I’ve heard better.” She smirked, pushing herself up off the ground and leaving the new kid to openly stare at her. Distancing herself, Marinette took her seat next to Alya. The girl looked at her, completely bewildered by the strange performance on the classroom floor. She deserved a long explanation: “It’s been a long morning.”

“I’ll bet. That new guy you just shot down is Adrien Agreste, the model.”

Marinette stared at Alya. “Are you serious?”

Unbeknownst to Marinette, Alya only stared back, probably wondering what had her in such a mood. In fact, Marinette was so out of it, she didn’t even notice Chloe Bourgeois in the seat across from her.

Figures.

“Oh Adrikins! I’m so glad you’re here at school! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, at now fate has let us see each other every single day!” The girl said, obnoxiously loud. Marinette sat there, quiet as she watched the new kid and Chloe interact. He was obviously uncomfortable about the close contact with the girl on his arm, and his efforts seemed impossible to get her off. Marinette laughed internally; finally, someone with worse luck than her. You’d absolutely have to be the unluckiest person in all of Paris to have Chloe Bourgeois permanently glued to your side.

With a loud rap on the table, the teacher called order to the class, and everyone took their seats. Marinette noticed with a bit of sadness that Adrien, the new kid, took a seat at the back. She thought back to the box stowed away in her bag, and the power of misfortune it carried within. Adrien Agreste was by far one of the luckiest people she knew, and boy, did she know him. He was the son of one of the most renowned fashion designers, Gabriel Agreste, the inspiration for most of her own works of fashion. Though she never paid much attention to the son of her idol, she knew the boy had it all- looks, money, prestige, and of course, friends. But what Marinette saw today was not at all what she thought it would be. Adrien Agreste didn’t seem to have any friends at all despite his popularity. Chloe Bourgeois counts as a negative friend.

Maybe there was someone more misfortune than Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

~

In the middle of roll call, an entire wall of the classroom was removed.

Immediately, Adrien knew that Stoneheart was back, just as Tikki explained to him. It was his fault, he wasn’t listening and forgot the very crucial detail of making sure the damn monster didn’t come back again.

In the mass panic of his new class, Adrien stealthily slid out of the room to the bathroom where he could transform. He opened his bag, and looked down at the kwami. “Tikki-”

“Wait, Adrien!” The kwami emerged, waving her small legs frantically.

“Someone dropped this into your bag right when the classroom exploded!”

The small ladybug held up the box of the miraculous, the one he received only a day ago.

“What on earth? How did someone get a hold of this...? He stated, inspecting the box. He opened it, and looking further. There was a note inside, along with a ring.

Chat Noir

The note didn't say anything else, leaving only questions, with no answers. Did Chat Noir know who Ladybug really was? That wasn’t even the most confusing question, why would Chat Noir give Ladybug her Miraculous? According to Tikki, Ladybug and Chat Noir could only defeat the akuma together. He looked to his small kwami, and she wore a similar expression of worry.

“This can’t be good.”

~

It seemed that giving away the Miraculous was already doing wonders for her luck, because Marinette made it out of the classroom unscaved(which in of itself was truely miraculous). She wasn’t quite sure where to take cover, and with Alya running around like a hooligan in the dangerous streets of Paris, she decided to try to get as far away from Stoneheart as possible, and headed out of the school and away from her Bakery.

What she quickly forgot was that there was, in fact, more than one Stoneheart now (no thanks to her). Multiple Stonehearts were patrolling the streets, searching for something, and instead spotted her. She quickly turned heel into a nearby shop, as the minions took on a frightening speed in her direction.

Taking cover behind a wall, she fought hard to quiet her heavy breathing as the Stonehearts poked their heads into the small shop, searching. All was quiet, and the silence that embraced the room was deafening. She heard retreating thunderous footsteps, and she waited a moment before taking a heavy gasp of air. Just as she thought she was in the clear, a stone hand punched through the wall next to her and caught her around her midsection.

“MYLEEENEEE”

She was forced out into the open as the minion Stonehearts hand felt as if it were crushing her. The air she had just breathed in startlingly left her like a deflating balloon, and she was left tired and disoriented.

God dammit.

If she was Chat Noir right now, this probably wouldn’t hurt as bad, or feel as scary. But she locked Plagg back in the box he came in, and now she was all of the above.

Marinette Dupain Cheng had no one to blame but herself, as the stone monster flung her down the Parisian street way.

She closed her eyes, and let her body fall limp. Now, it was probably up to Chat Noir to save her.

Before she felt the burning of terminal velocity pavement, she felt two strong arms wrap around her. If it was Ladybug, she was going to fucking kill…

It was Ladybug.

Because of physics, they were both now traveling at terminal velocity, but now they were headed straight towards a large factory window. Glass shattered, as Ladybug took the brunt of the impact and they tumbled to the concrete floor.

She glared at her captor. If she had hit the pavement, at least she wouldn’t have been the damsel in distress.

Ladybug slowly rose, and she noticed several things from her position on the floor that she had no desire to get up from. His face was bleeding (Glass is sharp. Was she bleeding too?) and his arm hung limply at his side in pain. The last thing Marinette noticed was the five Stonehearts forcing their way into the factory, and the last last thing she noticed was the green backpack with a small box inside it.

Did Ladybug take Adrien’s backpack? How did Ladybug know she gave away her Miraculous?

Questions became irrelevant, as two Stonehearts seemed to travel at inhuman speeds towards the duo. Ladybug took up a defensive stance, or, well, as defensive as one could be with a broken arm.

“Marinette! Get out of here!”

Ladybug screamed, facing the danger head on.

It didn’t even matter that Ladybug had a broken arm, or that he was bleeding red so dark it matched his red suit. Ladybug had a broken arm, blood in his eyes, and no partner, and he was still fighting, still trying to protect Paris.

Was that a hero was? Someone who fought, no matter the odds, no matter the stakes? With all hopes of Paris upon his shoulders, he did not fall. Ladybug was not afraid.

“WHERE IS MYLENE?? WE KNOW YOU HAVE HER SOMEWHERE….. LADYBUG!”

“She clearly ran away when she saw your ugly mug, brick head. Why don’t you go pick on someone your own size, like the Eiffel Tower?”

The first Stoneheart swung at Ladybug, and he easily dodged. The second fainted, but the third came from behind, landing a solid hit before Ladybug could block with his yo-yo. Ladybug crumpled like paper meters away from her; his arm broken, his body tired. His yo-yo skidded off to god knows where, and he made eye contact with the startled eyes.

Marinette was wrong, Ladybug wasn’t fearless. In his deep green eyes, she saw what he was afraid of, she saw his pain. Maybe they were the same, maybe they were different. His eyes screamed at her to run as his mouth moved wordlessly, and that's when she felt something in her heart break.

She still didn’t know what it meant to be a real hero of Paris, and she was afraid of how it would change her life. But in that sharp moment, a lifetime; when a Stoneheart was closing in and Ladybug just kept looking at her, like he could see past her skin and view what lay underneath; she knew she could no longer sit by and wait for someone else.

In one fluid, effortless motion she reached for the bag and threw open the all too familiar box.

“Plagg, Claws Out!”

[claraoswald81]

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[inexchangeforyoursoul]

Not gonna lie… I wanted to double up on this one and put the next Nami chapter in here so there’s another long one after all that hiatus. But I see it's already massive at over 4k, so I'm not disappointed in myself. :p

ps have y'all ever tried to draw Law with Cora's smile? I did, a few years back. You may have even seen it. It's pure nightmare fuel...

25. Grandma: off

"Yeah, these are vanilla flavored," she concludes after Law had her taste the ones with a yellowish hue on them, even though the smell was a dead giveaway.

"You can have those, then," he states as he's nibbling on the remains of an unflavored one.

"You dislike vanilla?" Kat asks, being somewhat surprised at the information. Like, it's a sometimes food, true… but she also won't straight-out turn it down when being offered. Nor does she know anyone who would. Well, didn't know anyone, who would.

"Nope. Once every blue moon I'll accept it, but generally? I don't like vanilla. Nor raspberries, blackcurrants…" He leans back into the chair, thinking about; "... pineapples. Licorice. Green apples and yellow tomatoes…"

"... zoes dis list 'ave an end?" she asks, munching on a vanilla flavored piece.

"... eventually," he nods, then continues in the same breath: "Artichokes, brussels sprouts… aubergines. Caviar. It's a long one."

She swallows the mouthful of crackers. Must be as long as the list of enemies she never received, except it's all villainous food. "I'm also not a fan of a few you just mentioned, but sheesh... didn't realize you were this picky." She doesn't consider herself a picky eater at all, considering how she likes most stuff others turn their noses up to, but him…? That's a lot of items. Sure, most of these would be hard to notice as they are relatively uncommon, but still. Plus there's bread. And raisins. And god knows, what else.

"Now you know. Deal with it," he states, biting into his last plain cracker.

"... you really are a princess." A princess perpetually stuck between Criminal brand and haute couture. She's… tempted to sneak a pea under the mattress.

"And her highness is about to give you new instructions, so get your shit together," he states then, getting up from his seat that's been turned towards the bed for the impromptu tea party. Kat follows him to the chest of drawers just as he motions her to get her ass over there.

"So," Law starts once having some mouth space to work with; "I guess you've already noticed these," he says, opening one of the small chestlets halfway. She nods.

"Today you will try to pop stuff inside them. Take this button, for example," he says, already putting it into her hand; "It's small enough to fit any of these; once you've managed to do that, take them out again. Without looking inside, of course. Start with the biggest one, proceed from there once you've done it without a hitch three times in a row, that is to say, the box remained intact." Having finished the briefing, he stuffs the remainders of the rice cracker into his mouth and digs out the biggest specimen from the bottom of the brick pile.

"..." The explanation was easy enough to follow, but… "I, um… wouldn't it be bad if I cut out too many pieces by accident?" There can be only so many boxes she can ruin and holes that can be made...

"Things you break that way, you can repair yourself… and I have a wee little feeling that you already know how to reassemble stuff. Boxes don't need surgical hands if you mess up, you're good to go. Godspeed," he says as he's stepping back to his chair, swatting her back while at it. He's gonna have another cup of that green tea.

"Oh… okay." Basically, if she was handed a plate broken in two… she could fix it as if it had always been under the fruit's influence, huh? Wow… it seems super logical, but she didn't think of that. Maybe because it would have been a little too convenient, considering all the stuff she can do already. A power that's all kinds of broken, indeed; and one which is, funnily enough, exceptionally good at un-breaking things.

Back to the task at hand, however… it… is kind of a relief that she has to do something else for a change, no lie. Even if it's just the next level of the same task. Well then… attagirl.

As expected and kind of feared, the operation just doesn't happen to be something within her skill range. If nothing else, the sheer challenge that the simple task poses is driving her will to crack the fucking, godforsaken, lousy code already. She's never been so pissed at random inanimate objects before. Not even the croissant from the other day.

She won't be able to pull off the freeing of the button for a while, that's for sure, but she's infuriatingly close to get to the solution of putting the button in without mass producing malformed guitar picks and miniature honeycomb statues, for all it's worth. (Could it be that her desk is actually fixed at home…? It would be nice to know.)

Law meanwhile is checking on her briefly every now and then… and has written some additional shit into this diary thing after a few occasions. For some reason, this doesn't sit all that well with her, but maybe it's just the fact that getting evaluated this way reminds her of elementary school. More specifically, the one art teacher who kept circling across the classroom like a vulture and wouldn't say anything, just write in a seemingly liberal note after the bells rang. It was a lucky dip of fours and the rare five for her; her taste clashed somewhat with hers, but since she was an overall nice and eager girl, the woman let it slide. Others weren't so... well, lucky. This teacher left fairly quickly as a number of parents complained about their otherwise excelling students getting a gracious 3, if not a barely passing 2 at the end of the first year of her work; the staff were also not exactly a fan of her, so there was little fuss. What even was her deal…?

Law waving a hand in front of her face pulls Kat back from the self-indulgent reminiscence.

"... there, now you're paying attention… It's about half past one, if you're hungry, be free to leave. Just come back within an hour or so, okay?"

"Oh, um… alright." Did she not notice him addressing her? Man, that's embarrassing… about as much as her stomach wanting attention all of a sudden and not being shy about it, either. Getting really tired, too… may have been trying too hard? A cup of coffee is in order for sure. She barely even remembers doing this for more than an hour…

The phenomenon is not foreign to her, although usually it's with something she enjoys. It always feels like waking from a nap wondering what day or year it is, except she's wide awake all along. Boy, does she hate when this happens at an inappropriate time.

Law wrinkles his brows in mild worry; she's absolutely out of it. Has been all day, to be honest. "... look, if… if you're like this because of yesterday evening, it's fine. Forget what I've just said and try to get your head clear before you come back instead, alright? You won't be able to work like this, take a walk, or whatever."

She blushes a little and starts fiddling with her thumbs; she's scattered enough for it to be beyond obvious… sheesh. "... okay."

Taking a walk seems definitely the way to go, she ponders over her lunch a few minutes later, still in some kind of trance; she's not up for doodling right now and it occurred to her that singing is a no-no. However, she also doesn't like to err around without a goal. Perhaps she could take a look at the cafe, or get more chestnuts… or… hm, there's been some stuffed animals on display, too, right? That seems to be something worth looking into. She has a stupid plan, after all.

As soon as she hops ashore a little after 2 o'clock, a familiar figure appears en route to the fair; Fugu seems to be returning with quite a lot of groceries.

"Hi," Kat waves awkwardly as they cross paths; she considered going the longer way, but… if he noticed her, too, it would have been really rude, wouldn't it. Take it like the fake man you are at the moment. And in general.

"Good day to you, too, Miss," the man greets her, slowing down a little, which she does herself; "are you going out to shop, too? Or is it just a walk?"

"A little bit of both…. I've been a dunce all day, so Law suggested I unwind somehow," she confesses while rubbing the sideburns, thinking back at the rather embarrassing convo.

He nods solemnly. "It is a good decision to step outside. Spending too much time down there can make one dull fast."

"Can't argue with that," she sighs. Not leaving her room in general is one thing, but cooking pretty much all day below deck in the dark is not something she could get used to on the long run. Travelling on that tin can must suck really bad… honestly, Law should have also come out. How many times has he left that thing since they've been like this? Up to five times? Next time, she's dragging him with her. Seriously, how the hell has he been surviving this in her body?! Anyway… "That sure is a lot of stuff you have, though… don't you need help with that?"

The man cracks a smile, thinking back to some past shopping adventures. "The others don't appreciate me taking my time… and the nagging kind of ruins the experience, you know? Speaking of which, though… I actually am running late today, so I'll be on my way. See you around, Miss, and have a good time!" With that, Fugu is already on his way at double the speed he came thus far to reach his alternate shadow that never met up with her.

"Thanks… same to you!" she waves in vain as there's noone to see the action, also picking up pace. She definitely won't want to walk out all the way to the new docks an hour away, there's nothing to see there apart from new ships and the hill with the pretty houses where rich traders and the odd noble live. The furthest parts of the fair will be about half an hour away, where a small chapel signals the end of the old district, but fast walker on longer legs than usual or not, that also would be a waste of time, to be honest… all in all, she shouldn't be out for more than fifteen or twenty minutes altogether for this. She asked for the coffee to be made for half past two, so she's got all the motivation she needs to get back in time, too.

First things first, Kat lets the nice smells seduce her and she gives into the temptation of another small bag of chestnuts even though she's not really hungry; thankfully, there's someone else there instead of the weirdo from the other day. Passing the notice board, she's surprised to see that two of the more 'famous' teens from the high-class parts have gone missing. Finds it hard to be worried a few seconds later upon noticing that they've not come home yesterday night; seeing how they are troublemakers, spending the night elsewhere wouldn't be much of a downgrade. But apparently, they've told their parents until now when they stayed out after curfew, they must be thinking of the worst, considering the news lately. That's kind of nice to know.

She skims the other stuff; apart from some job offers and wanted posters, all she can find is another notice from the police stating that the group from last Tuesday that's been taken into custody will be given over to a marine ship Saturday afternoon at 8. Kat raises a brow; while they did almost kill-slash-kidnap her and a bunch of people last week, why would they announce this detail… reading on, she comes to a halt with an 'oooh'. Alright, she can see the point now. According to their information, former fleet admiral Sengoku will be accompanying some greenhorn marines on the ship. Someone must be a fan. Regardless… she better keep low that day, maybe avoid coming outside altogether. Taking a mental note and swatting the worrisome thoughts about the port town disappearances into little clouds, she moves on. Walking deeper into the cheap stuff, she eventually does notice what she came for: a place with stuffed animals galore.

She takes a quick look around, and her eyes zero in on a really big, white teddy bear in the middle of a pile; it looks exceptionally fluffy. But, is it as soft as it looks? She steps over to it and slides a finger down its arm; yes... yes! That is absolutely the softest goddamn plushie that has ever graced her skin. Or Law's, but who the fuck cares. And it's… oh. Oh, boy. 12000 Bellys. Um… hm. Reconsidering.

As amazing it would be to shove this thing into his face as soon as she arrives… as a one-off prank and a useless gift, this really ain't worth the money. She also really ought to use the huge canvas she bought for like eight a while back, stroking it gently and contemplatively is not gonna get her anywhere. All it will do is drench the cotton in stinky human body oils.

Taking another look around, she spots a few more bears; she slides over most of them immediately, as they do not seem to fulfill her questionable standards regarding this purchase. One's too goofy, another is an unsympathetic, weirdly mixed brown color, and the third… she's not sure what kind of clothing that blinding neon vomit is supposed to be. She eventually spots another round ear hiding behind a pink doskoi panda. She pulls it out and… seems like a jackpot. At least it does look way too determined for an off-white chap with its black and white backpack that can probably fit some cash, and the black shirt. Honestly, if either would be striped instead of what they are, this would look like one really, really proud burglar bear. Well, then… nothing in this pile is over a thousand, so...

Kat approaches the ships with a sprint, knowing that she was already over 15 minutes with this little detour before even starting to browse the teddies. The slalom between the old warehouses is not something she likes because of the drunkards and thugs like those two lost whippersnappers that hang out in these abandoned parts from evening till dawn, and the odd dead body that people find about once a year, but hey… it makes things quick. She sees the mast of the Sunny peek out from beyond the roofs; already there, thank god. Running towards the shore already, she spies a lot of small… somethings around the last corner by the sea. It could be puke... but… nope. She slows down for a moment and squints; it's… sunflower seed shells. At least two average packages worth; someone must have come all the way out here to the two ships last night to sate their need, which looks like a straight-out addiction. Thinking about it, though, not only has she not seen any unsavory puddles, but the area has been really quiet in the past week or so, even if the people on the main street would cover up most of the noise anyhow… perhaps knowing that there are formidable pirates docking nearby has them worried…. or the more frequent patrols during the festival smoked them out at last? Who knows, really; she just hopes that the peace will be felt for a few more weeks. Sleeping by an open window is risky, because she cannot know when people will get too close to her quarters and break bottles or scream… but when they don't, it's the best sleep she can get apart from the very limited warm winter evenings, when she's had comfort food and a long, hot bath she reserves for the occasions. Having actual winter weather when appropriate is nice.

Kat finds it easier to crawl onto the huge ship by boarding the Tang first, since the ladder is somewhat suspended, so she takes the opportunity to have a quick look around for Law; by some kind of miracle, he actually is out here, seemingly sending some of his crew she doesn't know much to do something downstairs in this very moment. One of them has a tool box… maybe something about the engine or plumbing, then.

"What's up down there?" Kat asks walking up to him, with the hand hiding the teddy turned back. She's always found blatant hiding of presents counterproductive… having something in a hand that's not easy to recognize, while still not bulletproof, is the superior strategy by far. The mostly intact chestnut bag being noisy in the other also helps.

"Some pipe seems to be leaking in the showers," Law responds, looking at an accounting book page. If they need to weld in a chunk with a small one, there should be enough stock, but if they'll have to replace it, or even worse, it's the main line… they will have to find a shop. The funds are not looking the best at the moment, though, and he's no gonna ask Nami. Hm… what are the chances that they could scavenge some from these old warehouses…? Would be nice to have Scan available right about now. Maybe he will open a Bepo petting zoo to raise money, this once, and perhaps rope in Carrot as well...

"... is that something that happens often?" How much piping and stuff even is there in this thing? "When underwater?"

"12-18% more likely than on surface dwelling ships, pressure changes and all. Still not as bad as when the ventilation croaks eight thousand deep, trust me," he answers, putting the green marker ribbon of the three available ones on the page, then slaps it shut. "And, have you pulled yourself together?" He asks, turning his attention to her, though he's somewhat distracted by the bag.

"..." She kind of wants to hear that story. But not now. "Been a little irresponsible, as you can see," she pokes her head towards the item; "you can snack on it, if you want to. Otherwise, I've yet to drink a coffee to make sure I keep being productive, but yeah… I guess a walk was really all I needed, thanks," she says, trying to keep the smile levels in check. "By the way," aaand there goes the effort, "here."

Just like that, Law gets to see eye to eye with a stuffed bear that looks as if it was ready to fight him.

He blinks a few times, brows pulling closer together in confusion and surprise.

"Iiit's for you." The statement starts question-like, then ends sounding matter-of-fact. She… didn't really think this far. And can't read shit from that reaction.

"... for me." She just… she's actually handing him a teddy bear. The fuck.

"Mhm." She nods. "One more for the collection."

"What for?" His perplexed state leaks through his voice; he also grabs the thing so he can see her proper again; can't think of any rational explanation. Unless it's a joke, that is. Certainly sounds like it.

She shrugs. "... just because." There is no real goal to be achieved here. She just wants to drown him in embarrassingly adorable bears, preferably with as many people witnessing it as possible. And watch him struggle with the situation... this is as close as she can get without going bankrupt.

This... doesn't exactly sit well with Law. Because, if he's right about thinking that she's trying to compensate for… whatever, really… this is getting out of hand, no matter the reason. He can feel his pulse picking up pace; she's been doing it all day. The rice crackers, and tea... She doesn't seem to be lying about the chestnuts being an impulse purchase, but she just offered them, too...

"... Kat-ya... we need to talk."

Although the phrase makes her uneasy, somehow, the fact that he just used that name again shoos the other feeling to the side. "Oh... did a million years pass already?" she asks with honest wonder. Or... could it have been just 'a thousand years' the other day…? Well, same difference in this case.

He set himself up on that one, didn't he…

Seeing Law's disgruntled face, she adds: "Sorry, sorry... shoot away."

He lets out a sigh. "Look, about this…" he takes a passing look at the bear; "... aggressive attention and care stunt you're pulling... I do appreciate the sentiment, but stop. Being stalked by a surrogate grandma is not something I want, ever." Actually, let's just... "Please." He's low-key willing to get on his knees and beg if it becomes too embarrassing for him.

She's somewhat ashamed at his request and just a bit disappointed upon hearing that; "Oh... okay. Sorry."

Law reaches up and pulls at her ear gently, which is followed by the most unconvincing, little 'ow' on her side. "And stop apologizing for every little thing, sheesh. I'm just asking you to moderate yourself and take it down a notch, alright?" A whole 20 notches. She just bought him a goddamn teddy bear, for fuck's sake. One that is, in fact, sporting the same half-determined, half-smug expression he has on quite often. Be it a joke, poking fun at him or something genuine, this is too much. And it's, uh... kind of weirding him out?

He can't even remember the last time someone bought him something tacky that wasn't his crew. Or, well, the Strawhats as of a few weeks back. And he can't really tell her to fuck off because of this whole situation they are locked in. They have already passed the stage where he actually would tell her something like that, having a good idea how hard she would take it, not to mention that it would make everything exponentially worse, and he… frankly, he has no idea how to handle this situation. How do you communicate with those who are not backstabbing, murderous, thieving jackasses, or of generally questionable morals? With, you know… people?

"Okay... then, I should handle you less like a princess, and more like..." she starts after a second, stopping Law's train of thought, then stops herself as well, trying to decide on something less baby-able; children won't do, of course, nor animals, uh... "a flower!" All they need is some light and water... and the occasional fertilizer! Boom!

Law decides to push his little crisis aside for the time being, and suppresses the snort upon being compared to a 'flower.' He'll have to figure out how to act as if he had some fucks to give later. "Both of those comparisons are really weird, considering you're talking about me, you know. But… I guess. If you want to put it like that."

She flashes a big, optimistic smile, which just… doesn't quite fit his face, and never will. Still, it's as if he just gave her a treat for being a good dog. Which is, frankly, quite amusing. He can practically see her wag her nonexistent tail... Pulling her leg from time to time will be tempting. "And? Will you actually be able to keep to it?"

"Sure," she answers, then speaks up again after a few seconds, musing; "Honestly, I just want to... well, see you less morose all of the time, if that makes sense." Knowing what she does now, the memory of him silently laughing at the aquarium while she was butchering his person became a hundred times more pleasant. As is the chuckle from earlier.

… he really should have just let her leave yesterday. This has already gotten uncomfortable, not to mention that it reeks of trouble. "Seriously, Kat… if you are doing this because of what I suspect- which you are, let's be honest,- but even if not… it's still not your job to make me happy."

… saying that out loud feels so weird. It's almost as if he's speaking a foreign tongue.

Her pep goes as suddenly as it came. Partly because, well… Law's right. Still… "I like making people smile and laugh, though," she mumbles.

She's a difficult one, alright. He gives his head a frustrated scratch; "I never said you couldn't try, just... everything has a time and place, okay?"

She grumbles something that must be an 'okay' while nodding. Meanwhile, Nami has appeared over the railing, and calls out to her almost immediately:

"Kat, coffee is ready! You like it with two sugars and milk, right?"

It takes her a second to shake off the embarrassment and address the question. "I do," she replies at last.

"Now go, get that coffee," Law instructs, poking her with the book; "And wipe that frown off your face, brooding is my job, capiche?" Even if he'll be forever weirded out by how his face looks with a genuine smile plastered over it.

She can't help, but crack an awkward smile a that. "Yeah." Another moment of hesitation later, she steps towards the rope ladder.

Law sighs and takes another look at the bear. Now… will this thing fit into the chest with the dozens of others he's gotten throughout the years?