#I just got a little bit of good old writers back cause of a transition sequence I couldnt figure out how to write.

[wutheringmights]

Commentary for latest CTB chapter???👀👀👀👀

Thank you! You guys are as prompt as ever. Unfortunately, I needed a few days to get my thoughts together (and honestly would have taken even longer if I wasn't going out of town this weekend).

I kinda struggled a bit to have Important Thoughts about this chapter (I have been so tired all week), but I did my best.

(Triggering content from the chapter are discussed below).

I’ve mentioned many times already that I suffered from a massive bout of writer’s block during this chapter; and it’s a bit hard to pinpoint what exactly caused it. 

On one hand, I think the last chapter was just so much that I may have burnt myself out on an emotional level. Usually, a week or two off is all I need to fix it, but I also had a lot of personal responsibilities that took up all of my bandwidth. 

And, frankly, there’s a part of me that is a little freaked out that I’ve been working on this story for so long, and that I might not be able to finish it within my self-imposed deadline (if I have to see CTB’s 4th birthday, I am gonna lose it). That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy writing CTB or that I feel pressured to keep going; I just felt exhausted and overwhelmed by how much of my life I’ve sunk into a story that not only refuses to end in a timely manner, but that I can’t share with anyone I know in real life. 

My burnout required a few months' rest to get over, but that’s not to say I didn’t try to work on this chapter that entire time. 

So I actually started this chapter back in April, right after I published STP. I wrote this opening scene of Link ruminating over the past and got stuck trying to transition to him being found. I got so stuck that I ended up bouncing over to the present-day section, where I got stuck in a new and novel way (which I’ll talk about more later). 

That means that everything else in the past I wrote the day before posting. On one hand, I was raring to go and I felt really good getting all those words onto paper. It did a lot for my ego. On the other, I really wish I took more time to revise a lot of this. I think the pacing overall is really strong, but there’s a few ideas I threw out into the story that I really wish I lingered on. 

For example, I mention that Link’s physical abuse was a relatively short stretch of time compared to how significant it is. Him being violent towards the engineer feels like it went on forever and forever, but it only lasted about 4 months. I like this detail so much because it helps to illustrate how even short-term abuse has lifelong effects on people. If I lingered on this chapter a bit more, I would have found more ways to ruminate on it. 

I almost had Ayane discover Link in his house. I ended up changing it to Jakucho since, as much as Ayane likes Link, she would not care enough to go check up on him.  

For the longest time, I imagined Link’s room at the Miyashita estate to be the same as the one he was held prisoner in post-Kakariko Well. But I ended up stating in that chapter that the room was located in a part of the house he had never seen before. So Link’s room was changed from a formal guest room to a study.

In universe, this is so that he’s encouraged to read books and is easily within Jakucho’s reach.

I personally got a hearty chuckle out of Link being denied chopsticks by default; he’s probably very good at using them in the present, but during this time he’s probably really shit at it. Real white boy behavior. 

If I gave myself more time to work on this section, I would have played around with the idea of him being haunted by an imaginary engineer, just as he had been haunted by an imaginary version of his old self on the way to the Kakariko Well. I don’t know if I would have committed to it, though. On one hand, it would have been a cool way to illustrate his inner thoughts. On the other, it implies a mental break I don’t think he’s experiencing. 

On a similar note, I worry that this chapter wasn’t that effective because it was way less (for a lack of better words) dramatic than the past few “Link Has A Breakdown” chapters have been?

Let me explain. So nearly every time Link has been under emotional duress before this, I’ve played with the prose to show how his reality is being warped. Take chapter 24 for example. Link gets stuck on the engineer leaving him, so the passage of time in that chapter becomes unclear-- both in him not realizing how quickly time is passing and him constantly going back to the day he realized the engineer was gone for good. The prose is written in a way that conveys that reality has broken. It’s very melodramatic. 

But for this chapter, reality is firm. Link’s mind has cleared enough to see what happened in the past clearly. The prose can’t dramatically screw with perception because that’s not what’s happening. The passage of time and the depiction of reality has to be crystal clear. 

So despite making these long, semi-experimental passages one of my signature moves, I couldn’t use it here without actively detracting from the story. On one hand, a more grounded chapter effectively shows how this breakdown is different. On the other, it’s a little basic. 

I have a bit of a problem where past!Ayane is a bit too similar in personality to Linkle. Ayane in the present day is supposed to be a cool teenager who is probably a bit of a mean girl at school-- the kind that will grow out of it the moment she leaves for college. But I wanted to show her entering this stage of life in the past, so she’s less bratty and more troublemaking.

Speaking of which, any reference to Ayane “going through a phase” is supposed to refer to her becoming a moody teenager. I didn’t realize until literally yesterday that it might come off as her family being transphobic. They’re supportive of her being a girl; they just get fed up with how much of a kid she is. 

The point of the chapter that made me start tearing up in the coffee shop is when Ayane got mad at Link for destroying the journal. I’ve been that kid who understands cognitively that a parent in your life is not well but still struggled with what that meant on an emotional level. Her family definitely explained to her that Link isn’t well and etc, but that can be kinda abstract for kids to really understand. So when the mental illness causes him to react badly, it seems to her that he is hurting her because he does not care about her. 

And there are a whole slew of issues you can explore with that idea alone, like how culpable is Link for his actions when he is unwell but still the adult? I’ve already started exploring bits of it with the child’s relationship with Link and the engineer. But exploring this idea from a different perspective (the child and his fucked up emotional issues vs Ayane’s normal preteen perspective) is always interesting. 

Link impulsively trying to kill himself was not in my original plan for the chapter, but after everything... yeah, he would try. This might have something to do with an episode of You’re Wrong About I was listening to work last week where they talked about the percentage of suicides that are impulsive decisions versus premeditated.

(Of course, today I listened to the episode on copycat suicides and now I am very nervous about this chapter being used as an instruction manuel)

I was going to have his attempt be to freeze to death outside, but then I thought of the obi belt, and I really could not resist alluding back to the hanging scene in chapter 13

It ended up being a good transition into a scene I’ve wanted to do for a while now: Ayane’s mom asking him to continue acting like Ayane’s older brother. 

I originally wanted that moment back when their friendship was just starting out, but decided to toss it to his depression arc to act as a moment of encouragement for him. What I didn’t expect was to stumble into this scene being both a way to talk him out of suicide, as well as him realizing he’s a shitty brother. I’m a terrible brother is a monumental realization for him, and I stumbled into it by accident. 

I was tempted to remove Ayane’s mother from this scene and put Jakucho here instead. But Jakucho would never ask Link to play an older brother role. Plus, I like the idea that a random, near-stranger accidentally talked him down without realizing what they were doing. 

And of course, having Ayane’s mother talk helps to develop the Miyashita family dynamic and give a better idea as to why Shigeo is estranged. 

Ayane’s mother also has a very tiny appearance earlier in the story-- chapter 9, when we meet Jakucho for the first time. Granted, I think I only referred to her as Impa’s sister. 

I also stumbled accidentally into the moment with the koi fish and using them as a symbol for perseverance. I really like that scene. I almost named the chapter “The Koi Pond” in its honor. 

I also admit that until fairly recently, I also didn’t know fish could live in frozen water. 

I went back and forth about whether I wanted to make a big moment at the beginning of the chapter about Link going non-verbal, or if I should let it build up slowly; I ended up going with the latter.

I didn’t want to make his non-verbalness the center of his issues when it’s just a consequence of his depression. He’s not depressed and non-verbal. He’s non-verbal because he’s depressed. So waiting until the second half of this section to address it homely drove home that this is only a symptom of a larger issue. 

This chapter also gave me the opportunity to address my sign language headcanon; it’s standard taught in school, but not in a way where everyone is actually good at it. It’s like learning Spanish in elementary school; you grow up remembering a few phrases and words, but never actually become bilingual. 

I like the way the bell motif is used in this chapter. In the past, Proxi’s bells are a sign that things are going to get better. In the present, the Castle Town bells signal that things are about to get a whole lot worse. 

But, yes! After all this time, Proxi is finally here. Hopefully the long wait for her introduction/return will be worth while.

For the present day:

Remember how I said my writer’s block struck for this part of the chapter as well? I solved it in the dumbest way possible. 

One of my big issues was that I didn’t know how to string everything that I needed to get done into a cohesive chapter (because if the chapter isn’t good, then I would have wasted so much of my time on a story that isn’t good, and etc.). My solution was to write a flat draft with only the stuff needed to move the plot forward (talking to Ganondorf, getting on the boat, etc), and then do revisions where I added character moments.

Except, I did character moments by the character. So I would spent a week adding scenes about Spirit, then another about Time, and so on. I said in this post that I turned a 5k draft into a 12k draft. Yikes. 

Because I wrote the chapter like this, I think the pacing is not great. The dinner scene and the post-Midlink gossiping was originally one scene, which I split into two to accommodate other character stuff. But I also think this is one of the most well-balanced chapters in terms of how many characters got a moment to shine. 

I’m really enjoying how much you all enjoy Ganondorf. I think nearly every comment on the chapter so far has mentioned him. I almost regret keeping him in the Zora’s Domain right now, but have no fear. He will be back. 

I am endlessly amused by this moment when Warriors realizes he has to talk to Spirit again, and he thinks “Spirit. / Fucking Spirit.” Is he cursing him out, or is he remembering... you know...

I mentioned a long time ago that one of the issues I had to fix when starting this chapter was finding something for the rest of the Chain to do in this final act. I figured out what their deal is, and a lot of tiny moments in this chapter is the set-up for that.

In a similar vein, I feel like I lost the thread on Time for a hot while there. I really had to mull over what his problem is, how he was going to respond, and how I can show Time responding near Warriors so that the reader can know. I’ve never had this much difficulty writing him-- or characters in general-- before. Hence, my on-going battle against writer’s block.

Another amusing moment that only I think it funny: Spirit lifting Warriors up by the scruff of his neck to haul into the alley way, like he’s an old cat. Honestly, I should write more jokes based around Spirit being strong enough to lift Warriors now.

Now that I think about it, I have a scene in my head where Warriors bitches so much while traveling that Spirit just throws him over his shoulder and carries him like a sack of rice. Is it out of character for both of them? Yeah, but we can imagine it happens in the AU where they are friends.

I have been wanting to provide some form of a resolution for Midna and Twilight for so long, but there hasn’t been a good moment to make them talk-- or at least, a moment where they can talk while Warriors is nearby to listen.

I really enjoy striking a comparison between how Midna and Twilight hashed everything out versus the bullshit Warriors got up to last chapter, especially because Midna and Twilight’s solution was to just give up. It’s not going to work out ever, so they might as well enjoy themselves now.

I love MidLink so much, but part of that love is in how it 100% would not work out between them. As Midna says, they would hate each other in a year. But they keep trying anyway because they love each other right now and that’s what matters. 

Speaking of which, Midna’s “we’ll hate each other in a year” line is a reference to the Greta Gerwig Little Women movie. I love that movie so much, enough that I can forgive Timothy Chamalet for being in it. He has a scene where his proposal is met with basically the same sentiment from Saoirse Ronan’s character. 

Tiny little headcanon: Skyloft’s theater style is very similar to ancient Greek theater, with heavy use of masks and choruses. That’s why he mimics holding a mask when performing Twilight’s line for Lana.

His line was originally something Twilight actually said, but then I went in a revised the MidLink scene and got rid of it. I kept Sky’s mocking of it because I thought it was more realistic.

I won’t say much about what the boys talked about post-confession scene, except to point out that they were kept up by the noise, they might have an idea of the timing of when everything went down during the Hot Mess

I’m glad everyone found my joke about always going to Wild’s era funny lol

Chateau Milk (aka: alcoholic milk beverages) is a tiny little world building detail I have been dying to do for ages. I wanted to use any scene of milk-drinking to shove in a joke about Hyrule being intensely lactose intolerant (he’s immune to all bad food except dairy), but I couldn’t squeeze it it. 

The ribbon kinda got a disproportionate role considering how briefly I referenced Spirit losing it last chapter. 

The reason Warriors was sharing a room with Four was so that I could finally do a follow-up on the Four Swords stuff I started forever ago, but it has once more been punted off to another chapter. Maybe one day...

By the time I got to this second conversation with Time, I was feeling much better about how I was writing him. Between this and his earlier appearance, this is definitely the stronger moment. 

I also deeply amused by Ganondorf and Lincoln have to pretend to be very bitchy with each other in order to not seem like they were married. I wanted to write a scene where Ganondorf argues that Lincoln needs to show him the proper request so that Lincoln would have an excuse to kiss his hand, but I ended up not having the energy or will power to go back in and add it. 

Spirit is so not used to anyone having a genuine interest in his senses that Sky’s question totally caught him off guard. Thank god Sky is the type of person who would ask because I got a good moment to clarify more of the limits of Spirit’s senses-- mainly, that a lot of the info he gets is so contextual that most of it is nonsense to him

To clarify, Spirit’s senses freak out people outside of his era. In New Hyrule, where the idea is a bit more common place, it’s considered rude to ask just as its rude to tell people what you sense. Lokomo customs, and all that.

I didn’t plan on having Spirit cut his hair, but I was deep in the throes of writer’s block and felt like I needed to write about Spirit doing something a little insane to respike my interest. Cutting off your hair because the guy you hated saved your ribbon fitted the bill nicely.

(Nonetheless-- RIP Spirit’s long hair. You were much beloved)

Spirit and Lana’s relationship has always been very underbaked on my part. I didn’t do a lot with them at the beginning of the story, and I haven’t done much with it now (or even much with Lana in general). Here is a vague attempt to salvage my mistakes. If I could ever revise the whole of CTB (I will never), this would be one of the things I would improve

Oh God... the Nephus stuff...

Like, I knew this was going to happen. What I worry about is whether it feels cheap to just have a character go back on their word like that. It’s realistic, if only because Warriors’s deal was really shitty. But on the other, it’s not very satisfying for the reader. You want the characters to have complex reasons for everything. I’m not sure that this qualifies. 

And this applies to all of the war stuff this chapter. Did Nephus lie about not wanting the Triforce? Whatever the answer is now, it’s not going to be satisfying. 

I know I said previously that Lincoln had no suspicions as to what happened during the Hot Mess. Well, I lied. Guy had it figured out fairly early on and only needed the opportunity to ask.

I just hope this scene with him and Spirit shows how Lincoln can be Warriors’s dad. Warriors is his mother’s son, but some of his insanity is from his father. 

Also we’ll pretend Lincoln has had that arm tattoo this entire time. The tattoo is not plot relevant, but it’s important to me.

Legend’s “it’s always the fucking Triforce” speech is my favorite Legend line in a chapter.

On a subconscious level, I was basing Castle Town on Boston. Why? I have no good reason. Just felt right. 

I really wish I managed to get us to Castle Town any time before this part of the story, if only to explore all the various neighborhood ideas I have. I managed to squeeze in the Gerudo neighborhood, but I have more thoughts on neighborhoods for the Zora, Goron, Rito, and even regular-old humans. 

I’m going to tell you right now that the girl in the graveyard is not plot relevant. I had a whole thing about the grave being a memorial for all the heroes across the eras and her praying to the memorial for a new hero that I just never got around to explaining

“Shines with humility” is another line that deeply amused me. Like, buddy. That is not how humility works.  

The Master Sword rejecting Warriors is supposed to feel very fitting and very unfair, all at once. I wanted people to understand why he’s lost the right to use her while still being frustrated that he was still being punished. I wanted this to be another opportunity for complex feelings. I don’t think the scene hit the right way, but that’s alright.

There was a point of time where I was plotting this half of the story when I realized I could use the Triforce scar idea that I had previously abandoned. I like the idea and the scene a lot, but I wonder if it feels forced? Like the whole story bent over backwards to make my silly idea possible. Let me know if this feels like a natural conclusion, or if I messed up somehow. 

That being said, this whole scene where Warriors and Spirit were cutting the Triforce into his hand was a lot of fun to write. Nothing breaks writer’s block like writing an insane character dynamic. 

I feel like I should talk more about themes and what this means for them, but you have eyes. You probably get the point by now. Instead, I will inform you that I did try to read that section to my writing friends, who all agreed that they did not have enough context to understand what the fuck was going on. And, yeah. That’s fair. 

I really wish I waxed more poetry about Warriors reentering the public eye. I did not have enough willpower to revise the hell out of that scene. However, I love the ending bit with Warriors asking Hyrule to make sure he gets the scar. 

One last thing-- I really should have done a revision because an important plot element may have gotten lost in it. I won’t say what, but hopefully it won’t cause problems down the road. 

And that’s the chapter! I feel like I didn’t have a lot to talk about this chapter, despite taking a near-week to write up all my thoughts. Next one should hopefully come sooner, but note that I still have a few more weekend trips and real life responsibilities to handle. My life is not settling down again until the beginning of October. 

I really want to emphasize that my bitching about my writer’s block and the source of it is not something I really need sympathy for, and it’s really not something encouragement is going to fix on it’s own. I appreciate the thought, but a lot of my issues right now just require some self-reflection on my part. I don’t want anyone feeling forced to drop a nice word or feel worried I’ll drop the story without it; I’ll still dedicated to finishing CTB. I just need some time (and to stop hanging out with my extended family). 

In other news, my friend offered to bind CTB into a book for me. Well, books. She knew the word count going in, but I have heard many complaints about how long CTB is. Apparently, it’s 6 volumes so far. Some volumes only have two chapters. When I told her I updated last Sunday, I saw the light leave her eyes. I love her dearly, and I will find a way to pay her back for this. 

[kikiwhataboutthatbrendon]

Okay so I’m off me ‘ed and I got thoughts.

Drista is back! The lovely persons herself!

I am well aware that she isn't canon and stuffs but I’ve been entertaining a few thoughts since todays stream.

Where did Drista come from? Most people see Dream as a god on the server so it would only make sense if Drista, as his sister, was a god as well, at the very least a demi-god but c’mon y’all are simps and wanna give this woman's as much power as you can. She's a god.

From a ‘lore’ perspective she isn't around much, meaning she lives elsewhere, probably off world, in a different smp/realm.

Lets say... she's from 2b2t.

Dream and her have been around a long time, beings deities as admins and all. They've traveled across the ever expanding worlds they live in, whos to say they haven't gotten attached to a few?

They were dipping from another realm and were reading through the universes code when Drista found something that piqued her interest. Dream reluctantly grants her wish to check it out, and they spawn into a world of chaos and ruin. 

Drista’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. She immediately starts to fly around her new world and terrorize the baffled players she comes across.

Dream lets her be on her own while he goes to meet Hausemaster, having sensed the other admins presence, an apology already on the tip of his tongue for whatever his little sister is about to do in the hour he’ll gone.

Hause tells him not to worry, because that’s what his world is for, and that he’ll have some personal connections of his keep and eye on her.

They end up staying a week, and when Dream is ready to world hop again, Drista tells him she dosnt want to leave.

They argue, loudly, for a long time, until Dream realizes he’s doing the exact same thing their parents did to him to his little sister. He’s trying to make her do something she doesn't want to. He’s trying to keep her from a world that makes her happy. He’s not letting her be free.

It ends in a tearful goodbye and jabs at the other for being so sappy. Promises to visit one another's realm. Smiles hidden beneath grinning masks.

They miss each other. A lot. The effortless conversations. Unwarranted chaos. Smiling together so hard it hurts.

But that’s what visiting is for.

-

-

-

Drista has joined the game.

[eideticmemory]

the day | matthew gray gubler

In which Matthew is a pisces and you’re a writer.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff that I cannot believe I actually wrote. Featuring ‘Lover, you should’ve come over’ by Jeff Buckley, if you wanted to listen while reading.

Matthew never wears his airpods.

They sit there, charging on his desk, all day long, all week long. He doesn’t wear his airpods. You know that, it is a fact. They’re trinkets, decoration, a little bit of a flex, but, Matthew never wears his airpods.

So, the question is: Why the hell has he had them in all week? Every hour, of every day — those little, white airpods hung from his ears like an aura of isolation.

It must be revenge, you thought. It must be his way of coping with the ridiculous amount of time you spend in his office. Alone, putting pen to paper. Initially, he’d peek his head in every once in a while, after you’d been of a bit of a writer’s bender, just to remind you that he loved you. That he was proud of you.

Yet, when it’s your wedding vows sitting on the desk, waiting to be written — when you need him to come in, give you that sweet smile and tell you how much he adores you . . . he’s wearing his airpods.

Matthew never wears his airpods. Your fiancé nevers wears his airpods. And for such a small thing, it’s starting to freak you out. Because one week before your wedding is not the time to do this. Not the time for distance, and insecurity. Not the time for Matthew to be walking around the house, constantly, wearing those fucking airpods.

He coasted his way past the office doors, your eyes following his figure like a light. You trained in on his ears, the white specks clear and visible as he walked right by you. Once he was out of your sight, you released a frustrated huff and set your pen down atop your note pad, put your face in your hands.

You sighed, spoke in a sad and quiet voice, “Matthew Gray . . . what the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t see him at all the day before your wedding. He facetimed you that night to say goodnight, that he loved you, and he would see you Saturday. His voice was so soft, so genuine, so full of love. And all you could focus on was the airpods hanging from his ears.

“I’m ready to marry you, Matthew Gray,” you said. “Are you ready to marry me?”

His face transitioned to a gentle, ever so slightly confused, expression, and he replied, “Believe me . . . I’ve ever been more ready for anything in my life.”

You smiled, “Then I will see you at altar.”

He grinned, “See you at the altar.”

You had stars in your hair. Little clips in the side of your head that made your eyes sparkle. As you were dressed and assisted throughout the big day, you held a crumbled, jumbled, scratched up piece of paper in your hand. It wasn’t perfect, hell, you weren’t even sure it was good. But it was honest, and it was loving, and it took you months to write. Your biggest project yet, if you must say so yourself.

At last call, you were alone, staring at the words as if you didn’t already know each one by heart.

“[y/n],” your friend called. “You ready?”

And, not for the first time, you crumbled the paper up between your fists. Crushed it, smushed it. Threw it to the ground, looked yourself up and down in the mirror. Glitzy, glammy, gorgeous. Dressed in ivory — not white, wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

You exhaled, whispered, “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Your hands shook. From the start to the finish of the aisle. You sought comfort in Matthew, never taking your eyes off him. But damn, if he doesn’t look so good that it’s nerve racking. He held your small hands in his palm, told you that you looked beautiful, with tears threatening to roll down his face, already.

He’d insisted not too long ago that you be the first to read your vows. Just the thought made you tremble, anxious at the vulnerability, and the hundreds of eyes and ear waiting to hear what you’ve got. Matthew noticed this, and put his hands on around your forearms.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey . . . just talk to me.”

You did. You held his eyes on yours, you recited your poetry, you silenced the entire building. Only pausing to inhale shaky breaths, and to wipe the tears from his face.

“And I love you,” you choked on your words. “And I thank you, so much, for showing me what true love is, Matthew Gray. Thank you for being . . . the absolute love of my life.”

Matthew could only reply would a somber laugh, wiping away the excess tears from his face. “Whew . . .” he breathed out. “Wow . . . how the hell am I supposed to follow that?”

The space erupted in soft laughter.

Your own laughter included.

The two of you were formally introduced as Mister and Misses Gubler, surrounded by a wave of applause within the reception hall. Matthew raised your bound hands into the air, proud, joyful. He had you, he finally fucking had you. Until death do you part.

He left you centered in the middle of the dance floor, illuminated by the soft light, as he made his way upon the stage, located right in front of you.

“Hi, everyone,” he waved. “I’m Matthew Gubler, I’m [y/n]’s husband —“

You laughed along with everyone else, who hooted and hollered at his declaration.

“Thank you, thank you . . .” he smiled. “Thank you all for being here, for supporting [y/n] and I, it means so much.”

You tilted your head at him, his focus finally being directed at you once again. “[y/n] . . . my love . . . I’ve waited forever for this day. Forever. And if you will do me the honors, I’d like nothing more than to dance with you . . . to have our first dance as husband and wife to — to a song that I first heard when I was fifteen. To a song that . . . I’ve been listening to ever since we first met three years ago, a song that . . . has been on repeat in my head in preparation for this moment, right here, right now.”

As you held your hand out for him, gentle guitar flowed from the speaker, though it wasn’t any riff that you recognized. Matthew joined you in the center of the dance floor, pulling you close as you whispered, “Matthew Gray . . . what are you up to?”

“I’m dancing with you . . .” he smiled, setting his hands tightly on your waist, your arms draped over his shoulders. “I’m serenading you.”

Looking out the door,

I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners.

“Parading in a wake of sad relations, as their shoes fill up with water,” Matthew sang, gently.

“Oh, he’s singer, too,” you giggled.

He chuckled, “Shut up — Maybe I'm too young, to keep good love from going wrong. But tonight, you're on my mind so, you'll never know . . .”

Broken down and hungry for your love,

With no way to feed it

Where are you tonight?

Child, you know how much I need it.

“Too young to hold on, and too old to just break free and run,” setting your head on his shoulder, you let him sing in your ear. “Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun , much too blind to see the damage he's done. Oh, sometimes a man must awake to find that, really, he has no one.”

So I'll wait for you, and I'll burn,

Will I ever see your sweet return,

Or, will I ever learn?

Lover, you should've come over,

'Cause it's not too late.

Matthew’s grip tightened around your waist, his long arms engulfing you in an effort to get closer to you, closer than humanly possible.

Lonely is the room the bed is made,

The open window lets the rain in,

Burning in the corner is the only one,

“Who dreams he had you with him . . .” slowly, your husband, your husband, looked in your eyes, “My body turns, and yearns for a sleep, that won't ever come.”

“It's never over,” he sang to you. “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder . . .” following the words with a small kiss to the top of your shoulder. As if in immediate response to the words, and the physical touch, tears began to pour down your face.

“It's never over, all my riches for her smiles,

when I slept so soft against her.”

“It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter.”

“It's never over,” and these lyrics, he sang with your face in his hands and his lips touching to your forehead. “She’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever.”

You sobbed, pulled him closed, nuzzled your face into his neck, held on for dear life to the back of his head.

But maybe I'm just too young,

To keep good love from going wrong.

Oh lover, you should've come over.

I feel too young to hold on,

I'm much too old to break free and run.

Too deaf, dumb, and blind,

To see the damage I've done.

Sweet lover, you should've come over.

“Oh, lover, I've waited for you,” when he said this, it wasn’t a melody. It was spoken, softly, soulfully.

“Lover, lover, lover, lover, love, love, love, lover, you should've come over . . . ‘cause it's not too late . . .”

Every word.

No stumbles, no stutters, no faltering.

Matthew never wears his airpods.

But when he does, it’s for a good reason.

[cinnaminsvga]

Sweeter than Strawberries | Jungkook

→ summary: at euphoria bakery, seasonal changes also bring seasonal menu items. when you find out that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake was phased out after the end of summer, it takes only one puppy eyed look from you for jeon jungkook to make it for you anyway—just don’t tell his boss about it, alright?

→ genre: bakery!au, s2l, fluff → warnings: none unless you count the fact that i’m writing shy!jungkook again :^D, we love mutual pining in this house ex dee → words: 4.5K → a/n: this was commissioned by @ihatemathanal​!! i was super stoked to write this bc it’s really cute and sometimes it’s nice to just write happy fluffy things every once in a while (aka zee is turning into a fluff writer jfc) it got a lil longer than it was supposed to, but that’s bc i got carried away lol anyway i hope you guys enjoy!! (ps: this also works for the bgw bingo so... tyg for s2l fics!! let’s get it!!)

For the most part, the beginning of autumn is usually your favorite time of the year. When the tree leaves begin to yellow and the air gains a significantly colder bite, this signifies the end of pit stains and sweaty thighs and the start of sweater paws and chapped lips. Above all, you are most excited, of course, for an excuse to gorge yourself on steaming mugs of hot chocolate, paired with delicious mountains of warm gooey brownies.

For the most part, these are all things that often get you excited for the coming chill. What you do not think to remember, however, is that while these seasonal changes bring more good than bad, there still remains a little snag: a small oversight, if you will. As businesses all over the world begin the annual transition to the colder months, so does your favorite bakery across the street from your university. After all, summer ingredients grow scarcer as the year nears its end, so it’s understandable for bakeries to switch up their menu to keep up with both the supply and demand.

What does any of this have to do with anything? Well, long story short—

Your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake is about to get phased out. No, scratch that—it’s already been phased out, right from under your very nose, no less!

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. You have always known it was a specialty drink; your best friend had even been the one to introduce it to you just near the end of your summer classes:

“This is Euphoria Bakery,” Namjoon had said with a smile, waving cheerily at the two boys manning the till. You heard him chuckle in amusement when your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, staring longingly at the sweet treats and baked goods lining the display case.

Namjoon had stolen your attention away, however, when he pointed to the chalkboard menu on the wall. As it turned out, the bakery also doubled as a cafe, serving the usual coffees and teas while also making the occasional specialty drink for different seasons or holidays. The chalkboard was decorated beautifully, the menu items written out in neat cursive with tiny little doodles littering its margins. On one of the boards, there was a new drink item being advertised in bold pink letters—a great summer treat!—or so it said.

“Jungkook-ssi, can you get me and Y/N a strawberry shortcake milkshake? Extra whipped cream for me, please!” Namjoon called out to one of the boys, startling the younger of the two. The boy, Jungkook, must have been busy fiddling with the cash register that he hadn’t noticed your arrival.

“N-Namjoon-hyung? Sorry, I was just busy counting the money—” Jungkook stopped short in his speech, his tongue getting caught in his mouth when his eyes landed directly on you. He had made a strangled sound, like he had swallowed his spit too quickly and was struggling to regain his composure. “H-Hello?”

You realized belatedly that he must have been greeting you, as you had been distracted by his fidgetiness. His nervousness was cute, if a little bit contagious; you couldn’t help feeling anxious too, like your heart was missing every other beat, even though you had no reason to be. “Hello! My name is Y/N. It’s my first time coming here, but Namjoon says your new summer menu item is really good? I wanted to try it out for myself.”

Jungkook nodded, still staring wide-eyed at you as if in a trance. You expected him to start... well. You weren’t an expert on how bakeries or cafes are run, but you were pretty sure he should’ve started doing something after you had spoken, perhaps ring up your order on the register, or start working on your drinks. Instead, he’s still frozen in place, like he’d somehow short-circuited within the last two minutes.

It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed his odd behavior because the man working with him suddenly pushed Jungkook to the side, a brief smirk flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced by a more subdued, professional smile.

“Sorry about him. He’s usually my best baker, but sometimes he can get a little... distracted when he’s confronted with sweet things,” the man said nonchalantly, but it seemed that his innocent-sounding comment had embarrassed Jungkook greatly.

“Jimin-hyung!” Jungkook whined, stomping his foot not unlike a bunny. If you squinted a little bit, you could definitely see the resemblance.

Namjoon, who had been quietly watching everything unfold, chose that moment to pipe up. “Oh, I see. I didn’t know you had a type, but after thinking about it—” Namjoon shot a surreptitious glance at you, before turning back to Jungkook with a teasing grin, “—I can definitely see why.”

At the time, you had no idea what was going on, mostly confused as to why Jungkook had suddenly become so red-faced while Namjoon and Jimin giggled like a couple of high school girls. It seemed like you were somehow the main reason for his embarrassment, so you were quick to poke Namjoon in the stomach, effectively silencing him.

“Hey! Stop teasing the poor boy. He’s just being nice,” you said, pointing a soft smile back at Jungkook. “Sorry about him. I’m sure you’re an excellent baker, judging from how wonderful and cute all these cakes on the display look.” Somehow, your praise had only made Jungkook’s cheeks brighten even further. He cleared his throat as if to say something in response, before changing his mind and scuttling away to the back room instead.

“I’m going to start making your milkshake! D-don’t mind me!” He called out from behind the door, causing Jimin to finally break down into raucous giggles, nearly doubling over from his own mirth.

“Aish, that kid. He never learns, huh…” Jimin sighed, but the smile on his face is kind—the sort of fond look an older brother might have for his kid brother. He turned back to you and Namjoon with that lingering softness as he rang the two of you up, before chatting idly with you as you waited for Jungkook to finish making your drinks.

“I’ve never seen you around, Y/N-ssi. Jungkook—sorry, I meant I definitely would’ve noticed you if I did. You go to the same university as Namjoon-ssi, right?” Jimin asked, flipping a pen between his fingers with incredible dexterity. You were slightly distracted by that, faintly jealous of how his short fingers could somehow manage such a feat.

“I—yeah, I do. I’m assuming you’re also a student?”

“Yep. I actually met Namjoon-ssi when we took that one music theory class together. I was handing out flyers for this bakery after class and he happened to be one of the first people to actually come,” he said, winking at Namjoon. You watched with much interest when your friend turned a faint shade of pink, his hand coming up behind his neck—a signature tick of his whenever he was feeling shy or nervous.

“I-It was nothing… I mean, your seasonal drinks are always so good! I remember your old snowman-shaped donuts with the raspberry filling? I still dream of it sometimes,” Namjoon sighed, eyes going glassy for a moment.

Jimin laughed, his eyes crinkling into cute little crescents. “Oh, stop it! I remember how you’d come here even after we stopped serving that donut and you’d beg us to make them again.”

“And yet you never did, even though I know you have the ingredients to make them,” Namjoon pouted, but there’s endearment dancing in his expression.

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “I never pegged Namjoon as a sweet-tooth guy, so this is honestly all a very big surprise to me. I should be pumped for this milkshake then, huh? Hopefully, you aren’t just hyping it up and I’ll end up disappointed.”

Before either Namjoon or Jimin could retort, Jungkook had reappeared from the back room with two large cups in hand, almost tripping over his untied apron string but managing to get to the counter in one piece.

“Here you go. I hope you won’t be disappointed when you try it,” he said, gaze averted downwards when he hands you your cup. Your fingers grazed each other for a second, nearly causing both of you to drop the drink like it was on fire.

“S-sorry,” you laughed it off, feeling your ears get a little red from your blunder. You pointedly ignored Namjoon’s arched brow, no doubt enjoying your sudden shyness. Without waiting for him to get his own cup, you casually tear off the straw wrapper and take your first sip of the drink.

“So?” Jungkook asked after a while, watching with bated breath as you take a good gulp of the milkshake. “How is it? Is it worth the hype?” You don’t speak for a moment, further aggravating the two bakers as you carefully chewed on the bits of strawberry in the drink.

“This—” you said, speaking slowly for increased dramatic effect. You could hear Namjoon groan beside you, used to your need for unnecessary anticipation. Even as you paused for a moment longer, you could already feel the smile creeping up your face, unable to completely hide your giddiness. “—is fantastic. Show-stopping. Best thing since sliced bread! I could live on this shit alone.”

Jungkook released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, chuckling in relief as you began to completely devour the treat in mere minutes. “I’m… really glad you like it,” he said with a wide, toothy grin. You were so immersed in your drink that you missed the way he sighed softly, hand gently cradling his chest where his heart would be.

Namjoon had taken his own sip as well, sighing dreamily as the creamy and sweet flavor overtook his palate. “Truly the best drink in existence. If I was a Twitch streamer or some shit, I’d promote this regularly for free.”

His comment made Jimin giggle softly, but his gaze is trained on something else entirely. “I’m flattered, but maybe don’t promote Y/N’s cup, over here. We don’t typically have strawberries and hearts doodled all over our cups,” he said, smirking slyly.

Lo and behold, your cup did have small doodles littering its sides whereas Namjoon’s was just a plain white paper cup. “Oh,” you said, blushing furiously when you finally noticed. Your flush was nothing compared to the one on Jungkook’s cheeks, however. The two of you refused to make eye contact after that, both of you trying (and failing) to silence the amused snickers of your respective friends.

Despite that slightly embarrassing (and heartwarming) experience, that had marked the start of your love for the tiny bakery and their special strawberry shortcake milkshake. You returned to Euphoria Bakery as often as you could throughout the summer, even going to visit it without Namjoon most of the time. You would even occasionally go out of your way to visit the bakery, even after your summer classes had ended and there was really no reason for you to be around the area.

It also didn’t hurt that the boy behind the counter was especially cute, with his big doe eyes and melodic laughter that always got your heart beating erratically in your chest. It hadn’t taken long for you to admit to yourself that you had a not-so-tiny crush and every visit to the bakery only made you fall deeper for him.

Namjoon has assured you that Jungkook clearly has a crush on you too, but you’re quick to shut him down. It is one thing to be shy and awkward around a girl and another to have a crush on the aforementioned girl. As you visited the bakery more and more, you do notice that Jungkook is more reserved when it comes to other female clientele, although, dare you hope? He does seem a little bit more… nervous, when he talks to you, but that could be your lovesick eyes playing tricks on you.

Never mind the fact that he only ever seems to leave cute doodles on your cups alone, but that could just be a coincidence, right? After all, he can hardly hold a conversation with you when you try to speak with him, always eager to rush to the backroom to make your drink.

Your visits usually consist of making idle chit chat with Jimin after greeting both him and Jungkook. The younger boy often dips the moment he sees you through the glass door, automatically going to prepare your favorite summer treat without even having to ask for your order. He never stays to stick around long enough to make conversation, as he eventually excuses himself to do some chore or another. During one of your trips, you tentatively asked Jimin if Jungkook was avoiding you, to which the blonde boy just laughed heartily at your query.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. He’ll come around eventually; he’s just nervous. Don’t tell him I told you this, but…” he trails off, peeking over his shoulder to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t accidentally overhear him. When he turns back to you, the smirk on his face is equal parts amused and mischievous. He looks a little impish, though you aren’t sure if he’d take that too kindly. “Jungkook always stares out the door, waiting for you to arrive. I’ve caught him red-handed far too many times for it to be a coincidence.”

Your cheeks flush warmly at his words but don’t say anything after that. You suppose all you can do is wait for him to start warming up to you eventually, and you hope the day comes sooner as the summer days grow shorter and shorter.

Of course, that day does come eventually, but probably not on the day you wished it would happen.

Like all good things, summer comes to its close and so does the summer menu options offered at Euphoria Bakery. Jimin had already told you a week beforehand that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake would get phased out as soon as July hit, but you refused to listen. You had hoped that as his regular customer and friend, perhaps Jimin would make an exception and prolong the milkshake’s lifetime for your sake, but it seems that Jimin has made it clear that friendship and business are two separate entities that he will not allow to coincide.

“Please Jimin? Just one more time? I’ll even settle for a small size,” you beg, your entire body draped over the cashier counter like the pathetic plebeian that you are. Thankfully, since you have made it a habit to pass by the bakery when it’s close to closing time, there aren’t any other patrons left to judge your pitiful display. Unthankfully, that also means Jimin is free to flick you on the forehead with no holds barred, leaving a large red welt where his finger hits.

“I already told you that I won’t budge, not even if you licked my Balenciagas. Besides, we’re out of strawberries anyway.” Jimin huffs, rolling his eyes at your pained whines as you grasp your head in agony. “Oh stop it, will you? I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“I beg to differ, hyung.” Jungkook pipes up, startling both you and Jimin. Jungkook is usually content to wiping down the glass displays or tables while he passively listens to the two of you bicker, humming occasionally to indicate that he’s still listening, so it comes as a small surprise whenever he does decide to speak up. He must have noticed this too, as his ears quickly begin to redden as he scrambles to finish his sentence. “I-I mean, hyung might have small hands, but his finger flicks are no joke. You could break someone’s skull with that thing.”

“Who are you calling small, huh?” Jimin growls, but the playful smirk on his face tells you that he’s just teasing. He pulls Jungkook in a headlock, who surprisingly doesn’t seem all that bothered by the fact that Jimin is actively trying to block his windpipe with his strong forearms. “Take it back!”

“Never,” Jungkook wheezes, effortlessly removing himself from Jimin’s grip. He dusts himself off, not even breathless. “Also, why’d you lie to Y/N like that? We still have strawberries in the back. How else would we make our strawberry jam tarts?”

Jimin squawks indignantly, folding his arms. “How dare you sell out our company secrets! I could fire you for that!”

Jungkook scoffs, bumping Jimin with his hip. Jungkook must also not know his own strength, because he accidentally causes Jimin to stumble a few steps back, nearly toppling over one of their bread racks. “You’re joking. If you fired me, no one would be able to make the bagels in the morning because you never know how to proof them correctly.”

“Slander!” Jimin hisses, pinching Jungkook’s side in retaliation. You and Jungkook laugh at his childish pouts, but the older boy can’t hide his own mirth for too long. “Fine. You can stay. But you,” he points at you this time, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You better not seduce my boy over here to make your strawberry shortcake milkshake. I have eyes and ears everywhere.” He drags his finger to the corner of the walls, where there is—

“There’s nothing there?” You follow where he’s pointing, but all you can see is a stray cobweb that Jungkook must have missed while dusting this morning. “Am I supposed to be looking at something?”

“Jimin is thinking of installing surveillance cameras soon. He’s convinced that someone is trying to steal his banana cream pie recipe.” Jungkook shrugs. He slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulder, glaringly delighted when their height difference becomes even more apparent while he stands close to him. “Anyway, I promise I won’t get ‘seduced’ by her, or whatever you want to call it. Why don’t you head home early for tonight? I’ll close up and I’ll try to convince Y/N to try our other pastries as a replacement.”

You open your mouth to try and protest, but Jungkook sends you a cheeky wink, making sure that his boss doesn’t catch him in the act. Bemused but interested to see what he’s up to, you decide to keep quiet and wait for him to continue.

“Don’t try and think you’re being slick here, buddy,” Jimin says, closing in on Jungkook’s personal space by pressing his chest against his. “If I see that you break the bakery code and serve her that drink… There will be consequences.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically as he gently pries the smaller man away from him. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. No funny business, I promise. Now get out of here, hyung. Leave the rest to me.”

Jimin gives him one last firm look before squinting warily at you, lips pursed tightly. “No seducing,” he repeats, wagging his finger at you. He unties the apron around his neck, throwing it haphazardly at the coat hanger on the back door where his jacket was hanging. He folds it over his arm and points at the corner of the ceiling with his free hand once more before exiting through the front entrance, the soft bells hanging above the doorway tinkling in his wake.

When he’s gone, you release a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “Well, that was easier than expected. I didn’t think you’d be able to get him to leave. He must trust you a lot, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Nah. He’s just lazy. He hates closing the bakery and will jump at any opportunity to go home early.”

You nod. “Seems like him.” There’s a beat of silence. “So… How much seducing am I gonna have to do to get my milkshake, huh?”

Like you guessed, Jungkook immediately turns red at your words, spluttering and stammering over his spit for a few seconds before managing to come up with a reply. “O-oh, there’s no need for that. I was gonna make the drink for you anyway.”

“But what about the quote-unquote consequences?” you ask, still worried that you might be getting Jungkook in trouble. You’d rather have your arm cut off than have him get punished, no matter how small it might be.

“No need to worry about that. Jimin might pretend to be a prickly old man sometimes, but he’s mostly just full of hot air,” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “He’ll just make me treat him to some skewers or something. He’s just teasing.”

“If… If you say so? I just really don’t want him to get angry with you…” you say, voice turning small as you tried to reign your embarrassment in. “I know I made a fool of myself just moments ago and begged like a baby for the milkshake, but I was just exaggerating…”

“Something tells me that you aren’t, but let’s pretend for your sake that you are,” Jungkook says. You huff indignantly at his teasing, but you’re more overjoyed by the sight of his cute bunny smile. You had only seen it in passing a few times in the past, but seeing it directed at you is an entirely different experience. Because of you, your mind helpfully supplies.

He heads over to the backroom to begin preparing your drink, but he keeps the door open this time so you can see him even from behind the counter. You can mostly only see the large industrial ovens and bread racks filled to the brim with all sorts of pastries proofing for the night, but you do catch a glimpse of the sole blender near the back. Jungkook grabs the glass jar first and then walks over to the fridge just out of your sight, most likely to grab the ingredients needed for your milkshake.

The bakery is mostly silent, save for the sound of Jungkook moving and assembling everything. You rack your brain for some sort of conversation starter, as the atmosphere between the two of you has begun to return to its usual awkward state as you skirt around each other, unsure of where either of you stands. You might have known him for a while now, but today is the most you’ve ever spoken to him and the tension is palpable.

“So.” You clear your throat, heart beating a mile a minute in your chest. “I… guess this is going to be the last time I have this drink, huh?”

The sound of Jungkook chopping on the cutting board pauses for a second. You can only see his left shoulder from where you’re standing, but you can see it tense even then. “I… I mean, will you stop coming over to the bakery if it is the last time?”

There are so many things you want to say all at once, but the words somehow get caught in your throat. You want to say that you love coming to the bakery to see them (though it’s mostly Jungkook if you’re being honest) and that the strawberry shortcake milkshake had just been an excuse to visit for a while now. You want to keep visiting for as long as they’ll have you—but you don’t know how to say it without hot humiliation running down your spine. You don’t want to weird him out by confessing to him all of a sudden. And so, you clam up, not knowing how to respond.

When Jungkook throws in all the ingredients in the blender, he doesn’t turn it on immediately. He tilts his head to the side, not fully looking at you but giving you a view of his beautiful side profile. You see his Adam’s apple bob for a moment, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he speaks. “Because… If that’s how it’s going to be, then maybe… buying a couple of skewers for Jimin won’t be so bad.”

You freeze. “What? Are you saying that...”

“I’ll keep making the drink for you, even if it’s not on the menu anymore?” Jungkook finishes, turning fully to face you. There’s a shy grin on his face, coupled with the ever-present pink flush high on his cheekbones. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. We’ll have to be sneaky about it, though. You’ll have to come to the bakery only when I’m closing so that he doesn’t catch us but otherwise…” He scratches the tip of his nose, looking embarrassed. “If… If you’re fine doing that, I mean.”

It feels like an eternity before you can remember how to function like a regular human being again. Your insides feel like molten lava and you’re certain that your internal organs have begun to self-destruct right after that super-effective hit from Jeon Jungkook, super baker boy extraordinaire. It’s mind-blowing how effortlessly cute he can be, making you realize belatedly that his quiet demeanor over the past few weeks had been a blessing and not a curse. If he had been this sweet with you from the get-go, you’d surely be melted butter on a sidewalk by now.

“I would love you—I mean, I would love it if you did that for me, actually.” You stammer, resisting the urge to punch yourself in the tit. You’re thankful for the lack of mirrors at the bakery, for you are positive that you must look like the devil’s blazing red testicles at this point.

“Great,” Jungkook smiles softly. He turns the blender off, pouring your drink into a paper cup. “Oh, before I forget…” He grabs a marker from the small tin can near the cash register, and you watch as he quickly scribbles a few hearts around the circumference of the cup. “There we go. Now it’s done.”

As Jungkook hands your drink to you, you’re hit with a moment of déjà vu when your fingers brush just like the first time you had met. You sense the same familiar shock of electricity when you touch, but instead of pulling away like before, Jungkook surprises you for the third time that day.

When he’s sure that you have a secure grip on your cup, he grabs your free hand with his, unfurling your fingers until he can get a hold of your pinky. He curls his pinky into yours, linking them together with a bashful smile on his lips. “There. Now we pinky promised to each other.”

“Y-yes. Of course,” you mumble, giggling lightly when he still refuses to let go. “I pinky promise.”

.

.

.

Five minutes away from Euphoria Bakery, Jimin sits quietly in his parked car, his figure hunched over the small screen of his phone as he chuckles loudly to himself. There is a tiny video of two people, a boy and a girl, with their hands held together. Despite the quality being grainy and warped, Jimin needs no confirmation as to who those people are; he’s always known, after all.

“All according to keikaku.” He whistles happily, already salivating at the thought of all the skewers Jungkook will have to buy for him.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

veracity - v. dunn

As promised, here’s one of our many resident himbos, Vince Dunn, in “I didn’t realize wer were dating.” As I’m sure a lot of other writers have experienced lately, reblogs have definitely been down, so I would love it if you’d give a reblog if you like it. I also read the tags! Alternately, feel free to keysmash in my inbox or let me know what your favorite parts were. 

word count: 4.9k+

warnings: light sexual content (brief)

Aly Kalinski had never bothered leaving her home town. Why would she? She loved St. Louis. She was born there, went to public schools in the city, and barely moved ten miles away from home for her art degree at SLU. For all its faults, she loved her city. Aly met Vince her sophomore year of college, an accidental run-in at her favorite sandwich shop that had turned into a friendship that had turned into a relationship. So it was a no-brainer decision for Aly to stay once she graduated, getting a position teaching middle and high school art at a school in the suburbs and a loft in downtown. She didn’t want to leave her parents, or her city. Or Vince. 

They had just gotten together, and it really hadn’t come as a surprise to anyone but them. Her older sister rolled her eyes when Aly told her, saying that “it was only a matter of time. You two practically act like an old married couple already.” Her parents were shocked even less. Vince’s teammates had actually been some of the biggest perpetrators in the first place, not-so-subtly leaving them in rooms together at parties and encouraging Aly to admit the feelings she wasn’t even sure she had until a few months ago. But it had happened organically, so naturally that Aly really couldn’t even put a pin on the point where their friendship had turned into romance. All she knew was that she was falling hard for Vince Dunn, and for once in her life, she wasn’t trying to stop herself. 

September

Clashing teeth and her hands running through his hair and his fingernails digging into the backs of her thighs was all Aly felt as Vince held her up against the door. “Vin, bedroom,” Aly gasped, pulling away for air. 

“Mhm,” he said absentmindedly, his lips trailing kisses down the column of her neck as her legs wrapped around his waist. He walked backwards into his room, dropping her down on the bed. She fumbled with the buttons on her shirt as he frantically pulled his belt off. God, it had been too long since they had touched each other. Vince had only recently returned to St. Louis for training camp and the start of pre-season, but he had been so exhausted from drills and scrimmages that all he could manage on nights they got together was curl into Aly’s side with some take out and turn on reruns of Kitchen Nightmares. She had visited him in Toronto for two weeks in July and August — it didn’t always work out so perfectly, but she was thankful that teaching meant most of her summers were free — and they had obviously had sex while they were there, but she had been missing it more than she wanted to admit. Missing him. 

So when they went out to a downtown bar with the rest of the team to celebrate the end of training camp, and Aly didn’t have work the next day, they were both more than happy to indulge in a little liquid courage. Which meant a couple of  drinks and a few more flirty touches later and the pair made their excuses to the rest of the group, Vince pulling up his Uber app before they were even out the door. And they weren’t exactly subtle about it  — Sammy had definitely shouted “USE PROTECTION” while Vince threw him a middle finger  — but they they needed each other too much to really give a fuck. 

Vince trailed his fingers up her now-bare sides, the clasp of her bra falling open with a well-practiced flick. Aly palmed him over his jeans, trying half-heartedly to reverse their positions. Vince groaned. “Not tonight, baby. I need you.” Well, it’s not like she was going to argue with that. Her leggings came off in record time. His jeans followed. Aly dropped her head into the crook of his neck as he slid into her. God, they could do this a million times and she’d never get used to how good he felt. “You’re fuckin’ incredible, Aly, you know that?” Vince gasped out. 

She pressed a kiss onto his shoulder. “You might've mentioned it once or twice, but feel free to keep going, Dunn,” she said. 

He quickened his pace. “I will.” Ten minutes and two orgasms later, she was wrapped in Vince’s arms, trying to savor every last moment before she had to get up and use the bathroom. “I meant what I said, you know?” Vince said, one hand carding through her hair. “You really are incredible, Aly. And when we’re together…” He paused, searching for the right words. 

“There’s only a few things in my life that have always come easy. Hockey, never being able to say no to ice cream, and you. I never feel like I have to be anyone other than exactly who I am when I’m with you, and I don’t know if you know just how meaningful that is for me. I need it, and I need you.” Aly smiled, turning over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. This was the closest he’d gotten so saying he loved her, and she’d take it. 

January

Aly sipped her champagne, her eyes surveying the downtown St. Louis ballroom where she found herself on a Saturday evening. Her free hand fingered with the sequin-adorned cloth of her dress, brushing up against the thigh-high slit. It wasn’t something she would have ever bought for herself, but she loved it. It caught the light like nothing she’d ever seen and Vince’s jaw had nearly fallen off the second he saw her when he picked her up for the gala. He had bought it for her, too, insisting that if he had invited her the least he could do was spare her the expense of going out and buying one on her own.

Her job paid well for a teacher, especially one in their first few years, but she wasn’t about to complain when Vince gave her his card and sent her into the shopping district to find a dress for the night. He had told her to get something stunning, and she had delivered in spectacular fashion. It was the Blues’ big fundraising gala for the year, an annual charity event to benefit the children’s hospital. Essentially, the night was an opportunity to party on the team’s dime while wining and dining Midwestern elite in a bid to get them to open up their checkbooks. It was something that Alexandra Kalinski was proving surprisingly adept at; even though she didn’t have nearly the rapport with some of the businessmen and philanthropists as most of the players and their partners did, she was able to turn on the same “teacher” charm she used on back-to-school nights, lay the accent on a little thicker than she usually would, and tug at the heartstrings of multi-millionaires with a story of a seventh grader in one of her intro painting classes who had been treated for leukemia in the hospital’s oncology ward. They couldn’t write the checks fast enough. 

But Aly found herself at the bar a few hours in, next to Sammy as Vince smooth-talked someone she vaguely recognized as an exec for the Cardinals. Transitioning from friendship to being a couple, at least in regards to their social lives, had been much easier than she had thought. It had all just been so natural that people probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it hadn’t been for the looks she gave him, or her now-permanent spot on the “good chair” in the family box — that everyone else claimed was too lumpy but Aly swore up and down was the most comfortable place in the whole room  — or the time Colton had walked in on them hooking up in a supply closet at the Enterprise Center during a wine tasting with season ticketholders. But she had loved everything in their relationship so far, loved how welcoming all of the other WAGs were and how happy everyone had been for them when they finally got together. “God, it was about time,” Sammy had said. 

She could see that the person Vince was talking to had started making his way over to the reception table, where all the donations were being collected, and caught his eye just as he was being swept into yet another conversation. Vince liked people, there was no doubt about it, and he loved being able to help out a cause as incredible as the children’s hospital, but after almost four hours of schmoozing and small talk it was beginning to take a toll on even him. Aly gave him a tiny nod, a signal that anyone else probably would have missed, but one that Vince understood instantly. She was coming to get him. Alexandra was by his side in thirty seconds flat, her hand resting between his shoulder blades while she smiled apologetically to the man across from them. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got a headache and have had a bit too much to be driving myself home. Would you mind taking me?” 

Vince nodded, trying to keep his enthusiasm dampened. “Of course, babe. No problem.” He gave the businessman his best PR smile. “Sorry to have to leave so abruptly, but duty calls. Thank you so much for coming out tonight and supporting such a great cause, it really means a lot to me and the whole team.” With a perfunctory handshake, they began heading towards the exit, his hand gripping hers as they wove through the crowd. “Thanks for that, Aly,” he said as he opened up the passenger door for her. “I really was running on empty there.”

She smiled softly back at him. “Always.”

May 

Vince’s arm was draped casually over the back of Aly’s chair, his fingertips dancing over her shoulder. She was beaming up at the couple under the flower-covered wedding chuppah at the end of the aisle, leaning into Vince’s side. Her cousin Olivia was getting married, her and her soon-to-be wife Yara had been together for years and had finally decided to take the next step. When she got the invitation four months earlier, she hadn’t hesitated to invite Vince as her plus one. They had been dating for a little under a year by that point, but seeing as how most of her family was local — some of her mom’s family was in Wisconsin, but nobody really aside from that — he had already met everyone important. 

The ceremony went by in the blink of an eye, Yara and Olivia broke the glasses, and everyone began milling over towards the barn for the reception. Olivia and Yara had already met Vince some six months before, and had immediately taken to each other. The brides came over to their table after thanking everyone for coming, and dinner was served. She had never seen anyone eat as many dinner rolls in one sitting as Vince did.

---

“Alexandra!” Aly heard an excited voice from the other corner of the room over the cacophony of the music, and barely turned her head quickly enough to see who had called her name before she was pulled into a warm hug. 

Aly laughed when she saw who it was. “Nice to see you, Aunt Ruth. Aunt Ruth, this is Vince. Vince, this is my Aunt Ruth,” Aly said, gesturing to the woman across from them. 

Vince held out his hand, but Ruth waved it off. “We’re huggers here, Vince. She brought you to the wedding. You’re practically family.” She raised her eyebrows at the couple. “When’s it going to be your turn, hm?” 

Aly groaned. “Aunt Ruuuth.” 

Ruth shrugged. “I’m just saying. Your bubbe’s not getting any younger, and I’m sure she’d love to see some of her grandchildren with kids of their own.” 

“How about we, uh, get off of that subject,” Aly said, her cheeks burning. “That’s up to this one, after all,” she said, patting Vince on the arm. Vince ducked his head, understanding the grip of Aly’s hand on his arm as I love this woman but I swear to God if you don’t get me out of here I think I might combust.

He smiled apologetically to the older woman, feigning a glance at his watch. “The ceremony was amazing, Ruth, but I think I’ll have to be taking Aly home now. We’ve got early breakfast plans tomorrow and I’m sure you know how this one gets when she doesn’t get a full night of sleep.” Aly squeezed his hand in appreciation. 

“Of course,” Ruth said, smiling at the pair. She winked as they turned towards the door. “But think about it.” 

Aly ran her hand through her hair as soon as they turned the corner into the dirt parking lot. “Thanks for that, Vin. We don’t have breakfast plans, though?” 

Vince shrugged, an impish smile on his face. “Guess we do now.”

October

“I bought that tea you like,” Vince said from his spot on the couch. “I didn’t want you to be over here while you’re looking after Henry and run out.” Henry was Vince’s rottweiler, a rambunctious eleven month old that he had adopted at the middle of last season. 

Aly smiled as she opened the cupboard, seeing her prized brand of Irish Breakfast next to his favorite type of coffee. “Thanks for that, Vin.” 

He shrugged as the corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t mention it.” 

The Blues were about to leave for their first real road trip of the year, and it was an unspoken agreement by this time in their relationship that Aly would stay over at his apartment while he was away. Early on in the relationship, she’d just stop by a few times a week to water his plants, and then he got a few fish, and then Henry came along. It didn’t take much convincing from Vince for Aly to agree to look after them; Henry loved her almost as much as he did Vince, and getting to see him before and after school helped to curb some of the loneliness she felt in Vince’s absence. 

She turned down the hallway, taking her bag into his bedroom. He had a guest room that would have been just as convenient to stay in, but she had grown used to the feel of his sheets and liked having the ensuite bathroom. Plus, she had already not-so-subtly taken over one of the drawers in his dresser. Her bag had the jeans, button downs, and blouses she’d need for work — her school mostly adhered to a smart casual dress code, plus she was an art teacher — but there were plenty of sleep shirts, underwear, and leggings in the dresser. If push came to shove, she also wasn’t above stealing Vince’s old sweatshirts. He always said she looked better in them anyways. 

Even when Vince was back in town, she slept over enough for it to make sense for her to have a space of her own; it just wasn’t practical for her to have to drive fifteen minutes to her apartment and back again just to grab a shirt if she wanted to spend the night after a movie date ran long. They hadn’t broached the conversation of moving in together yet, though. It was something that had crossed Aly’s mind, and if she knew Vince as well as she thought she did, he had thought about it too. But she wasn’t in a hurry to break her lease and he hadn’t said anything about it, so she had decided to let sleeping dogs lie. 

She tucked her bag into the corner of his closet, padding into the bathroom and closing the door. She cursed herself as she pulled down her shorts, realizing that her period had started and, conveniently, her purse was out in the living room. Biting her lip, Aly decided to rummage around in the vanity, praying to God that she’d left something from the last time. It wasn’t like she thought Vince would be weird about it if she asked him to bring her something from her purse; he never had been before, even when she had bled through a pair of his sweats one night staying over. “Not a big deal,” he had said, shrugging and tossing them in the washing machine. “I needed to do laundry anyway.” But she’d rather not ask if she didn’t have to. She crossed her fingers as she pulled out the last drawer, her head turning to the side in confusion as she saw an unopened box of tampons. Her eyes softened in realization. He had bought them without her ever having to ask. 

January 

It was bye week for the Blues, which meant everyone who hadn’t been picked for the All Star Team suddenly had an extra week in the middle of the season and nothing to do to fill it. Or, rather, had a week in the middle of the season and had to find something to do to fill it. In Vince and Aly’s case, that something turned out to be a trip to the Bahamas with some of his teammates and their wives. It had been a no-brainer for him to invite Aly; everyone else was bringing their partners and Vince knew she had a few vacation days saved up from work. They had been planning it for months, Aly having requested the time off as soon as she was able, and had blissfully traded in the chilly winters of Missouri for a balmy week on the shores of Nassau.

Vince had wanted to go to Iceland originally, half to do with the hiking and half to do with the ponies he saw in a National Geographic article as a kid, but one Google search from Sammy led them to the unfortunate realization that being so far north, there were only about six hours of daylight each day and the temperature topped out in the mid 30s. Vince looked a little deflated when he read the forecast. “Don’t worry,” Aly had said, squeezing his arm in reassurance. “We can go in June, after school lets out and before you head home for the summer. I’ve heard amazing things about their hot springs.” Sammy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Aly hit his shoulder. 

But the Bahamas were proving to be one of the most beautiful places she had ever been. “Better than home?” he asked as they lay stretched out on the sand while they watched the sun dip below the horizon. 

She scrunched her nose at him. “Unfair comparison. St. Louis is hovering around freezing and perpetually covered in a layer of slush this time of year. And, to be fair, it’s an endearing layer of slush and I love it. But right now I think I’d rather be where it’s 75º and sunny and I can lay outside looking hot as hell in a bikini without worrying about freezing my tits off.” 

Vince choked on his rum punch. “Worried about that, are you?” 

Aly shrugged. “I’d rather deal with a sunburn. Which, speaking of,” she glanced over at Vince, “you’re looking a little red. Don’t worry, though. I’ve got as much aloe vera as I could pack in a single quart bag. Would have tried to sneak in a whole bottle, but didn’t want the feds after me.” 

Vince laughed, a whole body laugh that all but consumed him for a few moments, before pulling Aly in to rest against his chest. “I’m really happy you came, Aly. You know that, right?” 

“Why wouldn’t I? All-expenses paid trip to the Carribean with you and our friends, getting to hang out on the beach all day and drink cocktails without having to worry about driving home after?” 

Vince gasped in mock offense, the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her waist coming to clench at his heart. “You’re killing me here, Aly! You mean to tell me this whole time you’ve only been using me for my money? I expected more from you.” 

“Not just your money, Vin,” she giggled, settling into his touch. “I tried to pay for my share of the expenses, you wouldn’t have it. But seriously, I do really love it here. It’s gorgeous, and so peaceful, and there’s really not anything I think we could do to make it better. I love you, Vince Dunn.” 

“I love you too, Aly Kalinski.” 

April 

“One sec, I’ve got to go grab something,” Vince said, smiling at Aly as he pushed his chair back from the table. It was the day after he had come home from a two week road trip, and he had invited her over for dinner, told her to dress nice, and made what actually turned out to be a very respectable dinner of ravioli and roasted vegetables. 

She nodded as her heart started to pound faster and faster, coming to a peak when she thought her chest was going to burst as Vince returned from the bedroom, turning a blue velvet box over in his hands. “I know it might seem unexpected, but I saw this the other day while I was downtown with Sammy and I don’t know, just somehow knew you were meant to have it. Knew it was meant to be yours. Something I hope you’ll see as a sign of how much I love and care about you and how even though we might not always physically be together, you’re the person I trust most in this life.” 

He slid the box across the table to Aly, who opened it with shaking hands. Inside was a silver necklace with a pendant of an olive tree on it. It was absolutely gorgeous — and Vince was right, very her — but it was not what she had been expecting.

Aly snorted, burying her face into her hands. “Oh my God, I’m going to have to call my mom.” 

Vince was confused. “Why?” 

Aly rolled her eyes. “I told her I was coming over here for dinner and you told me to dress nice. She thought you were going to propose.” 

“Propose?” Vince asked, dumbfounded. “Why would I propose?” 

She tried to wave him off, but Vince could see the shimmer of hurt behind her eyes. “I mean, we’ve been together for almost two years. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.”

“Together?” He looked over at her. “For two years?” 

“Yeah?” she said slowly, thinking he had forgotten their anniversary. “Come June, two years.” 

Vince swallowed hard as it began to dawn on him, looking down at his hands. “Together...She thinks we’ve been together for,” he looked up at the ceiling, “twenty-one months.” 

“You keep repeating that word, babe. Together. What’s confusing about it?” Aly said, giving him a weird look.  

God, how was he supposed to tell her? “I didn’t know we were together. Are together? Let alone that your mom was expecting a proposal.” 

Aly’s blood ran cold. “Let me get this straight,” she said, pausing. “You didn’t know we’re together? What did you think we’ve been doing for almost two years?” 

“Being really good friends?” 

She shook her head. “Why did you tell me to dress up when I came over, then? Why did you make dinner?”

He fixed his eyes on a chip in the coffee table. “I knew you’d been having a rough week and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“What about the vacation?” She questioned.

He shrugged helplessly. “Everyone else was going in couples, and you’re my best friend down here regardless.” 

“Me coming to all the games? Sitting up in the box?” 

“You’ve become friends with all the WAGs, and I love having you there to support me,” he tried. 

“The sex?” Aly asked incredulously. 

Vince winced. Okay, that  one was a little harder to explain away. “I just always thought that we were both single, both hot, both too busy to get into relationships. Each other’s best options.” 

God, Aly felt like a fucking fool. She felt like she’d been played, because in a weird, sort of twisted way, she had. “You said you thought it was because we’re both too busy to be in relationships now. But Vince, I know you have no think energy out your ears, but I need you to concentrate for a minute. Think about most couples you know. They get together a few times a week if they don’t live together. We do that.” He nodded. 

“They have a drawer or a part of a closet at each other’s places, they look after each other’s plants and dogs when they’re out of town. We do that. They become friends with each other’s friends, they visit each other’s families, they take weekend trips together and fly to the Bahamas with friends when they have a week off. We did that.” She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “They dance around in the kitchen together and make love and go to the zoo at least once a month because I love seeing the otters. They comfort each other when they’re at their worst, encourage each other at their best. You said you didn’t have time for a relationship, but you didn’t realize that that’s what we’ve been doing, Vince.” 

Now it was Vince’s turn to be struck speechless. Aly wasn’t meeting his eyes. And honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He turned to look at her, but she had stood up abruptly from the couch, pacing nervously as she slowly made her way to the door. “I, uh, I think I should go,” she said, looking down at her hands. 

Vince stood up, taking a half step towards her before deciding that it was best to give her space. “No, Aly, you don’t have to go. We can talk. I think —”

“No, I think. I think you don’t feel the same way, and I’ve been misreading things for two years. And that’s fine, I can’t force you to fabricate feelings that aren’t there, so um. I’ll go,” Aly said, shaking her head stiffly. She opened the door and shut it, and Vince was suddenly stuck in the loudest silence he’d ever heard. It was like he couldn’t move for a minute, as if all of his muscles were paralyzed, and then he came back to reality. Aly had only been gone for maybe a minute at most, but it felt like an hour. 

Vince bolted out of the door, not even bothering to lock it, running straight past the elevator. Stairs would be quicker. He caught her just as she was exiting the front door, one of her hands coming up to wipe a stray tear off her cheek. “Aly!” Vince called. She hesitated for a moment but kept walking. Vince ran across the lobby, not even caring about his complete lack of shoes. “Aly! Wait up, please.” 

She turned around, eyes watering, and sighed, walking over towards one of the chairs with a defeated look on her face. She didn’t even sit down, just perched on the arm like she wasn’t quite comfortable with actually settling in, like she needed to be able to up and leave at any given moment. “Please, Vince. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. I’m not mad at you for not feeling the same way, it wouldn’t be fair of me and people can’t control their feelings, but I feel like a fucking idiot right now. Like I spent so long misreading all sorts of signs and signals and words —”

“What if you didn’t?” Vince asked breathlessly. 

Aly looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“What if you didn’t misread anything, Aly? What if you didn’t have to be mad at me for not feeling the same way, because I do?”

Aly sunk into the chair, her eyes meeting his for the first time since she had left his apartment. “Then why...Why did you not say anything? How did you not know we were in a relationship?”

Vince ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. “Because I thought that’s all you were going to give me. And if that was it, that was enough for me,” he smiled sadly. “I thought everything, the sex and the wedding and the Bahamas, was just me being a good friend and you needing a stress relief and someone who’d always be in your corner. I never knew this was supposed to be a relationship. I didn’t think you wanted anything serious. And I had resigned myself to that, come to terms with only getting stolen kisses on late nights and early-morning coffee runs before you had to head to school. If I only got you halfway, I was okay with it, because I love you and that was better than nothing.” 

“You what?” Aly’s breath caught in her throat. 

“I love you,” Vince said. It was the easiest thing he had ever admitted. Because it was true. 

He had told her he loved her before, but as Aly searched his face, she could tell that he meant it in a different way. In the way she always wanted him to. “You love me?” she asked, voice cracking. 

Vince nodded. “I do. I’m in love with you. And you don’t know how good that feels to admit.”

Aly gave an airy laugh, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear before Vince had a chance to get it for her. “I think I might.”

“I’ve just got one question, though,” Vince asked. 

“Which is?” 

He cracked a smile. “You’re not going to make us change our anniversary date, are you? It would be pretty weird to explain to everyone and I really don’t want Aunt Ruth to find out and show up at my door to chase me around with a chainsaw.”

Aly giggled, leaning over and placing an exhilarated kiss against his lips. “No.”

[girlsbtrs]

Me, Taylor, and The Search for Musical Legitimacy

Written by Lila Danielsen-Wong. Graphic by James Nida Grey.

As a child, whenever I took art classes, they were full of girls. I took group piano lessons with four other girls from my neighborhood. Any theatre I was involved in casted regardless of gender because there were never enough boys to fit a show. My middle school orchestra was about three quarters girls. 

It came as a shock that when I started getting involved in any songwriting I could do, I was suddenly in the minority. The few all-ages open mics I could go to were set up by dad-types and primarily populated by their friends of the same demographic. Teenage rock band-type boys dominated the non-classical learning spaces. 

However, this isn’t about them, this is about me, Lila Danielsen-Wong, a girl you’ve probably never heard of, and a girl you probably have heard of. Her name is Taylor Swift.

In 2010, I was a sixth-grade latchkey kid who spent a whole lot of time watching music videos on YouTube. Taylor Swift had just released her third studio album, Speak Now. Although many girls my age had been enchanted by Fearless, I was a pretentious and precocious preteen who was resistant to popular things, and was much more interested in niche Boston folk singer-songwriters like Antje Duvekot and Lori McKenna. 

However, niche Boston folk singer-songwriters don’t really make lots of YouTube content geared at middle schoolers, so the YouTube recommendations led me from my folk corner, to The Band Perry, to a song called White Horse. 

This snowballed into me listening to every Taylor Swift song on Youtube, to learning to play the piano chords to each of them, to writing complete songs of my own. Although I’d been writing simple piano melodies for years, songwriting now occupied every corner of my brain in nearly every free moment. When I learned Dear John, I decided it didn’t sound as good on piano, so I decided I needed to play it on guitar. I snuck into my mother’s room and learned to play an E chord. Soon, all I did was practice guitar and write songs. I wanted to write like she did, to articulate my feelings as well as she did, so precisely that everyone who listened understood not only me, but themselves better. However, I was not ready to publicly be someone who listened to Taylor Swift. Occasionally a YouTube comment would remove me from Taylor world and remind me “All of her fans are teenage girls.” At eleven I didn’t have the words or the context to understand why that so briskly discredited her. I knew it was an insult, and I knew it was an insult that worked. 

Flash forward two years, I was one of the youngest writers at a summer songwriter lab geared toward teens that one of the local theatres held yearly. Remember the rock boys I was talking about? This is when we became acquainted. We had just come back from writing songs in our randomly assigned groups. I had a hard time contributing, being a not-quite-high-schooler who’d never tried co-writing. One of the older girls was talking to the rock boys and I remember the conversation word for word. One of the rock boys asked her how the session went. She responded “eh, it was all girls,” to which the boy said “mine too, a lot of just-singer girls, you know cause of like, Taylor Swift.” They laughed and went on to complain about the younger songwriter girls who “don’t even know what they were doing.”

The conversation they were having, “Taylor Swift, a frivolous girly artist, is encouraging frivolous girls to come into our serious artist spaces and making them frivolous,” stuck with me through my teen years, and it wasn’t until recently that I started to understand. Taylor Swift found success because she could connect with girls like me, and I found my absolute favorite thing, my life calling, because of Taylor Swift; but Taylor Swift was being discredited because of me, and I was being discredited because of Taylor Swift. 

In older interviews, Taylor talks about how after the first time she went to Nashville to pitch herself to labels, she heard nothing. So she decided she needed to be different, and that’s when she started writing songs. At that moment, I realized that I was going to have to be (crucify me) “not like other girls” if I wanted to be taken seriously or have my ideas heard. The next day I came back to the young songwriters lab with my viola instead of my guitar, and managed to finesse my way into playing on nearly half the songs in the showcase. 

I don’t need a list of MLA cited sources to explain that art geared to girls and young women is dismissed. It is not a hot take to say that art created by young women is often instantly devalued. Taylor Swift wrote music about girls and young women for girls and young women, and she didn’t have much interest in being a sex symbol. Not that there’s anything wrong with female artists who use their sexuality, but Taylor Swift gave the men who gate-keep musical legitimacy nothing they wanted from her. Still, she wrote Speak Now with no co-writers before she was old enough to legally drink. She followed it up with Red, a diverse transition album that showed off her songwriting range. 1989 broke records, started an 80’s pop revival and seamlessly transitioned her into pop. Taylor Swift was everywhere, and yet I heard the same things echo. 

“She isn’t a real artist because she only writes about relationships.” 

“Her audience is just rabid fans who don’t know anything about real music.”

“She’s just a pop star who won’t stand the test of time.”

I spent the tail end of 2015 writing songs that emulated the rhythmic lyrics of 1989, but if anyone asked who my musical influences were, I’d often omit her and stick with niche Boston folk singer-songwriters. Me and my music were not going to get pegged as a naive and shallow fangirl.

It was my freshman year of college. I was at my local state school because I couldn’t really afford to go to any of the music programs I wanted to go to, when I ran into a friend who I knew from the songwriting labs. She invited me to the guitar club that she ran, and of course I went. Although the rock boys weren’t the majority numbers wise, they dominated the room. They asked about my beat up Guild guitar. Impressed with how I inherited it from a rocker guy my dad works with, they encouraged me to play a song. I pulled out my most meticulously crafted coming-of-age ballad, and let them hear my line, “we’re all cynics and romantics, it’s semiotics and semantics,” to which they responded “cute song.” 

With the release of Folklore and Evermore, there’s been a shift. After teaming up with Aaron Desner of the National and Bon Iver, Taylor got a bit of that male approval that she never really needed. Pitchfork commented, with surprise, that Folklore showed “some real signs of maturity.” Each album that an artist releases should probably be more mature than the last. Surprise at lyrical maturity from a 30-year-old songwriter who penned lines like “you come away with a great little story of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you” as a teen, comes across a little underhanded. 

Much of the next generation of musicians have been influenced by Taylor. Conan Grey’s TikTok hit Heather was based on Last Kiss. Rising it-girl Olivia Rodrigo is a hardcore fan. Even Phoebe Bridgers, who has been memed as “Taylor Swift for girls with crumbs in their beds” or “Taylor Swift for people whose parents still love each other” lists Taylor Swift as an influence. Although this new shift is one for Taylor Swift and not a change in the ingrained biases against women and their art, I wonder if it’s going to trickle down to the artists she influenced. 

My favorite line in Evermore, Swift’s latest studio album ft. sad dad rock, comes in the second verse of Coney Island. In this song, Matt Berninger of The National slides in and out, singing lines in less predictable blocks than in other Swift collaborations. Together, Swift and Berninger coo “do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there/will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care.” It’s funny to hear one of the world’s biggest superstars share a line so monumental to the album. I wonder if it’s because she knows how much louder it will be when a man is holding up the low ends. 

[flokive]

weather boy - cth

description: fratboy!cal au with a LOT of vine references // part two of a 4 part series: a year in the life of calum and his roommate. part one is right here writers note: don’t really have a lot to say actually, i just really really really hope you all like it!! xx wordcount: 1965

warnings: none really, just a lot of pining over each other and some drinking?

//

winter

++

It's nearly 12 am when Calum finally walked into the living room, wearing only his pajama trousers, with a big grin on his face. You took a quick glance at his torso as he stretched with a soft yawn and plumped next to you on the couch. Your cheeks turning a soft pink when you feel the warmth radiating off of his body. His familiar scent greeting your nostrils, making you want to nuzzle your face in his neck and never leave. It took you some willpower to not go right ahead and press your lips on his, letting your fingers run through his hair. Your thoughts get interrupted by Calum’s sleepy voice.

"God, Gilmore. Is there ANYthing better than pussy?” You let out a big sigh, put down your book, and looked your brown-haired friend in his eyes. "A really good book." You tried to keep a stern and serious face but the moment Calum recognized the words, his face lit up and he started to laugh, causing you to fail in keeping your stern look. “God, woman. Do you ever, not, speak in vine references?” You shook your head and laughed, quickly patted Calum’s leg, and continued reading your book as Calum turned on the tv. Both of you enjoying each others company and your Saturday morning.

++

When you walked in your living room after a long day of studying and hoping for some peace and quiet, you stumbled upon your roommate and some random girl making out on your couch. The very couch you wanted to claim for the rest of the night to watch Gilmore Girls and eat pizza. You growled and dropped your heavy book bag, startling the two lovebirds. 

“Fuck.. this shit. I’m out.” You huffed angrily and stormed out of the apartment, tears started to form in your eyes.

“Hey! Babe, wait up!” Calum yelled as he ran after you, getting a hold of your wrist, making you stop in your tracks. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, “I didn’t know you would be home so soon.” He apologized softly, tugging your arm to try and get you to turn around. You blinked furiously, trying to get your eyes back to normal before facing your roommate. Apparently, you didn’t quite succeed because when Calum got a good look at your face, his eyebrows knotted and a sad expression showed in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered softly, cupping your face, his eyes tried to meet yours. “Nothing.” You said flatly, trying to avoid looking into his eyes. “Look at me,” Calum demanded, holding your face a little bit tighter, and you had no choice but to finally meet his gaze. Tears formed in your eyes when you thought back at the moment you saw him sitting there, with another strange girl. 

“Hey…” his voice was soft in your eyes, making you tear up even more. “Talk to me, petal.” You shook your head, clearly not wanting to talk about what made you tear up. “Just,” you spoke softly, barely audible. “Just leave me alone, Calum.” You tried to pry loose from his grab, he let you. “Just, you have a guest to entertain. I’ll be fine.” Calum opened his mouth to say something in return but you just shook your head, turned on the back of your heels, and walked away from your roommate. Leaving him speechless and confused. He couldn’t really figure out what he had done to make you feel sad. 

As badly as he wanted to follow you, pull you close and comfort you, he knew you didn’t. So he left, walked back to the apartment, only to find the blonde girl he didn’t know the name of waiting for him, wearing a very short dress, leaving nothing to the imagination. Trying to get the image of you crying out of his head, the took off his shirt and guided the blonde to his bedroom. When the girl finally left the apartment, he was regretting the decision to take the girl back to your apartment in the first place. She had only been a distraction, to get his feelings out of the way, knowing they’d probably stay unrequited. Something that had obviously failed when he saw your face again the morning after.

As a few days go by, the two of you haven’t really spoken a word about what happened. You kinda went back to how things were, just having fun as friends and nothing more, really. All though, you noticed, there clearly were less girls staying over in the apartment than before.

++

*Please, help, this girl just won’t LEAVE!* 

Calum texted you, your grunt muffled by your cushion. You have been lying awake all night, partly because of the noise Calum made when he came home drunk, again, with some random girl, again. Partly because you’ve been crying in your bed all night, thinking about Calum. About the other girl now laying in his bed, probably nuzzled against his broad chest, sulking up his fragrance, feeling his soft touch all over her body. Obviously, the feelings you had for your roommate never really faded away since the last time you saw Calum together with a girl.

Your phone buzzed again, an awkward, pouty faced selfie lit up your screen, a text reading ‘pretty please’ arriving soon after. You huffed in annoyance as you stand up, bitter thoughts that he only needed you when you needed to scare away some chick, swirled around in your brain. With your sweatpants in your hands, you looked in the mirror, hanging on your bedroom door. Looking at your reflection, you saw yourself standing there, your legs bare and your ass barely covered up by one of Calums t-shirts you snatched out of the fresh laundry a few weeks ago. 

A devilish smile appeared on your face, thinking about how Calum’s face would change if you were to walk into his room, barely covered, wearing his favorite shirt. You threw your sweats back on your bed and decided to change your casual underwear to some lacey panties. “Go big or go home, Gilmore.” you whispered to your self as you took one last glance in the mirror.

"I didn’t get no sleep ‘cause of y’all! You’re never getting sleep ‘cause of me!” You yelled, barging into the Calum room, beating on some pans, startling your roommate, and the girl laying next to him. “The fuck…” Calum starts but quickly trailed off when he sees you wearing his old Led Zeppelin tee. His eyes traveled up and down your body, lingering, maybe too long, on your exposed ass when you raised your arms to bang on the pans. He never really noticed your bare legs, the way your body looked, hidden away under his t-shirt. His… t-shirt. He slowly licked his lips at the thought of you wearing more, and less, of what’s actually his.

“What the fuck?!” A shriek next to him made Calum peel his eyes away from your ass, looking at the girl next to him. “Aren’t you going to do something about this?!” The blonde girl screamed, frantically pointing at your crazy roommate. He shrugged, the girl exclaimed some profanity’s and quickly got up, gathered her stuff and ran out of the apartment. 

“Good one..” Calum breathed shakily, still checking you out. You gave him a weak smile, dropped the pans on his bed, and walked out of his room, giving a little bit more sway in the way you walked than you did before. 

“Damn Gilmore,” Calum whispered as you closed the door to your own bedroom, “damn, you look good in my shirt.”

++

It’s the first time you came along to a frat party together with Calum. When you entered the big, white fraternity house, you immediately spotted the heads of Calums friends and eventually also Calum’s brown curls. You greeted them with a shy smile, gave Calum a tight hug, and looked around you, watching the boys and girls dancing on tables and playing games like beer pong. 

“Just, grow a fucking pair dude and talk to her.” You heard Calum tell someone. You shifted your attention back to your roommate’s friends and saw that he was talking to Kyle. “What the fuck is up Kyle..” Calum stated jokingly, making you smile. Kyle said something you couldn’t quite understand, but joined Calum anyway. 

“No what did you say, what the fuck dude.” Calum started laughing and joined you in yelling the last line. “Step the fuck up KYLE!!” The boy shook his head at the sight of the two on you and mumbled something like, “you really are perfect for each other,” as he stumbled away, getting another drink before stepping up to the girl they were talking about.

“Well,” you laughed and took a sip of the drink Calum just made you, “the pep talk worked. Look!” You pointed at the couple, now kissing against the stairwell. “Of course it worked, doll.” Calum slurred, he took another gulp of his beer as he casually slung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close. The heath crept up your neck and cheeks as Calum casually brushed his lips against your ears, slowly swaying his hips against yours on the rhythm of the music. 

Roses pumped out of the many speakers surrounding the two of you, empty bottles of beers were scattered around the room, people danced on tabletops and you never wanted to leave the arms of your roommate. A new red cup got pushed in your hands by Calum, him still holding you close as the song transitioned to Filthy by Justin Timberlake. Calums laugh ringed in your ears as he recognized the tune and quickly turned you around so the two of you were dancing face to face. 

He quickly downed his beer, you’ve lost count how many had been drinking. He began dancing in robot-like movements, quickly changing to sexier dance moves as the song progressed. “All my haters gon' say it's fake. I guess I got my swagger back.” A devilish grin appeared on his face. “I said, put your filthy hands all over me.” His index finger beckoned you to come closer. “Baby, don't you mind if I do. Exactly what you like times two. Got me singin', ooh, ooh’.” His lips found your earlobes again, the words he sang gave you goosebumps everywhere on your body.

As the music swelled, the alcohol took more control of your body and you found yourself grinding with Calum. His hands lay on your exposed hips and his face was buried in your hair, your mind wandered to the things that could happen if the two of you were to continue dancing like this. Your left hand met his neck, your fingers intertwined with his hair, your right hand swayed with you to the music. The two of you danced like you didn’t have a care in the world, the two of you completely living in the moment.

The filthy song changed into Kill The Lights and the moment the two of you had, stopped as quickly as it started. A lot of whoo’s echoed in the packed living room as Calum’s friends joined you again, holding new, freshly made drinks. You quickly stepped back, letting go of the man’s neck and accepted the drink. The vodka slightly burned your throat as you gulped it down, trying to drown out what just happened. The alcohol made you looser, made you lose your carefully built wall to protect you against everything and everyone. The wall you build to keep the feelings you’ve been building up all these weeks, in a dark corner of your mind, trying to not give in and finally accepting that you really were falling in love with your roommate.

 //

taglist: @ashtonsos - @another-lonely-heart​ - @calmlftv - @cthofficial​ - @easierlftv​ - @kingcals​ - @lonely-hearts​ -  @spicycal​ 

want to be added to my taglist? let me know

[karmamiakat]

Hazbin Streem #7 Info!

We got a lot of juicy info this time especially on Alastor and Angel with a little bit on Apple Daddy. Please also note, I may have skipped some by accident and most info is generally non spoily stuff with some being “What if”s for fans. (Like What if Angel saw fanfic of himself, ect.) I added this to help fans who RP as the characters out a little bit.

Apple Daddy would eat twinky weenie sandwiches.

We’re never going to see Al’s feet since he stays covered all the time. His shoes do leave deer hoof prints. That is still a thing and fun detail to him.

The Ethnicity of the characters are still being developed, though Viv said their ethnicity won’t be a huge part of their back stories but also said because Nifty’s voice actress can speak Japanese, she’s been thinking about writing the character as Japanese. Angel is Italian and Alastor is a mix. Vaggie is Salvadorian.

Angel and Arackniss are 100% opposites.  

Alastor does sing in the shower.

Alastor was living his best life as a Radio Star before he died. It makes one wonder, what could possibly cause him to become so sinister?

Angel would think all the fanfics about him are hilarious. (Probably cringe at the VaggieXAngel, though this is my guess, not anything Viv said! XD I am a SpiderMoth shipper but even I know that canon wise, he’d probably cringe at it!) Alastor would be completely confused and a little violated by it but won’t show it. He’d narrow his eyes and slowly walk away (probably planning the demise of said writers…Again added that part for comedy. Not what Viv said.). Vaggie probably wouldn’t like it unless it was a really cute one. Charlie would just be confused.

The Grim Reaper is not going to be in Hazin Hotel but a character representing him will. Who is this character? We’ll find out in the future! He’s going to be different from other representations though.

Most the main cast including Alastor were human first before ending up in Hell. (Old info but I wanted to add that for clarification.)

How do Husk and Charlie meet? That’s in the pilot! Stay tuned!

Sorry, Chalastor fans, Alastor doesn’t have secret feelings for Charlie (confirmed by Viv) but as Viv always says ship who you want. It’s not really good for writers and creators to do what the fans want all the time anyway. If you wish to be a good creator, don’t go by what the fans want because they have their own intentions, not yours. You might end up ruining what you originally intended if you just follow what the fans want. Plus, not all fans will like what you do anyway and if you let them walk all over you, then your work is not your own work anymore but a mess.

Alastor would love post modern juke boxes!

Alastor, when he use to be just the deer, was afraid of dogs. This changed during the development and now he’s no longer afraid of them, just thinks their stupid mongrels but he also hates them because they were one of the causes of his death. (My guess by a hunter or a police dog.)

Angel has a huge extended family and most are in Hell! Alastor is an only child and has no siblings.

Alastor would like Willy Wonka because he’s kind of a jerk but still fantastical. Alastor has this weird thing about him where he would like some that are like him but if they’re too much like himself, he would like them. While on the subject, Apply Daddy and Willy Wonka have a lot in common as well.

Angel would be banned from Medieval Times Restaurant for being too drunk and trying to make out with one of the jousters.

Angel’s head is odd in front and that is why his head is always seen on the side. When seen front face, his hair sticks up like a cockatoo because his head is constantly transitioning to one side.

Everything of the show depends on the funding for it. Though, while the show is in the talks, there will be some content such as comics and back stories to keep us fans dreaming and hoping for more! Let’s wish her luck guys and continue on with that support she and the cast needs!

[sad-boy-mono]

Character and Relationship Backstory and an update from me

Hey y'all! I have an update on where I've been at the end of this post for those of y'all who have been following Highschool Casualties and are wondering where I went, but if you've just stumbled across this I don't want to throw a long and random explination at ya!

Haven’t read the main story yet?

Heres the Tumblr Masterpost and the Ao3 link!

The characters

Damien Haas

16, sophomore in high school. Hardcore musical theater kid from grades 4-8. Loves to sing and shit. Got quite a few bigger roles early on. Things got busy freshman year, so he had to put things on hold.

(Favorite musical is probably falsettos or something idk I'm not a theater kid.)

(That's a lie, I'm just a bad theater kid XP)

Fucking loves superhero movies and shit because haha irony.

Favorite class is Drama, least favorite is math. Because math is hard and temporary but Shakespeare is forever.

Has an irrational fear of doctors, dentists, and needles due to some surgical mishaps that occurred when he was young. Also has a fear of the ocean.

Deals with anxiety and frequent panic attacks.

Shayne Topp

15, sophomore in high school. Really fucking loves football, but not on the team. He wanted to be, but he use to be friends with some of the people on the football team. And they... weren't the best to say the least. They were bad influences and caused Shayne to do bad things. He's no longer friends with them, but still goes to the games with Courtney and Damien to cheer on Courtny's brothers who are on the team.

Favorite class is probably woodworking, least favorite is math. Because math is hard and temporary but birdhouses are forever.

(Though he's actually really good at math, like he has the capability to take honors and do well. It just isn't fun.)

Doesn't know how to ride a bike and can't swim. Deep water freaks him out.

Has a huge fear of hurting other (because haha irony) and always puts his friends before himself.

Courtney Miller

14, freshman in high school. Loves writing and art. Has a lot of sketchbooks, but most of them are half filled. At this point she just collects cool sketchbooks.

Also love film/acting/drama but has a lot of anxiety around performing, so she ends up being on her school's tech crew. She's really good at editing, and has a passion for behind the scenes work around productions.

Favorite musical is Heathers.

Favorite class is her painting and art history class, least favorite is math. Because math is hard and temporary but art is forever.

Struggls a lot with school. Doesn't have many friends outside of Shayne and Damien, even when it comes to her tech crew. Generally on bad terms with "friends" (bullies) from middle school.

Doesn't enjoy the other people in her class. A few of them are former (or current) bullies from middle school.

Relationships

Damien and Shayne

Met in the first grade, became friends in a very first-grader-like manner.

Shayne: Hey I like your pokemon shirt

Damien: Oh thanks, you wanna play with trucks?

Shayne: Yeah sure.

They’ve been best friends ever since.

They had a bit of a falling out from mid 7th through 8th grade because of the guys Shayne hung out with. They were your average middle school douchbags but a lil worse.

Things got sorted the summer following 8th grade.

When they started high school, Shayne’s older brother would pick Damien up and give him a ride to school every morning; even though Damien was in walking distance.

But a month-ish before their freshman year, Shayne’s family ended up moving closer to Damien’s, because a tree fell through Shayne’s house during a terrible storm that hit their town. Even though it hypothetically could've been fixed, the house was old so they took it as a sign to just move.

Shayne is the only person who knows about Damien's anxiety outside of his family, and is who Damien goes to when he's having heighted anxiety or a panic attack.

They also bond over their fear of water strangly often.

Shayne and Courtney

Courtney’s family moved across the street from Shayne’s family when Courtney was in the 7th grade and Shayne was in the 8th. And after the initial family intoductions when the Millers first moved in, Shayne never talked to Courtney. Until about a month later, when he was home alone and Courtney knocked at his door.

After Shayne asked 'what's up?' Courtney asked if they could be friends.

“Do you know how to play smash?” Shayne asked.

Courtney sighed and let out a defeated ‘no’ and began walking away from the door.

“Ok, I’m gonna teach you how to play.”

They would hang out quite a bit until Shayne moved, but they still talked a lot.

Shayne later found out that Courtney would go door to door asking for friends. Shayne was the first and only person who had actually said yes.

Most people mistake them for siblings and when they find out they aren’t related, they assume they’re dating.

Shayne treats Courtney like a little sister and is very protective of her.

Shayne was fucking LIVID when he found out Courtney was being bullied. As much as he wanted to fight them, Courtney talked him down from doing so.

He still did the whole 'don't fuck with Courtney or I will fucking kill you' big brother thing. It did the trick for a while. When you're a very athletic 15 year old, it's easy to intimidate people that are younger than you.

Courtney hasn't told him about... the current bullies though.

Courtney and Damien

Met through Shayne. He made a group chat with the 3 of them that Shayne named “Operation Friendship”. Since Shayne and Damien weren't on speaking terms when Shayne and Courtney became friends they never had a chance to meet.

But they didn’t meet in person until Courtney’s first day of high school, where the 3 of them had their first class together, conveniently...

Anytime they play video games, a conversation along this happens.

"Courtney where did you learn to play this game?"

"...Shayne"

"Explains why you suck"

"HEY!"

(Shayne) "HEY!"

------

Hey! Thank you so much for reading! It's been awhile hasn't it. Yeah, I'm sorry. My life has been all over the place for the past few months and I've been struggling to find the motivation to write. I don't want to specifics because it's not only very personal, but a long story.

But to summerize why I sorta dissapeared, I had a lot of personal issues going on with both school and home and as my mental health was on this steady, but consistent, decline, it was at its very lowest in December. My home issues had reached their peak, and with the end of the quarter coming up after Xmas break and my weeks worth of late work coming back to bite me, I was too stressed to work on anything I found enjoyable without losing motivation immidiently.

Things didn't start getting better for me until some time early in semester 2 of my year. My school was transitioning back into fully in person with covid rates at their lowest in my area and things were finally feeling consistant again, but I was still getting my bearings. School still felt draining, though much less than before, and I didn't have much energy to work on things I was passionate about. I don't think I even made a new document for chapter 6 until mid-ish March.

I'm very nervious about coming back to this story after so long for many reason. First being, although I am feeling better mentally, things feel very off with writing this story. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of passion to write this story and want to see it to completion, I've just had a fluxuating interest in smosh aswell. I enjoy the channel, just not as much as I use to. And my hyperfixation on Smosh was a big drive for me writing the story. Second being that I have so much writers block around the sixth chapter of this story, and I'm worried that as soon as I try to work on it, that block will make me lose my motivation again and I'll put it off for another 6 months.

This "chapter" (idk what else I'd call this) has probably been fully finished in my drafts for about a month now, and I've been putting off posting it because of those listed anxieties, but I really want to continue writing this story so I hope you enjoyed!

Also sorry if this explination was all over the place, I just got my first covid vaccine today and am feeling kinda bleh.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter three: fire and lemons

“i'm goin' back, of course i am! as if i ever had a choice. back to what i always knew i was on the inside. back to what I really am.” -”burning bright (field on fire)”, nine inch nails

It would be another couple of days before Sam heard a peep from Joey again. In the meantime, she had picked up Metallica's phone numbers given she knew she would have more encounters with them in and around their shows, and she made a promise to a tipsy Lars to share some of her drawings when she found the chance.

Cliff offered to take Sam home but she had already been promised a ride from Marla, Frank, and Charlie back up to the Bronx; Joey hitched a ride with them given he was in no shape to drive back upstate. The last thing she saw before she left the restaurant was Cliff's thoughtful facial expression, there right behind James and Kirk; Legacy, meanwhile, were headed on back to their hotel somewhere down in Manhattan. Sam peered out the car window in time to see that boy with the little white tuft in his hair at the curb: darkness shrouded his face but she could make out the shape of the small piece of white through it all.

The warm spring night greeted her and Frank once the two of them had returned to the apartment complex for the night: Sam's knee still ached a bit as she took the steps up to her place, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it used to be before. She made a mental note to head on back to Frank's apartment to fetch that journal and make some more drawings, that time to show to Lars.

In the meantime, she used a small journal she had delved out from the bottom of her bag for doodles. She kept her mind fixated on Cliff, especially since she knew it was him at that point. Indeed, when she fell asleep on the couch that night, he appeared in the wake of her dream. The white stripe bled away into darkness and into a pair of snakes atop his head. His handsome face gazed back at her like the old stone face of a statue.

It wasn't him, but it also was. The man of her dreams, same as he ever was and always will be to her. He was in between something, somewhere, someone who graced the earth. It was Cliff. It wasn't Cliff. Somewhere in between there.

She reached out to touch him, to feel him, to get to know him, and yet he drifted away from her, much like that of a ghost in the shadows. He wondered around her as if he was about to circle his prey, but he never said anything. His deep set eyes watched her, even as he walked behind her and underneath her.

She awoke with her arms outstretched before her, such that they dangled over the edge of the couch cushions. She let her fingers curl back towards the base of her palm. So close and yet so far away from her.

Sam also recalled the promise she made to Joey, to go and hang out with him at some point that week. She had made a couple of calls to him over the course of two days but he never picked up once. She did, however, pick up his answering machine and the sound of his soft voice coupled with his distinct upstate accent. Every single time she did, she closed her eyes to relish in it.

“Hey, this is Joey Belladonna—I'm either out jammin' or playin' hockey, but you can leave a message if you'd like, please and thank you.”

It was only for a few seconds, but it was something.

He finally made the call back to her early one morning, but she was quick to pick it up there in the kitchen as she began to brew a small pot of coffee for herself.

“Hey, my li'l Sam I am,” he greeted her in a soft, broken voice.

“Hey, Joey! I've been wondering what's been going on with you.”

“I had a feelin' that was the case.” A gentle crackling noise on his end caught her attention.

“Is everything okay?” she asked him. “You don't sound good.”

“I just woke up,” he answered, “I haven't been able to get back to ya 'cause I was nursin' the hangover.”

“Oh, I see.”

“It was also one of those things where it was like—I kept forgetting to get back to you. That's kinda my fault, though. I kept forgetting and by that point, it was always like almost midnight and I figured you had already gone to sweet. So—but here I am now! How is everything?”

“Oh, you know,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders, “—just waiting to hear back from the admissions desk at my school and doodling and whatnot. I can foresee hope of paying my rent soon.”

“That's so good,” he remarked and the crackling noise emerged from the background again. “So, uh—what you wanna do when we see each other again?”

“What do you have in mind?” Sam leaned back against the edge of the counter and folded her arms across her chest.

“Well, Metallica's coming back out this way—not this week but next Friday, I think? They haveta finish up on some important stuff for their new record. Apparently they recorded it over in Denmark so they left for there just last night and then they're comin' back here.”

“Wow. Why Denmark?”

“I dunno—sump'n 'bout the studio being cold so everything stands out better. Scott, Frankie, and Charlie know about it way more than I do. Legacy are comin' back over this way around then, too. I guess they'll be playing at L'Amour again.”

“Oh, how fun! I'd like to see them again—I wanna get to know them more.”

“Right? They're kind of at the tail end of this whole wave going around here and back out West, too. This wave of... 'speed metal' as it's known. Everyone is calling Metallica, Anthrax, and two other bands outta California, Megadeth and Slayer, as like the ones who're leading the way. Like the big ones.”

“The big four?” she followed along.

“Yeah, they're like the big four! The big four of the whole thing. And Legacy are kinda at the tail end of it 'cause they started a little later and they're still shuffling around.”

“A 'transition stage' as Zelda described it,” she recalled. “And you're part of it!”

“And I'm part of the big four! It almost feels like a movement of sorts. Although Anthrax to me feels like the oddball of the bunch 'cause y'know, we're from New York and those guys are all from your neck of the woods in California.”

“But they all frequent out this way, though,” she pointed out. “At least Metallica and Legacy do anyway.”

“They all do, yeah—we should meet up with Megadeth and Slayer at some point. The couple of times I got to meet Slayer, they were—for lack of a better word—fucking badasses. These seemingly scary looking dudes but they were real cool, though. Real friendly and genuine buncha guys. I haven't met Megadeth yet, though. We all should have a big party together some day.”

“All the parties and all the rage,” she remarked.

“All the parties and all the rage, all the world's a stage,” he waxed.

“That's good, you should write that down.”

“I ain't no song writer, though. Some people are good at that sorta thing—I don't really see myself as that.”

“But that was good, though! I liked that, Joey. You should do something of your own some day, like Stormtroopers of Death.”

“Do my own shtick and release under the label down there in the City,” he joked.

“Yeah, exactly!”

“But anyways, that's next week when Metallica are coming back from Denmark, though,” he continued, that time in a serious tone. “What about this week and before you hear back from the school people is what you wanted to know, though.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, let's see—I'm not doin' anything together. And I haven't been able to do anything, either, 'cause—you know.”

“Hungover.”

“Hungover—that lasted a little more than a day, too. But I'm back and invigorated, though.” He fell silent for a second, and the rustling noise caught her attention once again.

“What's that sound?” she asked him.

“What sound?”

“I keep hearing like this crackling sound on your end.”

“Oh, I'm layin' on my couch and there's a bunch of newspapers down on the floor and I keep brushing my foot up against it. Sometimes I don't even pay attention to what I'm doin' when I'm on the phone and—ah, shit—” More crackling on his end.

“What happened?”

“I kicked it over—hang on a sec.” Silence fell on his end: she could hear him shuffling around and doing something off of the phone. But within time, he returned to the phone and let out a long low whistle. “Here's an idea—how 'bout I drive on down there to the Bronx and come on over to your place and we play by ear there?”

“Sounds good. I'll be waiting for you.”

“It's gonna be a while—like—well, you've been up here before. It takes a while to get on down there. So—take a shower if ya wish. I know I'm gonna do that.”

“You wanna look good for me?” she teased him.

“Well...”

“Well?” She raised her eyebrows even though he couldn't see her.

“I won't deny it, but I also need a shower,” he finished in a single breath. “I smell like an empty liquor bottle.”

“Oh, yeah—get in that shower, big fella.”

He laughed at that and within time, they hung up, and Sam made her way to the bathroom for a warm shower and a fresh change of clothes. She knew she would have to return home from her day with Joey soon enough given the thought about her attending school hung over her. An excuse to get away from there and a reason for him to get away from that awful feeling.

Indeed, as the warm water cascaded over her head and shoulders, she figured she could help him out of that. That night in the alleyway told her that he was a boy in need of help. There was no way she could fix him but she could at the very least be a friend to him and dig him out of the alleyway once again.

Within time, she had dried off and ran a brush through her hair. A knock on the door caught her attention and she flung it open to find Joey standing there in a little white shirt and fitted black jeans. His jet black flyaway curls glistened under the ambient sunlight of the hallway and his sun kissed skin looked so soft and smooth. His black Chuck Taylors fitted his feet like a new pair of gloves. Meanwhile, the marker ink had stayed intact on his dark skin even after a couple of days and after he had cleaned up for her.

She noticed a flat silvery metallic band on his right wrist: something she hadn't seen before with him.

“What, no flowers?” She was taken aback.

“Was I supposed to get ya flowers?” he asked her, slightly hurt.

She hesitated for a second, and then she realized what she had done.

“Can I ask you a question?” she started.

“Yeah, sure,” Joey raised his dark eyebrows at her.

“Is this your first date?”

He stopped with his eyebrows still raised up into his bangs. She gazed into those dark irises.

“You really wanna know?”

“Please.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Is this a date?” he asked her.

“It's a date if you want it to be one,” she pointed out. “It can be a play date.”

“Nah, it's a play date if you and I are jammin' together.” He hesitated. “Do you—”

“Do I what?” She turned her head a bit to make sure her purse was within her arm's length on the hook.

“Play an instrument at all?” he finished with a bit of reluctance.

“I don't. I probably should, though.”

“Yes, you totally should.” His face lit up at that. She showed him a smile and then she reached to her right for her purse.

“Shall we?” she started.

“Yeah, let's,” he said as he lifted his elbow up for her to link up. She slung the purse over her shoulder and she closed the door in one fell swoop. The two of them made their way outside to the bright sunlight and the fresh aroma of springtime. Joey reached into his jeans pocket for his mirrored sunglasses: with one hand, he put it on over his dark eyes and his straight Roman nose. The lenses shone in the bright yellow light; Sam squinted her eyes once they reached the sidewalk.

“There's a little park over here,” Joey told her with a point up the block. “Like, around the corner. We can hang out and take a walk around the place.”

“Is there a lake or something there?” she asked him as she shielded her eyes from the midday sun with her free hand.

“I don't think so,” he confessed. “I didn't see one. I also saw a hockey rink not too far from here.”

“You wanna show me a little round of hockey, don't ya?” she teased him.

“If ya don't mind,” he replied with a little shrug of his shoulders and a lopsided little smile.

“Can we walk?”

“We can,” he said, and he ran his fingers through the fine, minute ringlets on the side of his head.

Joey linked up his right elbow with her left and they strolled together down the sidewalk to the corner. Sam peered past him to the narrow side street and she spotted the narrow strip of grass which he called the park.

“That's more like a dog park,” she declared.

“Yeah, now that I look at it—I imagine a bunch'a little dogs running around there now that I really look at it.” He lifted the sunglasses from his face for a moment; once they crossed the pavement, he brought them back down. She spotted the hockey rink in question, a long low dark building set back from the blacktop.

“I should've brought my skates with me,” he confessed over the noise of the street. “But then again, I don't think either of us can go onto the ice without one of us asking.”

“You could always say you're a hockey player,” she suggested as they looked both ways before they crossed the street.

“Yeah, but I'd need to do a little more than just say it, though,” he pointed out. Stray, damp black curls flew out from the back of his head as he led her across the first two lanes of the street. He paused at the center divider to let her catch up to him.

“You sure can run fast,” she remarked with a bit of a pant.

“That's part of the trade,” he replied with that lopsided grin back on his face. “Here—” He extended his hand for her and he guided her across the other two lanes to the sidewalk and ultimately, the hockey rink. Joey's black curls sprawled over his shoulders once they were in repose so as to catch their breath.

“For a skinny little guy, you sure are strong and full of stamina,” she said as she adjusted the strap of her purse.

“As I said, it's part of the trade. The strength of the whole thing will make you help the others find it for themselves. C'mon...” He led her to the hockey rink, which had been closed for the springtime, but he was willing to look in through the front window at the dark front room. She joined in next to him: through the cold shadows, she could make out the sight of a low bench and a series of lockers on the side of the wall.

“God, this takes me back,” he said in a low voice. “It seems like a lifetime ago since I would sit on a bench like that and lace up and put on my knee pads and my jersey.”

He turned to her with a serious expression on his face.

“Do ya think maybe you'd be up for a game of hockey at some point in the future?” he suggested. “I can show you how to do it if you don't know anything.”

“It'll be a while, though, Joey,” she pointed out.

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” he nodded at her with haste. “But I wanna show you the world that came before I turned into Joe the singing drummer—or Joe the drumming singer, whichever suits best. And I'll see if I can find a pair of skates for ya. And now that we bring it up, I kinda wanna show you something...” His voice trailed off and he turned his head. Without hesitating, he ducked over to a white plastic pipe laying on the grass. She stood there before the window and watched him.

“I was a goalie for a long time,” he called out; he held the end of the pipe with two hands, and he held it down by his slim waist. He spread his legs so it looked as though he was about to brandish a sword. “I did act as offense and defense a few times in the past, but I was mostly a goalie.”

“Did you have those big pads on your knees?” she asked him with a gesture down to her own knees.

“Oh, yeah—they stuck onto my knees and went all the way down to my ankles. I had these big oven mitts for gloves to protect my hands. You don't really think of the goalies taking a lotta shit, but we do. Well, I did, anyway. I got hit in the head and in the stomach a lot. Anyways, I'm holdin' this pipe like this 'cause you never wanna raise the hockey stick any higher than this. Any higher and you hit the guy next to you right in the face and you get sent to the box, too. You don't wanna be in the box.”

“Do I have to spread my feet like that, too?” she asked him.

“Nah. I'm only doin' it out of habit. When I'm on the ice, I wanna steady myself so I have a good shot for my teammates. C'mere—” Sam sauntered over to him and he handed her the pipe. She held it by the opposite end with both hands herself.

“And when you're swingin' it, like you're hittin' the puck with it, you wanna put the hand you write with closer to the head. Which hand do you write with?”

“My right.”

“Okay, so, here—” She moved her right hand down the pipe right as Joey stood right behind her. “Just like that, yeah! Well, not that far—” She moved her hand up towards her. “—yeah, that's better. And now put that end down to the ground—” She did just that and her purse slid off of her back, but she didn't mind. “It's a lot easier if we're movin' around and we're on the ice, like it just becomes natural to you.”

Sam stood back upright and held the pipe as if it was a baton.

“I was going to say, I can see this being real hard on your back.”

Joey shook his head a bit.

“It is kinda, like at first it was for me. But you get stronger with each time and on top of that, like I said, we're usually moving around at a real pace so you don't really think about it too much when you're playing a round with your team or you're hanging out with a bunch of friends.” He ran his fingers through the ringlets on the side of his head yet again.

“Wanna take a walk?” he suggested.

“Yeah. I haven't really seen much of this neighborhood since I moved here. I've either been hanging out with all of you guys or concerned with school and my own things.”

“Or it's been snowin',” he added.

“Or it's been snowing, right!”

“I'd put that pipe back on the ground, too—I saw something crawl out of it.”

Without even thinking for a split second, Sam tossed the pipe off to the side and they made their way down the sun bathed block. That time, they didn't link arms, but Joey walked side by side with her. All of the buildings were made of faded pale brick, but the whole neighborhood of the Bronx was in stark contrast to the rest of the city with all the little shops and the apartment complexes that lined the street.

“Maybe at some point, I can take ya a little bit upstate,” he said at one point.

“We can go now if you'd like,” she suggested, “you know, if you're not doing anything else today.”

“You wanna?” He showed her a grin.

“Yeah, let's do it! I only saw the one part of it when we went to go get you.”

“Alright—let's get on back and I'll drive you up to Poughkeepsie. It's one of my favorite places to play a gig at. It's a little bit of a drive, but I think we do it, though.”

It took them a little bit to return to Sam's block and to climb inside of Joey's beat up car. The same car that broke down in the months before out in the middle of the harsh New York winter. The same car he almost froze inside of.

“You still haven't gotten a new car?” she asked, stunned, as she rested her purse upon her lap and rolled down the window.

“There hasn't been any money,” he admitted with a solemn look on his face. He slipped the key into the ignition. “Trust me when I say this, though—the second there is a bit o' money, the first thing I'm getting is a new car.” It fired up without any roughness, but once they made their onto the parkway outside of the Bronx, Sam could feel the car was nearing its final miles: the way in which it seemed to struggle with staying in a straight line on the hard black pavement and also with staying up to speed with the rest of the traffic.

“I don't know if we'll be able to even get there,” he confessed at one point. She peered out the window at the sight of one of those green road signs, and its decreeing that Poughkeepsie was eighty miles away.

“You were able to drive down this way with no problems, though, didn't you?”

“Not at all. So this—this kinda worries me a li'l bit, if I'm honest.”

“What do you think we should do?” she asked him.

“Well—let's see. Keep an eye on those payphones out there. If we break down either out this way or on the way back, we're gonna haveta hit up either Frankie or Aurora or somebody to come and get us on one of those. I'll do the same if it breaks down and you're not with me.”

They drove up the wide four lane parkway for a few miles when the whole car began to gyrate and shake while in motion. Sam caught the smell of something burning.

“Shit,” he blurted out. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—shit!”

“What the hell is that? What's wrong with it?”

“It's overheating.” Joey shuffled his feet underneath his seat. Sam clutched at her purse. He drove towards the far right lane and the guard rail. He hit the brake pedal and the car screeched to a stop. The second they were at a halt, hot steam emerged from underneath the hood. The steam was then followed by a short flame out the front grill.

“Oh, my god, this car is dying, Sam!” He hit the edge of the steering wheel with both hands and bowed his head in frustration. “This fucking piece of shit!”

Sam climbed out of the front seat with her purse in hand and she made her way towards a tree on the side of the road to be away from the burning car. Joey followed suit right behind her. They stood together several feet away and watched the whole front of the car catch on fire.

“I'm sorry, Sam—I didn't mean for you to see that part of me,” he sputtered; Sam looked into his face to see tears in his eyes.

“Joey, you did what you could. That car was going to die anyway.”

“It was, yeah.” His upper lip trembled and she moved in closer to him. Sirens down the parkway caught her ear.

“Joey—I don't want to fix you. I want to be a friend to you. You're a sweet boy. You are. You are!”

“But I'm fucked up, though.”

“You're not! You're not fucked up, Joey. You like to party and have fun, and sometimes things like a burning car happen. But it's not your fault, Joey. I promise you. None of it is your fault.” She threw her arms around his slender body and she held him close. She leaned the side of her head against his chest so she could watch the back end of the car ignite into big hot yellow flames. They stood a ways away from it to keep away from the smoke, and the black column rose in the other direction from them, but she could feel the heat from the inferno.

“Thankfully I took my blanket out of the back,” he tearfully said. “That thing belonged to my grandma.”

“And thankfully, we're out of there,” she pointed out; she peered up at him and she brushed a tear away from his face.

“What the hell am I gonna say to my dad now?” he asked, and his brown eyes grew wide with concern.

“Tell him the truth,” she advised. “That's all I can tell you. Just tell him what happened.”

“I don't wanna lie to him after all,” he said with a sniffle and a shrug of his slender shoulders.

Within time, a fire truck and an ambulance showed up. But at that point, the car had burned down to the axles and Sam had already hunted down the payphone to give Aurora a call.

“They're taking us down to the station to check on us,” she told her. “Okay—call Marla and Charlie and tell them what happened. I'll give you a ring when we get there.”

Neither of them had inhaled any of the smoke given they stood so far from it and the column billowed in the opposite direction, but Sam could hardly shake the image of those bright flames from her mind as she and Joey rode in the back of the ambulance back to the Bronx.

“Why do I always get into deep shit when we're together?” he pointed out to her as they neared the familiar neighborhood. “Like it almost feels like karma is working against me whenever you and I hang out.”

“Why would karma work against you?” she asked him.

“I puked my guts out twice, the hockey rink was closed, and now my car caught on fire. It's almost like the universe is telling me we shouldn't hang out together.”

“I drew your face, though,” she pointed out. “It's in my journal—the same journal I handed in to get myself into school.”

“Oh, shit. I don't wanna jinx it then.”

“You won't jinx it,” she insisted.

“But that's my fear, though.”

They reached the driveway of the hospital, where a pair of nurses checked on them to ensure they didn't inhale that acrid smoke or received a bad burn of some sort. Sam recognized Marla's orange hair in the afternoon sun at the far end of the driveway.

Charlie reached them first with his arms wide open and he was quick to embrace them both.

“God, I'm so glad you guys are okay,” he murmured into Sam's ear.

“It was so scary,” she told him as Marla pushed him out of the way to embrace her.

“What were you guys even doing?” Charlie asked them.

“I was gonna take her up to Poughkeepsie for the day,” Joey explained, “we got a few miles out of town and the damn thing started overheating. It started shaking like a boiler, and then I pulled over and that was when the radiator went out and it caught fire. She got out of there so fast. Like she saw the steam rising and she just bolted. Right, and I'm the fast runner.” That coaxed that lopsided grin out of him, and a slight chuckle out of her.

“So what happens now?” Marla asked him.

“Bunk with me?” Sam suggested. “My couch is so comfy.”

“You're gonna make him sleep on the couch?” Charlie cracked.

“Where else is he gonna sleep at? On a hook?”

The two men burst out laughing at that.

“Yeah, I don't see why not,” Joey replied with a shrug. “I need to call my parents and tell them what happened, too.”

* * * * *

Given he had no means of returning home and fetching a fresh change of clothes for himself, Joey stayed in the same shirt and jeans for the next couple of days before Frank offered to take him home on Saturday night. But he lay on her couch with his sock feet and he greeted her every morning with that crooked smile plastered on his face. He always asked her how she slept the night before, and he always offered to help her out whenever he could.

On Thursday night, right before they turned in for the night, she realized that she was correct about him. Joey just needed someone to talk to in the whole grand scheme of things, being the boy from upstate New York and the guy thrust into the music scene from the hockey world. He only drank as much as he did because he needed a means of escape. He took it out on himself because of that old stone face that stared back at her through the darkness as she switched off the light.

The next morning, Sam was jarred awake to the sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen. He caught it first given he lay there on the couch partially awake.

“Yeah,” he was saying in a broken voice; she stepped into the room right as he turned to face her. He showed her a smile. “Yeah, yeah, she's right here.”

And without changing his expression for a second, he handed her the phone. “I won't jump to conclusions but I think you're in business,” he told her with a twinkle in his eye.

Sam gasped and she brought the receiver to her right ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Sam Shelley?” a man asked her.

“It is.”

“I'm Bill Gaunt—the man from admissions you gave the journal to about a week ago.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I remember you well.” She couldn't resist the excited smile on her face.

“Well, all I have to say is we love your art so much that we need to meet you and we need you here with us.”

“Seriously?” She brought a hand to her chest. Joey leaned in closer to her with his eyebrows raised high up into his bangs.

“Seriously, seriously. If you can come down some time today or Monday—the sooner the better—we'll figure out a grant for you. Welcome aboard!”

“Oh, thank you so much! I'll be there soon.” She hung up and she turned to an excited Joey.

“I'm in!” she declared. “I'm an art student!”

“Oh fuck yeah!” He threw his arms around her and she leaned her head against his chest. “Oh, my god, Frankie and Charlie are gonna freak when they hear about this.”

“Make a pot of coffee,” she told him as she stepped towards the kitchen doorway. “I'm gonna tell Frankie about it.”

“Is he even up?”

“I don't care if he isn't,” she quipped, “this is a time of celebration!” That brought a laugh out of him, and she ran out of the apartment in her pajama bottoms and her camisole; down past Emile's place and down the hall. She pounded on the door panel with both hands, and Frank greeted her with bleary eyes.

“Sam? The hell's going on?”

“I got into art school!” And his face lit up.

“Holy shit! See? I told you you'd get in!” He threw his arms around her. “Oh, god, that just made my life!” His chest shuddered a bit from the feeling. She pulled back to look into his face and he wiped away some happy tears.

“Oh, fuck—fuck, man.” He then rubbed his hands together. “I've gotta call Charlie and Marla and tell them—they're gonna be thrilled.”

“I'm gonna call my parents,” she told him. “I owe them absolutely everything.”

Frank returned to his apartment still with tears in his eyes and she ducked past Emile's apartment right as he poked his head out to the hallway. “What's all the commotion, Miss Shelley?” he asked her.

“I got into school, Emile! I'm gonna have some money coming in!”

“Excellent!” He showed her a thumbs up.

Sam hurried up the stairs to call up her parents and to have a cup of coffee with Joey. Every step up felt lighter and swifter. It was like a dead weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was finally a part of New York City, and she was going to let everyone know it.

Indeed, when she and Joey made her way down to Manhattan together so she could do it that day, and he didn't want her to go alone, she had a desire to tell everyone on the subway about it. She had to stop herself given she knew what Charlie had told her about living in the city. Joey huddled close to her on the other side of the support pole but he never touched her. He only showed her a big, excited smile and the twinkle in his eye.

“How exciting!” she decreed as she clutched the strap of her purse.

“Got a hand in Anthrax's world and now you're about to embark into art school,” he said with a nod of his head; the smile never left his face as they arrived in Manhattan and they surfaced from the subway to the bright sunshine outside.

“I'm just dyin' of thirst right now,” he confessed to her over the noise of the street. “I'm gonna grab a glass of lemonade. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please!”

Joey made his way down the block to one of the cafes on the side of the street. Right across the street, she spotted a tall man with a big floppy hat atop his head. She recognized him even from a distance. She hurried towards him right as he reached the street and turned in the opposite direction.

“Cliff!” she shouted over the noise of the street.

He never moved, even as she reached the corner of the side street.

“Cliff!” she called out again, and that time, he wheeled around to look at her: that black brim cast a soft shadow over his handsome face, and thus she could see into his eyes as they crinkled up at the corners with his big greeting grin.

“Hey!” he answered in a big bold voice; he set his hand on top of his hat. She peered both ways on the street, and then she darted across the pavement to meet up with him. He never dropped the grin from his handsome face as she came within earshot. She put her arms around his long torso and he returned the favor.

“What the hell, I thought you guys were in Denmark all this week?” she asked him as part of her greeting.

“Yeah, we were but we came back early, though,” he explained.

“How is it there?”

“Beautiful. It's springtime so the darkness and the daylight is perfect at the moment before it falls out of wack again.”

“Joey told me that you guys went there for the perfect sound of your new record,” she said as he led her away from the crowded street.

“Yeah, we were told—it was like a warehouse, this big empty space in the heart of Denmark—it was cold enough for Lars' drums and for the three of us to work harder. So what'cha doin'? I was just gonna go into his little book shop here.” She turned her head for a look at the cozy shop nestled in between a restaurant and a tattoo parlor.

“I got into art school!” she declared with spirit.

“Oh, that's so cool! I'm sure Lars'll like the sound of that.”

“Joey's across the street getting lemonade, but—I don't really wanna stand there on the street, though.” Without hesitating, Cliff held the creaky wooden door for her and she stepped inside of the cozy shop first. Right before her stood a low wooden table covered in books and faded papers: beyond that was a series of bookshelves, and to the right stood a short staircase. Cliff stepped around her and took off his hat to reveal the crown of fine brown hair atop his head. The black stripe was missing that time, to which she frowned at the sight of it.

He gazed on at her with a puzzled look on his face.

“What's the matter?” he asked her.

“For a second, I swore you had a black stripe in your hair,” she confessed.

“I don't,” he promised her, and he showed her a lopsided little grin. “But I can see how it'd confuse ya, though. My hair likes to change color depending on the lighting. One time, I went out with a girl who thought I had some white hairs on the side of my head.” Indeed, he gave his hair a toss back with a flick of his head and it looked as though his hair was comprised of a myriad of different colors. But she spotted a black stripe and a white stripe on the side of his head. It might have been part of the lighting after all, because the colors disappeared and returned to plain brown.

“You are a man of many colors,” she remarked with a grin upon her face. He set his hat down on the edge of the table and he picked up a book from the table in front of him: a blue paperback about the size of his hand from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger.

“What book is that?” she asked him.

“Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse—guess it's about Buddha? It's got a picture of Buddha on the cover.”

“Oh, yeah!” she squeaked with a wave of her finger. “I remember reading that when I was in high school.”

Cliff opened up to a random page near the back.

“'I have always believed,'” he read aloud, “'and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.'” He glanced up at her with his eyebrows raised and his eyes big.

“I remember it well,” she said in a low voice.

“Sam?” Joey's voice floated in through the door behind her.

“Oh, there he is!” She opened the door for him, but he stood there on the sidewalk with glasses of lemonade in either hand. “How'd you know I was here?”

“Saw you walk in,” he explained, and he lifted his gaze into the shop. “Hey, Cliff!”

And Cliff nodded at him and showed him a smile. Sam took the cup in Joey's right hand.

“I gotta go,” she confessed to him, and he nodded at her, still with his eyes big and his face warm and soft. Before she followed Joey out to the street, and with the glass in hand, she stepped closer to Cliff.

“Call me when you get home,” she told him in a low voice.

“That is if you call me first,” he vowed to her with a wink.

[thanksjro]

Last Stand of the Wreckers, Issue #3: Garrus-9 is Fun for the Whole Family

Noticed a little something as I was reading- in issue #1, Roberts is credited for contributing to the story. However, in issue #2 and on, he’s credited as a writer alongside Roche.

Maybe it’s just a change in the how the credits were being labelled within IDW, because it never seems to stay consistent between series, but that’s still quite the jump. He’s accumulating power much faster than I originally thought. How delightful, and also terrifying.

Getting back to the story, we open up this issue with a flashback: two years ago, Overlord deigned it necessary to reunite Shockwave’s head with his body. Now, this was still nearly a year after he’d first taken over Garrus-9, and Shockwave can’t help but question the wait.

Back when Megatron still had Overlord under him, he had Shockwave slap something called an “Achilles virus” into the guy. This virus made it impossible for Overlord to comprehend any weaknesses Megatron might have- something positively devastating to a tactician as ruthless as Overlord. He, of course, wants the thing removed. Shockwave agrees.

With how many of the IDW universe’s problems this chunky purple fuck is responsible for, I’d honestly be more surprised if helping Overlord DIDN’T help him further his own agenda in some way.

Once Shockwave frees up Overlord’s processors, he’ll be free to go and cause more mayhem, while Overlord keeps doing his thing on Garrus-9. Shockwave, because he’s a smarty-pants, knows what he’s up to- he’s trying to goad Megatron into coming to see him, by way of ultraviolence.

When I was a little kid- we’re talking no more than five- if I wanted my parents to come see me after I’d woken up in the morning, I’d do this god-awful thing where I’d shriek at the top of my lungs repeatedly and then hide under my blankets acting as if I’d been sleeping like a perfect little angel the whole time. This feels a lot like that, except Overlord’s been screaming for three years.

Back in the present, we get a taste of some dramatic irony, by way of Fisitron’s fanboy datalogs.

You’re never going to guess what’s happened.

Since the ping-pong ball Verity was riding in smashed right into where Overlord likes to hang out, it’s looking somewhat grim for them. Not that things are looking any better over here.

Guzzle isn’t much of a team player, it would seem.

Springer’s worried that the others were DOA, but Twin Twist seems to think things are alright.

And he would know, I suppose.

Over in the Pit, Overlord’s greeting his new guests. Rotorstorm tries to break the tension  with a joke. It actually goes over pretty well with Overlord.

Still, it’s a tough crowd.

Back over with Wrecker team A, the boys have just blown up a hallway to buy themselves a little time. Well, Guzzle blew up the hallway, since he’s a tank, but the others were there for moral support.

Things have really hit the fan, and Springer makes the call to split up and look for clues get help. Guzzle and Kup pair up and run for it, which seems appropriately themed, while Twin Twist decides it’s time to break out the alt-mode and dig through the floor so they can get to the Autobot prisoners. Springer’s not too sure about that, seeing as Twin Twist’s hurt, but he says they can take it. Yes, they.

After that painful scene transition, Overlord implores the Wreckers before him to surrender. Perceptor, having a case of terminal bad-ass disease, orders Pyro to keep Verity safe- which he does by stuffing her into his chest?- while he and the others attempt to bare-knuckle box Overlord into submission.

I’m not kidding, he’s just shoving her in there.

While Perceptor and the gang commit suicide, Twin Twist’s just finished drilling, and it’s looking like it’s a bit more of a drop than he was expecting. Luckily, Springer swoops in and catches him before he can take any fall damage.

Both they and Impactor land safely on the floor of an energy reactor, and it looks like they’ve got company.

The company is Kick-Off’s corpse. Guess Overlord kinda sucks at rewarding people.

As Impactor and Springer discuss Kick-Off’s very brief stint as a prison gladiator, Twin Twist makes the horrific discovery that they’ve set off a defense mechanism, and if they don’t get out of there pronto, they’re gonna be robo-toast.

Overlord gets word of these guys running around in the energy reactor as, he kicks Percy and pals’ ass. Repeatedly. Delighted that there are more toys to play with, he makes a prison-wide announcement: anyone who brings him the head of a Wrecker can leave Garrus-9.

I don’t think Percy likes that idea too much.

Without any further ado, Overlord sicks the entire prison populace on the Wreckers. Perceptor, ever the brainiac, buys them a little time by blowing up a fuel tank that managed to survive the ping-pong ball crashing. The Wreckers book it out of the Pit, ready to head for Aequitas. Only one problem- Ironfist is having a breakdown. Perceptor is surprisingly considerate about the whole thing.

Like, this is about as much as anyone could ask for in such a dangerous situation. Of course, Ironfist is a bit too hung up on the complete annihilation of a skull he just witnessed to appreciate Percy’s kindness.

Here’s the thing about fanboys; they have a bit of a habit of putting their heroes on pedestals.

No, the adventuring doesn’t happen until 2012, Ironfist, and you aren’t going to be there for all that.

Seems like Overlord’s presence on Garrus-9 has sort of smashed Ironfist’s dreams of grandeur. Though given the constantly-changing roster, and the fact that Ironfist probably knows more about the Wreckers’ escapades than most, one would think he’d at least be prepared for something this wild to be a possibility.

This whole spouting off attracts Topspin, who berates Ironfist for being a baby. He doesn’t even know why the guy got brought along on this mission, seeing as none of the established Wreckers voted him on. Ironfist is just sort of here. Before we can get into all that though, Perceptor breaks their little squabble up, because we just don’t have time for that right now.

Over with Guzzle and Kup, we’re descending a ladder and reveling in implications, as Guzzle notes how he had a bunch of friends die in a rescue attempt similar to this one. Kup mentions that he hopes the guy being rescued was worth it. Guzzle says that it depends on who you ask.

So we’ve got an angry little tank dude and the old man who’s responsible for several of his friends’ demises, working together, without any other supervision, in an insanely dangerous place filled with murderous Decepticons and high places that don’t follow OSHA regulations. What could possibly go wrong?

Back with Percy and the boys, we finally get the down-low on what Topspin and Twin Twist’s whole deal is. Turns out they’ve got a rare and potentially exploitable manufacturing error- they’ve got branched sparks, which means that their nervous systems overlap to a point where they can feel each other’s pain. This seems like it ought to discourage one from joining the Wreckers, but since when have the Transformers ever been about self-preservation?

Look at that face. It’s like he knows what the narrative’s gearing up towards.

Perceptor’s found a funny part of the wall, which gives him a pretty good feeling that Aequitas is right behind it. It’s at this point that the others start asking just who the hell Aequitas is, and then Pyro remembers he’s still got Verity trapped inside his chest cavity.

Verity is released from the torso jail, a little banged up and a lot pissed off about being forgotten. She starts saying some rather uncalled-for things about the dead before she catches herself, and we get a bit of an insight into Wrecker ideology.

Perceptor has busted through the wall while Topspin’s explaining the group philosophy, and we finally find what Fortress Maximus’ has been up to while all this has been going down.

The Decepticons have been using ol’ Max here as a lock pick, seeing as he wouldn’t just GIVE Overlord the code to the chamber. Perceptor starts cutting the poor guy out of all the cabling he’s hooked up to, and everyone once again questions just what’s up with Aequitas that the Decepticons want to get to him so badly.

Speaking of Decepticons, they’re collecting in droves in the hallway, just itching to rip off some Wrecker heads for a free ticket out of Garrus-9. Perceptor unhooks Fort Max, passes his limbless, eyeless body off to be carried by the two largest friends at his disposal, and the chamber opens up.

This is about the time that the story catches up with the other team of Wreckers, the guys who were trapped in the energy reactor. Yeah, that branched spark plot point is about to get very relevant.

Dentists are the worst, even in space.

And that’s the end of issue #3.

[mobius-prime]

241. Sonic the Hedgehog #173

Round Up!

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

So! What is this mysterious thing that Antoine is so determined to do? What is so intimidating to him that he needs Sonic and Amy to back him up? Well, the first page of today's issue tells us quite plainly…

Compared to the constantly-in-flux love life of most of the other characters in this comic, it's so nice to see two characters who (aside from the hiccup caused by Evil Antoine) have remained pretty steady with each other throughout most of the story so far. And now they're about to get hitched! Especially considering how many other plot points have revolved around marriage and potential marriages, this is incredibly sweet and heartwarming to see - an actual marriage based on love and respect. With his main goal completed, Antoine's nerves finally crack though and Sonic has to steady him as he admits that he's been trying to work up the courage to do this for weeks, while Amy excitedly discusses girly things such as dress fittings for the wedding. Bunnie then takes everyone in search of Sally so they can tell her the good news as well. Sally is currently taking a call from Knuckles with Rotor in the brain trust lab, discussing Mina's current world tour and how the Chaotix are acting as her bodyguards in case of any other assassination attempts. Knuckles then mentions he's heard a rumor that Rouge has stolen the Master Emerald from Angel Island and is offering to sell it to the highest bidder, and apparently the only strange thing about this according to everyone present is that normally Rouge would likely want to keep the gem for herself instead of selling it. Really, guys? No mention of how the theft of such an important gem would likely be nearly impossible to pull of at this point with so much security, or how doing such a thing would cause the entire island to plummet violently to earth? Sally prepares to arrange a mission to go after Rouge at the same time that the happy couple and Sonic arrive in the room, and thus, that night finds the four of them split into two groups on watch for any sign of the emerald. Sonic and Antoine, while on watch, discuss their situation.

I feel like Antoine here has kind of summed up what I had said before regarding The Slap - namely, that Sally's erratic and uncharacteristic behavior was a result of severe stress and trauma stemming from what happened during the year that Sonic was in space. Furthermore, those two aren't the only ones discussing Sally's current involvement with this mission - Sally herself has something to admit to Bunnie.

I think in lieu of Karl making it clear before he left that Sally is self-aware about her behavior, Ian has made a point of clearing things up right here. Sally was once a core member of the Freedom Fighters, leading them all personally and participating in nearly every mission with enthusiasm. I still firmly hold to the idea that her parents, particularly her father, are who influenced her so strongly to give a lot of that up and transition to being a more distant, princess-like ruler instead, staying within the safe boundaries of the village. It's taken her a long time to work through her trauma and begin to get back to where she was before, but she's closer than she has been in a long time. Both conversations are interrupted by the abrupt arrival of several familiar faces - Bunnie and Sally find themselves facing a vengeful Nack, while Sonic and Antoine are up against Bean and Bark, the former of whom is as insane as ever.

Nack alone isn't much of a match for the two girls, and quickly finds himself subdued, while Bean and Bark take Sonic and Antoine a little longer, though in the end they too end up defeated. Bunnie and Sally go about tying up their new set of captives while Sonic and Antoine head out to find Rouge, who is nearby, lying on top of the emerald which is covered in a sheet. She's very unnerved to find herself suddenly faced by none other than Mammoth Mogul and Naugus, who have naturally been lured here by the promise of a powerful magical artifact. However, there's something… different about Naugus now…

Mogul sends Naugus to try to take out his two new challengers with a new technique he's developed called a "shadow-meld," but they easily guess that he's trying to sneak up on them from behind and knock him out. A furious Mogul threatens them with his Ixis abilities, until a rapidly-growing engine revving sound reveals itself to be Sally on Nack's bike, dropping in from above to knock him out cold. With the most obvious threats out of the way, the heroes turn their attention to Rouge, but she quickly points out that she's on their side, pulling the sheet away to reveal the "Master Emerald" is nothing more than a table with a green lantern (no, not that one) underneath it. She then says that she did all this, helping them capture various baddies, for Knuckles and Knuckles alone, wanting to show him that she could "be a good girl and play by the rules," in perhaps the most stunning misunderstanding of what Rouge is actually like in the comics so far. Seriously, normally I appreciate Ian's take on most characters, but I think it took him a while to actually figure out Rouge's whole deal, because not once in the games does she pull anything like this solely for Knuckles' sake. Her interactions with Knuckles in the games mostly seem to amount to a lot of flirting, flustering, and teasing purely to make him angry and mess with his head - I believe there's even a line somewhere where she outright admits that he's "not her type" and she only does all that for fun. I mean, she is known for being a flirt after all, but that doesn't mean she's actually interested in everyone she flirts with - she's a manipulator. Now, of course that's not something that will ever stop fans shipping, and I'm certainly not one to judge people for shipping whatever the hell they want, but if we're talking canon, her actions here don't really make a lot of sense.

Anyway, Rouge does consent to help transport their haul of prisoners back home, and before they all head out, Bunnie and Antoine ask Sally and Sonic to be their maid of honor and best man respectively, to which they both say of course. As they get ready to head on back to Knothole, we zoom out to find that Eggman and Snively have been watching the proceedings the entire time from their cameras, with Eggman having hired Nack, Bean and Bark to attack just to be certain that the Master Emerald offered up by Rouge was fake. They then smirk as they discuss a new plan of theirs being right on schedule - something to do with the production of a "new fleet," which seems to have just been launched…

See Ya' Later Chao! (Part One)

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley Colors: Jason Jensen

On that ominous note, it's time for something much more lighthearted! Bernie comes out of her room one morning to find Jules and Sonic doting on a chao that's causing a bit of chaos in their home. She has no idea what it is or how it got in their house, so Sonic explains what he was up to yesterday, beginning with Rotor picking up a strong energy signature from the old, dried-up Lake of Rings that Robotnik sucked dry all the way back in the Sonic Quest miniseries. Thinking it might be a Chaos Emerald, Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles all set out to investigate, only to be surprised by the sight of a chao garden thriving where the lake once sat.

The three basically just played in the chao garden all afternoon and discovered what every young Sonic fan did back in '99 - the chao life cycle and how the way you interact with them affects their appearance, stats, and ability to reincarnate. Unfortunately, in the middle of their delightful chao-filled afternoon, Eggman showed up in a big mech with a drill on it, ready to mess up their day… Wow, guess both stories in today's issue end on a cliffhanger!

[hockeylvr59]

Life Changes || Paul Bissonnette

Summary: It’s crazy how quickly your life can change...one minute you’re a struggling personal injury lawyer and the next you’re working for one of the hottest sports podcasts to supplement your income. A new job and the end of a long-term relationship was just the beginning for Leigh Thompson when it comes to life changes. Thankfully she has the one and only Paul Bissonnette at her side to help her handle them all. 

Authors Note: Rewriting my Biz series with an OC so that I can give it a little bit more depth and write out the things that popped into my head but seemed too specific for a y/n imagine. In addition to updating the chapters I’m adding in all the social media content [located at end] (which is super labor intensive) so I hope you enjoy it. Note in this world, Spittin Chiclets has separated from Barstool Sports. 

Warnings: like one swear word     Requested: [ ] yes [x] no     Word Count: 2,033

___________________________________________________________

“Great things never came from comfort zones.”

My head was in my phone as I read my daily motivational email while stepping off the plane in Boston. In a way, it almost seemed as if the writers knew exactly what it was that I needed to hear. Because this…this was the exact opposite of my comfort zone. Managing the business operations and events schedule for a popular hockey podcast was not what I’d imagined doing with my law degree.

But I wanted to start up my own practice, a practice in which I only got paid if I could find clients and win their cases. So far, that wasn’t going so well as far as paying the bills was concerned. So when a fellow lawyer had gotten me an interview for this part-time gig, I couldn’t turn it down. It seemed like something fun and different and I’d just been dumped because my ex had ‘met someone else’ so I really had nothing to lose.

Now, two weeks after I’d started work, I was arriving in Boston to meet the hosts of the podcast and their producer in person. Of course, the trip was also for a meeting for a sponsorship deal but I was trying not to think about that because it would be my first big test as their business manager and I didn’t want to fuck it up.

It was a Wednesday and the guys were in the process of recording the podcast when my flight was scheduled to arrive so I hailed a cab and checked myself into the hotel. They’d already made plans for us to go out tonight. Clubs were not my thing but again, “comfort zones.” After hanging my suit up for the next day’s meeting, I climbed onto the hotel bed to work on writing a complaint for my newest client’s case. Hopefully, the whole thing wouldn’t go much farther than that and we could reach a settlement but right now the insurance company wasn’t cooperating, so this was the next step in the process. By the time I finished, it was time to eat and then get ready to go out and so I ordered dinner and ate while watching something random on tv.

Around seven, I pulled out the clothes I’d brought for tonight, a red sparkly tank and dark jeans with a black leather jacket and red flats. Yes, I was going to be dwarfed by these men but heels weren’t my thing either and I’d rather not trip and fall and embarrass myself in front of them. I’d talked with each of them on the phone a few times but this was the first time I was meeting any of them in person and so my anxiety was high.

Quickly doing my hair and makeup, I grabbed my phone, wallet, and hotel key and stepped out into the hall. The five of us were meeting in the lobby at eight and it was already about ten til. When I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, I looked around but didn’t spot any of the guys I was meeting. Well, at least I wasn’t late.

Leaning against one of the pillars in the lobby I checked social media on my phone once more, Snapchatting my sister like I did every night so my mother knew I was alive. Looking up from my phone after snapping a picture of the lobby, I spotted Ryan Whitney looking around. Waving just a bit, I smiled when he nodded and approached, quickly introducing himself. It wasn’t like I didn’t know who he was, I’d watched him play for the Penguins when I was still just a teenager, but the familiarity of the introductory process helped put me at ease.

“How long have you been down here?” He asked hands shoved into his pockets. 

“About five minutes,” I responded with a small shrug and after a moment he nodded, seemingly impressed. “Hey, when I’m supposed to be somewhere by a certain time I make sure I am. I hate being late. I am not one of those women that are never ready on time.”

“Teach that to my wife please.” He declared his tone light and teasing. When another man approached calling Whitney’s name, I glanced over my shoulder and mentally cataloged the man as Mike Grinnell, the show’s producer. Of all of the men I was now working with, he was the closest to me in age. After he greeted Ryan Whitney he turned his attention to me.

“You must be Leigh. Nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“I would say the same but I grew up in Pittsburgh and I’ve followed the show for a while so I think I have faces down.” I tried to keep my comment as light as possible while reaching out a hand to shake his. Tonight was either going to go well or be really awkward and I was silently praying for the former. Thankfully, before the current situation could get awkward, the other two members of your group, RA and Paul Bissonnette made their way into the lobby. Introductions with them were brief because they were all eager to get an uber and head out to the lounge they’d picked.

During the car ride, the guys pretty much conversed among themselves so I took the time to observe their personalities when there was no reason to front and they were just being themselves. Stepping into the lounge was like entering another world and the five of us quickly made our way to an empty table. Settling into the booth, I looked around, taking in how the level of the music was quiet enough that I could actually hear myself think and how it was crowded but not overly so.

Whitney offered to buy the first round of drinks and when I asked for water they all looked at me like I was crazy.

“What? I’m thirsty. I haven’t had anything to drink all day because I got caught up in work. Last I checked alcohol doesn’t really help with hydration. Plus I’m just not a big drinker…” I did drink socially but I’d never been drunk and I was already worried about making a fool of myself. Alcohol certainly wouldn’t make me any less self-conscious. Actually, it would probably make me make a bigger fool of myself. Thankfully the guys decided to pick their battles and didn’t pressure me and when Whitney handed me a bottle of water I thanked him before taking a sip.

Once the guys had drinks, it didn’t take long before they started asking me a million questions. I’d known this was coming, after all, I was the newbie to the group and if I was going to be working closely with them it was probably best that they get to know me. At the beginning the questions were mild, asking about my schooling and aspirations practicing law. I explained what had caused me to go back to school for my law degree and how my business management degree hadn’t exactly paid off the way I had planned. When I told them about my time working for my undergraduate university’s athletic communications office, and spending a semester as an events marketing intern for the Steelers, it was clear that they were a little thrown off by the extent of my background in sports but that they were impressed at the same time.

Of course, after that, it was unsurprising when a bunch of hockey guys and former hockey players transitioned into talking hockey like they hadn’t just done it for hours earlier in the day. It was also unsurprising, at least to me, when as a lifelong hockey fan I threw my own opinions into the mix. I’d been attending Penguins games since I was three or four years old thanks to my dad’s company seats and hockey had gotten me through some tough times, including law school. That led to the good-natured teasing from the guys about which players I found attractive and after insisting that we’d be there all night if they really wanted to know I smirked and made my way to the bar for another bottle of water. While I was a fan of the game for many reasons that didn’t have to do with player attractiveness, I also wasn’t blind. 

When the sports conversation ended upon my return to the table, the more prying questions began. I refused to answer anything that made me completely uncomfortable, but I was forced to explain how I had just gotten out of an eight-month relationship and how my ex had been a total jerk about it. Even surrounded by men, there was sympathy as to the fact that he’d just shown up at my door and ended things. No fanfare. No signal that it had been coming. It had been a long-distance relationship but it had seemed like things were going well and then it was just over. It sucked because he was the first man I’d truly had feelings for and it felt like I’d wasted eight months of my life, but the wounds weren’t quite so fresh a few weeks later and ultimately I was going to be okay.

Around 11 o’clock, I felt the fatigue of the flight and the exhaustion from being social starting to take over so I decided to head back to the hotel. It didn’t seem like the guys were ready to leave yet but I was confident enough to call myself an uber. Sliding out of the booth I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

“Not to be even more of a spoilsport but I think I’m going to call an uber back to the hotel. We’ve got the meeting in the morning and I’m exhausted.” RA, Whitney, and Grinnell just nodded and murmured goodnight. When I turned to say goodnight to Biz, I found him sliding out after me and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’m gonna head out too.” He declared.

“You don’t have to…I’ll be fine on my own. I’m a big girl.” I insisted worried that he felt obligated to cut his night short in order to protect me. 

“I’m not saying you aren’t or that you can’t. But I’m ready to go to bed too so we might as well share an uber.” Throwing my hands up in a gesture that said ‘fine whatever,’ I finished ordering the ride before stepping out of the lounge and onto the sidewalk. In the cold March Boston air, I couldn’t help but yawn, running my fingers through my hair. It was definitely time to get back to the hotel, take the makeup off, change into pajamas and just chill.

The ride back was quiet, the two of us focused on our own phones. I’d gained the entire crew as Instagram followers tonight and to ebb the confusion of anyone paying attention I added my new job title to my Instagram bio before posting a picture I’d taken tonight. I could feel Biz’s eyes on me on and off and when we got back to the hotel, he reached out a hand to help me out of the uber.

“Aren’t you going to follow me back?” He asked while the two of us were waiting for the elevator.

“Only if I unfollow you just to follow you again...” I declared biting back a laugh when he looked down at me slightly confused. “Is it really that shocking that I would have followed you before tonight?” A soft ‘guess not’ left his mouth and I rolled my eyes before stepping onto the elevator and pressing the button for my floor. He was one above me and so when the elevator stopped I murmured a ‘goodnight’ before quietly making my way back to my room. 

After changing, I settled into bed and set my alarms for the morning before turning the bedside light out to go to sleep. In spite of my fears, tonight had gone pretty well and I actually had fun hanging with those guys. This job was looking to be a change for the better.

Chapter 1 outfit:

Chapter 1 social media: 

[spnfanficpond]

June 2020 Pond LiveChat Recap - A Male’s Experience of Sex and Fan Fiction Part 1

@manawhaat​ (Mana) and @superfanficnatural​ (Mert) led a lively discussion about what it’s like to have a penis and how we can all improve our writing of the male experience! Shortly after Mert first joined, we asked him if he’d be open to answering frank and personal questions about what it’s like to have a penis, since he was our only (known) member to have one. He was enthusiastic to share his experiences and we are grateful he accepted our invitation! In the time we had, we didn’t come close to answering all of the questions that folks wanted to ask, so we will be continuing this discussion in a future live chat event! (If you have questions you would like to see posed, please either send us an ask or send an IM to one of our admins!) Because the most popular questions were specific to the sexual experience and how it is described in fan fiction, we moved the chat to the softcore-nsfw channel in the discord server. If you are a minor, you might want to check with your parents before reading this, as it is a frank and graphic discussion about sex. A rundown of the chat is below the cut!

Q: Mert, can you tell us a little about yourself and how you got involved with fanfic as a dude?

A: Welp not much to me, just an 18 year old penis-owning male that has been reading fanfic for almost three years. I first found out about fanfic from a friend that suggested it to me and ever since I first started reading, I've been obsessed! I didn't start writing until around early April this year, for I was too nervous, but ended up saying to myself, "You know what? There are no male reader fics on here so I'LL write them." Poof, my blog was born!

Q: In joining the fandom and Tumblr what did you see/feel as far as the fans being mostly female?

A: I'd have to say that I wasn't too surprised, but was a bit underwhelmed. While many female-presenting people seem to be attracted to the actors, first, and the story/content of the show second, the few male fans of the show seem to be the opposite. Although I love the show and all kinds of fans, it would be nice to find some other male-presenting gay fans to gossip with about how attractive the actors are. lol

Q: Have you been in any other fandoms that have had more guys present?

A: To be honest, no. Every fandom that I’ve been in was mostly comprised of female-presenting people.

Q: What’s it like being in a space that’s dominated by so many women?

A: I think that it’s a bit intimidating. I don’t share the exact same experiences as female-presenting people, so it makes bonding a bit harder, if that makes sense?

Q: What kinds of things do you think women in fandom could do to help make men - regardless of sexual preference, already in fandom - feel more welcome? We here in the Pond like to be welcoming to fans of all types of people in all fandom spaces, not just in the Pond. How can we make our space less intimidating?

A: In my experience, it depends on the man in question. Straight men are less likely to want to talk about how attractive the actors are, and more likely to be interested in the mechanics of the show. Gay men are more open to frank discussions about both the show and the actors’ appeal. Basically, just be aware of your audience and how invested in your conversation they seem to be, like you would be with anyone.

Q: Can you describe the sensations behind having a penis, and how it feels during oral sex?

A: Oral sex feels like a warm, heated blanket being wrapped around the penis, depending on how the giver hollows their cheeks or not, Usually, the penis isn’t very sensitive during oral sex, which is why porn is really fake. If the giver uses their tongue, then the stimulation around the tip of the head is what causes pleasure. The head is really the only sensitive part of the penis.

Q: So, emphasis on licking and sucking on the head is key, and deep throating is extra?

A: Playing with the balls, fondling them, or sucking on them is VERY pleasurable. Deep throating is hot, but mostly because of how the back of the throat constricts around the head of the penis. Like I said, playing with the head is the best way to tease. In fact, if it’s a male with a beard doing the giving, rubbing their stubble across the head is EXTREMELY pleasurable.

Q: So, just sucking on the tip alone, like a popsicle or lollipop, would give a man the most pleasure?

A: It is very pleasurable, but not quite enough to bring a man to orgasm. Men jerk from the base when masturbating because of the backwards and forwards motion. Think of it like a gear. The back and forth powers the gear, making the machine begin to work, and eventually leading to orgasm.

Q: The arousal and pleasure need to be built up, then. Sucking and stroking together with some fondling on the side if deep throating isn’t an option?

A: Yes. If you can’t take it to the base, just use your hand for the remaining amount and go back and forth at the same pace as your mouth. Fondling isn’t completely necessary, though it is very pleasurable.

Q: What is one thing you wish more women knew/writers would write about in terms of the male experience?

A: As a reader, it would be nice to have more writers writing about the male experience at all. The majority of writers and readers are women, though, so it makes sense that the majority of stories would be focused on the female experience, so I can’t complain.

For those who are interested in writing more from the male’s point of view, adding more description about how everything feels would be good. For example, when describing the female orgasm and arousal, there are all kinds of metaphors, like the string snapping and fires burning. Those things are representations of the orgasm and that same build up applies to men, too. Then when it finally releases, the feeling of an orgasm cuts off their breathing, even for just a second. We feel it in our toes, and can almost feel the semen transition from the testicles to the penis. Some men like to continue jerking off or thrusting through their orgasm until it becomes too sensitive and some men prefer to stop. Generally, our hips will thrust forward with each shot, but that’s not all the time or every male.

Think of it like breathing. Each shot of ejaculate is so powerful to the man that it's like during those shots, we only have the time to take mini gasps because we are so out of breath (once more, not all the time, and not every man). Pre-ejaculate does not always leak out of our tip; it's basically the equivalence of women getting wet. If we are hard long enough and it is straining, then pre-ejaculate will eventually begin to leak out. Yes, it is also possible for more pre-ejaculate to leak out DURING intercourse, though it is hardly noticeable due to the heavy amounts of wetness everywhere and they all mingle together and yeah. 

Onto the prostate. It is possible for men to orgasm without stimulation to their penis. The stimulation of our prostate for a long period of time can lead to an orgasm, regardless of if they are jerking or not, also kind of like women who can orgasm without clit stimulation (though difficult). 

Q: Do any of the stories you’ve read that women have written come close to the male experience of an orgasm?

A: I haven’t been able to read much M/M fan fiction, but most of them have been written by women, so they aren’t able to go deep into how it feels. All they can describe are the actions taken to get to the climax and what that looks like, which is understandable. But what “pleasure” are they feeling exactly when they orgasm? That is shown in a lot of female experiences and showing it in the man’s experience is one of the focuses I want to address and give answers to with this chat.

Q: Can you describe it for us, then? What are the sensations that happen in orgasm? Is it a whole body shiver? Is it the penis twitching slightly as the orgasm hits?

A: The whole body can convulse just like a woman can, though it’s more of a strong tingle than a whole body rock, depending on how strong the orgasm is. Also, the penis does twitch and swell, and usually when men “flex” their penis, the head grows in size slightly.

Q: How does that tingle spread, and how fast does it spread?

A: Think of the orgasm like the ocean. Wave after wave. When a man is about to orgasm, they know, much like for women. Every stroke gets them closer and they get to a point where they know how many more strokes it will take.

Q: Does the pleasure then spread from the penis out to the rest of the body?

A: It’s actually kind of the opposite. In the beginning, there is a tingle through the whole body. It’s like the nerves in the whole body pulse in the direction of the penis. Then, when it gets released, it’s like a bomb. The nerves in the penis fire off and it slowly spreads back throughout the body.

Q: For some women, it starts in the vagina and radiates outward, but it sounds like for men, it starts outward and radiates to the penis.

A: Yes! And when ejaculation starts, it all reverses back out into the body. (This information is not exactly the same for every single man on earth, but probably pertains to a large percentage. All men are different as all women are different. This is my experience though.)

Q: Does that mean that outside stimulation, like playing with nipples, scratching thighs, etc, would help a man orgasm more quickly as that outside stimulation radiates pleasure toward the penis?

A: Yes. This is why in porn, one person might suck on the neck of the other to add to the influx of pleasure and make the climax feel better. One reason why men love getting their backs scratched up is because that slight pain morphs into pleasure and it helps get closer to orgasm, much like women when their nipples are pinched.

Q: Can we follow up on the breathing thing? Are you physically incapable of breathing during each wave of climax? Or is it more like a winded feeling? Or is it more like the entire brain/body is so overloaded with pleasure that it’s just not on the top of the priority list?

A: It depends on the strength of the orgasm. We can breathe, it’s just not a focus.

Q: Can you pass out?

A: No, but you can be exhausted afterwards and fall asleep.

Q: Do you get blurred vision or anything like that?

A: No blurred vision, but it’s very common to squeeze your eyes shut.

Q: Do sensations change based on the strength of the orgasm?

A: They do.

Q: Is grunting really a thing that happens, or is that just in porn?

A: Yes, grunting can happen. Either it’s so hard that breathing gets cut off, or it’s so pleasurable that you groan or grunt out in pleasure.

Q: Do you come harder if you haven’t done it for a couple of days?

A: Much like some women, the longer we go without orgasm, the easier it is to climax (at least in my case).

This is where we had to stop due to time constraints, so we will be picking this topic back up in a future chat! If you have questions you would like to see posed in a future chat about this topic, you can either send an ask to the Pond, or an IM to any of the admins!

That’s it for this month! Don’t forget to submit your stories and your Angel Fish nominations! Want to know what’s happening in the Pond? Check the Pond Calendar to see what’s coming up! And, as always, if you have questions or suggestions, let us know! You can send us an ask, or send a private message to @manawhaat​ (Mana) or @mrswhozeewhatsis​ (Michelle) anytime!

[protectjugheadjonesiii]

The Lucky One

Pairing: Archie x Reader

Word count: 1,950ish but feel free to add more

A/N: if you didn’t see my post about my inactivity but I won’t writing imagines on this blog anymore. however, i’m posting all of my incomplete imagines and i would love it if you all would reblog them and add on how you think the imagines should continue and end. i’ll be reblogging every addition that i see :)

New to town with a made up name in the Angel city, chasing fortune and fame And the camera flashes, make it look like a dream

Unlike most kids in Riverdale, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) dreamed of bigger things she could do with her life, greater achievements she could accomplish outside of her small hometown.

Life in Riverdale wasn’t bad; she had her friends: Betty, Archie, and Jughead.  The four of them were known as the four musketeers, always stumbling around the quiet streets with barking laughter.  

The ten year olds made a home in Pop’s diner, their regular booth being touched by no one but themselves.

But even with her strong bonds of friendship, (Y/N) grew restless with her head full of dreams. Riverdale was too small of a town for her to go anywhere far in life, and that was exactly what she wanted to do.

“Do you think we’ll all grow old together?” Betty asked the table one night.  “Maybe we’ll be like our parents: we’ll go to school together, marry each other, and have kids that are best friends with each other.”

“Well then who are you gonna marry, Betty?” Archie inquired with a smirk.  “Me or Jughead?”

“How do you know she doesn’t want to marry (Y/N)?” Jughead interjected, withholding his laughter at the transition of Archie’s facial expression from confidence to shock. Jughead turned to (Y/N), who had been wistfully staring out the window in silence during the conversation, “What do you think, (Y/N)?”

“Hmm?” she hummed, turning to face her friends.  She bit her lip, not wanting to talk about her opposing life plans.  “Oh yeah, I’ll be here.”

You had it figured out since you were in school Everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool So overnight you look like a sixties’ queen

Every year at Riverdale Elementary, the fourth graders did a project on what they wanted to be when they grew up.  They had to brainstorm ideas of what they wanted to be and then research some requirements for said profession.  At the end of the month, each student would present their project to the class.

“I want to join my dad’s construction company,” Archie announced during his presentation.  “He told me that when I’m older, I can spend the summer helping him, and that one day I can even own the company!”  He decided to not talk about the other ideas he had about what he wanted to be when he grew up.  Being a construction worker was good enough for him.

“I want to be a journalist, just like my mom and dad,” Betty informed the class.  “I would help them with their articles and eventually write my own.”

“A writer,” Jughead declared as soon as he stood up, not even allowing himself enough time to reach the front of the classroom.  “I want to be a writer when I grow up.  Not a journalist like Betty, though.  I want to write my own stories and publish books.”

When (Y/N) did her presentation, she hesitated.  She spent all her time researching what it took to become an actress, but as she stood in front of all of her friends whose plans let them stay in Riverdale, she grew unsure of herself.

“I-” she paused, giving herself one last chance to change her mind.  “I want to be an actress.  But I don’t want to wait until I’m grown up to become one.  When I did my research, I saw that a lot of famous actors started when they were little.”

“There aren’t many movies created here in Riverdale,” the teacher commented.

(Y/N) shrugged.  “Then I guess I’ll have to go find movie makers somewhere else.”  She ignored Archie, Betty, and Jughead’s stunned faces as she sat down.

Another name goes up in lights, like diamonds in the sky

A few weeks later, (Y/N)’s dad announced to the (Y/L/N) family that they were moving to Hollywood, which would allow (Y/N) to pursue her dreams of becoming an actress.  Her excitement only lasted for a few moments before she realized that she would have to leave her friends.

“Archie!”  She stood on his doorstep, waiting for him to open the door.

“(Y/N)?” he questioned, opening the door.  “What are you doing here?  It’s late.”

“I need to tell you something,” she said, rocking back and forth on her feet.  “I…” she trailed off, the guilt causing her throat to close up.

“You what?”

“I’m moving,” she blurted out.

“To a new house?” he asked, not grasping the severity of her statement.

“To Hollywood,” she corrected him, sadly watching as his expression deflated.

“Why aren’t you telling Betty and Jughead?” he questioned.

“I wanted to tell you first, Archie.  You’re my best friend.”

“Betty and Jughead aren’t your best friends too?”

“They are…” (Y/N) shrugged, digging her heel into the ground, “but you’re my best friend.”  Archie sadly nodded.

“You’re my best friend too, (Y/N).”  He enveloped her in a hug, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his t-shirt, trying to memorize that feeling.

And they’ll tell you now, you’re the lucky one Yeah, they’ll tell you now, you’re the lucky one But can you tell me now, you’re the lucky one, oh, oh, oh

When (Y/N) landed her first role, the entire town of Riverdale went into a frenzy.  Everyone counted down the days until her movie would premiere.

Archie was confused about how he felt.  He didn’t know if he was happy or upset that (Y/N) played a part in a big move.  He knew it would result in her staying in Hollywood longer as she continued her career.  A small, selfish part of him always hoped that she would eventually give up and come back to Riverdale.

“(Y/N)’s movie comes out tomorrow!” Betty squealed as they sat in their booth, ignoring the one empty spot next to Archie.

“The Twilight Drive-In is gonna show it,” Jughead informed them.  “It’s gonna be so busy there.”

“All of Riverdale will go!” Betty exclaimed.  “The whole town is so excited for this.”  

When Archie continued to not respond, Betty and Jughead shared a puzzled look.

“Are you okay, Archie?” Jughead questioned, trying to make eye contact with his solemn friend.

“I’m fine.”  Archie shrugged.  “Just a bit tired.  I think I’m gonna go home early, get to sleep.  Gotta be wide awake to watch (Y/N)’s movie tomorrow.”

He exited the diner, leaving Betty and Jughead to continue their excited conversation over the movie.

Now it’s big black cars, and Riviera views, And your lover in the foyer doesn't even know you And your secrets end up splashed on the news front page

As predicted by Archie, (Y/N)’s role in her debut movie attracted other producers, allowing her more opportunities to audition for more parts.  Each movie she was in became a success, and soon (Y/N) was the poster child of young Hollywood actors.

Her busy filming schedule prevented her from ever returning to her hometown, no matter how much Mayor McCoy begged her to.

Even if she were able to return, (Y/N) knew it wouldn’t be because of the mayor. It would be because of her red-headed best friend.

As much as (Y/N) tried to keep in touch with her best friend, it became increasingly difficult with each new movie role she obtained.  Even when she found a spare moment to call Archie, he never answered. She always brushed it off as her calling at an inconvenient time.  (Y/N) never even considered the possibility that Archie stared at his phone screen as her name appeared before silencing its rings, not daring to pick up and hear her voice.

And they tell you that you’re lucky But you’re so confused, 'Cause you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used And all the young things line up to take your place

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” The reporters yelled from all around the red carpet, camera flashes going off every second. Through the chaos, (Y/N) maintained a smile.  By now, she was experienced with the hell of red carpets.

“(Y/N), do you have a boyfriend,” one reporter asked, holding a microphone out towards her. Her smile faltered for just a moment, but she quickly recovered.

“Oh, god no,” she answered with a light laugh.  “I mean I’m only fifteen, and so much is going on in my life right now.  I don’t know that anyone would want to deal with me right now.”

“So many boys are pining after you, (Y/N)!” the reporter exclaimed.  “It can’t be because of that.  Could it be because you already have someone?  A secret lover?”

(Y/N)’s mind immediately jumped to Archie. She hadn’t seen him in five years, so she could only picture his ten-year-old face.

“No,” she said after a moment of hesitation.  “No, I don’t have a secret lover.”

“You hesitated though,” the reported pointed out.  “Maybe it’s just a crush?”

She thought, again, of her red-headed best friend back in Riverdale.  He was the first person she told that she was moving, the only person that made her hesitate before leaving Riverdale.

“No,” (Y/N) shook her head with a bitter smile.  “No crushes here.”

Another name goes up in lights You wonder if you’ll make it out alive

“Another successful movie by (Y/N),” Jughead sighed, flopping into the booth.  Betty nudged him as she nodded her head towards Archie, who sat across from them.  “Sorry, Arch,” Jughead apologized.

Archie shook his head and didn’t respond.

“Are you guys angry about that?” Veronica questioned.  “I mean, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is an acting legend. Isn’t there some Riverdale pride here that this small town produced one of the hottest up-and-coming actresses in Hollywood?”

“We knew (Y/N),” Betty explained quietly, not taking her eyes off of Archie.

“Yeah, I’ve met her once, too,” Veronica said, not understanding the issue at hand.  “I met her at a club.”

“Veronica,” Betty reiterated, “we knew (Y/N).  She was one of our best friends.”

“Oh,” Veronica finally understood.  She glanced at Archie, who was picking at his French fries.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Before she could finish, Archie got up and stormed out of the diner.

“(Y/N) was best friends with all of us,” Betty continued, slightly shaking her head, “but she and Archie were best friends.  Everyone always thought they’d get married.”

And they’ll tell you now, you’re the lucky one Yeah, they’ll tell you now, you’re the lucky one Can you tell me now, you’re the lucky one, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

As Archie continued his studies in high school, (Y/N) continued to act in movies and guest-star in TV shows.

When Archie became captain of the football team, (Y/N) was nominated for an Oscar.

Slowly but surely, both Archie and (Y/N) began to let go of each other, not daring to reminisce upon their childhood friendship.

(Y/N) stopped attempting to reach Archie, finally accepting that he was, in fact, ignoring her.  She went on dates with other actors and musicians that she met, only briefly thinking of the red-head back home.  Archie dated girls, such as Valerie and Veronica, and he only thought of his long-lost (Y/N) a few times.

It was a few years later, I showed up here And they still tell the legend of how you disappeared, How you took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out

After Archie graduated, he decided to stay in Riverdale to focus on his music. He could’ve gone to college, hell he could’ve moved to Nashville or LA or New York to be in a better environment to work on his music. But he saw what leaving did to (Y/N), and he knew that he didn’t want to go down that path. She was living her dream. And even if music was his dream, Archie did not want the fame that came with a successful music career.

He posted his songs on YouTube and left it at that. No promotions, no running around begging for record deals.

(Y/N), thousands of miles away, watched every single video. She smiled at his talent (and blushed at his muscular form). She hadn’t seen him since he was ten; the only things that were familiar to her were his bright red hair and soulful eyes.

[writeyourownlifestory]

L-I-G-H-T-S U-P

Chapters: 4/20 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: No warnings at this time Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: PunkRocker!Eddie, Writer!Richie, Beveddie!Friendship, No Clown Written by: myself & @ahardlife​ Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @ghostnebula, @madidraw @madi-main, @gazebobullshit, @thoughtfullyyoungduck​, @airbenderking

Puff piece writer Richie Tozier is given the chance of a lifetime to interview his celebrity crush: Dr. K, the lead singer of punk rock band, Trashmouth. Dr. K is about to release his first solo album and Richie wants to get all the dirty details. But all is not what it appears to be and the two realize they know each other from a different time, in a different place, when they were both very different people.

Chapters one, two, three

Angels - Robbie Williams 

I sit and wait Does an angel contemplate my fate And do they know The places where we go When we're grey and old 'Cause I have been told That salvation lets their wings unfold So when I'm lying in my bed Thoughts running through my head And I feel the love is dead I'm loving angels instead

Richie felt like he was running a mile a minute, even when he was behind the wheel of a car. His throat was tight and his head felt it had been pound against concrete. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, trying to collect himself as he sat in the parking lot of the hotel. He couldn’t go in there looking like a deranged lunatic.

He had his badge from Paper Boat and made sure to dress appropriately before heading to the hotel. He didn’t want them to think he was some kind of crazed fan who had a weapon on him. And yeah, maybe he was partially a crazed fan, but he wasn't carrying any weapon. When he went to the front desk, asking for the room number, he showed everything he had to. After checking with Dr. K’s assistant (Beverly, of course) he was given access and lead up to the suite.

He knocked on the door, practically holding his breath as he waited. And waited, and waited, and waited. And for a hot second, he thought maybe he wasn’t even there. He was a fucking rockstar for God's sake, who fucking knew what he was doing with his time!

And then the door opened and Dr. K was standing there, looking as gorgeous as ever. He didn’t seem all too surprised to see Richie there, but he also didn’t look like he was expecting him either. “Richie. Hi.”

“Hey.” He breathed softly.

“What’s up?” Dr. K asked with a soft smile. And there it was… a glimpse of the old Eddie he used to love. Used to? Or still loved? Did love ever truly die or was humanity just too soft?

“Oh. I was just . . . in the neighborhood.” Richie said, rolling on the balls of his feet, setting aside the rambling in his head. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Dr. K stood there for another moment before stepping aside. The moment he was allowed access, Richie rushed right in, his fingers combing through his hair slowly. “I lied,” he said as soon as the door was closed behind him. “I wasn’t in the neighborhood.”

“I sort of guessed that Rich,” the other said with a slight chuckle as he walked up to him.

“I came here because you’re . . . you.”

“I’m me.” Dr. K breathed out with a shrug.

“You’re . . . shit, man.” Richie began pacing back and forth, breathing deeply.

He had thought about it over and over again in the car. All the things he wanted to say to the other man. All the emotions that he had pent up and buried deep inside since they were just kids. And now it was his chance to spit it all out, but he just couldn’t.

He didn’t look like Eddie. Eddie was short and wore bobby socks and short-shorts with a rainbow pattern. A polo shirt and bleached white shoes and always carrying around an inhaler. The little boy with the perfectly cut hair and adorable dimples. That was the Eddie he knew. The Eddie he loved.

This man wasn’t that kid anymore. He was in jeans and a black shirt. Muscles that could be seen through the shirt and combed back hair. He had tattoos and bags under his eyes.

Though that smile. That stupid fucking smile was the same. Richie knew it from the moment he saw it in person.

That beautiful, boyish smile. After a decade and a half that still hasn’t changed.

“I thought you were dead!” Richie snapped after a moment, turning to face the other man. “I thought . . . you just fucking disappeared, man. You were there and then you weren’t and I never heard from you again.”

“I said goodbye,” Dr. K mentioned somberly.

But it wasn’t supposed to be their goodbye. Eddie had snuck out one final time before his mother moved them away. They were just thirteen but so much shit happened between them. They were kids who were forced to grow up due to the hate that society wore as a badge of honor.

Richie thought about that night often, dreaming of it until it slowly began to haunt him like a nightmare it was. Living with the knowledge that he’d never see this one person again. Eddie was the only person who made Richie feel like he was worth something and then he was gone in a flash and all he had left were the memories he wished he could forget.

“I tried to find you, but nothing came up,” Richie confessed to him. “Eddie Kaspbrak didn’t exist anymore.”

“He doesn’t. Not really. I don’t have personal social media or any of that shit. Beverly keeps all my personal information under lock and key.”

“This is . . . I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone, man.”

“I know this isn’t ideal Rich, but I’m glad you know.” Dr. K -- Eddie, he was Eddie -- admitted. “The moment I found out that you’d be the one interviewing me. Rich, I thought I was losing my mind.”

“ You’re losing your mind?” Richie laughed aloud. “I’ve seen you over a dozen times in concert! I have shirts with your face on them. I’ve fucking jacked off to you dude, and now I’m finding out you’re my fucking childhood sweetheart or some shit.”

“Why are you mad about this?”

“I’m not mad!” Richie snapped. “I’m just . . . I’m not good with my emotions, okay?” He moved to plop down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands. “After you left, I had no one okay? It took a ridiculously long time for me to get around with being comfortable in my skin again. I tried to forget about that time, you know? I tried to move on, but it’s hard. And I thought I accomplished it, but now you’re back and all those memories and emotions are coming back.”

Richie didn’t know if he wanted to run away or vomit. Maybe a bit of both. He honestly had no clue, but what he did know was that he needed to focus on something other than the harsh reality, mostly because it wasn’t all that harsh, to begin with.

For years he had hoped and prayed that he’d see Eddie again and know that the other guy was all right. That his mother didn’t hurt him or send him somewhere that killed his beautiful spirit. Richie didn’t know how Eddie went from being the sweet little kid with the inhaler in his fanny pack to the punk rock God that was Dr. K but he was sure the transition was interesting enough.

Eddie was beside him suddenly, a hand placed on his shoulder as they sat together on the couch. “I missed you, Rich.” He admitted quietly.

“Fuck, Eddie.”

He was Eddie. He could call him that now. He could look to this guy and not only see this amazing rock star but also his childhood best friend all grown up. They were both all grown up and that scared Richie more than anything.

“I have like . . . nine hundred questions.” He admitted with a soft laugh.

Eddie smiled in response, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Well, I’m free for the rest of the night, so if you want to ask, lay them on me.”

Richie didn’t know where to start so he just started babbling out questions at lightning speed. What the fuck happened to him after he moved away? How did he survive his mother’s intolerance? How did he join Trashmouth? Fucking Trashmouth !

“I can’t believe my favorite band is named after me,” Richie mentioned quietly. “That’s like, a total mind fuck dude.”

“The label was putting it all together and needed something extremely alternative,” Eddie admitted, leaning back on the opposite side of the couch.

They were sitting together, face to face the same way they would on the old hammock in Richie’s backyard. Legs tangled, feet near the face.

“Trashmouth sounded so ridiculous and they ended up loving it.”

“I feel like I deserve some revenue or something.” Richie teased. “All right. One name down. Now I have to know the other. Dr. K?”  

“You’re the one who gave it to me,” Edde mentioned fondly. “Every time you’d wipe out on your bike or do something to get yourself hurt, I’d bust my ass to get you fixed up.”

“Dude, I was making a Kevorkian joke,” Richie admitted, laughing as he thought back to all the teasing he had done to the poor kid until their true feelings came out.

Of course, even when they were technically an item and disgustingly in love despite only being twelve and thirteen, they still teased one another. It’s just how they were. That was their thing and it worked wonderfully for them.

“Yeah well. Some people say I kill on stage, so it works.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Richie said, raising the tiny water bottle they had taken from the minibar and sipping at it. As it turned out, Eddie wasn’t a hard drinker. He had gotten over that part of his life it seemed. He confessed to Richie that he dabbled in the rock star lifestyle a little too hard in the beginning and gave it all up so he wouldn’t join the 27-Club.

Too many nights snorting things he shouldn’t be snorting and waking up in a bed with someone whose name he never learned left Eddie slightly scarred and he wanted nothing more to do than to grow from those experiences and be better.

There were still so many things that he wanted to ask him, so many answers that he wanted, but he knew they couldn’t go over it all at this moment. He tried to keep it slow, not wanting to bombard Eddie the first time they got to do this.

Eddie was moving then, suddenly sitting up so he was in the middle of the couch, resting in the entanglement of their limbs. “Did you see me sixteen times?” He inquired.

“On the third time I had the chance to go backstage, but I dipped last minute due to my nerves,” Richie admitted, quietly wishing he had something harder to drink.

“Seriously? God, if we had . . . Rich, we could have reconnected so much earlier.”

“Trust me, you did not want to know college-Richie, okay? My hair was greasy, and my face was all sorts of fucked up. I was in the closet and I desperately needed to be held.”

“Rich. I think you’re forgetting that I used to swap spit with eighth-grade-Richie, who sounds identical to college-Richie.”

“I can’t believe you said swap-spit without cringing. Where did my little hypochondriac go?”

“I think he died of a cocaine overdose a few years back,” Eddie joked dryly, going to lay back on the couch.

“So that’s really what rock and rollers do? Do drugs, sleep around, and drink until you can’t remember your name?”

“Something like that,” Eddie drawled out. “When they put the band together I wasn’t in a good place. I was good and I knew that. People told me that constantly. People said I was talented and put little white lines in front of me and offered me girls and when I said I didn’t want girls they offered me, guys. Some people were put off with the idea of a gay rockstar but others thought it would be a new wave or inventive. Woke or whatever.”

“Will you tell me about it? How it all began?”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

Richie raised a brow, taken aback by the question. “Wait you wanna see me again?” He asked dumbly.

“Hell yeah, I wanna see you! We have seventeen years to catch up on, asshole. I wanna know what else you’ve been doing up to this point.”

Richie snorted, really, really wishing he was drinking something stronger. “I can assure you, it won’t be half as interesting as everything you’ve been doing.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Eddie had something to do the following morning but he’d be free the afternoon. Richie had already told Bill that he wanted to work in the article so he’d use that excuse to not show up to the office.

It was strange, making plans like these. With a friend. With Eddie. Eddie was his friend. Not a best friend like he had been years ago, but it was still something.

Richie left the suite wondering what in the hell just happened. After years of wondering and searching, he finally found that long lost best friend and there was barely an ounce of awkwardness to it.

Okay, maybe an ounce only because it was still so hard to see him as Eddie and not Dr. K. Richie was eager to know how he got from point A to B but he’d wait for that.

If Eddie stayed in his life then he’d wait forever.