#I watch the wild hope for the future I was introduced to over radio at 9 years old wither

[bijoumikhawal]

"Biden is the best choice and he's actually really empathetic and reasonable but also you can't wait for a candidate that won't do genocide and war crimes because to become a presidential candidate you have to be willing to do that" see what you fundamentally don't understand is I'm not waiting for a candidate that won't do war crimes, because I know that. I cannot morally stomach this system, it's a joke to claim its democratic, and AMERICA DELENDA EST. this country is a plague on this Earth

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 328: Pandora’s Box of Discourse

Previously on BnHA: DEKU TOOK A BATH.

Today on BnHA: 

Also Naomasa grew a beard. Goddamn. 

please let this be a cool chapter that plays nice with my ADHD lol

(ETA: lol I feel guilty because a lot of people hated this chapter, but I’m just happy there was a lot of stuff to make fun of, and also that I have another week to work on my backlog of meta posts since the kids were MIA.)

around one month ago?? ah, okay, so we’re gonna find out what was in that Tartarus security file huh

I love that they just randomly set the place on fire

was it necessary to do this in order to escape? no. was it a good idea to set the island they were occupying on fire while they were in the midst of still occupying it? uh. was it cinematic as fuck? fuck yeah

wow it’s a pervert!!

that’s so great that the villains set loose this fine fellow who I’m sure is definitely not a serial rapist. truly the LoV is so noble and misunderstood. they’re just trying to free society from its chains people

oh my god??!

SHANKED!!! oh my god I cheered for Stain before I realized what I was doing. time to have an identity crisis I guess

so he’s all “hey what’s going on.” which, while a respectable question, is something I personally would have waited to ask until I had put a bit of distance between myself and the fiery murder island. but that’s just my personal preference

Stain you really are tenacious I’ll give you that

“what’s the point of escaping prison if you’re not gonna be smart about it” well shit. anyways yeah you’re dead right, society is in the process of collapsing and the outside world is in total chaos, good call there

oh shit

I mean it’s not like we really expecting anything otherwise, but still. fucking brutal. I feel like these guys’ fates were decided the minute that one guy called AFO “scum” back in chapter 94. AFO is unmatched at getting long-term revenge

??

ahh, was it the security footage??

fdsdfk he’s still alive??

and he’s immediately launching into an inappropriately theatrical monologue even as the darkness closes in on him fdlfksjdlk. you know, was it ever confirmed that the other guy back in chapter 297 was Seiji’s dad? I’m just saying

very impressed that he’s still coherent enough to weigh the pros and cons before making the decision to gamble on giving this info to Stain, who at the very least has his own moral code and isn’t allied with AFO. it was definitely still a risk, but as we now know it was also the right call

what a weird alliance. so Stain tells him that he’ll give it to a just person, and the guy is all,

okay for real though I’m gonna need someone to run a DNA test on this guy. maybe it was some kind of cuckold situation?? the other guy had the family resemblance, but this guy absolutely 100% raised Shishikura Seiji and you are not going to convince me otherwise

anyway, so Stain is all,

PRISON GUARD: “???? ??????? what the hell. what the fuck does that fucking mean. I’m dying here, jesus christ, whatever man fuck you”

(ETA: I kind of feel like this might have been Stain’s last appearance in the manga, given all the fanfare. there’s not really much else he can do for the story at this point, and he seems to have gotten all the character development Horikoshi was planning on giving him. so if this really is it, hasta la vista and good riddance I guess.)

DWLFDKSLDK MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE

(ETA: I feel like this is meant to be evocative of that Sermon on the Mount painting, but in a really fucked up way lol.)

if it were me stumbling upon this scene I would just shake my head and walk right back into the flaming building. not getting involved in that mess. sorry not sorry. I’ll take my chances with the fire, especially given that it’s half-assed neutered BnHA fire lol

blah blah blah and so he decided to pass the info on to All Might -- HOT DAMN, HOLY SHIT

NAOMASA HOLY SHIT. THE APOCALYPSE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU, BOY

“I really like that facial scruff thing Aizawa’s got going on, I think I’m gonna get in on that” yes sir. “also thinking of ditching the tie in favor of the bulletproof vest look. also thinking of getting totally fucking jacked.” good lord. except I’m pretty sure that’s just body armor, but also I don’t care. anyway I should probably stop staring and actually read the fucking speech bubbles here lol

“All Might first handed this information over to Nao, and then went to see Deku, and then came back to Nao” thanks for that tidy little summary Horikoshi. we are capable of piecing events together in sequential order, I just want you to know that. but thank you

“so has Deku finally gotten a bath? also, sucks that Stain saved the day, but what are you gonna do” Nao I missed you so fucking much and didn’t even realize. how am I just now realizing that you are the perfect man

for a second I was gonna ask why Tartarus’s security systems would be cut off from the outside world, and then I remembered that’s a basic security control, and then I actually got impressed by how sensible that is. like, it’s been a while since I could genuinely say that the good guys (excluding class 1-A) did something smart. not that it helped them much in the end, but still

anyway so they’re talking about how AFO was able to coordinate the attack by communicating between his horcrux self on the outside and his ugly peanut-faced self on the inside

huh

okay you have my attention. I am taking notes here lol please continue

ah okay so he says that prior to Jakku, the transfer of information between him and his Vestige self was only one-way. but post-Jakku when Deku was in the hospital, he was able to tell what was happening inside the OFA Radical Lisa Frank Dead People Book Club Realm when he touched him. I feel like we established that before, actually. but he didn’t talk about how it actually felt, though

boy we already know this lol. yes AFO can talk with his horcrux self. and he can also communicate with his little bro in OFA too, let’s talk about that sometime why don’t we. what exactly does that imply, based on the rules we’ve established here

my god I cannot get over Naomasa and his fucking facial hair

no wonder All Might was in such a hurry to leave Deku and get back here

like I have no idea what this radio waves nonsense is but my god, people

that jawline. also so it’s a quirk, I see. except last I checked Deku didn’t have a radio waves quirk, so that doesn’t really explain his connection to AFO. but whatever, hopefully we’re at least getting closer to some kind of reveal here

(ETA: since I sometimes forget that other people’s lives don’t revolve around my theory posts, here are the two relevant links if you by chance want to know my thoughts about this.

Hagakure is still The U.A. Traitor™ regardless of whether Deku is passing information on to AFO through his psychic link, which he almost certainly is.

speaking of said psychic link, Deku is a horcrux.

just posting these now, because whenever trippy OFA stuff happens I tend to get an influx of theory asks. so hopefully this will be a bit of a time saver lol.)

-- wait, what

THAT’S what the recording was??!? holy SHIT. I genuinely was not expecting that. y’all wiretapped his fucking telepathy. fucking quirks, man. wild

AND THEY USED THAT POWER TO DETERMINE WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW, HUZZAH. GOOD SHOW

-- oh shit wait lol, except I forgot we’re not talking about 38 days from the present, we’re talking about 38 days from the date the conversation was recorded. heh. um

yeah that’s the face I would make too if All Fucking Might just casually told me we had eight days left until the end times

oh, pardon me. three fucking days

r.i.p. anyone who thought we were going to have another band arc sob. I sure hope Deku is enjoying that nap

(ETA: I realize people were hoping for a longer rest period here, but given that the man warned us all the way back in chapter 306 that we were entering the final act, you can’t really blame him too much when that turns out to be true. anyway but I do recognize that we’ve reached the point in the story where this kind of discourse is going to become a weekly occurrence, simply because there’s no possible way for Horikoshi’s actual endgame to line up perfectly with the variable headcanons of millions of fans, all of whom have wildly differing and in many cases contradictory expectations which can’t possibly all be fulfilled. anyway, so I’m already bracing myself for that lol. this coming year is going to be a wild ride.)

damn, U.A. out here looking like the motherfucking United Nations

-- is this U.A.?? I actually just realized, U.A. is four interconnected buildings, not two. wait holy shit is this Shiketsu?

wait holy SHIT

based on the overwhelmingly powerful vibes of bureaucratic incompetence, I’m thinking this really is the (future) U.N., or whatever organization it is that deals with international hero stuff

“just let them handle it themselves I’m sure they’ll be fine” yeah okay, thanks guys. appreciate it

wait oh shit did he say that it’s not just Japan?

soooo, what you’re telling me is that AFO is this close to bringing about the end of not just Japan, but the entire world, and you guys don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Japanese heroes stop him? so, genuine follow-up question: are you guys already planning your rich people exodus into space a la Wall-E, and that’s why you don’t give a fuck?? like, what??

omg international heroes

these guys are from World Hoodie Mission, right? is this Horikoshi’s way of reminding me to buy tickets

(ETA: and it worked too lol.)

WHO??? WHAT???

don’t tell me you’re introducing yet another badass new female character for me to fall in love with only to watch as you dismember them and/or blow them up, Horikoshi. I’m getting tired of playing this game my dude. don’t lie and tell me this time will be different. we’re not doing this again goddammit

noooooooooooooooooooo

god fucking dammit lmao. [sighs and rips the previous paragraph into shreds]

on behalf of Americans I apologize for our superheroes always being Like This

I also apologize because I love her already and I’m gonna be shameless about it. so fucking shameless you guys

is her fucking hair red white and blue. it is, isn’t it

this is the volume cliffhanger, 100% lol. it will take every ounce of Horikoshi’s willpower not to put her on the volume cover. he’ll have to settle for the spine or the inner cover this time because Deku VS his class 1-a superpals takes precedence. but it will be a close thing let me tell you

tbh it’s that smile that does it for me. she’s definitely All Might’s protege. get out there and show them how it’s done girl. and maybe call Salaam and BRD and see if you can’t convince them to play hooky from their governments as well. why not. world’s ending in three days you guys. “sorry, I’m busy this weekend” ain’t gonna cut it lol

so while I am not fully caught up with Vigilantes, I have read far enough to know that there’s an American hero named Captain Celebrity whose superpower from what I recall is being a humongous douchebag. and while I haven’t read far enough to know what happens to this guy, I can’t say I’m very disappointed to learn that he’s no longer the number one hero in the U.S. (actually, didn’t they kick him out and that’s why he moved to Japan to begin with?). anyway, so my thanks to Horikoshi for having a marginally higher opinion of Americans than Furuhashi, even though we have definitely not done anything to warrant said opinion lately, and you may have inadvertently opened the door to a pandora’s box of discourse lmao

(ETA: lol I went into the tags and they don’t disappoint. “why is she dressed like a flag” because she’s an homage to Captain America and Major Victory and literally every other character on this list. again, I apologize for fictional American superheroes being Like This. “oh boy another thicc waifu to make the fanboys happy” look, tumblr fandom never seems to have a problem thirsting over Dabi or Tomura or Aizawa or Nao, lol, I’m just saying. “where is Captain Celebrity” idk, probably murdered by the exploding bee cartel, let’s just be grateful for our good fortune and try not to Beetlejuice the man.)

anyway, so let’s see if Horikoshi’s recent character development with regards to making Mineta not terrible anymore will apply to other aspects of his writing as well. I know I was making light of discourse just now, but I do think the complaints about him introducing yet another new character at the 11th hour to be cannon fodder in the final battle are absolutely valid. and again, it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t keep maiming/killing off his female characters one by one instead of developing them and letting them kick ass long-term. but that said, I will never complain about Horikoshi adding another female character to the series, regardless of how clumsy the attempt may be. go ahead and pander away, just give us more girl power lol

anyway so we’ll see how it goes, but I think I’m gonna be optimistic and let myself hope once again, even though I’m probably gonna regret it lol. it is what it is. she is standing on an airplane just chilling for fuck’s sake. I’m only human. anyway fingers crossed

[musedblues]

Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.”  Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe. 

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head.  A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw.  "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[meepmorpperaltiago]

The Christmas Party(s)

Heyyyy @b99peraltiago, I’m your secret santa! I hope you like this fic, some of the things I included that you mentioned were parallels, slow dances and the colour yellow :) Also idk where the timeline for the first part is and the title was grammatically impossible to figure out, but it does have baby Mac so...

The halls were decked, the trees were up and the 2015 99 Christmas party was in full swing.

Charles was handing out possibly hundreds of Christmas cards of him and Jason posing together, Terry and Rosa were rocking out while Gina was doing god knows what on the dancefloor, Hitchcock and Scully were being relatively not-gross, even Holt seemed to be relatively cheerful.

But one detective simply couldn’t get into the spirit of the season.

Whilst his colleagues danced wildly around him to the tune of the band, Jake unenthusiastically attempted to maintain a somewhat happy composure in spite of his misery in that moment.

All he could do was sit and watch as the woman he liked (maybe even loved), swayed in the arms of another man.

He didn’t want to sound whiny by saying it aloud, but it’d been so hard since he’d come back from being undercover to realise that Amy and Teddy were still together, especially as she’d essentially rejected his romantic-stylzes confession before he left. Really, the word “rejected” wasn’t fair – she’d been incredibly kind given the circumstances and honestly he just blamed himself for ruining the pretty decent frenemy-ship they’d had going.

 Although Rosa had comforted him earlier, being the friend who knew the most about his predicament (yeah he knew fancy words), even she had eventually gone off to have fun at his insistence.

Wild fantasies of abruptly shoving Teddy aside and taking Amy in his arms (and then saving the city while the rest of the 99/the entire population of New York cheered and played the Die Hard theme followed by What A Man and lit off Christmas/Hannukah fireworks in his honour) drifted through his mind. Ok, even if that was insane, could at least have gone up to her and asked for a platonic dance. But seeing her there, with him, so happy, he felt rooted to his chair. He couldn’t complicate things for her by doing that.

Instead, he sat tapped out a rhythm onto the cold, slightly sticky floor, desperate to do anything having been sat down for almost half an hour. All he could do was fidget, whilst he daydreamed about a time far in the future where he’d be there with her.

But at the same time that would mean her and Teddy breaking up and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he liked her so much that he didn’t want her to go through the crappiness that was a break up.

But still, he couldn’t help but think…someday…

The moment Amy and Teddy came up to him arm in arm to wish him a merry Christmas together, like a real life freakin’ greeting card, his heart shattered.

After he said goodbye to them, he left early that night and drank far too much while trying to watch Die Hard to cheer himself up, in the vague hope that he might forget the whole horrible evening.

  Amy couldn’t help but watch as he left. She’d kept up a happy smile for Teddy’s sake, but she felt like she was going to lose it if she had to endure this party for much longer. It wasn’t just that she was so incredibly bored of hearing Teddy talk about the pilsners he was going to brew to bring to her parent’s house, or that she hated the song that the band were currently playing (Santa Baby – flirting with Santa? Really?). It was when she realised where Jake was that the evening really started to go downhill.

All night she’d tried to push down the ache she’d felt when she saw him sat all alone. But she knew that if she went over and comforted him, she wouldn’t want to leave his side. And how would that look to Teddy? Not that there was anything to hide from her boyfriend of course. Whatever she had felt for Jake in the past, she was definitely over it. But still… she couldn’t help but wonder…          

 5 years later

Much time had passed and a lot had changed but it was a similar scene: all across New York, Christmas lights were switching on, weary shoppers stood in long lines waiting to get to perfect gifts and the 99’s 2020 Christmas party was only half an hour away.

A slow Taylor Swift song drifted from the radio into every corner of Jake and Amy’s apartment, from the album Jake had made Amy listen to until 2am. Not that she really minded, the joy on his face at the new music from his favourite artist being her main motive to stay awake.  

 Now, stood near to their front door, her yellow dress seemed to shimmer even as she stood with her hands on her hips.

“Jake, he can’t come with us – your mom is already coming over and a fancy party isn’t a place for a baby.”

“But look how cute he is!”, Jake protested, holding up their son, dressed up in an admittedly adorable suit and tiny bow tie.

Just then, the song switches and an expression comes onto Jake’s face that Amy knows all too well.

“Come on Ames, I know you love this one.”

Without saying a word, she rolled her eyes affectionately before taking his hand and they began to twirl around the kitchen, with Mac watching on in as much amusement as a 6 month old could express.

They soon swept their son up into the dance too, twirling him around as a more upbeat song came on. Then Jake came up with an idea he was pretty proud of as they slowed down.

“How about we ditch the party and just watch some Christmas movies? It’s never too early to introduce Mac to some of the classics…”

“We’re not showing our baby Die Hard, Jake.” Amy had lost track of how many times she’d said this since before Mac was even born.

“He’s too young to even understand the violence, it’ll fly right over his head!”

 In the end, Jake won the party argument while Amy won the movie one. Instead of going out (and instead of traumatising their baby with Die Hard), they cosied up to watch Elf, whilst eating Christmas cookies that Karen brought the last time she came over and they both agreed it was better than any “dumb fancy Christmas party” (Jake’s words, not Amy’s).  

[omgjasminesimone]

Juvenile Delinquents Part 4

Logan x MC

Previous Part: Part 3

Next Part: Part 5

Word Count: 3300

Author’s Note: I was super unmotivated to write this (which is why it’s been like 2 months since the last part), but then I sat down and wrote the whole thing in one sitting! So if it’s bad, that’s why. 

“Hey! I was listening to that!” Mona complains, wheeling herself out from under the car she was working on. 

“No one wants to hear that heavy metal shit.” Colt insists, turning up the radio now that he’s set it to West Coast hip hop. 

“I really wish you had left for college.” Mona gripes. 

Colt smirks at her. “You and my mom.”

“Would you guys focus? We have a lot of work to get through today.” Ximena insists, rolling herself out from under the truck she’s working on. 

“Ughh, too much work.” Toby complains.

Logan rolls his eyes at all of them, intensely focused as he digs in the open hood of the expensive Maserati a wealthy athlete brought in yesterday night. He’s slightly startled when her arms wrap around his chest from behind, but he quickly relaxes into her embrace. 

Ellie places a kiss to the skin just above the neck of his oil stained white t-shirt. Logan turns to face her, careful not to touch her with his hands covered in motor oil. Ellie’s arms move up to wrap around his neck, pulling him close.

She smiles up at him. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” He returns, leaning down to kiss her. He means for it to be chaste, but Ellie deepens it, obviously not caring that they have an audience. 

“Ughh, get a room.” Colt complains, tossing the magazine he was reading to the card table housing the radio. 

Ellie bites down on Logan’s bottom lip softly before pulling away. “That’s not a bad idea, except that I’m heading out.” Ellie retorts, speaking to Colt but looking at Logan. 

“Hanging out with Riya?” Logan asks

“No, me and Darius are going to go check out UCSD. It’s his number one pick for college.” Ellie explains. 

“Nerd.” Mona insults, and Ellie turns to stick her tongue out playfully. 

Ellie turns back to Logan. “I’ll be back later. But first, one more for the road.” She kisses him again, every bit as passionate as the first one. Logan instinctively starts to put his hands on her hips before he remembers that he doesn’t want to stain her clothes and stops himself. Ellie seems to sense his hesitation, so she firmly grips his wrists and places his oil covered hands on the back pockets of her denim skirt. 

She pulls away and grins at him, twisting her head to check out her handy work.   Two neat black hand prints adorn her backside. She winks at him over her shoulder after she turns around, giving him a view of his hand prints on her. “Something to remember you by.” She quips before she leaves. 

Logan stares after her like a lovesick puppy, leaning against the Maserati.

“She’s been around an awful lot lately.” Kaneko’s tone makes it clear he doesn’t like this. 

Logan clenches his jaw. He likes that Ellie likes to stay over. Waking up beside her in the loft is the best way to start his day. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to have guests.” He settles on as a response. 

“...We wouldn’t want her to hear or see anything she shouldn’t.” Kaneko presses, eyes hard and daring Logan to retort. 

“.....School starts next week, she’ll be too busy studying and filling out college applications to be here all the time.” Logan replies. 

Kaneko nods, seemingly pleased with that response. 

Logan turns back to the car, getting back to work. He’s been dreading the start of Ellie’s senior year. He’s going to miss her constant presence, but it’s probably for the best. She has a bright future, and he doesn’t want to drag her down. The more time she spends in the garage with career criminals, the more likely it becomes that he’ll ruin her.

...

..

A few weeks later

“Logan.”

Logan stretches his right arm as he wakes, his left arm wrapped loosely around Ellie. They have less space in her twin bed versus his queen at the loft, but he definitely doesn’t mind being all snuggled up with her.

“Happy birthday to you…” Ellie sings, giggling a little when he groans.

“Happy birthday to you…” she runs a hand through his messy morning hair.

“Happy birthday Dear Logan… happy birthday to you!” She concludes with a kiss to his bare chest.

Logan peels an eye open, looking up at Ellie as she grins down at him from her position resting her head on his chest. “How do you know it’s my birthday?” He certainly hadn’t told her. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to do so, since no one has ever cared about his birthday before.

She kisses him again, on the lips this time. “It’s a public record since you’re a juvenile delinquent and all. Just had to google your inmate number.”

“I thought my juvenile records were sealed.” Logan mumbles, rubbing sleep from his eye.

“They are. Your inmate number doesn’t connect to your name or picture or anything.” Ellie explains. “But don’t get into any more trouble, now that you’re 18 it’s big boy jail for you.” Ellie teases. 

“....Does that make you jail bait?” 

Ellie pauses to ponder that. “I guess technically, but you know I’d never turn you in. You better hope my dad never walks in on us though. He would definitely make sure you were prosecuted.”

Logan gulps. even though he knows Detective Wheeler is out of town this weekend. He only stays over at Ellie’s when there’s no chance of her father showing up. 

They’ve seen less of each other since the school year started. Ellie studies a lot, and the Crew has had a lot of illegal jobs Logan can’t have Ellie around for. So when Ellie invited him over for the weekend, he jumped at the opportunity. He sleeps much better beside her. 

Logan gently grasps the back of Ellie’s neck, pulling her down into a kiss. “You’re worth the potential jail time.”

It’s several long moments before Ellie pulls away. “Guess what I’ve got planned for today.” She reveals excitedly. 

“Please don’t throw me a party.” Logan pleads. 

Ellie frowns. “Why won’t you let me celebrate you?”

“I want to celebrate privately, just me and you Troublemaker, in bed.” Logan reveals, hands ghosting over her curves. 

Ellie playfully swats his hands away, sitting up and throwing her t-shirt back on from the crumbled pile on the floor where Logan threw it last night. “There will be time for that later, but Riya, Darius, and your friends are all already coming over for your party this afternoon.”

Logan furrows his brow, sitting up as well. Ellie tosses him his shirt, and he reluctantly puts it on. “My friends? You mean the crew? They’re not my friends. They’re coworkers I get along with.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “They’re your friends, besides maybe Colt. But he’s coming too.” 

...

..

Ellie spends the morning baking him a cake, and decorating the house for the party. Logan is overwhelmed by the amount of caring she’s putting into this. It’s an unfamiliar feeling for anyone to give a damn about him, and he tries not to let himself get too accustomed to it. 

Eventually, Ellie’s friends and his coworkers arrive, with food and drinks. Considering how different their ‘friend’ groups are, they all get along surprisingly well. 

They’re in the middle of a raucous game of Never Have I Ever, that Ellie was definitely about to lose (she never fails to surprise Logan, he’s learning some truly wild things about her from this game), when Colt gets a text message. 

He exchanges looks with the rest of the crew. “Hey guys, it’s my dad. He needs help back at the shop.” Colt says shortly. It’s clearly not a shop thing, but a gang thing. 

Logan taps Ellie’s thigh so she’ll slide off his lap, starting to get up from the lazy boy armchair to follow the rest of the crew. 

“No way birthday boy, we’ve got this. Enjoy your party.” Ximena insists, hugging him warmly before she ushers the crew out the door, not giving him any chance to protest. 

Ellie pouts. “We can’t have a party with only four people.”

Logan shrugs. “That’s three more than are usually present for my birthday party.”

“See? That’s just sad Logan. Now I’m making sure you get a real party. Darius, is Brent still having that thing tonight?” Ellie questions.

“Yep. The annual Brent Vandermeer back to school bash is still a thing.” Darius replies, sounding bored at the mere notion of going. 

“You don’t seriously want to go to that, do you? After how last time that’s how Ingrid found out about the drugs and turned you in?!” Riya asks incredulously. 

Logan frowns. “This sounds like a bad idea Ellie.” 

Ellie rolls her eyes at the concern from Logan and Riya. “I do seriously want to go. Come on, don’t be such wet blankets.”

Logan wants to argue more, but Ellie is already heading upstairs to change and do her make-up, so he knows her mind is already made up. 

...

..

Logan groans as Ellie grinds her ass against him as they dirty dance in the middle of Brent’s colossal mansion. She’s been teasing him all night. “When can we get out of here?” Logan says loudly into her ear so she can hear him over the booming bass. He needs to have her all to himself. 

She turns around to face him, kissing him heatedly. “Patience is a virtue.” she assures him. 

“Fuck Ellie, I’ve been very patient. And it’s my birthday.” He’s never had a chance to pull the it’s my birthday card before, since no one else has ever cared. 

She looks like she’s wavering, but then she spots something over his shoulder. “I’m going to go get you some more jungle juice.” She announces, giving him another quick kiss before walking away. 

Logan sighs, running a hand through his hair. He spots Riya and Darius over by the food and goes to join them.

Logan watches Ellie go up to the guy who she introduced him to earlier, Brent, the spoiled rich kid who lives in this house. 

Riya hiccups, she’s had a lot to drink. “It’s cool how you’re cool with Ellie hanging out with Brent.” She slurs. 

Logan raises a brow and Darius subtly tries to elbow Riya, but she doesn’t seem to realize she said something wrong. 

“Why wouldn’t I be cool with it?” Logan questions. 

“No reason.” Darius insists, but Riya speaks over him. 

“Brent was Ellie’s first everything, they hooked up for a long time sophomore year.” Riya reveals. 

Logan’s eyes narrow as he watches Ellie slip Brent something, obviously drugs. Riya seems to mistake his anger at being about the relationship, so she hurries to continue. 

“But don’t worry Logan, after her mom died Ellie was really a mess. Brent was just a phase. And I think she only slept with him because she knew Ingrid liked him. Ellie used to be like that. But now she’s much better! And I think you’re really good for her.”

That makes Logan feel guilty for a moment. Good for her? He’s a gang member who’s dragging her deeper and deeper into a life of crime much beyond selling recreational drugs to spoiled rich kids. But if he’s good for anything, it’s protecting Ellie from herself. He watches her take a pill Brent offers her before he storms over. 

“What are you doing?” He asks harshly, gripping her arm. 

“Would you relax? It’s a party. Let me get you one so you can loosen up.” Ellie replies. 

“I don’t do drugs.” Logan insists. 

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Gee, think you could say that again, but even more judgmental this time?” Ellie mocks.  

“Why the fuck are you still selling drugs? I thought you were stopping, with college admissions right around the corner.” Logan presses, not releasing her arm when she tries to twist away from him.

“I can take care of myself. I know what I’m doing.” Ellie bites back. 

But Logan knows she has no idea what she’s doing. The type of circles she’s running in lately. There could easily be a raid on the garage, and if she’s carrying a ton of drugs, she could get serious time. The kind of time that derails college plans. 

“Let’s go.” Logan insists, trying to tug her towards his waiting car parked in the driveway. 

Ellie manages to free her arm from his hold. “I’m having a good time. Go if you want to. I’ll take a Dryve home.” She storms away from him, and Logan watches her go with a clenched fist. 

She approaches another group at the party, discreetly exchanging drugs for cash. 

Logan shakes his head, not even wanting to watch this. He storms out to his car, slamming the car down harshly. He winces when it closes roughly. He shouldn’t have done that. But he’s just so worked up. 

He just can’t understand Ellie Wheeler. Why a girl with everything seems to be so intent on throwing it all away. He only turned to crime as a last resort, a choice between that or sleeping in a box under the underpass. Whereas with Ellie, she had every choice in the world. But she just chooses to be bad for no reason. 

Maybe he should cut ties with her. His heart twists painfully at the very thought, but he can’t afford the kind of trouble she seems to bring now that he’s legally an adult. Maybe at least the night apart will be good for them, give them both time to think. 

He’s about to drive away when he notices the police cruisers approaching. they don’t have their lights or sirens on, obviously trying to be inconspicuous, but he’s spent so much time running from the cops that he has somewhat of a sixth sense for them. 

He should drive away now, before they breathalyze him and get him on a parole violation of underage drinking. Logan sighs, running an irritated hand down his face. He can’t leave her here. 

He slinks out of the car, leaving the door open so he can make a quick escape. Ellie is dancing with Brent, and the spoiled prick has his hands all over her. Ellie seems fairly out of it from whatever she took, and Riya and Darius are nowhere to be seen. 

Logan squelches his irritation at the sight, approaching the pair and gently pulling Ellie to him. 

“Hey man-” Brent starts to protest, but immediately shuts up when Logan shoots him a dark look. 

“Logan? You’re still here?” Ellie questions, speech slightly slurred. 

He ignores her question, tugging her towards the car. “We have to go.” He explains. 

“But I’m having a good time-” She starts. 

“Cops.” Logan says shortly, and Ellie immediately seems to sober up. He no longer needs to basically drag her out of the house, she’s walking quickly now, although she’s a little wobbly.

“Fuck.” Logan curses when they get outside. The cops have started to leave their vehicles, heading towards them. “Run!” Logan instructs, and they take off at a sprint to his waiting vehicle. 

“Stop right there!” A cop yells, but Logan doesn’t listen, flooring the accelerator. 

The cops start to attempt to close the gate to stop them, but Logan just speeds up, and the cops eventually jump away to avoid being hit as Logan squeezes through the small gap in the fence. 

A few cop cars quickly start to pursue them, 

Logan speeds through traffic, weaving dangerously in an attempt to shake them, but they’re still on his tail. 

“Seatbelt.” He barks at Ellie, and she quickly buckles herself in. He swerves suddenly and flies off the overpass, the cops stopping on the bridge. They hit the road below hard, and Logan turns off his headlights as he tries to blend back in with traffic. 

It’s several minutes before he’s confident he’s lost them. He pulls off onto a dirt road of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. 

Ellie giggles, and then starts laughing heartily. 

Logan looks at her incredulously. 

“I can’t believe we just did that! That was pretty impressive. I’m not sure how the cops caught you on your last joy ride.” Ellie praises, leaning in to kiss him. 

Logan turns his head so she gets his cheek instead. Ellie frowns. “What’s wrong?” 

“This. This is wrong.” Logan answers, gesturing between the two of them. “Girls like you aren’t supposed to be hanging out with guys like me. Girls like you aren’t supposed to end up in juvie. Girls like you aren’t supposed to be drug dealers.” 

Ellie’s eyes well with tears as she glares at him, not letting them fall over to give him the satisfaction of her tears. “You’re constantly judging me. Why can’t you just accept who I am?!”

“I’m not judging you. I’m trying to save you from yourself.” Logan insists. 

“That’s funny, coming from someone who can’t seem to even save himself.” Ellie retorts bitterly. 

Logan’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

“Do you think I’m stupid? That I don’t know what you are? All that time at the garage, you didn’t think I would catch on?” Ellie presses. 

Logan’s heart drops into his stomach. “Catch on to what?” He’s not going to say it, hopeful she doesn’t actually know what she’s talking about. If she does, Kaneko certainly isn’t going to like it. 

“The crew, or really the gang. The Mercy Park Crew, notorious LA criminals. The stolen cars. The ‘jobs’ you’d run out for. I’m not stupid, and I know everything.” Ellie reveals.  

Logan buries his face in his hands “Fuck.” He mutters. This is bad.

“You don’t have anything to worry about. I’d never turn you in. I’m not a snitch.” Ellie insists. 

“Your word isn’t going to be enough for Kaneko.” Logan insists. 

“But is it enough for you? Do you trust me Logan?” 

Logan lifts a shaking hand to cup her face, the adrenaline from the chase running out now. “I trust you with my life Troublemaker.”

Ellie places her hand over his. “Good. Your life is in good hands.” She teases, and he chuckles. 

Logan pulls Ellie over the seat and into his lap. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, burying his nose into her hair. 

Ellie gently plays with his hair. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to lie to you.” Logan continues. 

“You’re not that great of a liar.” Ellie retorts, and Logan laughs again. “I’m sorry too.” Ellie adds. 

“For what?” Logan questions, pulling back slightly so he can look at her. 

“I know that I’m.....difficult. And that you don’t get why I am the way I am. I definitely have my walls up, but I don’t want to push you away. Because....I love you Logan. I know I’ve only known you for a couple of months, but I do.” There’s several moments of silence after her confession, before Logan finally speaks. 

“I think I love you too.” Logan whispers, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

Ellie quirks a brow. “You ‘think’?” She echoes. 

“I’ve never loved anyone before so it’s hard to be sure, but I don’t know any other words to describe how I feel about you. So, I’m pretty sure I love you. No wait, I’m sure. I love you.” Logan finally concludes, kissing her gently as he hugs her to him.  

Their make out session quickly becomes heated. “Let’s go back to the loft.” Ellie suggests. “We’re going to need bigger than a twin bed to properly show how much we love each other.”

taglist:  @choicesarehard @brightpinkpeppercorn @regina-and-happiness @drakexnadira @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @maxwellsquidsuit​ @lahelable​ @god-save-the-keen​ @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl​ @iplaydrake​ @sinclaire-made-me-sin​ @choicesgremlin​ @lovehugsandcandy​ @desiree-0816​ @blades-of-light-and-shadow​ @justdani14​ @emceesynonymroll​ @emichelle​ @badchoicesposts​ @client-327​ @riverrune​ @liamzigmichael4ever​ @princessstellaris​ @mskaneko​ @anxious-arliah @zaffrenotes​ @iam-ankita​ @ohsnapitzlovehacker​ 

[katana-otoko]

Codename KATANA’S RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

Mun name: Kam

OOC Contact: Over Tumblr’s messenger is fine, I’ve a discord as well if you’d prefer to converse over that!

Who the heck is my muse anyway:

Codename Katana, a covert TURK introduced much later in the plot of Before Crisis. ‘Balto’ is the most agreed upon fanon name, I’ve decided to accept it in this depiction. I’m still wondering if I’d like to keep the name I’ve given him... I need a bit of time on this;;; 

We get a few paragraphs about him from material outside the game--he’s a swordsman from Gongaga; a generally upbeat fellow who doesn’t stay in one place for long. He gained a scar across his face while trying to rescue a friend held hostage--a task in which he failed, and left a massacre to exact his grief. 

After the massacre, Balto was arrested and incarcerated for a brief time, after a few nights he managed to escape from the backwater jailhouse. He took his wife, and fled Gongaga. The two reached Costa del Sol and stowed away to Junon, where Balto hoped they’d be able to better hide on the eastern continent. He forged documents for himself and his wife, stating that the both of them were much older. His wife found work for herself, and Balto passed an entrance exam for a school of electrical engineering. The tuition cost far more than the couple could afford: Balto had to commit further fraud. He graduated, and started working as an operator of Junon’s underwater mako reactor.

As much as Balto tried to distance himself from his past, he was arrested for the murders he had committed, and his past forgeries and fraud were soon uncovered. Finding himself incarcerated once again; this time in a far tougher facility to escape than some backwater jailhouse. Yet, Balto’s skilled actions did attract a certain sort of attention, especially considering the length of time it took for him to get caught: the cost of avoiding a lifetime prison sentence? His service and loyalty to Shinra, among the ranks of the TURKs.

Points of interest:

Balto’s scar is his most prominent physical feature. He received this scar while fighting his friend’s captors. There isn’t a way for him to conceal the scar without seeming obvious that he’s hiding it--over time, he’s become comfortable about this facial feature.

Few may recognize Balto as the ex-husband of a now famous jazz singer and musician, Rosamie. Their divorce took place just as she was starting to become famous, so most fans know she was once married, but not to who.

He often wears a fine gold chain and gold coin pendant around his neck. The coin has an imprint of a minor goddess’ portrait upon its face, and a specific constellation upon the other side of the coin. The chain and coin once belonged to his father.

Balto has a tendency to run himself into the ground. Get used to finding him fast asleep, sitting up before his desk. While in relationships, he’ll take better care of himself (provided enough is going well in that relationship) and manage his priorities better for the sake of someone else.

He likes to bring natural flora and fauna into his surroundings, keeping plants and animals from the western continent. He has an affinity toward frogs, common to his hometown of Gongaga, but is also skilled in handling wild animals. He always seems to know a person who knows some other person to get his hands on especially rare creatures. 

What they’ve been up to recently:

This varies wildly depending on the verse, and each RP partner is (mostly) its own verse. By default, it all depends on the timeline.

Where to find them:

Balto’s work takes him across the whole planet. Crossing paths with him is imaginable in all sorts of locations. He avoids Gongaga, though; and will avoid its smoldering remains if given the decision. 

Balto does take the time to tour around if his assignment from Shinra allows some sight-seeing. He’ll go on hikes and runs, dine at local restaurants and unwind in lounges or bars. When off the clock, he no longer wears his suit. 

Current plans:

Honestly uh... I don’t plan out events since the blog isn’t one cohesive verse. So, it’ll vary from RP partner to RP partner as we either decide to collaborate or just go off the cuff.

Desired interactions:

Encountering Balto before he becomes a TURK - I think it would be interesting to meet Balto while he’s a bit anxious and always glancing over his shoulder, waiting until his past catches up with him. He’s mostly found in Junon at this time, working as a mako reactor operator, often frequenting bars and performance halls after work to watch his wife sing and accompany her to their home. 

After Zirconiade, OG timeline - I’m flexible on the theme of post-BC settings. I’m willing to write on any scenario: Balto being on friendly terms with Shinra, stepping in to resume his obligation as a turk; or not-so-friendly terms and actively trying to escape from Shinra’s influence. It’s interesting to focus on the fact that if he’s not serving time within Shinra’s ranks, then he should be in prison. 

Offered interactions:

Expert swordsman -- A lifetime of training makes Balto a capable opponent. Fight me, nerds.

Veteran TURK -- Balto has plenty of successful covert missions under his belt. He’s known for gathering information, especially within Junon and specific Midgar sectors. He’s savvy on the construction, operation and failure of mako reactors. He’s the turk to send when statement needs to be made: the katana is capable of making quite a mess. He’s fluent in the languages of Gongaga and Wutai. 

Family man -- His upbringing gave him the ideal way toward eternal happiness; a large home and many children. As blood stained as his hands are, he still feels worthy of holding a child with the very same hands. 

Anything else?:

Woah, I can be flakey. Sometimes it’s due to depression (I usually go radio silent when this happens) and other times certain interactions are easier to write so I crack those out sooner. It’s best to communicate with me if this is something that bothers you; I’m also going to try harder to touch base when I’m super stuck on how to follow up with reply.

I’ve recently changed jobs at the same time the pandemic unfolded in the US. Both these things required a lot of change. Change is immensely stressful to me but I seem to be fairing okay. 

Tagging: oh geez don’t feel obligated buuuut @marie-dufresne, @unrequiteddeath, @shadowxcetra, @lisaudacieux, @pinkxglasses & anyone else who wants to steal this!

[currentlyreadingmanga]

Toilet-bound Hanako-kun: Chapter 8 - The Confession Tree

My thoughts so far: okay so I’m starting the manga on this chapter since I’ve already watched episodes 1-4 of the anime which cover chapters 1-7. The story so far is not at all what I expected (in the best way possible). I really like the dynamic we are establishing with what seems to be our main trio (I already kinda ship Hanako and Yashiro but I guess that’s to be expected). I also love the mechanic they explained regarding the rumors and the effect they have on the aparitions, it’s very cool and I can’t wait to meet the other mysteries. Also I’m incredibly curious about Hanako’s past and from some comments I’ve seen online of manga readers sobbing about the angst, I’m more that sure that this series will make me cry at some point.

Previously: We last left of with the resolution of the Misaki Stairs arc (and an adorable little peck on the cheek that I was not ready for). Also, we were introduced to two new characters, Natsuhiko and the green haired girl, which seemed to be keeping tabs on Yashiro and Hanako, and they also seemed to have a grey/black version of Haku-Joudai named Koku-Joudai. I’m curious to know if one of them could end up being an aparition like Hanako or if they could be working for one of the seven mysteries (since the girl was shown in the anime to be the one on the radio spreading the rumors about the mysteries)

Now onto the new chapter!

Okay so the chapter starts with what seems to be one of Yashiro’s daydreams about her prince charming, bless her heart

One thing I’ve found really interesting about her so far is her personality: she’s definitely a romantic person, someone whose head is on the clouds and thrives on romantic and over the top gestures and stories. But at the same time this idealistic part of her also shows us (like how she realised herself in episode one) that it’s not so much that she’s in infatuated with every pretty boy she meets but more so that she’s in love with the idea of being in love, of having the kind of romance you see in movies or read in books.

And this panel once again reinforces that idea we established in chapter one.

Kinda went on a long tangent there but anyways, she’s daydreaming and-

pffft that made me laugh. I see that Hanako’s little kiss affected her more than she wants to admit even to herself. That’s adorable omg. Poor thing can’t catch a break and starts yelling NO in the middle of class. That’s really not good since people have already seen her “talking to herself” in the hallways.

Okay but this cover page?? and this title??? I smell the romantic tropes coming and I’m totally okay with it omg

We skip to gardening class and we learn that it’s been a month since Yashiro and Hanako met and the bond was forged.

“I don’t think anything good’s ever come from it” keep telling yourself that, sweetie, but you know you like his little sassy self even if just as a friend by now.

Omg

That really hit her hard, huh? Denial is not just a river in Egypt, Yashiro dear

But she says she’s never been kissed before and I understand how much importance she puts into it. With her romantic personality, she probably wanted it to be a special occasion with someone she already had feelings for

Gotta say, it’s kinda refreshing to see that this is one of the first things she considers. Because while Hanako does seem to have a teasing personality in general (or at least it seems to me so far that he enjoys teasing her in particular), as she starts to connects all the shipping moments so far, it is a logical conclusion to reach.

Aoi arrives and oh! Yashiro actually talks to her about what’s been happening with Hanako (omiting the ghost part, I assume)

Aoi seems to agree that he seems to like her and 

That’s an awfully happy reaction for you to later say that “he’s not your type” (then again, she’s probably happy already by the fact that someone likes her, but still) 

“I can’t tell her he’s a ghost, so...” okay, good lol

Okay yeah, she’s definitely over the moon with the idea that he might like her

Now Aoi presents the idea of “why not date him anyway to see what it’s like”. And I’m a little conflicted, I know she means well and I know that’s not where this situation will probably go, but it could also lead to a scenario of where he feels like he was lead on.

Anyway, Aoi says that she should probably get ready since it seems likely that he will confess soon

Ah, here it is, our new mystery or aparition and Yashiro notices that something is off about this whole situation. If she doesn’t remember the tree being there, could it be because of new rumors? and also, why is she the only one notice it? I’m guessing it is because of her bond with Hanako, and that lets her have a stronger connection with the spiritual world in the school; just like during the last arc, since she and Kou were the only ones who noticed the people who had gone missing.

Nevertheless, it seems like we can see the tree work its magic right now and um-

ngl I was so confused for a second there by his lukewarm reaction lol so he’s practicing to confess to Aoi and his friend here is being a good sport about it kinda by helping him

Aoi points out how there seem to be a lot of new couples lately thanks to the influence of the confession tree

When Aoi suggests that a “special someone” could be asking Yashiro soon to meet him under that tree she’s all like “nooo of course he wouldn’t”. And that in my book means “of course he will but probably not to confess to you because come on, the couple can’t get together so soon”

And yep

Seems it will go that way. You know, the “one person thinks one thing, the other thinks another thing but both of the think they are on the same page but then they realize and it’s embarrassing” way. I kinda hope I’m wrong though because if he doesn’t confess, Yashiro is probably gonna be really sad about it and I don’t want her to be sad

Okay, next day. Yashiro is excited to tell the news to Aoi but it seems something happened that made her cry

Oh

I guess I should have seen this coming when they mentioned the onslaught of new couples but I didn’t expect that it would work even on people who weren’t actually confessing to each other. I wonder if it would work its magic on any type of confession, even the ones that were rejected, or if it worked here because even if they were practicing, his friend still said “yes”

These two are pretty cute together but it seems like Aoi isn’t taking it so well.

Apparently she knew that Akane liked her (it seems like it’s been like this for a long time since they’re childhood friends) but she rejected him. Or that’s my guess since she says that she doesn’t like him and the day before she knew that he was practicing to confess to her. But yeah, for her to be this torn over it, I think that she likes him more than she wants to admit. Huh, seems like Yashiro and Aoi have a lot in common in that regard

Anyway, it seems that Yashiro wasn’t able to talk with Aoi about her future meeting with Hanako under the tree but that’s not gonna stop her

I love Yashiro so much, bless her heart and this manga’s self awareness 

This chart omg I love it pffft Poor Kou and Hanako, classified as little wild boys. I’m a firm believer of the idea that it doesn’t matter if you have a clear “type”, you could still fall for someone when you least expect it. So what I’m trying to say is that this won’t stop me from hoping that this ship comes true. I’m already invested

Now she sees it waiting by the tree and thinks “he can be pretty cool sometimes” while blushing. That’s good, Yashiro, acceptance starts with baby steps

Oh man, here we go. I think I’m right but I don’t want to be

Ahhhhhhh this is beautiful but I feel like Yashiro’s happiness is gonna get crushed real soon ahhhh

Ahhh baby she’s so happy that she was confessed to, I can’t

And there it is. Hanako is urging her to turn him down quickly and she looks so confused ;n; bby

Is he trying to get the spirit to show up by forcing it to work harder since the confession didn’t work out naturally? It would be a way to do it, I guess, and it would answer my question from earlier

Yep, that seems to be the case. And by the sounds of it the tree doesn’t sound very happy about this

I-I don’t know what I was expecting from this tree but it really wasn’t this omfg that face

Yashiro voices my thoughts by saying “gross” and the tree feels very offended by this and tries to attack her but it seems he can’t touch her.

At first I thought Hanako had stopped it, but it looks like Yashiro had a protection spell on her cheek. Well, I’m guessing that Hanako still stopped it since it says “seven” and it makes sense that he would cast something like that on her considering how prone she is to find herself in this situations

Now the tree is trying to justify its actions but Hanako replies that what it’s is nothing more than meddling with people’s lives and yeah, that about sums it up. Even if the core goal was to make the couples happy, it still went overboard like with Akana and his friend.

Aaaaand Hanako defeated it. Now it’s a really small tree. And he explains that it is a “kodama”, meaning a supernatural tree and that its methods were indeed forceful when it started gaing power thanks to the rumors.

Oh. Oh no. Now that he’s explaining everything to Yashiro he’s like “but didn’t you already now this since you were helping me?” and she’s trying to convince herself that she’s not bothered by it but she clearly is and awww baby it’s okay.

Oh nox2 Hanako realized what she was thinking and he’s gonna tease her about it but I don’t think it’s a good idea right now oh no

Noooooooooooooooooo she’s crying oh no ;n; She wears her heart on her sleeve and she was so happy, poor baby

You know, I heard that this series gets angsty later on but I didn’t expect to be fighting back tears so soon

Well, Hanako is obviously startled by this reaction. She’s so embarrassed and oh, he says that the kiss he gave her was the moment he placed the protection spell so she wouldn’t get attacked by supernatural for a while! Ohhhh that explains why the writing appeared on her cheek, makes sense

But anyway, she says it was confusing and tbh she has a point, specially when you consider it in relation of how he normally behaves around her. She’s walking home, and I can’t really blame her, even if it was a misunderstanding, she probably feels like her emotions were played with a little bit

Oh this is a beautiful double page spread:

He took his hat for the first time! and you can tell that he really feels bad about what happened. Like, yes, he enjoys teasing her but I truly believe (at least so far) that he would never really try to hurt her on purpose

Ahhh and the next close up of his face! baby boy, he looks so sad noooo ;n; and he really does look like such a young boy, which can be easy to forget due to his easy going and teasing Hanako of the Bathroom self.

He asks her to stay with him until she’s done crying since he probably doesn’t want her to leave while she’s still upset ahhhh (ಥ﹏ಥ)

“Today, at this moment, for the first time...I felt like I wanted to know more about him” (TдT) (TдT) (TдT)

[vagrantblvrd]

Lay Your Bones Down (1/1)

Summary: When it comes to soulmates people tend to fall into two camps of thought.

Notes: Prompt fill for the wonderful @ahwuum who has been super patient and supportive. <333!

(Read on AO3)

When it comes to soulmates people tend to fall into two camps of thought.

The ones who go all-out looking for their soulmate. Buy into what Vinewood and other “experts” have to say on the mater. Read all the books on how to recognize the signs or whatever, watch the television specials and pay close attention to their horoscopes and magazines aimed at helping people find them.

Sign up for the websites and download the apps once they become available because it’s a driving force for them, part of their pursuit of happiness and everything.

Sometimes it works, they find their soulmate and live happy fulfilling lives with them.

Other times it doesn’t, and they make themselves miserable looking for a needle in a haystack all their lives and let every other chance for happiness pass them by and it’s. It’s just sad, is what it is.

Then you have the ones like Jeremy who – he’s not going to lie, okay.

He’s curious who his soulmate is. What kind of person they are, if they’d even like each other, get along like a house on fire or hate one another at first sight. (A different way of getting along like a house on fire, and to be honest saying’s always bothered him but that’s a conversation for another day, or something. Whatever.)

He used to think about it a lot more when he was a kid, bright future ahead of him and all these possibilities, right? Smart kid like him? Could have done anything.

And he did.

For a while.

Then one of his buddies got caught up in some trouble of his own making, and stupid idiot Jeremy thought he could help get him out. Only got dragged into the same kind of trouble and into a literal pit facing off against guys twice his size trying to get back out again.

Stopped wondering who his soulmate was when his primary concern was not getting his face beaten in, and then things escalated to the point all of that slipped to the back of his mind.

Soulmates and the criminal life don’t go so well together, puts a crimp in things. (He figured if he did meet his soulmate doing the things he does now, it wouldn’t be a ringing endorsement for either of them.)

So, yeah.

Jeremy pulls himself out of the fighting rings in Boston, but doesn’t do it clean. Has people who’d be glad to put him down, so he decides it would be a good idea to get the hell out while he still can.

Goes from city to city doing what he can to get by. Realizes he’s in a goddamned ridiculous line of work and figures if he can’t beat them he might as well join them (something like that) and goes all-in.

Picks up the Rimmy Tim thing somewhere along the east coast. Browsing through the offerings in a thrift store where he finds these hideous yellow suit pants. Catch his eye, have him cackling like an idiot, but that might be more the painkillers blunting the ache of a stab wound in his shoulder.

Finds a purple suit jacket a few cities over and something about it hits him just right.

It isn’t until he’s somewhere in Texas he spots the cowboy hat. Gas station with a tired looking woman on the register and news on the television talking about something going on in a city named Los Santos.

Jeremy gives her a bright grin, all nice and friendly because he’s just passing through, ma’am, no trouble here. Watches the footage of another gang war in progress play on the television as the woman rings his purchases up.

He’s been seeing more and more about Los Santos the closer he gets, figures it’s a big deal in this part of the country. (Liberty city’s got the east coast locked down for chaos and carnage.)

Gets this little itch going in the palms of his hands because everything he’s seen tells him it would be smarter to stay the hell away from a city like that, but.

Jeremy’s kind of an idiot.

And, you know.

There are still people out there with a grudge to bear against him and a city as big as Los Santos seems like a good place to get lost in.

Can’t possibly get caught up in anything big enough to make the news like half the things he’s seen so far anyway, right?

========

There are books out there that have a lot to say about the placement of people’s Names. Conflicting information based on what old wives tale the author grew up on, their region of the country.

All of them agree on one thing, though. Names closest to the heart mean you’re bound for a happy match once you find your soulmate, get that happily ever after everyone’s running towards.

Jeremy’s Name is on his back, running along his spine, and the one book he read about Name placements had nothing to say on the matter. Didn’t look further into things because he was afraid of what he’d find.

Awkward placement for him to get a good look at it, but he’d tried when he thought he had a chance to find his soulmate. (When it would have been a good thing.)

Did all sorts of crazy things to get a picture.

Tried taking a picture using the bathroom mirror but he only got parts of it in the frame. Set up a series of mirrors like an idiot and got better pictures out of it he played around in the edit mode to flip it.

Other things like that.

Realized his soulmate has the shittiest handwriting known to man or maybe something was wrong with his eyes because even now he can barely make out what it’s supposed to be.

A signature for sure, the way most of them are.

Starts with a big looping letter and ends in this indecipherable scrawl like whoever they are they either gave up along the way or couldn’t be bothered with the rest.

Sometimes he’ll catch sight of it in a bathroom mirror of whatever shitty motel or apartment he’s staying in, wonder what could have been.

========

Jeremy’s supposed to be watching this hacker.

Keep an eye on him to make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing, or keep him safe, his current boss didn’t specify.

Squirrely little bastard, though.

Scrawny.

Looks like a twig with a wild tuft of hair and this nose that got him picked on as a kid. (If the way the rest of the crew treats him is any indication, that never stopped.

Jeremy might feel bad about how the others treat the guy, if he wasn’t such an asshole.

And anyways, it’s his first job in Los Santos. Some dirty little gang that’s been outsourced to do a job for an ally of theirs.

He’s hired muscle here and so low down in the pecking order he might as well not even have a name.

Just Goon #2 or something.

“What kind of name is Rimmy Tim?” the hacker asks out of the blue, not bothering to look up from his work. “Did your parents draw it out of a hat like a raffle?”

The two of them are alone in the warehouse the gang operates out of. It would be real easy to kill him and pretend he didn’t know how it happened.

Just.

So easy.

The thing that stops Jeremy from doing it is that murder is a bit of an overreaction to the annoying bastard. And, he’s being paid to watch the guy so he’d be shooting himself in the foot. Also, it’s clear he’s not thinking about the words coming out of his mouth.

Some idle thought floating around in his head while he focuses on his work and no brain-to-mouth filter.

“Yeah,” Jeremy drawls. “They used this hat to do it to. Gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday to commemorate the occasion. Even gave me a lasso so I could catch my first horse.”

The hacker keeps tap-tap-tapping away on his laptop for a few moments afterward before he processes what Jeremy said.

Slowly lifts his head to squint at Jeremy like he’s sure he’s being fucked with, but also maybe not?

“Wait, what?”

Jeremy smiles and tips his hat at the asshole as he gets up to grab a beer out of the fridge.

========

As much as Jeremy tries not to think about the Name on his back, the rest of the world makes that impossible.

Television shows and movies. Best-sellers at the store. Songs on the radio. Marketing campaigns every-fucking-where and shoved down people’s throats at every turn.

No wonder so many obsess over their Name when they’re made so aware of it every waking moment.

It’s still kind of weird, though, listening to the guys he works with gossiping about them. Doesn’t matter who he’s working for, where he is, there’s always someone like that.

Stone-cold killers and no remorse to them, and they’ll kick back for a poker game and someone will start up a conversation about the Name on their shoulder.

Curling script and little hearts dotting the ‘i’ and wondering what they have to think about their own rough scribble of a name. (Good penmanship isn’t a requirement for their line of work.)

It’s enough to make Jeremy wonder what it is about Los Santos that people like them think about their soulmates like that. Hope they’ll get the chance to meet them even though they’re on the wrong side of the law and the odds of them getting something good out of it are so damn low.

========

Jeremy’s been in Los Santos for about a year, two, before his name gets put out there as someone people might want to watch out for.

Well, one of his names, anyway.

He still gets strange looks when he introduces himself as Rimmy Tim, but considering Los Santos is the kind of city where everyone’s scared of some idiot in a rubber mask calling himself the Vagabond, he figures he's doing alright for himself.

He’s been hired on by a crew that hasn’t tried to fuck him over since they brought him on to be an extra gun for them. (Yet.)

Decent pay that helps with the rent for the place he shares with a couple of idiots he’s fallen in with in Matt and Trevor, and until recently they were playing it smart.

Did nothing to attract the notice of the bigger crews in town, but that’s changed the last few weeks. His boss with his eyes set on moving up in the pecking order which means coming up against those same crews who could squash them flat with barely a thought.

Trevor keeps harping on him to get the fuck out, fake his death if he has to and have Matt gimmick him up a new identity, the whole works, because.

Fuck, because his boss is taking swipes at the Fake AH Crew.

Just about the worst crew to mess with, what with their reputation for not taking kindly to that kind of thing and all.

The crew Jeremy’s working for keeps bringing in new blood because they’re dropping likes flies with every skirmish they get into with the Fakes.

No mercy to the Fakes when one of theirs gets hurt, just this single-minded anger snapping back around on whoever is stupid enough to go after them.

If Jeremy was smarter, he’d listen to Trevor, he would. But Matt’s got these debts and smart as Trevor is he hasn’t been able to find a way to get him out of them other than paying them off. Jeremy does his part to help, which means being the kind of idiot out there tempting fate working for a certified moron with a death wish.

It’s how you say, not great.

Jeremy’s boss knows he wants out, but he also knows Jeremy doesn’t have a lot of say about it, so he keeps giving Jeremy the worst jobs. Sends him out with the other expendables on what amount to suicide missions and no skin off his nose if they don’t come back.

Which is how Jeremy ends up being partnered with some other disgraced bastard in the crew to put a little pressure on a weapons dealer looking to side with the Fakes. Convince him he’d do well to stick with them, but they pick a bad (good?) time to do with, what with the Fake AH crew members they run into there.

Guy in a leather jacket with a snarling wolf’s head on the back, the goddamned Vagabond, and some pretentious asshole with gold-framed sunglasses and stupid hair.

There’s a moment where they all stare at one another in shock, and then at the scumbag weapons dealer has the temerity to hiccup nervously before the shooting starts.

Jeremy’s not sure who fires the first round, but the moment they do it’s a free-for-all. Bad lighting and not the best anything and it’s confusing as hell.

Bullets flying and enough yelling to almost drown out the gunshots.

He hears one of the Fakes yell something about bringing the car around when things get bad. Sees a figure go pelting out a side door like a bat out of hell. The remaining Fakes doubling down to push Jeremy and his partner back, buy time or just put an end to things.

Jeremy drops behind cover, pops off a few shots and watches his partner – stupid asshole, stubborn as hell and just plain dumb – go down without a sound.

Swears under his breath and returns fire, with the realization he can get the hell out of there or die, and he knows which one he prefers. Cuts and runs like a coward, or just someone with a brain who doesn’t need to run the numbers to know he’s facing shitty odds, whichever.

He finds a door that leads to an alley and runs like hell until he hits a side street. Glimpses an ugly little purple car puttering down the street towards him from the corner of his eye and jumps in front of it to get the driver to stop.

Thanks God the idiot didn’t think to lock their door before he’s ripping it open and forcing them into the passenger seat, means to kick them out entirely but the Fakes find them before he can, spilling into the street.

“Fuck it,” Jeremy says, and “sorry, pal, but you’re probably safer in here than out there,” and then his foot is on the gas and they’re zooming out of the alley to...somewhere.

Jeremy doesn’t fucking know, okay.

He’s shot and bleeding and apparently a kidnapper now?

So.

Yeah.

He drives for God knows how long until he hears this quiet little laugh next to him. Incredulous, disbelieving, and -

“I can’t believe you still have the damn cowboy hat.”

Jeremy almost slams on the brakes because that voice.

British accent and infuriating as hell and what are the odds?

But, the part where he’s running from the Fakes and can’t do that – traffic and all – and just, it would be bad if he slammed on the brakes.

Instead he slows down a bit to keep from plowing into the car in front of them as it slows down to make a turn, and then whips around it the moment he can and keeps on going. Waves his gun in the hacker’s direction to shut him up, intimidate him, who knows, and heads to a safehouse he knows.

Only, the gun doesn’t shut the little idiot up, no.

“You’re bleeding,” Jeremy hears, which is not news to him.

He also hears, “That looks nasty,” which, he imagines it would. Bullet plus squishy human flesh and he’s not great at math, but even he can figure that one out.

Also?

“This is going to be so difficult to explain later.”

That makes no sense at all to Jeremy, but then the hacker’s reaching for his arm and Jeremy sends him a sharp look, because maybe don’t fucking do that when he’s got a gun sort of kind of aimed at him?

Takes a chance by taking his eyes off the road and almost swallows his tongue as he goes to tell him to very fucking politely not because -

“Oh, fuck me,” Jeremy mutters, because.

Stupid hair and gold-framed sunglasses, and Jeremy's kidnapped the Fake AH Crew’s Golden Boy by accident.

Accident.

There are people in Los Santos who’d pay an obscene amount of money for someone to do it on purpose and Jeremy did it by accident.

Awesome.

========

The Golden Boy plays it smart, in his own way.

Doesn’t shut up, no, but realizes Jeremy doesn’t appreciate him trying to stop him from bleeding all over the interior of his car (not so much the bleeding part as the potential risks of what he could do to Jeremy instead, so yeah) and keeps his damn hands to himself.

Babbles as Jeremy navigates backstreets and alleys to get to the shitty little safehouse Trevor scouted out for the three of them a few months back. Paranoid as hell, Trevor, and smart enough to know things would go to hell on them sooner or later.

Either Matt’s debts or the mess Jeremy’s trapped in, who the hell knows.

Trevor’s good about planning ahead, and Jeremy trusts him like no one else he’s met in this shithole city. (He trusts Matt, don’t get him wrong on that. But Matt is the same kind of dumb as Jeremy and it’s just. Better to look to Trevor for shit like this.)

Safe enough to hide out here to patch himself up, figure out what to do from there.

He parks the car a few streets over because you can never be too paranoid in this city. Pushes the Golden Boy ahead of him while they keep to the shadows and the gun ins his jacket pocket as incentive to go along with things for now.

No damn idea what he’s going to do with the little idiot, not that it matters because Jeremy’s fucked any way you look at it.

The Fakes will tear the city apart looking for him, and they know where to start looking. His own crew would sell him out in a heartbeat to save their own skins.

The only good part about this, if it can be called that, is that Trevor will figure out something went wrong when Jeremy doesn’t go back to their crappy little apartment and want to know what happened.

(Hell, now might not be a bad time to listen to him about faking his death before the Fakes find him.)

So until then...yeah.

It’s a mess.

Jeremy’s a mess, suit jacket ruined along with the shirt underneath. Something more than a simple graze that turns his stomach and hands nowhere near steady enough to stitch himself up.

“Fuck,” he says, and again a little stronger as he stares at the his wound, still bleeding sluggishly, ”fuck.”

The Golden Boy shifts. Nervous? Anxious? Who knows.

Says, quiet, careful, “I could help?” like he’s not sure how Jeremy will take it after the whole thing in the car with the glaring and everything that followed.

He shrugs when Jeremy looks up at him, pushes his stupid sunglasses up into his stupid hair. Looks tired without them hiding his eyes. Dark bags and under his eyes and this crooked little smile Jeremy doesn’t remember seeing before.

“I’ve done my share of stitching people up.”

There’s something to the way he says it that makes Jeremy believe it. Him. Whatever.

(The Fakes are known for being vicious about protecting their own, hurt one of them and you’re fucked and he’s never thought much about it before, but. There’s got to be a reason for it beyond not looking weak to their enemies, rivals.)

Jeremy’s out of options, knows he’s probably making a mistake here, but that part about being fucked anyway, so.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and pushes the first-aide kit towards the Golden Boy.

Watches him like a hawk as he picks through the thing making these little tutting noises as he does because Jeremy may or may not have forgotten to restock it after the last time.

Rolls up his sleeves and Jeremy follows the motion without thought. Eyes going to the line of letters he can see just on the Golden Boy’s his inner forearm. Something familiar about them, but then the Golden Boy notices Jeremy staring.

Clears his throat and pulls his sleeve down to hide the Name inked on his skin. They’re a liability in this business, get people killed, and Jeremy pulls his gaze away guiltily.

“Sorry,” he says, because he’s an asshole and a ruthless criminal as these things go, but even he’s not that far gone. Not the kind of monster who’d take advantage of knowing who the Golden Boy’s soulmate is, use that against him. Not like he can say that and expected to be believed, but still. “It’s...sorry.”

He can feel eyes on him, knows the Golden Boy is watching him, judging him, and then there’s a little sigh.

“No worries, love,” he says, striving for bright and cheerful, just this hint of uncertainty, maybe even fear to it. “Not your fault, now is it?”

(Is it?)

Jeremy remains silent, winces as the Golden Boy sighs again before he picks up a washcloth Jeremy scrounged out of a cabinet to clean away the blood. He works quickly and efficiently, murmurs an apology when Jeremy hisses in pain as he plucks out cloth fibers and whatever else have gotten into the wound before he starts on the stitches.

Neat, even things, and a little laugh afterward when he says it might not scar noticeably.

Not a major concern for Jeremy, but still nice to know.

“Thanks,” he says, as the Golden Boy tapes off the bandage covering the stitches. “Just, uh. Thanks.”

Awkward as hell, thanking the guy you’ve kidnapped (accidentally, and he’s never going to get over that) for patching him up, but hey.

That’s Jeremy’s life in a nutshell.

(Or...something.)

He watches the Golden Boy pack the first-aide kit up nice and neat, reach for a stay bit of trash from the supplies he used, sleeve riding up again and this time Jeremy gets a good look at the Name on his arm.

Realizes why it had seemed so familiar from the glimpse he caught, and reacts without thinking.

Grabs the Golden Boy’s wrist with his good hand, painfully aware of the way the Golden Boy freezes like a deer in the headlights because Jeremy’s still got his gun and the whole being kidnapped thing.

Ignores the pain ins his bad arm as he pushes the Golden Boy’s sleeve up to reveal the Name on his inner forearm.

Jeremy’s name.

Knows his signature after years of using it, every upward sweep and downward loop, and his heart drops because this, this is how he meets his soulmate, of course it is.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy mutters, releasing the Golden Boy’s wrist, aware of the way he recoils away from him like he’s been burned. Holds his arm close to himself, hiding the Name on his skin from Jeremy, and he feels sick about his reaction.

(How could he? Why would he?)

Probably thinks Jeremy’s like all the other sick fucks in this city who’d pay anything to know whose Name someone has on their skin. Use it against them and do it happily because it gives them power over them, and fucking hell.

“I - “ Jeremy’s voice fails him and he thinks about just whipping his shirt off to show him why, but that’s.

Gonna send a bad message if he can’t explain himself first, and he can feel himself on the verge of laughing like a lunatic because this is not now he saw today going at all.

He looks up to see the Golden Boy watching him. Wary, as Jeremy would expect him to be after watching Jeremy act like the aforementioned lunatic.

“What,” the Golden Boy asks, voice cracking a little. “What was that all about?”

Jeremy stares at him, because he looks scared, sure, but also?

Angry.

Like he’d kill Jeremy rather than let him use his Name as a weapon or a threat against him. Willing to protect the idiot whose name is indelibly inked on his skin with everything he has because that’s what you do for your soulmate if you give even the tiniest of fucks about them. (Even without their unique situation.)

People are so stupid that way, and it’s both the funniest and saddest things about them to Jeremy.

Because.

He’s got a name running along his spine and he may not know a hundred percent what it is, what with the horrible handwriting, but he knows without a doubt it’s this little idiot’s.

Knows it like he knows every other important thing in his life, and this just complicates things even further, doesn’t it?

Rival crews and a carjacking that led to an (accidental) kidnapping. A soulmate that looks like he’s trying to decide the best way to kill him to keep Jeremy from using himself against him, and it’s getting real confusing in Jeremy’s head.

One thing he does know, though. He can’t let his soulmate (Jesus, Trevor will never let him live this down and neither will Matt) think he’s one of those scumbags who’d use his Name against him.

“Rimmy Tim isn’t my real name,” he says, which should be obvious by now because no self-respecting human being would go through life with it as a name and not have it legally changed at some point.

Just, no.

The Golden Boy’s still watching him. Cocks his head at Jeremy’s admission, eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out where Jeremy’s going with this.

“This is...” Jeremy trails off, knows if he just tells him his name is Jeremy it’s not going to come off well, given the current situation, so. “Uh, this is going to seem weird, but bear with me, okay?”

It’s a bit of a risk, what he’s about to do.

Turn his back on someone with every reason to use the opportunity to attack him, kill him, but he can’t think of a better idea. Just. No better idea and sure as hell doesn’t want his soulmate to think he’s in a situation where his Name is something to be used against him, that fear, even if it backfires on Jeremy.

He twists around and pulls his shirt up, hears the Golden Boy’s confused ”What?” and ”Oh, God, what?” and then this sharp inhale followed by silence.

A long, long moment of silence and this shuddery exhale, cool fingers on Jeremy’s back tracing the letters running along his spine.

Quiet laugh, shaky, and, “Bloody hell,” he hears, followed by, “I knew that couldn’t be your real name,” and another laugh that just sounds tired.

Which, yeah.

Jeremy gets that, he does.

He pulls his shirt back down and turns around to find the Golden Boy watching him again, but there’s a thoughtful quality to it this time.

“So,” he says like he still can’t believe it. “You’re my soulmate, are you?”

Hard to get a bead on how he feels about that, what with the being carjacked and kidnapped at gunpoint thing they have going for them. The way things are a little too Romeo and Juliet for Jeremy’s tastes seeing how well that went for all parties involved in that little disaster.

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy says, for whatever it’s worth. “I guess I am.”

========

The mirror in the safehouse’s bathroom is dirty as hell, has this crack running straight down the middle of it like the fault lines under Los Santos.

Good enough to get a decent picture of his back at least, have Jeremy frowning at all the scars he’s picked up since the last time he did this. (Five, six years ago? Maybe longer.)

It’s late now, few hours past midnight and the Golden Boy’s sacked out in the bedroom. Tired after a long day and what seems to have been an even longer week for him. Put up a fight because he wasn’t the one with a bullet wound, but Jeremy had overruled him on the basis of 1.) being carjacked, and 2.) being kidnapped after being carjacked.

Not to mention the reason for the carjacking and subsequent kidnapping and just...everything else on top of that they haven’t addressed properly.

More like stared at one another for a long moment trying to process before the Golden Boy yawned, reminding them both of the late hour, and they decided it would be better to pick things back up in the morning.

Sleep on all of it and figure things out then and Jesus if that’s not reason for Jeremy to grab his stuff and get the fuck out. Run off with his tail between his legs before his soulmate tells him thanks for the terrifying day and all, but he just doesn’t see things working out between them – carjackings and kidnappings do not a good relationship make – but do take care.

But he hasn’t, has he. Is creeping around the safehouse being an idiot instead.

Jeremy sighs as he fiddles with the limited photo editor app on his phone, flips the picture he just took so he can read the Name on his back.

Everyone in Los Santos calls him the Golden Boy, sometimes though they refer to him as the Fake AH Crew’s Golden Boy, sometimes he’s Ramsey’s Golden Boy, but his name’s not a secret.

That first letter on Jeremy’s back is definitely a ‘G’, and knowing what he knows now, he can see the rest.

And now that he knows, he’s afraid to say it out loud because there are -

Just.

A lot of unknowns in their future.

Or, not.

At the very least, he knows who his soulmate is now, won’t have to wonder about it anymore, and that. Well, it has to count for something, doesn’t it?

========

“So now what?”

The Golden Boy – no, Gavin – is watching Jeremy closely. Head cocked to the side and so very careful.

Looking at him, Jeremy realizes he never searched him for weapons when they got the safehouse. Wasn’t in the frame of mind to think of it with the chaos of the shootout, pain from his injury and everything that followed. World-changing realizations and all.

Can spot at least one gun on him. A few knives. Who the hell knows what else because rumors say he worked with the Vagabond for a while before the Fakes snatched him up and he’s picked up a few habits of his along the way.

Good news, no immediate rejection regarding the soulmate situation. Bad news, he’s still not indicating how he feels about the fact Jeremy’s his soulmate.

Playing it safe, smart, given the everything else that’s happened or something else, Jeremy doesn’t know.

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asks, because what does that even mean?

Gavin gives him this look, and gestures at himself.

Ego aside, he makes for one hell of a prize.

Any of the Fakes would be to be fair, but the Golden Boy?

Jesus, what stroke of luck to catch him.

Hit the Fakes where it would hurt the most because he’s always been considered untouchable, all these attack dogs keeping him from harm and poster boy for the crew, more so than Ramsey ever was.

Silver-tongued negotiator with an impressive string of successes behind him in the allies the Fakes have won over to their side since they clawed their way to the top.

That whole thing where he’s got a price on his head in the city only the craziest bastards would even think about cashing in on. Catch him and sell him to the highest bidder and live a life of luxury. (Until the Fakes found out who’d managed it and went hunting.)

Jeremy stares at him because 1.), no, and 2.)? Also no.

“How about this,” Jeremy says slowly. “You take that piece of shit car of yours and go back to your crew and I go back to mine and we pretend you did not just suggest what I think you did.”

Because, and Jeremy cannot emphasize this enough, no.

Even if he wasn’t Jeremy’s soulmate the answer would be the same. Jeremy’s an asshole, but he’s got limits. Lines he won’t cross and something like that?

No.

If he did have a personal grudge against the Fakes, well.

Honestly, there are only two things that would be part of that, and they’re both idiots. If something happened to them and the Fakes were involved...

Jeremy can’t say what he’d do then, but he likes to think he wouldn’t sink so low as to do something like that. (You never know what you’d do until you’re in that situation though, do you.)

There’s a long, long moment where they stare at one another, Jeremy’s heart beating double-quick time in his chest because Jesus fucking Christ. Also this sudden, violent urge to throw up because the whole soulmate thing on top of everything and how repugnant the matter of selling him out is with that factoring in?

Yeah.

Gavin laughs, tension seeping out of him as he regards Jeremy.

“Well,” he says, “that’s good to know.”

Like he really thought Jeremy could – would – sell him off like that even without the soulmate thing, Jesus.

“Yeah, sure.” Jeremy scrubs a hand over his face. “You’re welcome?”

Gavin hums, and then Jeremy feels a touch to the back of his hand and looks up to see him watching him.

“I never would have thought,” he says, and laughs like he’s still processing the whole soulmate thing. “I never would have thought you’d be the one.”

There’s...Jeremy swallows because there’s this note of wonder in his voice, the way he’s looking at Jeremy.

“Thought for sure I’d annoyed you past all reason.”

Not...not quite.

Annoying as hell, sure, but there was a part of him that appreciated watching a fellow horrible little bastard at work. Amused as hell at the way Gavin got under the skin of the others they were working with just because he could.

Yeah.

He should have known something was up then, but it was just a job at the time. Jeremy scrabbling to get by and just another job to put money in his pocket and all kinds of excuses that fall flat when he looks back on it.

“Nah,” Jeremy says, and smiles. “I mean, I wouldn’t say past all reason.”

He laughs to soften things, and is rewarded with a quiet laugh and then...it’s not awkward between them, just.

There’s.

“I should contact the others,” Gavin says, reluctant about it. “They’re sure to be worried by now.”

As if they wouldn’t have been the moment they realized something was wrong with a crew known to be as close-knit as theirs.

Trevor and Matt have to be worried about him as well by now, and the two of them can’t just hide away here forever no matter how tempting it is.

Should have gone their own ways the night before everything got complicated on them. Kicked Gavin out of the car somewhere his crew would be sure to pick him up before continuing on to the safehouse, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly.

Too late for that now, though.

“I - “ Jeremy sighs, because there’s no putting things off any longer. They’ve done enough of that as it is. “Yeah, okay.”

========

There’s not much for Jeremy to do as Gavin makes his phone call, but he finds reasons to be out of the room. Give him some privacy.

Wanders around straightening up for the next time someone needs to use the safehouse. Make a list of things he needs to get to restock the first-aide kit. Sends Matt a text letting him know he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere and he’ll tell them everything when he gets back home because he’d rather avoid Trevor’s heavy judgment for the time being.

He laughs when he gets a thumb’s up emoji from Matt, and then a few moments later a succinct Fuck you, man, that’s sure to result from Trevor expressing his disappointment in Matt for not pressing Jeremy for details.

Jeremy makes his way back to the living room just in time to catch the end of the conversation the Gavin’s having with whoever he called. All this exasperation to it and dumb little smile and he just.

Watches him for a long moment since Gavin doesn’t seem to know he’s there yet.

No telling what will happen once they leave the safehouse.

Jeremy’s got to be high on the Fakes’ most wanted list by now, and the smart thing for him to do is stay under the radar until that changes, if it will.

So. Yeah.

Gavin finishes his call and looks up to catch Jeremy’s eye, amused smile playing on his lips so so much for going unnoticed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, just,” Jeremy shrugs. The safehouse isn’t big, not a lot of places for him to putter about while Gavin was on the phone.

Thankfully Gavin seems to understand that because he laughs, and Jeremy.

God.

He’s heard the stories, you know?

From his parents, other people who found their soulmates and had things work out. The way you just. It’s not some magical thing where everything’s suddenly easy, everything nice and clear and simple, but.

There’s a difference.

This thing where you look at your soulmate and you know.

Their smile seems brighter than anyone else’s, fills you with this. Love, warmth, whatever the hell that can help flip a shitty day over into one that’s a little more bearable. Small things that make life better in a million little ways, make you feel less alone in the world.

Not easy, and shit still happens, but it’s not. Not overwhelming anymore, like you know you can make it through a bad day and any others that come after it because someone’s there to help you through them.

Jeremy sits down next to him and reaches for his hand, feels stupidly relieved when Gavin reaches back.

========

In the end, Gavin gets in his Blista and drives back to his crew, and Jeremy watches him until he’s out of view.

Out of the two of them, he’s the one with the target painted on his back, and while Jeremy’s not delighted about letting him go alone, it’s the smart thing to do.

Jeremy’s a nobody compared to him, can find his own way home without worrying about running into trouble, and he does.

Gets an earful from Trevor who’s doing a good job of looking his usual put-together self, but Jeremy knows him too well by now to miss the signs of Trevor in full-on Deeply Concerned mode.

“Trevor,” he says, because goddamn they’re all kind of dumb. “Shut up.”

He drags Trevor into a hug despite his half-hearted protests – he is lecturing, Jeremy, and hugs are illegal you fiend. And then he does the same to Matt who’s off the side nibbling on a breadstick and trying to look bored and disinterested like he’s not just as worried.

“Where the hell were you?” Trevor demands, hands on his hips and ridiculous as ever. “We heard about what what happened, and then you didn’t come home and - “

Jeremy winces at the fear he can hear plain as day in Trevor’s voice even with the dramatics he’s throwing in to cover for it. The dark circles under his eyes and bloodshot eyes from a lack of sleep and just. Everything he can see mirrored in Matt.

“It’s a long story,” Jeremy says, which is the wrong thing to say even if it’s the truth because it sets Trevor off all over again with his own side of things.

Because Matt keeps tabs on Jeremy, on Trevor. Might as well have animal tracking collars on them or gone and microchipped them in their sleep. No way to hide from him even if they wanted to. (A lie, because they’d find ways around it, but what would be the point when he does it to look after them in his own Matt Bragg way?)

And when Jeremy dropped off the radar after the shootout with all the “extra touches” at the safehouse to prevent them from being tracked there...yeah.

“I, uh.” Jeremy doesn’t know how to put this gently, so he just goes for it. “I carjacked the Golden Boy and found out he’s my soulmate?”

There.

Perfect.

Good job all around, well done him.

Jeremy turns on his heel and power walks to the kitchen to grab something strong to drink while Trevor’s brain tries to process that and Matt stops choking on his breadstick.

While he’s there he decides to be civilized and grabs glasses for Trevor and Matt because he gets the feeling they’re going to need them.

========

Trevor can’t actually ground Jeremy, because for one, Jeremy’s a fucking adult? And two, he’s not the boss of him. (Something Jeremy thinks in the safety and privacy of his own mind lest he give Trevor ideas.)

But.

The three of them are in agreement it would be safest for Jeremy if he kept a low profile for the time being, which means he is more or less grounded.

Sits around the apartment pestering Matt while he works on whatever Matt does. Offering unhelpful suggestions until even Matt has enough of his bullshit and kicks him out of his nerd lair so he can work in peace.

Thinks about doing the same to Trevor, but Trevor is by far the smartest one out of them and voted most likely to plot intricate, painful revenge Jeremy will never see coming, so he doesn’t pester him.

Watches a lot of daytime dramas and talk shows instead. Some DIY videos from the internet on his laptop which is great, because he finds this one channel of a guy who helps him expand on his homemade explosives repertoire.

Also?

Picks up a few delicious recipes and other things from people not out to topple governments or just make really, really, questionable life choices involving explosives.

And then one day Trevor comes up to him with a package bearing the logo of a small delivery company.

He looks conflicted, like he’s not sure what he’s doing is a good thing.

“This came for you the other day,��� he says, and holds it just out of reach. “I had Matt check it over first, just in case.”

Jeremy sets his game controller aside, because Trevor has a shifty look on his face. Is having a hard time looking Jeremy in the eye.

“Trevor?”

Trevor clears his throat, fidgets in a way that is very, very alarming coming from him.

“I realize I may not have come across as happy for you as I should have,” he says, waving a hand at Jeremy and his everything. “About this whole. Soulmate thing of yours, and I apologize. For that.”

Jeremy cocks his head.

While Trevor’s not wrong, he’s not. Jeremy knows him, okay. Knows Trevor’s glad he found his soulmate, but there was the matter of everything else to deal with too because Jeremy’s a damn idiot who can’t do anything the easy way.

“You really don’t need to - “ Jeremy starts to say, and snaps his mouth shut when Trevor levels him with a look. “But, ah. Thank you?”

Trevor harrumphs, scowl slowly lightening to a rueful smile as he holds the package out to Jeremy.

“Anyway, this came for you the other day and Matt says it’s not going to kill you. Or, it might, but if it does it will be from cancer due to long-term exposure to radiofreqeuncy radiation and not explosives or what have you.” Trevor pauses for a breath. “But as we both know, that won’t happen for decades if there really is a link between cell phone usage and cancer, so, uh. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

Jeremy doesn’t know what to say to any of that, so he accepts the package with a simple thanks and scurries off to his room before he catches whatever the hell Trevor has.

(Too late to avoid the insanity, but he already knew that.)

========

There’s a cell phone in the package, but Trevor gave that away with his unsettling warning about the hazards of cell phones or whatever that was.

There’s also a note.

From Gavin.

Awkward and sweet, and Jeremy laughs as he reads if for the third time because he’s an idiot and a sap.

It’s a chance to get to know Gavin better and a burner phone to make that possible.

Side note about this being for the best until Gavin can talk sense into his crew regarding Jeremy and this rambling tangent that has nothing to do with anything, but still makes Jeremy smile.

They’re getting further and further away from the bizarre Romeo and Juliet situation they were in at first, but everything’s still unbelievably stupid and ridiculous in their own way.

Still.

Jeremy sets the note aside and unlocks the phone and brings up the contacts. Stares at the only one saved for a long moment, nerves and whatever else getting the best of him for a moment before he shoves all of that aside and presses the send button before he can think better of it.

========

A month goes by before Trevor deems it safe to let Jeremy out on his own unsupervised, which is just as insulting as it sounds.

To be fair, it’s taken that long for his bullet wound to heal to a point he can take on work again without making things worse, so it works out.

He’s been talking to Gavin every chance he can get, gone from once or twice a week to three to four to every day thy better they got to know one another. Realizing they might be among the lucky ones to find their soulmate and someone they could stand to share the rest of their lives together with.

He’s been itching at the chance to see him in person again, and Gavin feels the same because he texts Jeremy the name of a cafe along with a time and date, and Jeremy -

“Good God man, you can’t wear that abomination on your little lunch date!” Trevor looks personally offended because Jeremy’s dressed in his finest Rimmy Tim ensemble, complete with a new hat to replace the one he lost in the shootout with the Fakes.

All shiny and white because he felt like a change was in order, and also they were out of brown.

Jeremy keeps a straight face by sheer strength of will, something not helped by the thumb’s up Matt’s shooting him over Trevor’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong with it?” Jeremy asks, looking down at himself like he’s looking for a stray piece of lint or wrinkled fabric. A loose button, something along those lines. And, “You don’t like it?”

Trevor makes this...this noise in the back of his throat that somehow conveys frustration, disgust, and barest touch of rage as he throws his hands up.

“You march right back into your room and find something to wear that isn’t both horrendous and garish right now, young man!”

There’s a delicate silence in the moment after his outburst.

And then Jeremy makes the mistake of looking at Matt, and that’s the end of that. The two of them crack up laughing while Trevor heaves this sigh of utmost suffering that comes from having to deal with idiots like them.

========

Jeremy changes into clothes Trevor deems far more reasonable than Jeremy’s Rimmy Tim getup and makes it to the cafe with time to spare.

Follows the hostess out to an outside seating area and can’t help the goofy smile on his face when he spots Gavin waiting for him at one of the tables.

He looks.

Well.

He looks nervous, fussing with this coin he’s rolling over his knuckles in an obvious nervous habit, but he also looks good.

Button-down shirt that makes his eyes stand out. Pressed slacks and dress shoes, hair – still an unruly mess but it’s more artfully messy rather than all-out disastrous. Those ridiculously expensive sunglasses of his hooked into the collar of his shirt and best of all, he looks rested. Like he’s finally managed to get enough sleep, and the smile that crosses his face when he catches sight of Jeremy -

Blinding.

“Jeremy!” he gets to his feet and pulls Jeremy into a hug, and the last of Jeremy’s nervousness vanishes in the face of his clear excitement at seeing him again after so long.

Jeremy closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh of relief as he hugs Gavin, because nerves and this...he doesn’t even know.

Like part of him somehow thought he’d imagined it all from the shootout to the carjacking (Jesus Christ, that’s going to make the story of how they discovered they were soulmates a tricky one to tell people) to the events at the safehouse.

The phone calls that had spilled over from one burner phone to the next until Jeremy had decided the hell with things and started using his own instead. (A risk, sure, of the Fakes finding him to “have a little chat with him” Gavin had warned him about when he told him, but more than worth it.)

Everything.

This ache in his chest at being so close and so far after all these years of wondering. Maybe there is something to the soulmates thing science can’t explain because it feels like Jeremy’s taking his first full breath in far too long.

The world feels a little more real, brighter when he opens his eyes to look at Gavin.

Something.

Gavin laughs again and they untangle themselves, sit down at the table Gavin’s gotten for them and stare at one another like idiots for a moment.

It’s a beautiful day, sunny and bright and the people of Los Santos are making the most of it. Pedestrians out for a walk for the hell of it or out and about on errands or other business talking on their cell phones or enjoying the break in weather from the spate of rain they’ve had the last week.

Dogs barking, birds singing. People laughing.

All of it paints a different picture of the city than Jeremy’s used to seeing and for a moment he can almost pretend it’s any other city.

Almost.

“Uh,” Jeremy says, because pretty as things are right now, Los Santos is certainly not any other city. “Did you know - “

Gavin rolls his eyes, mouth quirking as he leans towards Jeremy. Drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Ignore them,” he says, gleam of amusement in his eye. “It’ll drive them mental.”

Jeremy raises his eyebrows at that because Gavin knows his crew best, of course, but still.

There’s a car idling at the curb just beyond the patio they’re seated at.

Shiny chrome number and the guy with the wolf on the back of his jacket Jeremy remembers seeing from the shootout behind the wheel.

Glaring at Jeremy.

Another car is parked across the street opposite him. Sleek black number with bright green accents. Too far to make out more than an outline of the driver, but Jeremy’s sure he’s wearing a skull mask. (He’s seen that car on the news too often not to know its owner.)

Not even two tables away from them are a pair of people in the absolute worst disguises Jeremy’s seen outside of a spy parody movie.

Dark sunglasses, fake mustaches and beards, and holes cut out of the newspaper one of them is reading along with oversize trench coats on a beautiful early summer afternoon in sunny Los Santos.

“...Okay?” Jeremy says, because okay.

And...he gets it, he does.

The Fakes are a close-knit crew and he and Gavin didn’t kick off this whole...soulmates thing between them in the traditional way.

At all.

To be honest, there’s a part of him that’s relieved they’re being this overprotective of Gavin. Watching out for him in an admittedly creepy way.

It’s just.

Weird as hell, too.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, and gives him this look like he knows, but better to go along with it than fight it at this point, which.

Again, yeah, okay.

He can handle dealing with Gavin’s crew if it means he gets to have this...chance with Gavin. (Besides,  he hasn’t even met Trevor or Matt, and God knows they’re going to be as terrible in their own ways, idiots that they are.)

They chat for a bit as they look over the menu, knot of worry and doubt in Jeremy’s chest unraveling as Gavin laughs at Jeremy’s stupid jokes. Smiles at the truly awful ones like he can’t help himself even though they both know how terrible they are.

Jeremy doing the same as Gavin tells him about his recent exploits with the Fakes, little adventures he got up to on his own when he managed to slip away from his minders. (Paranoid after the incident where some inconsiderate bloke carjacked Gavin.)

“Are you ready to order?”

Jeremy freezes.

Looks over to see a man dressed like one of the cafe’s waiters standing next to their table. Impressive mustache and tattoos he can see peeking over the collar of his shirt. More on his hands holding a notepad and pencil and this glint in his eye as he ignores Gavin to stare Jeremy down.

He’s seen the Kingpin on the news. Heard all kinds of wild stories about him, the things he did with the Roosters before coming to Los Santos to start his own crew.

Ruthless.

Merciless.

Only man in all of Los Santos who could get the Vagabond to join a crew and all the other rumors out there making him to be this terrifying figure in his own right, and for good reason.

And now he’s in a waiter’s uniform waiting to take their lunch order and Jeremy has no idea how to proceed, because his brain is having difficulty processing the situation.

Jesus.

He feels a sharp pain on his shin and snaps out of his daze or whatever the hell he’s fallen into to look at Gavin.

Gavin, who just kicked him under the table and is now giving him this look. All remember what I told you, and follow my lead and God’s sakes, Jeremy, don’t let them get to you, they can smell fear.

A lot to convey with a single look, but somehow Gavin pulls it off

“Actually,” Gavin says, looking back at his menu. “I was wondering if there’s any shellfish in the shellfish cioppino? I’m allergic, and it would absolutely ruin my day if I had even the smallest bite.”

That’s a blatant lie. They were just talking about Gavin’s love for shellfish after they got onto the topic of the east coast and Jeremy’s hometown of Boston in particular, but alright.

Jeremy stares at Gavin who lifts his eyes from his menu to wink at Jeremy before gifting their waiter with an arch look.

The Kingpin glares at him.

Takes a deep breath and in a voice that says he’s going to have words with Gavin later, and says, ”Yes, sir. Unfortunately there is shellfish in the shellfish cioppino as the name implies. Perhaps something else on the menu appeals to you?”

“Oh,” Gavin says, crestfallen that his first choice might kill him if he was in fact allergic as he’s claiming to be. “That’s a shame. What about the steamed mussels?”

It goes on like that for a while as Gavin asks about every dish on the menu where shellfish is a key ingredient and several where no seafood is involved at all.

The Kingpin goes from being annoyed to resigned and defeated, staring off into the middle distance as he answers Gavin’s questions.

“Well then,” Gavin says, when he’s done torturing one of the most feared men in Los Santos. “I suppose I’ll have the shellfish cioppino.”

There’s no reaction at first, but when the Kingpin realizes Gavin’s done tormenting him he snaps back to himself. Draws himself up to his full height and scowls down at Gavin as he angrily scribbles down his order to keep up the pretense as their waiter.

Gavin beams at him, hands folded neatly in front of him on the table.

The Kingpin snorts, corner of his mouth twitching before he turns his attention on Jeremy.

“And what would you like to order?”

He’s not glaring at Jeremy now, but it’s close enough to count.

“Hmm,” Jeremy says, mimicking the posh accent Gavin had slipped into. “Are there any mushrooms in your smoked mushroom ravioli? I have this allergy to them.”

No doubt he’ll regret it in the long run, but when he hears Gavin laugh figures it’s another one of those things he can deal with just for that.

========

They go for a walk along the beach after lunch, a nice leisurely stroll.

Sure, they’re being watched by members of Gavin’s crew, but Jeremy barely notices it anymore with Gavin laughing next to him.

“Oh, God, did you see his face?” Gavin’s giggling, all lit up with it, and Jeremy’s heart does that little flippy thing it started doing halfway through lunch with Gavin laughing and smiling and happy. “Geoff will make me pay for it, but his face.”

Gavin won’t be the only one paying for what they did, but that’s a future worry.

Right now it’s the two of them enjoying a nice day and being the horrible little bastards they are.

Amazing.

Their shoulders bump every so often, shifting sand under their feet and wandering along aimlessly as people are wont to do like this. Their hands do too, and after a while it gets to be a problem, so Jeremy has no choice but to tangle his fingers with Gavin to put an end to that.

Heart in his throat as he reaches for his hand, and that flippy sensation in his chest when Gavin slides a look at him, crooked grin on his face as he slides his fingers through Jeremy’s.

========

All good things end, or something like that, and Jeremy and Gavin find their way back up to the street next to the beach.

Gavin leads them to a pretty little thing parked next to the curb. Matte black and low-slung. Looks like it could go from zero to sixty in no time flat and Jeremy would love to see that happen one day.

He laughs when he notices Jeremy admiring it, hint of a blush on his cheeks as he gives it a fond pat on the hood.

“It was in the shop at the time,” he says, and shrugs, a story behind it he’s not telling Jeremy just yet. “That’s why I was driving my Blista.”

Jeremy raises an eyebrow because those stories Gavin told him earlier and his far from spotless driving record. Gavin coughs, gaze sliding away.

They lean against Gavin’s car and watch the waves roll in below them, sun starting to sink towards the horizon. They’ve shed their escort in Gavin’s crew, one by one until it’s just the two of them now.

Jeremy passing a test he wasn’t aware of or them getting bored enough to go off to wreak havoc in another part of the city, who the hell knows.

“We should do this again sometime,” Gavin says, light and casual, like he’s not holding on to Jeremy’s hand as though it’s a lifeline. “I had fun.”

Jeremy could do that. He could. Spend hours with Gavin without keeping an eye on the time.

“Me too,” Jeremy says, and squeezes Gavin’s hand. “I’d like that.”

Gavin ducks his head, and Jeremy laughs because.

Yeah.

The whole soulmate thing isn’t a guarantee you’ll fall in love the moment you meet yours, or that you’ll even like them, but goddamn is it nice when you do. (Amazing.)

After a moment Gavin looks up at him, expression on his face like he’s thinking hard on something, and then he breaths out this sigh. Annoyed at himself for something as he straightens.

“Jeremy,” he says, and he sounds determined. Focused. About to take a risk and intent on following through. “I think I’d like to kiss you.”

Jeremy bites back a laugh because it’s so formal of him. Right and proper and all that. Very British sounding.

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning at the annoyed huff from Gavin. “I think I’d like it if you did.”

Gavin’s eyes narrow because he knows Jeremy’s laughing at him, and try as he might he can’t hide his own amusement at their ridiculousness.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, because this is no joking matter.

Jeremy tries to wipe the grin off his face, he does, but he can’t with the way Gavin’s looking at him and the way his heart is doing that flippy thing again.

Good thing, then, that Gavin does it for him when he leans in for that kiss of his.

========

Jeremy’s life isn’t all kittens and sunshine now, no.

Matt still has those debts of his that Jeremy and Trevor are helping him with because God knows he’s an idiot and things are getting better on that front.

Los Santos is still the same shithole it’s always been.

He’s still at the top of the Fake AH Crew’s most wanted list, albeit for a very different reason now.

But.

Jeremy’s found his soulmate and while the two of them have to deal with a few more hurdles in their path than most people do, they manage just fine for themselves.

“Gavin - “

Gavin laughs, pecks Jeremy on the cheek to shush him as the lights go down in the movie theater around them.

“Ignore them,” he he whispers, like Ryan and Michael aren’t a few rows behind them making sure Jeremy doesn’t kidnap Gavin (intentionally) under cover of darkness. “They’re just being ridiculous.”

“I - “Jeremy sighs, because Gavin’s got a point. “Okay.”

The Fakes like to show up on their dates from time to time, scowl and glare at Jeremy because they’re just “like that” according to Gavin, but they disappear after a while to let them have time to themselves.

More of a running gag by now than actual threat, even if Ryan still wears the mask half the time.

It’s weird as hell and definitely not the way Jeremy imagined what finding his soulmate would be like back when he used to think about it, but it works for them and that’s the only thing that matters.

[osakaso5]

Mitsuki Izumi Twelve Hits! Rabbit Chat Part 3: Request Hits 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5

Mitsuki: Sorry for making you all wait! I'm fine now!

Tsumugi: Now that everyone has returned, let's resume the questions. There's still some left to go!

Tsumugi: Mitsuki-san, it's your turn!

Mitsuki: My request for myself is to read one extra bit of mail from the listeners!

Tsumugi: Mail?

Mitsuki: I can't do anything about the fact that there's too many messages for me to read, but I wanted to read at least one more than I normally would. I'm sure all the people who send mail put a lot of effort into it.

Tenn: You care just as much for your fans, then.

Mitsuki: They're basically like a treasure to me!

Mitsuki: But I guess I also wanna introduce them to everyone, so they can listen to the kind of mail I get!

Tenn: Your fans must like that, too. Knowing that the things they send make you so happy.

Tsumugi: Kujo-san's right! Thank you for a lovely request.

Tsumugi: Yamato-san, you're next!

Yamato: Tell us about your shady past.

Yamato: How's that?

Mitsuki: Uh... My shady past~!?

Mitsuki: I bet you typed that out with the smuggest look on your face, lol

Yamato: You've got the image of this cheerful and energetic guy, don't you have anything that could change that? (lol)

Iori: Wait. That's enough.

Iori: Our agency can't allow that, right, manager?

Tsumugi: Huh!?

Iori: Nii-san has no shady past, and we're not going to do anything that would mess up his image.

Yamato: Wait, how would you know?

Iori: I don't, either. Since I'm a perfect high schooler.

Tamaki: Huh? You don't? I bet you totally do, though

Iori: Quiet.

Yamato: Don't you wanna find out, Ichi?

Mitsuki: Hey, Iori. Why are you taking so long to reply to this one? lol

Iori: I-I'm sorry, Nii-san.

Tsumugi: As far as our agency goes, I suppose it would depend on what exactly his "shady past" entails! We should discuss this later, Yamato-san and Mitsuki-san!

Tsumugi: Yaotome-san, it's time for your request!

Gaku: Oh, my turn. I guess mine would be to give a message to yourself in 10 years.

Mitsuki: Aaaagh, that one sounds super embarrassing, lololol

Gaku: Why? Don't you have stuff you wanna do or be? Might as well let it all out for this show.

Gaku: I don't care if it's serious or not.

Mitsuki: Stuff I wanna do or be... Yeah, of course I have something like that!

Mitsuki: But it's embarrassing!

Mitsuki: First you ask me about my past, and now it's my future. Though at least you're not asking me to talk about anything shady, lololol

Yamato: Your shady past could involve something really moving, couldn't it?

Gaku: Like what? (lol)

Tsumugi: You're both very eager to know more about Mitsuki-san!

Mitsuki: I don't think I'll be any different by then!

Mitsuki: But I guess I'll think of something. Thanks, Yaotome! And you too, geezer!

Gaku: Yeah. You're welcome.

Yamato: No problem.

Tsumugi: That was a heartwarming request! Thank you, Yaotome-san!

Tsumugi: Tsunashi-san, are you ready?

Ryunosuke: I want some fanservice from Mitsuki-kun!

Mitsuki: Wha...

Mitsuki: I laughed so hard I spilled my coffee!!!

Mitsuki: Fanservice!? From me? To you?

Ryunosuke: When I see you do fanservice during lives, I find myself thinking  about how cool you are for  responding to each and  every fan. And your fans  look really happy about it.

Ryunosuke: I want to follow your example!

Mitsuki: No, wait, hold on..! Your fanservice is already so manly and sexy that it nearly makes your fans faint, so wouldn't improving on it any more than that be dangerous..!?

Ryunosuke: So you can't do it? I guess it would be difficult, since this is a radio broadcast we're talking about...

Momo: It's a great idea~! I wanna get some fanservice from Mitsuki, too!

Yuki: It does sound nice. Do something wild for me

Mitsuki: Wild, lololol

Mitsuki: Wait, I need to do it for Momo-san and Yuki-san, too!?

Riku: Me! Me! I want some, too!

Nagi: As do I.

Tamaki: And me.

Iori: You're all in the same group as him!

Riku: Ah... but he could do it for me during his unit song!

Nagi: Not for me, however... :,-(

Mitsuki: I'll do it for you guys at the dorm, lololol

Nagi: Thank you. You are a wonderful, service-oriented idol!

Riku: Yay!

Tamaki: 

Sogo: We'll have to build a stage in the living room.

Yamato: This is getting pretty serious (lol)

Ryunosuke: That's great, you three!

Mitsuki: As for Tsunashi-san and the others, can we just agree that I'll do it in case I happen to draw that request on air?

Ryunosuke: Thank you, Mitsuki-kun! I'll be praying that you draw my request.

Momo: (o'3`d)☆

Yuki: (o'3`d)☆

Mitsuki: Aaaah! This is all just so embarrassing... lol

Tsumugi: I'm sure it'll make for a fun corner if Tsunashi-san's request is chosen!

Tsumugi: Momo-san, it's your turn.

Momo: Okay! My request is that Mitsuki takes a crack at breaking my stick-and-ball record!

Momo: The two of us have been pretty into it lately~. It'll be a good change of pace, and it's fun, too!

Mitsuki: You mastered the around-the-world technique the other day, didn't you!

Momo: Yep! The combo! But I still mess it up most of the time~.

Mitsuki: The hole in the ball always ends up somewhere random the more you keep doing moves.

Mitsuki: I guess it's better to just do one move at a

Mitsuki: ...Sorry, lol I got way too into this, lol

Momo: This turned into a stick-and- ball chat, lol

Yuki: You're like a pair of boys

Momo: I am a boy, Darling lololol

Mitsuki: But about your request, I think it'd be difficult to do over radio. They'd only be able to hear me playing...

Momo: Ohoho! That's where your in-depth live commentary comes in!

Mitsuki: Huh!? I have to talk while I play?

Mitsuki: Wouldn't that be really difficult!?

Momo: That's what makes it fun~! We can practice together some more before your show (∩´∀`)∩

Mitsuki: I could definitely use that, lol

Tsumugi: It's an unexpected request, but it sounds fun!

Tsumugi: Yuki-san, we need one final request from you!

Yuki: My request is a cooking song

Mitsuki: A cooking song?

Yuki: Like a cooking version of those songs they use to teach kids how to draw things. You're a great cook, so I want you to sing some recipes I don't know.

Mitsuki: Sing, lololol

Mitsuki: Why do I need to sing, lololol

Momo: Because the parody song from Yamato's show was so funny to him, I guess? After he heard it, he was doubled over and shaking for a pretty long while, lol

Yuki: It was so funny I almost couldn't breathe

Mitsuki: Ah, that song, lolol

Yamato: Aaaaaaaaaahhh

Yamato: Let's not talk about that!!!

Yuki: Thank you for singing such a lovely song for me, Yamato-kun ^^

Yamato: You better watch out once your turn rolls around...

Mitsuki: I've never made a song before, but I'll think about it, lol I've got a few recipes from my grandma that use wild herbs, would that do?

Yuki: Wild herbs sound good. They're perfect for this time of the year, too.

Tsumugi: I'd like to hear Mitsuki-san's cooking song, too!

Tsumugi: I've got all of your requests. Thank you all for the fun ideas!

Mitsuki: Thank you!

Momo: So now it's time for Mitsuki to come up with requests for the rest of us ★

Sogo: Ask anything, Mitsuki-san.

Choices/outcomes:

1. Do you have a request for us?

Mitsuki: That's the thing, I don't have anything in particular. You eat everything I cook without complaints, and I love you guys!

2. Do you have a request for TRIGGER?

Mitsuki: I want to have dinner with all three of them! I get to see Kujo even more rarely than the others, so let me arrange something!

3. Do you have a request for Re:vale?

Mitsuki: Feel free to invite us on your show whenever! I'll think of some project we can do together, lol

Mitsuki: Just being able to keep having fun with you is enough for me, though!

Yuki: It's almost your birthday, so you could at least ask us to rent an entire island for your party.

Momo: Would you even go to a party on an island!?

Yuki: Yeah? But I'd only stay indoors

Iori: If that's what Nii-san wants, I'll look around for an island we could rent.

Mitsuki: I think a room at a karaoke place is more than enough for me, lol

Yuki: It's still a little early, but. Happy birthday

Ryunosuke: Happy birthday! Do your best at the radio show!

Momo: ・:*:・:(*P'v`q)☆ Happy Birthday dear Mitsuki ☆(*P'v`q):・:*:・ I'll message you about our stick-and-ball practice later!

Tenn: Happy birthday.

Gaku: Happy birthday. Talk to you again sometime!

Banri: Happy birthday, Mitsuki-kun! Thank you for being IDOLiSH7's cheerful mood maker. I hope you'll have another great year!

Rinto: Happy birthday!

Kaoru: Happy birthday. I hope you'll continue to treat our boys well.

Tsumugi: And a happy birthday from me, as well!

Mitsuki: Wow! Thank you! It makes me really happy that you're always celebrating with me..!

Mitsuki: I'm gonna keep working on becoming a new me, so I hope you'll support me!

Nagi: Mitsuki, I will not wish you a happy birthday yet. Our special night together has only just begun.

Sogo: A special night... When Nagi-kun says that, it kind of makes your heart race.

Tamaki: We're pretty used to it by now, though

Mitsuki: Thanks to you guys, too! I'll do my best with the broadcast!

[prince-dongju]

Radio Wave Love

A/N: This fic was requested two whole months ago. I’m so sorry it took me forever to write. I hope it makes up for it. @nakamoto-papoyaki maybe you could pass this on to Potato Anon? 

Genre: An unhealthy amount of Fluff

Word Count: 4,162 (Sorry. I went off)

Winwin (NCT) X Reader

“Why does he have to look so good!”

“Stop staring at him, and go ask him out you ass!” Maybe that was the logical solution to your problem. But would you listen to Allison? Never.

“No! I’m not ready to be rejected!”

“Who says you’d be rejected?” She was really annoyed at this point. The boys you fell for never seemed too hot to her.

“For one, he’s a senior and I’m a sophomore. Second,” You must have looked insane, all wide eyed with two fingers splayed before you. “He’s amazing at everything. You know how uncoordinated I am!  And third, all his friends would think I’m the ugliest scum on the earth, Have you seen how hot they all are!” Allison had scooted to the end of the bench to avoid how close you grew each sentence. “It’ll never work!” Punctuated by a dejected sigh, you drop your head to the table.

Dong Sicheng was only the man of your dreams. As an avid dancer, he won many competitions, resulting in his nickname: Winwin. (See what I did there?) Anyways, something about him was different. While others would say he’s just attractive, to you he was drop-dead gorgeous. Something about the clothes he wore, or the way he styled his hair. Even the drab school outfits looked like Gucci on him! His friends were all gorgeous as well, constantly surrounded by girls vying for their attention. All of which were gorgeous and popular as well. Looks aside, Winwin was a total sweetheart. His kind acts and sweet smiles lit up your days, fluttering your heart. It was pointless to even dream of him.

✨

“Winwin, didn’t you say you always wanted to join the school’s radio team?” Renjun held a flyer announcing application openings in his hand.

As Sicheng’s closest friend, Renjun knew how much Sicheng loved radio casting. Throughout their childhood Winwin tended to be more reserved and quiet compared to the sarcastic younger. His love for radio started at a young age, a love for radio shows being his main obsession. Since he was shy, it was a win-win. (lol) He could interact with others without the pressures of a camera trained on him. Lucky for him, the school opened up a radio station when he was a sophomore, making his dream more obtainable. The only problem: the aforementioned shyness. This year was the first year he had been willing to apply, feeling more relaxed as Renjun had broken him out of his shell. Keeping him around was definitely Sicheng’s best idea, although he did tend to get choked quite frequently...  

“They have openings!” Renjun didn’t know what hit him. One minute He held a paper in his hand, the next minute he held nothing but air, and his friend was gone.

Sprinting to the office as fast as he could, he paid no attention to his surroundings. In hindsight, he really should have, seeing how he smacked into someone in his haste. WHAM! Next thing Sicheng knew, he was on the ground.

On impact, an array of brightly colored paper exploded from your hands. A teacher had asked you to transport a stack of paper from the copy center to her room, now you were regretting choosing the route you did. As far as you knew, permanent back damage, or a concussion may have ensued. Your body felt as if it had been hit by a train with how fast the collision was. A groan escaped your lips as you twisted your body to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator. You’re gonna give that dweeb a piece of your mind! After twenty seconds, your swollen body had tilted all the way and - NO! No freaking way! Of course it's him. Just another sick and twisted trick the world played on you. Nothing like your longtime crush watching as you lay crippled on the filthy tile. There’s no way on God’s green earth you’d let him see you so rumpled and awkward as this!

Maybe I should run away. Yeah. I’ll pick up what’s left of my dignity and limp as fast as I can.

Twisting as best as you could, you stood up. What you didn’t anticipate, however, was how painful the pressure on your ankle would be. The pain was far too great to bear, and you felt yourself go down, arms flailing to stop gravity's harsh pull. Although a valiant effort was made on your part, it was two strong arms around your waist that finally righted you. In one swift movement, Winwin pulled you against his chest, effectively stopping your motion. Once your feet were firmly planted on the floor, he removed his arms, keeping you steady with a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” The worry in his voice warmed your heart. Never had you pictured him noticing you, let alone touching you. A tingling sensation filled your whole being the moment his arms met your waist, and it wasn’t going away any time soon.

Cautiously, you turned to him. It took a hot minute, having to maneuver on a swollen ankle. “Y-yeah. I’m okay.” Your reply did little to soothe his worry. Winwin could tell you were in pain, and he felt awful. He felt awful for putting you in pain.

“Can you walk?” Why did he have to look so cute? His brow furled slightly, and his luscious lips protrude slightly. It was nice to know he felt bad, but did he have to look so irresistible?

“I’m totally fine.” When you decided to take a step to prove it, he once again reached to save you from the harsh tile. “I guess I can’t.”

With that, he moved closer, taking your arm in his hand. His grip was perfectly gentle as he placed the arm over his shoulder. His other hand moved around your waist, holding you as tight as possible to his side. By the time you two had limped to the office, lunch period was nearly over. Of course Winwin had to make matters- and your butterflies- worse as he stayed, attentively watching over you and even assisting you to your next class. Sicheng firmly brushed off your protests, assuring you it didn’t matter if he was late. Everything would be okay as long as you were. None of this helped the growing warmth on your face, and pounding in your chest.

✨

A week later, the pain had barely ceased, though you could barely feel from the state of euphoria you were in. After nearly a year of dreaming and hoping, you had nagged yourself a place on the radio team. Every year, a new radio crew was picked. One boy and one girl from each grade were selected each year to explore talents in broadcasting, and news casting for three months. A former graduate, Johnny Seo, had begun the program two years earlier, his senior year. It was no secret Johnny had a knack for radio. Ratings had instantly skyrocketed when his voice was heard over the radio waves. A recent graduate (and heartthrob) Jung Jaehyun snagged a permanent spot on the show, making the entire female population swoon with his sweet voice and dimples.

Although you had pined over the spot for nearly a year, no luck had come. Until today.

“AHHHHHHHHH!!” A shrill shriek echoed the hallways, indicating your elation. “FINALLY! FINALLY FINALLY! AHHHHH!” After a good half hour, and several breathing exercises, Allison finally got you calmed down.

“When do you start?” Although Allison acted as if she couldn’t be bothered with your drama at times, a smile could be detected in her voice.

“Monday! I can’t believe it! I’ve only wanted this for forever! You know how hard I’ve tried, and finally- eech!”

“I know. I know how much you deserve this. I’m so ready for you to show the world your talent!” Allison finished by pulling you into an abrupt hug. This rare act of kindness melted your heart for the bristly young lady. Wasting no time, you reciprocated the action, wrapping your arms around her.

She pulled away hastily, a blush on her face. “Don’t get used to that.” There she was.

Monday came, (although it felt like 800 years passed) and you found yourself before the broadcasting room doors. Allison had walked you there, hoping to help soothe the nerves jumping wild though your body.

“You got this Y/N. You must be good if you were picked for this. Don’t let them down.”  Surely you appeared insane, mumbling to yourself in a nearly vacant hall.

“Girl. Look at me,” Grabbing your face, she forced you to make eye contact. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You got this. Now go make me proud.” With an unceremonious shove, you felt yourself flailing towards the door, barely keeping your footing. You’d get her for that later.

As the door swung open, your mouth fell agape at the wonder of the room. A booth for sound and lighting lied to the right, complete with state of the art equipment. To the left lay a white board, marked with obscure words and phrases, a brainstorming area. Directly center was the main event. A table containing monitors, headsets, and microphones. Many new faces, and some familiar ones circulated the room, antiquating themselves with the surroundings.

Your whole body crackled with excitement. Everything felt perfect. The chance to prove yourself had come, and all you could do was pray this went smoothly.

The first order of business was to introduce yourself to the man in charge. Gaining a good relationship with Johnny would drastically improve the chances of obtaining a recommendation for future work. Standing on the tips of your toes to see above the hubbub, you recognized him by, first, how tall he was, and second, the carefree smile that seemed to constantly paint his features. The only problem- his attention had already been claimed by a young man speaking animatedly, hands flying everywhere. Deciding to avoid any lines that could possibly form, you moved closer, hoping to snag him as he finished.

Moving felt excruciating. The short walk felt like ages due to your bad ankle dragging you down. As you settled yourself in a chair near Johnny, you got a proper look at the man he was conversing with. You almost with you hadn't, for the realization almost sent you tumbling to the floor. The boy in question was none other than, (you guessed it) Sicheng himself.

This must be some cruel joke brought upon you by whoever was manipulating your life. It only got worse when he recognized you despite the attempts to duck your reddened face.

"Y/n! I didn't think I'd see you here. How's your ankle?"

“Um... It’s getting better, but it’s still pretty painful.”

You hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty, but his sorrowful expression revealed how bad he still felt. “I’m so sorry I caused all this mess, and if there’s any way I can make it better, I’ll do it.”

“There’s no need. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Honestly, it’s not your fault.”

“But. But I feel so bad. You’re the innocent one in this situation, I want to show how sorry I am.”

“It seems like you two know each other. You must be good friends. I can almost feel the energy you two share. This makes my job a lot easier. We’ll adjust the schedule to broadcast you two together.” Johnny was smiling as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders.

While this was a great deal for Johnny, it couldn't have been or any worse for you. Being with your High School crush for a 60 Minute period everyday almost sounded too good to be true. But at the same time, there's no way you could hold the conversation with him without blushing like crazy and giving yourself away. Winwin on the other hand, thought it was an okay deal. He felt bad for injuring you, and you’re pretty cute, and you’re also the only girl he’d been able to hold a conversation with so he thought “Why not?”

As the class was seated, you got your first good look at Jaehyun. You could see why all the girls love him. His dimples were definitely noteworthy, and something about him made you feel at ease. You surely needed it with how close Winwin was sitting by you, his knee brushing yours occasionally. Looking around, you noticed the effect Jaehyun was having on everyone. Not only the girls, but some guys were also captured in his comforting aura, subconsciously leaning into his words. No wonder they hired the guy.

Once the introductions had finished, it was homework time. Groans and whispers of disgust entered the room, homework on the first day of the trimester? Johnny instructed everyone to split into partners, and assigned the task: a chemistry test. “It’s important to have a good vibe when on air. No one wants to listen to a show with junky chemistry. You need to feel each other, you get me?” Johnny sounded more like a California surf boy the more you listened to him. It didn’t take long for you and Sicheng to turn to each other, a mutual question in your eyes.

“Do you wanna....?” He was getting all shy again, blushing slightly and avoiding eye contact. If you weren’t feeling the same way, you’d probably think it was cute.

“Y-yeah. That would be nice. Very nice.” Wow. Who knew he wore such nice shoes? Anything to avoid eye contact. Too bad you missed the small smile gracing his eager features.

✨

Johnny’s “chemistry test” proved to be the wackiest assignment you’ve ever completed. Questions about zodiac sign matches, and deep questions about auras. Honestly 90% of your answers were BS’d. Although some questions kinda made sense, future plans and qualities in friends. Luckily for you two, the answers matched up for the most part. Although you felt this assignment was total crap, you were able to learn more about each other. Through the process, Winwin came to know you as more than the quiet underclassman he occasionally saw in the halls. His eyes were opened to your world, pulled in as you spoke of your passion for journalism. Your voice took him on a journey, filled with such passion it almost scared him. Why hadn’t he met you earlier? Everything seemed to click into place, making Sicheng wish he had conversed with you earlier, thinking about the friendship you could have formed.

Amidst the rant, you completely missed the change in his expression. Casual interest morphing to adoration, eyes never leaving your face, scared to miss every detail. Why hadn’t he noticed how beautiful you were? Something inside urged him to make a move, to ask you out. The thought caused him to blink out of his stupor, catching him off guard. There’s no way he could make such a proposition, he’d never get the words out. Besides, who would want to date such an awkward dork?

✨

Luckily your partnership passed the test with flying colors, and you two were assigned as a permanent pair. As the week passed, Sicheng’s feelings only grew deeper for you, as a result of the time spent together every day. He began to notice little things he never knew about you. Like how your eyes lit up when you talked about your cat, or something you were passionate about. Or how cutely you yawned when you were tired. He was so grateful to the class for bringing you together, for giving him an amazing new friendship. Or maybe something more.

The time for Prom was fast approaching, and the scramble to find a date had begun. Deep down, you knew the outcome would be the same as last year, watching movies on your couch while eating who knows how many calories. But deep down you couldn’t help but hope you’d be asked. By a certain someone as well.

A month before the big day you found yourself in broadcasting class, trudging through the morning’s session. The subject: The perfect prom day date. While the others gave quite helpful input, you stayed silent, having never been to a dance before. Somewhere among the talk of desert ideas, Jaehyun noticed the lack of your voice. “y/n, How about you? What activities would you recommend?” At least this wasn’t a televised program, or else the whole school would have seen your flushed cheeks.

“Urm. I’ve never actually, um, been to a dance.” The room turned dead silent, making the situation even worse.

“Well… you’re missing out.” Replied none other than Winwin.

“Just wait, y/n. The boys will be crawling over each other to ask now they know you're free. Why don't you say a little something, something to get them interested.” You'd be grateful for Johnny’s help if you didn't feel so pitiful. How sad was this? It almost felt like an advertisement: Date Me, I’m desperate!  

“Urm, I may be quiet, but once you get to know me you'll be pleasantly surprised. I'm like a fungus -I grow on people.” Oh no. Maybe this radio thing wasn't such a good idea. Jaehyun and Johnny seemed to understand why you'd never dated and shared a look of embarrassment. At least one person found you funny. Sicheng let out a string of giggles, running his fingers through his hair and smiling to himself. How could someone be this cute?

✨

Of course it was raining. You’d only spent an hour on your hair, might as well ruin it. Today was one of those days. One of those days where nothing goes well. An unexpected power outage gave you an experience you’d never wanted - the opportunity to shower in water the temperature of the Arctic Ocean. Allison was out with the flu, and you were forced to fend for yourself. To top it all off you’d received a horrible grade on your history essay and a severe scolding from your instructor. The rain was only a minor inconvenience.

As you sat upon the curb after your valiant effort to stop a departing bus had failed, the tears came. Salty wetness plummeted from your nose as strangled sobs escaped your throat. The dreary rain made everything feel impossible. Constant failure and loneliness only fed the soggy beast.

“y/n.”

Sicheng. Not now. He'd never find you attractive again once he's seen the blotchy, runny mess called your face. You weren't turning for anything.

“Are you ok?” Can't he take a hint!

“Ye-yes.” Nobody in their right mind would believe the lie. Certainly not Winwin.

The dreary skies darkened further as he surged forward and gently grasped your shoulder. A symphony of thunder swelled as you were encircled in his arms and a sense of security. He understood your reluctance to reveal your face. He also understood the embarrassment over the running makeup staining your cheeks. But to him, you were beautiful. “You don't need it” he whispered, deftly wiping away the remnants of makeup. Once the substance had been removed, his lips descended upon your forehead, leaving a whisper of a kiss. Warmth shot from your head to your toes. It was better than any drug or medicine, healing instantly. “Come with me. Let's make you smile again.” You offered no resistance, allowing yourself to be led to his car.

The night turned out to be one of the best memories you ever kept. Winwin treated you to dinner and a movie, never releasing your hand from his firm grasp. Tracing comforting circles upon your skin, he let you vent and empathised (lol. Empathy) with your emotions. After you extricated yourself from a final hug and had bid him farewell, you confronted the situation. Did he see you as something more or just a friend. Friends hold hands, right? 

✨

The Monday after your soggy encounter, Sicheng cornered you in the cafeteria. “Um. So I’m having a party… at seven tonight. I was wondering if you would come.” His endearing shyness made the offer hard to refuse (like you even wanted to.) “It’s at my place. Just a small party. My closest friends. You could even invite some friends too. I mean, that’s if you want to come.” He was doing the thing again, his words coming out all choppy- a telltale sign he was nervous.

“I’d love to. I know just the person to invite.” When you smiled, Winwin swore his heart burst.

✨

“YOU’RE INVITED TO HIS PARTY!!” You should have broke this to Allison gently, but excitement overcame you.

“Yeah. And he told me to bring someone too. I hope you’re free tonight.”

“For reals!? Are we talking about the same Sicheng here? The one with the legendary parties? Because if you are… girl don’t waste this opportunity.”

“What do you mean?” What opportunity could she be talking about?

“He’s totally got a thing for you. He only invites his closest friends to his parties. No one he doesn’t like gets in.”

Oh goodness. Your encounters were becoming heavier, a tension falling between you. His actions had become harder to decipher, resulting in an endless headache. Maybe he felt the same? There's only one way to know.  

The party was starting in less than an hour and you’d decided to do it. You’d decided to woman up and tell him how you feel. The worst he could do was say he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, Sicheng would never ridicule you. The cutest clothes were taken out of your closet, and the best makeup was applied. Only the best for the night you’d finally bare your soul.   

Between the bumping music and the darkened rooms, it was a miracle you found Sicheng. A few close friends? How many people does he know? Once you finally found him you had to physically force yourself to keep moving, nerves anchoring you in place. He looked hot. And that didn’t help either. Dressed in a casual button down shirt with simple skinny jeans, he was effortlessly handsome. When he saw you his face lit up. Little did you know, he’d been anxious to see you as well. Grateful he was in a secluded area, you pressed forward.

“You look really good y/n.” Oh no. The blush was back. Would your cheeks ever be safe from his constant bombardment?

“Hi Sicheng. I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.” It’s now or never girl. Pull yourself together.

“O-okay. I actually have something to tell you too.”

Crap

“You go first.” Maybe he didn’t like you. What if he was disgusted by you and wanted you gone? If you let him go first maybe it would eliminate the awkwardness of a rejected confession.

“N-no. You go first. You initiated the conversation. It’s only fair.” Was he really gonna be like this?

“Fine. Let’s do it at the same time. On the count of three. One, Two, Three.”

“I like you.”

“I like you.”

The pair of you shared the same facial expression, shock. Do you really feel the same? Does he really feel the same? All caution was thrown to the wind, and you reached up to peck his cheek. For weeks you’d wondered what it would feel like. To finally know how it felt to kiss him.

It seemed as if that wasn’t enough for Sicheng, as he pressed closer to you and connected your lips. The party faded, and reality blurred. The only thing that mattered was the way his lips felt on yours, how silky soft they were and how they moved almost hungrily against yours. The moment was so perfect. As if his lips were made for you, and you alone. His hands moved to cup your face, deepening the kiss while slowly tracing your skin with his fingers. Yours wound around his neck, never wanting to let go.

Eventually the kiss had to be broken and reality returned to, but not before he left one last kiss upon your lips. Neither of you had been one for words. But you understood exactly how the other felt. The kiss conveyed all you needed to know. As he held you so delicately in his arms while slow dancing to an Ed Sheeran song, you knew you loved him.

Scanning the room, you could barely make out where Allison had wound up. She was flirting with some boy named Yuta. From what you had gathered, he was a jock and a partier, but he seemed to be smitten with her. His arm slowly wound around her waist as they talked. One thing was for certain, she wouldn’t be going home without his number.

All was right in the world. You were suddenly grateful for the radio show. Awkward moments could have been avoided without it.  But one thing’s for sure. Without it, you’d never be where you were now- in the arms of the man you love.  

[bapwoo]

So I’m trying to get into TRCNG and wanted to know if there were any videos I should watch to start to stan them?

Dear Anon,

I am glad you want to get into TRCNG and I will try to make here something like a masterlist of videos and recommend you those which are the basic ones. Prepare that it is going to be quite long. Before that let me just write

IF YOU WANT TO SHARE THIS SOMEWHERE ELSE, PLEASE PUT CREDITS THERE, THANK YOU!

Rising subs isn’t active anymore. There is another subbers team called TRCNG subs - you can find link below (there are also translations of videos from Japanese fanclub so definitely check it out… the channel is not that active either). Another is Hazel S which is now the most up to date with translations (also you can find link below).

There are also some good translators on Twitter and that is TRCNG SCOPE (Korean), Kei (Korean - not only posts but also parts of Vlives etc.) and Hazel

Links for channels

TS YT CHANNEL (TRCNG has two “broadcasts”, TRACKING - which is longer and usually is taken during some event; FUNNY10 - shorter videos, usually moments from certain events)

TRCNG VLIVE (TS uploads there all TRACKING and FUNNY10 episodes plus the rest of their vlives)

RISING SUBS (providing ENG SUBBED videos) (this channel won’t provide any new vids… now there is TRCNG SUBS (currently not that active) so there is another Hazel S which is currently the most updated

TRCNG JAPAN OFFICIAL (you usually won’t find whole videos; you can find whole on trcng.jp  but only if you are in the Japan Fanclub - it is free, I joined, the only thing is that you have to crack all that Kanji, Katakana and Hiragana, but google is a good friend and helps a lot lol)

Members’ videos

So for every newbie you should start to watch all subbed trcng videos there are up until now:

Introduction video  (where they introduce themselves very quickly, talk about what they like or about their, sometimes very questionable, nicknames), recently one kinda-like-intro video from Arirang

Instruction manuals (where other members say some nice, or not nice, things always about one member; Jihun, Hayoung, Taeseon, Hakmin, Wooyeop, Jisung, Hyunwoo, Siwoo, Hohyeon, Kangmin

And I recommend to watch crack videos from Adoringgguk because it shows you that dork/extra side of TRCNG

Those two are the basic of the basics where you learn something more about the members but tbh you get to know them more after watching other videos aka

TRACKING

EP 1, EP 1 ENG SUBS

EP 2, EP 2 ENG SUBS

EP 3, EP 3 ENG SUBS

EP 4, EP 4 ENG SUBS

EP 5, EP 5 ENG SUBS

EP 6, EP 6 ENG SUBS

EP 7, EP 7 ENG SUBS

EP 8,

EP 9, EP 9 ENG SUBS

EP 10, EP 10 ENG SUBS 

EP 11, EP 11 ENG SUBS

EP 12, EP 12 ENG SUBS

EP 13, EP 13 ENG SUBS

EP 14, EP 14 ENG SUBS

EP 15, EP 15 ENG SUBS

EP 16, EP 16 ENG SUBS

EP 17, EP 17 ENG SUBS

EP 18, EP 18 ENG SUBS

EP 19, EP 19 ENG SUBS

EP 20, EP 20 ENG SUBS

EP 21, EP 21 ENG SUBS

EP 22, EP 22 ENG SUBS

FUNNY 10 (not really episodes tho)

EP 1, EP 1 ENG SUBS

EP 2, EP 2 ENG SUBS

EP 3, EP 3 ENG SUBS

EP 4, EP 4 ENG SUBS

EP 5, EP 5 ENG SUBS

EP 6, EP 6 ENG SUBS

EP 7, EP 7 ENG SUBS

EP 8

EP 9

EP 10, EP 10 ENG SUBS

When they did fanchant

They also appeared on another shows or videos which had eng subs in it already:

KBS K-Rush

ASC (Full episode)

Pops in Seoul

They also were on Arirang radio Super K-Pop, ‘K-Poppin’

News-ade (they bought snacks and then ate them and pick their fave lol), switched roles in Wolf Baby dance, played body language game

sth like (album) introduction

Soompi’s SHOOK episode

TRCNG on V Cookie with Summer Vacation Week

Hyunwoo and Hayoung on Idol Class

Siwoo and Wooyeop on Idol Class

Other subbed videos by Rising Subs/TRCNG subs/Hazel S

When they had to guess the lyrics 

When they had 10 secs to introduce themselves

That thing with those cat ears

Relay questions

When they were at Dream Concert

Another Japanese interview

Celuv TV interview form Who Am I Show-Con (½, 2/2)

Now the ones without subs (or maybe some hard subs in vlives… for more check their Vlive channel I haven’t written them all here bc it is way too much there lol)

When they were live in tbs fact in star interview (it is worth to watch, bc random play dance, Hayoung and Kangmin singing and lot more)

When they danced Shark dance (which they, btw, prepared for their first showcase)

When they were on THE SHOW and Youngjae was the interviewer (PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4)

When they appeared on CELUV TV maybe in the future there will be subs on VLIVE

When they had MY VERY FIRST VLIVE (and we could finally see them in casual clothes); Their SECOND VLIVE and got so into the game that they disconnected the camera and had to make SECOND PART OF SECOND VLIVE

When they made two teams and do Quiz Champion (warning you will cringe a lot) Brain Team (Jisung, Hakmin, Jihun, Hyunwoo, Kangmin), Short Team (Taeseon, Hayoung, Wooyeop, Siwoo, Hohyeon)

When they celebrated 100 days and they finally got over 1M hearts and it was the messiest and softest vlive ever

When they celebrated 200 days and it was probalby soft again but I dunno bc I haven’t watched it yet lol

When Hayoung was MC for TRCNG ON AIR 1 vlive and Hakmin for TRCNG ON AIR 2 and Taeseon for TRCNG ON AIR 3 (and ON AIR 3-2 because TS fucked up)

When they made random Vlive in school uniforms and Hakmin killed us with his vocal skills

When Hyunwoo and Hayoung were one team and I thought I’d die Vlive also knows as one huge mess and second part with the rest of members

When they had (Jihun, Taeseon, Hakmin, Hyunwoo) a vlive which was a huge mess and wild B.A.P appeared

When they were in backstage during Dream Concert

When they played that game with the bulldog as B.A.P did

When Peoplegate made few vids with them FIRST, SECOND and recording from Valentine Music Talk Show

When they were behind Show Champion stage

When Hayoung and Hyunwoo were in Arirang’s Idol Class

In the very end, there are some youtube TRCNG video edits channels Adoringgguk (I love them they make the best TRCNG crack vids)Acixe *TRCNG Trash*, is it a meme yet

!! Also there may be some vids subbed on their Vlive… currently it is Taeseon’s latest vlive and will be there even more in the future (at least from what I know from the person who is translating them) !!

There is so many of videos now it is hard to recommend something... so watch intro videos and then Arirang ones and then vlives (Subbed one is definitely the Summer Vacation Week).

I hope this was helpful for you (and also other TRCNG stans) and I hope that you find here what you needed haha. I hope you will support the smols in the future

Posted Dec 30th, 2017 | Last edit Aug 10th, 2018

[weirdbynorthwest]

Notes on Northern Exposure, S01E02: “Brains, Know-How and Native Intelligence”

We begin the episode with Chris Stevens delivering his first ever “Chris in the Morning” address on the show, in Cicely’s local radio station, KBHR, or “K-Bear”. Why “K-Bear”? Well, firstly, it’s customary for radio stations to be given easily pronounceable names inspired by their initials, for the sake of marketing. But there’s an additional fun fact regarding this particular station’s origins: both KBHR and its nick-name belong to a real-life local radio station in Big Bear City, California. Surrounded by the Alaskan wilderness, Cicely undoubtedly has more than its fair share of bears, so the nickname remains appropriate.

The subject of Chris’s speech, and a significant chunk of the episode, is the 19th century poet Walt Whitman, an American literary giant and one of Chris’s leading artistic inspirations. But not everyone approves of Whitman. Chris recalls being “blindsided by the raging fist of [his] incarcerator,” at the juvenile detention home where he spent his juvenile delinquent days. This stern authority figure told Chris, in no uncertain terms, “that Walt Whitman's homoerotic, unnatural, pornographic sentiments were unacceptable and would not be allowed in an institution dedicated to reforming the ill-formed.” Whitman’s sexuality has been the subject of endless debate, but it’s generally accepted that he was either homo- or bisexual. That Whitman, “that great bear of a man, enjoyed the pleasures of other men came as a great surprise” to Chris, leading him to “reconsider the queers [he] had previously kicked around.” Yes, Chris wasn’t always the open-minded liberal we otherwise see him as. He was, in his youth, capable of homophobic violence. This makes me, a confirmed homosexual (or “homo-romantic grey-sexual,” if we’re being particular), rather sad. It also makes me more inclined to be wary and critical of Chris in this episode.

Chris reads Whitman’s “When Lilacs in the Dooryard Bloom’d” (1865), a poem written following the end of the American Civil War (1861-1865), during a period of national mourning over the then recent assassination of former president Abraham Lincoln. The poem doesn’t explicitly identify Lincoln, but it’s generally thought that that’s who the poem was about. However, the final line of the first stanza – “And thought of him I love” – may have been presented in this scene in order to underline the topic of Whitman’s sexuality. For Whitman’s clearest expression of homosexual love in verse, one should really examine the “Calamus” sequence of poems written in or before 1859, included in the third edition of Leaves of Grass, originally published in 1855. (I nearly read some to an ex-boyfriend on his birthday once. I regret not doing that. But they were aware of the thought, and I got a lot of love for it, so it balanced out.)

We catch a glimpse of Maurice fishing whilst listening to Chris’s show. He clearly isn’t impressed by all this talk of Whitman enjoying “the pleasures of other men.” Maurice was established as being, at the very least, a sexist and racist bigot in the previous episode, so any homophobia on his part wouldn’t come as a surprise. This still doesn’t prepare the viewer for what Maurice will do next.

Meanwhile, in this week’s instalment of “Will They? Won’t They?’ Joel and Maggie are in the Brick, having a go at each other over plumbing. This argument at least feels as if it springs from a natural cause, compared to last week’s glaringly-contrived-in-order-to-establish-the-formula bickering. Joel is talking to Maggie as his landlord, about a faulty toilet. Maggie teases Joel over his lack of self-reliance: why not try fixing it himself, or go out and fertilise the scenery? She winds up calling him a “helplessness junkie”, an odd turn of phrase he’ll spend half the episode grumbling about and later delight in throwing back at her, when she visits him in his surgery over a self-inflicted knee injury.

Joel’s chauvinism is out in full force again, as he offers to treat any puncture wounds Rick may have received from Maggie walking all over him in her heels. Yecch. And then he comes on to her in a way that fictional characters in a “Will They? Won’t They?” comedy set-up routinely get away with, when he says “you’re clearly attracted to me.” Of course, the show will routinely remind us she is. But in real life, if you said something like that to someone, it would be widely and rightly considered inappropriate. Unlike the utterly irredeemable and thoroughly loathsome Ross Geller in Friends (NBC, 1994-2004), Joel is a genuinely likeable character under all the sexist asshattery the writers insist upon having him say. I hope the situation improves, and soon.

Joel remarks that he’s “not the Grizzly Adams type.” This is a reference to John “Grizzly” Adams, a nineteenth-century mountain man who hunted and trained wild animals (including, you guessed it, “grizzly” bears) for use in zoos, menageries and circuses, from New England to California. An outdoorsman and a showman (he partnered up at one point with another American icon, that jack-of-all-trades P.T. Barnum), “Grizzly” Adams became, in the popular cultural consciousness, an iteration of an American frontiersman archetype, akin to Davy Crockett. Joel does not resemble that archetype at all – but Brick proprietor Holling Vincoeur, according to Joel, does. We’ll see how that comparison bears out in the episodes and seasons to come.

Meanwhile, over at K-Bear, the “raging fist” of Maurice Minnifield comes raining down on Chris Stevens like the fist of that faceless authoritarian in Chris’s juvenile detention home. I find the violence Maurice inflicts on Chris in this episode jarring. We later learn from Joel that Maurice threw Chris through a plate-glass window. We see bruises and band-aids on Chris’s face, and his arm in a plaster cast. We learn, towards the end of the episode, that Chris snuck in a decent left-hook – but that still, to my mind, doesn’t make up for what might be one of the single most unpleasant things Maurice has done on the show.

And while we’re on the subject of violence, what about Ed’s response to Joel describing his current spat with Maggie? He asks “Did you hit her?” Where did that come from? A more uncharacteristic thing for Ed to say – even just two episodes into the show – is hard to imagine. Is it meant to suggest that Ed grew up in an environment where domestic violence was the norm? Or that Cicely’s foremost cinephile learnt everything he knows about human interaction from the movies? I don’t know. I just know that it’s a weird, discomfiting line.

Ed introduces the episode’s secondary plot, which is about Ed’s uncle Anku (Frank Sotonoma “Grey Wolf” Salsedo). Ed tells Joel that his uncle is a “witch doctor,” which briefly leads them into a variation on the famous “Who’s on First?” comedy routine.

Ed’s uncle is seriously unwell – as in, there’s blood in his urine. And blood in your urine is nothing to be sniffed at. 11 years ago I had a urinary tract infection thanks to the onset of type-one diabetes. The pain was unreal. Imagine passing red hot needles instead of water. TMI? Ah, DMY. My point is, it’s not something you can comfortably ignore. And as a doctor, Joel knows it’s not something you can afford to ignore. And so, at Ed’s behest, Joel spends a significant chunk of the episode befriending Anku and trying his best to persuade him to seek medical attention. But, unbeknownst to Anku’s family, Anku has already sought medical attention and learnt that he has prostate cancer. He just needs Joel to pressure him into swallowing his pride as a medicine man before seeking further treatment.

Joel will, in dealing with Anku, realise in an on-screen “eureka!” of an epiphany that pride is the theme binding all the episode’s narrative threads together. Anku’s pride, his own pride, Maggie’s pride, Maurice’s pride, are all wrapped up in a neat little package. Is it too neat, too tidy? Maybe, but I like it. It’s a reassuring sign that Joel’s character won’t remain static, that he’ll gain new insight into the town and its characters, learn new things and continue to develop over the course of the series.

“Keeping it in the family”: Mrs. Anku is played by Armenia Miles, the mother of Elaine Miles, who plays Joel’s secretary, Marilyn Whirlwind. In future episodes, she’ll play Marilyn’s mother.

Anku asks Joel if he’s ever seen the film Little Big Man (dir. Arthur Penn, 1970), in which Dustin Hoffman plays a man who, as a white child, was rescued and raised by a Cheyenne tribe. Is Anku drawing a connection between the Jewish actor and Jewish doctor, to whom he imparts some of his own “native intelligence”?

Joel, after explaining that he can’t keep chasing after Anku, pleads with Ed not to “do this northern brooding thing, I can’t stand Bergman films.” Is Joel intentionally using sophisticated cinema references he knows Ed will get? Because if so, that’s kinda cute. Couple that with Ed watching Joel as he sleeps, and I wonder if anyone, anywhere, at any time, has thought to ship these two characters?

As Maurice takes full control of radio K-Bear we learn he’s a huge fan of musical theatre, something that’s often been depicted as a stereotypical trait of gay men (less so these days, but very much so in the nineties). Is the episode replaying the old, unhelpful cliché that “all homophobes are repressed homosexuals”? I don’t think so. It certainly doesn’t underline or lean into that idea. As much as Maurice’s showtunes are driving the residents of Cicely crazy, he’s never mocked for the fact that he enjoys showtunes.

At a town meeting, angry Cicelians call for the reinstatement of Chris Stevens as radio presenter. Maurice isn’t having it. “One of our own, Chris Stevens, made a mistake,” he “did a bad thing” and “he had to pay for it.” What was that mistake? We get an answer, of sorts, when Maurice returns to the airwaves the next day and attempts to explain his recent behaviour. It’s a speech that causes the entire town to stop in its tracks, suggesting we should stop in our tracks too and take what Maurice is saying seriously.

Maurice recalls his devastation upon discovering, as a child, that his hero John Wayne didn’t do his own stunts. The gist of it is, Maurice doesn’t want his heroes to be humanized, to have their weaknesses exposed. “Sure, we’re all human,” but do we have to be reminded that our heroes are human too? Maurice is an advocate of the “Great Man” theory of history, the idea that the greatest achievements in human history were brought about by great men (and with his ego, he no doubt fancies himself one). Maurice wants his heroes to remain on their marble pedestals as untainted paragons of manly virtue. “We need our heroes. We need men we can look up to. Believe in. Men who walk tall.” Of course it doesn’t occur to Maurice, just as it doesn’t occur to most advocates of the “Great Man” conception of history, that those heroes could include women or minorities.

Maurice considers Walt Whitman a hero. Though “Walt Whitman was a pervert,” in Maurice’s bigoted view, “he was the best poet that America ever produced.” Maurice concedes that Whitman was, most likely, a homosexual. He’d just rather not know or be reminded of that. Because Maurice is a homophobic bigot who believes that homosexuality is a weakness, a character flaw that should be hidden from view, never to be acknowledged. But just because Maurice believes that “there are damn few of us who deserve to be called heroes” and that, despite his own bigotry, Whitman deserves the title of hero, doesn’t make Maurice less wrong or less of a bigot.

And yet, as the speech prompts Chris to go and apologise to Maurice, the episode seems to come down firmly on Maurice’s side of the argument. Not that there’s actually been an argument. No one in town has attempted to argue the opposite of Maurice’s position – that a knowledge of Whitman’s probable homosexuality does nothing to diminish him or his work. The implicit and unfortunate assumption in this episode is that it does diminish Whitman. That’s why we have Chris apologising to Maurice, saying that he also doesn’t want people reading Walt Whitman for “the wrong reasons.” What reasons are those, Chris? The only reason suggested in the episode comes from Ruth-Anne, when she tells Joel that all the Whitman has been taken out of the library as there’s “nothing like an interesting sex-life to get people reading.”

So, is Chris suggesting that he doesn’t want people reading Whitman because of his sexuality? Why not? Whitman’s “Calamus” poems meant a lot to me when I was younger, and I would never have discovered them had I not heard about Whitman’s sexuality and the poems’ reputation. I see in them a beautiful expression of the romantic feelings I then had for my ex-boyfriend, and I can’t read them now without getting misty-eyed. Like a lot of great poetry, the poems powerfully describe feelings of romantic/erotic longing, the distinction being that they clearly describe feelings of romantic/erotic longing between men. It isn’t “subtext.” You don’t have to “read between the lines.” It’s there, in the words on the page. Whitman’s sexuality informs his writing, even if his writing isn’t explicitly sexual.

Unfortunately, in the nineties there persisted this idea that homosexuality was something to be guarded against, lest it corrupt our children or our own imaginations when engaged in the intellectual enjoyment of nineteenth-century verse. Depending on where you are in the world, it’s an attitude that still persists or even prevails. And this episode of Northern Exposure appears to embody it.

For me, Whitman’s “Calamus” poems are a powerful reminder of a time in my life when I was young and happy and in love. But Chris appears to be suggesting that I’m reading Whitman wrong. Well… Fuck you Chris. There’s nothing wrong with highlighting the fact that Walt Whitman was likely gay or bi, or that a significant number of his poems appear to have been informed by his own homoerotic desire. It can do a lot of people – gay or bisexual people, for example – a lot of good to know that people who felt the way they do existed in the 19th century, and that they wrote beautiful verse you could share with a loved one.

It should be clear by now that, unlike Maurice, I don’t believe it’s a mistake to humanize our heroes. Knowing Mark Twain loves cats humanizes him. In no way does it diminish my love of Mark Twain (but then I’m a cat person, so I’m biased). Other than the very worst literary critics, who really wants to see the likes of Twain and Whitman reduced to cold, lifeless marble statues in the Pantheon of the American Literary Canon? It does us no harm, either, to learn the personal and political beliefs of our heroes, especially if we don’t want people thinking we share certain of those beliefs. Hero worship is problematic in general, but it’s impossible for us not to admire people, to have our own personal heroes. But as we grow and change over the course of our lives, we shouldn’t be afraid to update that list.

In the course of its run, Northern Exposure introduced a gay male couple; confirmed that its founders, Cicely and Roslyn, were a lesbian couple; and was the second US TV show to feature a gay wedding (the first being Roc [Fox, 1994-1994]). Northern Exposure was not only on the right side of history, it was consistently ahead of its time. If I’ve been especially hard on this episode, it’s because I know how far it falls short of the show’s future accomplishments.

[pixeljunkiettube]

Everything about 5G Technology

5G also known as 5th Generation Cellular Network Technology is the latest technology in Mobile network services which also provides High-Speed Broadband services. The industry association 3GPP (3rd Generation Partnership Project is a standards organization which develops protocols for mobile telephony. Its best-known work is the development and maintenance of GSM & 2G standards (GPRS, EDGE), UMTS & 3G (HSPA), LTE & 4G(LTE Advanced, LTE Advanced Pro)) defines any system using "5G NR" software (5G New Radio) as “5G”, the definition which started in the year 2018. Others reserved this term for the use of a system which is compatible for ITU IMT-2020(International Mobile Telecommunications-2020 (IMT-2020 Standard) are the requirements issued by the ITU Radiocommunication Sector (ITU-R) of the International Telecommunication Union (ITU) in 2015 for 5G networks, devices, and services.).

Early Implementation of 5G

The first deployments of 5G technology was seen in April 2019 when in South Korea companies claimed more than 80,000 base stations (SK Telekom claimed 38,000 base stations, KT Corporation 30,000 and LG U Plus 18,000). 85% of all those major base stations were located in the 6 major cities of South Korea. The tested speeds were from 193 to 430 Mbit/s down. Now for general users, 430 Mbit/s means you can download an HD Movie of 2GB to 4GB in less than 2 minutes while for the gamers you could download a video game such as GTA V, or other similarly larger games of more than 50 GBs can be downloaded within 20 minutes. In South Korea, in the first month more than 260,000 people signed up and the goal is to transfer 10% of phones on 5G by the end of 2019.In the US, Verizon opened few base stations in the cities of Chicago and Minneapolis. In May 2018, the download speeds in Chicago were as low as 80 Mbit/s and reached up to 900 Mbit/s while the uploading speed was between 12 Mbit/s and 57 Mbit/s. The round-trip delay time or Ping time was 25 milliseconds. It was noticed that Verizon’s 5G services were regularly hitting the highest data transfer rate of 1 Gbit/s in some locations. That means you can download a video game of a size of 50Gb in less than 7 minutes.Six prominent companies sell 5G hardware and 5G systems for carriers: Huawei, ZTE, Nokia, Samsung, Datang/Fiberhome, and Ericsson.

Importance of 5G Technology

I will try to keep things simple for your understanding. With the arrival of the 4th industrial revolution in the Mobile Telecommunication sector “5G”, the Telecom experts are going wild on it. There are many high-tech devices available in the market which are building up the capacity to work with the technology as great as 5G so that the companies can reach the consumer in a better way. “The application of 5G technology will result in massive changes for both consumers and enterprises. 5G networks will offer consumers incredible broadband speeds at home (up to 20Gb/s). It will also enable companies to make advancements such as even smarter, better-connected cars, advancements in medical technologies and improved retail experiences through personalization.” - Jeff Weisbein, founder and CEO of digital media company Best Techie In an interview with Mr. O’Malley – A spokesperson for Verizon, said: “Through a combination of high speeds, super low latency, and massive bandwidth, 5G will allow for improvements in VR, AR, cloud gaming, robotics, immersive education, healthcare and more. It will allow you to send so much more data so much faster and technology will be more responsive.”

So what can we exactly expect from 5G?

Improved Quality/Precision5G uses a frequency distribution technique in which the distribution is directional. In the previous technology “4G” the towers send data all over due to which more power is wasted and the speed of internet is not stable due to no clear direction. In 5G, the directional approach is important because the frequencies are much higher as well as the data transfer rate. As compared to 4G, the data transfer rate will be even more than 20 times of the previously used technology. Just to know, 4G network uses frequencies below 6 GHz, while 5G uses frequencies much higher crossing over 30 GHz up to 300 GHz.The higher the frequency the greater will be its ability to support huge data transfers without interfering with other signals.5G uses shorter wavelengths, which means towers will be shorter without interfering with the direction of the wavelengths. So 5G technology can support approx. 1,000 more devices per meter as compared to 4G technology. With 5G Technology, larger data sets will be transferred at a much higher speed level without any disruption meeting surging data demands.5G networks will precisely understand the data being requested by a particular device and can self-modulate power mode that means the power will go as low as supporting the least amount of devices and will rise only if there is a need for more data connections which will ultimately save the energy.Low LatencyIn 5G technology, the signals travel faster than 4G which ultimately results in low latency. As O’Malley said, “We’re talking latency of a millisecond on 5G networks”. The webpages will load faster than ever, allowing for a significantly greater immersive experience, particularly in the realms of Virtual Reality (VR) and Augmented Reality (AR).In an interview with Mr. Mo Katibeh, CMO, AT&T Business about Video Streaming said: “Video now makes up more than half of our mobile data traffic. Our video traffic grew over 75 percent and smartphones drove almost 75 percent of our data traffic in the last year alone. ‘Viral videos’ and ‘binge-watching’ are part of the cultural lexicon now. Technologies such as AI and machine learning offer great potential but require high bandwidth and low latency to achieve optimal performance. The same is true for technologies like virtual reality and augmented reality, which can offer a customer experience like nothing before.”Since 5-G has the lowest latency rate yet, this could mean endless opportunities in the future as it will revolutionize everything related to how we perceive technology. “In the not-too-distant future, mirrors could be replaced with high-resolution monitors with Internet of Things (IoT) cameras that allow you to ‘virtually’ try on dozens or hundreds of combinations of clothing. You could ‘swipe right’ to try on another shirt or even automatically get recommendations on accessories.” - offered KatibehIn developed countries, Autonomous Cars have been introduced and 5G technology will become a stepping stone for the technology to thrive. With low latency and no stuttering, the services would work fine and will even improve with time. This will also minimize the problems currently faced by the industries who are working with the Self-Driving Cars. That’s what we call the Evolution of Technology.Higher Download SpeedsThis is good news for Gamers. With 5G technology, you can download larger games in few minutes. You can do live streaming with 4K settings, you can stream of YouTube, Twitch, Facebook, and Instagram at the same time without any stuttering.For General consumer, the huge data sets won't make much of a difference. Since they usually download small files and rarely upload. Still, everybody wants to have the highest speed so that they could perform whatever their tasks are in few seconds, and that will be possible with 5G. Since 5G has the potential to be 20 times faster than 4G, you can download your data 20 times faster. A task that needed 20 minutes to perform will be completed in 1 minute only. 5G has a peak speed of 20 Gbps while 4G is only 1 Gbps.With experience, we all know that peak speeds are usually considered to identify the range for service. That means we usually don’t always get the peak speed. Same goes for the lowest speed range. Usually, the speed lies somewhere in between. Since 5G is still under development mode we cannot surely identify the speed range of 5G, but as a mean, we can consider that the 5G technology will be at least 10 times faster than the 4G Technology.

Possible Hazards

Since we discussed the benefits and the revolutionary technological advancements were discussed above. We cannot deny the outcomes of that revolutionary technology. How it will affect the Human Race and our lives. Until now, the technology was designed to identify the needs of humans and how they can benefit from it but scientists around the globe are considering 5G technology to be the advancement not for humans but for machines. 5G achieves this by distribution smaller data packages which allows a faster transmission time. 4G had a fifty-millisecond delay but 5G merely has a delay of one millisecond. We as humans will not understand that difference of delay since the 4G working fine for us, but 5G will allow machines to achieve seamless results, and that may be a troublesome thought to have.Shorter Wavelengths – More TowersSince 5G technology uses a much higher frequency level (30Ghz to 300Ghz) there is also a problem with it. Higher frequencies have a shorter length. Which means that if a tower of 4G was serving 1000 homes under its radar, a 5G tower would only support 250-300. Also, the Frequency waves are absorbed by rain and plants causing disruption. Hope you are going where I’m going… yes! More towers! There will be lots and lots of antennas all over your towns and cities. There will be an antenna right next to your home on a pole.As of 2015, there were more than 308,000 wireless antennas on cell towers, well… That’s double the 2002 number. Yet 5G would require even more, smaller antennas, much closely placed, with each emitting bursts of Radio Frequency Radiation (RFR)–granted, at levels much lower than that of 4G Cell tower – and this will not be easy to avoid since there will be so many of them. If only we could see the RFR, it would look like a cloud or smog that’s spread all over, everywhere, all the time.Health ProblemsIn 2011, the World Health Organization’s International Agency for Research on Cancer released a report according to which the use of Cell Phone can cause some form of Brain tumors, and the specifically mentioned reason was the use of Radio Frequency radiation (RFR).Studies have shown that the low-level RFR exposure can cause serious health-related problems, including:DNA single and double-strand breaks (which leads to cancer)oxidative damage (which leads to tissue deterioration and premature aging)disruption of cell metabolismincreased blood-brain barrier permeabilitymelatonin reduction (leading to insomnia and increasing cancer risks)disruption of brain glucose metabolismgeneration of stress proteins (leading to myriad diseases)As you can see the low level of RFR dosage causes disruption in your body systems, imagine how that will affect when the frequencies will be twenty times higher, more continuous and closer to your body as compared to previously used technologies.The strongest concern human race have right now is that the effects of that much high frequencies on human skin. Just to let you know there are two layers in the human skin named as Epidermis and Dermis. While over 90%of the microwave radiation is absorbed by these two layers. It is considered that most of the frequencies used in Telecom are beyond the skin’s layer’s dimensions so they don’t usually get absorbed so quickly. But the frequencies used in 5G are High-Frequency Millimeter Waves which violates this condition. Also, in our skin, there are millions of sweat ducts and acts like a Helical Antenna (A helical antenna is an antenna consisting of one or more conducting wires making a spherical shape). With higher frequencies and millions of Sweat ducts in our bodies, more waves will be absorbed making our bodies more conductive to the radiation.Millimeter Waves (MMW) can cause our Pain Receptors to flare up in recognition of the waves as damaging stimuli. There is a strategy already used by the US Department of Defense called Active Denial System, in which they project MMWs at a specific crowd to make their skin feel like it is burning, and they can even microwave the population to death from far away. This is Possible with 5G Technology if they want to do so. – This is concerning.Effect on AnimalsA US National Toxicology Program did a study that showed that the male rats exposed to Radio Frequency Radiation (RFR) for nine hours a day for over two years developed rare forms of tumors in their brains and hearts, and damaged the DNAs of rats of both sexes.Another research illustrates how microwave radiations and MMW’s can damage the eyes and immune system, cell growth rate, and bacterial resistance. An experiment at the Medical Research Institute of Kanazawa Medical University showed that 60GHz MMW Antennas produce thermal injuries in rabbit eyes, with thermal effects reaching below the eye’s surface. What’s important to note here is that the danger of 5G technology is not only impacting Human Health but also impacting all the living beings on the planet Earth.Effect on EarthThe 5G infrastructure would pose a threat to the atmosphere of Earth. The implementation of %G network requires many short lifespan satellites via suborbital rockets propelled by hydrocarbon rocket engines. In simple words, there will be so many rocket launching in the sky, spreading so many black carbons in the atmosphere destroying the entire ecosystem. That will affect our health, will cause changes in temperature, will decline the growth of our food and will become the reason for the destruction of our atmosphere for sure.

Conclusion

Since we cannot control the growth and implementation of 5G Technology, it is better to at least understand what is coming next for us and for the next generation. Try to avoid 5G as much as you can until the authorities find out a better solution to provide such a service. Share your thoughts about 5G or previously used technologies. Also, share the knowledge of future technologies that will help us learn and will benefit our readers as well.Sourceshttp://www.cellphonecancer.com/the-looming-health-risks-of-5g-technology/ https://www.electricsense.com/12399/5g-radiation-dangers/ http://thehill.com/opinion/technology/357591-public-health-is-littered-with-examples-where-economic-interests-trumped http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-cellphone-5g-health-20160808-snap-story.html https://www.pbs.org/newshour/nation/how-might-cellphone-signals-cause-cancer https://www.pbs.org/newshour/science/major-u-s-study-links-cellphone-exposure-to-cancer-in-rats http://www.saferemr.com/2016/05/national-toxicology-progam-finds-cell.html Read the full article

[kookienomster3]

I Want The Headline (Pt. 3)

Written By: suga-of-daegu BTS Fanfiction Angst WARNING: MATURE CONTENT Mafia/Gang

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Raindrops steadily pounded against the roof and windows of the truck as the car sped deeper into the city. You were huddled in the back of the new men’s truck as they drove off to who-knows-where. The leader with the dimples, who had introduced himself as Namjoon, was behind the wheel, unlike Yoongi who had been chauffeured around. Beside him in the shotgun seat was Taehyung, and he had spent the entire ride staring at you. A smirk would cross his lips whenever your eyes would meet. “So…Y/N. ” he cooed, “How do you know Yoongi?” Namjoon chuckled, playfully raising his voice above Tae’s and the soft music playing from the radio,

“No, no! What did you do to him to make him use you as currency? Jipped him from a good time or something?” He asked, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. His brows furrowed, “I didn’t think he still dabbled in that kind of thing after, you know.” The last part he directed at Taehyung. Tae’s eyes scanned over your dress,

“That’s not what happened.” He theorized. “Did you see the way he looked at her old ring? She was a goddess to him, he wouldn’t trade his whore for her ring-”

“I’m not a whore!” You snapped bitterly, wrapping your arms around your knees. You were just finishing your sophomore year of college. You had a good future ahead of you. You had a job, there was a guy who was interested in you, a nice little apartment around the block from your brother. You were happy… Now, your brother was tied up in a warehouse somewhere by a man who had sold you for a ring. Tears of frustration started to cloud your vision as you dug your nails into your knees.

This was that man’s fault.

This was Yoongi’s doing.

Too tired to even cry, you just stared at your knees, “I’m not his whore…I don’t even know him.”

Namjoon looked back at you, honestly surprised. Yoongi was one of the only men he knew that honestly lived by equal trade. If he did something to someone, it was only because they did something to him first. You had to have done something to him to make him trade you off like that.“ Really? Then what were you doing with him?”

“His…Jimin..” You gulped,“ My brother, he sent me to on a vacation to Jeju…and I met this guy there.” Your voice hiccuped, “I thought he was a nice guy, I thought it was a coincidence that he was at all the tourist spots where I was… The next thing I know I’m waking up in a warehouse tied to a chair.” The car drove over a bump in the road before entering a tunnel. Dim yellow lights flickered violently through the windows, distorting the shadows along Tae’s face as he stared at you. Namjoon’s eyes were devoted to the road. “They took me to get my brother to listen to them. He..that man shot my brother in the foot for no reason; they beat him! He gave me away for a ring!”

The leader frowned softly. That didn’t sound like how Yoongi worked at all. Kidnapping you to get your brother to cooperate? What had your brother done that was severe enough for his punishment to drift over to you? Namjoon felt a headache coming on. He had prided himself on predicting Yoongi’s habits and the man’s habits had been pretty consistent for the past two years. An eye for an eye. If Yoongi was suddenly changing tactics, he had to be prepared. If he was gonna start taking two eyes for every of his one, Namjoon had to figure out some new countermeasures.

After all, the most dangerous kind of man is one you can’t predict.

Tae simply shrugged, “Well, if helps you any, the ring’s pretty important to him. Who is your brother?”

That phrase alone was enough to make your shoulders sag. Since when was a ring more valuable than a person’s life? “My brother’s name is Jin.. but why is a ring so important?”

The two men shared a look but didn’t comment immediately. Finally, Tae murmured, “The ring belonged to his fiancee, he was…he’d do anything for her. He’s killed dozens of people over her. But he’s also got this code; like an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.. he’d do anything for his organization, too. She was caught giving out secrets and intel to his rival group; several of his men were killed over it and he had to…” Taehyung’s eyes passed over you to the window. For a moment he just watched the city lights quickly pass by through the window, “Well, he killed her for it…” Tae blinked slowly, “I gotta hand it to his dedication… I mean..killing the girl I’ve slept beside for years even if she was selling me out? I don’t think I could do it.” He crossed his arms over his chest,“ Your brother’s been doing the same thing she was doing. I..I hope you two weren’t that close.”

A sense of dread hung heavy on your heart. Yoongi killed his own fiancee to keep his organization tightly knit. Your brother wasn’t that special to him to garner any special treatment. He was as good as dead. Your brows furrowed as you stared tensely at the back of the two men’s seats, “How..how did you know about his fiancee and my brother selling him out?”

Tae pulled out another lollipop from his pocket, popping it into his mouth. He leaned back in his seat, draping his arms behind his head, “Because the rival they were selling to was us.”

Jin immediately knew something was wrong the next morning when Yoongi and Jimin arrived alone. Hoseok, who had spent the night keeping watch over him, had sadly avoided Jin’s pleading gaze. He had been informed what was going on earlier. Jin tried looking around Yoongi and Jimin’s bodies in hopes of seeing you trailing behind them, but you were nowhere to be seen. “Please…” He whispered,“..My sister, where is she?” Yoongi silently shuffled over, stopping right before Jin. Pale hands produced a shiny silver ring from inside his coat pocket. His dark eyes stared down at Jin’s chin, unwilling to look him in the eye.

“Namjoon…offered to return this in exchange for her and I accepted.” He murmured softly, running his thumb along the smooth surface of the ring. He dryly chuckled,“ It keeps money in the organization, enough to cover the money you forfeited. Consider your debt gone and the least of your problems.” Upon hearing the news, Jin immediately threw up. Yoongi considered striking him as most of the vomit landed on his shoes, but thought against it. He had just lost his sister.

“She’s my little sister!” He screamed,“And you just gave her away to them?!” Jin had started to struggle in his seat, violently trying to get free, “You know exactly what they’re going to do to her!” His wild eyes shifted to Jimin, “What they did to Jimin’s girlfriend, and you just gave my baby sister to them!? She’s not like Jimin’s girlfriend! She doesn’t know how to survive like that! They’re going to eat her alive, you bastard!” His head dropped down as he cried, “She never did anything to you, and you just….oh god..”

Yoongi quietly stepped back, “I traded her…This wasn’t some abduction like with Jimin’s girl. It wasn’t revenge. I gave her to them. It was business…they won’t..they won’t hurt her. They know where the line is.”

“Like hell they do!” Jin spit out, “What did she do to you, huh?! What did a girl possibly do to you for you to sell her, Yoongi!?” Jin had managed to free one of his hands, but instead of swinging at Yoongi like everyone thought he would, he only wiped at his eyes. He doubled over and softly cried, “..Y/N…oppa’s so sorry, Y/N..”

Jimin quietly stepped forward, his eyes trained on Yoongi’s surprisingly blank face. “I’ll go..I’ll check up on her..?” It sounded more like a question than a statement. He felt like he at least owed you that. He had no qualms with leaving behind a person who had wronged him and his group, but you had done nothing to them. You were in fact, the most cooperative person he was ever ordered to abduct. You even offered him some of your food and water, for Pete’s sake, and he had left you in a cold alley in the hands of his rivals. The moment Tae’s hands had touched you, Jimin had felt on edge. Nevermind the inner turmoil brewing within him when you had pleaded for him and Yoongi not to leave you with them. He could still clearly see the fear on your face as he had shut the door on you and remembered how you had crumpled to the ground as the car pulled off.

He remembered the rage as Taehyung had smiled at you and petted your head as if he was some old friend.

Yoongi pocketed the ring, rubbing his nose briefly. A heavy sigh passed through his lips and he nudged Jin’s leg with his foot,“Answer everything honestly and maybe I won’t shoot your other foot.”

You were shoved into a room full of several other girls. The moment the door had opened, they all moved away from it to form a crowd by the barred windows. Tae led you in, large hands gripping your shoulders to guide you. “Evening ladies~” He sang, shifting his lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other. As you both approached the center of the room he released you, winking at the crowd of women,“I brought you all a friend. Let her know the rules, okay?”

And just like that, he was gone.

One woman stepped forward, a small booklet in her hands. Passing it on to you, she simply murmured, “Pick one and I’ll tell the man at the door.” You flipped through the booklet, confused by the pictures of men inside; it reminded you of your high school yearbook. It was full of people you didn’t know, but towards the back of the book, you had seen Taehyung and Namjoon’s photos along with a man named Jungkook.

“Jungkook.”

Somewhere from the back of the group, a girl screamed. The girl right in front of you, waiting to take your answer to the doorman, shook her head, “No, nononono, pick someone else. Anyone but Jungkook. Pick Taehyung, he’s erratic but nice if you listen to him.” The woman snatched the book from you, “You know what this is for, right!? You pick one and you’re his! Out of all these men, you pick the worst one of them all!” Her expression morphed into mortification when you still refused to change your answer, “You know all those people who these men killed are all killed by him! He’s the one who tortures and kills them and you choose him!? Are you trying to die? He’s burned people alive, taken their limbs, he’s Satan!”

By the terrified looks on all their faces, it seemed like choosing Jungkook was the wrong choice, but your brother had said to stay close to him. So that was what you were going to do. “Jungkook!” You screamed. You weren’t going to take the chance of one of the girls lying about your answer. The doorman popped his head in, eyes scanning for who was yelling. Once his gaze drifted over to you, you repeated, “I pick Jungkook-!” the women with the booklet slapped her hand over your mouth. Reflectively, you bit her struggling away from her tight grip, “Jungkook!” You screamed again at the dumbfounded man. It seemed he too, was surprised by your choice, “Am I speaking clearly?!” You screamed. “Jeon Jungkook, that’s who I choose!”

A new man appeared in the doorway and it instantly had all the women drawing back in fear. Even the woman with the booklet was pushed back against the wall. He stepped inside and it was only then that you noticed the blood-soaked white t-shirt he wore and the scent of iron that wafted off of him. His brows were raised in curiosity as he scanned the room of gaping women. Bile built up in the back of your throat as you dumbly noticed the blood-soaked baseball bat he was holding loosely in his left hand. “Was someone screaming for me?” He mused. Your mouth went dry.

“…I…I was..”

His wide eyes shifted down to you, “You?” Jungkook shifted the bat to his other hand, sticking out his blood covered hand for a handshake. He grinned happily,“I’m Jungkook, who are you?” You blankly stared at the offered limb, and he moved it closer, “It’s a handshake…have you heard of it?” A soft thud resounded and several girls screamed; he had dropped the bat. Jungkook paid them no mind and instead used his other hand to grasp yours, helping you to shake his hand. When he released you, you saw his bloody handprint left on your arm. “So what’s up?”

You felt your vision blurring, “I..I picked you..”

He only grinned wider.

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger. The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

  Magdalena Ball

was born in New York City, where she grew up. After gaining an honours degree in English Literature from the City University of New York (CCNY), she moved to Oxford to study English Literature at a postgraduate level. After a brief return to the US, she then migrated to NSW Australia, where she now resides on a rural property with her husband and three children. While in Australia she received a Masters degree in Business from Charles Sturt University and a Marketing degree from the University of Newcastle. Magdalena runs the respected review site Compulsive Reader. Her short stories, editorials, poetry, reviews and articles have appeared in a wide number of printed anthologies and journals, and have won local and international awards for poetry and fiction. She is the author of the poetry books Unmaking Atoms, Repulsion Thrust and Quark Soup, the novels Black Cow, and Sleep Before Evening, a nonfiction book The Art of Assessment, and, in collaboration with Carolyn Howard-Johnson, the Celebration Series poetry books Sublime Planet, Deeper Into the Pond, Blooming Red, Cherished Pulse, She Wore Emerald Then, and Imagining the Future. She also runs a radio show, Compulsive Reader Talks. In addition to her writing, Magdalena is a Research Support Lead for a multinational company, and regardless of what she’s doing, will usually be found with a book or two in one form or another, sneaking time for reading.

The Interview

1. When and why did you begin to write poetry?

I honestly cannot remember a time when I wasn’t writing poetry. It feels very natural to me to express myself poetically, probably because I grew up with a lot of poetry around me, from Dr Seuss and Maurice Sendak to the songs my mother, who was in a rock band, was writing and singing or the poetry my uncle set to music including literary giants like Edna St Vincent Millay, Frank O’Hara, WB Yeats and Emily Dickinson. Poetry has always been part of my environment. I created a lot of handmade ‘zines, themed booklets and celebration poems for friends when I was growing up, but my first official publication was a full centre-page spread in a Greenwich village magazine while I was an undergraduate. I’ve lost the publication now though I kept the clipping for years, but the buzz of that first publication was pretty intense.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I think I’d have to say my parents. They both read to me a lot – and there was poetry in the children’s books I loved (Sendak and Seuss come to mind immediately because I also bought and read many books by those two authors for my own children, but there were many books I loved when I was very young like The Story of Ping by Marjorie Flack, Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown, and Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crocket Johnson, all of which became introductions for me to what language can do as an art form, and how poetic language in particular can convey complex ideas in ways that jump past the intellect using rhythm, correspondence and imagery. I always had a visceral response to the books that were read to me, perhaps because my parents were very good readers and tended to act out the work and engage me in the process by talking to me about what they were reading, letting me fill in words and take over when I was ready. I’m deeply grateful to them for this early gift, which to be honest, I didn’t properly recognise until I was much older. Beyond being read to, I was pretty heavily influenced by my uncle, the composer Ricky Ian Gordon, who not only set a lot of superb poems to music – the sound of which formed a backdrop to my childhood as I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house where Ricky, who is only 10 years older than me, was growing up, but also he was always recommending and gifting books to me. I remember a book pack he gave to me when I was around 12 after he read some of my poems. I still have the books, which include Plath’s Ariel, Sexton’s Live or Die, Brecht’s Manuel of Piety and Rimbaud’s The Drunken Boat – none of which were age appropriate (!) but they certainly left a mark on me – like many young women I became a bit obsessed with Plath in particular for a while! Even now, when I see him he’ll usually recite a poem by heart to me from someone he personally knows or has recently discovered which will immediately blow me away.

3. How aware were and are you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t suffer from imposter syndrome regularly as a writer. However, I have always been a confident reader. The delight I take in other people’s words is something that has bolstered me since I was very (possibly too) young. I think it’s fair to say that nearly all writers, no matter how famous, need and love attentive readers and reading is my happy place. So whenever I don’t feel like I’m writer enough to match the company I’m keeping (and that company may be on the page rather than in the flesh though I have been lucky enough to meet some intimidatingly good writers), I’m always able to fall back on the joy of delighting in the words of others. It’s a great privilege I think to be able to just pay attention to art that is exquisite. The sheer joy of that deep engagement is something that I think transcends age, fame, and even genius. It’s connection that is very primal and powerful and wipes out jealousy, intimidation and domination. That said, I’m always actively seeking diversity in my reading as I’m conscious that the “dominating presence of older poets” is really partly determined by a canon that isn’t necessarily very diverse. I’m actively trying to read as diversely as possible, not only because it is healthy to be exposed to what challenges you, but also because nuance and exquisite beauty can often be found in under-represented writers that isn’t so easy to find in some of the bigger, more famous names that are treated as “classics”. So I will sometimes deliberately resist that domination.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I think it would be a rare day when I didn’t write something, but aside from that I just write whenever I can, often in brief snatches here and there, or while everyone else is watching television in the evening once the hubbub of the day has eased off. I have done things like pulled my car over to the side of the road to write something down that came to mind; written poems during business meetings; stirred something on the stove with one hand while writing with the other – you get the idea. I have three children and a day job so can’t really be precious with the time. Poetry is particularly flexible that way and can be fitted into a tight schedule but I have to admit that fiction is harder for me to write in short bursts which is why I’ve been writing a lot of poetry over the past few years.

5. What motivates you to write?

I’m not really sure what motivates me! It’s kind of instinctual. If I don’t write almost every day I find I’m not at my best – I get cranky – some variation of hangry – like there’s a hunger that needs satiating. Being able to sit down, even for just a few minutes, and put something down in writing is part of what my body needs each day – like food, water, exercise, sleep. It’s just part of how I live in the world. I get a lot of pleasure from extrinsic motivations like publication, praise (poets seem to me to be particularly supportive of one another and I’m so grateful for the gorgeous community I feel very much bolstered by), the odd tiny financial reward, and being able to perform/read/connect with readers – they’re all really wonderful perks, but the practice of writing is something I do regardless of those things.

6. What is your work ethic?

I was born and raised in New York, and it may just go with the territory but I think my work ethic has always been a little bit too strong. I have really tried to ease back on my work ethic – to be more present; to take more time on quality over quantity; to slow down a little bit and not feel like I have to be ticking every box on a daily to-do list. That said, I’m always feeling the tug to get one more thing done today. I’m trying to plan a little bit less, and to be more open as I get older.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

See question 2. The writers I read when I was young have had a massive influence on me – they’ve helped formed my identity and not just as a writer. I honestly don’t think I’d be the same person if I hadn’t read so much Maurice Sendak as a child. I still get a little shiver of excitement thinking about Little Bear’s trip to the moon or that wordless page of the wild rumpus in Where the Wild Things Are. I also was heavily influenced as a young adult by writers like Czesław Miłosz who I saw perform at Princeton when I was about 17, and I used to hang around the St Marks Poetry Project around that time hoping one day I might just end up having a conversation with Patti Smith, Jim Carroll, Allen Ginsberg or Anne Waldman. I was always too shy to approach them (see question 3), but I knew very strongly then that this was a place I felt at home and that theses were voices that resonated with my young self. I took a lot of that in and it helped form my identity.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

I love so many writers that the answer to this question could go on for about 20 pages! It never fails to amaze me how much superb work just keeps coming out. I’m very lucky to be a book reviewer and so I get a lot of books. I certainly don’t like everything but I get at least one book a week that is excellent, often by someone I never heard of before. I know that the minute I commit a name to paper I’ll have missed out someone critical or maybe I’ll read someone tomorrow and by the time this goes to air I’ll be sad I didn’t include them. So instead of answering this question I might just ‘gather some paradise’ (to steal a phrase from the wonderful PoemTalk podcast) and talk about a few poets that I’ve recently read whose work I like. Please note that this is a snapshot of the work I’ve been in contact with over the past month or so and is in no way comprehensive! Tracy K Smith’s latest book Wade in the Water is just so good. You can read the title poem here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147467/wade-in-the-water Another poet whose work gets me everytime is Danez Smith’s Don’t Call Us Dead. I don’t even know why but the book has brought me to tears several times and even now, I’m thinking of the title poem. I’m right in the middle of reading Anne Casey’s Where the Lost Things Go which is just so warm and lovely – so rich with empathy and compassion, and so very relevant. Another book I recently read and loved was Ali Whitelock’s And My Heart Crumples Like a Coke Can, which is hysterically funny, raw, sad and uplifting all at the same time. Both Anne and Ali are people I recently met and immediately became friends with – it was like we’ve known each other for years and we instantly began planning collaborations, tours, tweeting about one another’s work, etc. I’m so happy to give their wonderful books a shout-out.

9. Why do you write? Probably answered in question 5.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

At the risk of sounding like Yoda (it wouldn’t be the first time), there is no ‘become’ – if you want to write, write. Don’t waste too much time dreaming about it or making elaborate promotional plans (something I have been guilty of). Just get on with it. Write what you like to read best or what you feel compelling to write. Or pick a competition and begin working towards a submission. Push asdie the doubt and discomfort and that stupid “monkey” voice at the back of your head that says you’re not up to it, and just get on with it. No one is a ‘natural’ – first drafts are almost all bad, every writer no matter how well-respected is struggling with what they’re working on now, and the only way to get good at writing is, like anything, regular practice. You have to fail. It’s part of the learning curve – so get on with the failure, accept it, become comfortable in its presence and keep going. When you’ve got enough material or when your material fits a market, submit it somewhere. Then repeat the process. The one other thing you must do is to read, a lot, and diversely. If, like me, you’re nervous about promoting your own work or you’re uncertain that what you’ve done is great, then promote someone else. Shine a light on the wonderful, especially where it’s underrepresented. Everyone has the power to do that these days – leave a review, buy someone a book for a present, talk up what you love. Then get back to the table and make your own beauty. There’s no magic formula and raw talent that isn’t utilised is nothing. (may the force be with you…)

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I’ve just had a poetry book published by Flying Island Books titled High Wire Step, and I’ve got another one coming out in April from Girls on Key Press titled Unreliable Narratives. Neither of those were planned this time last year and I’m really pleased with how they came together and the incredible editorial support I had on both books (I’m very grateful to Kit Kelen and Anna Forsyth respectively). I’m still a bit in promotion mode for these two and there are launches and performances planned at the Newcastle Wrtiers Festival this year and throughout the early part of 2019. I have begun working on a new book of poetry (I’m always working on a book of poetry ), and I am still working on my third novel, a sci fi which is proving to be quite difficult. One of my resolutions for 2019 is to either finish the thing or call it. Every time I sit down to write it strikes me as being too good and too far along to abandon but then I get distracted and it drifts away from my mind and the desire to work on it recedes. This is the year I either finish, or make the call. I also have quite a few multimedia/anthology collaborations in-hand, which I’m very excited about. I can’t divulge, but good things are on the horizon.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Magdalena Ball Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[how2to18]

IN 1979, FOR A LECTURE at the opening of his Walker Art Center exhibition, artist Ray Johnson streaked (as in ran naked) down the aisles when he was introduced. This act was a reference to another Ray Johnson (no relation) who had recently streaked at the Vatican, causing him to be expelled from Italy back to Connecticut, where the two Johnsons met each other at the Wadsworth Atheneum. This mix of wordplay, coincidence, and absurdity characterizes Johnson’s entire body of work, which includes collage, mail art, and performance. While his art incorporates such wild, grand gestures highlighting the incongruity of daily life, it also encompasses the intimacy of writing personalized letters to strangers. Johnson’s art is layered with texts and references; his mail art project involved thousands of solicited and unsolicited letters, notes, and objects sent and received over decades. Johnson was ultimately interested in the successes and failures, the gaps, the misunderstandings and slippages in human communication.

His interview practice fits squarely within this concern. For someone whose whole life was a performance, it’s no surprise that he did not conduct traditional interviews. Always interested in the layers of communication, the possibilities of intimacy and distance, and the ability to rewrite and reconstruct history, Johnson’s every answer and pause came freighted with meaning. This is especially evident in Julie J. Thomson’s selection of interviews, That Was the Answer: Interviews with Ray Johnson. The book spans 1963 to 1987, including previously printed interviews from magazines and others transcribed from audio, never before published.

Each interview is unique and designed specifically for the interviewer. As Johnson explained to Detroit Artists Monthly creators Diane Spodarek and Randy Delbeke in 1977: “Everything I make is made for the person I’m writing to — there is a whole daily process of what the envelope enclosure is to be, how it is folded, what is enclosed, what the envelope is, what the style is, whether it is very casual or very formal.”

This intimacy is just as much a part of his works as the absurdity of the “Mickey Mouse” or “bunny” glyph he would stamp on them. Even in the cases where he would write to celebrities, art dealers, and other figures he’d never met, each work was crafted just for them. “[W]hat I do is made for each person,” he said. “When I’m speaking to you, I am creating this composition for you by telephone, on the spot.” This methodology extended into everything he did, even and especially his interview practice. When photographer Richard Bernstein traveled to Johnson’s Locust Valley home to cover him for Interview magazine, Johnson remarked: “Of course you’ve noticed that there’s no furniture in the house, because when people come to visit me I spend two days hiding everything and then I do these arrangements. I take what little furniture I have and make little works of art.”

For Bernstein, he made “about twenty-four separate arrangements which no one will ever see; which only I know about, and which will never be documented.” Johnson acknowledged no division between his life and his art; everything was an opportunity to perform correspondence.

cor-re-spon-dence n. Communication by letters. Answering to each other in fitness or mutual adaptation; congruity, harmony, agreement.

Johnson’s work makes us rethink definitions. His extensive epistolary practice, collage work, and lectures expand what it means to correspond. To the artist John Held Jr., Johnson defined his correspondence as “a giving, but it’s also a distribution and a planting and a seeding, and it takes time”; he went on to note that he has “demonically pursued the subject.” His process of working and making mailings was exhaustive. “It’s like prayer, it’s a ritual for me, a ceremony,” he explained to Spodarek and Delbeke. The ritual included gathering his mail from the mailbox, turning on the television (to listen to it, not to watch), and drinking coffee, as he “surgically insert[ed] the knife in these envelopes” and sorted through them, always working his way down from the top to the bottom of the pile.

His process was not the traditional receive-and-reply of letter-writing: his replies were often sparked by some play on words, some correspondence between things on the page or in life — like his nude homage to the other Ray Johnson. Johnson tells art critic Henry Martin why he responded to a man who sent him a book of his poems:

I’ll ping-pong back to him and do a whole Belt Club about him, because of his name, which is Beltrametti, he’ll be the Spam Beltrametti Club, just like Cavellini got into some of my caveman collages because the first four letters of his name are CAVE. There’s a reason to write to him, to thank him for his book, but also he gets involved in other things because of some combination of alphabetical letters and names.

Johnson had already created the Spam Belt Club, of which this name reminded him. His art is an art of associations, an endless linking together of words, images, and people, a chain of correspondences.

As he tells Bernstein: “My reason for being interested in people is their anagrammatic names. Since I cut everything up, they’re all people in a kaleidoscope, but one person is many-faceted, like a crossword puzzle.” Kaleidoscopes recur throughout his interviews and serve as a fitting image for his thinking: fixed objects with pieces that can be rearranged by a slight turning, like his collages that he would often revisit and rework years later. As he put it: “The Correspondence School is related to the collage work and all these images, conversations, associations, complexities of what for me I’m trying to make some meaning out of.”

com-mu-ni-ca-tion n. The fact of having something in common with another person or thing; affinity; congruity. Interpersonal contact, social interaction, association, intercourse.

So what is the meaning that Johnson’s correspondence attempts to communicate? His physical works and performances play on our assumptions. In the introduction to his interview included in the book, Martin recalls something Johnson once said: “[T]hese collages are really like playing cards, and everybody gets a different selection […] [T]hey’ll bring up other people and images and ideas.” Each was made for one specific person, and each person brought his or her own interpretation to the arrangement of images and words. “[T]here’s a whole history, then, of objects that have been actually mailed or presented or delivered,” Johnson tells Martin. Many of his collages include the phrase “Please send to” with the details of a future recipient he hoped the objects would reach. “[T]his is a part of what I call the Correspondence School because these objects are things that are exchanged for some reason […] [T]here was a kind of communication between these objects, a kind of communication of objets trouvés.” As the objects moved, they were transformed through contact, with each sender adding to the piece or removing from it.

Following his interest in names and people, from Marilyn Monroe and Greta Garbo to Gertrude Stein and Joseph Cornell, much of Johnson’s collage work takes the form of portraits. “That’s what these portraits are all about,” he explains to Spodarek and Delbeke. “They are all the interior of the head. I’m trying to depict what goes on in the interior of the head: thoughts, images, or ideas.” There is an interiority to his communication as well: it’s not just about an exchange between objects but also a communication of internal thoughts and associations, of the Freudian slips we think but try to mask. In a 1984 radio interview, Weslea Sidon raised the issue of Freudian slips and purposeful slippage, “to catch an unconscious process and make a decision to do it, to use it.” “Well maybe that’s what writers or poets do,” Johnson responded. Despite his extensive use of text and wordplay, Johnson eschewed the label of poet: “I shouldn’t call myself a poet but other people have. What I do is classify the words as poetry.” Poetry is an apt model for Johnson’s communication, though, since his words, images, and symbols require a deep unpacking of possible meanings.

What about the social aspect of communication? While his mailings offer a model for sociability, they aren’t exactly a social interaction. His performances and lectures (which were usually more akin to performances than traditional talks) use many of the same models I’ve noted — i.e., wordplay and free association — but they also involve a more immediate social interaction with the audience or other participants. On the day of his lectures, he would look to his morning mail for inspiration, finding something during his ritual opening of letters to use in his talks, whether it be something to wear or to hold. “I’m dealing with magic,” he told Spodarek and Delbeke. “I provoke the mailbox to provide me […] Or, I will use what is in the mail for the subject of my lecture.” Pieces, sometimes from strangers, would become essential elements in his communication to that day’s audience, adding an element of chance to each lecture and making each event a one-off occurrence.

in-ter-view n. A meeting of persons face to face, especially one sought or arranged for the purpose of formal conference on some point. Looking into; inspection; examination.

But Johnson also upends communication by playing with its failures, the nothings and silences that communicate so much but are often hard to interpret. This brings us back to the interview format, a technique of communication — a social interaction — but also a kind of correspondence. And Johnson performed it much as he did everything else. In a 1968 oral history interview for the Smithsonian Archives of American Art, Sevim Fesci begins by asking about Johnson’s background, where he is from and when he was born, to which Johnson replies: “I find whenever one begins a tape like this that it doesn’t get interesting until you’re into it […] And your beginning questions prompt a certain silence.” As with his rearrangement of furniture, Johnson never approaches an interview as a blank slate awaiting questions; he always has a performance in mind. As Martin notes: “He explains himself only in the very same ways that he expresses himself, and getting an interview from him means accepting potluck.”

The transcript of a second 1984 radio interview, with Shirley Samberg, is filled with “[pause]” notations. After the first occurrence, Johnson tells Samberg: “This is something I planned hours ago. That I would create spaces in reply to questions. Or in reply to logic. As I’ve done here. I’ve just created a sort of a rectangle with nothing in it.” A rectangle of nothing evokes a series of performances — happenings — that Johnson gave throughout his career. A student at Black Mountain College at the same time as John Cage tenure there, the most famous artist of nothing, Johnson was similarly interested in these blank spaces and pauses. As Thomson notes in her introduction, “Johnson’s emphasis on, and inclusion of space, allowed it to become an active part of his work.” She draws attention to this moment in the Samberg interview, as well as to the moment during his Archives of American Art interview when, asked about time in his work, Johnson paused to smoke a cigarette and then explained: “By the way, that was the answer to your question about time.”

In his interview with Held Jr., Johnson describes an appearance he made on a talk show:

They thought I wanted to sit and talk and present, and they set up the camera and the background, and so forth. But what I was doing was action in the outer edges, and I began moving, physically moving everything, which is like a recurring theme of my lectures, which is to set everything in motion.

Even in his blank spaces and nothings, Johnson is working around the edges of what we presume an interview to be, forcing us to rethink our roles. If every question becomes a prompt for an artwork, the interviewer becomes a participant in an ongoing performance. At one point, while speaking with artist and longtime correspondent Richard Pieper, Johnson claims that many of his performances are not conceptual art but rather “participatory action. I keep saying to people who want to find out about the Correspondence School that the only way to truly understand it is through participation, because what I do is made for each person.” In his interviews, Johnson offers a chance to participate, correspond, and communicate, in the fullest meaning of those terms.

¤

Megan N. Liberty is an arts and culture writer based in Brooklyn. She is the Art Books editor at the Brooklyn Rail and has a master’s in Art History from The Courtauld Institute of Art in London.

The post Ray Johnson’s Kaleidoscopic Interview Practice appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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