#Twitter is going to be unusable for the next two weeks

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

@mcyt-aro-week days 1 and 2 because i missed yesterday.

prompts: unconventional relationships / trope subversion, loveless / AU (blaseball au)

(remaining post under the cut)

"God, at this rate I'm never saving anyone's life ever again," Gem sighs as she puts her phone on Do Not Disturb.

"What do you mean?" False asks.

They're at a coffee shop in Houston. The Sunbeams had just finished a series with the Spies and were going home that night, while the Mechanics started a series with them tomorrow. False had decided to arrive a day early so her and Gem could do this, and after the terrible games both of their teams had had, False was particularly thankful for it.

Generally, she was thankful for Gem. About two weeks prior, False had been pitching a game in the Hellmouth, and the umpire had gone rogue. It was the ump at home plate, and it had been making a beeline for her when Gem had come sprinting out of her dugout and pushed False out of the way with more force than she'd expected the woman to hold. Gem had then tackled the umpire to the ground, taking the flames herself until they burnt out and could be safely removed from the field. Gem had barely seemed phased after the fact, just shook the dust off her uniform and walked back to the dugout. It was about as terrifying as it was impressive, and when Gem hit the game winning run off her at her next at bat, False couldn't find it in herself to be anything but impressed.

"My twitter mentions are blowing up, I think some fan or paparazzi saw us here and assumed we were on a date." Gem rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of her tea.

False can't help the snicker that comes out at Gem's words, but Gem doesn't seem particularly amused. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yup, this happens to me all the time," Gem says. "Everyone's got this image of us Fire Eaters being like, knights in shining armor, so every time I save somebody's life I have to deal with the internet being literally unusable for a few weeks if I want to avoid speculation about my relationships. Oh, and that's all the press will want to talk to me about after my games."

"Oh," False says, taking a long sip of her tea. She doesn't make much of a habit of looking at social media, and she has suddenly never been more grateful. "And this happens every time?"

"Every time! It's like they're trying to dissuade us from actually doing it or something. I'm not gonna stop, but like, sometimes I really want to. Can't they just ask me about the actual game one of these days?"

False lets the table fall quiet for a moment. She's thinking. For her entire career, she'd been a notoriously private person, both in her personal life and to the public. She'd been working on the personal life part for a long time, at the behest of her therapist, and she likes to think she's made some improvements. As for the public sphere, well, they weren't entitled to know anything about her. But- False takes a look at Gem, who's eyes are quickly flitting around the shop, like she's keeping an eye out for any cameras or fans looking too long in their direction. Maybe just this one thing...

"I think I might have an idea."

[usedtobeguest123]

My grandma passed away this last week. She was the matriarch of my family, raising a brood of boys on her own in a new country, and the life I have now I owe to her dedication and sacrifice. She is part of why the character of Abuela resonates so strongly with me, not because of their similarities in character, but because of how meaningful it was to see a story like hers represented in a beautiful, celebrated way in mainstream media.

I'll miss her dearly.

I was going through my unused writing snippets and I found this old one I had started for Encantober "Grief" and never finished. I polished it up a bit and offer it up now in my Abuela's honor. It's inspired by this Twitter-posted poem that resonated with so many people. While I know that there's so much more to the everlasting life after this one, this poem speaks such beauty and childlike peace into that transition, and I adore it for that.

Also, for some reason, I always thought that when the time came for Abuela to pass on, Camilo in particular would have a hard time letting go. Let it in, let it out, let it rain, let it snow, let it go, and all that. He seemed a fitting recipient for this, and also someone likely to ask an uncomfortable question.

Love you Grandma; God bless you and keep you. I can't wait to see you in again in paradise ❤️

------

It had been happening all. freaking. day.

He’d turn the corner, see a cup or a flower or a damn leaf that somehow reminded him and poof, he’d be someone else. Papi. Dolores. Luisa—a mess of people in quick succession. Thank God he’d managed to keep from changing into her. He didn’t think he could deal with that. Ay, he didn’t think any of them could.

No one blamed him though. When Mirabel witnessed one of his involuntary shifts on his way to the kitchen that morning, she’d just looked at him with that sappy, stupid face she was always making and gave him a hug that maybe did help him feel a little better.

Papi had clapped him hard on the back, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder as he shifted back down into his own skin. He'd nodded solemnly, giving him a gentle, encouraging lift under the chin.

Tía Julieta just gave him an extra helping at lunch, teary-eyed yet smiling warmly as always.

But it still sucked.

Dios why couldn’t he just get a grip? He felt so jumpy. Everything set him off. He snapped at Antonio when one of his coatis left cacas outside his room again. Even as he spoke he’d known his voice was a too harsh for the situation. He snapped Isabela, and for once she didn’t snap back. She just sent a tiny bloom of flowers settling into his shirt pocket, their stems only a little spikey. He even snapped at Casita when they both knew he'd just tripped on his own two feet.

But he made sure he was on his absolute best behavior around Mami. You want to talk about jumpy? He had nothing on her. Poor Ma.

He managed to hold it together through the rosary, and the next day at mass too, by some miracle. The ceremony was harder, but he pulled through. But then came the reception. Everyone was talking to him and hugging him and offering condolences and ay how many times can you say thank you, I know she's at peace with just the right sad smile before the words start to lose all meaning? Thank you thank you thankyouthankyo—

So. Phwooo. Here he was now, sneaking out of the reception to the back porch of Casita when no one was looking, just to try to fill his stale lungs with a little more air.

After he shut the door quietly behind him, giving a small pat to the wall in thanks to his accomplice Casita, he turned and was surprised to find he in fact was not alone. There, on the small step that led out to the back patio, was Tío Bruno, a rat of course sitting on his shoulder. Eck. Camilo felt a little shiver go down his back.

He considered turning around to find his own private place to brood, but something stopped him. After a moment, and a small nudge from the tiles beneath his feet, he quietly approached instead.

“Hey,” he said lamely.

“Oh!” Bruno startled, flailing comically, but recovered quickly. “Oh, h-hey there Milo.”

Guess I'm not the only one who’s jumpy.

“Do you mind if I…?” he gestured at the empty spot on the stairs next to his tío.

Bruno nodded rapidly, flapping at the spot with his hands and scooting over a minute amount that made absolutely no difference in available space. Camilo sat.

For a while, they didn’t say anything. The rat had disappeared from Tío Bruno’s shoulder to God knows where. They watched the leaves sway on the large gnarled tree that stood proudly behind Casita.

Man, how old was that thing? It had been there as long as he could remember. At some point, a planter had been built around it where Isabela grew a perpetual explosion of flowers, and a swing hung from one of its thicker branches, but he'd seen pictures of when the back porch had let out to just a field and a tree. Camilo found himself wondering if that old thing had always been there, or if it had come with their Miracle.

It looked ancient. The trunk was at least as wide as four humans, twisting and turning up toward the sky at a slight angle before giving way to countless branches, those branches breaking off on their own as well in seemingly infinite chaos. The canopy splayed out above the courtyard in a protective, verdant umbrella so lush that even in the rain, the area underneath often stayed dry. Down below, the roots wove in and out of the soil like great serpents surfacing for air, defying the boundaries of the neat planter and forever upending the level neatness of the patio.

Camilo couldn’t imagine it not being there. He just couldn’t imagine a world without its constant, unshakeable presence. Something heavy and gripping suddenly settled into his chest, and he swallowed hard.

After a moment, his traitorous mouth opened without being told to and he whispered out question so quietly he wasn't sure if Bruno would even hear him.

“What do you think it’s like?”

“Huh?”

“...dying.” Camilo swallowed again, but didn’t look at his uncle. “What do you think it’s like.”

“Oh.” Bruno’s voice was soft. To Camilo’s surprise, he didn’t fidget or squirm like usual. Instead, he seemed to sort of wilt. Camilo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He'd leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared up toward the big tree too, but he didn’t seem to be really looking at anything.

It was quiet for so long, that Camilo considered cracking some kind of joke to cover his tracks.

What are you thinking anyway, tonto? he thought. Guy just lost his mom. You gonna drop a rock like that on him? He really did need to get a grip. He needed to break the tension, ease the mood.

“Well, it must not have been that bad if Abuela allowed it to happen,” he joked, his voice light, wry, and guarding. “I think even La Muerte herself would have layed off if Abuela had given her that one stern look she had, ya know?"

Camilo chuckled, but Bruno didn't laugh. He didn't respond at all. He was still looking at the tree with a distant expression. Camilo narrowed his eyes at him—it didn't even seem like he'd heard a thing.

“...Tío?”

At that, Bruno dropped his eyes down to look at his hands, woven together loosely between his bent knees. He tipped his palms up slightly as if he was looking for something there. He took a slow breath, and then he began to speak.

“When I was a kid,” he said, “a-a real little kid, we had this big party at Casita. You know how it goes. House full of people, everything is busy and bright and loud. I don't remember what it was for anymore, b-but the whole time I just was torn between wanting to not miss a minute of it all, but, but, but also trying to be on my best behavior, like I knew Ma would want, a-and also also trying look out for my sisters, who were doing fine by the way, definitely didn't need me looking out for them but—well, anyway.”

Bruno cleared his throat, and Camilo watched him curiously. He nodded for him to continue, and Bruno nodded back.

“A-anyway, I didn't make it through the whole night. I got tired, like kids do, a-and fell asleep in some corner of the courtyard, heh. Passed right out. And Ma—y-your abuela, she found me and picked me up.”

Bruno looked up then, turning to look at Camilo with a sad, crooked smile and an odd brightness in his eyes.

“She carried me upstairs to my room. I could still hear the party—laughter and singing and music and joy—just in the next room over, but in my room with Mamá it was all still and quiet and peaceful. When she tucked me in, she kissed my cheek, and she whispered, ‘You did well, mijo. You did well. I've got you now.’”

Bruno swallowed. “It…it all just felt so…so…safe,” he shrugged. “Like…relief, I guess. Contentment. Idaknow. I think….maybe, um, maybe dying is… something like that.”

The tight feeling was back in Camilo's chest, and he felt a tear streak down his face before he was even aware it was there. He blinked. Bruno looked down at his empty hands again. The air around them had grown cool, the sun now set. The sound of crickets hummed, and the gentle murmurs from the reception wafted out from the warmly lit windows of Casita. Camilo sniffed loudly.

“That doesn't sound so bad,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. Bruno nodded with a broken chuckle, and brought a sleeve up to wipe roughly at his own face.

“Yeah. It doesn't.”

Then, without warning, Camilo’s shoulders quaked, his breath hitching and more tears suddenly appearing as all the pent-up pressure of the day rose to the surface and broke free. He choked out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry. Bruno put an arm around him.

The wind blew gently through the branches of the tree, ruffling the leaves in a hushed lullaby. The ropes of the swing creaked sweetly along with it. And there on the porch, settled between the warm murmurs of the reception behind them and the cool peace of the star-filled night, after his breathing had slowed and his tears had been wiped dry, Camilo thought that maybe he could finally feel within him a measure of stillness.

[remcadll]

HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR BREAK HORIKOSHI

[amjustagirl]

Hogwarts AU (Haikyuu!!)

feat. Bokuto Koutaro

Previously:  Miya Atsumu. Miya Osamu. Kita Shinsuke. Kuroo Tetsuro. Tsukkishima Kei

Masterlist link here

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

Wordcount: 4.1k

Genre / Pairings: Fluff, Angst, Hogwarts AU, Bokuto / Reader

Summary: Tutoring Bokuto Kotaro in Charms seems like a waste of your time. But then you get to know the Hufflepuff seeker, and start looking forward to your tutoring sessions with him.  

A/N: Comments as always, are much welcomed. Feel free to shout at me anytime!

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“I’m Bokuto!”

You stare coldly at the large hand shoved into your face. “Yes, I know. And so?” You arch an eyebrow and let your question linger awkwardly in the air. Surprisingly, even that fails to  dampen the brightness of the grin on his face, despite the fact that any other student would have turned tail and run at being on the receiving end of the resident Ice Queen of Slytherin’s glares. 

Your Charms professor coughs into his hand. “Ah. Yes. Bokuto requires some tutoring assistance, and I thought you’d be the right person to help out.”

You open your mouth in protest, but clamps it shut at the look of warning the professor shoots at you. It’s your bad luck you got caught sneaking books out of the restricted section of the library, it wasn’t as if the books you had your eye on contained dark magic in any case, they  just contained spells deemed too dangerous for idiots like the one standing before you to even attempt. And instead of detention for a month, your Charms Professor who’s always had a soft spot for you suggested you divert your free time to tutoring struggling students instead. 

“Fine”, you snap before turning to the boy. “You better not be as bad as Ushijima - Merlin only knows he was as dumb as a bag of bricks”. 

Bokuto agrees to meet you every Tuesday in an unused classroom for Charms tutoring. You do not care that he seems to wilt ever so slightly at the insults you lob at his Hufflepuff teammate - you have no time to suffer fools, after all. 

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Unfortunately, while Bokuto doesn’t take everything as literally as Ushijima (it was a problem you faced when you tutored the stone faced boy, especially for a subject requiring as much personal flair as Charms), he struggles with the precise motions and pronunciation needed for Charm incantations, and you’re losing your patience with him after he messes up Aguamenti for the tenth time today. 

“You need to move your wand like a wave of water before pointing it sharply - like you’re shooting a jet of water into a glass”, you repeat yourself in exasperation. 

He tries his best, waving his wand exaggeratedly but forgets the emphasis on the second syllable, so his wand remains completely dry. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes. “Look - it’s really not that hard. If you remembered all the notes I gave you about this charm, you’d have gotten it by now. Merlin - what’s wrong with you dumb Quidditch Players?” 

“It’s not that easy to remember everything when you keep calling me dumb all the time”, Bokuto mutters, resentment colouring his tone. 

Your shock that Bokuto - the human embodiment of a sunbeam, seems to have abandoned his usual cheerfulness for an uncharacteristically stormy expression, quickly morphs into annoyance that he has the temerity to get short with you considering you’re the one that’s been forced to give up her Tuesday evenings in an attempt to get him to pass his Charms exams. 

“That’s because you ARE dumb”, you retort coolly. “Try casting the charm again”. 

He shocks you again by gathering his things and walking out of the classroom. 

“Where are you going?”, you call after him, confused. Even Ushijima put up with your insults and snide remarks for an entire term, but Bokuto doesn’t even look back.  

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Bokuto doesn’t turn up next week either despite struggling in class with the very charm you spent hours trying to hammer into his head. Nor the week after that. Midterms come and go, and you overhear from a group of his twittering fangirls in the bathroom that his spot on the Quidditch team is on the line after failing his Charms exam as expected. 

Guilt gnaws at you. Strange, since you assumed your heart is practically a block of ice by now. 

You spend days trying to corner him to no avail. You always knew he had plenty of friends, but you didn’t realise how popular he actually was. He’s constantly surrounded by his teammates - or even other Quidditch players like Kuroo from Slytherin, or Hinata from Gryffindor, and his childhood best friend Akaashi follows him like a shadow despite being from Ravenclaw, not Hufflepuff. 

So you bide your time and wait until he finishes Quidditch practice, whispering from the shadows “Diffindo” to sever the straps of his bag. Your plan works - Bokuto cheerfully waves his teammates to go on without him, and the horde of hungry Hufflepuff Quidditch players head off to the Great Hall for dinner. 

“Why haven’t you come back for tutoring sessions?” You try to sharpen your question into an accusation, but your guilt makes you falter midway and you just sound bewildered instead. 

Your bewilderment is mirrored in Bokuto’s eyes. “Huh?” he frowns. “I thought you didn’t want to tutor me in the first place, so I asked my friends to help me out instead.”

You snort, tapping your foot. “Akaashi’s a year below, so I doubt he’s much help, and Kuroo’s much better at potions than at charms. And I hear you’re going to get kicked off the team if you don’t pull up your Charms grades in the remedial exams before Christmas.” 

The furrow between his brows deepens. “Why do you care if I’m failing my exams?” 

You’re not accustomed to dealing with someone so straightforward and genuine and innocent. You’re used to conniving serpents like Oikawa and Daishou who would have no hesitation hiding daggers in their sleeves just to get ahead, so the fact that his question is honest floods your belly with guilt.

“Because I feel bad for calling you dumb.” You decide to honour his honesty with a straight answer. “Do you still want me to tutor you if I promise to be nice?” 

Any shadow of lingering guilt is chased away by the sheer sunniness of his smile. 

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The ice in your heart starts to thaw in the face of his exuberance and friendliness. 

“You’re much nicer than people say you are”, he tells you one day with blunt honesty. “Why don’t you have more friends?”

You shrug, accustomed to the title that your peers have chosen to label you with. The Ice Queen of Slytherin, your housemates whisper behind your back after you slash Miya Atsumu’s robes in your second year, leaving him standing in nothing but his underwear after he pulled your bra strap on a dare. 

Your mother and older sisters taught you self-defense charms even before you entered Hogwarts, and you have no qualms about using them, even against one of the most popular boys in your house. But it proves to be a miscalculation - one that leaves you with few friends other than those who’ve known you since your childhood. 

“I don’t need friends”, you say, words frigid. 

He grins at you, undeterred. “I’ll be your friend!” He declares, leaning forward, balancing his chair precariously on two legs. 

“I’d be happier if you pass your exam”, you tell him dismissively, though there’s an amused curl at the corner of your lips. 

True to his word, Bokuto drags Akaashi over to the Slytherin table during dinner the very next day. You startle as he plops into the empty seat across you, Akaashi giving you a slight nod of acknowledgement that’s also tinged with an unspoken ‘sorry you have to put up with my overly excitable best friend these days’ that you snort at. 

Kuroo rounds up the trio, and between his and Bokuto’s bickering over who’s getting the best pickings from the meat dishes on the table, and Akaashi’s admonishments not to cause a ruckus that fall on deaf ears, you’re so entertained that you laugh aloud, though you wince internally when half the Slytherin table snaps their heads around to stare at you, dumbfounded. 

Miya Osamu actually looks up from his katsudon to elbow his brother. Miya Atsumu chokes on his food. 

You assume it was just a one-off event, Bokuto just trying to repay you with his kindness, but to your surprise, he’s back at least twice a week, and soon your lonely corner at the Slytherin table turns into the most boisterous ones. His very presence draws the most random assortment of people into his sphere - soon you’re joined by Tsukkishima, the quiet, stone faced Ravenclaw, Hinata, Bokuto’s self appointed protege and burgeoning sun in his own right, Sawamura, the stoic, steady Hufflepuff Keeper, on top of the usual suspects like Kuroo and Akaashi. 

Not everyone is as amused by this turn of events. 

“What’s he doing at our table?” 

“I heard he’s being tutored by the Ice Queen herself - maybe that’s why he’s here.” 

“That makes sense. Heard he’s really dumb.” 

You stiffen as you hear your classmates snigger. Bokuto wilts, even the ridiculous mop of hair on his head starts to droop. Kuroo and Akaashi wear twin expressions of murderous intent on their face and both start to rise, insults on their tongues when you whip out your wand, freezing your offending classmate’s lips to his glass. 

“Call him dumb one more time and I’ll freeze your balls to the bench”, you smile sweetly, poison in your words. 

Kuroo guffaws as you turn back to your conversation with them with a saccharine “now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?” Akaashi snorts into his hands. 

Bokuto looks at you as if you’ve handed him the latest firebolt model on a gilded plate. You refuse to meet his eyes for the rest of the night. 

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You find that he responds far better to praise than negative reinforcement, bouncing around the classroom with such childlike enthusiasm whenever he succeeds in casting another new charm that it makes your lips tilt upwards. The combination of his Hufflepuff diligence and your renewed patience makes his performance in charms skyrocket, and soon, he’s improved enough for you to teach him the more fiddly, advanced charms. 

‘You have to flick your wrist lightly’, you tell him for the fifth time this evening. Ascendio is a difficult charm to master, even by your own standards, your own wrist already sore from the various rounds of demonstration. 

He tries to mirror your action. It doesn’t work. 

‘Um.’ You rack your brains, thinking of something, anything that might help. 

Ah.

‘You’ve got to move your whole arm like it’s the wing of a snitch. You know – keep the arm and wrist action light, like the flutter of wings.’

He furls his brow, trying to mirror your action again. It doesn’t work. This time, he pouts. 

Impatient, you grab his hand. ‘Look!’ You slap at his arm to get him to loosen up – seriously, what do they feed these quidditch players, taut muscles tensing beneath your fingers as you try to puppet his arm into an approximation of the wrist movement. He gazes down at you with wide eyes as you press your form against him. 

‘I’ll show it to you again. Ascendio’, you call, and with a sharp flick of your wrist, your feet lift off the ground, your skirt fluttering in the air. Then with a smooth swish of your wand, you descend to the ground, cocking your head to your student. ‘Come on, Bokuto, you’ve got to master it by the end of the night.’

He tries again and again to no avail. Charms is a far more creative branch of magic than transfiguration or even potions – and what works for one might not work for another. You recalibrate, trying to relate what you’re teaching to his true love - Quidditch. 

‘Maybe you could imitate the movement of a snitch about to take off once the whistle blows?’ 

 ‘A snitch?’ he laughs boisterously at your suggestion. ‘I could do that.’ 

He screws up his eyes tightly, his entire body falling still before he raises his arm. With a flick and swish, a hooted “Ascendio”, Bokuto floats up into the air.

“I did it!” He pumps his fists in the air, grinning down at you. Then with a smooth finite incantatem, he descends back to the grimy classroom floor. 

“Well done!” You laugh aloud, clapping your hands, so drunk with elation at his success that you don’t notice the sudden softness in his golden eyes. 

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“Waiting for Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks. 

You hesitate for a beat, a pink tint to the apples of your cheeks before you nod without a word. 

“I’ll leave you two be then”, the Ravenclaw boy says, walking off with his hands tucked in his robes, a small smile flickering on his face. 

You exhale slowly through your nose. Maybe you should have left Akaashi to wait for Bokuto instead - they’re best friends, practically platonic soulmates you gather from Bokuto’s chatter as he walks you back to the Slytherin dungeons every Tuesday night, something he insists on despite your protests. You’re just his tutor - but here you are, hanging around outside the classroom where his remedial exam is being held, palms clammy in nervous anticipation. 

You tell yourself that you’re waiting for him because you can’t wait to know whether the tutoring sessions that take up your precious Tuesday evenings will end. You wonder if that means that he’ll stop coming over to hang out over dinner with you, the thought making your heart feel as if it’s frosted over again. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” His booming voice interrupts your reverie, and you glance up to see him burst out of the classroom, the joy on his face outshining even the sun. 

“You passed, I assume”, you snark, hands on hips, but he doesn’t even register your badly disguised coldness, grabbing by the waist to lift you easily into the air, spinning you in circles until you’re both giddy with delight. 

“I did, I did, thanks to you!” He crows, still clinging on to you like a lifeline. “They were so impressed when I cast Ascendio, and I was like swish, and they were like aughhh wahhhhh - and it was so awesome!” 

“I’m glad my effort paid off then, dummy”, you tease - seriously, it would make your housemates’ jaws drop if they caught you giggling, let alone being held aloft in Bokuto’s arms, but you’re just so happy for him that you don’t order him to put you down. 

He stills suddenly, and you’re worried that he’s taken offense at the affectionate nickname until you notice his eyes are trained at the arch above you and oh - 

Mistletoe. 

It’s Christmas, and the house elves have hung enchanted sprigs of mistletoe around the castle on the orders of the mischievous headmaster to prank unsuspecting students. Any student trapped under enchanted mistletoe may only be released upon giving or receiving a kiss, and you’re about to press a chaste kiss to Bokuto’s nose when you glance back at him and notice his eyes are molten gold, laden with desire. 

“Bokuto - “ you begin, but you’re promptly cut off by the searing brand of his lips against yours, gasping as he backs you against the wall, his mouth plundering yours. You should protest, but any sentient thought you might have is lost in your newly awakened hunger for him, this beautiful, sweet boy with golden eyes and silver hair who’s kissing you. 

“I like you,” he says breathlessly when you finally push him away in an effort to pull air into your deprived lungs. “Go out with me - please?” he adds, almost as an afterthought, brushing his thumb against your cheek with a gentleness that belies his large frame crowding you against the wall. 

You want to, oh Merlin - you want to indulge in the warmth that’s starting to sprout in the previously frozen tundra of your heart but you have to recognise that he’s Bokuto Koutaro, Quidditch player extraordinaire bound for the professional leagues, so popular that he already has a fanclub in school. 

And you - you were a social pariah before you met him, you would ruin his reputation if anyone finds out that you’re in a relationship with him, not to mention you’ve been accused of being cold and distant and harsh - all characteristics that disqualify you from being a good match for him. 

“I can’t.” You shake your head, keeping him an arm’s length distance from you, because if he comes any closer, you might lose your resolve. “We wouldn’t work out at all”.

The golden light dims in his eyes, and his arms fall limply to his side.  “Is it because I’m dumb?” He asks, his voice heartbreakingly quiet. 

“No!” You cry, taking a step towards him. “That’s not it at all!” 

He frowns, confused. “Then why don’t you wanna go out with me? Don’t you like me?” 

“I do”, you admit, hating yourself for having to extinguish the spark of hope in his eyes. “But we won’t work out -” 

“Why’re you so sure of that?” He takes a step forward, reaching towards you. You knock his hands away and he stumbles back, stung. 

“Because I’m not good enough for you!” You shout, your words echoing against the castle walls. “Because I’m snarky and frigid and cold and rotten to the core - and you’re wonderful and funny and sweet and you deserve so much better than me”. 

Your words stun him into silence, and before he can work out a response, before your resolve starts to crumble, you take a large step away from him. With trembling hands, you reinforce the frozen fort in your heart, forcing yourself to beat a hasty retreat. 

“Besides”, you add, voice shaking. “What could I possibly offer you?” 

You disappear around the corner, coldly ignoring him even as he calls your name. 

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“He’s wandering around the castle like a lovelorn ghost”, Akaashi says, dropping into the library seat across yours. 

“Explain why that makes it my business”, you hiss with the indignation of a cornered boggart with no means of escape. 

He just gives you a knowing look and you glance at the skulking librarian, wondering if you should risk a detention to drive your sharpest quill into the back of the Ravenclaw boy’s hand. 

“You know, it’s sad you think so little of Bokuto-san that you refuse to allow him to make choices for himself.” 

“What are you - “ 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” His gaze remains resolute, even as you snarl. “Why don’t you prove me wrong?” 

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

But you’re stubborn, so you avert your eyes whenever Bokuto comes into your line of sight, changing seats so you don’t sit anywhere near him in Charms, escaping whenever he tries to call your name. Your Tuesday tutoring sessions with him are a thing of the past. You even hear from Miya Osamu that Bokuto’s been trying and failing to bribe first years into letting him into the Slytherin Dungeons, though they’re all far too frightened of your reputation to even dream of crossing you, not even for the bait of a ride on his rare firebolt.

You’re lonely, but you refuse to admit it to yourself.   

You even refuse to watch the match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin despite it being touted as the social event of the year. Both team’s lineups are exceedingly impressive. Representing Hufflepuff there are powerful players like Bokuto, Ushijma, Azumane, even surly Kyoutani. Slytherin’s certainly no slouch either, with Oikawa, Suna, Daishou, Kuroo and the Miya twins. 

But you huddle in the library and ignore the screams and cheers of the whole school spectating the match until Akaashi skids into the library, distress clear on his face. 

“He’s injured”, he manages to spit out between heaving breaths, and you don’t even need to ask who he is, panic turning your ribs into kindling, burning a blaze through your chest as you sprint full speed towards the hospital wing. 

Quidditch is a horrendously dangerous sport - the Daily Prophet Sports Section is full of horrendous injuries like long lasting concussions and smashed bones that you’re already imagining the worst by the time you cross the threshold of the hospital wing. But Bokuto’s not even lying on the cot - he’s sitting upright, a confused yet hopeful expression on his face as you stare at him, dumbfounded. 

“A-Akaashi said you were injured”, you manage to stutter. 

Bokuto waves a bandaged finger at you. “Yep”, he says, taking wary steps one at a time towards you. “Suna got me good when I was about to catch the snitch”. 

“Oh”, you say lamely. “I see.” You’re thankful no one else is in the hospital wing to see your disgrace. “I’ll be going, then”. 

“Wait! Please don’t run away again”, he begs, taking advantage of your distracted state to catch your hand, his fingers circling your wrist easily. You tug against his grip, but it’s futile - you’ve left your wand in the library in your mad rush, and years of Quidditch training have sculpted Bokuto into the human embodiment of a brick wall.

“Let go of me!” You order him in the coldest tone you can muster. It’s not even icy - in fact, it’s probably lukewarm.  

He shakes his head, as stubborn as you. “Not until you hear me out”, he replies, pulling you out of the hospital wing into the nearest unused classroom. 

“Fine.” You cross your arms. “What do you want to say to me then?”

“Well for starters, you’re the most amazing, scary girl I know”, he says, grinning boyishly at you. “You’re so much smarter than me I don’t know how your head doesn’t go pfft cos it sure isn’t large enough to hold all your brains. And you’re nice - I don’t know why you pretend you’re not - Yachi said you cursed the boys who teased her ‘cos you found her in the bathroom crying, even though you literally met her for the first time - “ 

“Why are you telling me this?” You cut in, confused. 

“Cos you asked me what you could offer me” He answers simply, his fingers slotting in between yours. “The answer is you. I want you. I like you.” His grin softens into a bashful, goofy, adorable smile. “And I know I’m not smart like you or Akaashi, but I know enough to think you like me too.”  

Your mind is entreating you not to give in, reminding you that you’ll only drag him down with you but your selfish heart wins out. The weeks you’ve voluntarily isolated yourself from Bokuto have been cold and lonely, and the truth is you miss him - you miss the silly jokes he makes, the playful banter, his boundless confidence and kindness and friendliness. Maybe that makes you selfish, but you can’t deny it any longer, you want him for yourself.

So you reply with a shy smile of your own. “Maybe I do - like you, I mean”, you say, with an earnestness you must have learnt from him, tilting your face up towards him like a flower seeking the sun. 

His eyes grow wide with delight as you step into the circle of his arms, allowing him to draw you against his broad chest. 

“And to be honest, maybe I’m the fool for not letting myself admit that I’ve always liked you”. 

“Don’t call yourself tha - mmmph!” 

This time it’s your turn to interrupt him with a kiss, tipping his head down to slide your lips against his, the heat in his eyes and the sunshine in his smile that finally melting the last vestiges of ice in your heart and transforming you from a snow maiden into a girl made of flesh and bone. 

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

Akaashi convinces you to sneak into the holding area before the next match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. 

You’re self conscious, constantly adjusting the scarf in Hufflepuff yellow and black looped around your throat, but that immediately dissolves when Bokuto whoops the minute he spots you, bounding over to sweep you into an embrace, demanding at least twenty kisses before he lets you go. 

You oblige, because when faced with Bokuto’s pleading eyes, you’re weak, soft.  

Then you realise why Akaashi was so insistent on you surprising Bokuto just before his big match. 

Miya Atsumu falls off his broom, slack jawed. Miya Osamu trips over him. Even Suna Rintarou looks at you and Bokuto with a modicum of fear and respect. 

“Get it together!” Kuroo snaps at his team, hands on hips. 

None of that registers with Bokuto, of course. The minute the whistle blows, he speeds off, leaving even Oikawa in the dust, and before a dazed Miya Atsumu even scores once against Daichi, the Hufflepuff keeper, Bokuto is already holding the golden snitch aloft in his hand. He proceeds to do laps of aerial cartwheels around the pitch before hovering in front of the stands where you sit, shamelessly blowing kisses towards you. 

You hide your burning face in your hands. Akaashi just sits beside you, intolerably smug. Bokuto, oblivious as ever, just whoops.

[hermette-historian]

A Comedy of Errors: The B-Team vs. TEA

You know it's funny, sometimes, how history repeats itself. How many of you knew there was in fact a full on Hermitcraft war all the way back in Season 1? Oh, there was chaos before Grian alright. Have an "abbreviated" summary of events, and see for yourselves just how little our favorite characters have changed.

Part I: The Setup

Biffa2001 is a chaos gremlin. He's has already shown earlier in the season just how bold he can be with threats (however empty) and interfering with other people's stuff. Biffa decides that holding everyone's bases hostage for diamond blocks isn't chaotic enough for him, so he goes in and closes down every shop in the bazaar under threat of foreclosure.

Biffa also has a best friend, our beloved Xisuma. X finds out that his shop has been closed and instead of confronting Biffa goes after DMAC, whom he discovered has not only "illegally" reopened his own shop but has been buying up and undercutting Xisuma's own prices on enchanted iron tools for weeks. (In the meantime, DMAC covered Biffa's entire base in iron golems in retribution for closing the emporium).

Biffa and Xisuma decide that too much shady shit has been going down on this server lately, and that they need to be the ones to bring down the hammer and stop it. They form "The Agency" (later TEA for Tea Eaters' Alliance) and their first target is not DMAC, but GenerikB's Hermits Hurtin' Hurdles from way back at the beginning of the season. The gauntlet has been long abandoned at this point, having been bested by both Joe Hills and Hypnotizd, and parts of it have even been torn down to make way for a slime farm. The Agency decides that it's far too dangerous to be left standing, and bricks the whole passage up with wooden fences. A few days later they return while GB is still out with food poisoning following his vacation. Having decided that the Hermit himself is dangerous to the well-being of the server due to his nasty habit of having a literal hit list, they punish him by filling every air block in his entire underground base with the same wooden fences.

GB, obviously, is pissed. He comes back from his illness to find he's been quarantined, spends several hours trying to tear down the fences by hand, and finally with a heavy heart resorts to burning them. He bricks off as many of the offshoot farms as he can, rescues what important materials he can find, and sets fire to the inside of his base-burning out not only the fences, but nearly a year's worth of carefully placed wooden structures and decorative leaves.

Now effectively homeless until he can hire Topmass to build him a new base, GB decides he needs backup if he's going to go up against The Agency. Within a week the other half of the B-Team (Bdubs, of course) and the "Goon Squad" (Skyzm, Pungence, and Juicetra) join the server and descend on The Agency's respective bases like flies, leaving their calling card: Several extremely large cobblestone Bs.

That, obviously, is not enough. While TEA is building their diamond-studded headquarters at a sit e offshore from Xisuma's base, GB puts up a new shop in the bazaar: The Angels with Bent Halos Foundation, where one can become an "involunteer" and donate their items to the poor and needy of the server (himself. He's just stealing Biffa's stuff.) He also decides that Hypnotizd is a suspiciously neutral party, and sends the Goon Squad out to the remote reaches of the server to investigate his massive, technologically advanced base...

Part II: The Escalation

Enter Joe Hills, and the errors with him. Joe realizes his shop has been closed a few months too late, and misreads the "B" on the sign as meaning "B-Team" regarding recent events. In a fit of righteous anger he griefs the AWBH foundation. The next day he realizes his mistake and very quickly shifts the target of his rage, beginning construction on a courthouse in which he plans to put TEA on trial. Meanwhile TEA builds their own shopfront in the second floor of the bazaar, a sort of police station in which neutral parties can leave complaints and report crimes.

Before Joe can realize his mistake and clean up the mess he made, Juicetra arrives at AWBH and assumes that TEA is responsible for destroying it. He rushes upstairs and leaves a very strongly worded message in their dropbox before bricking up their own shop, "a taste of their own medicine".

GB follows up close behind. Unlike Juicetra, he knows who vandalized the shop and leaves a report formally suing Joe for the damages in the form of an involuntary donation-forcing TEA to work on his side. (He also leaves a second report complaining about the noise from the chickens that X hid in the walls of the bazaar, but that has little to do with the situation).

The turnaround time on the complaints is mere hours. TEA arrives on the scene of the crime to help GB clean up the mess and retrieve his missing items from Joe's shop, and promises that justice will be done. In possibly violent ways.

Part III: The Suspense

The Goon Squad senses the impending "shit's about to go down" and retreats to the mountains, building a secret hideaway for neutral parties to use when bits start to explode. Topmass and his build team finish GB's new base in creative mode (we'll talk about the implications of that later). Hypno pokes his head into the rest of the server for about 0.2 seconds and sees that Bdubs has involunteered the decorative emerald blocks at his nether tunnel, but shows little interest in the whole affair. The neutral parties begin to take sides...

Part IV: A Long-Expected Party

Weeks pass, and nothing is heard from either side of the conflict. And then, a spark.

The Agency receives intelligence containing the coordinates of the Goon Squad's base, and deeming them a higher threat than either the B-Team (due to the substantiated squashing of GB's base) or Joe (who hasn't been seen on the server for weeks due to the birth of his child) decide it's time they paid their due. It takes a reasonable level of hunting, but eventually they are able to track down the coordinates and...redecorate a bit. Just to remind the Goons that the Agency is watching.

It takes a few days, but Skyzm discovers the vandalism and on his own swears revenge from the Goon Squad. Word then reaches GB-famous for his fairness and generosity and certainly not killing people-who is righteously angered by the Agency's actions and leaves the Goon Squad a voucher for an involuntary donation to them such that justice might be done.

A few days later, the Goons come back to the hideout and in a familiar move, angrily burn the vandalism out from the inside. They proceed on a tnt-fueled rampage through all of the little marks that TEA left on their home, and in a final act of revenge vandalize the police station as well as the neighboring TEA-owned Tnt shop and chicken farm.

Here's where things take a turn for the IRL. Juicetra enlists the help of his fanbase via Twitter, and asks them one fateful evening if they have the coordinates or approximate location of the TEA headquarters (which, you may recall from several paragraphs ago, is a) full of diamonds and b) severely lacking security). But before the nosy fans that had scouted the location during the world tour could spill the tea, Xisuma catches wind of the possible heist and very quickly moves the diamonds to a safer location. Only he forgot to tell Biffa. Responding to the emergency call of “someone stole our diamonds!!” results in awkward apologies and a trip to view the damage to the police station, and then…to do nothing about it?

Unfortunately, this is pretty much where the story ends. The server was wrapping up at this point, and two weeks after the last installment both members of the B-team left for good. Two of the three members of the goon squad remained active until the very end, but the third was too preoccupied with FTB to focus on any shenanigans. Joe Hills did return from his baby-related hiatus, but the courthouse went unused. And the tension regarding the dictatorial Tea Eater’s Alliance dissolved.

For now.

See you in season 2! /t

[thecrownnet]

[...] The reason for our Zoom encounter isn’t technically to talk about his incredible turn in The Crown, but for his latest part, in a production of Romeo & Juliet with Jessie Buckley filmed in the backstage spaces of the otherwise-unused National Theatre just before lockdown at the end of last year. They almost didn’t finish it – the new lockdown rules were announced just as they were racing to a close. “But we managed to get it over the line and I’m so proud of it. To say we’ve made this film during a global pandemic is kind of remarkable.” 

The result is rather remarkable – half film production, half stage show – and more than anything else gives the thrill of watching two of the best young actors working today playing opposite each other. 

Still, says O’Connor, filming was rather unusual. All the cast would be tested twice a week for Covid and it was only after receiving the result that they would have a three-hour “intimacy window”, where he and Buckley were allowed to film close-up scenes together. “So Jessie and I would be waiting for our test results, find out we’re negative, then, ‘Great, we can do the balcony scene! We’re able to kiss!’”

As great as it was to be acting again, this approved “intimacy window” had some other benefits – namely, actual human contact. Joy! 

“The funniest day was when we were going to do a fight scene. And all the lads were being very laddy, like, ‘Yeah, fighting today! We love fighting! Fighting fighting!’ And as soon as the negative tests arrived everyone started hugging and giving each other kisses. It was great! It was a gift.” 

And as O’Connor points out, it actually mirrored the play itself. “That’s all they do. They spend the whole play snatching moments away from their parents. They don’t actually spend that much time together. They have, like, three scenes together. And in one of those, at any given moment one of them is dead.” 

Still, he says, rehearsing was a challenge, as the other person wouldn’t be there. He had various stand-ins, he says, to replace Jessie as Juliet. “We had pillows. Let me tell you, it was hard going from one of the greatest actors of my generation [Buckley] to acting opposite a pillow.” 

O’Connor and Buckley are great friends, having known each other for almost a decade. Which does sort of pose the question: was this whole production a Covid-beating ruse to hang out with one of your best mates? 

He laughs. “Yes, there were days when it felt like that. Simon Godwin [the director] as well, now a beautiful friend. I do remember I would come home after the day and almost feel guilty. Like, I just had a whole day with my best friends.”

O’Connor has previously spoken about moving on from the role of Charles in The Crown – which will be taken by Dominic West in the new series – with something approaching relief. But he’s keen to stress this isn’t the case.

“I’ve been asked about it in the past and I’ve said it’s brilliant I don’t have to play him any more, which sometimes implies I didn’t enjoy it. And I absolutely loved it. But the reason I wanted to be an actor is to play different people. Playing that character has brought me a lot of joy. But it’s lovely to come away and go, ‘Great. Now hand it over to Dominic West.’”

I wonder, do actors in The Crown who play the same character ever meet up to compare notes? Does he plan to with West?

“I don’t know! It’s so funny, isn’t it? But if Dominic West came to me asking me for advice” – and at this point he starts to laugh – “I’d laugh him off. I’d be like, ‘Dom! You’re Dominic West!’”

[...] For now, he’s lucky enough to be off soon on another job. Which, of course, is great news for him. There’s just one problem: he hasn’t actually got his Golden Globe yet.

Unlike the Emmys, which saw people wearing Hasmat-tuxedos hanging around outside the nominees’ houses to present them with the award in person if they won (or wave sadly and walk away if they lost), O’Connor isn’t entirely sure when he’s going to get his hands on the thing, only that it’s due to arrive in the post. 

“My understanding is that it’s coming in the next couple of weeks,” he says, “but as I’m about to go away for work, I’m hoping… The worst thing is if it bounces or they deliver it to one of the other flats.” 

Note to Josh O’Connor’s neighbours: if do you take in a package for him, please look after it until he gets back.  

Romeo & Juliet is on Sky Arts at 9pm on Sunday 4 April. [9pm on Friday, April 23 on PBS Great Performance, and the PBS Video app]

[theradicalscrivener]

Mandemic

Heavily inspired by [this pic I stumbled upon over on twitter.]

David is part of the response team devoted to stopping the spread of a particularly sexy new virus, but things time a huge turn for the hot and heavy when he himself becomes the newest infectee. 

              David quickly ducked into one of the unused examination rooms. His hands trembled as he pulled off his gloves, goggles, and surgical mask. Using the small sink in the corner of the room, he splashed some cold water on his face and caught a quick glance of his reflection in the mirror. There were circles under his eyes. Black ones from the exhaustion of having pulled two full shifts in a row, and red ones from extended use of safety goggles.

              David was so exhausted that he could barely even remember how the outbreak had started, but he could sure remember how it spread. He had been part of the task force handling the infected and limiting the spread. He “had” been part of the task force, but he knew that role was now lost to him. There was no doubt in his mind that he would soon be joining the ranks of the infected living out their days in quarantine.

              David had been so careful. He always had his full surgical gear on. He double and triple checked the equipment every time he had to work with one of the patients, but there was no way to completely protect himself. There was always the potential for mishaps, and that’s exactly what had happened. One second, he was handling the fluid pumps, and the next, he was drenched as the thick, sticky liquid splashed against him. He had underestimated the output of this patient. The flow of fluid exceeded the capacity of the pumps causing the pipes to burst. The blast not only soaked him and his clothing clean through, but also knocked his mask off. Before he could even fully comprehend what was happening, he had taken on a large mouthful of the stuff.

             David’s heart raced as he stared at his reflection in the small mirror. Blood was rushing through his body, but there was one place where it was rushing to faster than others. David had seen plenty of cases in the past few weeks, but that didn’t mean he knew what he was in store for. It seemed like with each new infection the effects of the virus had increased exponentially. His team had so far managed to completely stop the spread, but stopping the spread was one thing, treating the infected was another. The virus had continued to advance and evolve as they struggled to find a cure, and with it having been weeks since the last new patient, there was no telling how potent the latest strain of the virus would be.

             David took a step back from the mirror and began to pull off his surgical scrubs. He knew he needed to take a look at the effects the virus had had on his body, but there was more to his actions than that. The feeling of clothes against his skin was maddening. It seemed like every inch of his body was more sensitive that ever before. His whole body felt aroused. It was as if the muscles themselves were engorged, and there was one muscle more than others that was particularly engorged.

             David slid his pants down. The waistband of his pants caught against the tip of his rock-hard cock. Once his cock sprung free, a hail of pre arced through the air and splattered against the cold, tile floor.  David stared down at his rod in awe. He had never been one to dribble pre before, but now his cock was leaking like a faucet.

             “Oh, fuck…” David murmured under his breath in a mix of shock, awe, and arousal. He had never been the most gifted guy down south, but now he had a solid foot of fat cock. His dick was almost as thick as his wrist, and his nuts had grown to the size of tennis balls. This was by far the fastest growth on record. When the virus had first made its rounds, the initial patients reported sizes of up to a foot in the first week! And some of those guys had been much more gifted than David from the get-go.

             David knew he needed to get a handle on the situation. The longer he let his cock grow unattended, the worse it would be for him, but he could barely focus on anything other than how hot his cock looked and how amazingly horny he was. All he wanted to do was spend some quality time with his newly enlarged tool.

             David sat back on the examination table. The cool, faux-leather surface felt weird against his bare ass. Some part of him knew he should at least pull the roll of paper over the table before he laid back on it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do even that. That would require him to take his hands off his glorious cock for even just a moment.

             Even as he stroked his fat cock, he could feel it growing and swelling in his hands. With each stroke he could feel his swelling cock pushing against his grip. It wasn’t long before his cock filled his whole palm. He couldn’t even get his fingers and his thumb to touch. He could feet his heavy nuts slapping against his thighs with each pump. They had already gone from the size of tennis balls to the size of oranges.

             Even as he continued to stroke his cock, some part of David’s mind was racing with the implications of what had happened. Never had they encountered growth of this magnitude. This far exceeded even their most extreme models. Had the virus mutated so much in such a short amount of time? Was he somehow more susceptible to the changes than any of the previous patients? All the theories that ran through his head didn’t change the facts, though. His cock had already grown so long that the tip of it reached past his belly button. His fat cock drooled pre onto the uppermost row of abs. Soon, he’d be basting his pecs in his own sauce. The mere thought of this both horrified and excited him. His cock had already far exceeded the thickness of even his forearm. It was coming close to matching the girth of his thick, sculpted upper arm – bicep, tricep, and all!

             David managed to pull a hand away from his glorious shaft and reach down and cup one of his balls. He wished he could claim that it was scientific curiosity that had spurred him on, but he needed to feel the sheer heft of his massive nuts firsthand. David let out a soft moan as he felt his massive nut fill his entire palm and then some. It was like holding a soft, over-ripe cantaloupe. The feeling of his enormous teste filling his entire palm drove him wild. Just thinking about how huge his cock and balls had become and how much bigger they would grow caused his massive cock to shudder. The steady flow of pre from his enormous cockhead ramped up and poured out all over his defined pecs.

             “Oh fuck, oh fuck…” David whined in a mix of horror and excitement. The tip of his dick already reached up to his collar bone. His cock was fatter than his neck. His cock was so thick that even with both hands wrapped around the shaft, he wouldn’t be able to get his fingertips to touch. His nuts had grown from the size of cantaloupes to the size of watermelons. His dick was so astoundingly massive that it filled him with dread and arousal. The two parts of his mind were locked in a furious debate. Part of him wanted to stop this now. He knew he needed to get control of the situation before his cock dwarfed his entire body, but at the same time, the mere thought of how huge and sexy his junk had become made him even hornier than before. It was like the larger his package grew, the hornier he became and the harder it was for him to fight back against his base desires.

             Before David could even fully process what was happening, he could taste the warm, viscous fluid enter his open mouth. His cock had grown so huge that pre was drooling out from the tip of it right into his mouth! He wasn’t even leaning over or craning his neck to get closer to the glorious tip of his thick behemoth. David found himself staring down the slit of his own gargantuan glans. The head of his cock was even bigger than the head of his body! The massive, pre-drooling slit dwarfed his own mouth!

             David reached a breaking point. The scientific part of his brain that was trying to run theories and statistics as his cock grew before his very eyes was completely eclipsed by his hormone addled brain. David wrapped his arms around his cock, locking his massive dick in a great, big bear hug. His hands had long since become too small to effectively pleasure the enormous rod, and he couldn’t keep himself from pressing every inch of his body that he could against the enormous, amazingly sexy shaft. David nuzzled his face against his dick. His cock was now so massive that the thick, spongy tip of his enormous rod now jutted out past his head leaving his nuzzling against the soft foreskin which now clumped around the base of his glans right about eye level.

             David was so close to cumming now. His nuts, which had grown past the realm of prize pumpkins and were now coming close to yoga balls in size. His nuts completely eclipsed his lap. He could feel the enormous orbs shifting in their sack atop his legs. His enormous nuts were beginning to tense up. His massive cock shuddered and lurched. Pre flooded from the tip of his cock and poured out onto headrest of the examination table causing the warm liquid to pour down the back of the table and soak his hair and coat his skin.  

             It wasn’t long before David reached his limit. His whole body shuddered from the intensity of his climax. His cock bucked and lurched. Thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock and splattered noisily against the wall behind him. David came and came again. Each eruption seemingly more potent than the last. He was so overcome by his own orgasm that he couldn’t think. All he could do was writhe and moan as he came and came again. As he continued to cum, spunk pooled on the floor. The gap beneath the doorway was far too small for the spunk to seep out anywhere near as fast as it was being pumped in. By the time David’s climax finally started to wind down, there was a standing pool of spunk that was easily shin-deep.

             David was spent – mentally and physically. He slumped back against the examination table and hovered in a state between euphoric bliss and gnawing dread. He couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing the climax felt and how incredibly hot his massive cock and balls looked, but even amidst the haze of the afterglow, he knew he was in trouble. His chubbed up cock was almost as thick as his waist. The enormous schlong now draped over his thigh and drooped over the side of the examination table. His cock was so massive that it hit the floor beneath the examination table and still had a few feet left over to splay out on the cum-soaked floor. David’s nuts too were so massive that they spilled over the foot of the table and hung over so low that they rested solidly on the floor. Either cum-soaked and cum-laden nut had surpassed the size of your average yoga ball and was now so huge that they could serve as couches.

             Eventually, David began to come down from his afterglow, and as the afterglow faded, his dread grew and grew. This was by far the largest case of initial growth on record, and growth became faster as the infection progressed. His growth had stopped for the time being, but David knew firsthand that his solo-session had been more of a treatment than an actual cure. When he got horny, his cock would get harder, which would make it grow, which would make him hornier, which would make him grow faster…

             At his current size, David could barely walk, and he had no doubt in his mind that he would soon join the ranks of those immobilized by their own cocks. He had seen some of the more advanced cases firsthand. He had even been to the sprawling site that had been set up in the New Mexico desert to house Patient Zero. When David had been there, he had taken a moment to admire the sprawl of Zero’s colossal cock and balls. Patient Zero’s package was a mountainous expanse atop which sat a small figure. That figure was kept in a constant state of sheer bliss as gigantic industrial strength pumps and pipes worked to constantly drain his balls, but even with the tons of machinery hooked up to his cock in an effort to keep ahead of his growth, Patient Zero was looking like he would soon outgrow the entire facility.

             On some level, David knew that that was the fate that awaited him. It was the fate that awaited everyone who contracted the virus, but he was going to get there a lot sooner than anyone else. At his current rate of growth, he could expect to surpass even Patient Zero in the span of a month. David’s mind raced as he wondered what it would be like to be trapped atop a cock that spread out for miles. He wanted to say that the thought horrified him, but he couldn’t lie to himself, nor his cock. Even the mere mention of swelling up to miles of cock caused his semi to chub up once more…

----------------------- Looking for more stories? Check the [Series List] to browse series and check out synopsis and kink list for each Or check the [Kink Compendium] to browse all stories and series based on fetish. Browse art for all series over in the [Art Gallery] Take your favorite stories with you on the go with ebooks available at [Ziel’s Book Shop] If you like what you have read, consider [Buying me a Ko-Fi] or supporting me on [Patreon] Even just $1 goes a long way and there's even some perks for donating. Follow me on [Twitter] for story updates.

[unioncolours]

One Majsasaurus Year!

Today is a very special day for me. This day marks the one-year anniversary since I uploaded the very first chapter of my very first fanfiction. It has been one year since I stepped into the Naruto/Boruto fandom as a content creator.

This post is going to be a sappy meta post about my year as a content creator and my relationship to my fanfictions, to my writing and to my fandom and friends.

Please continue reading down below 💕⬇ 

I began watching Naruto in 2019, and by summer 2019 I had seen Shikamaru’s arc in Shippuden. I was blown away by his character and I was a full shipper of ShikaTema by then. I could not wait until we got to the end of Shippuden, and began googling the next gen characters (and spoiling the end game couples at the same time) and you can only imagine my satisfaction when I found out ShikaTema became canon and they had a son.

Very soon after this I came up with my first fanfiction idea, the one that gave birth to my very first fanfiction Shadows and Sand. I believed that idea had been done before, but after vacuuming through both ff.net and ao3, and I found nothing, I decided to write it myself.

I may have written fanfictions only for a year, but prior to this I was hardcore into the original writing world. I had written two fantasy novels and five full length plays before I wrote my first fanfiction, one of which was published, so the art of writing was something I was fairly used to.

The fanfiction writers I had read and followed to this point were Big Fandom Name writers with strict schedules and lots of readers. Every time they uploaded a new chapter their audience would write comments like “Your spoiling us with these tight schedules” and so on. I really liked the idea of a consecutive schedule and decided to write the whole first fic in its entirety, so I could “spoil” my potential readers with updates.

Shadows and Sand ended up being 35 000 word long, divided into eight chapters. This was the first story in my whole life I had ever written completely in English (and it was not easy). Going back to Shadows and Sand is cringy for me, mainly for the way I expressed myself in English, thought I still think the plot is great.

Here is one of the lines from Shadows and Sand I to this day think is amazing:

“She [Mirai] looked into his eyes, but he [Shikadai] didn’t look back, because he was already staring into a nightmare where his dad was dead because of his mistakes.”

For a totally new fanfiction writer, with no “fanbase” prior to this, I would say I got quite a lot of comments (around 15 in total on the eight chapters) and I was extremely happy for that.

I uploaded the whole thing in a week and a half, satisfied and proud of the result. At the final chapter I got a comment where the commentor wrote something along the lines of “Well written angst and well written fluff”. I pondered about those statements for a long time, thinking, yes, this was actually angst, even if I in the moment of writing – then I was still unused to the tagging system and the tropes of fanfiction, didn’t categorise the fic as angst, because I thought angst could only be chopped off limbs and painful deaths. But this fic had angst as well. Tiny angst, but still. And a rather powerful feeling rose in my chest from that moment. This is what I want to do in the fandom. To write heartfelt stories that make people feel.

  One week after I uploaded the final chapter of Shadow and Sand my fingers began to itch. I wanted to write more. Wanted to explore the little grain of world building I had already created. Wanted to write more Shikadai and Inojin kissing.

And thus, To go down with the Sun was born.

I began writing Down with the Sun with only one vision – something epic and an explosion. The plot was evolving as I was writing and the result ended up being just beautiful. And I became obsessed with this story. I wrote it in racer speed, 50 000 words in 26 days (that is madness, I tell you, MADNESS!) and then the rest 30k in 20 days. I could not think of anything but this story and the Next Generation Kids I put through trials and hell. I felt true euphoria while writing this story that unfolded under my fingers like in a dream. It was a mania, and a damn strong one.

The first thing I did when I woke up was writing, the last thing I did before going to bed was writing it. I prioritised writing this story above all in my life.

At the time of uploading, the fic did not get that much recognition. I got about one comment per chapter. When I uploaded the final chapter, I got two comments on that one, which was a tiny bummer, since I had hoped for more. It was a lonely, but lovely job to write Down with the Sun, mostly with my own thoughts as company, since the readers were rather quiet with feedback.

But I loved the few comments I got and I still got kicks from just the single act of uploading a new chapter. Because in the end, I wrote for myself and even more for the characters and plot. Finishing the story was the greatest motivator.

I uploaded the final chapter of To go down with the Sun December 7th, 2019.  And I still to this day love the story I created, even if I know that I’d definitely re-write some elements from the story if I’d write it again. But I still love it.

   After To go down with the Sun I wrote the fic that I hold the least emotional value to, Earning a weasel’s trust. The story is cute and short (11 000 words). It was a nice little project focusing on Temari’s motherhood to Shikadai that I wrote in a week. It got close to no feedback or attention, but it didn’t make me sad, because I needed to write and share that story and then move on with my life. I am though happy I wrote it.

At this time in my creative process I had been really lonely. It had been me with my own head and the characters. I had no beta reader and no one to bounce off ideas or anything. I had no fandom friends. I am still amazed I had written around 130k words without almost any support whatsoever in the span of four months.

This all changed in late December 2019. I found a Discord Server that I basically begged to get to be part of, and it really changed my fandom experience. Prior to this, my fandom experience had been lonely, and I just produced and consumed content. There was no interaction between anyone, except me replying to commentors.

And now, I found friends. I found people who loved the same pairing and show as I, and it felt almost life changing. This was the time when fandom really felt like… a hobby. A home. Before, it was a creative outlet, now it became a community.

I thrived.

The mod of this server @loknnica, hosted during this time a writing contest, which I eagerly wanted to take part of. I wrote my contest fic, Branded by Love, during January 2020, in which I made Shikamaru betray Konoha for Suna and Temari, and their son Shikadai became the One Tail jinchuuriki. The fic was 10k words long, and OUCH, the backstory I came up with. As soon as BbL was finished I decided that I wanted to write a long version of this canon divergence-world I had created.

In February 2020 I began writing Trial of the Heart, the epic version of Branded by Love. And damn, damn, damn what an epic story was born out of my fingers and brain. I love ToH, I loved what it turned out to be, a heart-wrenching and sad story of Shikamaru, Temari and Shikadai in a world of war.

While writing ToH the writing contest was ending and to my big, big delight, I WON! Branded by Love and I won the contest! This was precisely the boost I needed to really feel validated in my rather specific writing style and choice of plots.

I wrote ToH almost non-stop for four months, and in the beginning of June, the 28th chapter was uploaded. Trial of the Heart ended up being 123 000 words long. In four months, a whole damn NOVEL was created from my keyboard.

The pride, guys. The pride and joy I felt was like a drug injection.

Finishing off works is the greatest, greatest dose of motivation and pride. To write, write, write and finish. And let go of your work, to upload it with a great smile on your face.

During the spring and summer of 2019 three very important friends entered my life.

Vee (@veeganburger on twitter),

Becks (@notquitejiraiya on twitter)

Spooky (@spookymoth on twitter).

These three wonderful ladies really made me feel valid as a writer, and made me love my own work as well. During the spring To go down with the Sun had gained quite a lot of attraction, and the kudos and comments came. All the loneliness I had felt during the autumn was replaced by joy and love of sharing my works. These women have shared their thoughts of my work (and art) to me and I have also in privacy felt secure to talk with these women about nothing and all at once. They never fail to cheer me up.

I love you.

I had also gained the nickname “Shikadai’s tormentor” after multiple times forced that poor boy into horrible situations in my works. The user @shikanaradai’s nickname is Shikadai’s protector and we have an ongoing joke about being archenemies because of this. Ah. The fandom bubble was and is so lovely when you can experience inside jokes with friends. They became my friends, and I gained so much from this.

ANYHOW.

During Trial of the Heart I wrote a friendship between Shikadai and Inojin and I realised I missed writing them as a couple, like I had done in To go down with the Sun. With the support of Vee, who was really, really excited for a new fic where those two boys are a couple, I decided to write a sequel to To go down with the Sun, which I named To dance above the Stars.

In the wait before I began writing that one, I wrote two one shots, 48 hours to live – a next gen focused fic based on a manga chapter from the Boruto manga, and a pure Shikadai x Inojin one shot, I found love in the eyes of a boy, because at that time I knew already I had dug my own grave with that pairing.

I began writing To dance above the Stars in June 2020 and uploaded the first chapter at the end of the same month.

Simultaneously as I wrote Above the Stars I also wrote/edited three fics, one of them called The End, for an application to become a writer to the ShikaTema zine Everything I never knew I wanted. The results of the application came in the middle of July, when I had written a good chunk of Above the Stars.

I WAS ACCEPTED!

I am now officially one of the five writers for that zine!

To dance above the Stars got better recognition that I ever imagined. I was terrified that no one would want to read it, because it was a sequel and had very niched themes. A rare gay next gen pairing in focus and a story with extremely heavy emotional themes. I was so unsure anyone would want to read. The same feeling of loneliness that I had experienced during To go down with the Sun came back a little bit. That it in the end would be only me and my text.

How wrong I was.

To dance above the Stars got wonderful feedback, and more kudos than for example Trial of the Heart got. I received wonderful comments, and even fanart! I was so extremely happy and felt a new powerful emotion. It almost felt like my fic had its own little world in the world of fics, if that makes sense? Like a miniature fandom. During the late summer To go down with the Sun got translated into Russian by a wonderful reader of mine, enabling my texts to a wider audience, which I am extremely honoured by.

As I write this, it is September 2020. One year ago, I was writing Shadows and Sand and struggling through stringing English sentences together and that was also when “my” version of Shikadai was born. One year ago, I was writing what I to this day think is the best fighting scene I have ever written – and I write a lot of fight scenes. One year ago I was listening to “I just want to be brave” from the movie Lion King to get into Shikadai vibes and the mistake he did in that fic, a song I revisit for this reason time and time again.

I remember naively thinking that I will finish Shadows and Sand and then maybe write something else as well. Little did I then, in September 2019 know, that I would one year later have written closer to 400k words of fics, centred around Team 10 or around the Nara family. One year, almost four hundred thousand words.

Now, one year later I had won a writing contest, written three full length NOVELS as fics, been accepted to a wonderful zine, and found lovely, lovely friends. I even got crowned as a “Queen” for the Shikadai x Inojin ship, Shikajin as it is called, since I am one of the like three people who write for that ship, and have to this date written around 180k words for them. Which is a lot, haha!

I feel like I have conquered a tiny corner of the great fandom sandbox, and let me tell you, I thrive in my own corner. I might have few followers on twitter compared to many other creators, but I still want to provide content for those who want to see it. I might write rather niche works, but they filled a space where no fics were, and enriched the fandom in their own ways, even if I haven’t gotten tens of comments on each chapter. I have gotten around four comments each chapter, but it felt like okay.

I might not mod great zines like many of my friends do, something that did for a few months bring great stress into my fandom life. Am I a second-hand fandom member because I don’t want to moderate a zine, was something I often thought about. Am I lesser worth because I don’t do these amazing projects? No, I am not. And I feel very satisfied by just following my friends’ journeys and look at beautiful twitter accounts for zines.

I want to put my energy on writing intriguing plots and difficult fight scenes. Every fandom experience is valid.

In my heart I know my fics and content are good. Maybe not as good as native English writer’s content, but they’ve got a heart and soul on their own, and I really feel like I do have a Majsasaurus genre, trope or theme going on in my fics. And to be honest, I love it, and I accept that other people might not love it as much, or not at all. But it doesn’t matter. What I think of my own content matter.

  If any of you, who read this, have commented even once on one of my fics, thank you.

If any of you have ever interacted with me on twitter through comments, thanks you.

If any of you have pressed the follow button on either twitter or tumblr for me, thank you.

If any of you have left kudos to me, thank you.

If any of you have read my stuff but don’t want to comment because of different reasons, or if you feel shy to reach out, thank you for reading and I appreciate you as well.

 That was one hell of a Majsasaurus Year. Here’s to the next year. Cheers!

Thank you, all of you. You make my fandom experience complete.

 -        Majsasaurus Bex

[justacouplebandfics]

We’ve got scars on our future hearts (Jalex) - Chapter 1

Description: Alex dealt with self harm when he was younger, that's over now though- he's better, until he's not. Struggling with the idea of self harming as an adult Alex keeps the issue to himself, but living on a tour bus with your band there's only so long you can keep something a secret.

Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of self harm

It’s also available here on Wattpad, and you can find the masterlist here. 

Disclaimer: All self harm is valid self harm, all notions of 'real' self harm discussed in this fic come from a place of internal struggle.

Alex's POV

I flopped down on my bunk, exhausted from tonight's show- it was amazing, the crowd, the lights, I never get tired of it- looking out to the sea of smiling fans I'm always reminded how lucky I am to have made it like this. I couldn't ask for better band mates, the tour is going incredibly well, which is why it's just so hard to comprehend why I feel so down sometimes. It feels so selfish. There are people who have genuine problems who get up every day and get on with it and I'm sat here miserable for no good reason.

Pulling the curtain to my bunk closed I reach up to the little shelf and grab my sunglasses pouch, opening it and reaching into the little back pocket I sit and look at the small collection of blades. There's a couple I jimmied out of a pencil sharpener years ago and a new box cutter blade I brought the other week, I let out a tense breath as I pick it up and set it down on the duvet in front of me.

I struggled with self harm when I was younger, honestly I'm pretty sure with how the world is nowadays you'd be hard pushed to find someone that didn't at least think about it at that age. By younger I mean high school, your so-called glory days, even though it's only the privilege few who seem to get to actually enjoy it. It was never anything terrible- cat scratches really, yeah my thighs are absolutely riddled with scars but I can't remember ever cutting myself in a way that was any kind of impressive.

It got better after high school, All Time Low kicked off and I didn't even think about it for a while, kind of just forgot it was ever a thing- every now and then things got a bit too stressful and I'd return to it but I'd knock it off within a few days. I'm an adult, this isn't the way adults deal with their problems, it felt embarrassing to do it, childish.

I don't even remember what brought it back this time- I was alone on the bus one evening, a rare occurrence, and I just did it. I wasn't even particularly sad or angry, the urge just came out of nowhere and overwhelmed my mind. I never got rid of the blades from high school, they sat unused in an old sunglasses pouch for some glasses I hadn't picked up since high school either, so it was just too easy to go back to my bunk and slice up my thighs. I know I should have thrown them out, or not brought them with me, but a little part of my brain kept telling me at some point I'll relapse again and need them, and I guess it was right.

It wasn't anything awful that time either, three shallow cuts at the top of my thigh, on the clean scar-free skin I hadn't touched in my high school days. The clean up process was so familiar it was almost comforting, wiping up the blood, sticking on a bandage, pulling up my skinny jeans trying not to let them drag against it. I sat back down in the front lounge all too aware of the pain on my right thigh as Jack and Rian walked in, all smiles from meeting some fans. I plastered on a smile too and pretended everything was fine.

After blankly staring at the blade in front of my for what feels like forever I let out another tense breath and pick it up, pressing the sharp corner into the pad of my thumb, trying to find a reason for wanting to do this tonight. I can hear the guys' voices faintly from the front lounge, laughing about something; I think to myself for a moment that I could just put this away, I could go out there and laugh and have fun, I don't have to do this, but almost immediately the overwhelming urges drown those thoughts out.

I feel like I'm running on autopilot as I slip the blade into the back of my phone case, get out of my bunk and grab my towel from where it's hanging. Walking towards the front of the bus I crack open the door to the lounge, peeking my head around "Hey guys, I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick- was anyone waiting?" With only one shower on the bus and some venues not having any in the green room you can very quickly find yourself 5 deep in a queue to get clean after a show. My brain might be overrun with urges to slice my thighs open at the moment but I'm not about to be a queue-jumping asshole.

"Nah, you're all good" Jack pipes up from the couch, giving me a toothy grin that makes my stomach twist up. It's not that I feel guilty about them being sad or worried if they find out, it's the sheer embarrassment of it- this is something I did when I was younger and didn't know any better, it's not something you're meant to do as an adult. I can just imagine the looks of judgement if they ever saw, the mocking pity, I just couldn't do it.

After some sounds of agreement from the other guys, way more interested in whatever movie was on than who was in the shower, I shut the door and pick out a pair of joggers from my wardrobe as I head to the bathroom. Locking the door behind me I reach into the shower and turn it on, facing the shower head towards the wall. After shimmying out of my skinny jeans I put the toilet lid down and take a seat, pulling the blade out from the back of my phone case, balancing it on my thigh.

I bite at my bottom lip as I try to conjure up a reason for doing this again, coming up completely blank. My mind just feels like static at the moment and this is the only way I know how to stop it.

Fuck this is so stupid.

I pick up the blade and press the corner into my thigh, just below the ones from yesterday, slowly dragging it across my skin. The familiar pin prick pain lights up my thigh as I see little beads of blood start to form. Grabbing some toilet paper I wipe it away, repositioning my blade at the start of the cut again and going in for another swipe. I carry on like that for a little while- swipe, bleed, wipe, until there are 4 cuts, definitely not deep enough for any kind of medical attention, but deep enough to gape a bit.

I sit and admire them for a moment, I'm almost proud- the cuts now are so much deeper than they were in high school, they feel more like real self harm, but they still aren't deep enough. I press a clean piece of tissue to them to soak up the blood while I clean off the blade, drying it and slipping it back into my phone case. I pick up the paper and take another look, now the blood is wiped up I can see the 4 white lines, the gaping showing off the exposed dermis clearly.

Standing up I pick up all the bloodied tissues and throw them into the toilet, checking to see if I accidentally got any blood anywhere in the bathroom. Satisfied all the evidence of my sins is in the toilet bowl I step into the shower, mentally bracing myself for the stinging sensation that will come when I turn the shower head onto myself.

I stand under the stream for a while, having already showered earlier I don't feel the need to wash myself again, just wiping away any of the already dried blood on my thigh. I let the slightly-too-hot water burn my back as I press my forehead against the cool shower door, the shame starting to set in. At least my head feels clearer now, calmer.

I step out and dry off, grabbing the medical kit stashed under the sink and securing a bandage over the new cuts- trying to avoid placing the tape over the assortment of scabs already present. Throwing on the joggers and the t-shirt I came in with I flush the toilet and head back out to my bunk, making sure the curtain is shut firmly behind me before transferring the blade back to its rightful place.

I make my way to the front lounge, sitting myself down next to Jack who's sprawled out over one of the couches. Matt and Zack are sat on the floor, eyes glued to the TV, and Rian's taking up the other couch, half dozing off as he tries to follow the movie. I don't recognise it, and I don't bother to ask either, it looks like it's a fair way in and I hate being the person who keeps interrupting the movie to ask people to explain what's happening.

Instead I look to Jack, flashing him a quick smile which he promptly returns before turning back to the TV.

---

I'm not sure when I dozed off but it must've been a while ago because when I open my eyes it's just me and Jack in the lounge, and the TV has been switched off.

"Hey, sorry I didn't want to wake you, you looked so tired" I hear Jack say from above me- it's only now that I realise I've been lying with my head on his shoulder. Not that that matters, we've been best friends for years, we're ridiculously comfortable around each other.

I sit upright and shift to face him, leaning my elbow on the back of the couch, still a bit groggy "When did the others head to bed?" I ask.

"I dunno, maybe an hour ago?"

"Hmm," I hum, blinking away the fog of sleep and looking around.

"So two showers tonight, huh?" Jack asks, still looking down at his phone, mindlessly scrolling through twitter. I try to sus what he's getting at, my mind instantly jumping to 'he knows', I must have taken too long to respond because he looks away from his phone for a minute and gives me a slightly puzzled look "Lex?"

"Oh, yeah! Sweaty one, small venues are so nostalgic but damn do they get hot" I finally get out, playing off the delayed response as plain grogginess, laughing a bit. Jack chuckles and goes back to scrolling, I'd hoped nobody would've noticed I took two showers- I was one of the first back on the bus so I hopped in first right after the show, despite Jack's goofiness though he can be pretty observant sometimes. I push the question out of my mind as I stand up and stretch.

"I'm gonna head to bed, I'll catch you tomorrow" I say to Jack as I start walking towards the door.

"Night Lex" Jack calls back.

"Night Jack" I reply, shutting the door behind me and slipping into my bunk.

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 1: Chapter 1

Christmas Eve 2010

Word count: 1.2k

SkyFire 1 MASTERLIST

Aurora chuckled to her self as she heard her mother’s energetic footsteps running up the stairs and took one last look at her laptop screen before turning towards the front door to watch the older woman enter with a wide grin as she sang loudly and out of key, “I’m dreaming of a waffle-y Christmas”. Aurora burst out laughing as her mother proceeded to dance across their tiny living room, tugging her daughter out of her seat and the two danced as they both repeatedly sang the single line of the goofy tune. After a few moments, the teenager pulled away, gasping for breath as she continued to laugh, tucking a lock of her jet black hair behind her ear.

“Ready to head out kiddo?” Louise asked her daughter once their giggles had died out.

“I’m just waiting for my video to finish processing and then I’ll be ready to go,” Aurora promised, turning back to her laptop to ensure her video was still correctly uploading to YouTube. After a few minutes, the video completed its processing and Aurora quickly tweeted out to her few hundred followers to let them know that it was now live and wished them all a Merry Christmas before throwing a coat over her obnoxious Christmas sweater and following her mum out their front door. 

They both walked arm in arm down the stairs, emerging into the bar below their apartment where only a few of the regular patrons were occupying the bar stools. “You ladies off for your Christmas Waffles?” The older women behind the bar asked the pair as they headed for the door.

“Absolutely!” Aurora yelled back enthusiastically. “Want us to bring you back anything Helen?”

“No thank you, dear,” Helen replied with a warm smile, “you two go have fun.”

“We will!” the two girls yelled in unison. “Merry Christmas everyone.”

A chorus of Christmas greetings rose up from the patrons perched at the bar as Aurora and her mother headed out into the cold winter night, wrapping scarves around themselves and tugging woollen hats down over their ears, walking through the Wimbledon streets towards their favourite dessert bar for their annual Christmas eve waffle tradition. Despite the freezing weather, there were plenty of people out and about, finishing off the last of their shopping or heading towards the tube to go home to their families. They walked slowly, admiring the Christmas lights and decorations hung in shop windows and strung about the lampposts that lined the busy street. They finally reached the warmth of the dessert bar, quickly removing their coats, scarves and hats as they slid into their regular booth, waving at the staff behind the counter and sharing cheery holiday greetings. After ordering more food then either would ever be able to finish, Louise launched into an animated story of something funny that had happened to her during her shift earlier in the afternoon. She was a bartender and waitress in the pub below their apartment and she knew that her daughter loved hearing all of the crazy stories she had about the things that always seemed to happen inside their little pub. The regulars were like Aurora’s crazy aunts and uncles given that she had spent her entire life living in the apartment upstairs. Louise had been 19, single and 4 months pregnant when she had walked into the Golden Stag asking for work. Helen and Greg, the couple who owned the Stag had taken pity on the young women and not only had they immediately put her to work but they had also quickly turned the unused rooms upstairs into a cosy little apartment for the soon-to-be new mother. They had lived there ever since, and Aurora had loved every moment of it. Her mother was one of her best friends, while Helen and Greg had very quickly taken on the role of doting grandparents for the young girl. Now, only 2 weeks before her 16th birthday, Rori smiled brightly as her mother continued to talk even though her mouth was full of waffles and Rori could barely understand half of her muffled story. When they had both eaten their fill, they leaned back in their seats, hands resting against their overstuffed stomachs, matching grins gracing both of their faces. To the other customers in the nearby booths, they must have looked like two friends hanging out together on Christmas eve, as despite the 19 year age difference between them, Louise still retained her youthful good looks and with her long blonde hair and wrinkle free face, she did not look old enough to be the mother of the young black haired girl sitting across from her. The only physical characteristic that hinted at the fact that they were related was their identical pairs of piercing blue eyes.

Rori pulled her phone out of her pocket, quickly looking at the screen as notifications piled up. She switched it to silent and placed it face down on the table, turning her attention back to her mother. Louise chuckled as her daughters’ eyes continued to glance towards her phone every couple of minutes. “Just check it,” she ordered with a laugh, “I know you’re dying to see.” Aurora barely paused before snatching her phone back into her hand and a look of pride and excitement lit up her face as she read the comments on her latest video and the reactions on twitter. “What’s the verdict?”

“They love it!” the 15 year old cheered.

“What was this week’s video again?” Louise asked, never able to keep up with which project her talented young daughter was working on at any given moment.

“I did an oil on canvas painting of snow on Big Ben with  a cover of Do They Know It’s Christmas? in the background,” Aurora replied, still scrolling through the comments on the video. “I’m pretty happy with it but I think I’m going to have to start busking again to try and get some money for a new microphone, I really need the upgrade if I’m going to keep recording the piano in the bar.”

They sat for a little while longer before ordering two large hot chocolates to go, and shimmying back into their coats, scarves and hats before venturing back out into the cold night air, arm in arm. The streets were quitter now that it was closer to 10pm, there were only a few other people on the footpaths and very few cars driving by. The ground was damp due the rain that had fallen while they were thankfully inside and Rori laughed as Louise slipped in a puddle, barely managing to avoid falling and dragging her daughter with her. They were both still giggling as the pedestrian light turned green and they began to cross the street, the warm glow of Golden Stag beckoning them from a block away.

It all happened very fast. One moment the two women were giggling and slipping on the wet road, the next the screech of tires had them both turning towards the fast approaching headlights careening towards them. Aurora didn’t have the chance to react before her mother pushed her slightly and then all of a sudden, she felt herself bouncing up and over the hood of the car, the sound of a scream ripping through the air, accompanied by breaking glass and crunching metal. 

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[pinepickled]

Batman is the hero Gotham did not deserve, yet needed. He is a creature of shadow, of secrecy, of grime and dirt, of crime and flirt. His symbol shines brighter than the moon, his shadow the overcast that colors his city gray. Bats fly over the streets, dark wings absorbing whatever meager light exists. Robins flutter their young wings, trying to shake of a part of them that should never have belonged.

Nightwing was the first. He flew high and proud, flew from the highest roof to the lowest alley. His cheerful chirps echoed across dark streets, his flapping wings blew smiles across their faces. Everyone pretends that they don't see the dirt that clings to his feathers, don't see the shadows that hide under his cape. Pretend they don't see him flinch when Batmans shadows cast over him. Pretend they don't know that the scars he bears multiply every other week. Pretend they don't see the light that Batman covers in shadow.

The next was the Red Hood, second Robin, first son. He tredges through his city, wailing like the banshee of old, begging for his father to care. A young, promising boy, beaten to death, apologizing to his beloved father, knowing his father would avenge him. Would tear apart the world for him, a notion that took him long to learn... except he didn't. The mad fool continued to live and hurt, continued to torture Gotham, continued to laugh in the face of Batmans dead birds... a blood red hood stains Crime Alley, a mural of a dead child who felt, well, felt he never had a father at all. His wings are rotten, his small body drenched in blood. He hides in these long shadows...

The third, the replacement, was Red Robin. A lonely, brilliant bird who flew too close to the bat. His prowess astounding, his compassion endless. It appears as though nothing clings to his wings... but he was a Robin to a bat that had lost two little birds before him. Little Red was manipulated, his stunning feathers given to another as a way to make him jealous, to return to the shadows that lurk in the corners of eyes. His friends are dead, his body beaten, his mind torn apart by the mad fool... his feathers are ragged, his eyes weary. He weakly flaps on, wings having barely enough energy to keep him in the sky. He wanders into an alley. He finds the shadowy feathers of First... the mural of feathers long decomposed... and knows his own unkempt, exhausted wings will decorate this alley of dead birds.

The final Robin. A killer since birth. His skills unparalleled, his blood lost unquenchable, his strides towards freedom, fearless in the name of death. The shadows Batman casts are nothing compared to the trails of blood that paint the city. His swords drip the red paint onto the concrete as he wanders this Kingdom of Darkness. But... he sees something.

Places where shadows warp, blood trails that aren't his, musings scribbled frantically with detective work Batman himself isn't capable of. He wanders, amazed. The shadows don't warp, they only seem to, this city so unused to the sun that its very concrete rejects it, the gothamites both love this warmth and run away, as though it were punishable for them to step out of shadow. The trails of blood aren't trails but tsunamis, sadness and rejection seeping into the cracks in the sidewalk, people stop to stare, gazing on this pain as though familiar, aching with a pain they hear on the wind. The scribbles tell of villains and crime, detailing agendas and plots, corruption upturned in the chicken scrawl on the walls, children run to each one, laughing, as though they were playing a morbid game of cops and robbers. One thing persists in each remnant. Beautiful, luscious, feathers spread across the pavement, colors unimaginably breath taking, hidden in the deepest shadows of Gotham. As the young Demon wanders, deeper and deeper into the dark shadows and bats nests, a single alley remains visible. The boy gasped at what he saw, tears welling up in eyes that hadn't cried for so long... oh so long.

The alley was long, so long the end was obscured in more accursed shadow. Three tributes lined its grounds. The painting closest go the entrance was more of the frantic writing, complex analysis melded into messy, torn wings. At the center of it all, a small, young robin lay dead, surrounded by the mad scribbling of a boy no more.

Deeper still was a familiar ocean of blood, lined with rotting life, a haunting wail looming over the grave. The blood spatters were reminiscent of Assasin patterns, the uniform that stuck to the wall, no doubt due whatever was causing this stench of death, resembled those that his mother wore to battle. A bird with singed feathers and a rotton body lay sobbing in the midst of the explosion of rot, body so gone it was nearly impossible to identify the robin. Horrors were carved into the rot, wails echoing off of the concrete, and Demon moved forward.

A small, weak ray of light trickled down into the alley. Jokes and joy filled the space, practically vibrated in it, but something stopped the young bird from advancing completely into the sun light. A sniff revealed a sickly sweet scent, and once Demon knew of it, he couldn't stop seeing the poison, the death, the wrongness of this place. A single robin flapped joyfully on the ground, but its legs were broken, its small body littered in wounds. It twittered happily regardless, made jerking movements as though trying to hop about. Damian had to look away, heart beating for the little bird.

Two batons lay lying next to the first Robin. Damian lunged forward, not quite knowing what he was trying to accomplish, grabbed the batons, and ran out of the poisonous light. The boy turned and stumbled into the rotting flesh of the second Robins grave, snatching up the remnants of the uniform, fighting the gag from the stench it gave off, from the substance that covered it from tip to tail. Feeling his heart begin to beat dangerously fast, he feverishly scooped up the notes of the third Robin, careful not to disturb the sleeping young bird. Finally, *finally,* he ran out of the alley, ran all the way out of the darkest shadows of Gotham, all the way to his Cave with no Bats.

Almost in a trance, he stitched the rotting uniform together, replacing what was not salvageable, fixing the imperfections, furiously scrubbing off a stench that refused to leave. He looped the batons through his belts, experimented with moves, schooled himself in the ways of flying. He read the notes in the dead of night, never bringing himself to wonder why only the crushing weight of exhaustion could turn the senseless scribble into clever script. All the fourth, the *final* Robin knew was that he could not die in that alley. Knew that he had to be better than those little birds, better than those *Robins,* else he'd be in that alley with them, broken, bleeding, haunted, and not a bat in sight.

Batman says nothing when he sees Robin. Instead, he curls his lips in disgust, faces away from the young robin as though he was an abomination, plugs his nose as though he can't stand the stench, and that's when the final Robin understands.

It was not the little robins that couldn't fly. It was not those young, promising boys that couldn't keep up. It was not their mistake that put them in that alley.

The bats cover every inch of Gotham. Batmans shadow is spread across every square inch. No matter how hard those boys tried, no matter how hard they fought, how cheerful they were, how clever... they were not creatures of shadow. Not like the Bat. The shadows clung, and tore, and rot, and killed, and tortured, and robins were never meant to see in the dark. In that moment, Damian knows he *will* end up in that alley. He knows it just as the first Robins feared it. And he looks up. And he doesn't regret what he does.

~~~~~~~~~~

I write ONE Gothic Gotham Robin fic and all of a sudden I'm Anne Rice.

[moneysourceyt]

My Personal Experience With John Crestani’s Super Affiliate System

How It All Started

It all started on one weekend when I was scrolling on my Twitter timeline. My attention was drawn to this one retweet from one of my friends on Twitter. He had retweeted a tweet by John Crestani. I don’t remember much about what exactly the tweet was all about but it was something in the line of “financial freedom” and “making passive income.” I guess I was a little too excited to pay attention to the details.

So, I clicked on the link provided and found myself on what looked like a well-crafted landing page. On this page, John shared lots of information regarding a system that he had discovered and one that he believed could empower beginner and intermediate affiliate marketers.

I wasn’t new to affiliate marketing at that time. The first time I heard of it was back in 2014 when I was doing some online research on how to make money online. After sifting through dozens of scams, I finally managed to sign up for the Amazon Associate program.

Once my account was approved, I simply went to my back-end, picked a few banner codes and pasted them on my blog. At that time, I didn’t know much about targeting the right audience and the need for being niche specific.

So, as fate would have it, my affiliate marketing dream hit a snag. My account was closed within 90 days and that’s because despite delivering some clicks, no one was buying through my affiliate links. To cut the long story short, I completely gave up on the idea of making money online by getting random strangers to make purchases through some goddamn links.

I chose to stick to my day job which to be honest I didn’t like that much. But as any other person looking to pay the bills would do, I had to keep going to the office, deal with numerous client calls and sit in a dimly lit cubicle all day.

So, when I came across John Crestani’s tweet and eventually the landing page, my dream of being independent once again came back to life.

Who Is John Crestani

The reason John grabbed my attention is that he had a story that was almost similar to mine. He was once stuck in a boring day job but unfortunately, for him, he got fired without a clear exit strategy. I can only imagine if I was the one in such a situation. How would I pay my rent? How would I convince my daughter that there was no food in the house or money to keep the AC working?

But John somehow managed to go through it all, effectively building a $500k business from scratch. Having seen it all, John seeks to help you and me learn the tricks and techniques it took him years to master.

I really liked how genuine he sounded but, to be honest, I was still a bit skeptical. That’s because John kept talking about his current affluent life. I even peeped into his Instagram and Facebook pages and realized that he frequently posts photos of himself standing next to Lamborghini’s. Why do you need a Lambo to sell a $47 course?

I am not a fun of marketing tactics that involve showing off what one owns or drives. If anything, it’s always possible to rent a Lambo and fool people on social media that it’s all yours.

In my opinion, if John could spare us all the stuff about his personal life, he can be a bit more convincing and authoritative. Otherwise, one might mistake him for a scammer despite the fact that he’s selling a really good course.

How It Works

So, I started out by signing up for the Internet Jetset program. It’s a subscription-based service which goes for $47. This program comprises some awesome lessons for beginners. In particular, it walks you through some awesome ways to generate valuable traffic without spending a dime.

These are strategies that other marketers hardly talk about. And even if they talk about them, they hardly bother to get into the details as John does.

The lessons are presented in video format. John narrates everything using screen recordings. This makes his courses pretty easy to follow. In fact, you can do everything he says as he narrates to you and that’s because it’s possible to pause the videos and resume when necessary.

What I didn’t like, however, is that it’s not possible to “fast-forward” the videos. So, if you’re already familiar with whatever John is talking about at any given moment, you’d have no alternative than to still listen to it. This can be quite annoying and time wasting.

Also, I don’t know if it’s just me or that John talks really slowly. Some of the lessons could have been 30 minutes but he talks rather slowly and a good number of them go up to 45 minutes in length. The upside is that you get some highly detailed and in-depth training no matter your level of skills.

Also, the Internet Jetset courses are divided into tiny, little portions. Ideally, you should take 1 module per week meaning you’d need several weeks to finish the entire program. Fortunately, you don’t have to finish it for you to start making real cash. You can start using your skills to get the systems up and running. For instance, you can use the skills learned within the Google Free Traffic Module to tap into the power of SEO.

The Upsells

The Jetset is pretty affordable at $47 per month, so what’s the catch? Well, the catch is that you’ll constantly receive emails from John enticing you to buy one of the premium packages on offer. For instance, if you’re already enrolled in the Internet JetSet program, you’ll constantly be enticed to go for the Super Affiliate program which goes for close to $1,000.

There’s also the JetsetLIVE webinars package that goes for $97. You’ll also find the JetSet Xtreme Members course which goes for $187.

I accidentally subscribed to the JetSet Xtreme Members course when I clicked on the link out of curiosity. And instead of being taken to a check out page, I got a message reading “Thank you for purchasing the Jetset Xtreme Members” course.

My Thoughts on the JetSet Xtreme Members Course

This is a platform full of pre-recorded videos of other affiliate marketers who have used this system to successfully make money. The course also provides you with links to third-party tools that you can use to make purchases. At first, I thought these were free tools but upon clicking on them I realized they belonged to other companies and you had to pay up to use them.

So, in my opinion, while the JetSet Xtreme is full of value especially if you’re looking to learn from the experiences of other affiliate marketers, it doesn’t really provide you with free tools. Just a bunch of affiliate links to other services.

I did not find this part of the program to be worth the $187 they charge for it. And for that reason, I claimed my money back. Fortunately, John kept his word and I got back all the money I had accidentally spent on this upsell.

I really liked the fact that the company is made up of honest people. It’s rare to come across companies that are willing to refund money nowadays – so two thumbs up to the Super Affiliate System team.

My Thoughts on the $997 Super Affiliate System (SAS)

While the Internet Jetset program focuses on the free sources of traffic, the SAS shows you exactly what you need to do to leverage on paid traffic methods. In my opinion, the $997 you pay for this course is worth it but only if you’re willing to sit down and learn the tricks. It won’t work like magic.

You see, everyone can place an advert on Facebook, Instagram or even Google Adwords. But if you ask around, you’ll realize that most of those ads don’t convert. It doesn’t matter how much you invest in the course unless you really understand the psychology of the buyer, you’d end up making shots in the dark.

The good thing with paid traffic is that it works almost instantly. That’s unlike the free traffic methods which take months or even years to materialize. So, if you don’t have the time to build dozens of backlinks and implement other SEO tasks for your site to rank (which normally takes years), this strategy enables you to start making money immediately.

And the best part is that besides exposing you to the language of paid affiliate marketing, the SAS course also provides you with 3 core skills. These include:

Copywriting

Data analysis

Research

In general, the SAS is an 8-week course which comprises 50 hours’ worth of content. It also contains lots of additional resources that can help complement your unique strategy.

Week One – The System Setup

This section of the training mainly comprises stuff to do with creating a website, setting up a presell page and rolling out Facebook ads.

Week Two – Understanding the System

Introduces you to the core skills of online business. It also aims to help you unlock a super affiliate mindset so you can profit from different situations.

Week Three – Marketing Skills

How do you get people to click on your ads and convert? As we all know, it takes an expert to hack this. Luckily, those skills are provided within this section of the training.

Week Four – Facebook & Google Ads

Facebook and Google have more than 2 billion active users per month. So, if you were to get a piece of this pie, chances are that you’d make some pretty huge bucks as well. And that’s what John Crestani does in week 4 of his training.

Week Five – Native & YouTube Ads

Ever thought of leveraging the power of native ads? Basically, native ads are ones that are included within a media format. For instance, you can include such ads on your webpage content and so forth. Besides that, you’ll also get to learn how to do YouTube Ads and so forth.

Week Six – Scaling and Outsourcing

Once you have the skills needed to make the first dollars, you’ll need to find ways to grow and expand your trade. Using the tidbits shared in the 6-th week of this training, you’ll be able to outsource and automate quite a number of tasks so you can focus on growing your business.

Week Seven – More Ad Campaigns

Most people usually limit themselves to Google and Facebook. But did you know that there’s a lot of unused potential on platforms like LinkedIn and Bing? In this module, you’ll be able to learn about all that plus a lot more.

Week Eight – Implementing the System

If you’re wondering which ad network to join and which niche to embrace, this is the module you’ll need to take. It’s a highly advanced section of the training that helps you decide the direction you want your online business to follow.

My Results

After going through this program, I’d like to admit that I learned quite a lot. Most importantly, I was able to re-apply for the Amazon Associates program and got accepted. I have been making quite some bucks over the last few years. One of my sites rakes in $1500 while the other one brings about $2000 per month.

My goal is to scale these two sites up – I know there’s potential to make $10,000 per site (per month) with more content and a stronger SEO presence. But that might take time. For now, I appreciate the fact that the investment I made in the Super Affiliate System is now paying back.

The Pros & Cons

Pros

Easy to use

Contains tons of useful advice

Relevant information provided

Well thought out curriculum

John is a good trainer and he takes time to explain different points

They offer a genuine money back guarantee

Pre-built templates for ads

Cons

Customer support only available via email

Quite a few optional upsells included

Frequent emails were sent to market their upsells

Final Thoughts

The Super Affiliate System by John Crestani is not without its flaws. But that doesn’t mean that it’s bad. In fact, as long as you’re willing to learn and implement its contents, you can truly benefit from it. I personally would recommend it to any person looking to make genuine cash in the vast online markets.

You can check it out here.

[badhockeymom]

NHL WAM Summer Camp vol 4 episode 4: Rasmus Ristolainen

The hosts of the show visit Turku where Rasmus Ristolainen has a training day with his personal physio coach Ville Rintala.

(link)

The training is on a football pitch and of course Risto has footwear to match the occasion, camo/gold cleats.

(I’ll skip most of the narration here, focusing on the interview bits, okay? One of the hosts, Manninen, tries out Ristolainen’s exercises, they talk with Rasmus and his coach, and later move on to Rasmus’ apartment in Turku.)

Q: Ripa (note: they don’t stick to just one nickname, why would they!), how has your summer been?

R: Really good. Nothing special, a lot of training and I’ve been traveling pretty much.

Q: Yes, I’ve seen on your IG, you running the hills of Crete and Cyprus.

Q: Ville, how has Rasse’s summer training looked like? Progress?

V: Yes, there’s progress every day. We have four more weeks to go before he goes back to the US.

Q: Rasmus isn’t one of your basic players who’ll just do what the trainer says, he has his own opinions on how to do the exercises. I guess you don’t have to push him very hard to get him to do anything.

V: Not if we practice something that he likes to do, like today. But there are parts of training he likes less, like conditioning. It takes some effort to wind down the pace with him, he’s always wanting to move on to the next move. He hates staying still. But it’s futile to overcoach any athlete, you don’t want to yell, there has to be the internal motivation to practice.

(moving on to Risto’s sunny balcony)

Q: You have a pretty nice place here. But hey, not a penthouse! Have you tried to pressure your upstairs neighbors to move out?

R: Well, I’ve tried to play music annoyingly loudly a couple of times each summer but that doesn’t seem to do much. Most of the other residents are a bit older and they spend a lot of the summer out on their summer cottages. I haven’t really even seen who lives up there.

Q:. What have you been doing? Your instagram is full of training pics.

R: I haven’t done too much else to be honest. I like working out and this summer I’ve done some trips to nice training places. I’ve been on Mykonos, in Marbella, a couple of times in Sweden. That takes up most of the summer.

Q: Do you always travel with the same training group?

R: Basically yes. A bit more in Mykonos but in Spain it was me and Ville.

Q: Tell me about how John Scott took you out in the Sabres locker room? How does that happen?

R: it was just some horseplay that we had after morning ice. I threw a cup or something at him from behind. I didn’t mean anything bad but he just happened to turn around and it hit him right in the face. He chased me for a while until I couldn’t run away anymore. Well, it calmed down, but then he said he wants to show me something. He took me in a chokehold and told me to tap out as soon as I don’t feel anything anymore. I fainted immediately. I didn’t have time to tap or anything. I woke up on the locker room floor. It was a weird feeling, being out for like ten seconds, they were pumping my chest in panic and I wake up there, like, what happened, and head to the gym.

Q: Hasn’t Scott told later that he panicked totally, shit, I killed our highest draft pick, we gotta get the guy up.

R: Yes, I’ve heard. It was scary, all right, but at least I now know what it feels like.

Q: He seemed like a nice dude, we met him in Buffalo one year.

R: He is. I actually called him up then to come in for the show to tell how it went, that story can give him unnecessary bad reputation if people don’t know what actually happened and think that he did some shit to me on purpose. But we’re cool, it was just fooling around. He was a great teammate and we still message each other from time to time.

Q: Time for Twitter questions. First, does Rasmus have a car with a woman figure and letters RR in front already?

R: What does that mean?  

Q: Some car mod apparently.

R: No, I don’t have my cars modified.

Q: Who of these would you rather take down with a body check on open ice: a) Ovechkin, b) Mikko Koivu, c) Brad Marchand, d) Hornqvist, e) someone else, who?

R: All of them. (Exclaims boldly) Everyone. All together at once or one at a time.

Q: Tile or tin roof?

R: The one that stays cooler.

Q: Goal or assist?

R: Win.

Q: The best road city?

R: Toronto.

Q: Toronto, really? We get Vegas a lot.

R: Vegas is not that much my style.

Q: I’ve heard you train with MMA fighters in the summer. Do you follow UFC, have you gone to see any fights live?

R: Haven’t watched it live but I do like to watch martial arts, UFC, boxing. I’ve trained with Teemu Packalén (below) for a few years now.

Q: Which side of the river are we on now, by the way?

R: The other side. Both sides are the other side.

(The river Aura runs through Turku and the sides of the river are referred to “This” and “The other” side - to be more exact, it’s “on this side” and “on the other side” said in the local dialect, but if it’s just a running joke to refer to the POV in the situation or if there is a distinction is a complete mystery to me. I’m not from there)

Q: Meatballs with mashed potatoes, chicken and pasta or baked macaroni casserole?

R: I’d say macaroni casserole.

Q: It’s hot in here.

R: Yes, the air doesn’t move at all here. But you’re the one who wanted to sit here. This is like a sauna! An American style sauna where you can’t even trow water on the stove.

Q: Which elbow pad do you put on first?

R: Left. I don’t know why.

Q: Would you dare to put pink laces in your skates and play with them next season?

R: No. It’s not about daring but - no. I don’t do that kind of foolery.

Q: Did you get fined for this celly?

R: No fine but I keep hearing about it. That and the other one. Both of the two goals I did last season, people keep giving me shit about the celly. But at least people remember them!

Q: But it’s the right way. Let the feeling take over!

R: Yes. When you score only a couple of times a season, you gotta put on a show when it happens.

Q: Donna or Samppalinna?

R: Donna.

Q: Thanks for the answers!

R: Difficult questions!

Q: We’re going out on a boat now! Rasmus is going to show his berth next. (Rasmus laughs) He doesn’t have a boat, though, but he can show someone else’s.

(After the closing credits)

Q: So you got your driver’s licence back?

R: I’ve always had it.

Q: You can believe that in the NHL WAM history we always get most unusable stuff with Ripa.

Q: You must like this car model, you have the same in the US?

R: Yes. (It’s) safe.

Q: Do you want to comment your speeding ticket?

R: Better not try to explain. 

R: (on pizza toppings) Pineapple, mushrooms, onion, garlic and pulled chicken wing meat. 

[thedinanshiral]

DRAGON AGE!

News have been given, in the form of new concept art and comments from the developers, and we’re all very excited! So here’s my two cents to add to the many analysis and videos that are coming our way.

For the sake of brevity, i’ll just share some screenshots and comment on them. I’m saving theories for now, as what we got is mostly visuals and not actual information or details on plot or characters. 

The Anderfells! At last, we may get to visit Weisshaupt, headquarters of the Grey Wardens, and if you read Last Flight, you know what to expect. I admit i imagined the place to be slightly more..flat, on the horizon, but i’m not complaning.

Somewhere in snowy mountains there’s a dwarven structure ready to be explored. Ruins of a tomb, an entrance to a thaig or the Deep Roads? As i don’t see us returning to the Frostback Mountains with the action heading north, could this be somewhere in the Anders as well?

We got more red lyrium and mysterious sacks so Deep Roads is most likely happening. Again. I’m not exactly a fan of the Deep Roads. 

Next we have some cityscapes, and i’ve seen people ready to assume it’s Tevinter but i digress. 

With things pointing towards Antivan Crows presence (both in this reveal and Tevinter Nights), there’s a chance we get to see Antiva, and even Rivain. While all three nations have important coastlines, what appear to be canals in the second picture don’t strike me as Tevinter (someone once described Antiva to me as being based on Venice and it makes sense), and recently Patrick Weekes said on Twitter that concept art is meant to set a mood, but nothing in these pictures gives me a “oppressive slaver empire of blood mages and abysmal social inequality” vibe. It looks oppulent, sure, but not in a Tevinter kind of way. Also the domes on those buildings look more similar to a sketch illustration of Rivain from World of Thedas Vol.2:

Where’s Tevinter then? I think it may be this one:

Tevinter architecture has been shown to have sharper, more menacing lines, and parts of their buildings are said to be magically suspended in the air (WoT vol. 2, Tevinter Nights)

Speaking of! Floating ruins also make an appearance in the new concept art

This could be either from somewhere in Tevinter, or ancient elvhen ruins. I’m more curious about the floating transport they got there...

This that i’m referring to as “the bazaar” is one of my favourites, there’s so much going on in there, it’s amazing. Shoutout to the little candle/oil lamp tiny dudes carrying tiny scrolls, and the big shoulderpads mage eating a slithery treat. I hope we get to see some of that busy and colourful city life we’ve never really had before in DA games. 

Next we have some creatures, so yay, dragons!

And this guy could either be an undead or what would be even worse, a red lyrium darkspawn..

I’m interested in these gigantic creatures, The Horror of Hormak from Tevinter Nights gave us all ideas of what Ghilan’nain did as a hobby and these creatures fit right in. The tentacles one immediately reminded me of this journal from Trespasser

Finally, characters! I’m getting i deas but as this is just concept art and only intended to set a mood for the game, we may not get all we see here. Party vibes include more rogues than i can count, female qunari companion, certainly Antivan Crows, the mandatory mage..

People see Dorian in this underwater piece but going by the armor and Dorian’s own character, i strongly disagree and think that guy is another Crow. The figure in the back is possibly a Nevarran undead. It’s a thing:

From this epic looking line up, one might be a companion as well (far right). We have already been introduced to something similar in one of the stories from Tevinter Nights.

Here we see more Crows, and the qunari lady we all already love and want to marry, but i can’t help but be somewhat mesmerised by Tevinter fashion, those pointy hoods get to me and the outrageous feathery shoulder pieces puzzle me.

One of the themes for DA4 is said to be powerlessness, what do you do when you don’t have power and those who do won’t freaking use it for good. This poor guy here seems to be asking a massive Qunari warrior for just one sec to catch their breath

We’re definitely getting Grey Wardens, too. 

And this, THIS ONE, for some reason i love it. It’s a kind of magic we haven’t seen yet, it’s so mysterious. Do they conjure these artifacts from thin air or are they originally part of their armor and the pieces detach by magic to form a shield, a bow, whatever they need? From the background, and general aesthetics, these could be temple guardians, that is, more elvhen. Just an idea.

Last but not least, another potential Crow, or as some have said because of the mask that resembles an unused concept for an Orlesian butterfly-inspired mask from Inquisition, an Orlesian bard. 

Frankly i’ve had my overdose of French accents in DAI and would like to hear more Antivan accents, plus we’ve had an Orlesian bard before and would like to see as much new things as possible. 

So there we go, the mood for Dragon Age 4 is looking fine, i’m loving everything, and i’m super excited to explore new places and see new people. AND THIS OLD MAN.

[krannaweek]

Thank You!

I just wanted to thank everyone for participating last week, and I really hope I can do this again sometime next year. I know this is a very busy time of the year with the holidays and all that, so if you didn’t get around to finishing all the prompts you wanted to do, you still can! I’m not going to pressure anyone or rush anyone. Take your time and do your best! This event would not have been a success without all of you and all the time you put into your work.

I was amazed, no, floored by the fact that Japanese artists, and even fanfic writers, wanted to participate. I’m still trying to process the fact that my favorite one wanted to participate and is currently still working on the last two prompts. Also the fact that they have been responding to my comments just blows my mind! You could not have told me this would happen two years ago.

I had this idea to do an event like this after Symphonia week two years ago. One of the other ships I like in another fandom does a month long event every July, so I think I was inspired by that too. They’re a much larger fandom though, so they can make it work, and I realize now that I couldn’t make that work. So I’m glad I ultimately decided to do a weeklong event instead.

I’m surprised that no one else thought of this before and that I would be the one to organize it, so I just want to thank you all for allowing me to! Again, I don’t want this to be just a one time thing, so I hope to organize this again sometime next year. I plan on recycling the unused prompts and maybe add a few more and have you all vote on them again sometime next year. I’ll be sure to include Twitter this time for sure!

Now, I’m going to get a little bit personal here, but I have loved this ship for a little over half my life now. Back in April 2005, when I was 14, I was playing TOS for probably 10-12 hours a day the weekend before I finished the game. I will always remember playing the scene at Altessa’s house and then viewing Kratos’ Flanoir scene shortly after and just staring in awe at my TV. I then heard this song on the radio after I was done playing for the day and something just clicked, and I have loved this ship ever since. That love only grew in the years that passed on after reading the manga and watching the OVA. I’m especially surprised that this event occurred the year that I’m the same age as Kratos too, haha!

Lastly, I just want to thank @moldy-mold again for the promotional art for this blog and for convincing me to include Twitter as well. This event absolutely would not have even been close to successful without you!

Anyway, thank you all so much again! This was truly one of the greatest weeks of my entire life!

[artificialqueens]

Cruising for a bruising, Part 1 (Branjie) - Q-Tip & TheDane

Author note: Hello everyone, and welcome to our first collab! This is the first part of a multi chapter story, that we hope all of you will enjoy! You can follow us at @ArtificialQtip and @TheArtificialDane as well as find both of us on AO3, hanging out in the Branjie tag! A million thanks to @VeronicaSanders for betaing, and whipping our shit into shape!

“Drag ain’t paying you enough?“

“.. What?”

“Cause we’re on the same contract right? And I’m getting coin for being here.”

—–

Brooke was rinsing his shirt out, wringing the thin fabric in his hands, making sure it was completely clean before he hung it up.

It was their fourth day on the Atlantis cruise, he and Vanjie booked alongside a whole parade of Drag Race girls to spend 3 weeks in the Caribbean entertaining, dancing and getting drunk on board the world’s premiere gay cruise experience. Brooke had been hesitant to accept at first glance when the email had ticked in from his manager - as current reigning Drag Race winner he was asked for more things than he had ever been able to imagine, not even Miss Continental giving him any idea of the number of obligations he had landed himself in - but Vanjie had seen the contract line of ‘free drinks available for the duration of your stay’ in his own papers, and Brooke had known they were going, whether he wanted to spend 10 days on a boat or not.

So far they had spent time by the pool, thrown dollars at A’keria who had performed a stunning Nicki Minaj medley, hosted a cupcake class, seen Detox destroy the dancefloor, gone to a Raja Drawja, experienced Cracker’s comedy (though Brooke thought of it more like surviving) and gone to a cocktail hour in full drag. During the cocktail hour, Vanjie and Brooke had made out in a dark corner behind the bar like naughty school girls the moment they had a chance to get away. Vanjie body was so fucking sensual and hot as she insisted Brooke carried her, and she loved doing it. Brooke’s hand had been on her ass, their lipsticks smearing while they dry humped, neither able to truly come because of their tucks, but it had been the best kind of torture, Brooke still finding specs of glitter on his hands days afterwards.

“Watcha doing?”

Brooke looked over his shoulder, Vanjie standing in the door to the bathroom they shared, leaning against it like a fucking movie star. Vanjie’s red shirt was unbuttoned all the way down to the bottom of his sternum and showing his chest, his hair impeccably styled, the little bandana loosely tied around his neck the same color as his shirt.

“Just washing up. I’ll be there in a sec.” Brooke rinsed his socks, quickly throwing them on the towel rack. “You can just leave without me babe.”

“Drag ain’t paying you enough?”

“.. What?” Brooke turned around.

“Cause we’re on the same contract right? And I’m getting coin for being here.”

Vanjie smiled, and Brooke felt his heart flutter. Vanjie was so ridiculously attractive and Brooke couldn’t believe how he had gotten so lucky with his first actual boyfriend, the word still sounding weird in his mind, but Vanjie was worth it. He was the first person Brooke had met that he had even considered putting over his career, what he had called the true love of his life for as long as he had been an adult, but Vanjie was giving it a race for it’s money, and Brooke couldn’t pretend not to love it.

“Since you starting this laundry shit on the side.”

Vanjie gestured, and Brooke blushed, looking around the bathroom. He had hung up his t-shirts, all three of them drip drying from the shower rod, except the one he was wearing, his third pair of shorts and his bathing suit in the sink, his one hoodie still unused in his backpack.

“… No?”

“Just checking.” Vajie laughed, grabbing the band of his shorts and pulling him away. “Now come on, those cocktails ain’t gonna drink themselves, and I’m not waitin’ on you bitch!”

/

Brooke hadn’t spared the boy clothes he’d brought on board with him a single thought when he had thrown it all into a backpack, but if there was one fact he had learned from everything that had gone wrong in his adult life it was this very simple sentence. If he didn’t think of something as a problem - it usually was. That, and the growing uneasiness in his stomach, was the exact reason he was sure he was spiraling, and spiraling hard at that.

Brooke had never paid much attention to his boy wardrobe. He had never thought of his outfits for Brock as an artistic expression, had never related to any of the other reasons he had heard of why people cared so fiercely about what they wore. It was like he had known in the back of his mind that he would need all that energy and effort for Brooke one day. He could spend hours shopping online, looking at gowns and sketching things out either to make himself or to pay someone to construct without any trouble. Brooke was a work of art, each detail on her body placed there with care, precision and attention. Brock on the other hand?

Brock was happy as long as his boy self was covered and comfortable. That body was no more than a machine, carrying him where he needed to go, a container for his brain so he could make his sack of bones do the things he needed them to, whether that was doing a Grand Jete, dropping into a full split, walking en pointe, lip syncing on his head or spending an entire day in heels.

Brooke was watching Vanjie rehearse, Kameron next to him. They passed a two liter bottle of gatorade between them, taking swigs by the turn. He had struck up an unlikely friendship with Kameron, though it seemed like no one was surprised but himself. Kameron was a fellow Nashville queen, and while they had known of each other and even worked together, they had never gotten to know if each other this trip. Brooke found that it was easy to talk to the other queen, Kameron’s calm personality and their shared interest of bettering their workout routines giving them near endless supplies for conversations that could last hours if no one dragged them away. At times, much to their annoyance, they were forced apart by their respective significant others, Cracker often pulling Kameron aside when he was bored and left on his own. Vanjie was no better.

He spent so much time in drag, uncomfortable but gorgeous. So when he was just Brock, he prefered materials that allowed him to breathe, and allowed him to feel relaxed. He liked his shirts so worn in that they turned paper thin, shorts so used the material felt like butter, shoes practically walked to shreds. Sure, he was aware that he didn’t always look the most put together, but they were his clothes, and he knew they did the job.

Vanjie was doing a number, a remix with his infamous catchphrases scattered over the track. It was one of their fans who had made the track, and it had appeared in Brooke’s DM’s on Twitter one fateful day. Vanjie had been so excited he had practically bounced off the walls of their room the first time he heard it. He had FaceTimed his drag mother Alexis before he had even managed to listen all the way through, just so that she could hear it too, the two of them launching into the creation of choreography to go with it straight away. That had turned into a long night for Brooke, who had laid on their shared bed, the track playing on repeat for hours on end as Vanjie got all of his creative juices flowing. For days after he was haunted by the throbbing bass and “get those cookies,” bouncing of the walls within his head.

The beat of Vanjie’s song was loud and fast, fitting with his erratic movements. His moves were forceful, powerful, at once elegant and a testament to the unlimited energy that coursed within him. He looked amazing, the only piece of drag on him so far the heels. And the attitude, of course. There was always a particular attitude shift when he became her, and Brooke loved it nearly as much as he loved watching the reverse take place.

“She’s good.”

Kameron handed him the bottle of gatorade.

“She’s the best.”

Kameron smiled, and Brooke couldn’t help but notice what Kameron was wearing - a smart button up and black denim shorts. An actual outfit instead of the pregame comfort clothes Brooke prefered. Kameron looked nice.

In contrast, Brooke was wearing his grey shirt, a hole under the armpit that he had meant to get fixed suddenly embarrassingly obvious so he kept his arm close to his side, not wanting Kameron to see it. He loved the shirt he was wearing. He had had it on the first time he kissed Vanjie, and it was special to him, and a few holes couldn’t change that, though maybe it should have.

Brooke wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable as a guy, even though he didn’t consider himself some great catch. He was true to himself, and that had turned out to be enough for the most part. As he sat watching Vanjie prance around stage, he let a long, frustrated sigh escape him. He sat squarely between people who made an effort, and even though he was a reigning queen, he had never felt more like a bum.

/

Slipping into Brooke Lynn’s skin after a day of anxiety itching under his skin felt like a blessing.

The majority of their season 11 sisters were backstage, getting ready for their gig that night. Ariel sitting next to Brooke as she put the final touches on her lashes. Brooke looked in the mirror when she was done, batting her eyes playfully and framing her face with her hands. Ariel rolling her eyes at her antics.

“When you feel your oats so hard you forget there are other oats there,” she said in a sing-song voice, and Brooke laughed vividly, red lips opening in a wide grin. She slapped the vanity table in front of them, the bottle of tequila that was placed there shaking slightly.

She was a few drinks in already, and they’d been passing that bottle around the dressing room since they had begun getting ready half an hour ago. The bottle was decorated with four or so different colours of lipstick, mixing into a unappetizing brown as they’d dried, and Brooke briefly wondered if making out with all of her sisters would produce the same nauseating color on her lips.

When Silky walked by, phone in hand, the camera pointed towards herself, Brooke grabbed her own. Brooke had never been hugely into social media, ballet taking up too much of her time, but after Drag Race, she had almost been forced online by VH1s staff of young hip interns. The key to an active fanbase was interaction with viewers, being accessible, and Brooke had never been one to turn down advice on success. She had taken to it like a fish to water, using both Instagram and Twitter like it was her second job, and in many ways, it was. Vanjie would sometimes help her out with getting the hang of everything, her boyfriend never more than two steps away from her phone.

Brooke picked up her phone as her laughter grew quiet, shooting Ariel a questioning look. A nod was all Brooke got and all she needed to know that Ariel was onboard. She opened instagram and launched a live, focusing the camera on her. She looked fucking good, stunning honey-blonde wig, red lips and her favourite red hoodie, bare chest underneath because of the heat, but mostly because she didn’t want the struggle of getting into full drag yet if she could avoid it.

“Hi guys!” Brooked grinned, waving her fingers and watching the viewer count rose steadily. She felt a surge of pride, her fans truly the best.

“Hiii!” Ariel smiled brightly beside her, leaning into the frame. “No one is going to be watching this. Not when the Silky show is on.”

“I know.” Brooke laughed, eyes fluttering to the queen on the other side the small space. “So I’m checking in for the day, we’re still on a boat, still floating around the-”

“We floating around Paradise!” Silky’s voice was loud as she abruptly entered Brooke’s frame, her own phone still firmly in hand. Silky’s eyes shifted between her phone and Brooke’s, before settling on her own as she continued to speak. “So I got three dicks and-”

“You got three dicks?” Brooke roared with laughter, Ariel close to tears next to her.

“I got three dicks in my inbox!” Silky continued undisturbed, kicking the leg of Brooke’s chair as she passed by. “They ready for a taste of this ganache!”

“Better with three dicks in the inbox than six on the dancefloor!” Ariel chimed in, sticking her tongue out as she tried to apply the last of her eyeshadow without being shoved over by Silky who was loudly telling her story of a Grindr hookup. “Just saying.”

“You would know.” Brooke elbowed Ariel, the other queen cursing her out loudly when the tiniest flicker of eyeshadow fell on her cheek at the action.

Brooke loved shooting these behind the scenes moments with her sisters, as she so rarely got the opportunity to really spend time with them. Her post Drag Race schedule was often so busy she barely even felt like she saw her cats. Sometimes she even felt like she barely saw Vanjie. Not that she got away with it; Vanjie was a lot louder than the cats when she was unhappy about something. The cruise, although she hadn’t been onboard - all puns intended - at the beginning, had turned out to be a true blessing in disguise.

“Who’s talking about dick?!”

Brooke would know that voice anywhere. The loud sound coming from the vanity that Silky has recently vacated on the other side of the room, Vanjie whipping around to look at the others. She was nearly done with her makeup, her lips a dark purple finishing off her look. Vanjie tapped her lips, a smile on her face, and Brooke felt it like a siren song to which she couldn’t help but reply.

“No one.”

Brooke rose from her seat, quickly heading towards her boyfriend. Brooke grabbed the bottle of tequila on the way, adding an extra sway to her hips as Vanjie watched her make her approach.

“You a lying slut.” Vanjie rolled her eyes at her. Brooke raising her brows and taking a swig from the bottle, nose scrunching at the horrible taste, but hey, she was on a cruise. She had to be at least a little drunk at all times. It was sea love.

“Hi Papi.” Brooke laughed, leaning over Vanjie’s shoulder so she was included in the shot, and gave her a peck on the lips.

“Mmh.” Vanjie deepened the kiss, Brooke giving a playful lick to Vanjie’s upper lip, which made Vanjie slap her on the shoulder.

“No!” Vanjie looked in the mirror, her lipsticked ruined. “You bitch!”

Brooke spared a glance to her phone, the messages coming faster and faster. The fans loved whenever she included Vanjie on her stream.

“Sorry babe.” Brooke leaned her head against Vanjie.

“Girl, I just did this.” Vanjie was complaining, adorable grumps coming from her, but she was smiling so Brooke knew she hadn’t actually fucked up. Vanjie gestured to her own face, a patch of purple smeared above her cupids bow. “I can’t believe you doing me dirty with this fucked up light and ruining my look.”

Vanjie took her lipstick off, Brooke giving her another color she accepted right away.

“I think you look perfect.” Brooke ran a hand through Vanjie’s boy hair, a move she would never have dared if she hadn’t known that Vanjie would be covering it with a wig cap in a matter of minutes. Brooke had messed with Vanjie’s hair once, and the dressing down he had gotten from one very angry tiny Puerto Rican made sure he had never even considered attempting it again. “Doesn’t she look absolutely perfect?”

“Who you talking to?” Vanjie looked up, smacking her lips. “This Instagram live?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me! Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, real life, at the grocery store who gives a shit, it’s all at VanessaVanjie!”

Brooke cracked up, Vanjie of course taking the chance to promote herself. She was the best PR manager Brooke had ever met, Vanjie launching herself into stardom, her boyfriend breaking 1 million followers before Brooke had, even though she was the one who had won Drag Race.

“You heard the lady!” Brooke gave Vanjie another kiss at her temple, leaving Vanjie behind as she answered a few comments, saying hi to fans and giving shoutouts to whatever country they came from, telling everyone that both she and Vanjie would love to go if they could get a local booker to fly them out.

“You all like my lipstick? Thanks! It’s Nyx Soft Matte Lip Cream in the shade Amsterdam - you could blow a man with this and still have perfect lips!” Brooke smiled. “And believe me…” she winked. “…I’ve done that bit of research myself.” The chat went insane, eggplant emojis and peaches getting thrown at her at an alarming rate, so Brooke launched onto the only comment that didn’t seem dangerously sexual.

“Yes it does match my hoodie!” Brooke smiled, pulling at the collar of her hoodie as she playfully poked out her tongue. “Thank you for noticing.”

Brooke was truly one of the luckier queens, her live streams usually free of drama and spectacle. Vanjie liked to tell her they were too pure and sweet, that she needs to ‘dirty’ it up. Lord knows Vanjie had tried her best to make it happen, making semi-clothed sneak appearances whenever she felt frisky, Brooke having to close her stream in a panic once or twice just to make sure her boyfriend’s dick didn’t end up online.

Brooke’s eye caught on a comment, her eyes narrowing as she read it. Thank god for her full-coverage foundation, as it almost hid her frown lines.

“Did I wear this hoodie on my last live?” She wondered out loud. Her eyes traveled the front of her body in a flash. She was wearing her favourite hoodie, the inside so soft and comfortable with how much she had worn it.

“And the one before that,” Silky breezed past her, lifting one hand to flick the zipper of Brooke’s hoodie. She turned to face the camera briefly, winking. Brooke huffed.

Brooke rolled her eyes at the camera, hoping her attitude transferred efficiently through the lens. She read the comments, her fans discussing loudly. It was amazing, really, how a single comment about her clothes evolved into an entire audience asking about her closet. And she had just been in such a good mood, too. “Of course I own other clothes!”

“Then why don’t you wear them?” Ariel muttered, and it was pure luck that Brooke even heard it. Now if she was really lucky, none of her audience caught that particular dig, but it went without saying that her life was not destined to be that easy, and soon she was flooded with comments along the lines of “shadeee” and one user even begging for a wardrobe tour. Brooke’s mind flickered to the t-shirts still drying on the shower rod, what a wonderful youtube video that would be. Brooke stuck her tongue out at Ariel, the camera catching her from the side as she extended her neck.

“I change my clothes every single day, thank you very much.”

“Does it count if you only have three shirts to switch between?” Ariel was smiling, her entire face lit up in obvious delight.

“Oh you wanna start bitch?” Vanjie cut in, and Brooke felt a second of dread, before Vanjie continued speaking, “Don’t you dare come for my man. I’m the only one who’s allowed to talk about his terrible wardrobe, besides, he still looking like a snack so who the fuck cares if he wears the same thing.”

“Obviously you don’t!”

The room erupted in laughter, and Brooke joined it, but it wasn’t quite the rambunctious laughter that she wanted it to be, the claws of anxiety sinking into her.

Brooke knew she was a late bloomer, that she took extra time to pick up on things, that he was often the last to get on a trend. It usually didn’t bother her. She knew who she was, but as everyone laughed at her, Vanjie even joining in she couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, she actually had a problem. That she was somehow not worthy.

/

Brooke was staring into his closet. Looking at everything he owned.

He had lain awake all night, listening to the sounds of the ocean. Vanjie’s soft snores kept him from spiraling completely, the only reason he hadn’t flipped out on the man in his arms, Vanjie even more of a handful when drunk. Brooke had helped him out of his makeup and outfit before they collapsed into bed together, Vanjie loudly declaring himself queen of the world after she had premiered her new remix for the first time, everyone chanting “VAN-JIE VAN-JIE! VAAAN-JIE!” as she left the stage.

“Brock! Come on. Breakfast is waiting!”

“Just give me a second!”

Brooke sighed. His choice not getting any easier with a loud and demanding boyfriend growing bored on the bed, Vanjie getting dressed so fast Brooke wasn’t even sure he had ever been naked.

‘How did you get here Brock Hayhoe? You’re 33, and you have no idea how to dress yourself.”

Brooke had no idea what to put on, but he ended up slipping on his white shirt, at least somewhat confident in what he saw in the mirror when he turned back to Vanjie who had obviously been filming him, his boyfriend laying in bed.

“Put the black one on.”

“Why?”

“I want some photos of us on this boat, and if my fans see you in one more white shirt they’re gonna think I murdered you or some shit and you’re just copy pasted into my feed.”

Brooke laughed, the sound short and harsh to his own ears. A laugh of defense.

“Sure babe. No problem.”

/

Brooke made a beeline for Nina at breakfast, leaving Vanjie behind at the pancake station the moment they stepped into the cafeteria. He didn’t turn around, knowing that Vanjie would be looking confused, and he could not try to explain what was going on right now. He was hungry, but more desperate than anything else, and Nina was the beacon that he was going to steer his boat to.

“Nina, I need your help.” Brooke dumped down, startling Nina while A’keria barely even looked up from her bowl of breakfast.

“What happened to Good Morning honey?”

“I don’t have time.” Brooke almost grabbing the croissant out of Nina’s mouth to get his attention, A’keria snorting. Nina had been his friend for more than 10 years, and he trusted him more than most, if not all the people in his life.

“Unless it has something to do with sex, I don’t want to hear it.” Nina said resolutely, picking the dropped croissant back up and taking a large bite.

“I need new clothes.”

Nina choked, coughing around his mouthful of pastry.

“Excuse me?” he said as soon as he had cleared out his airway.

“Don’t give me that look.” Brooke crossed his arms, watching his friend.

“You kinda asking for the look, besides, where’s your man at? I haven’t had anyone yell at me yet and you’ve been here for an entire five minutes. Has Vanjie died?” A’keria took a sip of his coffee, watching the entire thing with amusement in his eyes.

“A’keria, you’re not helping.” Brooke turned to Nina. “Listen, I really need your help.”

“You, Brock Hayhoe, want new clothes?”

“Is it that out of character for me?” Brooke wrinkled his nose.

“Kinda is, babes.” Brooke looked over to A’keria, who was stirring around the sad remains of cereal in her bowl.

Brooke couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to realize just how desperate of a situation his boy self was in fashion-wise. Everyone else apparently already knew, and Brooke felt like an awkward teenager, once again forgotten when common sense had been handed out. He hadn’t even considered it be

“Oh, come on sweetheart.” A’keria fixed him with a knowing stare. “You’re not that stupid.” She put her bowl aside, leaning in, as if she was telling Brooke a secret. “Now I ain’t opposed to a man strutting his stuff if he got it, and honey, you do, but what you’re going for is anything but planned. You’re very pirate chic, very cruise appropriate.” Brooke nodded, listening along with his full attention. “But fashionable baby? Hell nah.”

Brooke knew A’keria was right, and he wanted to change it. Wanted to change it for Vanjie who obviously cared so much about it.

“I’ll help you Brooky Poo. Don’t you worry. Auntie Nina will be at your service as soon as she finishes her croissant.”