#and the heroin chic tag (?) of course

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 15, In Which You Dance Twist With Mr. Goat (Pulp Fiction Style)

AO3

TAGS: self-harm, sharp objects, glass, politics

There was a time, not so long ago, when you were terrified of flying. 

The mere thought of that huge metal thing plummeting from the sky for no apparent reason (well, the human factor. It's always the human factor), a minute of sheer terror, descent, and then boom.

No survivors.

No bodies ever recovered.

You used to fear situations that so brazenly took control away from you. 

Well, you were wrong; there was something strangely comforting about letting go; about snuggling up in the plush comfort of an oversized leather seat, scrolling through messages on your phone to the roar of the twin engines. 

Raphael's hand was always on your knee, his tail wrapped tightly around your ankle, as if you could escape him on the private jet - or off it. A black diamond ring on your finger sparkled in the sunlight filtering through the oval windows. 

Across from you sat Camilla, while Jens occupied the far corner seat. Yurgir was conspicuously absent; you didn't pry into his reasons, just assumed his size exceeded the weight limit of any aircraft.

A headline in the Daily Mirror caught your eye: "Who is Anya Berger? What do we know about the mysterious girl who won the heart of a billionaire in ten days?"

What do they know, you wondered and clicked.

"Walk me through the panels again," Raul asked. "And the key people to talk to."

"Morning is boring," Korilla replied. "Mental health crisis, supply chain disruptions, sustainability regulations. You start in the afternoon, sir: your first is the AI discussions with the UN Secretary General's Special Envoy for Technology."

"I won't say a word about this soulless drivel," Raphael said, skimming through the agenda.

Camilla choked on her coffee while Jens flinched at her sudden movement, his hand swiftly resting on the gun now.

"Mr D'Avergni, Avernus' portfolio is 15% invested in AI technologies," she said as soon as she collected herself. "What do you mean 'soulless nonsense'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I will not say a word about these abominable technologies. I have been made privy to information that they are cannibalising art and I will not stand for it". 

"Where did you hear this nonsense?" whispered Camilla. "Tumblr? Anya? Is that your doing?"

"I'm totally against AI," you interjected, without looking up from your phone, engrossed in the news article about your grunge heroin chic and manic-girl attitude.

They recommended black nail polish, drawing dark circles under your eyes and perfecting the look of total derangement to repeat your success. There were also some advanced blowjob techniques at the bottom of the article. 

"What is this panel 'Securing an Insecure World'?" asked Raphael. "I quite fancy the name."

"Sir, it has nothing to do with you. This is the macroeconomic panel on the dying middle class, youth problems, inequality, blah blah blah. Fear-mongering."

"Fear-mongering?" said Raphael. "I seem to have found my stage."

Camilla closed her eyes and put on her best smile. The flight attendant glided by in her pressed uniform and replaced your coffee; you were momentarily struck by the amount of cleavage she was showing as your eyes glanced upwards. 

To see very familiar eyes and a smile. Haarlep put a finger to her lips and gave you a little wink. You smiled back.

"Sir," Camilla said gently. "It doesn't work that way. You can't just speak whenever and about whatever you want in a global forum. It's all scripted, all pre-written."

"Astute observation," said Raphael. "Scripted conversations, scripted problems, scripted solutions, no room for improvisation. Davosneeds a breath of fresh air. Of honesty. Of a genuine hope for change".

Camilla said, "Of course, sir," and forced a smile. 

Back to the article: did they really get your ex-boyfriend to give an interview about you? Did he have anything good to say, that bastard who regularly forgot to flush the toilet?

Yes, he had plenty to say, mostly about you being not right in the head. You put him on your hit list and stroked Raphael's tail, which in turn stroked your ankle. They even got your mum on the phone, who thankfully had nothing much to say except that you were a good Catholic girl.

You saw some frantic movement out of the corner of your eye.

Camilla was waving you over to the plane's galley. You tried to get up, but were stopped by a tail wrapped around your ankle like a boa constrictor. "May I go to the toilet?" you asked, and Raphael uncoiled his tail, three times, with a slight reproach in his eyes. Jens did his best to keep a straight face, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Camilla pulled you deeper into the galley. She smelled of fresh coffee and burnout. 

"Anya, listen, I am very sorry that it has to come to this, but just between us girls..." she said, her fingers fidgeting with her diamond necklace. "Did Raul remember to take his medication today? I don't like his mood”. She shifted on her feet. "God, I miss the days when you could smoke in these things”.

"I'm not his doctor," you shrugged.

"Well, maybe it would be worth reminding him," Camilla drawled. "I'd rather not see viral videos of him committing political suicide in Davos. And I'm sure you'd agree."

You weren't so sure.

"I'm not going to poke the devil, and I suggest you don't either," you said, leaning against the galley counter.

Camilla sighed and gave you a very sympathetic smile.

"Anya, may I give you some friendly advice? Raul may seem like a half-god to you, but I've seen him curled up in a ball sobbing about how Daddy never loved him when he was high as a kite on coke. He's... as human as the rest of us. For better and worse”.

Just then, the plane shook violently, sending you both clutching the walls for support. The pilot quickly apologized over the intercom.

"Don't patronise me, Korilla," you said. "Do you think I'm just some pathetic, love-struck girl Raul likes to abuse?"

Camilla paused for a moment before suppressing a grin. "I'm going to invoke my right against self-incrimination. So tell me, my dear: who are you really?"

"Much more than meets the eye." You straightened up, standing slightly taller than her (which was not difficult). "I'm the one who gave him all this power in the first place."

"Wow," Kamilla snorted out in surprise. "Wow. Okay. Cool. Never mind."

"You need proof?" you said quietly. 

"Not really," she said.

"I wish you would get down on your knees and kiss my hand."

"What?" Kamilla burst out laughing. "Maybe you should share your medicine with Raul. Ask Dr Bambauer for a family discount. He will be at Davos, by the way, speaking on the mental health crisis".

"I wish for you to kiss my hand," you insisted. "Come on, do it, I have a point to prove."

You really need to learn how to calibrate these things. This one worked, though; she complied, sinking to her knees before you, a wild look in her eyes. Then she planted a surprisingly gentle kiss on your palm, leaving a crimson mark. 

"What the hell?" she whispered as she looked up at you. Raphael was engrossed in his paperwork, oblivious to the scene, so was Jens.

"See, Korilla," you started again after letting the moment hang awkwardly in the air for longer than necessary, "don't worry about Raphael talking nonsense. You'd be surprised how many people eat it up."

"Who the fuck is Raphael?"

"Your new boss," you said. "Well, old boss actually. Ahh... you won't really notice much of a difference; I hardly do myself sometimes," you lowered your voice to a minimum. "But don't tell them that, they'll get angry. You can get up now, this is getting a bit weird."

She tried to say something, her lips barely moving. You think it was 'how'. She was asking ‘how’.

"You see," you said. "The devil thinks I am very, very  special”.

Having said that, you came back to your seat. Raphael's tail immediately darted to your ankle and wrapped around it. You leaned back in your chair and watched Haarlep flirting with the pilot out of the corner of your eye.

It would be really stupid to crash because Haarlep wanted to have a quickie in the cockpit. The plane began its descent to Samedan St Moritz airport. The rugged Swiss Alps came into view out the window, snow-capped peaks glistening in the afternoon sun. 

***

When you book a presidential suite you no longer have to check in, you can just walk straight past the reception. The hotel was a mountain resort so exclusive that the website was just an artistic photo with no way to reserve a room. 

Raphael was eerily calm as he watched the staff unpack your belongings. His calm demeanour lasted until some poor sap nearly wrinkled his suit while trying to hang it in the en-suite cloakroom. A deafening growl sent the trembling fellow scuttling from the room.

The rest were given very generous tips.

Soon after, you found Raphael rehearsing his speech in a mirror, repeating the same phrases three times in a row, "when youth was told their souls were worthless, easily replicated by machines". Each time he spoke, there was a subtle change in tone, as if he was trying to capture some emotion - you were not quite sure what he was getting at - was he trying to imitate genuine concern? 

If so, he could work on his delivery.

He gave it another shot, the tension in his back muscles evident through his shirt.

"Excellent choice of attire, gattina," he gave you a look you approached. "Might I suggest an improvement? Not these trousers. The black pencil skirt with the white vertical stripes, the Saint Laurent one from the spring collection."

"It looks absurd on me," you looked away. "I don't have the body for it."

"You have the body for anything," he said. "Don't debate me on this. Slip into the skirt, return here and see how right I am”.

That damned skirt was a nightmare: so constricting that any wrong move felt like a tear waiting to happen; clearly designed by someone who either had never laid eyes on an actual woman or harbored a deep-seated resentment towards anyone the wrong size and proportion, which would be everyone. 

Yet somehow, you managed to wriggle yourself into it and made your way back to him.

"Now that's what I want to see," Raul smiled. "A beautiful woman and all mine."

"It's two sizes smaller than what I wear".

"Come closer, you silly creature, and grasp how breathtaking you are."

He tugged you towards the full-length mirror and swept your hair to one side so that you could take in your entire reflection.

Only it wasn’t yours.

When you played Sims and tweaked the controls to create the ideal you, you ended up with someone like this. Every trait similar to what you had, only better. A lot better. Smoother skin, better hair, smaller waist, perkier tits.

"They will see you through my eyes," Raphael said as his hands slid under your blouse and cupped your breasts. "These mortals will seethe with jealousy, envying me for having you and you for having me."

The woman in the mirror looked like someone Raphael would choose to be his consort. The skirt looked perfect, as it was tailor made just for you. 

"That’s not me," you said, mesmerized by the eerie reflection.

"Nonsense. You didn't know who you truly were until you met me," he whispered in your ear. "If it's not you I'm putting my arms around, why would you feel them?"

You felt his palms squeeze your breasts and roll your nipples between his fingers. His lips brush your neck. His growing bulge against your backside.

"Now would you be so kind?.." he asked. 

You could swear the woman in the mirror was bending over before you did, eagerly offering herself, sliding her panties down to her knees and placing her palms on either side of the mirror for leverage. His hands kneaded your buttocks, spreading you apart as his erection pressed against your entrance.

Foreplay wasn't on his agenda, you realized with a shiver. True enough, he penetrated you with a single thrust. First sharp pain, then the very familiar pleasure, liquid and pitch black and all-consuming.

"Look," he said. "Look at yourself. Look at me. Marvel at what you see."

The woman in the mirror moaned in response, pleasure etched on her face as the devil behind her ravaged. Her features twisted and blurred in ever-changing motion, skin wobbling like waves of water; she was shifting between all the women you ever dreamed of being - one moment Tav, then Christine, then Sarah Williams.

"It's not real," you moaned. 

His eyes remained fixed on the mirror the whole time he fucked you. You arched backwards into him, grinding against him with each thrust, skin slapping against skin.

"There is no reality," he whispered back. "Other than what you see in that mirror”.

His thrusts came harder now, jolting you against the cold glass. The woman in the mirror seemed to have gone insane from how well she was being fucked, her face twisted in a barely human grimace of bliss.

"Climax," he commanded with a snap of his fingers.

You saw the woman in the mirror go limp in his arms, a look of absent bliss on her face, and then remember that the woman was you. A jagged sound ripped from you. Your body responded to the command like a dog thrown a biscuit; your cunt tightened around his cock once.

Twice. 

The woman in the mirror morphed again; now it’s someone you’d seen a thousand times, the weird pale girl nobody ever gave a second look. 

You. 

Thrice.

The mirror you were propped against shattered - spectacularly so, its razor-sharp fragments raining down like confetti.

"Hang on," you managed to gurgle out in sheer terror as you tumbled, losing your balance. "Raphael, hold on..."

He didn't. Instead, he let gravity take over and you fell face-first into the broken mirror below, his weight following right after. Your scream of pleasure morphed into a wail of agony as countless tiny shards opened up on your skin; mutilating, cutting, obliterating. 

oh god it hurts 

Raphael groaned as he drove you deeper and deeper into the jagged fragments, your writhing and screaming doing nothing to deter him. The shards under your skin thrust in and out with each thrust, piercing right through you, through your face.

oh god it hurts; pulsated the single thought. The pain was nothing like you had felt before; it was the clearest sensation your clouded mind had ever processed.

A growing pool of blood spread like spilled wine on the white marble tiles beneath you. You closed your eyes tightly, but that didn't make the blood disappear. You blinked them open again... then closed them... 

Blood was still there. Raphael thrust once, so hard there wasn’t a single shard left that didn’t hurt you. 

Twice.

Three times, and he came inside you, spitting curses in Italian between ragged breaths. 

The pain suddenly vanished as if snapped away by his fingers; but its ghostly memory kept your tears flowing.

"I swear to God, kitten" Raul murmured as he rolled off you, "the way you're screaming would make anyone think I'm murdering you."

You opened your eyes and stared at the perfectly white tiles.

No blood.

No shards. No cuts. No pain.

Nothing. You looked up in the mirror: the Gorgeous Version of You looked back. You looked down on yourself. 

Exactly how you always wanted to be. 

You laughed in blissful abandon. Then, you rolled onto your back, catching sight of Raul's gobsmacked expression which made you laugh even harder.

read the rest on ao3

[mermaidsirennikita]

Hi! First I want to say that I love reading your blog/reviews, you always help me find something new to read. I was wondering if you can recommend me some books with a specific trope I usually enjoy and been craving to read lately. I don't know if you've read ''Just Imagine'' by Susan Elizabeth Phillips, but I really loved how the heroine was poor in the beginning and was kind of unrefined and an ''ugly swan'', but then grew up to be elegant and beautiful and smarter. Any similar recs?

Oh, thank you so much! That is extremely flattering. I try my best!

First off, if you haven't watched Sabrina (both the one with Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn AND the one with Harrison Ford and Julia Ormond, if I'm being real) you absolutely should, because those movies are EXACTLY that and pure romances. Heroine is the shy butler/driver guy's daughter who of course is not noticed despite being played both times by stunners, and she's in love with this cold, grumpy tycoon's playboy younger brother. She forlornly goes to Paris for a while and returns super chic and sophisticated. She immediately catches the attention of the guy she believes she's in love with, but he's engaged to this woman and his marriage would be strategically important for the company, so the older brother decides to distract Sabrina from him... and of course... falls in love for real.

When the Duke was Wicked by Lorraine Heath might hit for this! The main reason why the hero didn't notice the heroine is that she's a good bit younger than him (nine years) buuuut she was infatuated with him from a young age. Her father is a duke and her mother is formerly lower class, and she was brought up around a gambling hell, so she was seen as like... kind of a semi-tomboy card shark who spent a lot of time with her brothers. She asks the hero to help her find a good husband, and he's immediately like "well shit, she sure has grown up... a lot hotter". An all time favorite of mine--so romantic and passionate.

I hate to recommend this, because I don't... dislike it, but I have a lot of issues with it. But you might want to check out Romancing Mr. Bridgerton by Julia Quinn. Penelope is seen as gauche, largely due to her mother, but begins getting noticed (mostly by Colin) later. A thing I do dislike about this is that like... a part of this is that she lost weight. Lol, I often describe When the Duke Was Wicked as "Romancing Mr. Bridgerton if it didn't suck" so idk, proceed with caution.

Ever Yours, Annabelle by Elisa Braden. Heroine was this a tomboyish type who followed her brother and his best friend around, totally infatuated with the best friend. Then tragedy strikes and they're separated for yeeears. She and the hero meet up again, and he's like "oh. She's DIFFERENT".

I JUST finished Goddess of the Hunt by Tessa Dare, and it's so good. The heroine's parents died when she was young, and she was basically raised by her older brother, who's like, not super responsible and a really hands-off guardian. So she always tagged along with him and his friends and become this hellion known for riding horseback and running around barefoot and being a total tomboy. When her brother's rake friend is about to get engaged, she goes to his other friend and asks for his help in breaking up the relationship, because she's in love with the rake. Supposedly. The friend she asks for help is super exasperated, but begins realizing... Oh damn...... she's like.... super alluring now. It's very hilarious, because she still is super rebellious. She's not very elegant, but she is everything else.

Olivia and the Masked Duke by Grace Callaway may give this to you. The heroine is kind of a childish hoyden type, and the hero is a good bit (11-12 years) older than her and is a widower. When she's like, 18-20 she catches him..... disciplining.... a woman... very consensually. And she becomes determined to have him. Of course, she is all grown up now, so he finds it more difficult that expected to have him.

A Rogue by Any Other Name by Sarah MacLean. The heroine was this kind of wildish girl, who was best friend with the neighbor boy until he disappeared after losing everything while gambling. Years later, he finds her again and she's now this like... spinster, but elegant and very respected. He forces her to marry him for Plot Reasons and they kind of need to reconcile with their feelings. Bonus: this Penelope is plump and stays plump, and Bourne cannot get enough of her. One of those "they have sex and he lays there and has an existential crisis" books.

The Kiss Curse by Erin Sterling has elements of this! The hero and heroine first meet briefly when they're in college, and he's from this locally famous family and is sort of refined, whereas she has purple hair and is kind of a mess. They don't see each other again for about ten years, during which she becomes this very flirty, admired girl in town (if a bit of a wildchild). Not very elegant, but like--he doesn't even remember her as she was lol.

Some of these aren't exact matches, but I do recommend checking them out because they may hit the vibe!

[archangelmag]

The Message Archangel: Mindful Mess x Wellness and what's really going on now.

What if i told that a trend on the “next door social media” is probably giving a rebrand over wellness?

The rise of messy scenarios, chaotic visuals and even the tag #messytiktok are giving us new vibes through fashion.

We all can agree that since the COVID-19 pandemic started with the new decade, the vibes has shifted. Now, we got social realism instead of flex culture, at the same time “girlboss” has gone and like the clean-wellness aesthetic we know, we got a picture reimagined with chaos between the aestheticized boards around. Of course, all in the name of authenticity.

Perfect examples are the comparison between Julia Fox’s chaotic apartment x Marie Kondo clean-up and organized methods. Terms such as “Toxic Positivity” arrived to describe and question the attitudes of those who preach the existence of disconected philosophies, meritocracy, “the lucky girl syndrome”, and many other types of privileges masked as positivity. Also, the rise of clean girl aesthetic brought it’s antagonist, the heroin chic and it’s anarchic mood, unorganized flatlays, dirty sneakers, bad-light pictures, etc. We are even getting back the Indie Sleaze type of pictures, underground type of styling as a form of rebellion.

The more we live, all together online and offline, sharing our human experiences, we perceive that things are getting more messy. And it can be healthy if we look close, in a self-acceptance type of way.

Being reflexive, as humans, our eviroments are not 100% organized and we do not have control of our daily experiences, as much as we wanted to. And that’s a part of the zeitgeist, the sign of the times.

So, instead of getting a fully harmonic, organized flatlay where everything is having a conversation, we are getting full boards where everything is kinda out of place - in a purpose - but still speaking a language, trying to tell us something we need to listen.

Now, enters Mindful Mess.

Mindful Mess is a movement where there’s the emphasis on the messy journey over the picture perfect destination. It’s not about romaticize mental illness or dirtiness around, it's more to simply say that the roads we go and share are "simply messy”. It’s about to rebel against the systems that harms us, a share fatigue of the online experiences and performances, a longing for more community and a willingness of get our hands and legs dirty for change.

Beyond our rooms, houses, jobs or outfits we wear, there’s a society, a planet needing changes. Nothing can be perfect, but it can be better and to get it there, we need to get dirty and messy first.

The point is that in capitalism, everything turns into marketing and promotion to mass-consumption. Even a trend that suppose to be anti-capitalist. (Do we remember the “eat the rich” slogan?)

While chaos is reigning, will fashion manufacture over it? Yep.

Here are some luxury brands that are making chaos “high-end”:

1 – We got coach and it’s accidental chaos by highlighting day-to-day situations;

2 – We got Buberry using x-rays to show it’s contained mess inside their bags;

3 – We got gucci, loewe, and even coach using product piles in their campaigns, showing off their products and pieces.

4 - We got Sony using the fatigue of online performance, giving us a campaign full of sad faces and tears.

Oh well, what do you think about it?

[luckless-bitch]

mmm... Perhaps I judged Pinterest too harshly in the past. It's pretty good for thinspo

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Back At You (Butch/Buttercup)

A T-rated Greens one shot I did for our resident gothic heroine @avesthetea over on AO3! 💚

A heartfelt shoutout to the Instagram clown cult. Y’all know who you are and how much you inspire me to chronicle Brick’s eternal suffering in new and creative ways. It’s what we do.

Summary: When Buttercup's birthday planning falls apart at the last minute, the last person she would ever expect offers his help (or horror, depending on your perspective).

xxx

Buttercup’s phone buzzed on the nightstand by her head, and she jerked awake. Swallowing the bitter sleep taste, she wiped her mouth and fumbled for the phone. Head still buried in the pillow, she answered: “What time is it?”

“Time to get your ass to the precinct,” said Ty, her partner at the Citiesville Police Department. “Chief Foolery’s all hands meeting starts in twenty minutes. Tell me you’re not still asleep.”

Buttercup sprang up on her elbows and checked the time on her phone. Shit, she was going to be late. “Shit, I’m going to be late!”

“Girl, that’s what I’m tellin’ you—”

“Gotta go, bye!” Buttercup hung up the phone and would have launched out of bed if not for the arm that slipped around her waist and pulled her back down.

“Five more minutes,” Butch grumbled.

Buttercup lost her balance and ended up with her bare back flush against his equally bare chest. His breath was hot on the back of her neck where he pushed his nose among her loose black hair. “Butch, I have to go,” she said in a warning tone.

He chuckled, and it sent a thrill of heat down her spine and under the covers, where he pushed a knee between her thighs. “Why go when you could come?” The arm he’d looped around her waist traveled low beneath the sheets.

Buttercup groaned at his crass joke and caught his wrist before he could carry out the threat. “Because if I’m not at CPD headquarters in twenty minutes, Foolery’s going to pop a hemorrhoid—”

Butch flipped them over with his Super speed, and her back hit the mattress beneath him. He loomed over her, those green eyes acid-bright in the early morning sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. Her traitorous gaze raked up his chest, over the shadow of stubble on his jaw, and settled on those fast darkening eyes as he admired her in turn. But the moment he bent down to kiss her, she slipped out from under him in a flash of green and darted across the room. In a matter of seconds, she’d pulled out a spare change of clothes from the lone dresser drawer he’d cleared out for her use.

“Leaving me hangin’? For real?” Butch complained as he flopped back down among the sheets with a yawn.

“You’ll live. But I won’t if I’m late for this fuckery.” She dressed quickly in dark jeans and a button-up blouse before heading to the connecting bathroom Butch shared with his daughter, Brisa.

“Missin’ out!” Butch called from the bedroom.

Yeah, Buttercup thought as she combed through the tangles in her hair with her fingers and ran the water to brush her teeth. A knock on the door interrupted her morning ablutions, and Brisa entered through her bedroom door.

“G’morning,” she said. Her brown hair was a frizzy mess, and she clutched a stuffed purple Pretty Puff Pony under one arm.

Despite her haste to get out of there and jet to work, Buttercup spared the little girl a soft smile. “Morning, kid. You’re up early.”

Brisa grinned wide. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Buttercup’s smile fell immediately. “Did Butch sneak you that second chocolate bar after dinner last night? Goddamnit—Butch!”

“What, change your mind?” he called. “I knew you couldn’t leave before climbing my morning wood.”

Brisa made a face like she was going to ask, and Buttercup slammed Butch’s bedroom door shut. “Never mind. Let me guess, you were too excited to sleep because today’s your birthday, right?”

Brisa blinked up at her and smiled, her questions forgotten. “Yeah! Oh my gosh, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

Buttercup chuckled and ruffled her messy hair. “For sure. But first, I have to go to work.”

“You’ll be back for my party, right?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Pinky promise?” Brisa held out her little finger.

Buttercup hooked her pinky around Brisa’s. “I promise. Now go get dressed and brush your teeth. I’ll check on your dad.”

“Okay!”

Buttercup breezed through the bedroom, chucked Butch his sweat pants with a cautionary “Hide your dick,” and flew out of her paramour’s two-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville just as Brisa came bursting in excited to start the day.

xxx

The morning was a complete waste of time, and a bitter part of Buttercup lamented not skipping out in favor of staying in bed with Butch.  

“Well, at least nobody died today,” Ty said as he and munched on his doner kebab lunch to go. “Yet.”

Buttercup sucked down half of a water bottle after scarfing down her own lunch. They had stopped at the food truck parked a couple blocks from the precinct, opting for a quick fix as they watched oblivious pedestrians lost to their Air Pods. “Welcome back to active duty, Mr. Brightside.”

Ty chuckled, low and deep. After a few months of healing and rigorous physical therapy, his legs were completely healed and he’d finally been cleared for work that didn’t involve pushing papers at his desk. Once more standing tall with the sun shining off his bald head, Buttercup could not have been happier to have her partner back to his old self by her side.

“You bring it outta me.” Ty winked.

“You ready to head out?” she asked, tossing her wrapper in a corner trashcan. Traffic was shit as usual midday on a Saturday, but they had time before Brisa’s party was slated to start.

“Sure. Lemme just text Melanie.”

Buttercup figured she better catch up with Butch while she waited for Ty and make sure he was on the ball.

[Buttercup: Did you pick up the cake?]

After a few seconds, he replied.

[Butch: Omw with B. You still on clown duty?]

Buttercup groaned at the reminder.

[Buttercup: Can I just say he died and couldn’t make it?]

[Butch: Sure, if you want to crush B’s hopes and dreams 💔😈]

“Kill me.”

“What’s wrong now?” Ty asked.

Buttercup pocketed her phone and led the way to the precinct parking lot where Ty’s car was parked. “Just grappling with some casual childhood trauma coming back to bite me in the ass.”

Ty side-eyed her. “Which one?”

“Ha ha.”

They made it to his red hatchback, and Buttercup slipped into the passenger seat.

“This about Brisa’s birthday party?” Ty asked.

Buttercup groaned again and tugged at her loose hair. “Of all the things, a clown? I thought they were universally considered nightmare fodder for kids these days.”

“Speakin’ of which, I think I remember a psychotic clown attacking Townsville back in the day.”

“You remember correctly.” Buttercup glowered out the window as Ty eased them into traffic toward the Golden Bay Bridge. “But it was the one thing she said she just had to have because some other dumb kid in her class got one for her party.”

“Ah. Six years old and already the social food chain’s tuggin’ on her.”

“Whatever. I never cared about that shit when I was a kid.”

Ty smiled to himself. “Uh-huh.”

Buttercup resigned herself to her unfortunate fate and dialed the company she’d previously contracted to rent a clown for the afternoon. After about five minutes on the phone, she hung up.

“What was that all about?” Ty asked. “Problem?”

Buttercup stared straight ahead as the Golden Bay Bridge’s suspender cables passed her by. “The clown died.”

Ty laughed.

“Ty.” Buttercup looked directly at him. “The guy got hit by a bus on his way to work today and he died.”

Ty shut up. “Oh, uh… Shit.”

A pause.

“I mean, is there another clown, or…?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Buttercup snapped. All she could think of was how Brisa was going to be so upset that the one goddamned thing she had asked for wasn’t going to happen because there was no time to book a new party clown on such short notice on a Saturday.

When Ty shifted in his seat, the leather squeaked loudly in the fuming silence he wisely chose not to break, until he did. “So, should I—”

“Just drive. I’ll think of something…” Buttercup said as she pulled out her phone and tried not to completely lose her shit as she dialed the one person who always seemed to know what to do in a crisis.

“Hey, Blossom,” Buttercup said gravely after her sister picked up. “I think I need some help.”

xxx

When Buttercup and Ty parked in front of her childhood home, guests had already begun arriving. Bubbles was outside greeting people and directing them to the backyard for the festivities. When she spotted Buttercup and Ty, she waved. “Hey, there you are!”

“Have you seen Blossom?” Buttercup asked.

Bubbles pushed up the sleeves of her chunky lavender sweater and looked around. “I think she and Princess were setting up the piñata. Is everything okay—”

Buttercup dashed to the backyard in a blaze of green, leaving Ty to make his way inside at a more sedate pace. The backyard was already teeming with people. Brisa was playing tag with her best friend Richie and a few other kids, while Boomer stacked presents on a table by the back door. Mike and Robin led the day drinking charge by pouring out sangria for the adults and juice for the kids. Buttercup nearly crashed through the green tissue streamers criss-crossing the enclosed backyard in her haste to locate her sister, who was in fact stringing up a red monster-shaped piñata with Princess Morbucks. Or rather, Blossom was doing all the work while Princess held two glasses of bloody sangria and provided live commentary.

“Whoever invented piñatas had the right idea is all I’m saying,” Princess said as she sipped her drink. She was annoyingly chic as usual in designer jeans, dark boots, and a purple silk blouse that probably cost more than the pittance Buttercup’s government paycheck brought in every month.

“You think so?” Blossom said, floating near a high branch so she could toss the suspension rope over it.

“Of course. You’re rewarded with candy for smashing the shit out of your mortal enemy. What could be better than that?”

Blossom grinned. “Mortal enemy in effigy.” She patted the red monster’s snout. “But you’re not wrong.”

“Obviously.” Princess handed her back her sangria, and they shared a knowing laugh.

“Blossom,” Buttercup said.

Blossom smoothed the front of her navy skirt as she turned toward Buttercup. “You’re here. Everything all right?”

Buttercup eyed Princess watching them. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Any progress on the clown front?”

“I’m sorry, the what?” Princess asked.

Blossom’s pink eyes softened, and she put a hand on Buttercup’s shoulder. “I took care of it, don’t worry.”

“Wait, really? How? I called five other rental companies, but everything’s booked solid.”

Blossom’s smile turned devious. “Trust me. Brisa’s going to be very pleased.” Buttercup wanted to argue, but her sister squeezed her shoulder in a silent entreaty. “Just enjoy the party. Boomer, Bubbles, and I have everything under control.”

“Speaking of control,” Princess had her phone out when Blossom turned back to her, “where is that prima donna? He’s not answering any of my texts.”

“Brick’s running a little late,” Blossom said as she led Princess away. “Wardrobe malfunction…”

Their voices faded to the background as Buttercup watched them. Two peas in a fucking pod, and she still didn’t really get what Blossom saw in Princess. If Princess hadn’t played such an integral part in things a couple months back, she would never have given the woman a second thought beyond “Hard pass.”

People, however, had a tendency to surprise when it was down to the wire.

“Heads up, Buttercup!”

Buttercup automatically caught the child hurtling through the air like a tossed water balloon before he could crack his head open.

“O-Oh! Hi, Buttercup,” said Richie, meek and curled in on himself like he’d forgotten he was no longer fragile.

Brisa came dashing over. “Nice catch!”

Buttercup peeled Richie off her and dropped him flat on his ass in the grass. “Brisa, don’t yeet your friends. Bubbles will have an aneurism if she catches you.”

Brisa blushed, abashed. “Sorry…”

Buttercup cracked a smile and winked, and Brisa lit up.

“I’m okay!” Richie, Super resilient, hopped onto his feet and shook out his fluffy blond hair. “Um, does this mean I’m ‘it’ now?”

“No, I wanna play with the clown!” Brisa announced.

Buttercup’s face fell. “Uh, about that…”

Brisa blinked up at her. “He’s coming to my party, right?”

The flicker of doubt that passed through Brisa’s big brown eyes cracked Buttercup’s cold stone heart. She struggled for the words to let her down gently, because whatever Blossom had managed to put together so last minute wasn’t going to be the colorful surprise Buttercup had gone out of her way to book and customize a month in advance.

A round of squeals from the other kids across the yard drew her attention, where they had gathered around Mike at the garden door. “Okay, settle down, kiddos! He’s a little shy. Now, where’s the birthday girl at? Hey, Brisa!”

“C’mon, Brisa, let’s go,” Richie said, tugging on her hand.

But she held her ground and didn’t budge. Buttercup wanted to die.

“Brisa, look,” she began.

The door behind Mike slid open, and out stepped what Buttercup could only describe as her personal revenge fantasy gone morbidly wrong. Brick had never looked so sour in his life.

“Oh! Uh, ta-da!” Mike said hastily as he stepped aside for the person formerly known as Brick until his murder by dishonor.

His steps squeaked in his oversized red shoes, and the striped red and yellow overalls he wore over a polkadot shirt ballooned out at his legs. He looked like a tropical bowling pin. He looked fucking absurd.

“It’s Flameo Hotman! Say hello, kids,” Mike said.

Brick shot Mike a scathing glare that may have incinerated him where he stood if the tiny party hat and enormous red clown nose didn’t ruin the effect. “The hell it is.”

Buttercup had no problem averting her eyes from the literal clownery to focus on Brisa, who was still staring and petrified. Oh shit, oh fuck, she was upset and it was Buttercup’s entire fault—

“Uncle Brick?” Brisa blurted out.

Brick’s lurid eyes passed over Buttercup and landed on Brisa. If Buttercup hadn’t been looking right at him, she would never have believed the way they softened just a little. He pursed his lips and lifted his elastic-tied party hat off his short red hair. It snapped back in place when he let go. “Happy birthday, Brisa.”

Brisa immediately dashed out of Richie’s grip in a sprint too fast to be human and body slammed Brick where he stood. With a grunt, he managed to catch her and keep his balance as she hugged him tight around his inflated waist and laughed. “You look so funny!”

Brick coughed. “Yeah, that’s sort of the point…”

The other kids took that as their cue to also mob Brick, and soon he was adrift in a sea of grubby hands and demands for balloon animals and magic tricks. Buttercup could not believe her eyes. She could hardly remember the last time she saw Brick dressed anything other than to the nines, and now…

“Fuck me,” she wheezed, too stunned even to laugh, it was that heinous.

“Pretty good, huh?” Bubbles sidled up to her with a wrapped present for Brisa under her arm.

Buttercup swallowed hard. She didn’t trust her voice as she watched Brick—Brick—snap at Brisa’s friends to line up in an orderly fashion if they wanted their faces painted, and no cutting the line or there would be consequences.

“The costume’s a little janky, but I didn’t have a lot of notice when Blossom told me we needed something colorful for him to wear,” Bubbles went on.

“Why?” Buttercup croaked. She turned to her baby sister, who seemed totally nonchalant existing in a universe where the selfish clown Blossom had chosen to keep for reasons Buttercup could not sympathize with deigned to dress as a literal fucking clown.

Bubbles slipped her hand in Buttercup’s and squeezed affectionately as they watched Brick paint the requested unicorn on Richie’s face as seriously as if it were a goddamned Monet. “I think this is his way of trying,” she said.

Buttercup would never forget that day two months ago when Butch asked her to come over after Brick had broken down and apologized to Boomer and him and all he wanted to do was break something, to feel it shatter in his hands, so why not her, who couldn’t break? That fight had been one of their most brutal, even compared to their rows in high school in the throes of raging hormones exacerbated by Chemical X.

They hadn’t spoken as they rinsed the dirt and sweat from each other after—Buttercup had been worried about setting him off again after he had settled into some sort of quiet serenity with his fingers in her hair, pulling the tangles out under the warm water like an artist honing his craft. Those hands were always working, always looking for something to crush.

“You ever love someone, but you don’t like them?” he’d asked her as she wrung the water from her hair and he stared at his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror.

Buttercup was pulled from the memory when Blossom came out of the house to snap pictures on her phone of the kids with their painted faces, a bright smile on her face as Brick continued to ignore the entire world and focus on his task with surprisingly minimal complaint. Buttercup supposed that if anyone could dress like an ass-backwards buffoon and maintain some pretense of dignity, it was Brick.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said at length. She squeezed Bubbles’ hand back.

He’s trying something, all right.

xxx

“I want a dog, please!” asked a snot-nosed kid inexplicably dressed in a full dinosaur suit.

Butch watched Brick from the picnic table he’d plopped down on with a cold beer and three entire pizza boxes set aside entirely for Boomer and himself.

Brick frowned so deeply he looked like he was trying to pass a hardened turd. Wordless, he blew up a long red balloon, tied it off at the end, and handed it to the little boy. “Here.”

The kid accepted the unfolded balloon with quizzical look. “Huh? This isn't a dog.”

“Yeah, it is,” Brick said. “It’s a hot dog.”

“But that’s not what I asked—hey!” The kid squealed when Brick squirted him with water from the rubber flower on his overall strap.

“Next,” Brick said in a tone that promised medieval torture.

Cowed, the dinosaur kid slumped away with his shitty balloon, and the next little girl in line made her request.

“It had to be a bet,” Butch said grimly as he watched his brother pawn a “magic wand” on the little girl who asked for a monkey. She trudged off with the unfolded purple balloon and look in her eyes like she’d seen the hidden darkness of this world.

Boomer shrugged and swallowed a bite of pizza. He had his back to Brick, but he spared a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, he’s gotta know the pictures will live on forever. This is unlimited blackmail.”

That got a little chuckle out of Boomer. Butch ruffled his bangs too roughly to be entirely affectionate, and Boomer swatted him away. “Dude, my hair.”

“Want me to get you a balloon dick?”

Boomer’s gaze flickered to him, and for a moment Butch was transported back twenty years to Mojo’s Observatory. He and Boomer were sometimes left by themselves while Mojo and Brick tinkered in the old man’s lab well into the night with nothing to do and no one to talk to but each other. On nights like that, Butch didn’t really mind it when Boomer crawled into his bunk and fell asleep there. The room always felt a little colder and darker without Brick there.

“I’m fine,” Boomer said.

Butch searched his eyes, blue and expressive and always shining like he might cry or laugh. He had always envied Boomer that ability to project, to offer a connection, even if it was only pain. He’d always been good at that.

“Really,” Boomer added, hardening his gaze like a fucking mind reader. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Butch wondered how long it would take for that to be true. “You know, it’s been a couple months—”

“Butch,” Boomer said, cold like he never was.

Butch hopped off the table and put a hand on Boomer’s shoulder. “It’s been a couple months, but it’s not a race. There’s no finish line to cross.”

Boomer chuckled, but it sounded kind of like a wheeze. His hand was cool on Butch’s where he squeezed him. “Thanks, Butch.”

Butch patted his back. As he was leaving, heard Boomer call, “Make mine blue.”

Butch chuckled. “Sure.”

Fucking sap.

At least Butch wasn’t the only one.

He made his way to the terrace, where Brick was set up with balloons and the face painting station. When Brick noticed his brother waiting in line, the balloon he was inflating went up in flames and disintegrated to ashes, leaving him looking as flushed as his stupid clown nose.

“I’m out of balloons, kids. Go dig a hole or something,” he said to the remaining two children.

“Huh? But there’s a whole bag—” one little boy with enormous glasses started to say.

Brick fired his laser eye beams at the bag of balloons and blew it up. “What bag?”

The kids stalked off in a sulk, and Butch sauntered up to the chair Bubbles had brought out from the kitchen table.

“Bitch move,” he said, plopping down. “I promised Boomer I’d bring him a blue cock, made special with love.”

“Uh-huh,” Brick said. He watched Butch with those shifty red eyes like he might lash out and attack him.

Amused and a little nervous, Butch sank into the chair with much bravado and man-spreading. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

Brick narrowed his eyes, but he picked up the paints and sat down in the opposite chair without a word, until: “What do you want?”

“I dunno, something cool. A rocket ship.”

Silence. Brick leaned in close to apply the paint with a thin brush, meticulous and anal like he was with everything he did. Butch didn’t have to see his face to know he was concentrating way too hard.

“I can feel the vibrations of you clenching your asshole from here,” Butch said. “Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Fuck off.”

Brick put down the brush. “If you keep talking, this is going to turn out shitty.”

Butch shut up. Brick resumed painting.

After a moment, Butch closed his eyes. There was something soothing about the soft scrape of the brush against his cheek. Behind his eyelids, he saw a much younger version of Brick covered in paint and grinning fiercely, king of the world, until Butch hit him with his paintball gun right in the kisser. Green paint exploded everywhere, and Boomer fell on his ass laughing. Brick angrily wiped the paint from his eyes in a goopy mess and lobbed it back at Butch, who was too far gone to care. Rolling on the grass and covered in paint, he couldn’t remember a happier afternoon spent with his brothers and Mojo. At least, not until Brisa came along.

Butch sucked in a breath as he opened his eyes and dispelled that trance-like memory. Brick didn’t even snap at him when he turned his head to look right at him. His face was pinched: his mouth too thin and his eyes too wide as he waited for another pot shot to the face.

“You look stupid,” Butch said.

“I know,” Brick said.

“Really fucking stupid.”

Brick’s eye twitched. “I know.”

“Thanks.”

Brick swallowed. “It’s her birthday.”

“Yeah, but I’m your brother. So thanks.”

It was not often that Brick was flabbergasted, but the dude looked like someone had just grabbed him by his oversized red nose. Butch burst into a sly smirk and did just that. To his sadistic satisfaction, it squeaked when he squeezed it.

“Honk honk, motherfucker,” Butch said.

It took Brick all of two seconds to ditch his bewilderment and swat Butch’s hand away. “Shit head.”

“Clown.”

To Butch’s immense surprise, Brick let him have the last word. Well, damn. He chuckled and leaned back in the chair so Brick could finish painting his cheek. Two months and he barely saw the guy on purpose, and now this.

“I’m burning every picture Blossom took today,” Brick said at length.

Butch chuckled. “You forgot about the cloud.”

“I’m burning that too.”

“Now you’re just being a whiny bitch.”

“Wipe Bubbles’ phone and I’ll pay you.”

“Eh, maybe just grab a beer sometime.” It came out so naturally that he didn’t even think about it. Brick, too, was taken aback. The more he saw it today, the less Butch liked that surprised look in his older brother’s eyes. It was fucking weird. “Seriously. It’s been a minute.”

Brick didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. “Yeah, cool.”

“Cool.”

Cool.

“Hold on, almost done,” Brick said, and grabbed Butch’s chin to turn his face.

Butch’s eyes found Brisa running around with a large, green balloon crown on her head and her cheeks painted with rainbows, and his gaze softened. It was almost time for cake.

“Done,” Brick announced.

Before Butch could reply to that, there was a small commotion at the backyard gate with Bubbles, who followed a very short, very hairy monkey inside.

“Grandpa Mojo?” Brisa stopped playing with her friends to greet the old monkey. He had a box with a green bow on top so perfectly wrapped a department store may have done it. His arms were rigid as they held it out and Bubbles hovered just behind him, watchful.

“Good afternoon, Brisa. I have procured you a gift to celebrate, rejoice, and otherwise partake in various forms of merriment on this day of your birth, which is to say, your birthday, thus, the day you were born.”

Nearby, Blossom paused picking up trash with Robin to eye Mojo askance, nonchalant in that low key frightening I-will-blow-your-dick-off way she had. Buttercup was chatting away with Mitch Mitchelson and Clara Clearly, but she too had eyes only for Mojo.

Brisa blushed cutely, suddenly shy. “Thank you.” She accepted the gift and looked between Mojo and Bubbles. “Um, will you stay for cake?”

Mojo’s green skin turned a ghastly shade of pink. It took a Butch a moment to realize he was blushing. He was sure he had never seen Mojo blush before.

Mojo cleared his throat. “I do not eat cake,” he said with finality.

“Oh…” Brisa clutched her new gift to her chest.

“But, I suppose… I could sample a beverage while I am here. A guest ought not turn away hospitality when it is offered.”

Brisa just smiled brightly and reached for Mojo’s crusty old paw. “I have juice. Oh! And you have to stay for the piñata. Have you met Richie? He’s my best friend in the whole world!”

“I do not think—” Mojo lost his words as he was pulled along by his Super granddaughter whether he liked it or not.

“Hey.”

Brick’s hand on Butch’s shoulder exerting Super pressure made him looked down at his hands, which sparked with green power. He clenched his fists and fizzled it out.

“You good?” Brick asked, low and grave.

Butch sniffled. “Yeah, I’m good. Habit.” He paused, then: “I invited him. Boomer said it was fine.”

Brick nodded. “Okay.”

Butch’s stupid heart clenched. “I meant to text you—”

“Blossom told me. It’s fine, drop it.”

He should have dropped it. Two months ago he would have, happily. What the fuck did it matter now when it never had growing up? But that was two months ago. “Don’t fucking do that.”

Brick frosted over and got up. “Do what.”

“Hey.” Butch grabbed him by his ridiculous overalls. “You and me. No girls. Battle and beers, like the old days.”

Brick was a cold hard bastard, but even he had his cracks, and right now he broke like an egg, slack-jawed and lame.

“Tomorrow,” Butch said.

Brick nodded numbly. “Tomorrow.”

Butch smirked and got up to leave, but Brick’s voice stopped him one last time.

“Thanks, Butch.”

“Sure.”

“Tell Boomer it’s a consolation.”

“Huh?”

But he got nothing more out of Brick once Blossom and Princess showed up.

“Oh. My. God. Wait, let’s take a selfie.” Princess managed to get her arm around Brick’s neck, but he snatched her phone before she could take a picture.

“No fucking way, Princess,” he said.

Blossom grabbed his chin and kissed him right there, shameless. It was enough to distract him so Princess could reclaim her phone. “You know, I kind of like you as a clown.”

“I don’t.” Princess managed to snap a picture of Brick and Blossom. “But you’re pulling off the striped overalls, I have to say.”

“Burn that.” Brick advanced, but Blossom pulled him back with a laugh.

“Why so serious, Brick?” she teased.

Princess stuck her tongue out at him.

Butch left them to their childish shit; it was time for cake, and he had a brand new six-year-old to impress.

xxx

Buttercup was having a surprisingly good time. Between pizza with Butch and Boomer, hanging out with her sisters, and the everlasting memories that were clown Brick saved to her iCloud where he would never find them, today was turning out surprisingly well. Butch caught her eye across the yard and gestured inside, so she excused herself from the conversation with Ty and his sister to followed him.

He was in the kitchen when she found him.

“Hey, doll. Cornering me for dirty kitchen sex?” he teased.

Buttercup laughed at the sight of him, two percent bravado and ninety-eight percent imbecile. “Let me grab you a glass of water for that thirst.”

The cake he’d bought sat in a box in the fridge with Brisa’s name scribbled on the lid. Buttercup brought it out and set it on the counter. Then, she hunted for the colorful party platter Bubbles kept for special occasions.

Butch’s arms slipped around her waist from behind, and he pressed his nose to her loose hair. “Mm, you smell like pepperoni.”

“Eat my dick,” Buttercup said.

“I like it.”

“I bet you do, you horny carnivore.”

“Nooo, not the dirty talk,” he whined, pressing a kiss to her neck and pulling her back against him.

Buttercup fought against her growing smile as she opened the cake box and transferred the treat to the platter. “You need rehab.”

“If that’s your kink.”

Buttercup snorted. “Shut up and help me with this.”

They loaded up the chocolate cake on the platter, and Buttercup found the candles in a drawer.

“Got some shit on your nose,” Butch said.

“What?” He dabbed his chocolate frosted finger on the tip of her nose the moment she turned toward him, and she swatted his hand away. “Oh, come on. What are you, five?” She wiped the frosting from her nose and licked her finger clean.

No sooner had she finished than he grabbed her chin and kissed her deeply. In the quiet of the kitchen with no one around to see them, Buttercup gave into feeling and curled her fingers in his flannel shirt. When he smiled against her like the swooning buffoon he’d always been at heart, she laughed and pulled him closer.

His hands found their way over the curve of her ass, as they always did, and pulled her against him with a squeeze. “Fuck, I want you.”

“You always want me.”

“Have you seen your ass? You’d want you too.” He gave her another squeeze, and she had to bite her lip to stifle a moan.

Buttercup slipped her fingers through his hair, full and soft on top and shorn short behind the ears. For a moment, they simply stared at each other as Buttercup marveled at how much she wanted this, wanted him. She had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him, so badly she could feel it threatening to tear her in two.

“You have all this power,” he murmured, soft like it was a precious secret he clung to.

Buttercup could have laughed at how much he underestimated his own power of her. “Back at you.”

“No.” He touched his forehead to hers and breathed like they finally had time. “Not like you. Not like this.” His hand moved to her waist as if to lead her in a dance. “You have me, Buttercup.”

Buttercup’s eyes burned with a foreign heat, unwelcome. Butch used to scare her when he spoke to her like this; now, she could only bite her lip and wait for the threat of tears to pass. “Back at you,” she said again, shaky and so fucking grateful.

They stayed that way a moment, in the kitchen of her childhood home with the warm smell of chocolate and the low din of the party outside, and for the first time that day, Buttercup felt the tension ease from her shoulders.

“By the way,” Butch said, his eyes still closed and his forehead still pressed against her, “I’m fucking the shit out of you when we get back to my place.”

Buttercup smirked. “Great example you’re setting for your daughter.”

“I got her new headphones with noise canceling.”

“She’s going to notice if we break the tub again.”

“There’s a hose. She can bathe with that.”

“Just pressure wash her like a truck.”

“Fast, efficient, and it’ll save on the water bill.”

“You don’t even pay for water, the landlord does.”

“Hey, I’m a good Samaritan lookin’ out for my neighbors.”

“Screw the neighbors.” Buttercup ran her fingers over his lips, down his chin to his chest, where his heart thundered under her touch. “I want you to fuck the shit out of me.”

Butch laughed hoarsely. “Maybe I should ask Boomer to take Brisa tonight.”

They parted, and Buttercup was about to tell him to grab the cake while she hunted for a knife when she finally noticed his cheek. “Did Brick do that?”

“The rocket ship? Yeah, good excuse to talk to him.”

“A rocket ship, huh?” Buttercup smiled so brightly her cheeks began to hurt. “That was nice of him.”

Butch gave her a weird look. “Whatever, we’re hanging out tomorrow. After today, I figure he can use it.”

Buttercup’s throat wrenched as she tried her best not to burst out laughing. “Don’t quote me, but he sort of saved my ass today. The other clown died.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, he literally died.”

“Wow, party almost ruined.”

“I mean, also a man is dead.”

“Oh, shit, yeah you’re right. Sorry. I guess don’t tell Brisa.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ. Grab that cake and don’t drop it.”

xxx

Brisa grinned to the point of bursting as everyone sang Happy Birthday to her and she blew out her candles. Cake went by in a breeze as the kids screamed about presents next. Like some hot, pink angel, Blossom took charge of the activities with Robin’s and Buttercup’s assistance and made sure the kids were thoroughly entertained so that Butch could eat his cake and watch his little girl enjoy her special day.

Now, seated on the picnic table again with Boomer and Bubbles, he dug into the slice Bubbles said she couldn’t finish.

“Hey, Butch,” Boomer said, chill.

“Yeah?” Butch asked.

“Why’s there a huge dick on your face?”

“Huh?”

On Butch’s other side, Bubbles poked his painted cheek. “It’s a very proportionate dick. Good dimensions.”

Boomer wheezed into his beer. Butch choked on his cake. At the next table over, Brick, that soggy ballsack, stood chatting with Princess Morbucks and Mike Believe still in his full clown regalia sipping sangria through a bendy straw. The moment he felt Butch’s eyes on him, he grinned maliciously around his straw.

“Motherfucker—” Butch tried to get up, but Bubbles grabbed his wrist.

“Language, Butch. There are children around,” she sang, cheerful as a fucking bell.

Butch pointed at Brick. “You—you clown!”

“Hey, that’s Flameo Hotman to you,” said Mike, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t know he was about to be drop-kicked in the face.

Princess squinted at Butch. “Is that a cock on your face?”

“It sure is,” Boomer said, mid-heart attack.

“Daddy, come hit the piñata with me!” Brisa came bounding over with a stick and a blindfold.

“Great timing, Brisa!” Bubbles shoved Butch way too hard toward his overeager daughter, and he had no choice but to accept the stick and blindfold.

“Uh, right,” he stammered, trying to reign it in. It was her birthday; Brick and his dick pic clownery could wait.

A hand on Butch’s shoulder squeezed too hard to be entirely friendly, and he turned to get a face full of said clown.

“Honk honk, motherfucker,” Brick said under his breath.

Butch raised his hand to decapitate his brother right there, but Brisa yanked him with her Super strength, and he had no choice but to let it lie.

The sight of Buttercup nearby watching him take his place at the piñata should have mollified him, but she had let him walk out of that kitchen dick pic’d, a betrayal of the highest order…and a quality prank, if he was honest.

He’d let his guard down around her.

It was his own mistake, underestimating her.

The heat of a challenge in her eyes as she watched him lift the blindfold to his eyes set fire to his blood. After all was said and done today and Butch left Brisa with Brick because fuck his fancy Saturday plans, Butch would take Buttercup’s advice and screw the neighbors. Tonight they were putting on a show.

With a self-satisfied grin, Butch lowered the blindfold, readied the stick, and imagined the red piñata was Brick in his ridiculous clown nose.

xxx

Hm, seeding the future Buttercup and Brick friendship I’ve been waiting so long to dive into for this universe? It’s more likely than you think. 👀

Thank you so much for reading! Long live the clown cult (Blossom ghostwrote this). 🤡

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

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also on ff.net and ao3

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Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon  @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin, @kiwistreetswan and whoever else asks me.

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A/N: Part 2 of 2. Surprise, bitch. Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me!

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Killian

How do you feel about improv? ES

Trepidatious. KJ

What if I told you some random just gave me last minute tickets to a Jane Austen inspired improv drag show, and I have a spare? ES

Curiosity alone compels me to say yes. Pleasance? KJ

George Square. ES

Thank fuck. I forgot my umbrella. KJ

If Killian had any sense, he'd approach the month of August the same way Robin did every year. Which mostly amounted to renting his house out to a troupe of Hungarian acrobats for extortionate sums of money and taking off for the south of France, thus avoiding the whole sorry spectacle.

A privilege reserved for those not living out of their older brother's spare room. Nor stuck writing Fringe reviews for his ailing periodical.

He thought his latest was his best yet.

Do you value your time? Your money? Your life? Then walk, don't run, as far from this act as you can. No one this incompetent should be wielding chainsaws, let alone juggling them. I may have been the only one-handed man at the preview, but with this shambolic spectacle set to run for the rest of the week, I expect I won't be the last. 0 stars.

Liam had accused him of being deliberately cruel, but he hadn't seen the show firsthand. The phrase 'culpable and reckless conduct' came to mind. His review went up online, unchallenged.

To his great surprise, his favourite show so far had been the improv show Emma had dragged him along to. It had all the subtle snark and invariable romance of Austen's classic novels, with the added benefit of Emma nearly passing out from laughing so hard. That alone would have justified his five star review, but the cherry on the cake had been when the man dressed as the elderley Dowager had picked August out from the crowd, and made him part of the act.

Killian generally condemned the casual cruelty of audience participation. Indeed, he lived in constant fear of it at every show he reviewed. But when it came for a certain novelist, he found his views on the matter suddenly rather... fluid.

Try as he might, he couldn't see what Emma saw in the man. What hidden virtues he possessed that had provoked such a ferocious loyalty. Killian wasn't stupid enough to voice such thoughts, of course, but that hadn't stopped him trying to figure it out.

The opportunity to continue this study was surely the only reason he'd opened an unsolicited DM from the man himself, when he should have been watching a Swedish comedy troupe send up classic films in a series of skits.

We have a mutual friend in need. How's your schedule looking uhhh… now?

Killian looked back to the stage. He couldn't be sure, but he thought the red streamers might signify blood. They were either up to Carrie or Jaws.

Trouble? Killian typed back.

Emma. The next message read.

We're in a bar in Leith and things have gotten a little… messy.

Killian checked the time. Barely past one in the afternoon. And fucking Leith? That didn't bode well. But at the same time, his review of the show was supposed to be online within the hour.

With a growing sense of unease, he typed out his reply. Which pub?

***

Stepping into The Marksman on Duke Street was not unlike stepping back in time. More precisely, to somewhere smack dab in middle of the Thatcher era, when Leith was a byword for deprivation and whatever comes after heroin chic. It was charmless, grimy and depressing, and Killian might've never understood the appeal until he caught the sign in the window. It opened at 6am.

Trying to avoid the abject stares of the locals, Killian found his quarry sat at the end of the bar on mismatching stools. Emma slumped forward, her face hidden, but August turned around swiftly at his approach, the alarm in his eyes quickly giving way to recognition.

"Oh thank god." August swept off his barstool, his relief so palpable that Killian thought he might hug him. He didn't look well. Thoroughly debauched, if one might say so, and in desperate need of a bath.

"Nice place," Killian remarked drily. "A bit off the beaten path…"

August pinched the bridge of his nose, looking weary. Or… wearier. "It's been a long night. And morning." He glanced back to where Emma sat propped by the bar, apparently still completely unaware of his absence, and drew closer, his voice lowering.

"You know that Graham guy?"

Killian couldn't explain it, but something inside his chest caught. Like flint striking steel. "Aye," he growled, not liking where this was headed.

"Married," August supplied, without preamble. "She didn't know. No one knew. She ran into them holding hands in the Tron. Matching wedding bands. The whole bit. So she threw her beer in his face and called it a day, right? But this morning, no, yesterday morning, the wife showed up. At the apartment. Emma's apartment."

Killian's fist clenched by his side.

"Yeeaah. It got pretty heated. Long story short, it's been a day and a half. I don't even remember how we got here. I'm not sure I even know exactly where here is. I have to be on a train at 4 to King's Cross or my publisher is going to sue my ass. Now, I can trust you? To get her home safely? You look at her like you're half a drink away from belting out Jessie's Girl at any given moment. I didn't imagine that, did I?"

Of all the places to grudgingly admit his feelings, not least in confidence to this man he wasn't sure he even liked, The Marksman was not the venue he would have chosen. And yet.

"There's very little I wouldn't do for that woman."

He was caught by surprise when the man launched forward and kissed him on the cheek, more still when he went back for the other cheek. August grinned enormously, grasping Killian by the shoulders. "Welcome to the family! Please don't fuck it up." And then consulting his phone, "I really need to go."

August made short work of the rest of his goodbyes, pulling Emma into fierce hug from behind, whispering something into her ear as he let her go. Then, with a wink in Killian's direction and a kiss blown at the nearest crusty Leither, he picked up his messenger bag and fled onto the street.

Steeling himself after that prologue, Killian turned back to where Emma sat by the bar, unseeing reddened eyes peeking out from under a tangle of blonde hair. He pulled out August's vacated stool, and took a seat.

"Swan," he began, with an imaginary tip of his cap.

"Jones," she replied, her voice flatter than he'd ever heard it.

"Of all the gin joints…"

She grimaced. Though her frown was so pronounced already, it didn't make much of a change. "We don't talk about the gin."

"At least tell me it was the good stuff."

She tried to smile, but the action seemed to cause her pain. "Don't do that. Don't be nice to me right now."

"Why not? You're not the villain in this story."

A small noise escaped her, half laugh, half sob. "Sure feels like it."

"No, that's the supermarket gin talking. We've talked about this. Nothing good ever came from a clear spirit at 35p a measure."

She sank further forward in her seat, her forehead resting against the bar top. "Don't be cute. Please just leave me alone to die," she mumbled.

He couldn't resist tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, making sure she could see him. "I'm not going to do that. I have a duty of care."

"Why? Because you'd have to find someone else to write a column about?"

"No," he replied levelly. "Because you're my best friend."

That had her lifting her head off the bar, albeit wincing as she did so. "I thought Robin was your best friend?"

He tapped his chin. "No, it's definitely you."

She considered that. Though how much of her internal brain processes had survived the pickling process over the last 24 hours, Killian couldn't be certain.

Of course, it was at that moment their bartender appeared, a middle aged woman with an ill-fitting polo shirt and bright green acrylic nails she drummed against the bar top. "Another top up, hen?" She didn't even glance at Killian.

He put his hand over Emma's glass. "Actually, I'm afraid we're on our way out."

Their server didn't much like that, a hand finding her hip. "Well that's up for the lass to decide, no?"

"It's okay, Tracy," Emma said, managing a consoling smile. "He's a friend. Are we all settled up?"

"We are." She gave Killian a cool once over. "Friend, you say? Mind you keep it that way. Looks like nothing but trouble to me. And you still raw after the last one. Liars and cheats, the lot of them."

Killian thought to take offence, but Emma already had him by the arm, pulling him off his stool. "Thanks, Tracy. Can you call me a cab?"

***

Getting her into the cab took some doing, not least because she had to pause twice to throw up in the gutter, and the first guy had driven off. Fair play to him. Thankfully by the time the second cab arrived Emma's stomach had settled, and she spent the drive curled harmlessly against Killian's side.

"Your lassie alright?" the cabbie asked, as Killian half lifted, half dragged her from the backseat out onto the gravel driveway. "You need a hand?"

It was a testament to how preoccupied he was that Killian didn't even stop to consider that might've been a crack about his prosthetic until Emma was already inside and passed out on his bed.

He texted Elsa first. A simple heads up.

There's an unconscious woman in the house. Don't freak out. KJ

It went about as well as you'd expect.

At least he had sisterly back up when he broke the news to Liam that he wasn't getting his review.

Needless to say, by the time Emma raised her groggy head from his pillow, the house was no longer silent, and it was no longer still. Elsa had insisted on rushing home, and boyish shrieks permeated the air, punctuated by the usual crashing and banging.

Killian sat in his one armchair, an ugly monstrosity of purple velvet which had been forbidden from the rest of the house, sipping his tea as she came awake. It took some time. One eyelid slithered open. Then the other. Never both at the same time.

"Do I want to know why someone is screaming in the next room?" Her voice was scratchy, and he motioned towards the glass of water by the bedside.

"Nephews," Killian said by way of explanation, as she crawled forward to grasp the glass in both hands, shaking with the effort.

She took a long draught, surveying her surroundings. He wondered how much she remembered from the last two days, if anything. If she even remembered his arrival at The Marksman, or August's leaving. She examined the ornate cornices, and floating beams. The collection of spent paperbacks stacked by the bed and the shabby, unmatched furniture.

"Your house. Your room?"

"My room," he confirmed. "We have guest rooms, but they're upstairs. And quite frankly, just getting you this far was nightmare enough. You're heavier than you look."

He earned a pillow to the face for that remark. It still smelled of her, which in her current state, wasn't much of a testimonial.

"Shower?" he ventured.

"Please," she said, rolling over until she could place both feet on the floor.

"Second door on the right. Elsa left some things out. Towels. Fancy shampoo. Paracetamol," he added with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Should be a set of clothes too."

She cringed. "Elsa knows I'm here?"

"Sorry. It's a new house rule of theirs. Radical honesty. Elsa knows you're having a rough time of it, and are convalescing. But that is the extent of her knowledge. Whether that remains the case, is entirely up to you."

"Right."

"Oh," he said, smacking his forehead. He scrabbled around on top of his dresser, before presenting her with a wooden triangle.

She took it automatically, seeming annoyed at herself for doing so. "Uh, thanks?"

"The bathroom door doesn't have a lock on it. Best wedge it under the door. Trust me when I say, you don't want Lachie walking in on you in the altogether. It's stressful for all involved."

"Good tip," she said, with a ghost of a smile.

She edged past him awkwardly to the door, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She'd already slipped into the hallway when her head appeared back around the door.

"Killian?"

"Aye?"

"I'm horrendously hungover so you probably can't tell, but I appreciate, uh…" she waved the wedge around vaguely. "All this."

"Swan?"

"Yeah?"

"I mean this in the nicest possible way, but please do shut up," he said with a wink. "Also, you're taking me out for pancakes after, so don't be too long."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, am I just?"

"You are indeed. Best thing for a gin hangover, in my limited experience. And it was very generous of you to offer."

"Very generous," she agreed, dubiously. "And Killian?

"Aye?"

"You're so full of shit. But... I do love pancakes. And one more thing?"

"Hmm?"

She kicked a toe into the carpet, eyes evasive. "You're sort of my best friend, too." Then she disappeared back behind the door, leaving Killian slack jawed.

***

He'd nearly finished two chapters of his book by the time Emma returned from her trip to the bathroom, shower soft and minty fresh.

"Better?" he asked, putting the novel aside.

"Much," she agreed. "Though full disclosure, I think I just used a $300 tube of lotion, and I kinda smell like a baby Porsche."

"The very best kind of Porsche," Killian assured her, offering her his prosthetic to take. "They're terrors once they hit the teenage years. Shall we?"

They crossed Bruntsfield Links just after sunset, the sky still streaked with pink and orange. He'd always loved summers in Scotland, that neverending twilight. It almost made shivering through six months of winter worthwhile. He was so busy admiring the scene, he nearly missed it when Emma detached herself from his arm, stopping in her tracks.

"Emma?"

She was standing entirely still, her eyes shut.

"Are you alright, love?"

Her eyes flickered open, almost surprised to see him still standing there. "Sorry, just… cataloguing."

"Cataloguing," Killian repeated, deadpan.

"Yeah, smartass," she said, walking forward to loop her arm under his again. "Cataloguing. Sometimes I forget, but this-" she indicated the kaleidoscope sky, the green-gold expanse of grass disappearing into the distant smudge that was Arthur's Seat, the group of laughing teenagers nearby trying to finish their mini golf game before they lost the light, "-Sometimes I still have to pinch myself."

She didn't elaborate, and Killian found himself oddly lost for words. He just reached over to squeeze her hand, and led her back towards the city lights.

For the time of year, they got lucky. The line was short, and it wasn't long before they were led to a red vinyl booth, complete with its very own mini jukebox. They both stared at it for a good minute before Emma fished a spare pound out of her pocket, and dropped it onto the table between them. "Your call. I'm going to the bathroom. Anything but Don't Stop Believin'."

Lord help him, but he thought he might love her.

He settled for a less foreboding tune, which morphed into another, then another, before he was fishing out his own coins to keep the party going. If he didn't know her any better, he might've thought she'd done a runner on him. Fortunately, he did know her better. Or at least, he was starting to.

She came back just in time for the guitar solo in The Chain, her I'm-bearing-up smile indicating she was doing nothing of the sort.

"Ruby texted," she explained, taking her seat opposite him. "About twenty times. She wouldn't stop until I FaceTimed her. I miss anything?"

"Just side one of Rumours. And your drink order." He indicated the glass of fizzy orange liquid in front of her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Fanta?"

"Irn-Bru. Best hangover cure there is."

She cast him a doubtful look.

"I'm serious. There's been studies."

"Oh well, if there's been studies." She slid the glass minutely closer, but didn't partake. Instead she watched as Killian lifted his own glass, and made a face.

He lowered his glass. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about how I'm never drinking again. I didn't even know they served beer here."

"They do, but this is Dry Ginger."

She raised an eyebrow. "Ginger ale? You?"

Killian shrugged. "It's something I'm trying. Like a cleanse. But instead of drinking juice and doing yoga, I drink post-mix dry ginger and be less of a twat."

"Sobriety." Emma slapped her hand against the table. "I wish I'd thought of that. But I've barely seen you, when did you decide this?"

"Roughly…" he counted back the days, "43 days ago." When I thought I'd lost your friendship forever. But he didn't have to say it. From the look on her face, she already knew the significance.

"Huh." Emma sat back in her seat, absorbing that. But if she was planning on expanding on that thought, she was saved by the arrival of their waitress, who was all too eager to expound on the daily specials.

By the time they were alone again, Emma had cracked and was halfway through her Irn-Bru.

"I mean, it's not repellent…" she offered, by way of grudging approval.

"Trust me, it works." And then because he felt like they'd danced around it long enough, "So do you want to talk about it?"

She set down her glass, letting her fingers trace along the edge of the table top. "Nope. But somehow I feel like we're going to anyway."

"It was only about eight hours ago you wanted me to leave you to die in Leith's most depressing pub. I feel like it warrants at least a conversation."

She grimaced at the memory. Or perhaps where the memories ought to have been. It was hard for him to be sure.

"I fell in love with a married woman once. If you're worried about my judgement, you needn't be."

He wasn't quite sure where it had come from. This sudden urge to talk about Milah. But it was how they'd always operated, wasn't it? If he wanted Emma to take down her walls, he had to offer up a few bricks from his own. Well, this was more of a boulder, really, but at least he had her attention.

She snorted. "I wasn't in love with Graham."

"So what's the problem?"

"Because," she reasoned, tears springing into her eyes. "It's just so fucking mortifying. To be played for a fool, again. I thought I was smarter than that. I thought I could just, I don't know, flirt with a cute, intelligent guy and feel good about myself for five fucking seconds without it ending with his wife beating down my door demanding to know if I'd fucked her husband!"

She'd gotten a little loud towards the end there, with more than a few wary eyes glancing their way. Killian quickly stood up, and made his way over to her side of the booth, slipping in beside her. It was a tight fit, but it did succeed in sheltering her from most of the stares.

"Alright, so he's a tosser."

Another snort.

"Liam's bookie knows a guy. I could make a few calls?"

She shot him a sideways glance. "Don't tempt me right now. I just feel so stupid. But like, in an angry way."

"You're not stupid for being taken in by him. It's not a weakness to want to see the best in people, Emma. In fact, considering how many people in your life have disappointed you, myself included, I'd say it's pretty bloody brave."

Emma shook her head. "Is it though? I saw red flags. Even from the start he was kind of flaky. I wasn't even sure if I really liked him. It just appealed to my vanity, that he seemed to like me. So don't I deserve this? Just a little?"

"No." Killian wasn't sure where the vehemence came from, but he could feel it, welling up. "No, you don't deserve to be lied to, and dragged into the middle of someone else's messed up marriage without your knowledge or consent. No, you don't deserve being made to feel like the side-piece. You're not the side-piece. You're the heroine. And he's just a fucking wanker. What you deserve..." He looked up to see their server approaching the table, platters piled high with maple syrup topped goodness. He shot Emma a smile. "What you deserve, is pancakes."

***

It would've been remiss of him not to foot the bill, after his earlier declaration about her deserving pancakes, so there'd been a little bit of an argument about that as they wended their way down Clerk Street in the growing darkness. That Emma could argue about not paying for the pancakes he'd goaded her into in the first place, was a testament to the healing powers of Irn-Bru and a triple stack. No truly hungover person would have committed to such a futile battle.

But when they arrived at the beginning of her street, Emma stopped arguing and grabbed a hold of Killian's arm, pulling him up short.

She was shaking her hands out, like she was fighting off an attack of nerves, and Killian was instantly on the defensive. "Swan?"

She stopped when he said her name, plastering on what seemed to him a rather brittle smile. "Hey. Sorry. I'm just wondering, would you do me a favour?"

He had to chuckle at that. "Swan, if the last twelve hours have proven anything, it's that yes, I am available for favours. Unless of course they involve you paying me back for the pancakes. Because I'm afraid I'm rather immovable on that front."

"Great. So umm… Ruby has this theory."

"Ruby has a theory?" he repeated, hoping at some point, things would start making sense. "What manner of… theory?"

"Oh, god this is so stupid," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm just going to say it. I'm just going to come right out and say it: I want you to kiss me."

Something very violent was happening inside Killian's chest, a feeling which was neither happiness, nor disappointment, but a crushing combination of the two. He felt hot and cold. He felt light-headed.

"You want-" he started.

Emma's eyes were screwed shut, as if bracing for a blow. Or in this case, the fallout. She already had regrets. And more than that, it had been Ruby's idea. But why would Ruby…?

Of course.

The best way to get over a man, was to get under a new one. Wasn't that the old adage?

It wasn't about him. It wasn't about them.

No, she'd been clear. I want you to kiss me. She'd chosen him. She trusted him to be the one to soothe her wounded pride. Maybe she'd hoped it would be him. Maybe he was just the most convenient option. In any case, the wondering would certainly kill him.

But not as much as going through with it.

He reached out and took her hand, waiting until she opened her eyes. By Christ, people weren't supposed to look so beautiful by yellow street light. It wasn't scientific. And yet.

"No."

Now it was her turn to look like someone had punched her in the stomach.

"Oh." She made to release her hand from his, but he held firm. In fact, he pulled her closer, just a little.

"No, I'm not going to kiss your bruised pride back into place. Because I promise you, it's going to heal just fine on its own. You don't need a kiss from me or anyone to remind you what you're worth. You never have. It's one of my favourite things about you. Understand?"

Her reply was a little choked up when it came. "Got it."

She gravitated closer, her eyes shining, and he felt like he was losing his mind. He was certainly losing his nerve. He settled instead for raising her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles.

"That's one for the road."

He released her then, though nearly every part of his was screaming at him to do the opposite. Thankfully, she looked just as shaken as he felt. He nearly twisted his ankle in a gutter trying to put a little distance between them. And then he had one perfect surge of stupid confidence, and turned back to face her. She was still standing under the streetlight where he'd left her, looking oddly incomplete.

"Will you do me a favour, Swan?" he called out.

She held up her hands in a helpless shrug. "Sure."

"When the time is right, ask me again."

Then with his heart hammering a million miles a minute, he turned away and slipped into the adjoining street, and back into the night.

[fingersfallingupwards]

ULTIMATE Beatlemaniac Tag!

Thank you @femininehygieneproducts for making this whole THOROUGH thing, and a big thanks to @ourladylennon for tagging me!💖

How long have you been a fan? I liked them from a young age (yellow sub was my chidhood JAM) but only REALLY got into them about eight years ago. It’s been off and on since, so I still don’t consider myself an expert the way some people are on this website.

Favorite Beatle: Paul, but I spend a lot of time disliking him hahaha.

Favorite era for music: Mid-to-late Beatles. There’s no doubt their early stuff is a bop, but I love the sounds they were able to start putting together later, so complex and so wonderful!

Favorite era for lewks: Gottta be moptops. These lads just glow in black and white. A close and controversial second is White Album, “our lives are falling apart” chic.

Favorite song: Julia not a popular choice hahaha. Second would be Two of Us— whoever it’s for it’s a bloody masterpiece! Lady Madonna is also quite high up. It’s just a bop!

Favorite album: Revolver with a close second/third being the US release of Magical Mystery Tour and the White Album.

Unpopular/Controversial Beatles opinion: I don’t really like any of the boys. I’m fascinated by them, and I have a huge respect for them! But as people I’m just like…. You are the type I dislike. (lmao, still dedicated years of my life to them.) Also, I like John’s heroin-hair. I didn’t know it was heroin hair when I first saw it!

A song everyone loves but you dislike: The Long and Winding Road. I DESPISE this song.

A song everyone dislikes but you love: Wild Honey Pie/Honey Pie. I love these songsss.

Your fantasy involving The Beatles: find out what happened in India. Maybe get trapped in an elevator with Paul and, after being Aggressively Normal, ask him the details.

Tell us about the moment you knew you were a fan: Paul’s hip and leg bounce when he plays the bass.

Did you ever have a genuine ‘The Beatles suck!’ phase before becoming a fan? I don’t think so actually. I think I thought Hey Jude was really weird when I first heard it, but otherwise I was like, this is the band that’s music is in all these commercials.

Favorite Beatles book: I haven’t read many books actually. I think I’d go with Geoff Emerick’s because it’s definitely flawed and biased, but also has some humor about things and a personal, (appreciably self-centered) take. I also love all the details about recording Revolver. So vital!

Thoughts on the old generation of fans: I’ve mostly had positive interactions with the older generation! They were really nice when I was first getting into the fandom and I learned (and still learn!) so much from them! Lennonistas are a different matter...

If Hollywood were to make a high budget Beatles biopic, what is one thing you desperately hope they include? Fuck bio-pics. Honestly there is too much agenda involved when making one. They don’t make people human, they make them less human imho.

Do you read/write fanfic?: I do both! I’ve been destroyed by stunning authors and question my worth as a writer A LOT but I also have fun and feel a certain pride in some of my things. This fandom has lasted so long and I think that’s amazing! I hope people continue to write in this niche💖

Are you the only one in your family/friend group to enjoy them?: both my parents like them! But not as much as I do.

Are you a shipper?: It could be said.

Favorite movie starring/made by them?: Ooh, Yellow Sub, but in actuality I don’t really love their movies. Let It Be is worth a watch though also PAINFUL.

Do you believe in McLennon?:  yes & no (keeping this answer because exactly.)

General opinions on McLennon?: This pairing is the only RPF pairing that I find entirely PLAUSIBLE. I think people (especially the public) have been remiss not to treat their relationship (considering John’s likely-if-not-ensured bisexuality) with the same prejudice they treat opposite sex pairings. It’s disgraceful there hasn’t been actual published essays on the subject. There’s so much there! (of course, with some folks still in alive and others guarded by estates, well…).

If you got to change ONE thing about their history, what would it be and why?: The Jesus comment. I think it really poked John into dangerous territory mentally. He wasn’t ready for it.

What song has the best vocals?:  Hey Bulldog! John’s screeching laughter and the barking is just so good. Chosen on both skill and joy-factor.

What song do you feel had no effort put into it?: Nothing actually comes to mind. Maybe Long, Long, Long. But also I just get bored of that song. The drums are good, but the rest of it is just… ugh I don’t get it.

What is a well talked about moment in Beatles history you genuinely believe to be false?: Gonna agree and say “Yoko breaking up the Beatles.” Uhhh, if you don’t think John and George had a LOT to say in the decision you aren’t giving them credit I don’t think.

What is something you KNOW to be true, but often gets erased in their history?: John and Paul were equals.

Least favorite look from a Beatle(s): Difficult, but gotta be Blond Paul McCartney. Stuff of nightmares.

Favorite look from a Beatle(s): Paul fresh in the black and white era. He looked too good in black and white.

I’ll tag... @drivenalphabitchpaulmccartney​ @20forthlin-road​ @paperbackwaiter​ @princessleiaqueen​ @thisbirdhadflownx​ and @esherdemo​ Hope ya’ll tag me in your answers so I can read~! 💖

[tesdir-blog]

Heroine Chic

Can I talk about one of my favorite Webtoons that is completed(?) This time I am not going to talk about The Badguys...but read it anyway.

One of the series that I was the most attached to on Webtoon was Heroine Chic. And honestly I shouldn’t be using the past tense. I still love it and I do find myself rereading it when I am in the mood.

How can you not love it? It’s basically a comic about Edna Mode’s profession! There is even an Edna Mode cameo in chapter 82! For the people who are bothering to read this, there are more reasons to read it.

It’s a comic that touches on multiple topics such as how drama comics should work. There is romance, mystery,politics,  feminism, and LGBT issues, and of course, superheroes so you can expect some cool fight scenes. It’s kind of refreshing to see a comic in a superhero style despite it not being exclusively a superhero comic. Also a fun little thing that Webtoon fans would understand is that the authors read the comments. One minor character that was sort of a reader inside joke became a main character. Spoiler I guess. Also do enjoy the “Damn Daniel” jokes I still find them funny.

The only problem that I can think of is the “complete” tag. At the end of the third season there we were promised a fourth. That’s what the authors talked about. Their social media also talked about the fourth season for a while, but when the complete tag came up they went dark...

I still find myself hoping that it will be a case like Dragnarok where the fourth season actually gets a second series in a sense. It has been a bit over a year since the season 3 finale so despite still hoping I’m not so sure if it will come. I’m literally reading over 70 comics on Webtoon, but I still can’t get Heroine Chic out of my head! Give it some love!

Thanks for reading till the end.

[michonnes]

I was tagged by @skasse​ to participate in her super amazing ALL HALLOWS WRITE tag! 

1. My WIP is entitled 2,000 Light Years (it's a tentative title) and is about a woman named Lucy Rawlins that travels to the future to save the outcome of some events that happen to her in the present. It's a science fiction, adventure novel mixed with a dabble of comedy, romance, and revenge turtlenecks. QUESTIONS:

1. It’s Halloween night! What is your protagonist dressed up as? Lucy is a procrastinator and spends most of her time saying what she will do so naturally, she doesn’t have a costume right up until the last minute. She spent most of her childhood in outfits: ballet, karate, soccer, dance... so when Halloween rolls around as and adult, she tosses on a bed sheet and says she imitating Geena Davis from Beetlejuice because she's really just showing up for the candy and food. 

2. Who in your cast refuses to dress up and shows up at the Halloween party without a costume? Cliché I know, but my big bad Hugo Cronus would attend without a costume. First of all, Hugo is quite a vain man. He refuses to crash a party dressed up in some ridiculous outfit. If he's going to prove a point, he's going to at least be looking good in a three-piece to do it.  

3. Which character wears the most outrageous costume, and what would it be?Kitt, Lucy's partner in crime and assistant in saving the world. Kitt's a fun and funny guy. He likes to bring light into everyone's life, even if it is just for a second. But don't be surprised if he wore a chick magnet costume and Lucy showed up dressed as a chick because those two are both equally as ridiculous. 

4. On Halloween, werewolves, vampires, and zombies are on the prowl. Which of your characters gets caught in their clutches, and which creature do they subsequently turn into? Lucy's birth mother, Rashida. Being a scientist and so invested in her STEM career, she was always questioning the how and why. She would easily stumble upon something supernatural and get caught. More than likely, she would become a vampire and that's mostly for the aesthetic. Rashida says you can be smart and chic!

5. Who wins the contest for best costume? Hands down, Theo, the family dog. Lucy's mothers adored dressing Lucy up for Halloween in the quirkiest outfits. When Theo came along, the poor guy became their latest inspiration. Besides, children in the neighborhood love it. A golden retriever dressed up like Harry Potter? You can't beat that. 

6. Who hands out toothbrushes to the trick and treaters? Henriette, Lucy's adopted mother. She can't help it, she's a retired dentist and she knows that Lucy's other mother, Charlene is piling candies into those little bags. 

7. Which two of your characters decide to pair up and do an angel/devil costume together? I have two answers! First of all, Kitt and his best friend Nicko would eat up the angel/devil costume! Kitt would be the devil and Nicko would be the angel but only because Nicko feels like he looks better in white. And again, gotta go with my favorite character Theo the Dog. Henriette and Charlene would love that! They'd use a play on words and call sweet Theo their little "Angel in Disguise". Get it?

8. Someone is too scared to even attend the Halloween party. Who is it? No one is really too afraid to come to a Halloween party. Lucy's mother Henriette may be wary of a few costumes but she's just a fun person all around so she would still attend them.

9. Who overdoses on Halloween candy and ends up sick? Our heroine of course! Lucy grew up with a mom as a dentist so candy and sugary snacks were limited. As an adult, Lucy binges. And gets sick!

10. Which character is most likely to place a curse/hex on someone and who would they curse? My girl Artemis. The only game she plays is the long one. And you will learn that when you read the book! 

 I'm tagging all my writers because I think it would be fun to see your answers. 

Thanks for including me in this, @skasse​ and HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEN!

[asfeedin]

A look back at the most stylish 90s TV characters

Instead of watching new shows on Netflix (yes, yes, I know I need to watch Tiger King), the lockdown has had the opposite effect on me, making me want to revisit my teenage years by binging on all the 90s TV shows.

Yep, Buffy, Friends, Ally McBeal, I almost forgot how good they were. Sure, some of them haven’t dated too well in terms of special effects or technology, however I am pleased to report that’s not the case with the protagonists’ fashion choices.

Case in point, here’s a definite guide of the most stylish TV characters of the 90s.

Buffy Summers (Buffy, The Vampire Slayer)

Teenage Buffy was the queen of mini dresses, crop tops with printed trousers and choker necklaces. Her style remained great throughout the show, but I have a soft spot for the early years, especially the white dress she wore with a biker jacket in the finale of Season 1.

Rachel Green (FRIENDS)

Obviously working in fashion, Rachel Green is always the most stylish character on the sitcom (sorry Monica and Phoebe). The Ralph Lauren years were especially spot on, so much so that By Far issued its own Rachel bag as an ode to the character’s fondness of baguette bags. The show ended in 2004, but the 90s side of things were where Rachel really shone, thanks to tailored dresses, suits and even stylish tracksuit bottoms.

Ally McBeal (Ally McBeal)

You’d think having to wear suits every day would be quite limiting, but Ally McBeal rose to the challenge, always incorporating her quirky personality into her wardrobe, which translated into colourful suits and sassy details.

Dana Scully (The X-Files)

Another great suited heroine, Dana went down the more classic route, opting for oversized, masculine suits which I would totally wear now. Great trench coat collection too.

Angela Chase (My so-called life)

No one wore slip dresses over t-shirts and plaid shirts quite like Angela Chase.

Hillary Banks (The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air)

So many hats, frilly gloves and outrageous ruffles, but also loads of chic designer suits and dresses.

Prue Halliwell (Charmed)

While Piper’s style was safe and Phoebe’s was a little too kooky, Prue’s hit that sweet spot. When she wasn’t suited and booted for her art curator job (those silk shirts though), she could be seen wearing cute cardigans and tank tops, as well as flattering midi dresses with wedge sandals.

Kelly Kapwoski (Saved by the Bell)

Let’s be honest, we all wanted to be Kelly Kapowski, with her denim jackets and mini skirts, and crazy prints. Technically late 80s, but as the show ended in the early 90s, I’ve allowed it.

Carrie Bradshaw (Sex and the City)

You didn’t think I’d end this round-up without mentioning Carrie Bradshaw now did you? Her style was of course legendary throughout the show, which ended in 2004, however since this is a 90s round-up, I thought I’d focus on her early years, which included a lot of sexy little dresses, as well as more masculine oversized tailoring paired with fitted trousers.

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Tags: 90s, characters, Stylish, TV

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[kaseyspeaks]

NYFW 2019 Looks 3 & 4

Guess who’s back and ready to share the next lot of NYFW 2019 looks?? That’s right, it’s ME!! 

NYFW 2019 Look 3: Rebecca Minkoff Goes Edgy with a Leather Jacket and Glam Accessories

Rebecca Minkoff Andrea Jacket | Intimissi Bodysuit | Dark Wash Jeans | Rebecca Minkoff Mules | Rebecca Minkoff Gold Sunglasses | Rebecca Minkoff Stella Convertible Satchel | White Tassel Earrings | Sequin Moon & Star Necklace | Brook & York Metro Cuff Bracelet | Brook & York Coordinate Bracelet | Sequin Sagittarius Bracelet | Geometric Bracelet | Charm Bracelet

PREPARATION

The Wetherly Group invited me to pick out some Rebecca Minkoff items to wear to her NYFW 2019 presentation, and I noticed the leather jacket and statement accessories right away. All of the pieces were chic and edgy, and I couldn’t wait to wear them to the presentation. I wasn’t able to shoot this look beforehand, but thankfully my video intern was there to save the day. We shot the look after the presentation, and then rewarded ourselves with some Artichoke Pizza (AKA: THE BEST PIZZA EVERRR)!

DAY 3 + LOOK 3

So, Day 3 of NYFW started and right when I woke up, I felt like such a celebrity! E! News invited me to a photoshoot for a feature on their website (see the post HERE) and even sent a Cadillac Escalade to pick me up from my home. It was the perfect way to start my morning! I pulled up to Spring Studios in the car to attend the amazing Son Jung Wan S/S ’20 Show and then headed to the E! News studio right after. Then, after the E! News shoot, I went straight to the Rebecca Minkoff presentation and was so ready to see some new looks for her Spring/Summer 2020 collection!

THE BASICS

To start off this look, I chose the stunning and chic Rebecca Minkoff Andrea Jacket. Leather jackets are a favorite of mine to accentuate any outfit. I even wrote about having them as a staple in your fashion closet in a previous blog post, so you know the love is real! Next, I paired the jacket with a HOT bodysuit from Intimissi. The zebra print and the lace looked so nice with a pair of dark wash jeans (shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE). Overall, I was so happy with how this look turned out. I felt sophisticated, sexy, and most importantly confident!

ACCESSORIES

To make the look pop even more, I chose some amazing Rebecca Minkoff accessories. The two accessories that I NEEDED to have were the Rebecca Minkoff Stella Convertible Satchel and the Rebecca Minkoff Gold Patti Sunglasses. I love this satchel because you can carry it as a handbag or a backpack! If you are running around the city all day like me, you will be so appreciative of this bag. For the sunglasses, I loved the gold frames and round design – they were so flattering on my face and gave me that extra glam.

Next up is my jewelry! I, of course, had to throw in some pieces from one of my favorite brands, Sequin! With this look, I wore the Sequin Moon & Star Necklace, the Sequin Sagittarius Bracelet, and a Sequin Charm Bracelet that I customized (shop similar HERE and HERE). I also added some amazing Brook & York bracelets to the look. Those included: the Brook & York Metro Cuff Bracelet in Rose and the Brook & York Coordinate Bracelet. Last but not least, I popped on a geometric stone bracelet (shop similar HERE and HERE) and added a pair of white tassel earrings (shop similar HERE and HERE).

SHOES

For the shoes, I chose the Rebecca Minkoff Sallest Too Mules. Mules have been so in lately, and I was so excited to take this look to the next level with the fierce snakeskin print. Plus, the shoes were so comfortable thanks to the chunkier heel! 

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  NYFW 2019 Look 4: Representing Australian Style with a House of Campbell Heroine Tee and a DEA the Label Leather Skirt

House of Campbell Heroine Shirt | DEA the Label Leather Skirt | Black and White Kimono | Red Booties | Star Bag | Gold Bracelet | Black Leather Bracelet | Daniel Wellington Watch | Geometric Ring | Stackable Gold Rings | Hong Kong Luggage Tag Necklace | Sunglasses | Gold Earrings |

PREPARATION

The Riviere Agency invited me to pick out more looks for the remainder of the week, so obviously, I accepted the invitation. For their Fashion Palette S/S ’20 Show, I wanted to showcase the amazing Australian brands, specifically House of Campbell and DEA the Label. I absolutely loved the casual, yet sophisticated look of the House of Campbell Heroine tee with the DEA the Label leather skirt. When I saw the two pieces, I knew I needed to pair them together! And with that, my NYFW 2019 Look 4 was all set.

DAY 4 + LOOK 4

Day 4 started with going to the True Worlds Food Expo with Jay. We ate a bunch of sashimi, sushi, other Japanese food, and even got to witness the cutting of a 400-pounds Spanish Bluefin Tuna! We also were fortunate enough to go to an Omakase tasting event as well and tried many different types of fish. Yum, yum, yum!

After attending the fun and largest sushi festival in New York, it was back to the reality of NYFW. At 6PM, I headed to the Fashion Palette Show at Pier 59. Fashion Palette is an Australian fashion agency designed to help Australian fashion designers expand their business through runway shows and platforms. Their main focus has been to establish Australian labels more into the U.S. market. As a huge supporter and fan, I was so happy that I was able to represent them for another season!

THE BASICS

First up, I chose was the House of Campbell Heroine Shirt! I loved the strong message of “HEROINE” and the complement of the cool and casual feel of a graphic tee. I paired the shirt with a to-die-for DEA the Label Leather Skirt, and I was so obsessed. The brown/orange hues in this skirt are perfect for Fall, and the skirt can be dressed up or down depending on how you style it. To complete the look, I added a cute embroidered kimono (shop similar HERE and HERE). 

ACCESSORIES

To start the accessories, I went with this adorable Jet Set Candy necklace that I customized with a Hong Kong luggage tag, an NYC metro card, and an Italian french press. I then paired my necklace with some Gold Circle Drop Earrings (shop similar HERE and HERE). For my wrists, I added a simple gold bracelet (shop similar HERE and HERE), a black belt cuff bracelet (shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE), and my favorite Daniel Wellington Watch.  

If you guys know me, you know I love to express myself with rings! For this look, I chose some stackable rhinestone rings (shop similar HERE and HERE) and a statement geometric ring (shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE).

Last up for accessories were these red and black round sunglasses by BCBG Maxazria (shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE) and a Son Jung Wan Star faux fur handbag. I got the handbag as a gift last year at NYFW, but you can find similar fuzzy, star handbags HERE and HERE. 

SHOES

Finally, I tied this look together by adding a pop of red. These red booties (shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE) were the most perfect and vibrant shoes I could have chosen to complete this look!

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  With that said, hope you guys enjoyed my two looks from Days 3 and 4 from NYFW 2019! Stay tuned for my next blog post for looks 5-7 :-)!

  Xoxo,

Kasey

    Shop My New York Fashion Week 2019 Look 3 Below!

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Rebecca Minkoff Andrea Jacket: Shop exact HERE

Intimissi Bodysuit: Shop exact HERE

Dark Wash Jeans: Shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE

Rebecca Minkoff Mules: Shop exact HERE

Rebecca Minkoff Gold Sunglasses: Shop exact HERE

Rebecca Minkoff Stella Convertible Satchel: Shop exact HERE

White Tassel Earrings: Shop similar HERE and HERE

Sequin Sagittarius Bracelet: Shop exact HERE

Sequin Moon & Star Necklace: Shop exact HERE

Brook & York Metro Cuff Bracelet: Shop exact HERE

Brook & York Coordinate Bracelet: Shop exact HERE

Geometric Bracelet: Shop similar HERE and HERE

Charm Bracelet: Shop similar HERE and HERE

  Shop My New York Fashion Week 2019 Look 4 Below!

[show_shopthepost_widget id=”3724189″]

House of Campbell Heroine Shirt: Shop exact HERE

DEA the Label Leather Skirt: Shop exact HERE

Black and White Kimono: Shop similar HERE and HERE

Red Suede Booties: Shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE

Star Bag: Shop similar HERE and HERE

Gold Bracelet: Shop similar HERE and HERE

Black Leather Bracelet: Shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE

Daniel Wellington Watch: Shop exact HERE

Geometric Ring: Shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE

Stackable Gold Rings: Shop similar HERE and HERE

Hong Kong Luggage Tag Necklace: Shop exact HERE

Sunglasses: Shop similar HERE, HERE, and HERE

Gold Earrings: Shop similar HERE and HERE

Also, don’t forget to check out my NYFW Part 2 video on my YouTube channel below where I take you behind-the-scenes with me during Days 3-7 of Fashion Week. It’s ridiculously entertaining, and I also included footage of the shows and events, so be sure to watch the full video for all the details!

NYFW 2019 Part 2 Video

WATCH MY NYFW PART 2 VIDEO HERE!!!

Subscribe to my YouTube channel for new content every week!

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NYFW 2019: Edgy & Feminine with Leather, Snake Print, Lingerie and Faux Fur NYFW 2019 Looks 3 & 4 Guess who's back and ready to share the next lot of NYFW 2019 looks??