#and the message is meant to be ''even if you make mistakes. make colossal. stupid mistakes. it doesn't mean you can't strive to be better.'

[aadikted]

Hi!! I recently read your one shot sweetest and it was amazing!!!

So this is a Peter x reader fluff prompt , where it's Prom, and Peter forgot to ask y/n so now he is overdoing himself, which makes the y/n cry and say yes.

Prom

I am soo glad that you like the sweetest!!!And also... AAAHH!! I love this idea. Ok, so I spent a lot of time on this! In my country, we don’t really have anything like prom so everything I know about it, is only through movies and books!! I really, really hope you like it!! Fingers crossed!!

Word Count - 1.9k

Warnings - None!!

FOUR DAYS! There were just four bloody days left to prom and your boyfriend still hadn’t asked you to go with him! Now, you knew that since you both were already dating, it was kind of obvious that you both would be going together, but you were just the kind of person who needed reassurance and you appreciated when someone actually asked you things instead of just assuming them! And nobody knew you better than Peter, except, well, your best friend MJ. But Peter was a close second!

Truthfully, you were hurt that he still hadn’t asked you, and your irritation with Peter was showing in your behaviour.

You were making your way down the hall, your hand entwined in Peter’s. His voice drifted to your ears as he talked with Ned and MJ,

“I mean, it was kind of obvious that Luke was his son, Anyone who has seen the movies properly would say that it is!”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what’s obvious!” You muttered under your breath.

“Did you say something?” Peter asked, looking at you curiously.

“No-no! I was just revising a formula.”

“Oh, speaking of formula,” Peter exclaimed as he turned around to speak to MJ, “Did you see the silly blunder Flash made while we were practising for the Decathlon? I mean, only an idiot would forget something so important!”

“Of course,” you sighed, “Only an idiot would forget something important…”

Fortunately, no one heard your comment and continued talking about their day.

You felt like you were kind of overreacting. But it just seemed like a big deal to you. This would be your last high school prom. This time next year, you all would be in College. You weren’t even sure that you and Peter would be in the same college. It just seemed like such a milestone. You were simultaneously thrilled and terrified of crossing this, and it bothered you that your boyfriend wasn’t as affected by it as you were. You were so engrossed in your musings that you didn’t realize that you had stopped walking and were now frozen at the end of the hallway, forcing your friends to stop behind you. Fortunately, the school had been over for some time and there were very little students around.

“Y/N…Y/N?”

“Huh,” You exclaimed as you were startled out of your daze, “what?”

Peter was taken aback by your abrupt reply, “Are-are you okay”

“Uh… yes! Yes, I’m fine.” You stammered out a reply, “I just, I-I have to go home, I have a...thing. Yes! I have a thing. And I need to finish it. So…bye! See you guys tomorrow!.

You frantically waved goodbye and left through the exit.

Your friends watched you leave in confusion. Peter finally broke the awkward silence you had left behind.

“Well, that was weird.”

“Not really, no.” MJ defended her best friend, “It’s completely normal for her to be mad.”

“Wait! She was mad?

“Oh, Peter.” MJ sighed, “You are so oblivious.”

Peter just stared at her in confusion. Had he done something to make his girlfriend mad? What could he have possibly done to make you so sad?

MJ could practically see his conflicting thoughts reflecting on his face. She just shook her head in resignation and hoped that the poor guy would figure it out soon, or he would have to face Y/N’s wrath.

Peter just stared at Ned as though he would be able to answer his girlfriend problem. Ned just shrugged back at him, looking as clueless as Peter felt.

In a stroke of inspiration, Ned started quizzing Peter about any possible stupid thing he could have done –

“Did you forget a date with her?”

"No.”

“Did you forget an anniversary?”

“Definitely not!”

“Did you….make fun of her cat?”

“What, no! I love Tales as much as she does!”

“Fine…then, did you insult the dress she chose for Prom?”

“…Oh no!”

“You did, didn’t you? Oh my god, Peter! What is wrong with you? You never tell a girl that you don’t like her clothes. It is her body, she can wear whatever the bloody hell she wants!”

“No-no! I didn’t tell her that I don’t like her dress, I forgot to ask her!”

“You…forgot to ask her… if she bought a dress for prom?”

Peter just glared at Ned. “No, Oh Oblivious One! I forgot to ask her to prom!”

“Oh shit!”

Yup, that is exactly how Peter felt: shitty. How could he forget about Prom? He had known exactly how much these occasions meant to you and how you loved to celebrate each tradition associated with your favourite festivities. He knew that he had to make this up to you somehow. But how? This was a colossal mistake and he would have to do something big and meaningful to rectify it and preferably to do it as soon as possible. You were the best and the sweetest and the kindest person Peter had ever met! You brightened his day just by being around and to think that he made such a stupid mistake that had hurt you.

It was with these thoughts in his mind that Peter went home, determined to make up for his mistake and bring a smile on your face once again!

It was already evening, you were lying on your bed, staring at your ceiling, thinking about the vast and various complications in life, and how life gets further complicated when you have a boyfriend who is usually the sweetest, kindest and the best but forgets important things like asking the girl he is dating to prom!

While you were pondering on these weird thoughts and practically wasting your time, you heard a knock on your door, thinking it would probably be your parent, you just simply shouted for them to come in. A few seconds passed and nobody entered your room, however, the knocking persisted. You reluctantly left the solace of your bed to see who was at the door. You opened the door to find no one and with an irritated sigh went into the living room to see if your parents were in the kitchen. The kitchen was just as empty as the living room and you were becoming increasingly frustrated.

“Marty!” You screamed at your brother, who was probably snickering in his bedroom, “This is not funny! If you try something like this again, so help me God, no one will ever be able to find your body!”

Satisfied with this threat, you made your way back to your room but stopped just short of its entrance. On the door, a message was written in webs –

The place where the truth came out,

That left no doubt,

Of the feeling, I bore,

For the one I adore.

Well, the webs left no doubt in your mind about who was responsible for the message. All of this was a massive surprise for you! What was Peter playing at? But obviously, you were going to solve the riddle! How could you not? This all seemed so much fun and amazing to ruin everything. Peter always knew just what you liked and you were not going to ruin all his hard work by not participating wholeheartedly! Fortunately, the riddle was quite transparent and you didn’t need much time to decipher the code. He was talking about the place where he had first confessed feelings for you and you had (to his relief) reciprocated those feeling. That was the day your friendship had transformed into something more cherished, deep and meaningful.

You hastily grabbed a jacket and put on your shoes as you ran towards your school. The school was the place where you had first gotten together and you hurried there as fast as you could. You arrived at the school gates, quite breathless and tired, however, it was all worth it when you saw another riddle written in webs on the school gates –

Congrats! You got the answer right!

But now, you must think with all your might,

Of the place where we were first giddy

And I said you were very pretty.

You were awed by how much thought and preparation Peter had put into this. This was so sweet, but you shouldn’t even have been surprised, because everything he did for you was always sweet and thoughtful. You started thinking about what he could have possibly meant by when he first said you were pretty. He always called you such sweet names that it was hard to remember, but it suddenly struck you, that the first time he called you pretty was the first time you had kissed him. Just thinking about it brought butterflies in your stomach! You immediately rushed towards Peter’s apartment and stopped just at the entrance gate. This time you were expecting the riddle written on the gate –

Great thinking! Just look at you go!

I am so glad you have reached this door

For now, you need to take a chance

And think of the place where we first did dance.

This time you didn’t even have to wait to think of the place. You remembered the first time you danced with Peter as though it were just yesterday. You guys had been practising dancing for your very first prom together. He had been very clumsy and kept stepping on your toes, while you couldn’t stop giggling and kept making him more flustered by kissing him when he least expected. Just remembering that memory bought a big smile on your face and you made your way to the terrace of his apartment.

Upon entering the terrace, you were rendered speechless by the sight you saw. The entire area was decorated in fairy lights, which illuminated the picturesque scenery created by the setting sun. Your eyes were then caught by the sign made in webs – Be my date to Prom?

Your eyes filled with tears and you bit back a gasp. This was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you. Suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat behind you. Turning around you were dumbstruck to see Peter, wearing the shirt he knew you loved on him and with a bouquet of your favourite flower in his hands. It was obvious from his expression that he was nervous, but when he saw the happiness reflected on your face, he became more composed and began his speech

Y-Y/N, I-I love you. I can’t imagine a day without you and I definitely can’t imagine going to prom without you. I am so sorry for being so stupid and hurting your feelings. I love spending time with you and I can’t imagine how amazing prom night will be if I get to be with you. So...be my date?

This time you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your face. You vigorously nodded your head as you looked at your boyfriend, your sweet, sweet boyfriend. Peter released the breath he had been holding as he waited for your reply. You immediately flung your hands around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug which Peter gladly reciprocated. His hands snuck around your waist and tightened as you whispered in his ear that you loved him as well and couldn’t wait to go to prom together.

Needless to say, that was just one of the many happy memories you two made together and reminisce fondly when your kids ask you to tell them stories about you and their father.

[celiacandsalty]

Kal Penn’s Nuts

Warning: the following blog includes strong language, references to gluten, and excessive whining.

When my brother Jeff got diagnosed with Celiac disease in 2014 (at age 34) I distinctly remember my first thought being something along the lines of, “oh god, that poor bastard.” Not only because many most of the best foods contain gluten, but because I was already imagining the inevitable day when he goes to some business dinner or something and the server mistakes him for one of THOSE people. You know, the people we all roll our eyes at because they claim to have a gluten “sensitivity” or “intolerance,” but we suspect they’re full of shit and make a mental note to mock them at a later date. It’s hard to say why I cared so much about what hypothetical Cheesecake Factory employees in Ohio might think about my brother’s diet but I DID.

(I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but on TV shows now if they want to quickly convey that a character is an annoying douchebag, usually all they have to do is throw in a line where that person orders a gluten free whatever and a vegan something or other. It’s been a “joke” (for lack of a better word) for at least a decade now and for some reason shows no signs of stopping, despite the fact that it is completely unoriginal, unfunny, and hacky. What I’m saying is, gluten free is the new Nickleback.)

Okay, now cut to 2018 when I, following in my brother’s stupid footsteps, also get diagnosed with Celiac disease1 and all those pitying thoughts I never would have verbalized to my poor bastard brother come flooding back, only now they apply to me too and I can hear them all because they’re in my head. I did not take the news well.

Now, it almost goes without saying that it is easier now than ever before to find decent gluten-free food, especially in Portland, Oregon (where I fortunately already happened to live), but I gotta say, it’s a colossal pain in the ass and it still sucks. It sucks that I have to spend so much of my free-time moonlighting as a gluten detective, looking at menus for places I might possibly be invited to eat at someday and reading every word on every food label and trying to get to the bottom of whether miso paste or Werther’s Originals are safe for me to eat.2 It sucks that I don’t even really WANT to go out to eat much anymore because it’s such a stressful experience that I barely enjoy it anways. It sucks that I once enjoyed traveling and now I’ve pretty much written off at least a couple of entire continents (and they were good ones too.) It sucks that I have frequent anxiety dreams about accidentally poisoning myself. It sucks that I only just discovered Shake Shack 6 months before getting diagnosed and now I’ll never again know the joy of a squishy hamburger bun. It sucks that I no longer get to be the easygoing person in a group or at the office who, when asked about dietary restrictions, could proudly say “Nope! I’m fine with whatever (aka I am a very cool and chill person).” I could go on and on, but I’d have to say the thing that actually sucks the most is the whole gluten-as-a-punchline thing because for me it is so terribly unfunny.

A couple of months ago3 I was at the gym, listening to one of my podcasts in which the guests, usually comedians, get a chance to rant for a few minutes on any topic of their choosing. That week, Kal Penn (of Harold & Kumar fame4) was one of the guests and he made the bold choice to rant about GLUTEN. My blood went straight to a solid simmer before he said another word. I considered shutting it off, but I thought to myself, “Easy does it, Jeanne! Maybe it’s not going to be what you think it is.”

Narrator: It was.

Kal Penn went on to say that as a person living with a severe allergy to tree nuts, it makes him very angry that people who claim to have GLUTEN allergies or intolerances are diluting the seriousness of his legitimate food allergy. The main takeaway being that GLUTEN allergies are FAKE and a FAD and they’re a PREFERENCE, unlike Kal Penn’s very real allergy to nuts.

Of course, Kal Penn included the caveat that there is a VERY small percentage of people for whom gluten issues are real, but I feel like that finer point may have been lost in the message of screaming FAKE FAKE FAKE for 3 minutes.5

The annoying thing though, is that Kal Penn is right. It IS a fad. (Especially in LA.) And I HATE that it is. One particularly annoying thing about this is that restaurants are catching on and more and more GF items items are popping up on menus everywhere. Unfortunately, they are often actually GF, unless you have Celiac disease, which makes my gluten detective job much harder.6

Now I don’t doubt that living with a nut allergy is hard. And I imagine that Kal Penn and I actually have a lot in common when it comes to anxieties and frustrations around food and eating out. I know that I shouldn’t say that I’m jealous of Kal Penn and his nut allergy, but in a way I am. Yes, I’m sure it is terrifying to go into anaphylactic shock and have to be rushed to the hospital, but on the bright side, at least people don’t think you’re a douchebag liar!

Speaking of being rushed to the hospital, here’s the funny story about how I found out that I can’t eat gluten. A little over a year ago, I ended up in the emergency room after dramatically collapsing in my apartment and completely losing all feeling in the entire left side of my body. After getting an MRI (and some other very expensive tests), I was informed that there were several areas of stroke in my 34-year-old brain.7

I spent 3 days in the neurology unit with puzzled doctors coming in every hour to scratch their heads and look at me with great concern. I didn’t find out for another full week that all of this was a result of undiagnosed Celiac disease. Apparently though I was asymptomatic in terms of gastrointestinal issues (very common in adults), I had become so severely anemic8 that I literally almost died. Malnutrition and malabsorption are common symptoms of Celiac, and at this point my hemoglobin was so critically low that I required a blood transfusion and 2 IV iron infusions.

Ok, so cool story, I know, but is stroke and near-death a common effect of eating gluten? Nope! I don’t think so!

So what’s my point? Fuck, I don’t even remember now. But I guess what I’m saying is...we all know the people Kal Penn is talking about. And I spend way too much of my mental energy worrying that when I tell someone I can’t have gluten9, they might, for example, still serve me a salad that they accidentally put the croutons on and then tried to pick them off but missed a few because they probably assume I’m just another asshole doing the Whole 30.10  

So, Kal Penn, believe me when I say that I am with you on the issue of THOSE people. But continuing to rail against them and their possibly exaggerated gluten sensitivities does nothing to stop them. (I suspect it might even make them stronger and more annoying.) It does however, continue to reinforce the already widespread belief that gluten is a made-up problem invented in the 2000s, by I don’t know, naturopaths and George Soros probably? And it’s this belief that is actually very dangerous to people like myself and my brother and the millions of other poor bastards with REAL incurable conditions, and, for what it’s worth, one that seems unlikely to change the way we treat someone with a nut allergy. And, last but not least, it is also a belief that occasionally ruins my workout/enjoyment of podcasts.

Anyways, thanks for letting me vent.

Oh, but sorry about your nuts, Kal Penn.

----

Cool family, right?? (Also my maternal grandmother had it too and was diagnosed in the 1980s.)

Still unclear

I meant to write this sooner. Fortunately, my New Year’s Resolution was to hold on longer to more grudges.

Among other things, like Obama’s White House?

I was also going to go back and listen to the podcast again to more accurately transcribe his rant, but just thinking about it made my heart hurt. If you want to hear for yourself, it was the November 9, 2019 episode of Lovett Or Leave It.)

Plus the pay sucks.

I think it could still pass for 28.

My blood’s solution to this problem was to produce WAY too many platelets, which I didn’t know and perhaps my blood didn’t know, are what make blood clot.

“Just tell them you have CELIAC.” Well guess what–some of THOSE people are co-opting our magic word too now!

Sorry if you’re doing the Whole 30 and not an asshole.

[nextstarblazers]

EPISODE 21

“We have not sought out the Gamilons, they have found us, first in our homes on Earth and now here. We must face them and defeat them before we get to Iscandar.” - Captain Avatar

We had no way of knowing it ahead of time, but the velocity of storytelling on STAR BLAZERS was about to increase exponentially as we entered the fifth week of broadcast. The original Japanese series of YAMATO had been planned to run for 39 episodes, but the show got horrible ratings, attracting only an anemic 6% share of television audiences. Consequently, the broadcast station cut their commitment to YAMATO back to 26 episodes, which meant that the production team suddenly only had six episodes remaining in which to wrap up all of the assorted elements of their story. 

Following last episode’s destruction of the Gamilon base on Planet Balan, General Lysis has returned to Gamilon to face a Court Martial as a consequence of his actions. At the trial, the defiant Lysis is confident, even brash: “My operations never fail! If there had been no call from Desslok, it would have succeeded!”But the assembled Gamilon High Command isn’t hearing it. “Stop blaming everyone but yourself! With your arrogant stupidity, you have cost us an important base! Our control of (the) galaxy will be greatly limited!” accuses General Talan, soon to be an important figure in the saga. In what may be a first for a cartoon aired in America, the assembled Generals vote for the Death Penalty.

In his private quarters, where he’s attended by a bevy of willowy Gamilon beauties, Leader Desslok is brought the results of the trial by General Krypt (who at last is evidencing a healthy blue pallor.) Krypt tells Desslok that the verdict was unanimous, but the great Gamilon leader isn’t having it. “I know that Lysis is often rash, even dangerous, but he is the only one of my generals I can depend on to defeat the Star Force. Of course he’s made mistakes, but at least he does something, not like those who sit in judgment on him.” Desslok chooses to pardon Lysis and send him back into battle with the Star Force for a decisive showdown.

In the original plan for YAMATO, the journey from Balan into the Greater Magellanic Cloud would have taken place over several episodes and adventures, but now the production team didn’t have nearly that much track. So instead, the back half of the Star Force’s journey into Iscandar space would be completed in only two episodes, and with a single massive conflict involved. Informed of his pardon, Lysis is given new orders to prevent the Star Force’s entry into the Magellanic Cloud by any means necessary.

Despite having testified against Lysis at his trial, Volgar remains as his second in command. It’s never stated outright here, but the between-the-lines sense is that this mission is a last chance effort for the both of them. If they fail this time, there’s not going to be any coming back. Lysis and Volgar scout locations for their coming conflict, eventually settling on the Rainbow Galaxy, an area of space where the Star Force’s radar equipment will be unable to function properly. Lysis has also got some specialized new weapons to bring to the party: an energy beam system capable of warping small fighter planes across the battlefield, which he nicknames S.M.I.T.E. (Space Matter Instant Transforming Equipment) and a colossal Drill Missile, which he intends to fire directly into the Argo’s Wave-Motion Gun, destroying it. 

His plans laid out, Lysis takes the direct approach in attracting the Star Force’s attention: he sends a message of challenge directly to them, exciting the crew: “To Captain Avatar of the Star Force: The battle lines between the forces of Gamilon and Earth have never been precisely drawn. I propose we meet at the edge of the Magellanic Cloud, at RXPT730 in seven Earth days. The outcome will determine your future. If, as I expect, we defeat you, your mission to Iscandar will be finished. You can, if you wish, withdraw now and return to Earth. This is Lysis, commander of all Gamilon forces!”

Wildstar is, of course, overjoyed at the thought of a direct confrontation with the Gamilons, and he points out that if they don’t defeat them, they’re going to have to fight them all the way back to Earth on the return trip as well. The rest of the crew isn’t so sure. Sandor points out that the Star Force is outnumbered a hundred to one, and Venture says that their schedule is already extremely tight--even if they win, the delay might be enough to prevent them from getting back to Earth in time. It’s Orion who points out that Captain Avatar is present, and all eyes turn to the old man to deliver his decision on the matter.

And Captain Avatar chooses to answer the challenge. it must be said, this is an extraordinarily stupid and foolish thing for him to do, given that all life on Earth depends on the success of this single ship. But especially in Japanese culture, it would be cowardly and dishonorable to refuse such a challenge, so like it or not, the Star Force is heading into a decisive battle in the Rainbow Galaxy for all the marbles.

As the days count down, Lysis pulls together a fleet for the mission. Rather than the hundreds of starships he’s fielded in the past, he instead selects a small task force made up of three Space Carriers and one Carrier-Battleship, augmented by his own small command vessel. We see extensive sequences of the different types of assault fighters and bombers grouping up on their respective carriers and then making their way back to the homeworld.

Lysis assembles his commanders for a briefing on strategy. They represent the front line Generals of four of the most heavily contested outliers of the Gamilon Empire. As the troops assemble, Leader Desslok addresses them, giving them a quick speech to stoke their battle readiness. And then, the assembled task Force moves out, to hunt their foe.

As they near the area of the coming conflict, Captain Avatar assembles the entirety of the Star Force in the Argo’s assembly hall. As he mounts the dais, one random crewman muses, “He doesn’t look very strong, does he?” calling back to Avatar’s recent illness. The Captain Proposes that the crew drink a toast to their coming victory in water from a once-beautiful spring on Earth. Amazingly, this is the one instance where this actually was water in the original YAMATO version, part of a ritual performed by soldiers going out to face death. 

As the episode wraps up, the Star Force enters the Rainbow Galaxy, and its radar systems cease to function. Captain Avatar orders the crew to battle stations, and everybody braces for the attack to come. And on the Gamilon side, the assembled forces of the enemy similarly brace, waiting for the impending order to launch their attack and obliterate their foe. It’s on this moment of greatest tension that the episode comes to its conclusion, letting us know that, whatever the outcome of this great battle, mankind has only 215 days left to live.

[slaymefilia]

I hope his will count, but will you pretty please do Gray, Natsu, and Gajeel just hanging out, not fighting, and being stupid and absolute dorks??

(Sorry this took so long!)

"The girls said they'd be here twenty minutes ago," Natsu muttered, his chin cupped in his hand. "Where the heck are they?"

"How am I supposed to know, Flame Brain?" Gray retorted, shooting Natsu a dirty glare.

Initially, Natsu, Gray, Gajeel, Lucy, Juvia and Levy had all organised to meet up at this lovely restaurant just on the outskirts of Magnolia. It seemed a bit out of the blue and unorthodox, especially for the boys, but nevertheless they agreed to it, mainly so they wouldn't have to put up with the girls moaning and consequently peer pressuring them into going. However, it had been over twenty minutes and the girls were nowhere in sight; punctuality was usually their forte.

"It's not like 'em to forget, after all it was their idea in the first place." Gajeel spoke up, crossing his arms and glancing around the restaurant, on the hunt for any sign of the girls. Sadly, there was nothing.

"You don't think something's happened?" Natsu's eyebrows creased slightly, a small hint of worry in his voice.

"Course not. We would've heard something by now if there was any trouble in town. Plus they're fully capable of looking after themselves."

Another ten minutes passed, and at that point the boys were ready to take off and go home, giving up any chances of the girls coming. However, before they could slide out of the booth they resided in, a familiar face approached.

"There you guys are!"

"Happy?" Natsu questioned, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "What're you doing here?"

"Where's Levy and the others?" Gajeel chimed in.

"Natsu, I have a message from Lucy." Happy pulled a folded piece of paper out from his green backpack, completely ignoring Gajeel's question, and handed it to Natsu.

"But where is she?" Natsu questioned.

Happy shrugged, "I'm just a messenger, later!" Flying out of the restaurant, Happy left the three wizards with a mysterious note from Lucy.

"What does it say?" Gray nodded towards the note, still holding a hint of confusion on his face from Happy's odd behaviour.

Natsu unfolded the note, and immediately he was able to identify the scent and handwriting as Lucy's.

Hey Natsu!So, change of plan; the girls and I can't make it anymore, so it means you, Gray and Gajeel get to spend the day together! We figured you three can have lunch at the restaurant, like we initially planned, then maybe go to the fair that's just arrived in town, then we'll meet you at the guild hall later.Have fun boys!-Lucy x

"I am not spending the whole day with Salamander." Gajeel scoffed, crossing his arms in protest.

"Yeah," Gray nodded in agreement. "Let's get outta here, screw their plan."

Gray and Gajeel began to stand, before they were halted by Natsu's arm. "Wait!" he yelled.

Natsu's eyes travelled down the the bottom of Lucy's note, right after she signed her name.

P.S. Don't even think about trying to leave. We've entrusted a certain red haired wizard to keep watch and make sure you guys are having fun together ;)

Natsu and Gray shuddered at the thought of Erza spying on them all day, and what she would do if they tried to sneak away, whereas Gajeel just shrugged, still not entirely aware of Erza's capability to snap his leg at the flick of her wrist.

"Damn it," Gray sighed, slouching back down. "We should've known the girls were up to something."

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

Around twenty minutes later, the boys were still sat in their booth. Natsu took the liberty of ordering practically the entire restaurant, whereas Gray and Gajeel only ordered a much smaller meal.

"So what the heck are we meant to do for the whole day with Erza watching over us?" Gray asked, taking a bite out of his food.

"Guess we just gotta pretend like we're havin' fun." Gajeel pulled a face.

"How're we supposed to do that?" Natsu questioned, his mouth full of food.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, you idiot!" Gray called out, shooting Natsu a dirty glare.

Natsu was about to argue back, but froze as he could have sworn he saw a strand of scarlet hair out of the corner of his eye. Shuddering, he sunk back into his seat.

"You two gotta quit arguing, or we'll be dead by the end of the day, whether it be from the girls or the she-demon." Gajeel nodded towards his bickering frenemies.

"Hey!" Natsu rose from his seat again. "Don't put all the blame on us!"

"Okay, stop!" Gray, ultimately deciding to be the voice of reason, calmed to dragon slayers down. "Look, the more we argue the more we're gonna be in for it when we go back to the guild later. All we gotta do is pretend to have fun, that's simple enough. We'll finish up eating here, head to the fair, then go back to the guild."

Gajeel and Natsu nodded after taking in what Gray said.

"I guess I can pretend not to want to punch Natsu's face in for a few hours." Gajeel smirked.

"Hey!"

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

Somehow, the trio made it through the meal with minimal arguments, the only thing almost throwing them off was figuring out how to equally pay the bill. The girls usually sorted that out, especially Levy, but the boys were forced to fend for themselves.

The next challenge was the amusement park. Although they couldn't see her, the boys knew that Erza was close by, watching their every move and ready to feed back to the girls whenever they showed any hints of bickering.

Reaching the amusement park, Natsu, Gajeel and Gray were astounded by the number of rides and attractions. A colossal roller coaster resided right in the middle, overpowering everything beneath it. A few food and drink stalls were scattered around, and multiple smaller rides circled around the roller coaster.

"Okay, we've got around four hours until the park closes, which is when I'm assuming the girls will meet us back at the guild. We can handle four more hours of this, right?" Gajeel asked, unsure of his own claims.

Gray and Natsu shot each other a glare. "I guess."

Natsu, Gray and Gajeel decided to tackle the first ride they saw; spinning teacups. Natsu and Gajeel, far too focused on keeping an eye out for Erza, momentarily forgot of their cursed motion sickness.

"I don't feel too great..." Natsu murmured as the cup began spinning.

"Me neither..." Gajeel's face turned pale.

Gray gave the pair a disturbing look. "What's wrong with you-" he froze as soon as he realised the mistake they make. "Your motion sickness."

Natsu and Gajeel's eyes grew wide. "Oh, man." Natsu's face was turning paler by the second. "I completely forgot."

Before long, Natsu and Gajeel were clutching their stomachs, their faces completely white as a sheet as their heads hung low.

"I swear," Gray started, lifting his feet from the ground. "If you two throw up on me I don't care what Erza does to us, I will kill you before she does!"

"I'd...rather be killed by you... than her..." Natsu struggled to say, his cheeks widening as if he were about to throw up.

"Don't you dare Natsu Drag-" Gray suddenly realised what Natsu had said. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?! Are you saying I'm not as strong as Erza?!"

"Considering we've...all been cowering from her all day..." Gajeel joined in, "I agree with Salamander..."

"Well it's not as if you two are any stronger." Gray motioned towards the pair. "Look at you! Defeated by a freaking kids ride! Pretty pathetic if you- Natsu!" Due to the spinning, Natsu's head fell onto Gray's lap. Disgusted, Gray shoved him off. "Get off me!"

Due to the force of the push and the spinning teacup, Natsu's head collided with Gajeel's, and his head fell onto Gajeel's lap instead. However, Gajeel's new found head concussion and motion sickness caused him to barely even notice.

For the first time today, a genuine smile tugged at Gray's lips until a small laugh was emitted.

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

For the next hour, Natsu and Gajeel spent their time with their head hung over the toilet, whilst Gray waited outside impatiently.

"You guys have been in there a freaking hour." Gray groaned. "Hurry it up already!"

After another ten minutes or so, the dragon slayers finally emerged, their faces still incredibly pale.

"You done?" Gray raised an eyebrow at them.

Natsu and Gajeel nodded sluggishly, as if their heads were merely attached to their necks by a spring. Noticing their behaviour, Gray conjured a devious plan, smirking to himself.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go get you guys some food."

Natsu and Gajeel followed along, but were still far too sick to notice Gray had actually dragged them into the line for the roller coaster. It wasn't until they hopped on the cart that the dragon slayers began to question things.

"This doesn't look like the food stall..." Natsu murmured, glancing around.

Gray spun his head around to face them. He was sat in front whereas Natsu and Gajeel were sat behind him, in order to protect himself from their motion sickness. "That's because it isn't."

Natsu and Gajeel gave each other a look.

"Just enjoy the ride and then we'll head back to the guild." Gray chuckled to himself, intrigued as to see how far they could go on the ride before one of them blew chunks.

Funnily enough, the dragon slayers lasted much longer than Gray had anticipated, and only threw up shortly after the cart went upside down for the final time. Gray had been smiling triumphantly throughout the entire experience, and gave himself a mental pat on the back after hearing the sweet melodious sounds of Natsu and Gajeel suffering.

Once the ride came to a stop, Gray jumped off, whistling a tune to himself as he waited for Natsu and Gajeel's stumbling forms to come barrelling down the steps. It took them a while, but they eventually made it, shooting a synchronised glare at the ice wizard.

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

What Gray hadn't realised, however, was that he'd have to assist the two slayers in getting back to the guild in one piece, so Natsu and Gajeel took great pride in making this experience for Gray as difficult and time consuming as possible.

After a solid twenty minutes of stumbling and tripping, the trio made it back to the guild safe and sound, where the girls eagerly awaited their return.

"There you guys are!" Lucy waved them over.

"We were afraid you weren't coming, or that you'd killed each other." Levy giggled.

"Welcome back, Gray-sama!" Juvia chimed in.

Gray threw Natsu and Gajeel on the bench opposite where the girls sat and slid in next to them.

"You girls," Gray started, "are evil. You know that?" he pointed an accusing finger at all three of them.

"We know." Lucy smiled. "So, did you guys have fun?"

Gray took a glance at Natsu and Gajeel, who were still fairly pale, and smiled to himself. "I sure did."

[smartgirlsaremean]

At First...

Happy RCIJ to @avatoh! I’m your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy this collection of Rumbelle Dark Castle Firsts!

AO3

Rating: T

Summary: A collection of “first” moments from the Dark Castle.

...Sight

Every now and then Rumplestiltskin brushed off his gift and sifted through his future. All of it - not even attempting to separate what would be from what could be. It was a bit like leafing through a book, except the stories always changed with the whims and decisions of the people involved. Flashes and snippets of men and women, humans and beasties, the magical and the mundane, skipped before his eyes and filled his senses.

On certain days one face flashed more before his eyes than any other - a young woman of exceptional beauty with eyes like the clearest sky and skin of smoothest cream. He was often tempted to extract those memories and discover what she meant for his future, but he resisted the temptation. He knew the dangers of “knowing” one’s future, after all: that knowledge was never complete and rarely helpful.

Besides, his centuries had taught him that beautiful women at best were attracted to his power and at worst ran screaming from his presence. The same held true of not-so-beautiful women, in fact. And men...and children...and babes…and the odd sheepdog.

No matter.

None of it mattered. Bae mattered. That was all.

...Contact

The letter from Sir Maurice of the Marchlands would not ordinarily have caught his attention. He received dozens of messages daily, all petitioning for his dark services, all pleading for his help. The petitions held a sort of bitter amusement for him, considering that he would arrive, make them deals to solve their problems, and then insist they keep their part of the bargain; and in return, they would call him evil and dark, revile and hate him, spread stories about his ruthlessness and cunning.

It didn’t help his image - or perhaps it did, depending on how one looked at it - that he was something of a trafficker of children. Having lost his son to his own fear and weakness, he was somewhat obsessed with discovering the value other parents placed on their children’s lives, and the results were terribly, horribly disheartening. One baby was worth a marriage to a rich lord, another six healthy oxen. One desperately foolish farmer bartered a twin boy for rich soil, as if there was no other way to enrich the soil of one’s land.

As far as requests went, Sir Maurice’s was depressingly routine. The ogres were acting up again and attacking the Marchlands. According to this missive Avonlea was dangerously close to falling, and the Marchlands were in dire peril. Rumplestiltskin read the promises of gold with a long-suffering sigh and was about to toss the letter into a pile when his hand brushed across the lord’s signature and his fingers tingled. A vision of the future assailed him - pert little nose - cerulean eyes - creamy pink lips - a face alternately glowing with happiness and gaunt with sorrow.

His eyesight cleared and he shook his head, a wicked smile gleaming on his face. So the mysterious beauty was a Marchlands maid? And not just any maid, if the connection to the lord was to be believed, but a high-born lady. Better and better. His grin grew as he realized he was about to discover what this woman would mean to his future.

Rumplestiltskin sent a perfunctory acceptance of their request and set out to discover what he could about Sir Maurice and his daughter. Disguised as various royal subjects from peasant to noble he stalked about the town, listening to court gossip. Almost all of the peasants lauded the lord and young lady as kind and just; there was little of the envy and pettiness so often found in the lower orders of a kingdom. The nobles were to a man loyal to their lord and quite a few of them, Rumplestiltskin discovered, ratherly desperately in love with his daughter. One young knight had been heard composing a very bad sonnet about the lady whose name was the best descriptor of her person.

Belle.

She was said to be, quite literally, beauty personified.

Which would make his plans all the more enjoyable: a lady, pampered and petted and praised to the skies all of her young, simple life, forced to clean and serve for the vilest being in her world.

It was delicious.

He waited until Avonlea had fallen before he made his characteristic grand entrance - knocking on the doors, disappearing before they were opened, and reappearing in the war room chuckling at the backs of the soldiers and noblemen staring down the hallway in anticipation.

“Well, that was a bit of a let down,” he chirped, and they all swiveled to stare at him. “You sent me a message. Something about ‘Help! Help! We’re dying! Can you save us?’” One of the oafs advanced on him, his sword drawn, and Rumplestiltskin impatiently batted it away. “Well, the answer is...Yes, I can. Yes, I can protect your little town. For a price.”

The men in the room glanced at each other uneasily. Maurice looked baffled. “We sent you a promise of gold.”

“Ah…” Rumplestiltskin smiled and spoke slowly, as if to a small child. “Now, you see, I, uh, make gold. What I want is something a bit more...special. My price...is her.”

He pointed at the exquisitely beautiful creature beside the lord. He had been pretending not to notice her, but as she was the exact image of the woman in his visions he had of course been aware of her from the first moment. She looked absurdly out of place in the war room wearing her elaborate golden ball gown with her dark hair cascading about her shoulders in ringlets. Oh, yes, he thought, this would be fun. Images of her scrubbing floors in that stupid gown danced in his head. Silly, pampered little girl.

“No!” Maurice shouted.

The tallest of the oafs placed a protective arm in front of her. “The lady is engaged to me.” Of course she was. Beautiful auburn-haired women always married handsome brainless dolts.

“I didn’t ask if she was engaged,” giggled Rumplestiltskin. “I’m not looking for love! I’m looking for a caretaker for my rather large estate. It’s her, or no deal.”

“Get out,” Maurice growled, and Rumplestiltskin grinned to himself. “Leave!” the lord insisted, pointing to the door.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “As you wish,” he purred, heading for the door. With each step he expected to hear the lord’s desperate cry, but the man remained silent and the Dark One felt a grudging respect for the first father in his experience who placed his child’s welfare above his own or his kingdom’s. He was almost to the door when a voice finally broke the silence.

“No, wait!” It was not the voice he had expected. He turned in some surprise to watch Lady Belle advancing on him, her chin held high. “I will go with him.”

Rumplestiltskin gave his customary shrill trill of delight.

“I forbid it, Belle!” the oaf cried.

The lady shot him a look that must have turned his blood to ice. “No one decides my fate but me,” she snapped. “I shall go.”

Oh, she was feisty, this one. “It’s forever, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin felt obliged to warn her.

“My family, my friends. They will all live?”

“You have my word.”

“Then you have mine. I will go with you. Forever.”

“Deal!” Rumplestiltskin crowed.

“Belle,” Maurice pleaded, “you cannot do this. Please! You cannot go with this….beast!”

Rumplestiltskin placed a hand to his breast, affecting a wounded expression.

“Father, Gaston, it’s been decided,” the lady said softly.

“You know, she’s right. The deal is struck.” Rumplestiltskin slipped an arm around the lady’s waist and began to sweep her out the door. “Oh! Congratulations on your little war!”

He had conjured a carriage to meet them at the castle gates. He could very easily have transported them, but he was a showman as well as a businessman, and he wanted the populace to see their lady driven away to live with a monster. He wanted her to have hours and hours to think about the dreary, lonely life she was about to lead. He wanted them all to suffer.

If he had hoped for tears or curses, however, he found he had underestimated this particular lady. She met the horrified stares of her populace with regal nods and the occasional small wave. Her chin remained lifted, her face a calm mask.

As the carriage skirted the outer walls of the town, the lady gazed out the window for a final glimpse of her castle, gasping when the shimmering walls of Rumplestiltskin’s protective enchantment formed a dome around the city. She turned to him with shining eyes, a small smile forming on her lips, and Rumplestiltskin wondered, for a fraction of a second, if he had just made a colossal mistake.

...Snark

A terrific crash sounded throughout the castle and Rumplestiltskin looked up unhurriedly from his spinning. His new maid was unexpectedly clumsy for a lady, and he wondered in a detached manner what disaster she’d caused this time. This morning she’d burnt his breakfast almost beyond recognition and, when he’d pointed that out, had proceeded to break almost an entire cabinet’s worth of dishes.

Come to think of it, that might not have been an accident.

Another crash rang through the halls, but Rumplestiltskin ignored it. The loud, vulgar curse that shortly followed, however, drew his interest. Giggling to himself, he hunted his maid down and found her sitting inelegantly among piles of swords and shields, a number more spilling out of the open closet beside her.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Looking for a broom,” she snapped. “Why do you need so many swords?”

“I don’t need them, dearie. I collect them.”

“And shove them in broom closets?”

“Well.” He was, for once, at a bit of a loss for words. “I was all out of sword closets.”

She snorted what might have been a laugh and struggled to her feet while he stared in surprise. “If you want these floors swept, I need a broom.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Rumplestiltskin flicked his wrist and a broom appeared in his hand. He handed it to the lady, who took it and began to walk away. “Ah, ah, dearie! You’ve got a little mess to clean up here. Maids are supposed to clean messes, not cause them.”

“Perhaps you should’ve bargained for an actual maid, then,” the lady muttered to herself as she leaned the broom against the wall and bent to pick up the swords scattered on the floor.

She did have a tongue on her, didn’t she? He mused that many others would have been turned into snails or worse by now, but she was actually an entertaining little thing and could cause him no real harm. His wits might be sharpened if he had someone to argue with on occasion. Still, she ought to be taught to remember her place.

“I will expect my tea at exactly four o’clock,” he said sternly, “and this hall had better. Be. Spotless.” He could feel her glare hot on his back as he walked away. Breakfast had been nothing short of appalling, but he hoped she could at least handle tea. Or maybe not. Needling her was turning out to be a great deal of fun, and she did look absolutely ridiculous cleaning in her ballgown. Already there were smudges of dirt and little tears on the hem, and her delicate heels must surely be murdering her feet.

Served the spoiled little wench right.

...Laundry Day

One afternoon about a month into their deal, Rumplestiltskin was irritated to look up from his wheel and find no tea tray on the table. He was further irritated to discover that his maid wasn’t even in the kitchen rushing to complete her tasks. She could usually be trusted to get tea right at least. He had wandered into the kitchen to see what had kept her, but the fireplace was empty and the stove cold.

“Belle!”

No answer.

“Belle!”

Where was she? Why wasn’t she answering? A fission of fear worked its way into his anger. Had something happened to her? He clattered down the stairs toward her room.

“Belle!”

“What?” Her voice was muffled behind the heavy door, but at least it proved she was there. In his relief he decided to forgive her less than respectful tone.

“It’s past time for tea, dearie. Did you get lost in one of your books again?” Though why she would be reading down here instead of in her - his - library was a mystery.

“No.”

“Then why is there no tea tray on my table?” He heard her mutter something. “What was that, dearie?”

“Nothing.” More muttering.

“Belle, I can’t hear you. Come out here and resume your duties.”

“I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

The door creaked open a sliver and her head appeared in the tiny opening. “It was laundry day yesterday,” she said in the exceedingly patient tone one might use with a recalcitrant toddler.

He stared at her. She stared back. “And?” he prompted finally.

She huffed. “I only have one dress, Rumplestiltskin. You didn’t give me much time to pack when we left the Marchlands. I let it go as long as I could, but it needed washing desperately.”

His brow creased. If she only had the one dress, what was she…

Oh.

Oh dear.

Apparently Belle mistook his blank look of shock for confusion, because she felt compelled to elaborate.

“I can’t exactly clean the castle in nothing but my -”

“Yes, yes, I understand!” he interrupted, an edge of panic to his voice. Gods knew he didn’t need that mental image.

“I mean, I suppose I could wear my cloak, but it doesn’t really fasten all the -”

“Shut up.”

“Or there are my bedsheets -”

With a growl Rumplestiltskin disappeared in a cloud of smoke, but not before he heard her giggle. Impertinent, disrespectful baggage. He’d been thinking of magicking her dress dry, but now she could forget it. She could just wait down there in the cold, the chill air causing her skin to prickle and tighten and…

Seven hells, he had really, truly, desperately not needed the image.

He absolutely did not hide in his tower laboratory until he could be reasonably certain that his maid was decent again. The Dark One did not hide. He had work to do, after all. And when she called from the bottom of the stairs that his dinner was ready, he certainly didn’t jump and fumble with the glassware. No, he calmly and collectedly appeared in his chair to partake of his evening meal.

He noticed that the golden gown, though so very recently laundered, was still decidedly shabby and stained. The sight didn’t give him quite as much satisfaction as it had the day before.

...Illness

Breakfast was late the next morning, and Rumplestiltskin was quite frankly baffled. What excuse could she possibly give this time? He had his answer when she shuffled into the Great Hall, her eyes bleary and her nose a most unattractive shade of red.

“You look terrible,” he snapped.

Instead of snapping back, Belle shrugged and muttered what sounded like an actual apology. The girl apologized for the strangest things. She placed a dish before him and turned abruptly away to shield him and his food from a sudden racking cough that shook her tiny frame.

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin said in a gentle voice rusty from disuse, “go back to bed.”

“Can’t. Too much work to do.”

“The work’ll keep.”

“Can’t you just make me better?”

“Well, I could, but as you know all too well, all magic comes with a price. A little cold isn’t a job for magic. If you get worse I’ll think about it. Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes, a good sign that she wasn’t actually at death’s door.

“Go get some sleep.”

She shuffled away, and Rumplestiltskin took care of his own needs for the first time in a month. He tried to enjoy the peace and quiet, but he was on edge, always listening for sounds (crashes and footsteps and laughter and off-tune humming) that never came. Gods save him, had he actually learned to enjoy having the little bluebird around?

He hadn’t heard a single peep from her all day, and he decided it couldn’t hurt just to check in, maybe tease her a bit about malingering. He appeared before her door and was immediately unsure what to do. Ought he to knock? But whoever heard of the Dark One politely knocking on a dungeon door in his own castle? Yet he was curiously reluctant to just barge in. He settled for calling her name.

She didn’t answer.

“Belle?”

Silence. He was getting deja vu.

“Belle!” With a huff of exasperation he pulled the door open and stormed into the cell. “Really, dearie, how many times must I…”

Belle was wrapped tightly in her bedsheets, a fine sheen of sweat on her deathly pale face. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing and her breath came in little pants from chapped lips. Her fingers clutched the edges of her sheets, trembling and blue.

Cursing foully, Rumplestiltskin swept her up into his arms - she felt as if she were on fire - and in an instant they were in one of the castle’s abandoned bedrooms, the fire springing to life. He placed her gently amongst the blankets on the bed and smoothed a sticky lock of hair from her brow.

“Dammit, Belle,” he whispered, “why didn’t you tell me…” but his voice trailed away.

Tell him what, exactly? That she was sick? That her dungeon was damp and cold? That she had nothing to wear but the ridiculous ballgown currently drenched in perspiration? That catching her death of cold in that forsaken deathtrap of a dungeon was basically inevitable? He’d known all of that. Delighted in some of it, occasionally. As he watched her twitch and fret feverishly, his stomach rolled with an emotion that took a few seconds to identify.

Guilt.

He hadn’t felt guilty since - well, for a couple hundred years or so. Of course, he hadn’t actually been responsible for the welfare of another in all that long while. Was that what he was? Responsible for this wee termagant who defied and challenged him at every opportunity? He supposed he was, and he settled it with the Darkness that she was his to destroy if he wished - he simply didn’t wish it.

Belle began to cough again, and Rumplestiltskin had had enough. He placed a hand on her brow - he hissed at the heat of it - and willed healing magic to flow throughout her body. Her fever cooled, her breaths came more naturally, and her skin regained its color. Despite the magic, her body would need rest to recover, so he cast a small spell that would render her unwakeable until she was fully healed. She would no doubt be ravenous when she woke, but they would deal with that later. As she sank into her enchanted sleep, she rolled onto one side and breathed deeply, a small smile blooming on her lips.

Rumplestiltskin stared gloomily at her for a few moments, and around him the room began to change. The stone floor was covered by a thick pale yellow rug, the bed became a handsome cherry four-poster with blue hangings and a soft white quilt, curtains and pictures and lamps and vases of flowers appeared on the windows and the walls and the mantle and a few end tables. A cherry wardrobe appeared, followed by a large dressing table on one side of the fireplace and a deep blue armchair on the other. Belle’s golden ball gown wavered and in its place was a warm cotton nightdress, a thick woolen robe appearing to drape over the chair by the fire. And through it all Rumplestiltskin stood motionless, gazing at his housekeeper.

The sound of Belle crying out his name was one he’d started imagining every now and then (much to his shame), but in general her cries ceased when he opened his eyes, and their tone was not usually so panicked. He snapped to full awareness when he realized that she sounded terrified, and the sound was coming, not from his own head, but from the bedroom down the hall. Without stopping to wonder whether this was a good idea, he instantly transported himself to her room, where he found Belle crouched in a corner in the cotton nightgown he’d conjured for her, trembling and staring about with wide eyes. At the sight of him she leapt from her position and threw her arms around him.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she gasped, and he took her by the shoulders and very gently pushed her away from him.

“What’s the matter, dearie?” he asked in a low, urgent voice.

“What’s the matter?” she stammered disbelievingly. “Where are we? Who brought me here? What do they want? How could anyone take me from the Dark Castle?”

“Ah. You, ah, haven’t left the Dark Castle, dearie.” She stood before the fire, the glow silhouetting her form inside the gown in the most distracting manner. Averting his eyes, he grabbed the woolen robe from the chair and tossed it to her. She clutched it before her and stared at him as if he were speaking in tongues.

“I haven’t? But where am I? I’ve never seen this room before.”

“Well, get familiar with it. It’s yours.”

It didn’t seem possible that her eyes could go even wider, but they did, and she turned in a slow circle, gazing about her in wonder. “Mine? But...why?”

“What, you want - you want to stay in the dungeon?”

“No.”

“Well.”

She stepped forward and began to walk around the room, her bare toes sinking into the plush carpet, the fingers of one hand trailing over the richly-colored wood of the bed, her eyes taking in all of the little decorations he’d conjured up for her. When she turned to face him again, finally shrugging into the robe, her face was a picture of surprised pleasure.

“It’s beautiful.”

He shrugged. “Compared to the dungeon, anything’s beautiful.”

“No, I mean...it’s perfect. The colors and the flowers and pictures...it’s everything I could have wanted.”

He was absurdly pleased and couldn’t quite stop his proud smile from making an appearance, but he managed a careless wave of his hand.

“Why?” she asked again.

“I need room for other desperate souls in the dungeon, dearie. You were taking up valuable space down there.”

Belle gave a soft snort of laughter (a sound now categorized among his very favorites) and shook her head. Swiftly she closed the space between them and he took an alarmed step back, fearing another of her ferocious hugs. Instead, smiling gently, she placed her hands on his shoulders and, stretching up on her wee toes, pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her breath warm on his skin, and he stepped back in good earnest, forcing her hands to fall back to her sides.

“It’s no matter,” he mumbled. “Go back to sleep.” When she had turned away from him he traveled back to his own room, where, amidst the cold gray stone, thoughts of her smiles and touches and the phantom pressure of her lips on his skin could be banished properly.

...Flirtation

“Have you cleaned anything today?” Rumplestiltskin grumbled when he found his little maid tucked away in the library - again.

“‘Course I have. Floors are swept and mopped, laundry’s on the line, collection’s dusted.” She didn’t even look up from the book she held in her lap.

“And, ah, my straw?”

She looked up. “Are you out of straw?”

He fidgeted a little under her clear, direct gaze. “Almost.”

“I put a fresh bale in your basket last night.”

“Well, I spun a great deal last night. And this morning.”

“So you climbed four flights of stairs to tell me you were almost out of straw?”

He glared, forcing his twitching fingers to be still.

“When you could have just magicked more straw or, gods forbid, fetched it yourself?”

“I could have done those things, dearie, but you see, I have a little creature known as a maid, and it is her job to fetch me whatever I need!” His voice rose almost to a shout at the last, but Belle merely rolled her eyes, carefully marked her place in her book, and rose gracefully from her seat. She approached the shelf and gently pushed the book back into place, her fingers brushing the spine briefly as if in farewell.

“Why do you do that?” Rumplestiltskin asked, the words leaping from his mouth before he could stop them.

“Do what?”

He stepped up next to her and pulled the book out of its place; stepping back, he gestured for her to push it back in again. With a puzzled glance, she reached out and nudged the book back in place, her fingers once again caressing it gently.

“That,” he said, ignoring the warm shiver that traveled his own spine. “Why do you do that?”

“Oh.” Belle studied her hand, as if surprised by her own actions. “I suppose - I suppose because I think of books as my friends.”

“Friends?” he giggled. “These blocks of tree pulp and ink?”

Her jewel-like eyes flashed. “Yes,” she said stoutly, pulling one book at random and caressing the cover. “These windows to the world, these talismans against ignorance, these treasures of mind and heart and soul. How can you just dismiss them like that?”

“They’re only words, dearie,” he murmured, ever-so-slightly enchanted by her passionate response.

“Only words?” she snorted. “Now you’re just baiting me. Of all men, Rumplestiltskin, you, the Dark One, the Sorcerer, the Deal Maker should know the immutable power of words. How many of your deals hinge upon a single word?” She shook her head and replaced the book, and the shiver that overtook him when she caressed it was more pronounced than ever.

“And do you bid farewell to your living friends the same way you do your inanimate ones?” his unruly tongue asked before he could stop it.

She blinked at him, surprised, and then a corner of her mouth turned up. “I guess you’d have to become my friend to find out.”

He was standing too close to her and the room was too bloody warm. That was how he explained the flush of heat climbing up his neck. Her eyes were growing brighter and her smile wider, and his brain scrambled for something to say in return. No one befriended the Dark One - never had, never would - so what could she mean by insinuating that she would welcome his friendship? And the thought of her caressing him in farewell, her lovely fingers brushing through his hair or down his cheek...He had been silent far too long. Dropping his eyes from hers, he stepped back.

“Unlikely, dearie,” he said, his voice every so slightly unsteady, “if my basket continues to fall empty. Now, scat.”

The minx bit down a smile and turned to descend the tower steps. Released from whatever spell she’d put him under, he grinned wickedly and waited until he knew she had entered the dungeon cell in which the straw was kept. With a flick of his wrist he pictured the basket next to his spinning wheel filling with straw. A few moments later…

“Rumplestiltskin!!!”

He chuckled to himself and whisked away to his laboratory.

...Touch

Rumplestiltskin cursed himself for an idiot. He prided himself on having a good many failings, but stupidity was not usually one of them, and now he had fallen prey to it with a vengeance.

It had been bound to happen.

Belle was a beautiful woman - achingly, ethereally lovely - and he was a man...more or less. They lived in fairly tight quarters; despite the size of the Dark Castle, only a few rooms were habitually used and they saw each other every moment of every day. He had seen her doze off in the chaise in the library, a book perpetually in her hand. He had heard her hum tunelessly to herself as she mended his shirts. He had wandered into the kitchens to find her waltzing with a mop, and then delighted in the fiery blush that stole over her cheeks when she realized he was watching her.

Her beauty, however, was not bound to be his undoing, he rather thought. No, he had seen many a comely woman and, with the rare extraordinary exception, had never been in danger from any of them. Her innate goodness and kindness, her insistence on thinking well of him, her determination to see him as something more than the Dark One, were all infinitely more dangerous to him than her sparkling eyes and sunny smile.

Even with all of that, though, he would probably have contented himself with admiring and liking her - he liked so few people these days, and liking at least one person was rather a relief. Her presence in his castle would not have given him a moment’s pause if it weren’t for a third very striking circumstance.

She had touched him.

She was an affectionate creature, his little caretaker. Since the day he had let Robin Hood escape and she had hugged him impulsively, her casual touches had become more frequent. She bumped his shoulder with hers in friendly camaraderie, swatted his arm when he made a macabre joke, smoothed his hair when he came in from out of the wind, straightened his collars and smoothed his lapels before he left on a journey, laid a hand on his when she wanted him to pay particular attention to her words. Once, she had even leaned her head on his shoulder and fallen asleep as they traveled back from a rare trip to town.

It was enough to try the fortitude of any regular man. Rumplestiltskin was not, by any means, a regular man, and he had never had much fortitude even when he had been.

And now he had the memory of her warm and soft in his arms to drive him to distraction. Why had he not simply frozen her in midair? Or magicked a pile of cushions beneath her, or set her safely back atop the ladder, or...or any number of magical solutions that were not catching her and then gazing at her as if he’d never seen a woman before? Why, several days later, could he not shake the feeling that she was watching him more closely, smiling more sweetly, speaking more warmly?

She had not looked repulsed at having him so close to her, he recalled. She had not leapt from his arms the way she had leapt away from a spider making its peaceful away across the flagstone floor. She hadn’t wrinkled her nose and cringed as he’d seen her do when confronted with slugs in the garden. Far from being disgusted by him, she had always been the one to initiate any sort of contact between them. In all his unnaturally long life he had never been touched as much as he had been in the few months she’d spent under his roof.

He began to wonder how she would respond if he touched her. He wondered if she would mind if he were to offer her his hand to help her down from stools and ladders. Or perhaps she would allow him to brush dust off her skirts when she was a little too enthusiastic with the broom. Could he offer her his arm if they walked together in the garden or village? Could he tuck unruly curls behind her ears or wipe smudges of soot from her face? Once those thoughts took hold it was nearly impossible to banish them, and he found himself watching her, imagining her reaction to his touch, hoping for opportunities to reach out.

His chance finally came when he saw that she’d discovered a book about palmistry and fortune-telling in his library. In those first years after Bae was lost, Rumplestiltskin had collected as many books as he could find on all magical topics. The seer who’d foretold his fate had not been easy to find, so he had also studied all methods of seeing the future, to determine whether he could learn the skill himself. Many of those methods were pure chicanery, as he’d discovered to his cost. He chuckled when he found her poring over the tome as if it held the answers to all life’s questions.

“You’re more likely to learn to fly than to see the future, dearie,” he said. She started a little and looked reproachfully at him; she hated him to appear without warning. “Seeing is a gift - either you have it or you don’t. Besides, your future is pretty well set, wouldn’t you say?”

Sighing, Belle ran one hand over the page. “I suppose. I know I’m never to leave, but I suppose I wondered if I would ever...if there would ever be…” She shrugged and closed the book. “I don’t know.” Looking up at him, she gave him a small, sad smile. “I suppose you learned palmistry, then?”

“A lifetime ago,” he acknowledged. He approached her, perched on the arm of her chair, and cautiously reached out to take her hand in his. Her eyes widened, but she did not frown or cringe, and she made no move to pull away. Emboldened, he turned her tiny white hand over and traced one blackened fingernail along the lines etched into her palm.

“The lines of the palm are meant to indicate your personality,” he said. “Yours suggest that you do not give your heart easily, but that you express your feelings without reserve. That you are not ruled by destiny, that you are prone to daydreaming, and that you have an adventurous spirit.”

“Do you not agree?” Belle asked, her eyes fixed on his finger on her skin.

“That’s the trouble with palmistry, dearie,” he said. “Am I truly seeing those things in the lines of your palm? Or have I simply deduced that from knowing you? A stranger might spin an entirely different tale. Whether you believe it or not - well, that’s up to you.”

“And...your palm? What does it say?” Belle turned his hand over and he held his breath as she touched one of the lines there.

“It...uh…” She had not recoiled, which made this encounter a victory, but now she was much too close, too bold, and he pulled very lightly. She did not hold him captive, but allowed him to pull his hand away and curl it into a fist. “Monsters’ palms cannot be read.” Her lips pursed and she rolled her eyes, and he stood quickly to escape the heavy atmosphere that had settled around them. “Back to work with you, little maid,” he said, fighting to keep his voice light. “My collection is gathering dust.”

He disappeared in a swirl of smoke before she could say another word.

...Kiss

She would not come back. He repeated this sentence to himself over and over throughout the evening. There was no reason for her to return; he had freed her from her servitude and left the way clear for her to escape.

She would not come back. Her interest in him and his past, her determination to know him, were merely the result of her imprisonment. The charm of his promised history would pall next to the lure of freedom.

She would not come back.

The sun began to set and the moon to rise, and still she did not appear on the road. He didn’t know how long he stood at the window, a sort of resigned despondency seeping into him as the night grew dark and darker and still she was gone. He reminded himself that he had been alone before she came and he had no problem being alone again. If she preferred to be with her oafish suitors and brainless courtesans, so be it. He would not regret…

A small figure seemed to materialize on the road and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart stutter to a stop. The dim light must be playing tricks on his eyes, because the figure was wearing a green cloak and carrying a basket full of straw. She was a mirage, caused by eyestrain and the faint, foolish hope that she cared for him as he did for her.

But mirages did not draw nearer, and they certainly didn’t stumble over a loose clod of dirt in the drive.

She had come back. She had come back!

His heart roared to life again, pounding almost painfully in his chest. He spun away from the window and galloped down the stairs as quickly as his legs would carry him. She had come back! Why...why...why? Because she will not rest until you are dead, the Darkness whispered. No, his heart responded, because she wanted to. Because she liked the castle. Because she liked...him.

He heard the castle doors open and froze on the landing. He didn’t want her to see him rushing to greet her like an overeager boy. That would do his dark image no good at all. He transported himself to his spinning wheel instead, and pretended to be busy when she entered the Great Hall, her basket over her arm.

“Back already?” he chirped. “Good!” Too eager. “Good thing. I’m, ah, almost out of straw.”

Belle smirked at him as she set down her basket. “Come on,” she said coyly. “You’re happy I’m back.”

He fought to keep his smile from growing too wide. “I’m not unhappy,” he demurred, as if his very blood wasn’t humming.

He hoped - gods, how he hoped - that he was not imagining the flirtatious glance she sent him. Every coherent thought scattered to the wind when she walked behind him and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. “And you promised me a story,” she murmured close to his ear.

His head was swimming. “D-Did I?” he stammered.

“Mm-hmm,” she chirped. Plucking the rope out of his nerveless fingers, she seated herself on the base of the wheel, leaned close to him, and - for the love of all things light and dark - placed a hand on his leg. She looked ready to hang on his every word, or - if he wasn’t completely delusional - from his very lips.

“Tell me about your son,” she said gently. At least, that was what he thought she said. She might have started singing in Gnomish for all the sense her behavior made to him. She couldn’t - she couldn’t possibly - there was no possibility in this world or any other…

But she had come back.

“Ah…” With her luminous eyes and sweet smile fixed on him, he found he could not bear to see them dim with disgust. “I lost him,” he said lamely. “There’s...nothing more to tell, really.”

“And since then, you’ve loved no one, and no one has loved you.”

This conversation could not possibly be heading in the direction he thought it was. Incredulously he leaned forward and peered into her eyes as if he could search out her secrets. “Why did you come back?” he whispered.

“I wasn’t going to, but then…” Her breath was coming a little faster, her face alight with expectation, even excitement. “Then something changed my mind.”

Slowly, gently, she leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers.

...Anniversary

“Rumple, I...Rumple?” Belle froze in the dining room archway, her brow contracting in confusion. Before her stretched a room that was far larger than could be reasonably expected in their house...and it was deeply, nearly painfully, familiar to her. The dark wooden floor, the long table, the high-arched windows - she imagined that if she glanced out those windows she would see snow-capped mountains. At the far end of the room was a dais, and upon it…

“Back already!” her husband chirped from behind his spinning wheel. “Good! Good thing. I’m almost out of straw!”

Belle gaped. Whatever illusion Rumplestiltskin had created, it extended to his very person. Seated at the wheel, his skin glittering green and gold, his hair wavy and untamed, his clothes of the finest silk and leather, he was Rumplestiltskin of old, the imp with whom she’d first fallen in love.

“Dearie?” he chirped. “The straw?” Belle met his eyes and saw that he looked nervous, the fingers of one hand rubbing against each other in a familiar gesture.

Belle felt a whisper of magic envelop her and looked down to see that her clothes had been replaced by her old blue maid’s dress and at her feet was a basket of straw. Smiling to herself, she lifted the basket and walked forward into the room. She gave him a cheeky look and set the basket near his wheel, and then turned to smirk at him through the spokes of the wheel. “You’re happy I’m back,” she said, the words tasting bittersweet in her mouth.

“I’m not unhappy,” he demurred, and Belle nearly giggled. Stepping behind him, she placed her hands on his shoulders and felt him take a deep breath.

“And you promised me a story.”

“D-did I?”

“Mm-hmm.” She sat on the bench beside him and placed a hand on his leg. “Tell me about your son.”

His eyes flitted over her face before he took another breath. “I lost him. He hated what I’d become, and wanted me to go with him to a new land - a land without magic, where I could be his father again. I - I let him go, and I have spent every moment of the time since attempting to get him back.”

Belle took his hand in hers and squeezed lightly. “Rumple…”

“I vowed to love nothing else until I found him.”

She had not known that. Belle breathed in shakily as she recognized that this was not a roleplay or game. It was a confession.

An apology.

“Rumple.”

“Why did you come back?” he asked, and she knew he was asking not just as a part of the scene, but to understand why she had come back to him, always come back to him, despite everything.

“Because I love you,” she said, “as you love me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched in a tiny smile. Gently tugging on her hand, he pulled her forward and pressed his lips to hers. “I do love you,” he whispered as her other hand anchored in his hair. “Always have. Always will.”

Belle whimpered as he deepened the kiss and pulled her closer, lifting her and settling her on his knees. When he freed her hand she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tugged him flush against her, smiling against his lips when he grunted. His hands swept up her back and into her hair; he tugged gently to tilt her head back and expose the column of her throat. His lips explored her there, traveling up to the sensitive spot behind her ear, humming in appreciation when she raked her hands through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp.

“Mama!”

Their son’s plaintive cry sounded from the teapot on the table, and Rumplestiltskin grumbled against her throat. Belle giggled and pulled back. The enchantment around them shimmered and melted away, and her husband was once again smooth-skinned and brown-eyed with cropped silver hair. Belle stroked her thumb along one sharp cheekbone and pressed a kiss to his lips. “To be continued?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” he rasped, pulling her in again for a fierce kiss. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

Belle smiled and rose with a final tug of his hair. “Happy anniversary, Rumple.”

[interviewtion]

Niku Gutfuck Interviewtion

In this interview I talked to Texas-based musician Niku Gutfuck about the role of ambient music as a healing tool, the inspirations for their new EP, and the process of focusing on addressing mental health.  Q: You’re extremely honest and outspoken about your struggles with mental health. How have those struggles informed and inspired the music you make, especially on this new EP?

A: I've had these issues for a long time but never bothered to talk about them. I never really knew how to. That said, I didn't know how to make art about them either. I didn't even know I had bipolar disorder or OCD until I was diagnosed this year. It all made sense after I was diagnosed, but finding out I just...gave up. I stopped caring. I skipped class, I never went outside, I avoided other people. I just kinda existed. 

Relating this to the EP, someone very dear to me who had been a very big part of my life for about two years tried desperately to help me. They tried their best, but the issue is I didn't. I instead, pulled the stupid pity party card multiple times and found myself being like "well, this is just life. Whatever," rather than growing the fuck up and taking the initiative to make things in my life better. Suffering took zero effort. That's why I decided to just be miserable. Eventually, these issues of mine took control. 

I said things I didn't mean and acted in ways I never thought I would, all to this person that has always been there for me. I hurt them badly. We ended up going our separate ways. I didn't realize how much their company meant to me and how much I had taken them for granted until they were gone. It was too late. I grew the fuck up too late. I did everything too late. 

I found myself remembering that this person always told me that I was one of the few people who truly cared about them. That I was always there for them. That I was very important to them. And in return I gave them a big "fuck you" without even realizing it because I was so clouded by my own self loathing and selfishness. It fucked me up. I considered this person family, and honestly still do. But because of me they are gone. It pains me more than I could ever explain. 

This EP is about that. It's about me grieving over losing this person. How much I miss them. How sorry I am. How I decided to start self harming because I couldn't live with myself. How I became even more of a shut in because of my actions. And finally, realizing that I need to change. 

It's entirely ambient because I feel like droney ambient music is best at giving off intended emotions. Ambient music is very personal, I feel like lots of people don't realize that. The message behind the EP is "look into yourself, see if your problems are becoming you, and change it before it comes at a price that you would have no choice to pay." 

I don't want my listeners to be like me, I want them to learn from me. I don't see myself as a role model. I see myself  as a colossal fuck up that's trying to change their ways and NOT be a colossal fuck up. I care so much about all of my supporters and their well being. To be honest, I want to make that person proud despite everything. I hope I am. Take your mental health seriously. You don't want to find comfort in your problems. That's a path that leads to a very dark place.

Q: In your essay on your latest release you talk a little bit about Tamakichi Anaru, so how has his visual work inspired your own music? A: Snuff films used to really interest me in the sense that I never really got what motivated people to do such acts. Anaru-san's work is very very violent and, to be blunt, fucked up in nature ranging from the most heinous acts of violence to straight up gore porn. I find Anaru-san's work to be in a sense some of the most human shit. To explain, we're fucked up. 

I have a writer friend named Noah, who once told me that he believes that humans are naturally born evil. Though it isn't as black and white as that, there is some truth to the statement. The human race in general is just fucked up. We spread the message of loving each other through media outlets or to strangers passing by, yet we hurt each other every single day. Slavery, genocide, war, oppression, even things that are on a smaller scale like bullying. This is the shit we do to each other. We make each other miserable. 

I feel like, in a way, Anaru-san's work is a manifestation of that. It's fucked up, and in no way do I condone any of it, but at the end of the day all of us have the potential to be fucked up. Some people just choose to hide it behind a mask. Q: What made you end the Midori Kida project in order to start releasing music as Niku Gutfuck? A: Niku Gutfuck started last year, actually. I was releasing very violent harsh noise music, it was straight up a wall of power electronics. The project initially was started because of my experiences with anger issues and obsessive compulsive disorder. 

It was meant to portray a feeling of anger. As a society, we look down upon anger. Anger is painted in a negative light all the time, people with bad anger issues are often demonized, and looked at as violent people that just want to inflict pain on others. For the longest time, I shamed myself for it because of that. I believe that we shouldn't be judged for our emotions, but for our actions. Anger is human. We tend to think of humanity as whatever the media portrays humanity as. That feeling of being an outcast due to my issues was initially what inspired Niku Gutfuck. 

Midori Kida, however, wasn't at all as deep as that, nor do I think it ever could have been. I was catering. It was me not being myself. It felt like I was making music under someone else’s project. That's a very harmful way to look at doing something you like to do, but it's the truth. I didn't realize just how personal Niku Gutfuck was until very recently, so I decided to keep the name and take the project to new places, while still keeping the themes that were personally significant to me.

Q: How did you choose the name Niku Gutfuck for this project? Are you worried at all that a name like that might turn some people away from listening to the music? A: Originally I just picked it because it sounded violent and angry enough for the context of the music, but after I got tired and upset with Midori Kida, I realized I had some personal connections to it. Like I said, Anaru-san's films depict the ugly fucked up side of humans that we like to pretend doesn't exist. Well, one has to be ridiculously fucked in the head to commit such heinous acts of violence upon another person. To me, it's giving in to your mental health problems. Letting them take control and change you. You're no longer yourself, you're your problems wearing your skin and passing off as you. It makes you harm people, break others, destroy them because your mental health problems grabbed you by the collar and you didn't have the willpower to force them to put you down. Just like I did to my best friend. 

Like I said before, I want to make music so people learn from my mistakes, I don't want people to be like me, I want people to LEARN from me. Mental health problems can be fixed with time, willpower, and effort. It takes courage. Something I lacked. And in turn I hurt someone who was very important to me. Niku Gutfuck is supposed to symbolize that. Not even being yourself anymore. Becoming a costume that your paranoia wears to look like you. 

I was worried about the name at first, and in a way I still am, but the more I thought about the personal aspects the more I felt like I had to. I'm so obsessed with people being happy honestly. Happiness is the best thing in the world in my opinion. Just seeing someone, anyone, happy makes me emotional and happy too. But while that's something I wanna do with my art, at the end of the day I need to do this for myself too. I do this for other people, but I also do it for me. Art is the only method of self expression that I have. I want to make things for people who need it, but how can I expect my art to help others if it can't even help me first?

Q: What is the appeal of ambient music for you? A: My friend Warren (he makes music as Foxes in Fiction) once described ambient music as "audio xanax". I think that's very accurate. To me, ambient music is the epitome of emotion. A lot of ambient and drone-y experimental music doesn't have a ton going on, and I normally see that as a common complaint with the genre. I, however, think that is fine. There is this science where certain frequencies and tones can make people feel certain emotions. Music can be healing. That inspires me a lot. 

Ambient music is a genre I always find myself going back to, especially when things start to become overbearing. You don't have to worry about any drastic changes, it's pretty much just music to remember things to. I enjoy that. I'm a very sentimental and sensitive person, so I remember things in my life a lot. Good and bad. Ambient music tends to be my soundtrack for that.

Q: Who are some of your personal favorite ambient/drone/noise artists? Do you have three albums in those genres you would recommend to people who aren’t familiar with them? A: An artist that has always been there for me is Yuko Imada. In fact, Yuko Imada's "Untitled (Moon)" was pretty much 99% of the inspiration for Everything is Gone. On Seeing has been my favorite song for years, I listen to it when insomnia keeps me up. I Am A Lake of Burning Orchids has also inspired me a ton as well. I also can't go without mentioning Watashi no Koko and Apollo Knives. Since I have quite a few influences for this album, I decided to give five recommendations instead of three, simply because there are a lot I recommend. Yuko Imada - Untitled (Moon) I Am A Lake of Burning Orchids - Summer in My Veins Apollo Knives - The Harshest Winter Watashi no Koko - まごころを君に Nobuto Suda - Modest Calm I also want to point out that the Yume Nikki and .flow soundtracks are fucking fantastic. They inspire me a lot, both of those games are so dear to me.

I really wanna talk about some of the other artists that inspire the album I am working on. Not ambient artists, but I really feel like I should point them out because of how much they all mean to me. 

One of my biggest influences is Halsey. She's honestly one of my favorite artists of all time. Her music is so important to me and she's somebody I really really look up to and view as a hero. Her lyrics hit very very close to home to me, I relate so much to them. Reading interviews with her and seeing that she also deals with bipolar disorder makes me feel like I'm not alone. I usually feel like I'm an outcast because of my BPD. Like I shouldn't have anybody close to me and I should remain in solitude cause I'll just end up hurting them by accident. She showed me that my mental health doesn't have to define me. She influences me in so many different ways, in my opinion all of her music is perfect. I honestly can't stress enough how vital Halsey is to me and how much I look up to her haha. 

I feel the exact same way about Meishi Smile. Meishi Smile has been one of my favorite music projects for so so long. The amount of raw emotion in the music is so breathtakingly beautiful to me, I've viewed Garrett Yim as a hero since I was a Junior in high school. I've always been obsessed with his countless projects (nono., and the previously mentioned Yuko Imada) and honestly he is one of the reasons I ever started making music in the first place. 

Meishi Smile and Halsey both make me feel like somebody gets it. Every day I wake up and feel like I am inhuman. Like, my mental shit makes me some monster that deserves to have nobody. They show me otherwise. I wanna do that for somebody at the end of the day. Show someone that they are not alone.

On another note, I am also very inspired by J-Pop. I really love the works of Yasutaka Nakata, whether it be Perfume, Capsule, or Kyary Pamyu Pamyu (the queen haha). J-Pop just has this sound to it that really makes me gravitate towards it. It sounds very happy on the surface, but if you look deeper it's a very dark genre, a good example being Kyary Pamyu Pamyu's music video for Kira Kira Killer (one of my personal favorite Kyary songs) exploring themes of death. 

Tyler the Creator is also a colossal influence on me, he's helped me a lot when it came to dealing with my anger issues and shit. And of course I am also very inspired by Porter Robinson and Madeon, they are also heroes to me. Also, anime haha. Stuff like Danganronpa, Anohana, and Madoka Magica fill me with this weird urge to recreate how those franchises make me feel and how they sound to me. 

But I get most of my creative inspiration from my personal experiences. I do lots of venting through art. All of the upcoming album is me doing that. Venting.  I have a lot of emotional scars and have so many regrets. This new album is so personal. One song is about how in my state of feeling torn up over what I've done I turned to drugs as a coping mechanism and ended up having this mental breakdown after getting super fucking high. Another is about my dependency issues with self harm and how I've become addicted to cutting and burning myself. It feels weird, honestly. Makes me feel kinda naked, you know? At the same time it feels so good putting feeling into my music. Letting out all my regrets, grudges, and anxieties into a tangible form just feels...good. It's something I wish I've always done rather than make music I'm not proud of. I'm hoping I find myself while making this album.

Q: It seems like video games are an important component of your life, so do you ever see yourself soundtracking a game? A: I've actually thought of this quite a bit. I'd love to in all honesty. I'd soundtrack any game really, but I'd really love to make the ost to a Yume Nikki fangame. Yume Nikki is such an important game, it's amazing that Kikiyama was able to create such a dedicated fanbase over a simple little RPG Maker game. I still visit Uboachan, though not too frequently. 

I first got introduced to video games in the Gamecube/Game Boy era, so growing up games like Pokemon Silver, Sonic Adventure (both of them), Super Mario Sunshine, and my favorite game of all time Legend of Zelda Twilight Princess took up all my time. I remember maxing out the ingame clock in Twilight Princess haha. From there I graduated to PC gaming, and now the game I've been playing the most of is Overwatch. I'm pretty garbage at it but competitive has been helping me get better. I'd also like to point out while we're on the topic of video games how much Danganronpa means to me. It's one of my favorite games and makes me hella emotional. There's a song on my new album about it haha. Q: What do you have planned for the future of this project? A: I have a new album coming out at some point that’s named Stay. Niku Gutfuck is split into two different styles: The ambient, droney harsh noise side such as Everything is Gone, and a very J-Pop inspired electronic music side. The topic of Everything is Gone is gonna be elaborated on in a few songs, as well as other topics I want to get off my chest. I am not sure when this is coming out, where I will release it, or if I will fuck with any labels at all, I am just trying to get my emotions out in audio form as of right now. I'm ultimately trying to improve as a producer and musician as much as I can, music production is honestly something that I just adore fucking with and I can't see myself stopping no matter how discouraged I get. 

There's this fire in me that won't let me stop, and I am so glad it's there cause it keeps me going. I'm trying to find an artist to work with to make the album cover, especially since I love working with visual artists. The feeling of two artistic minds that focus on different art forms coming together to create something is so inspiring to me and one of my favorite things about making music.

Be sure to follow Niku Gutfuck on Twitter to keep up to date!