#bitches have to get masters to get proper jobs and everyone goes around as if thats normal! like bitch in this countries economy

[deathisamotherofbeauty]

Another day running on 6 hours of sleep (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠)

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Behind The Album: OK Computer

The third studio album from Radiohead was released in May 1997 by Parlophone Records. This would mark the first album that Nigel Godrich worked on as their producer. The band would self produce the entire album themselves, which they have done on every record since. In 1995, Brian Eno asked the band to contribute a song to a charity compilation for War Child entitled Help. They were scheduled to do the recording in only a day, which led to the track, “Lucky.” Godrich would say of the recording. “Those things are the most inspiring, when you do stuff really fast and there's nothing to lose. We left feeling fairly euphoric. So after establishing a bit of a rapport work-wise, I was sort of hoping I would be involved with the next album." This track would form the foundation of what would become OK Computer. In early 1996, the group took a break from touring because they found it a bit too stressful. Thoughts now turned to a new record with the mindset of distancing themselves from anything similar to The Bends. Drummer Phillip Selway would say, “There was an awful lot of soul-searching [on The Bends]. To do that again on another album would be excruciatingly boring.” The label gave the band a rather good sized budget for recording equipment for the new release. A number of producers were considered for the album, but they kept coming back to Godrich as an advisor on equipment. Eventually, the band hired him as the producer. Ed O’Brien said of the album, “Everyone said, 'You'll sell six or seven million if you bring out The Bends Pt 2,' and we're like, 'We'll kick against that and do the opposite'."

In early 1996, Radiohead began proper recording of the LP at Canned Applause Studios in Oxfordshire, England. Issues immediately came up as the band had difficulty staying focused on one song all the way to completion. Selway would talk about this later, “We're jumping from song to song, and when we started to run out of ideas, we'd move on to a new song ... The stupid thing was that we were nearly finished when we'd move on, because so much work had gone into them." Although the members of the group were considered equals, the voice of Thom Yorke always represented the loudest one in terms of musical direction. Godrich would talk about his role within the group in an interview. They “need to have another person outside their unit, especially when they're all playing together, to say when the take goes well ... I take up slack when people aren't taking responsibility—the term producing a record means taking responsibility for the record ... It's my job to ensure that they get the ideas across." His permanent role on each Radiohead album would lead to the producer being called the sixth member of Radiohead. After only recording four songs, the band left the Canned Applause Studio for a variety of reasons Including the fact that the studio had no bathrooms or dining rooms. They decided to take a break from recording in order to support Alanis Morissette on tour, which gave them a chance to try some of their new tracks live. Around the same time, Director Baz Luhrmann asked the band to contribute a song to his film, Romeo and Juliet. “Exit Music for a Film” would be played as the credits rolled during the movie, but they did not give Luhrmann permission to place the track on the movie soundtrack. Yorke would later observe that this song became very important to the album. It “was the first performance we'd ever recorded where every note of it made my head spin—something I was proud of, something I could turn up really, really loud and not wince at any moment."

In September 1996, the band began recording again at a mansion in Bath, England owned by actress Jane Seymour. Jonny Greenwood would say the environment represented a much more pleasant change for the group. It “was less like a laboratory experiment, which is what being in a studio is usually like, and more about a group of people making their first record together." One quality that the band enjoyed during the sessions came in the fact that they took full advantage of the natural environment of the mansion. “Exit Music for a Film” utilized some natural reverb courtesy of a stone stairwell. They recorded Let Down” in an empty ballroom at 3 o’clock in the morning. The group worked at its own pace as Ed O’Brien observed later. “The biggest pressure was actually completing [the recording]. We weren't given any deadlines and we had complete freedom to do what we wanted. We were delaying it because we were a bit frightened of actually finishing stuff." A majority of the album would be recorded live with no overdubs because Yorke hated them. The band completed the rest of the album at the studio in Saint Catherine’s towards the end of 1996. In January 1997, the strings for the album were recorded, then they spent the next two months mastering and mixing the album. Actually, the mixing of the album only took a couple of days. Nigel Godrich would later comment, “I feel like I get too into it. I start fiddling with things and I fuck it up ... I generally take about half a day to do a mix. If it's any longer than that, you lose it. The hardest thing is trying to stay fresh, to stay objective."

Several artists would influence what would become the finished product of OK Computer. First and foremost came the 1970 album Bitches Brew by jazz great, Miles Davis. Thom Yorke would tell Q what he saw in that recording that made up his vision for this album. “It was building something up and watching it fall apart, that's the beauty of it. It was at the core of what we were trying to do with OK Computer." Other artists that helped to inspire the record included Elvis Costello, REM, PJ Harvey, the Beatles, Can, and composer Ennio Morricone. Jonny Greenwood would describe OK Computer as an attempt to recreate the sound on all these great records, but they missed the mark. The band would expand their instrumentation for this album to include electric piano, Mellotron, cello and other strings, glockenspiel and electronic effects. Spin would say this about the release, “A DIY electronica album made with guitars." The lyrics to the album focused on themes much more conceptual when contrasted with The Bends. Yorke would sing about a wide variety of topics including transportation, technology, insanity, death, globalism, capitalism, and more. The singer would say, “On this album, the outside world became all there was ... I'm just taking Polaroids of things around me moving too fast." He also took inspiration for some of the lyrics from a selection of books including Noam Chomsky, Eric Hobsbawm's The Age of Extremes, Will Hutton's The State We're In, Jonathan Coe's What a Carve Up! and Philip K. Dick's VALIS. Despite the abstract nature of the lyrics on the record, many critics have looked upon OK Computer as a concept album. They argue that there exists a singular theme running throughout the record, but the band has consistently denied any attempt at making such a release. Jonny Greenwood commented, “I think one album title and one computer voice do not make a concept album. That's a bit of a red herring." They did pay particularly close attention to the order of the tracklist taking almost two weeks to complete it.

The album opens with “Airbag,” which highlights the drumming of Phillip Selway. The track had been inspired by the work of DJ Shadow. The band would later admit that they represented novices in this attempt to base a song on DJ Shadow due to their lack of time with programming. Yorke had actually read an article in a magazine entitled “An Airbag Saved My Life.” Another book that helped to create the basis for the song lyrics emerged in the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Yorke had always been obsessed with the idea that any time you get into a car you could possibly die at any second. The second track “Paranoid Android” stands out as one of the longest tracks in the band's entire catalog. Two songs inspired it from classic rock, “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” by the Beatles and “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. The lyrics are meant to reference the alien from Douglas Adams’s A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Yorke got the idea after watching a woman lose her mind after a drink spilled on her at a bar in Los Angeles. “Subterranean Homesick Alien” referenced “Subterranean Homesick Blues” by Bob Dylan. The lyrics are meant to refer a person who is abducted by aliens, then returns home to realize his life is in no way any different. The beginnings of the theme for this track actually began for the singer in private school when he had an assignment to recreate a British literary movement called Martian poetry. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare inspired the lyrics to “Exit Music for a Film.” This should come as no surprise as the band had specifically created the song for a remake film. Yorke would use it as a chance to simply recap the entire narrative in the song because Zeffirelli’s version of the film greatly affected him at the age of 13. “I cried my eyes out, because I couldn't understand why, the morning after they shagged, they didn't just run away. It's a song for two people who should run away before all the bad stuff starts.” The singer had tried to replicate Johnny Cash’s Live at Folsom Prison as he sang along to his acoustic guitar. “Let Down” represented an attempt by the band to recreate the sound made famous by Phil Spector and his wall of sound. Yorke would later comment that the lyrics are “about that feeling that you get when you're in transit but you're not in control of it—you just go past thousands of places and thousands of people and you're completely removed from it.” The singer would look upon such lyrics as perfect symbolism for Generation X, which had strongly influenced the direction of it. “Karma Police” contains two major sections that alternate between piano and guitar, which originally came from “Sexy Sadie” by the Beatles. The title of the song was an inside joke between the band during the previous tour. If something bad happened to someone, they would say that the karma police were going to get them. The short Interlude “Fitter, Happier” became something that the Radiohead frontman wrote in 10 minutes while on a break. The voice came from the Macintosh Simpletext software application. He would later describe the words as a “checklist for slogans from the 1990s.”

“Electioneering” turned out to be one of the band’s heaviest rock oriented songs probably ever with lyrics that were inspired by the Poll Tax Riots. Another source of inspiration came in the book Manufacturing Consent by Noah Chomsky. “Climbing Up the Walls” has been described by Melody Maker as “monumental chaos.” The track was arranged by Johnny Greenwood for 16 instruments based on composer Krzysztof Penderecki's “Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima.” No Surprises” would be initially inspired by “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by the Beach Boys, but they really wanted to replicate the mood of “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong or the soul music of Marvin Gaye. Yorke would say the song’s narrator is “someone who's trying hard to keep it together but can't.” The track that started it all “Lucky” was actually inspired by the Bosnian War. Yorke wanted to illustrate the actual terror of that conflict on the charity album, Help. Another theme that he drew upon emerged in his own anxiety about transportation. Critics have likened the guitar on the song to 1970’s Pink Floyd. The final track on the album “The Tourist” was specifically arranged by Jonny Greenwood to create a bit of space on the LP. The lyrics originated from Yorke witnessing tourists in France trying to see as many sites as possible. The title of the album came from the 1978 radio series based on The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when character Zaphod Beeblebrox says, “Okay, computer, I want full manual control now." They had first heard the line while listening to the series on the bus for their tour in 1996. Yorke would say this about the title later. It “refers to embracing the future, it refers to being terrified of the future, of our future, of everyone else's. It's to do with standing in a room where all these appliances are going off and all these machines and computers and so on ... and the sound it makes." The artwork would be created by both Yorke and Stanley Donwood using a computer. The Radiohead singer would observe this about the art, “It's quite sad, and quite funny as well. All the artwork and so on ... It was all the things that I hadn't said in the songs."

Leading up to the release of the album, the band got very little support from Capitol Records because they did not have too much faith in the commercial potential of it. Much of the pessimism came in the fact that the record did not have any singles to put on the radio. Ed O’Brien would call it the “lack of a Van Halen factor.” The singles that were released from OK Computer included “Paranoid Android,” “Karma Police,” and “Lucky.” All of the singles charted in the top 10 in the UK, while they also did very well making the top 20 on the US charts. Their official website was created in order to promote the record, as well as some non-traditional promotional techniques by the record label. One such idea came in their decision to take out full-page ads in popular British newspapers and magazines with only the lyrics to “Fitter, Happier.” Another promotion sent out floppy disks to people in the press, which included many Radiohead screensavers. Upon its official release, OK Computer would debut at number one on the UK charts, while in the US the record made it to number 21. Please note that this was the highest American debut for the band. By September 2000, the release had sold 4.5 million copies worldwide.

Critics loved the album across the board. Writer Tim Footman would comment, “Not since 1967, with the release of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, had so many major critics agreed immediately, not only on an album's merits, but on its long-term significance, and its ability to encapsulate a particular point in history." Many critics saw it as a very important album. Mojo wrote in their review, “Others may end up selling more, but in 20 years' time I'm betting OK Computer will be seen as the key record of 1997, the one to take rock forward instead of artfully revamping images and song-structures from an earlier era.” The New Yorker would congratulate the band on taking many more risks artistically then their contemporaries like Oasis. “Throughout the album, contrasts of mood and style are extreme ... This band has pulled off one of the great art-pop balancing acts in the history of rock." Most of the reviews that were slightly mixed seemed to focus on the fact that when compared with The Bends, this record did not contain as many catchy songs. The release would go on to win the Grammy for Best Alternative Album, but did not win Album of the Year. The praise for the album seemed to inundate the band a little too much. Also, Radiohead did not agree with the universal assessment that they had made the greatest progressive or art rock record since Dark Side of the Moon. Thom Yorke would say, “We write pop songs ... there was no intention of it being 'art'. It's a reflection of all the disparate things we were listening to when we recorded it."

The legacy of the album came to be represented in a variety of ways. First, the release of OK Computer coincided with the election of Tony Blair. Some writers have pointed to the pessimism on the record as a sign of things to come. Stephen Hayden would write, “Radiohead appeared to be ahead of the curve, forecasting the paranoia, media-driven insanity, and omnipresent sense of impending doom that's subsequently come to characterise everyday life in the 21st century." Second, the arrival of this album directly coincided with the decline of Britpop. The Oasis album Be Here Now did not attain the commercial or critical success that What’s the Story Morning Glory had received in 1995. Third, OK Computer directly influenced a new generation of artists including bands like Bloc Party and TV on the Radio. The album has landed on many lists over the subsequent years as one of the best releases of the decade and all time. Yet, not all retrospective reviews have been kind to OK Computer as it has also landed on some lists as one of the most overrated records of all time. A New Musical Express column criticized the release as the exact point when Radiohead stopped being good, but instead started to become important.

[sourbat]

Nathan/Abigail... #12 :)

Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

Oh, I totally misread this as “pulling into hidden location.”  Still pretty hilarious though, and like before, this one goes places. Where, I cannot say, but I did have fun with these two.

Thank you for your request. Please enjoy! 

The meeting room was noticeably warmer to the usual set of klokateers charged with monitoring the exchange, though not a single hooded person knew the cause. There wasn’t a stench, which at least meant a body wasn’t to blame.  Miss Remeltindtdrinc didn’t seem to mind the warmth, and made no remark, only threw a curious glance at Master Explosion’s way before sending klokateers to their stations. Nathan noticed the second he walked in, but since Abigail was content, only offered a silent glare at a few hoods. Once everything was settled, and everyone to their places, the meeting room was mostly silent, with the gears steadied and standing to attention, save the most recent of gears assigned to the task making the occasional glance at the black, silken cloth that covered the massive table.

Abigail sat at the end of said table, bottom half tucked under the illustrious cloth. Her hands worked through a few files, flipped through pages on this upcoming meeting before there was a suddenly giving a minor twitch. She jolted a little, catching a few eyes on some klokateers, then returned to her position, pushing the files aside in favor of her laptop. She was careful typing, another hood pointed out. Yet another mentioned the ripple occurring under the table. 

The meeting began just minutes later. A klokateer shut off the lights, while another lowered the monitor. One offered Abigail two glasses of water, which she declined. The klokateers vanished into their corners, practically invisible to the untrained eyes. 

The monitor turned on, revealing Damien Cornickelson’s unsavory glare. “So, the rumors are true.” 

Abigail remained still in her seat. A few klokateers dared to settle on her form, while others were caught between the man on the screen, and the black tablecloth producing the occasional, subtle flutter. A tickle. A gentle brush up the exposed legs.

Cornickelson’s eyes narrowed on Abigail. “You’re Dethklok’s new manager.” 

“Damien Cornickelson,” Abigail greeted with a mildly flushed smile. “A pleasure.”

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” the man said through a grimace.

Abigail politely nodded, cupping her warm cheek with a hand. “Good, I was hoping this would be brief.” 

If Cornickelson noticed her mild discomfort, he didn’t pick up on it. Or didn’t care. Abigail hoped for either, and just as the man tossed her yet another unapproving snicker, another quick flash of a gentle touch cascaded over her upper legs. 

He huffed. “I fucking can’t stand Dethklok, and now that their manager is out of the way for good–”

The table shifted slightly.

Abigail leaned to the side of her chair. “I’m their current manager,” she said, lightly fanning her face with a few twirls of a finger. A curious smile erupted from her, but gave no indication of what was on her mind.

“Their old manager,” Cornickelson stated, slamming a hand on his table. “And now that the bastard is gone, there are some changes I’m going to implement. Big changes, missy.”

“I’m all ears,” she said, leaning closer to the table. “But, before we begin, might I raise a few… concerns?”

Cornickelson stared irritably at her. “What?”

Unaffected, Abigail brought her hands together once more. She closed her legs, hoping it might deter some interruptions as she spoke. “I’m getting the impression that Mr. Offdensen’s departure means you’ll want to conduct changes that would better suit you,” she stated through a solid candor. “Am I wrong to presume such?”

“Smarter than you look.” Cornickelson snickered at his own remark, then grabbed a drink off camera and took a hefty gulp of it in front of Abigail. He slammed the glass down, causing the screen to flicker. “But yeah. Guy’s a beast with contracts. Been a thorn in my nail.” 

“I see,” Abigail said, the final word stretching into a sigh. Her eyelids fluttered through the warmth. A few fingers coax her, gently wish her good luck with a pat against her knees. “I also take it that you’re under the impression you can implement these,” she picked up a file and waved it in front of the screen, “petty, unoriginal and unremarkable acts of terror upon Dethklok?”

With a finger and thumb, Cornickelson reached for his straw, and stirred his nearly empty glass. He grinned amusingly at Abigail. “Big words from a small lady.”

“Finally, and forgive me for being so brash, Mr. Cornickelson,” Abigail interjected with an unusually airy, but heated confidence. “You seem to be under the impression that, just because of a few rumors spread by the media, that I’m unsuited to work for Dethklok.”

“That–”

“I didn’t finish,” Abigail calmly, but sternly remarked over Cornickelson. The table cloth underneath her swayed, and a few klokateers noticed the end of her mouth fight to keep form. “Anyway, I’m under the impression that, upon hearing my name, you immediately pulled some online articles regarding my relationship with Mr. Explosion, and did not look at my years spent in university studying this line of work, my curriculum vitae submitted while your father still lead the company, and the eight additional bands I helped signed and vastly improve under the several years spent working for this company.”

“Well, I–”

“I’m also guessing you’re unaware of the charges I dropped against your company due to the faulty security placed during your father’s funeral. The funeral which resulted in my kidnapping and me getting stabbed and tortured, locked in a basement, and earning one hell of a parking fine once I got out. Or the fact that, upon my returning to the company, I had Dethklok complete the final song to their most recent album, the album that earned you that pretty lil’ diamond earring you have there?”

The straw snapped in half. Cornickelson raises a finger at Abigail. “You little bi–”

“I will say, though, that you must be aware of the letter of recommendation being sent to you by Mr. Offdensen right now.” 

He scowled. “What are you–”

There came the sound of a door knocking. Cornickelson paused, eyes turning to the course of the sound, then back to Abigail. She remained silent, hands cupped tight, though it was apparent to some hidden klokateers that she had gravitated to the very edge of her seat. The dark cloth rippled on the side, just out of Cornickelson’s view. The knocking arrived again, and the man said nothing more, but left the screen. There was a talk off camera. Abigail maintained her position, though she did utter a few, unrestrained giggles, and made the occasional, warning glance at the table beneath her. A few additional complaints took place off camera, right as Abigail emitted a mild sigh before shifting the position of her legs, and bringing herself up right as Cornickelson returned.  

He stumbled into view, eyes glued to the sheet held in his hands. “This is…a letter?”

“A letter of recommendation,” Abigail replied in a satisfied tone. “Please get acquainted with how a proper one should appear. I’m sure the one Mr. Offdensen just supplied you with will make a fine example.”

Oh. Another tickle! She twitched in her seat. Thankfully, the lack of lighting kept it hidden from Cornickelson who, after taking in her words, dropped his hands to his sides. He frowned, and despite the darkness surrounding the blaring screen, Abigail was sure she could make out the false teeth in a row of stained yellow.

“What’s the point of this?”

His voice lacked confidence.

Sensing the weakness, Abigail charged. “To let you know I’m not some bimbo hired by Dethklok,” she replied plainly, earning a nasty scowl from Cornickelson. “More importantly, to let you know I have connections, Damien.” A twitch. This time, from Cornickelson. Abigail smirked. An unholy pleasure arose from her chest as she watched his scowl stretch on her behalf. “I’ve been trained by the best. If you think Mr. Offdensen was a bitch, you don’t know me. I spent months in hell. I survived hell.”

Cornickelson slowly returned to his seat, eyes never leaving Abigail’s fierce stare.

“Damien, you do not want to fight someone who survived hell,” she warned, face flushed and emitting an energy she was sure Cornickelson could detect.

How he took it…

She watched Cornickelson rest his sweaty brow on top of his hands. “What do you want?” 

She stopped herself from chuckling. “I had my assistant fax you the changes I’d like to implement come next review. Please look it over and make any reasonable suggestions. I think you will be pleased to know I can be rather strict on the boys.” A small grin. “Doesn’t mean we don’t have fun though.”

Without looking up, he answered. “Alright.”

Abigail noticed his hand rubbing the side of his jaw. With a light huff, she waved pleasantly at him. “I look forward to hearing from you. See you soon.” 

The monitor flickers off, and as it recedes back into the ceiling, the lights in the room return, blaring their eerily glow.

Relieved, Abigail reclined into her seat, giving her brow a gentle fan. With the light on, it was apparent to all that her face carried a bright, red hue. A few klokateers appeared out from their concerns, ready to congratulate her on a job well done. Another, one carrying the water, hurried over.

Suddenly, something raced up her leg. “Ah!” She jolted at the tickle, breaking into a panicked giggled as large hands reached from under the tablecloth and began pulling her down.  Still laughing, Abigail swatted at the hands. “Nathan, stop it!” 

Fingers gripped around her skirt, yanked her from seat, and pulled her under the table. Not willing to risk slipping, Abigail allowed herself to be dragged under, hands batting and hitting Nathan all the way down, until she was finally embraced by the surrounding darkness. 

She dropped to her knees, back hunched as she fit the form of the table’s underbelly. Arms wrapped around her waist, and pulled her straight into Nathan’s chest. She squirmed under the collected heat, and against the massive arms the tickled her sides, leaving her completely defenseless for the kiss roughly placed on her cheek. She was better prepared for the second, and by the time Nathan pulled away for it, Abigail guided him to her, bringing them together in a better fitting, gentler kiss on the lips. Nathan gave her a quick, but affectionate squeeze, shaking her in place as it built up, filling her chest with excitement before breaking and dropping her on top of him. 

She felt Nathan smile against her. He parted, face lifted in a mean smirk.  “You did good.”

 She rested against him. “Think so?”

“Yeah.”

Abigail blushed. “I was worried. It was so warm in this room, and I was sure the table was going to fall over.”

“Nah, I fixed it real quick,” Nathan said, then raised a screwdriver to her view. “Managed to get a few screws in before you started nailing him down.”

“That’s good.”

The screwdriver dropped, metal side bouncing up before settling and rolling out from underneath the table. Nathan stared harshly in the dark, bright eyes glowing menacingly at Abigail still fanning herself.

“Sorry about ticking your legs,” he murmured. “Was really crowded. Couldn’t see too well.”

“It’s not a problem,” Abigail replied. The side of her face blushed warm against Nathan’s chest. “How about you promise me you won’t wrestle Murderface in the meeting rooms, and we’ll call it even.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Abigail lifted herself off from Nathan. “C’mon, let’s get out of here,” she said, then fixed a few, long strands of hair that were covering parts of his face.  “Don’t want people getting any ideas.”

[griffinsandpeacocks]

Get Up And Write Week 4: “This could be love, how could that be? I’ve fallen for a perfect little heaven of a thief.” Dangerous, Before You Exit

There had always been an aura of power about the elf. Most chalked it up to his magic. As he gave off a strange sensation with his mere proximity. Thus no one took him seriously as a sneak. He’d be felt long before he could get close; his odd aura would give him away after all. He smirked at Brynjolf as the man scoffed at him for the request to join his group.

"Yet here I have your coin purse and no one noticed." The mer purrs smoothly as he saunters away Brynjolf running after him.

"How!?" He asks and the elf looks at him and tilts his head.

"I'm sorry, thought I wasn't worth your time." He says frowning and Brynjolf grits his teeth.

"A man can be wrong once in a while, lad." He says and the elf smirks and turns gesturing the sneak follow him. They go to the docks and the elf plops down at an edge danging his legs and his boot toes barely skim the water sending ripples over the lake.

"I'm skilled, and tired of being the hero and good boy. I want a new life. I want to take, I'm done giving. So, now that I caught your eye... How can I prove I'm worth a new face showing up in your rat nest?" He asks and Brynjolf plops down nest to him and stares at the elf.

"You stole from a master lad, I don't think I need any more proof..." He says watching him and the elf laughs and leans into Bryn and drops the coinpurse back into his lap.

"Then, Little Emerald, where do I sign?" He asks and Brynjolf chuckles noticing the bag's a little lighter.   

"Well, lad my purse is a bit lighter..."

"Shouldn't insult a master." The ef shoots back smiling. Brynjolf laughs and the elf just swings his legs making a ripple split the lake and the light glitters from the setting sun. 

"Meet me in the market tomorrow I'd like some help getting a job done and you'll get paid and earn the hints you'll need to get down to the hide out in the rat way." Brynjolf says and the elf chuckles and stands. Brynjolf follows trying to slide his fingers into a purse but the elf swats his hand every time. 

"Now I'll just have to get better won't I?" Brynjolf jokes and the elf grins.

"Tell you what, you manage to steal from me, I'll fulfill one wish that is within my powers for you." The elf says and Brynjolf smirks.

"Then it's on then, lad. Eventually your purse and that wish'll be mine." Brynjolf purrs and the elf laughs and slinks into the shadows waving. The next day the elf is sitting at the side of the well early morning and Brynjolf slides up next to him. He looks over and smiles softly. 

"Good morning, lad." Brynjolf greets and the elf waves lightly in reply.

"So what was it you needed my help with?" He asks and Brynjolf nods to the lizard then the dark elf walking up to the market.

“Alright simple enough.” The mer says frowning a bit but he can easily do this even if he doesn’t want to. As Brynjolf get’s their attention the elf manages to pick the lock get the ring and some other loot and set the ring in the dunmer’s pocket before sliding around to lean against the low wall circling the stalls.

“You did it.” Brynjolf says impressed and the elf shrugs.

“Now what?” He asks ignoring the guards that are harassing the dunmer. Brynjolf tells him to find the ragged flagon under the city and the elf sighs and walks away. He goes to the sewer his nose wrinkles as he walks in he dispatches the two thugs with simple magic and jumps down seeing no bridge he sees the gate picks the lock dispatches one last thug and loots their enchanted gloves and saunters in smirking as he hears his naysayers.

“Well so sorry to disappoint you, shall I leave then?” He asks as he walks up everyone blinks in shock and Brynjolf smirks triumphant and smug as a cat with a bird in it’s jaws.

“A dying bread, eh, well what do you call that?” He says and goes up to the elf. The mer stands near a bald man whose looking at him like he may have shit himself as no one had seen him walk up not even the thug for security.

“Bleeding shadows how’d you do that?” He asks and the mer smiles and winks vanishing into shadow as he steps back.

“I have a lot of magic, I can wrap it around myself making it easy to disappear in shadows or bright places. I’m just good with magic and I have silent feet. Don’y get me wrong I’m not all magic no skill. I can pick locks it’s how I got here so fast, I can pickpocket too. I can prove that if you all don’t believe me, but Bryn here could tell you all about it.” He says smirking coyly as he steps back arms crossed one hand up by his face as he tilts his head and taps his lips with a finger. He’s smirking as Brynjolf coughs and goes pink when eyes turn to him.

“Alright lad, you’re first official job’s to go gather protection money from three stubborn clients.” He switches the subject and glowers at the elf who laughs softly and nods asking what he’ll need to know before sweeping off. It only takes him a few hours as he tries to handle the disputes as easily as possible and manages to get a nice statuette out of it. 

Over the next weeks which turn to months and soon it’s been about three years, the elf’s done nothing but good seemingly the only one not suffering from ill luck and slowly managing to get the Guild back out in the open. New faces and some even manage to start turning the tides but it seems even the masters are getting struck time after time with bad luck. He is drinking with Brynjolf at the flagon and he’s unsettled. The huge jobs he’s been doing... He’s just found out it was Karliah an old Guild member whose been causing the waves. He looks at Brynjolf.

“I have a really bad feeling about all of this. Like a really, really bad feeling about this.” The elf says softly it’s late so it’s him, Brynjolf and Vekel.

“What’d you mean lad?” Brynjolf asks he still has yet to manage to steal from the elf. Not for lack of trying though he shakes his hand yet again swatted by the mer.

“I mean something isn’t right about all of this. I don’t know what it is but... It’s a bad feeling. Something bad’s going to happen soon.” He tries to explain and Vekel sighs.

“You going off like Delvin now?” He asks and the mer shakes his head and sighs he drops his magic aura revealing his real face for the first time. Gone was the plain looking altmer. Instead long white hair spills down his back and his bright golden eyes flicker over to Brynjolf as the tattoo around his eye is on display. Everyone knew the Dragonborn had the tattoo of a dragon curling around his right eye. Both men gape at him there’s a scar that mars that side distorting the dragon making it look as if it’s head had been cut off and that eye is milky and blind. The mer takes a long drink staring down into his cup.

“I felt this before, in several different places for several different reasons. All of them had something terrible follow. I’m not preaching we’re cursed, I’m sayings something is about to happen and it’s gong to be bad and I’ll possibly be in great danger because of it. He pulls back up the glamour and drinks again as the two are silent Brynjolf leaves to go to bed saying he has no idea what will happen but he’ll keep his eyes peeled. 

“So...  Kalail what are you going to do?” Vekel asks and the mer looks up and drains his cup.

“I’m going to do what I always do go head long into it and pray to lady luck.” He sighs and he sets his tab down and walks into the cistern to turn in. Mercer was supposed to be back in the morning so he could report and talk about the next steps. When Mercer comes back and he and the elf leave Brynjolf’s tense and the whole Guild feels it and soon everyone is on edge. When Mercer comes back alone the Guild’s in an uproar. Kalail was dead and they were furious all of them baying for Karliah’s head. Brynjolf though, he sits at the Flagon and drinks. Vekel watches sadly as the Master thief drinks away the rage and pain. 

When the elf walks back in he freezes them all with a spell it glitters in his hand and he looks tired and worn.

“None of you are going to like this, you might not believe it but please, I’m already in too much pain as it is, I can’t do much but please, listen to her.” He says and drops his spell Brynjolf is equally overjoyed and angry. No one said they’d seen Kalail, only that she’d shown up.

“What is it lass? Why shouldn’t we hurt you?” Brynjolf asks and she shows them the proof. Brynjolf’s flabbergasted. This can’t be right... Can it? He goes to the vault too on edge to care to listen to the others insist it was impossible. When it’s empty he’s almost to the point of murder he stays quite as Vex voices everyone’s opinion and Karliah says she wants him and Kalial to meet her somewhere near Riften. He follows the elf seeing he’s definitely hurting he holds his midsection like it’s in pain as he walks. When they swear themselves away to Nocturnal Brynjolf watches the elf. He seems better now but he’s still slightly sluggish and slow on his feet. Brynjolf slides up to his side as they discuss taking on Mercer. 

“You’re hurt?” He asks softly and Kalail nods Brynjolf listens to where they need to go and says first they need supplies. When Karliah goes to fetch what she wants for the journey Brynjolf sets the elf down and strips him seeing the nasty bruise on his side he asks if he can heal it and Kalial sighs and shows how badly his hands are shaking.

“Since that son of a bitch stabbed me I’ve been pushing myself nonstop. I shouldn’t use more mana until I’ve had proper sleep and a chance to heal up.” He says and Brynjolf tells him to rest and goes to the potions shop he gets several healing potions and a few mana potions. When he gets back he has the elf drink a few after waking him up. Kalail heals after that what he can. He’s drained though and tells Brynjolf that.

“Drained?” He asks.

“Like I can’t use my magic till I’ve rested up drained.” The elf sighs and Brynjolf nods.

“You’ll ride behind me. Rest while we get to Irkinthad, alright?” He says and the elf looks at him strangely a moment but nods curling against the nord and sleeping while they wait for Karliah to return.  When she does they head out to get the traitor. When they get there Kalail takes care of the bandits utterly obliterating them either with his shouts or a blade and Karliah takes some out with her bow but most are dead by the time Bryn can get close. When they get deeper Kalail stops using his thu’um and relies more and more on his blades and Karliah’s arrows to back him up. Bryn takes out what he can. When they get to Mercer and he has them fight Bryn sees Kalail snap and he says something in altmeris and just starts shredding into the man soon Mercer’s in pieces and Kalail has the eyes and everything Mercer had been carrying but he’s bleeding again. Heavily and their stuck. Bryn’s cursing up a strom as he helps drag the gold mer up the steps as water floods in the elf looks terrified.

“Gods... It’ll end with me drowning... Gods no...” Kalail looks like he might be having a panic attack and Brynjolf forces several potions down his throat to try and heal him as the water gets higher. they climb atop the statue’s head as the mer admits he doesn’t swim too well. When they make it out they all take a break Kalial lays on his back and passes out and Bryn takes the moment to nick a small gold knickknack out of the elf’s side pouch. He sets it in his own smiling and the next weeks are a blur. The elf goes to restore the sanctum and Bryn waits at the guild. When Kalail walks back in Brynjolf sets the gold trinket down and the elf laughs.

“I guess I owe you that wish.” He says tiredly and Brynjolf shrugs.

“Tell me one thing lad, this has nothing to do with the wish, do you fancy me?” He asks and the elf laughs and moves closer grabs his gold trinket and purrs inside the redhead’s ear.

“I fancy many things, pretty things, dangerous things, things with a great many uses. I do. Now if that wish get’s wasted on you shagging me I’ll be disappointed.” The elf chuckles as he pulls back. Brynjolf drags him into a kiss and chuckles after they part both breathing a bit heavier.

“No, that wish lad is that you stay with us.” He says and Kalail laughs and leans their foreheads together.

“I’ll move Oblivion and Sovengard to do so.” He promises as he gives a chaste kiss to the nord.

“Cause I’ve got all the time in the world now.” He sighs as there’s no war, no threat on all Tamriel so he’ll be free to do as he pleases for a long time.

[space-blue]

A High Magic

The theme being pure dialogue, I did not bother with tags. This is my 8th competition win.

You've always known what you wanted to do then, and that's really admirable. In my case at six I wanted to be a vet, as one does, but by eight I'd caught on enough to want to be a firefighter. You know, helping people and stuff. Intervening. At eleven I had made up my mind that I would become a guru. Seemed to me if I were successful, it'd be the best way to have people take proper care of their dead. Change their habits at the root, the core of their convictions.

It wouldn't have changed the way the masses behave. The world is just too big.

Well, I had to believe, right? Plus everything is interconnected these days, word goes round, people follow trends. Could have made my cult all online and reach people everywhere, even abroad.

I suppose... How did that work out?

I never got around to even try. I don't think it would have been that great a success if people knew the origin of my abilities.

Is it so? I find that surprising! Surely it still is impressive no matter what sparks it?

Most people just pitied me. The folks at the evaluation office did too. Listened to me describe all the ghosts, and what I'd come to understand of hauntings, and why the ghosts always ended up following me around in the end, and they nodded and said how it was quite rare to have magic coming out before eight. You know that gramps, don't you? Earliest magics to manifest are the elemental ones–

Fire, air, water...

Yes, and that's 'cause they take no imagination. Anything more complex and the kid needs to have some understanding of higher concepts. It worried my parents a lot, that concept thing. How I got to see ghosts when as far as they knew I didn't know what death was and never did come home with a dead animal and questions. Least of all seen a dead person.

So they just labelled you with a higher, or spiritual magic and left it at that? Surely people saw the value in that at least? Did no one want to investigate?

Not really. Like I said, it spooked people. My assigned magic counsellor drafted a few career paths for me, spiritual re-connector, grief counsellor, Voodoo witch, whathaveyou. He didn't understand! Everyone just assumed I got to see these ghosts if I wanted to. Everybody with magics, small and big, even feral magics, they get to control when they use it. Dead people, they don't work like that. They're there, following their victim of choice, the person they latched on to, and then they notice me seeing them, and that's it! They jump wagon. Because you see, ghosts are just attention seekers! They have to have it! Talking to them is like bacon down a dog's gullet. Makes them follow you loyally. If you see them, and you react to the stuff they do, they're in attention heaven! Some will even just start reciting their entire lives at you, bitch and moan and groan, it's a nightmare.

I guess, you being dead, as everyone around just ignores you... Even the people dear to you, it's quite hard on the mind.

Gramps, do you know how ghosts are made?

Mmmh... Not really? I have my ideas, monks at my temple do too, every culture thought about what happens to the spirit after death. But I'm sure, considering you're the expert...

Right, I don't though. Nobody really does. Here's my educated guess : They're born of people's attention to begin with. People can't get over the death, they rehash it, might have trauma, dreams, they call out to their dead ones, and that makes their essence–whatever ghosts are made of–stick around. They can then coalesce into whatever makes the flavour of ghost they end up as, depending on their own regrets and emotions and drives. They're kept here by that anxious maelstrom of emotion, and form based on their own worst traits. It's a bad mix. So they'd come to me alright, scare the shit out of me and persecute me, right until the day I figured out that you could make them leave!

Hah! How did that happen?

Was at one of my favourite joints. Mikwa kitchen, run by a couple, maybe five tables–didn't matter, food was from heaven's own canteen. Always got the same damn thing, never got tired of it.

I understand. I was the same with corn dogs. Corn dogs never got old, even if I did.

You know what it's like then, long week, tired, tough time at school, girlfriend getting all in my face about my magic being unmanageable... It was a Friday and I was needing my dose of Mikwan to just–

Relax.

Damn right. Anyway. I'm right outside waiting for my take away to be done, and she drops right out of the tree I'm leaning on! Rope around her neck, face all purple, eyes... You get the idea. She starts screaming at me, and man, it was just too much! So I screamed right back at her! "Fuck you, bitch! You don't fucking get to ruin my Mikwan fucking meal. I don't care about your sad shit story, go haunt somebody who gives a shit!"

Ahaha! That's very colourful, young man, but don't yell so–here, let me top up that glass of yours. Go on–what happened?

It worked. She tried to drop out of two more trees on my way back home, walked right past her, cussing but not giving her a glance, and she gave up. Shortest haunting I had had my whole life.

How old were you?

That day? Twenty.

Mmmh, it must have felt like a long time coming. Did you not try to see a soother?

I did. Biggest shock of my life, that.

Did it not work?

That's just the thing! I went a year after the tree lady. I'd managed to find ways to cope by then, but I couldn't believe I struggled this much still with my magic. It just didn't seem worth it, to keep it. So I go to that well recommended soother. With a high cancelling magic. Could erase abilities down flat. Had to save for four months for that appointment. Dude sits me down, grills me about my reasons for being here, and at least he was agreeing with me! Asked if I had consulted with someone to help "master" my magic first. Told him I plain didn't want it. Nothing wrong with having no magic.

Quite true. Never had a shade of ability myself, hasn't stopped me from being happy.

I didn't picture you as magicless somehow, gramps! I thought you'd have a trick like curling up moustaches or something! Hah! Anyway, man puts his hands on me, frowns...

Oh?

Says I don't have a magic at all.

Whaaa–

I know! And he was adamant. Just nothing there for him to remove! He even refused to charge me. It struck me then. In the eval office, they don't touch you. I mean, not for check ups like mine. First they listen to what you can do, or look if you can show. If you fit in a category, that's all there is to it. Only those with big potentials get appointments with staff with abilities. I never saw one. Lady never touched me, she probably had no magic to be able to tell anyway. What I described to her sounded like a pesky magic that would feed a psychiatrist for years, and nothing more. So they never checked. And then you know how it goes: at school, during civic duties, in the army, they ask but unless you make a big splash, nobody sends you to a Senser, or anyone who can tell for sure...

So you spent your whole life thinking you had a higher magic, when in fact you had...

Nothing. Nothing anyone recognised, at least.

That has to have been a shock.

Tell me about it.

But then, what is it?

That soother called a senser friend of his and sent me in for a free appointment. She too said there was nothing there at all. She was fantastic. Marta Balbin, we're still in touch, she's great. Anyway, she tagged with me in search of a ghost we could squeeze for some good intel that their relatives would validate, to prove I did see stuff for real, you know?

Did you show her how cussing at ghosts makes them go away?

Aha, I wish! But no, that's not quite how it works. With tree lady I got lucky. What you need to do is press their buttons, scratch their itch, tell them what they need to hear. Making them leave requires you to interact with them somehow, and I'd spent two decades avoiding that as much as I could.

Ah, I see, each ghost needs their own special interaction in order to be able to move on?

Precisely.

And so she believed you?

Oh yes, and finally helped me meet with a person with answers for me!

How exciting! Pray tell, young lad, tell me what it is!

She introduced me to the high priest of Enmu, in the capital's temple.

The God of the Netherworld? I suppose it makes sense to ask them.

Prepare yourself to be blown away : it turns out I was dead at birth, for two whole minutes the doctors worked on me, and I eventually breathed. Apparently though as a newborn I'd had no sins to weigh and I had already been given a rank in the Great City. So when I was brought back... I was an official of the Great City.

A foot in life and a foot in the Netherworld? Is this even possible?

High priest was the same! All Enmu high priests are! Apparently outside of ceremonies they spend their time putting ghosts at rest.

That is incredible! How can such a secret be so well guarded?

There are only a dozen people like this in the country, so it's not too hard. They'd have found me sooner, if the magics office had done their job properly and not discounted me as a minor seer or medium.

So are you one of them now? A high priest of Enmu? Working for a God?

Precisely.

And you work with ghosts?

What do you think we're doing here, gramps?

I– What?

You're Jeremya Mikkels, an archaeologist deceased at the ripe old age of eighty-eight, you wrote books on ancient civilisations until the bitter end, didn't you? You loved digging up secrets.

Yes–I... I did.

And I just gave you a great secret. A truth you never knew in your living days. Exactly what you'd been craving. You've regretted not digging up more, haven't you? Well, now you can take this very rare knowledge with you to the Great City.

I can? Yes it's... Yes, I suppose I can.

Leave us with no regrets my friend. Times have changed for me too, I enjoyed our chat, a lot more than if I'd met you fifteen years ago!

I would have haunted you...

And I wouldn't have had anything to say to satisfy you. But now, you can go in peace gramps.

Thank you, lad. I can see it and... it means a lot. I'll bring good word of you.

And I'll seek you out in the next life. We shall talk again, and I will bring you more secrets of this world. Now be gone, Jeremya Mikkels. Cross under Enmu's obsidian gate without regrets.

~~ August 2020 – Theme : Pure Dialogue

[better-be-reddie]

Absconding, Aberrations, & Alligators

'It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title. He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of. Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.'

or

Richie takes an impromptu trip to Florida, somehow it all works out.

Hey! So I posted this fic to ao3 awhile ago but now that I have a blog I’m porting it here too. Rated T for language I guess No warnings, just 11,000 words feat. Richie’s gay crisis.

It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title . He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of.

Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.

Apparently Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier was never really off his bullshit. It's just, the nearly nonexistent filter he did manage to keep was corroding faster than he could keep track. And if he's being honest, it didn't actually start on that meager lounge stage in LA.It didn't even start three months ago when answering a knock at his front door forced him face to face with one Edward Kaspbrak, fresh from serving his now ex wife-mother monstrosity divorce papers. 

"Just looking for a place to lie low for a bit." Eddie had shrugged in front of his small mountain of suitcases.

 "What and they ran out of fucking housing in New York?" Richie had come back with.

"Fuck you, man! You said if I ever needed-"

"Yeah yeah," Richie made sure to cut off the would-be rant, "Get in here then." He'd said, throwing the door open and stepping aside, letting Eddie into his sorry excuse of living quarters. 

He quipped and sassed his best in order to keep the fact that he was internally screaming hidden. Especially when he noticed all of Eddie's little facial ticks giving away just how abysmal he found Richie's standard of living. The thing was, when they had parted ways in Derry, Richie had been ready to let go, to push down his feelings and the impossible level of affection he'd held for his friend. Afterall he had lived twenty-something odd years of his life without Eddie, so he reasoned that he could keep on living without him. 

That's what he had told himself anyway, over, and over, and over in the month it took Eddie to just show up unannounced. Richie didn't want to admit just how awful his pining had gotten those four weeks alone, but it had been bad. Somehow being reacquainted with the man had set off his aching heart almost more than he could care to control. But no, this shitstorm he was about to set off didn't start that day three months ago, nor any of the subsequent days after wherein Eddie settled in and became an integral part of Richie's daily routine. It didn't even start those four months ago when Richie walked into that damn Chinese restaurant and saw Eddie for the first time in decades, which had him falling dick-first into one hell of a sexuality crisis. Again. It didn't start when they were awkward, gangly thirteen year olds and Richie was stabbing his hands full of splinters in order to carve an embarrassing hommage to his dear first love on the rails of the Kissing Bridge. If Richie was being honest with himself, which he rarely ever was, he would admit that it all started a good thirty-four years or so ago when Richie was fresh into the first grade. Sometime after he'd mastered his ABC's but before he got his glasses that would magnify his eyes and really solidify his place as a loser; early enough that Richie would brag about being a master of mud-pies but back before anyone knew he was certifiably blind, except for Stan and Bill who worked as mediocre guide-dogs while everyone else just labeled him as a clumsy kid.

 It was a cool fall day when Stan and Bill hadn't been around which left Richie particularly vulnerable to his "clumsiness", this time to the result of him tripping and scraping his hands up. Richie had huffed and tried to wipe the mud off his palms and onto his pants when a pair of sneakers entered his bleary vision.

 "You should really clean off that dirt." The newcomer spoke.

"What?" Richie had asked dumbly.

The smaller boy sighed and readjusted the fanny pack strapped to his waist before replying, "If you don't wash the dirt out and patch up your cuts they'll get infected and you'll die." 

Richie had been startled but also bemused. He got cuts and scrapes all the time, and was almost always covered in dirt from playing. 

 "I won't die!"

 The boy shook his head, "my mommy told me that if you keep dirt in a cut it'll go bad. You don't want to have to go to the doctor and sit in the awful rooms just to make sure they don't need to cut anything off."

 Richie laughed, "That sounds fake, why would they cut anything off?" 

"If the cut goes bad they might have to!" The boy spoke, growing irritable, "Know what? Forget it, I might have something in my pack." The boy dug around in his overly stuffed fanny pack making Richie smile."Got it, now hold still and let me fix your gross hands." The boy said, followed with, "I'm Eddie, by the way." 

Richie's smile grew at how the boys- how Eddie's voice turned shy as he introduced himself.

"I'm Richie."

 It was that moment, decades ago on a school playground, that had started the chain of events that would build, and build, and build until Richie was so unbelievably in love that he would never really be able to move past it. It was the first domino in a series of ridiculous and probably ill advised life decisions that would leave him standing on a small stage in LA about to segue into his next joke featuring the infamous "girlfriend" character his writers just loved him to bitch about. It was a bit that he had rehashed over and over in his different routines, this new variation he had mastered last week before ever setting foot in the small lounge.

That was probably why his mind was elsewhere as he began, he was debating in the back of his head what Eddie would like for dinner later, whether he should pick up take out on his way home or   it took him a moment to realize that the next words out of his mouth were not exactly what he'd practiced from his script, 

"So, my boyfriend Eddie and I decided to try and -" Richie stumbled on the sentence, his brain kicking in a moment too late as a couple surprised noises came from the audience, and a few claps and hollers rang out. 

Thirty- something odd years of pining and daydreams of the day he'd finally get to call Eddie his had finally broken through his shitty barrier and merged his fantasies with reality. Boom. Domino effect.  

Richie began to realize not only had he just come out, unscripted onstage, but also that this show was being streamed online...live. 

He also knew that he couldn't afford to fuck this up, or make it look like he'd fucked up again so he stumbled his way through through rest of the sentence and ad-libbed the joke with alarming grace considering he felt like he was about to throw up. 

His manager was going to kill him.

He knew taking it back would have only ruined the show made it even more impossibly awkward, so he pushed on until the act was complete, rushing off the stage a little more quickly than he normally would, if only so he could hide behind the scenes and panic good and proper.

If Richie's manager didn't take him out in the next five minutes, Eddie surely would.

---

Richie had less than five minutes alone to panic in the dingy back hallway that lead to the club's emergency exit before his manager was marching up to him.

"You had one job!"

 "I-I know!" Richie said, voice possibly a tad strained.

 "Rich, what the hell."

 "I know !"

"You're single handedly making me go grey! Okay calm down- we can- we can roll with this- see online opinion polls and then come up with a strategy. God we might have to renegotiate-"

But Richie wasn't listening to him anymore, he didn't have the brain capacity to listen or be grateful to the man who had, once again, watched as Richie doused himself in gasoline and lit a match. He should have felt bad for the guy, and maybe when his own panic died down he would, his manager was only trying to offer an extinguisher. He definitely felt like he was on fire- and not in the good way of speaking. Sweat dripped off his brow and his skin prickled as his stomach churned, twisting and writhing itself into knots. All he seemed to be aware of was the near constant vibration against his thigh that his phone was giving off, as it blew up with notifications. 

Richie's hands shook as he reached for his device, the finger scanner refusing to work due to the alarming dampness of his hands. He unlocked the phone using his code instead and balked at the notifications. He could see Bev’s name pop up next a bold 10 to indicate how many messages she alone had sent so far, and the little numbers over his text app were steadily going up as the rest of the losers blasted him. 

Great.

 Good to know he had an audience.

His heart seized as the screen changed suddenly and Eddie's picture took over, blocking his home screen. It was a great picture, a wonderful candid Richie had taken of Eddie in one of his full blown road rage meltdowns. Richie had laughed heartily when he'd seen how the picture turned out; Eddie, on the other hand, had been less pleased and demanded he delete it. Naturally Richie made it the man's profile picture instead. The photo always managed to get a giggle or smile out of him as if he were some schoolgirl with a crush. He wasn't laughing now. His eyes darted between Eddie's comically angry face and the green answer call button. Richie felt frozen unable to respond as the tightness in his chest grew, he felt dizzy as the walls closed in around him. The vibration of the phone stopped and the screen flipped back to his home page. A new notification for another missed call appeared, followed seconds later by a notification for a new voicemail. 

Richie gasped and began to move quickly towards the exit door shouting an excuse to his manager who called out in alarm behind him. He all but fell against the metal door and staggered out into the hot LA sun, the thick air and humidity nowhere near the relief he wanted against his already flushed skin. 

His phone jumped to life once more, vibrating in his hands as Eddie's familiar picture flashed onto the screen once more. Richie gulped and swiped over the green answer button and brought the device up to his ear with shaking hands.

"Richie? Fucking finally- what the hell?" 

Richie's eyes widened and he quickly hung up, nearly dropping the phone in order to do so. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream, an uncanny hysteria bubbled in his chest and everything just felt like too much. Eddie must hate him. There was no way he couldn't. His phone alerted him to text another text. 

Eddie.

'You better have been disconnected.' 

Richie's phone rang again. Richie swiped to ignore.

 'Pick up. We need to talk.' 

Panic seized him. There was literally no good reasoning behind the phrase ' We need to talk.' God, he even added a period at the end. His phone rang. The panic boiled, crested in a mind blanking peak. 

Richie blinked owlishly at the broken remains of his phone. Shattered against the dirty pavement of the alley. Great.

 "Hey...Rich?" 

Richie definitely did not jump. He turned to see his manager behind him, peeking out from the door.

 "You good bud?" 

He was definitely not good. 

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

 "Okay, okay, you sure? Cause you sort of seem not good?" 

Richie had a strong sense of deja vu all of the sudden. He shook his head. His mind was coming back online and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn't just stroll into his house like nothing was wrong, Eddie was waiting for him at home and Richie liked his dick attached to him thanks. He looked back to the shattered phone. 

"Hey can I borrow your phone?" His manager side-eyed him dubiously, cautiously and then the broken phone on the ground.

 "I guess- as long as it isn't going to end up like that."

 -

Richie's first instinct had been to call Bill, he was closest afterall, and he was the man with a plan; but that would have been his most obvious move. Eddie would no doubt storm the place in the midst of a rage so deep Richie didn't even want to picture it. So Bill had been mentally crossed off his list. Stan, Richie loved , as much as he could platonically love someone, but that would be obvious too. Plus he and Patty had been on somewhat of a retreat. Something about doing something relaxing and therapeutic after nearly dying and Richie really didn't feel like intruding on that. Beverly would have his back. She would laugh in his fucking face, but she would also give him one of her hugs after and let him mope. The problem with Bev though, is that she came with Ben. Now Richie adored Ben, it was literally impossible not to, however all it would take was one angry look from Eddie and the man would crumble faster than a house of cards in a hurricane. He couldn't lie for shit, especially when emotions were high. And that really left Richie with one last alternative. Which is how he found himself stepping off a plane, with no more than his wallet and the clothes on his back, half way across the god damn country, in fucking Florida. Richie looked around the airport as if it had personally offended him, and honestly it sort of did simply for being located in such a subpar fucking state. He really didn't see what the hell Mike saw in the place. He really didn't get it. Speaking of Mike.

"Richie!"

 Richie looked up and saw the man of the hour waving him over. Mike beamed at him and greeted him with arms wide open.

 "It's good to see you man!" Mike said,

"Yeah, yeah you too." Richie agreed.

It was good to see Mike again, they'd stayed in contact the same way they all had; through group chats and Skype calls mostly but this was the first time since they all separated in Derry that Richie had seen Mike in person. He really wished it was for better reasons. And not in Florida. 

"Alright, let's get your bags and then we can head out. There's a good diner not far from my place, I think you'll enjoy it." 

Richie shuffled awkwardly, "I'm all here man!"

 Mike looked confused for a moment then somewhat incredulous."You- you're all-? Did you not bring anything with you?"

 "I said it was an impromptu trip didn't I?" Richie said.

The look Mike shot him appeared as if he were waiting for Richie to crack a joke, when none were forthcoming his brows raised.

 "Alright man. I guess we can stop and pick you up some stuff you'll need. I have an extra toothbrush at home you can-" 

"You were always the most prepared outta us!" Richie cheered possibly putting too much energy into a...toothbrush. 

Richie knew it was weird, the whole situation was weird. He knew it was weird, and he knew Mike now knew it was weird. He could only hope that his fake enthusiasm could be obnoxiously distracting enough that Mike would let it slide unquestioned. 

"Uh-huh." Mike said still eyeing him up, "Well, follow me I guess."

Richie breathed out a sigh that at least they weren't going to have this conversation in the middle of the Arrivals gate.

 -

Mike's home was small but cozy, it had the foundations of something older with character that had maybe been remodeled sometime in its recent history. The living areas were clean but cluttered; books, and notebooks, and loose leaf were strewn around in somewhat organized heaps that probably made sense to Mike and Mike alone. The home was nestled amongst a forest of tall trees and brush that gave a sense of privacy, and to the side was a barely visible trail which Mike had pointed to when they pulled up and told him went straight to a little beach. Richie had eyed it dubiously, on one hand, beach day but on the other hand, he didn't feel like running into any gators, or snakes, or whatever the fuck else lived in this hellscape of a state. If he wanted to die that badly he would've stayed in LA thank you.

The first night the two of them had enjoyed boxes of take out which were supplemented by maybe a bit too much alcohol. They talked into the night, catching up in a roundabout way that dodged the elephant in the room. Of course that was mostly in part to the way Richie would circle the conversation back around to another of Mike's many research projects whenever the man looked like he was readying himself to broach the subject on what the real reason for Richie's visit was. Apparently Mike had been in an out of service area at the time of Richie's show and either hadn't yet heard about the disaster that it was or was too polite to corner him about it. Still, it sort of left Richie feeling like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then again, that could have also been caused by the fact that he was still without a phone and thus had no clue how extensive the damage he caused actually was. Well, he had a tiny idea. He'd already ruined the best damn thing in his pathetic life, what did the rest of it matter? Richie ended up taking the bottle of vodka to bed with him that night.

 -

The next day Mike took them both into town to pick up some more things for Richie under the disguise of grocery shopping. During which, Mike casually asked if Richie was thinking of replacing his phone.

 "You said it broke right?"

 "Yeah," he sighed, " Yeah, okay I guess I should get on that." 

Before his manager had a full on aneurysm. He was sure his publicists were already dead from shock or stress.

After spending way too long in a small outlet shop in a nearby strip mall Richie finally had a new phone set up. Richie played with the device as Mike drove them back towards his house. He hadn't turned it on yet, he simply passed the phone from hand to hand, it gave him something to do. He got the same model as the one he'd broken so that he could keep using his old SIM card. He told himself that he would turn it on once he got inside, face the music. Of course once the two made it back Richie went about the rest of his day doing anything but set up his phone. Richie even let Mike lead him down the death trail to the small beach, which would have been really nice had it not been in Florida.

"And not a gator in sight!" Richie said enthusiastically as he sat on the sandy shore.

"You joke, but that pic I sent you guys last week was only a twenty minute walk from here, in a river that a-ways." Mike gestured behind and to the left of where they sat and Richie shot him a dirty look.

"I came here to try and relax." 

Mike only laughed. 

-

That night, after the sun had set in a myriad of colors much less impressive than the ones which shone in good ol' Cali. Richie found himself curled on a deck chair Mike had on his front stoop, watching the moths and other bugs circle the porch lights with an intense fixation, the darker it got the more of them had appeared. His phone was once again in his hands. It had been charging all afternoon, face down on the coffee table. He sighed and finally stopped his fidgeting to turn his attention to the device. He waited for it to load up after he turned it on. Before long he was staring at the familiar screen, there was only about a second of silence before the phone jumped to life and loaded the-

Jesus Christ -over a hundred notifications. He felt a little bad as he skimmed over the list of people vying for his attention, mostly he had messages from the Losers. Maybe it had been a kind of dick move to drop off the face of the earth for two days. He quickly turned to his email. He winced at the couple he had from sponsors. Well, former sponsors he assumed without having to open them.

He instead concentrated on the email from his manager.   

  'Alright  Rich,     I'm assuming you still have access to email, despite your sudden vacation but please make sure you tell me when you have a reliable phone, I'd like to discuss some things further.        Good news: Your live-stream is trending, and there's been a lot of supportive interest within a whole new demographic. With a little work-shopping we can pull this all back together and make something out of it.    Bad news: we lost a few sponsors, some of the higher ups weren't happy with your unpredictability. Also there's been some negative press from some previous demographics, as well as some confusion on whether you were serious in your bit.      After hashing things out with the team we think you should start forming more of an online presence, we are working on getting your Twitter verified. Make a statement, control the flow of rumors, if you would like I can talk to the writers about coming up    with a statement for you. We need to encourage support from this new demographic by reassuring people your coming out bit  wasn't just a bad joke.      Call me once you've read this, and get your ass back to LA.' 

Richie let out a shuddering breath. A bit of the hysteria he had felt back in LA had begun to crawl up his spine. He could feel his pulse quicken at the mere thought of taking to social media, especially to what? Tell everyone he's gay? Again? Hadn't the first time been horrific and awkward enough?

His teeth clenched together as he worked his jaw until it ached, his breath seemed to burn his nostrils and tightly wound throat with every motion. Emotion thick and cloying wrapped around him until he felt as if he were drowning. He felt the sudden urge to jump up and run. As if he had anywhere to go in fucking Florida that wouldn't end with him in the jaws of some ugly reptile.

He placed his phone to the side and rubbed his hands together, feeling inexplicably dirty suddenly. He had run half way across the country and he still felt just as bad as he had in LA. All the gross intrusive thoughts were still there, the voices telling him how disgusting he was, how he'd disappointed his friends, driven them off. That he'd wind up sad and alone again. Behind that overwhelming fear was shame, shame that he had been lying for so fucking long, and yet behind that was the fear of anyone finding out, which circled back to more shame over his feelings to begin with. He shot his phone a scathing look. His manager wanted a statement? What the fuck was he supposed to say? What the actual hell was he supposed to Tweet out?  ' Hi guys, it's true, I love cock but don't worry I hate myself more than any of you ever could!' ? Yeah, like that would go over well.  Richie tried to amuse himself by picturing the look on his publicists face. God, it was suddenly even more tempting. Though he really couldn't afford to lose another one, especially while dealing with this latest fuck up. He wondered if he should finally face the music, open up all of the Losers unread messages. He opened his messenger app and immediately felt even more overwhelmed. His thumb hovering over the list of names. His eyes fixated on 'Eds '. Still, he hesitated. Terrified by what he'd see. 

A small part of him tried to hold onto the sliver of optimistic news his manager had relayed, however it seemed slippery and hard to keep hold of it lieu of all the other shit. He pressed down over Eddie's contact name and held until it highlighted and with shaking hands he quickly deleted the message thread, erasing all of their previous conversations as well as the slew of unread messages. Almost immediately he felt as if his stomach had fallen into his gut. Regret and fear churned in him and he felt more strongly than ever as if he'd lost something. Richie startled as his phone buzzed obnoxiously; he looked down, heart in his throat, expecting to see Eddie's picture and was surprised to instead see Stan's.

He swallowed thickly before accepting the call.

 "Hello?" Richie winced at how tepid his voice sounded.

"So, he is alive." Said Stan, dryly. 

Richie groaned and slumped even lower in his chair, covering his face with one hand as if blocking his vision could also block out his embarrassment. There was a beat of silence before Stan asked,"So, what's going on Rich?"

And Richie couldn't help it, all the stress and emotional upheaval- that fact he was in Florida of all places - hit him all at once and bubbled up. First as a near silent giggle, then falling apart into gasping, full bodied laughs. Tears tracked down from his cheeks and Richie honestly couldn't tell what sort of emotion was behind them. Stan, bless his heart, waited patiently for him to gather his wits and calm himself down before prompting him again with a: "Yeah?" 

Richie nodded despite knowing no one could see him, "Yeah." He agreed.

"The groups been pretty worried." Stan pushed gently. 

"I- I don't know what to say." Richie admitted, feeling his guts churn with unease. 

"Well, that really is something isn't it?" Stan said, "not everyday we find something that shuts you up."

 And Richie can't help the startled laugh that escapes his throat. Despite his unease, his fear, the smile doesn't leave right away."It's been an eventful few days." He finally agrees.

"And how do you feel?" 

Richie pulled a face, "Who are you? My therapist?"

 "Pretty much except the pay is shit. Now answer the question." 

Richie sighed, "I feel-" he cut himself off trying to discern a word he could use, "bad." 

Surprisingly Stan didn't mock him for his eloquence, or lack thereof.

Richie tried again. "I'm…" 

His guts continued to knot and squirm until he had to physically draw up his long legs to his chest, hoping for a respite, "I feel kinda sick." 

"You always did get queasy when your nerves were high. You threw up on the first day of school." 

"How the fuck do you remember that?" 

"Like I'd ever let you forget. You threw up all over Greta Keene's light up shoes." 

Richie groaned, "I mean, she kinda ended up deserving it?"

 "True." There was another beat of silence, but this one was much less awkward. 

Richie looked out into the dark foliage, lost in thoughts. "I can feel you thinking." Stan said softly. 

"I fucked up." 

"A bit, but probably not as much as you fear." 

"I-I doubt that. Did you- Did you see it? The show?" Richie asked tentatively. 

"Yes," Stan said after a moment's pause, "not while it was live...but afterwards." 

"Then you know I fucked up." 

"Yes, but as I said-" 

"I don't know what to do." Richie interrupted Richie could hear Stan sigh through the phone. 

It didn't sound like a noise made out of frustration but Richie's own self doubt was making him question everything.

"It's okay to be scared."

Richie felt his throat constrict at the words and he had to close his eyes against their sudden burning. He suddenly really wished Stan was here with him.

"I- I am. Scared." He said, haltingly.

"That's okay. You're not alone though, you know that right? You don't need to be alone." 

"What if- what if they hate me?” ‘What if he hates me?’

“They could never. There's no way you're getting rid of any of us that easy." 

Richie let out a humorless chuckle. 

"Why do you think they would hate you?" Stan asked softly, though the question felt more like a prompt than asked out of genuine curiosity.

Stan always had a way of sounding older than he was, like he already knew the answers he was trying to make you understand as well. Richie felt suddenly off kilter as he wondered if Stan had somehow already known.

"Because-- Because I'm- Gay." He swallowed down the bile that suddenly threatened to rise up. He had never said it before. Not out loud and never to anyone else. 

There was a pause as Stan waited to make sure Richie had said all he was going to before answering.

"Richie." He said, "None of us think any differently about you. You need to know that." 

"How- how do you know- I mean what if-"

 "None of us think any less of you. I'm not going to say this isn't a big deal, because to you it is. This is, well, it's obviously been something eating away at you. And sure, maybe you decided to come out in somewhat of a dramatic fashion and freaked yourself out, but you don't have to face all of this alone. We are going to be here to support you one hundred percent." 

Richie sniffed back a few wayward tears that threatened to escape. 

"Are you...are you sure?"

 "Have you read any of the messages they've sent you?"

"No- I- no."

 "You should. I think it will help. Also everyone was super worried when you went AWOL. You are...safe aren't you?" 

Richie felt a pang of guilt at the hint of unease that marred Stan's voice. 

"Yeah. Yeah I'm safe." He eyed the bushes warily, "as safe as I can be."

 "Good. But...I could be in LA in just over a day you know." 

Richie felt his heart swell and he wiped away a stubborn tear that refused to be pushed down. "Thanks, but I'm okay...plus I'm...not exactly in LA right now." 

"You're not?" Stan said sounding a bit alarmed. 

"Nah, taking a small vacation."

 "Have you told Eddie? He's been-"

"We haven't spoken."

"Richie." Stan sounded tired now.

"I - I can't, okay? You saw the fucking show. What the fuck am I supposed to say to him now? 'Hey! So I told the whole world about my big gay crush on you! Oh, by the way, I have a big-'" 

"Richard!"

 "What!" 

"Promise me you'll talk to him. Whatever happens, it won't be as bad as you're making it out to be in your head."

 "Fine." Richie said begrudgingly followed closely by a put upon huff.

"Thank you. Now, will you be okay?"

 "Yeah," he said, and though it was with little confidence, a little was still more than he'd felt previously. 

"Good. Call me anytime if you need to talk. But you should try messaging the others, I know they'd like to hear from you and...they'll understand Richie. Losers gotta stick together." 

Richie smiled despite himself. "Losers gotta stick together." 

He parroted back. 

"And call Eddie." 

"Okay mom."

"I'm being serious Richie." 

"Goodnight Stanley!" 

Stan sighed but gave in, "Goodnight." 

Richie took the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He sat staring at the screen until it flipped automatically back to his homepage. He hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening his messaging app. He clicked on the first name on his timeline list and began to scroll, eyes darting over the string of texts, a small smile making its way into his face as he took in the words of, yes shock but also support. Once caught up, he moved on to the next Loser until he had read through them all.  And no he definitely didn't cry. 

Well, maybe only a little. He felt another pang of loss when he remembered just why Eddie's name wasn't on his messaging list. He quickly opened up a new message draft and selected Eddie's name off his favourites list and then froze.

 Stan's words played over in his head, encouraging him. All Of his friends show of support warmed him to his core, he could do this- A loud rustle from the underbrush sent Richie's heart jack-hammering in his chest. He froze, wide-eyed as he stared into the dark. A loud snap of a twig sent Richie vaulting over the side of the deck chair and nearly ripping the screen door off its hinges in his haste to get inside.  'Not today Satan', he thought as he slammed the front door closed behind him and slid the deadbolt into place. Richie huffed and wandered over to the pullout bed that had become his new home and collapsed onto it. He looked at his phone once more, and the opened draft before he deleted it and turned the device off. He'd message Eddie tomorrow.

 -

Richie did not message Eddie the next day, nor the day after that.However, in his defense, he had been busy. Richie helped Mike with odd jobs around his property and was becoming more and more convinced that there was a large reptilian monster of some sort living on the grounds. Mike could roll his eyes all he wanted but the truth of the matter was that one day Richie swore he saw scales moving slowly through the brush. 

Richie had also taken up his managers challenge and started trying to revamp his online presence. Now that he was officially verified he began, as the young ones would say, shitposting. His first order of conduct being a small tweet which read:

Richie Tozier @OfficialTrashmouth 'Turns out my biggest joke was pretending I was straight.' It had taken him a good three hours of nervous sweating before he had finally been able to post the tweet but he had also felt an immense sense of relief after receiving a screenshot of his own tweet from Bev minutes later followed by some words of love and way too many emojis. The rest of the losers had also sent their love and support through the group chat and private messages. He mostly ignored his twitter feed though, he had made the mistake of checking up on the tweet and its relevance earlier and had immediately felt overwhelmed. Not to say that most of the feedback was bad or anything, however as someone who had spent such a long time clinging to a carefully constructed persona, suddenly being unmasked and thrust into the spotlight was...scary. it was hard not to feel the shame and frustration he had been fighting off all his life. 

Later, Mike had proven that he wasn't as much of an internet phobic recluse as Richie had begun to believe him to be, when over dinner that night he had clapped Richie on the back and told him only a little awkwardly that he was happy for him and that he hoped he could live the rest of his life with more confidence in who he was. Which? Okay, damn.

Richie had simply nodded, taken aback from how touched he'd been, luckily Mike had not seemed to be expecting anything back from him and the rest of the night flowed into something more familiar. Before they split for the night to retreat to their own sleeping arrangements, Mike asked if he had spoken to Eddie yet. 

"Bill said Eddie was sounding pretty worried about you."

Richie had felt the swirl of something related to guilt settle over him, leaving him feeling restless with a negative energy he couldn't quite shake off. 

"Eddie's a big boy, he'll be fine." Richie said, mind already wandering and worrying.

 Mike sighed but let it drop before wishing Richie a good night. Another day another battle.

 -

Richie lay awake well into the night, going over all the little dominoes that had fallen over and lead him to where he now was. Which of course meant that, mostly, he thought of Eddie. He reminisced about hot summer days spent by the quarry, of nights spent tempting Eddie out of his bedroom window to go look at the stars, he remembered the nights when they would talk about all the things they wanted to do with their lives, about how much they wanted to leave Derry behind but never each other. Their pinky fingers interlocking in quiet promises that extended far beyond the reaches of Derry. 

He wondered a little bitterly how he could have kept his feelings contained even as long as he had, when there had been so many moments, so many times when he felt ready to explode with them. All the times he felt the need to pull Eddie’s metaphorical pigtails because he just couldn’t stand not being the center of his attention any longer. God, had he gotten good at it though. He couldn’t help but smile as memories washed over him, so precious for how long he’d gone without them. A chasm opened up in his gut though as his thoughts drifted back to his future, and its shaky foundations- hell, it didn’t even have foundations to be built upon. All Richie had was an email from his manager and the knowledge that Eddie must hate him. The thought of moving on with his life without Eddie by his side somehow seemed so improbable, so completely terrifying that Richie’s chest seized considering it. He wondered angrily where his conviction he’d had just over a month ago had gone. When he’d been so ready to keep lumbering onward. Maybe he had succeeded simply through lack of foresight. By waking up each new morning with a heavy despair in his chest and starting his day by pushing it down, down, down, before he could find the curiosity to examine it. By busying himself with distraction after distraction. 

He wondered why his patented technique wasn’t working now. 

Eddie had stepped into Richie’s apartment and scrubbed it until it sparkled and he must have done something to Richie himself as well. It was like the moment Eddie had stepped back into his life he’d swept away all of his previous coping mechanisms. Richie felt a wave of irrational anger suddenly. Anger at Eddie for throwing his life off its axis by his mere presence, at himself for growing comfortable with it so damn quick that he’d tricked himself into believing it was permanent. 

Richie stewed in his tumultuous emotions in the darkened living room of Mike’s Florida home with nothing to distract him from his circling thoughts and growing loneliness except the obnoxious singing of the swamp insects that inhabited the area.

 -

“It’s not a swamp.” Mike said, shaking his head and fixing Richie with a tired look.

“Listen, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a-”

“It’s a floodplain.”

“It smells like shit and is full of fucking snakes and gators Mikey.” Richie argued sometime during the next afternoon.

He’d gotten a somewhat fuzzy photo of a snake curled up next to a tree by the water and had uploaded it to his Twitter account with a “ Get out of my swamp!” caption and had been arguing with Mike on and off ever since.  Honestly Richie had been on a roll with creating a new Twitter, uploading mostly photos and quips but he wasn't really in the mind to be too serious while on the platform. His manager was still thrilled.

“What is with you and the alligators?” Mike questioned with a shake of his head, “You haven’t seen one since you got here and you’re still somehow obsessed.”

 “Do you know how old those things are Mike? They are nature's perfect killing machine. Evolution fucking stopped cause it got it right on like the first go, it just just paused long enough to make them a little smaller. They were here before us and will probably outlive us.” 

“Eddie tell ya all that?”

Richie scoffed and made a bit of looking awfully offended. Mike laughed so he counted it as a win. Sort of. 

“...speaking of-” Mike began.

Richie’s gazer darted to Mike, eyes narrowed.“He called this morning.” Mike continued.

Richie felt his heart rocket into his throat and his stomach drop into his gut so quickly he had to swallow down the urge to dry heave onto the sand. 

“What?” 

“He’s looking for you. Did you honestly not tell him where you were going?”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Richie gasped.

“Hey now- calm down Richie. He just sounded really worried.”

“Did you tell him?” Richie demanded. Mike sighed then replied, “I told him I’d get you to call if you popped up.”

Richie’s eyes narrowed but he wasn’t such a dick that he would call Mike out for lying without proof. “I can’t face him right now.”

“Why not? I mean, it sounds like you have a lot to talk about.”

“Nope.”

“I saw the video.”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Richie threw his arms up, “Isn’t privacy a thing anymore?”

“You live streamed the show Rich, I don’t think privacy was a concern at the time.”

Richie folded his arms and scowled. 

“Listen, just, call Eddie. Before he drives Stan and Bill crazy.”

That made Richie pause, “Stan and Bill?”

“If you would go into the group chat instead of hiding you’d know what I mean.”

“The moment I go on everyone will be able to see, including Eddie, so.” Richie shrugged, “No group chat.” 

“Full offense, bud, but you’re treating this whole thing like a child would.You won’t be able to avoid Eddie forever.” 

“Watch me.” Richie muttered, knowing full well that he was only reaffirming Mike’s accusations.  Mike rolled his eyes but seemed to give up the argument and left the porch to retreat back inside to let Richie mope in peace. Not long later Richie heard the shrill ring of Mike's home phone. Why the man bothered to have a home phone instead of working off a cellphone like a normal person Richie would never know, regardless, he couldn't pick up what was said from where he sat.  A few minutes later Mike was back out on the porch.

 "I'm going into town for a bit. Got some errands to run. Why don't you relax and think about what I said? Maybe call Stan." Mike suggested, shuffling his feet a little awkwardly. 

Richie took in the man's tense posture and shifting eyes. Mike was usually the type to stand strong, make eye contact as he spoke. Richie started to feel a little bad, thinking perhaps he'd been a bit too much of an ass today. 

"Sure, okay." He said agreeably in an effort to make up for his earlier prickliness.

 "Need me to pick you up anything?" Mike asked as he circled around his truck.

"No," Richie said, already feeling like he'd put Mike out enough for crashing at his abode for so long. 

Mike shrugged and tossed his keys with almost a nervous energy before nodding and saying "Alright, well, I'll just, uh, be going then." 

Richie nodded and waved him away, "if I'm not here by the time you get back, assume the gators got me." 

Mike huffed but there was a smile on his face as he hopped into the cab of the truck and started it up. He waved to Richie again as he circled around and started down the long drive to the main road. Richie was bored by then end of the hour. There was very little to do while in the boonies that didn't run the risk of being eaten by the local wildlife, especially without Mike there to help spot potential risks and watch his back. 

Richie wandered about Mike's home, exploring and generally being a nosy little shit. He was able to amuse himself for a good thirty minutes after he found an honest to God banjo tucked away in the attic. He brought it down to the porch ready to strum like mad and make a damn good nuisance of himself when Mike got back. However, as the minutes ticked by Richie's attention wandered and he poked around some more, flipping through Mike's extremely niche and weird collection of books, his notes, examining his bits and bobs. He took pictures of things he found particularly weird and bizarre, he was busy going through his photos and trying to think up anything that might have been considered funny to Tweet about, because that was really a concern now apparently, when Richie finally heard the telltale roar of Mike’s truck engine coming up the drive. He sort of hated the flash of excitement he got from the sound, he was a grown adult who should be in enough control over his life that he didn't rely on others to bring him amusement; of course that being said, if Richie had any semblance of control he wouldn't have even been in Florida, would he?

Richie stood up from the deck chair and raised a hand in greeting when the truck came into view, the banjo resting behind him ready to go. However, as the truck moved closer and the sun reflecting on the glass of the windshield shifted Richie began to become aware that Mike wasn't alone in the cab of the truck. Richie walked off the porch and into the front yard to try and get a better look but it wasn't until Mike was all but pulling onto the property that Richie's eyes locked onto none other than Eddie fucking Kaspbrak glaring daggers at him through the glass.

Now, Richie had experience many terrifying things in his life, the variety of traumas he had locked up would be enough to personally fund some lucky psychologist for years if he felt so inclined to go. So it's with great authority and experience that Richie swears that seeing Eddie fuming in the passenger seat of Mike's god damn car, in fucking Florida, was the second scariest occurrence he had ever witnessed. Only being trumped by the horrifying reality he'd been forced to watch in the deadlights. He knew he must have made one hell of a picture, still slightly hungover, hair unbrushed, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Richie felt frozen in shock at the sight, Eddie, his Eddie in fucking Florida. The truck had barely finished rolling to a stop before the passenger door was being thrown open and Eddie was bursting out of it like a mini tornado of rage.

Richie couldn’t help but note the state Eddie seemed to be in, hair usually perfectly groomed looked knotted and windswept, his skin pale despite having tanned in the LA sun and his eyes looked haggard, dark bruises from sleepless nights weighing heavily, even his usually ironed shirts and slacks looked wrinkled; his rough appearance did little to take away from the bright angry sheen in his eyes as he fixed Richie with a sharp look and began to march over. Richie had known for a long time that there was something seriously wrong with him, what, with his seemingly perfect ability to self destruct at every possible turn, however the point was really hammered into his head when the only thought that seemed to penetrate his shocked and empty brain was ‘My God he’s fucking gorgeous.’ 

That was until of course Eddie’s sneer picked up a notch and he opened his mouth to let out a scathing,

“You fucker!”  

Richie took a giant step back shaking his head eyes fixed so solely on the short angry demon marching up to him that he didn’t even see Mike get out of the truck afterwards.

“I can’t believe you! ” Eddie continued, “Don’t you dare take another step Richard, I swear to God!”

And all at once, all of Richie’s survival instincts were kickstarted back online.

“Nope!” Richie said, voice a little higher pitch in his fear, and he turned and ran. 

“RICHIE!” 

Richie didn’t turn to look back, he just went for it, dodging past Mike’s small home and straight into the Floridian woods. There wasn’t any logic to his actions, he didn’t even bother to stick to the trail, Richie simply pushed his way through the trees and grasses. He had no destination in mind, just the strong urge to run, much like the one he felt during all of his life's most uncomfortable moments. He ran, and ran, and ran, until he could no longer hear the sounds of Eddie and Mike calling after him. It was only when he felt like his chest was about to explode that he stopped to wheeze against a tree, he clutched at his side as he sputtered pathetically at the ground and silently cursed the decades he’d spent mostly ignoring his physical health. 

“Jesus fuck” He grumbled once he’d finally remembered how to properly pull air into his lungs and breathe. 

He took a moment to look around only to realize that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Mike had to have, like, neighbors somewhere, right? Richie groaned he knew this was stupid, he had nowhere to go except further into the Florida wilderness and that was one stupid way to die. Sighing, and mentally preparing himself, Richie turned to go back the way he thought he had come from. 

He snarled as he pushed his way through the thick bushes and trees grumbling at the sticks that caught the fabric of his clothes and scratched at his skin, he was going to look like he’d come out of a fight with a pissed off alley cat after this shit. God Eddie was going to be so incomprehensibly furious at him. He cried out in victory as he pushed through some particularly thick bushes, only for his cries to turn almost immediately alarmed when the ground under his feet seemed to disappear and sent him careening down a muddy, slick embankment and face first into green tinged waters. 

Richie resurfaced with a loud gasp as he flailed and coughed out a mouthful of disgusting water, swearing profusely. He splashed until he was able to finally get his feet somewhat stable on the thick muddy bottom of the riverway he seemed to have fallen into. The water luckily seemed to be slow moving without too much of a current.  It was however, quite deep, reaching up to his chest. He glanced around and cursed his luck, the river was narrow but he definitely didn’t recognize it. Which meant he had most definitely been moving in the wrong direction. He cursed again, this stupid shit wouldn’t have happened to him back in LA. 

All at once Richie felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his whole body erupted into a strong shudder that had more to do with instinct than the cool waters. He turned, eyes darting back and forth along the murky water when movement locked his attention to the opposite embankment. Richie felt ice cold terror grip him as he watched a huge alligator pull itself down the muddy shore and slip gracefully into the slow moving water. Panic seized him and he spun around to begin clawing at the shoreline desperately, uselessly, his hands coming away with chunks of mud and grass, doing nothing to pull him out of the water. A noise he wasn’t proud of escaped from his throat as his mind whirled. This was not how he wanted to die, not in some fucking swamp water, not to a fucking alligator and certainly not in fucking Florida. 

He pulled himself along the shore trying to get to a narrower portion he could climb up when he heard a splash behind him. Richie didn’t turn to look though everything in him wanted to, but right in front of him was a tree, and Richie wasted no goddamn time pulling himself up. Thinking back, he had no idea how he found the strength to climb all the way into a tree when he could barely make it up two flights of stairs without needing to pause for air, but one moment he was in the water with certain death and the next, he was curled up in the branches looking down. Richie looked over the water and shouted out a relieved cry at the pair of reptilian eyes he could swear were staring at him, no more than ten feet away, 

“Yeah, fuck you! Not getting any of this today pal!” Richie laughed and felt himself sag against the scratchy bark, “Now just, go fuck off so I can leave.” 

He finished with a grumble. And then waited.

 And waited

And waited

And-

Richie was going insane, every time he would begin to think that stupid animal had finally buggered off, there would be a ripple in the water or he’d catch sight of a pair of eyes bobbing above the waters surface. He had no way to call for help, his phone abandoned somewhere back on Mike’s porch, and even if he had had it with him Richie wasn't sure the device would have survived his impromptu bath. He had tried calling out for help a few times but had gone completely unanswered. He was totally alone. 

Besides from stressful, being stuck in a tree because of a potentially murderous gator was beyond boring and extremely uncomfortable. There was nothing to keep his mind occupied and distracted enough from re-analyzing the series of events that had him stuck here in the first place, and the hot humidity in the air made it so he never really dried off from the water and instead just became more and more itchy and cranky. 

As the minutes dragged on into hours, he had taken to singing, badly, to himself when another sound caught his attention. Richie paused his singing to listen, ears perked for anything out of the ordinary. For a moment there was nothing, and then all at once he heard it again. His name, distant but there. 

“HEY!” Richie shouted as loud as he could, “OVER HERE!”

Richie felt an intense burst of relief as his cries were immediately answered by another shout of his voice and a barely heard: “ Where?”

“HERE!” He shouted again,

“Richie?!” Mike’s voice.

“BY THE RIVER!” He called out hoping Mike was familiar enough with the land that he knew what that meant. 

“ARE YOU HURT?” Eddie’s voice rang out, so much closer.

Eddie.

Richie’s chest tightened but he would willing sit through whatever lecture Eddie had as long as he got away from this stupid- oh god.

“WAIT!” He shouted, “BE CAREFUL! GATOR!”

“WHERE?” Mike again

“RIGHT FUCKING UNDER ME!” Richie yelled glaring spitefully at the large reptile that had decided to make camp on the sand, less than a body's length away from his tree. There was rustling in the undergrowth, and Richie knew they were close, 

“You’re close, I can hear you, be careful!” 

Moment’s later Mike and Eddie burst through the thick bushes with a swing of a long machete Mike was wielding. 

“Jesus, Rich-” Mike cursed when he got a good look at the precarious situation Richie had gotten himself into. 

Next to him Eddie wasn't doing much better.

“What the fuck? What the actual fuck Richie! Are you kidding me, are you fucking kidding me? Can you go literally nowhere without pissing shit off? That's a fucking alligator!” Eddie began screeching and pointing. 

“I fell into the water!” Richie tried to defend, 

“Oh my GOD!”

“Hang tight Richie, I’ll call the animal control or something I guess,” Mike said, taking out his phone.

Even as he did though, Eddie was bending down to pick up a large rock from the ground, eyes wild and half-mad looking. The smaller man grunted as he winded up and threw the huge stone, hitting the alligator right in the side with a thunk. 

“FUCK OFF!” 

“Eddie! Shit , Stop!” Mike cursed, phone half way to his ear. 

Eddie wasn’t listening as he picked up a large branch and threw that next, the gator made a loud hissing noise and thrashed it’s tail to the side, spraying sand into the air. Richie’s jaw dropped at the sight of Eddie attacking a fucking alligator, it honestly would have been the hottest thing he’d ever seen if he wasn’t so instantly terrified that it would end with Eddie dead. 

“Eddie, Eddie fucking stop it, I swear to god!” Richie said, even as he began calculating how he could throw himself onto the damn thing if it decided to charge his friends. 

Eddie picked up another large stone and threw it, cursing the gator out as it sailed through the air and hit the large beast right in the eye. The animal recoiled and Richie felt his stomach drop thinking that it was going to retaliate for sure and that he was going to have to die to try and stop it, but for once in his miserable life luck seemed to be on his side.  The alligator pushed itself quickly away, sliding into the water and making a B-line for the other side of the river.

Eddie barely took the time to breathe before he was yelling at Richie further,“Get down! Get down right now, or I swear to god Richie, I’ll use Mike’s fucking machete to cut the tree down with you in it and leave you to the swamp!” 

Richie was only scrambling to obey, and after nearly falling twice, his feet finally touched the ground. 

“Phew,” Richie said and whistled, “That was sure an adventure, huh guys? And you said this place wasn’t a swamp, I swear it almost smells as bad as-” 

“Beep beep, Richie.” Mike said, looking too exhausted.

Richie’s mouth snapped shut and he felt a little guilty for causing the man so much stress. He sighed as he walked over to the other two,

“Look, I’m-”

“Don’t.” Eddie said, cutting him off.

Richie looked at him and frowned, Eddie appeared more stony faced than he had been since he’d shown up hours before. 

“Mike, lead us back.” Eddie demanded.

Mike took a moment to look between the two before he nodded, “Sure, follow close and watch your step.” 

The walk back to Mike’s house was spent in mostly weighted silence that had Richie growing increasingly uncomfortable with each step he took. It was of immediate relief when they made it back to the small abode, Richie’s eyes were trained on the door as he made a B-line for it, he couldn’t be out of the open air fast enough, he needed a shower and maybe to sleep for like a week. He carefully wasn’t looking at either Mike or Eddie when he was stopped in his tracks by a hand gripping his sleeve. 

“Go on ahead Mike, we’ll be in in a minute.” 

Richie gulped nervously as he sent a silent plea for Mike to save him. Mike, though, barely took the time to glance at them before he was nodding and heading into the safety of the house. 

Richie took a deep breath and knowing that he couldn’t possibly run anymore turned to face Eddie. Eddie for his part seemed to be working himself up again, there was a deep furrow between his brows and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Richie waited a moment to see if Eddie would speak first, before he decided to just get it over with himself, he had barely parted his lips to speak when the silence of the early evening air was broken.

“Florida Richie? Fucking really?” 

Richie’s snapped his mouth shut.

“I can’t believe you just took off like that! You didn’t even text me! Do you have any idea what that was like? You just disappeared! Once I realized you weren’t camping out at Bill’s or Stan’s or-or the others, I freaked! I thought you were fucking dead, man! What the fuck!” 

“Wow, breathe Eds.” tried to deflect, noticing just how red Eddie’s face was getting.

“FUCK YOU!” Richie winced and looked to the ground. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“I looked everywhere for you, I was so worried,” Eddie continued, softer this time, “I even went through your phone numbers and called your manager, but he told me he couldn’t divulge any information about clients and-” Eddie sighed, shaking his head and said, “You can’t ever do this again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richie’s heart was thumping in his chest. 

Eddie’s face twisted, “Why the hell did you take off like that?” 

“I-”

Richie didn’t even know where to begin, all of the past weeks emotions were battling it out in his chest and abdomen, made somehow even more striking with Eddie standing right in front of him, his fist still clenched around Richie’s sleeve as if he were afraid that Richie would bolt again if he let him go. Eddie was looking up at him, eyes cleared of the anger that had been burning so bright since he’d shown up, he looked confused, worried, and maybe something else that Richie couldn’t quite name. But he was looking at Richie with all of his attention, and god, Richie almost wished he’d never stop, never stop looking at him, holding him, it terrified him how much he wanted Eddie.

He almost cracked a joke, because of course he would, but he held back, swallowing it down at the last moment. The thought of lying to Eddie, was causing him even worse discomfort than he was already in. So, for the first time in a long time Richie decided to be brave.

“I was scared.” 

Eddie’s brow creased again. 

Richie took a shaking breath, “I was scared and I didn’t- I didn’t know what to do-”

“So you ran to fucking Florida?” 

Richie sighed and shot Eddie an annoyed look.

Eddie snapped his mouth closed and motioned for him to continue, “I panicked, and yeah, I ran to fucking Florida because-because even this god damn swamp was less terrifying than going home and having to- having to lose you and-”

“Lose me?” Eddie interrupted again looking impossibly more bewildered. 

“You-You saw the show. I fucked up- I know I did but-”

“Did you mean it?” Eddie said, cutting him off again.

“What?”

“In the show, was that- was that some sort of joke to you? Were you jerking me around or did you fucking mean it?”

Richie was sweating, he was sure of it, his wide eyes burned from how much he wanted to just blink, but he was frozen, everything around him seemed to have stopped, his field of vision narrowed down to Eddie. The rest of the world could have evaporated and Richie wouldn’t have known the difference. In the stillness, he knew that the next words out of his mouth were important, more important than anything else he has ever said. He could feel another one of his life’s dominoes tipping.

“Every word.” He whispered, “It wasn’t a joke, I hadn’t even meant to say it, but I did mean it, every damn word. I- I like you Eds, I have for years. Almost as long as I can remember, even when I couldn’t remember- it was always you.” 

The silence was deafening. All at once Eddie’s hand which had been holding his sleeve was gone and Richie felt as if his heart was going to shatter. He tried to prepare himself, for the rejection or disgust, but even so he wasn’t sure how he could possibly survive it. Suddenly, he felt hands clench at the collar of his shirt and yanked him off his center of balance, he barely had the mind to stop himself from falling before everything went blank and he died. 

Or at least, Richie was assuming that’s what happened because there was no way that Eddie would be kissing him otherwise, he had to have died. It took his brain a second more to realize that no, this was happening, Eddie was kissing him, and that he needed to fucking respond before he ruined it.

Richie brought his hands up, one to grip Eddie’s hip and pull him closer, and the other to gently cup his cheek as he finally began to kiss him back. All at once Richie felt himself settle, all of the turbulence and anxieties that had plagued him for as far back as he could remember finally dissipated, his head felt light as the elation hit him even as the heat coiled in his belly, grounding him. Richie could scarcely believe this was happening, he sighed into the kiss as he felt one of Eddie’s hands trail up to tangle in his curls.  

Eddie was the first to pull away, only when the need for oxygen grew too strong. Richie couldn’t keep the smile off his face as Eddie kept his hands on him, leaning up to rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air. Richie opened his eyes, unsure of when they’d even closed, and took in everything he could. The slight flush to Eddie’s cheeks, the small upturn of his lips that hinted at a smile, Richie wanted to kiss him all over again- and then keep kissing him. But before he could, Eddie was backing away.

“God I can’t believe I did that.”

Richie had a brief flash of anxiety as he suddenly worried he was about to lose it all.

“You were practically swimming in that swamp , god you’re filthy! Uhg, no, no more, go inside and shower right now! I’m not kissing you again until you do.” 

Richie’s face broke out into a huge grin, he didn’t know it was possible to feel this happy, the suddenness of it felt like getting whiplash. 

“But Eds-”

“No, absolutely not! And that’s not my name!”

Richie’s grin grew impossibly large as he opened up his arms and went in for a hug, delighting when Eddie screeched and tried to dodge him. The two of them chased each other up the porch and into the house, Richie giving up the game and instead taking Eddie’s hand in his, his stomach swooping pleasantly when Eddie not only allowed it but gave him a reaffirming squeeze. 

Yeah, they still had a lot to talk about but Richie had never felt more excited to do so.

-

It ends with Richie walking out onto a large stage in LA, his palms sweaty as he smiles and waves at the cheering crowd. There was a nervousness clawing at his chest as he made it to center-stage, but with it also a giddy sort of anticipation. He picked up the microphone and stared out over the audience, not seeing much due to the bright lights shining over him, but still the silhouettes carried a touch of intimidation. He breathes, smile growing as he greets his audience, his voice steady and loud, cheers rise up in accordance and he plants his feet, grounding himself, readying. Yet despite that, the usual pres-show dread that Richie is used to feeling crawl in his stomach is absent, in its stead is a right sort of deliberateness that he’s never felt while walking out in front of a sold out crowd- or any crowd for that matter, not since being picked up decades ago in LA. There’s something peaceful about the steadfastness of his conviction, about knowing however the audience takes this new show will be a drop in the bucket compared to the opinions of the people he’s already shared the script with. Eddie’s approval meant more to him than any of these fuckers combined. So it was easier for him now, more than any other time in his life to recite the words from his script- words he himself had written. 

Yes, he was nervous. But he was also resolute as he turned to look into the camera and the audience and say:

“So, my boyfriend moved in recently, like officially and-”

The smile that broadens Richie’s face is more genuine than any one he’d given on stage before as his audience hoots and cheers. Maybe he’d really send that fruit basket he’d been considering over to his publicist, or his manager for convincing him to take to Twitter to improve his fan-base. Fuck it, he’d send his whole team fruit baskets. A thank you to everyone who had been supportive of him, who continued to back him while he figured his shit out. People who gave him the opportunity to stand on stage and feel the pride that ballooned in his chest at each laugh and holler each of his jokes got. Pride was a feeling he’d had very little of in his life, it was hard to grasp when you’d spent most of your life in hiding. There were moments even now, despite everything, that had him instinctively wanting to curl up and slink away, because having pride in oneself is a learned behavior and one Richie was working on still. It got easier though, with every smile from his friends, any and every little touch Eddie blessed him with, and every morning he got to wake up and have Eddie right there next to him- everyday was full of little moments, little opportunities for him to feel so fucking lucky. So, yeah, walking out on that stage was an ending. A metaphorical book closing on a life lived in hiding and in shame- and he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

Richie was starting a whole new novel, one composed of all those little and big moments worth holding onto, even if they were scary, maybe especially so; because for the first time in as far back as he could remember Richie wasn’t running away. He was pushing forward with the strength of more than just himself, and he was making a conscious decision to finally make his leap of faith, because even if he fell, he had six great people waiting to catch him. Richie pushed onward, because even though this was an ending, it was also the start of something so much greater. -

[helisol]

ye s, well

it basically came to me like a prophet receiving a vision from an angry god. you know. like brian david gilberts video ideas but with more slow burn.

no really i wrote all this down in my phone’s note app because some nearly coherent things popped up in my head every time i was on the train or bus these last few days.

(after-actually-writing-this disclaimer/note: this is 2000 words of slightly edited rambling about Bagginshield in the Afterlife. i had to put it in a read more.)

so the gist of it

the botfa goes just as in the movie with minor details altered. like bilbo kissing thorin just before he dies which inadvertently causes a ripple in time and space that makes the valar curious of them both. you know. minor stuff.

so bilbo goes back to the shire, the war of the ring goes down, and the hobbit/elf gang sails to valinor at the end. classic stuff, not much alternating of universes here.

but here’s where things turn into the “my city now” meme because DUDE DO I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT VALINOR AND HOW THE AFTERLIFE WORKS

like, I’m sorry mister jolkien rolkien tolkien, but just putting people into a hall to await being judged like a hospital waiting room? snooze, that’s boring!

so first of all, and you can fight me on this, Yavanna Made The Hobbits And You Can’t Change My Mind.

it just makes sense for her to have been very saddened by the destruction of literally all her work on arda through melkor’s poison, so she made living, growing things that could protect themselves from harm. as opposed to the ents, by the way, which were made by Eru to protect all the other living, growing things. it was a nice gesture of Eru to make those, but not quite what Yavanna wanted or had in mind, i imagine.

as with the dwarves, Eru wasn’t all happy about the existence of another race he didn’t make but you know, whatever, ‘I’ll just let this married couple have their own kids aside from mine, it’s okay’.

so he hands both the dwarves and the hobbits independent thought and free will, but under the condition (and here is where the afterlife stuff comes into play) that Aule and Yavanna be responsible for their mortal creations after their death. meaning that both races have seperate afterlives from the halls of mandos, MEANING THAT ITS COMPLETELY FINE FOR AULE AND YAVANNA TO BE LIKE “oh look honey, these two are so very in love and remind me of us, shan’t we do something about that?”

so. they do something about that. more precisely, they rearrange their afterlife-realms so they’re next to each other and someone with enough willpower could cross through the barrier. because listen, they’re valar, they can do whatever they want just for kicks.

okay so after that tangent lets get back to the meat of the matter: gay dwarves. I know not everyone has read Sansukh, a 500k word mammoth of a fic, and I don’t really intend to copy any of det’s canon, but their version of The Halls of Mahal really inspired me. basically the dwarven afterlife is one big hunk of a mountain/underground city where they’re free to live their days until dagor dagorath doing what they do best in the company of their families and friends; like smithing, crafting, building and other JustDwarrowThings.

meanwhile the hobbit afterlife is Basically The Shire and instead of being given the materials to build things, all the hobbits who go there get to grow plants and do their gardening. they don’t have to- just like none of the dwarves have to craft stuff- since there’s always enough food for everyone, but they are just allowed to do what they do best if they so desire.

now when Bilbo arrived in the undying lands he was still Old As Hell and im sorry to put it this way, he definitely kicked the can after like, a week of living there. not really so undying, them lands, huh. anyway Bilbo bites the dust and LOOK AT THAT he’s suddenly young again, and another LOOK AT THAT he’s standing in a very comfy, but Not Quite Bag End hobbit hole that has a note hung up on the front door. you wouldn’t think gods could have handwriting but hey, again, they’re gods they can do whatever. the note just tells him that yavannah made this place special and just for Bilbo but that there’s another home waiting for him. very cryptic there, lady. he doesn’t leave at first because hey, his family is here. there’s a lot of reunions and celebrating and food because its the fucking hobbit afterlife, what else would you expect

it takes him a few days of Regular Hobbit Life in his new home to realise ‘holy shit, this is so boring’ so what does a Fool of a Took do when things get boring and there’s a note urging him to do something?

HE’S GOING ON AN ADVENTURE

so Bilbo runs through the whole not-shire, meeting all sorts of people he outlived on the way (looking at you, Lobelia), as well as some elves. because elves can definitely just waltz through all the afterlives. they can walk on top of snow, you think they wouldn’t walk around wherever they please in valinor? rip to mankind, but they’re different.

he gets to the furthest reaches of it eventually, and lo and behold, what awaits him but the view of a tall mountain, an invisible barrier and a very flustered Thorin who is at his wits end as to how Bilbo even got here.

now for thorin’s part of the story we’ll have to start after the botfa again. he basically woke up in the darkness like an episode of naked and afraid, and started talking to Aule. his maker, who loves him to bits by the way since he made thorin, just tells him he’s free to go wherever his heart takes him. again with the cryptic messages from the gods.

so thorin, still very self-loathing and bitter because of his actions right before his death, sees this as Mahal’s way of saying ‘please don’t step foot in my halls u disgusting litle creacher’, when really he just meant ‘please do some well deserved self reflecting and then come inside to be with your family, they all miss you terribly’.

after his chat with the maker thorin just spawns in right at the front gate of the mountain and he has a choice to make. go inside or stay outside. and we all know Thorin’s proclivity for drama so he basically spends LITERAL YEARS just living in self imposed solitary confinement.

oh also tiny hc here, thorin was said to have taken “any work offered to him in the towns of men”, and they showed him in a smithy, but personally I believe they meant it when they said “any kind of work”. so basically thorin is a jack of all trades, master of some. he definitely has master-level skills in certain areas though, enough to build a vaguely hobbit-hole shaped house. why is it hobbit hole shaped?

oh right, the part where Thorin is absolutely enamoured with Bilbo.

"Go back to your books and your armchair, plant your trees, watch them grow. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”- HELLO? GAY POLICE? I’D LIKE TO REPORT A CASE OF ‘DWARF KING REALISING THAT THE HOBBIT WAY OF LIVING IS A REALLY GREAT ONE IN CONCEPT / WISHING HE COULD HAVE HAD THAT KIND OF LIFE WITH BILBO’

anyway it’s a long 80 years until Thorin does get to meet Bilbo again, and in the meantime we have one of my favorite additions to any Hobbit fanfic ever: Frerin

For the uninitiated, Frerin is Thorin’s brother. They also have a sister, Dís, but Tolkien never specified when she died and she was a bit younger than Thorin and Frerin so I reckon she’d still be alive as an old dwarf lady somewhere?

Anyway, Frerin. Oh boy. Sansukh, again, does an excellent job at turning Frerin into a character with a level of authenticity that gets real fucking close to Genuine Tolkien™, so most of my own characterisation of Frerin is based on that in Sansukh. With the important omission of the dwarves not being able to see the present/their still alive loved ones in middle earth through a magic mirror pool.

so Frerin takes it upon himself to leave the mountain in search of his brother because he really does want him back. but also because Mahal has had it with Thorin’s antics and suggests Frerin fetch him so he can finally reunite with his family. Mahal doesn’t talk to the dwarves a lot because he’s like an awkward and distant dad, but he does actually speak to them.

so Thorin is supposed to go see his family, which he does, but not immediately. it takes like, a solid year of just brotherly (and sister-sonly) companionship for him to open up about all his anxieties and regrets and THEN he goes into the mountain to cry in his mother’s lap. as you do.

however Thorin still feels like he doesn’t 100% belong with the other dwarves in there, so he frequently spends long stretches of time outside, building away at his house, thinking about Bilbo. the company goes out to visit him sometimes.

more details on the house tho, cuz it’s Important; it’s built halfway into a hill near the mountain, like a proper hobbit hole would be, but the lower levels are built into stone. look, he’s had 80 years to work on constructing this. it’s near perfect in every way for both hobbit and dwarf standards and could definitely fit the entire company and more inside.

now about the barrier. elves can pass through without a second thought because they’re shiny little bastards who just get to do all the cool stuff, but the other races can’t just hop between realms like that; they really have to muster up the willpower. which usually means they can’t do it because a drawback for both dwarves and hobbits is that they favor isolation from other races even in death, and as such don’t want to mingle with each other.

unless you’re Bilbo Badass Baggins though, who simply runs through the barrier to yell at Thorin for leaving him sad and alone for 80 years. he is that bitch.

there’s gonna be some legolas and gimli shenanigans if i can fit them in (cuz i dont know when exactly they sailed west together), possibly a mention of tauriel because bruh peter jackson did us dirty by not giving her any closure besides ‘lol i guess she’s banished from mirkwood??’ and Mairon. because. I also have some thoughts about him.

also Fili and Kili as pseudo matchmakers because every fic needs that

and did I mention there’s gonna be hozier lyrics for chapter titles

i said this was the gist of it but i somehow ended up at ~1900 words. well, more power to me.

[artificialqueens]

if we have eachother (Branjie/Ninex/Everyone) 2/5 - PinkGrapefruit

chapter one.

chapter two. in which family means adventure

A/N - I’ve got 10/27 exams left and that’s something to celebrate. I really love this chapter, it’s soft as all hell and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed Frey and Qtips comments on it (thanks to them it looks like I can use punctuation). Anyway, Enjoy!

*

When the kids start school Vanessa comes to the startling revelation that he can’t keep doing this (this being travelling non-stop, gigs across the country and long-ass tours) - it’s not a bittersweet farewell, but it’s the end of an era, he supposes. And then he makes himself a set of rules instead. One tour a year, no more than two weeks, must be able to find childcare. Avoid international gigs without another queen. No gigs on school nights. And it works, for three years, it works perfectly, and then the kids are eight and they’re moving house and he realises that,god , he misses touring - just a little bit. Misses the feeling of waking up in a different city than you fell asleep, new crowds every night, the atmosphere of it all. But he wakes up in his king-sized bed curled up around a Canadian hunk, and sometimes there’s still a child on his back if it’s been a really bad night, and he also knows he wouldn’t give it up for the world.

He does a gig at least every week, got a steady hosting job at Micky’s WeHo on a Friday night and Brooke doesn’t work them, so it’s his night with the kids while Vanessa dips and twirls and screams on stage, whipping the crowd up into a frenzy before announcing the latest in a stream of Drag Race girls and up-and-coming queens. Sometimes Silky or A’keria joins him and they have a proper good time of it, but even when he’s alone up there he still feels as at home as he does on the sofa, Allie on his lap, legs on Brooke’s who has an arm around Noah as they watch ‘Clueless' or something else that is definitely not appropriate for eight-year-olds, but ‘our kids are gonna know shit, babe - I didn’t have them for them to be uncultured.’

On his days off, he goes full ‘PTA dad’ as Brooke likes to call that - it better be as affectionate as Brooke’s ‘Dance Mom’ title - stemming from him watching Noah and Allie dance like he himself is doing it - but Vanessa isn’t quite willing to take that chance. He makes the kids packed lunches every day while the rest of the family is asleep. He cuts the sandwiches into little animals and the fruit into stars using cutters Brooke and the twins bought for Fathers’ Day, and usually halfway through, more often than not at this point, his man will traipse down the stairs and wordlessly make them both coffees in their ‘world’s best dad’ mugs, which they’ll sip at the table, holding hands and watching the news until they have to get the kids up for school. Allie is always easier to wake up, so they alternate who wakes up who, and get them dressed for the day before Brooke tries (and fails) to make pancakes, Vanessa sitting at the table with his coffee and dying laughing like it’s not a daily thing.

The kids had been excited when he told them ‘Uncle Brook’ would be living with them all the time, even though they stopped calling him that years ago and he’s basically living at theirs anyway (his flat is more of a glorified drag closet than a flat at this point). They switch between ‘Brock’ for everyday stuff and ‘Dad’ in really tender moments, ever since Allie slipped up at an ice-rink one Christmas and had cried into his arms. Secretly Vanessa can’t wait until they call him ‘Dad’ all the time, but he already has a mug from the last Fathers’ Day so he figures they’re getting pretty close.

*

They move on a Tuesday, out of the cosy condo they’ve always lived in. It’s only a little across LA, still close enough to go to the same school, but they’ve been saving all the extra money they have to mortgage a little townhouse and it’s everything they could have asked for. Allie squeals as she runs through the door, sprints up the carpeted stairs before Vanessa can call out to her, screaming “PAPA, PAPA, LOOK!” as she counts the bedrooms again and again. There’s four: one for each kid that they can grow into, one for him and Brooke, and one for drag. The drag room might be the second biggest - they’re not ashamed.

They get Monique, Monét and Nina over to paint and decorate, and as Nina and Brooke do the heavy lifting downstairs, Monique and Monét start painting Noah’s room. It’s a periwinkle blue, something he’d been insistent on when they’d been planning, Chinese food and paint swatches littering the table like some sort of fun brainstorming session - it was, but it ended with the adults drinking red wine on the couch and Vanessa bitching about PTA moms. It turns out that Monique doesn’t understand how to use a paint roller and Vanessa leans against the door, watching as she rolls it horizontally. Monét has to sit down - she’s laughing so hard - and it draws the kids upstairs to watch as the queen can’t string together a sentence properly. It’s a hot day, so he goes downstairs to make juice, but when he hears Monét teaching the twins ‘Yo mama’ jokes - he can’t help but tell Nina, “your man is corrupting my babies”. Nina blushes frantically as she tries to put together an Ikea chair, Brooke already having built the other three.

“How’s it going with him by the way?” He asks, nodding his head upstairs with a smile.

“It’s really good,” she replies, handing the chair carcass to the other man who puts it together without even thinking, half paying attention to the conversation, half staring at Vanessa in his painting shorts. Brooke is topless, so Vanessa is only half paying attention too.

“We talked about kids the other night,” She continues, coyly. “We’re thinking of doing what you did.”

“Adoption? That’s amazing, Andrew!”

“Seriously, I can’t think of anyone better,” adds Brooke, beaming at his best friend.

“We’re looking at international, we think, but it’s a little too early to say.”

“I’m really happy for you, mate, we both are,” Brooke says, standing to wrap an arm around his man’s waist, kissing his temple lightly before taking the pitcher and the cups and gesturing upstairs. Vanessa nods slightly, leaning into his body before helping Nina to unpack the table. Neither of them can follow furniture instructions, he goes back to painting Allie’s room yellow in a matter of minutes.

They somehow finish all the painting by Thursday, get to move from all sleeping in the master bedroom (the only one they’d pre-decorated) to finally sleeping in their own rooms, and the first night the two spend alone they just enjoy the amount of space they have. They enjoy it for about 5 minutes, all stretched out, and then they return to their natural state instead, Vanessa curled up into Brooke’s side, head on his shoulder, one leg over his waist like he’s trying to climb the man. He isn’t, but Brooke would argue otherwise.

*

Noah dances in the school talent show, a feat neither of his parents thought possible until he asked Brooke for help one day after school, citing a show in three or so weeks. Vanessa knows that his boys have spent every night since, hunkered down in the garage blasting something that sounds classical, probably. It’s Brookes expertise, he and Allie have just been baking healthy cookies and watching ’The Office’. Neither of them is complaining.

He knows how much work has gone into the minute-long solo, so when he watches it, he is so proud. So proud that he is crying and the phone he’s holding up to film is removed from his hand by Brooke who takes over, because he is shaking too much to get a good video. If he posts it on Facebook after, he can’t be blamed. He has the best kids, he really does.

“Papa!” Noah calls out to him as he runs from the door next to the stage. “Papa! I won!” And Vanessa swears that if Brooke didn’t film that too, he’s not sleeping in their bed.

“I know baby, I’m so proud of you!” He says as he pulls him in, bear hugs him like he has since the boy was three.

“Do you want to get ice cream, buddy?” Calls Brooke from where he’s got Allie’s hand in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in another. When the pair walk over, he kneels in front of Noah with a smile. “You see, dancers get flowers when they do really well,” and he hands his son them, “So we got you some.”

Vanessa pulls Allie into his side as Brooke and Noah hug, the bouquet held out awkwardly so as not to squish it.

“Ice cream.” Allie declares definitively and they all laugh.

*

The kids’ ninth birthdays come too quick for Vanessa’s liking. He’s had them for almost six years and that scares him more than he lets on. He always wonders if he’s raising them right, if they can really be well adjusted with two drag queens as parents, but then he remembers that really they’ve got an entire family of drag queens and that makes him feel a little better.

He hosts a traditional Puerto Rican dinner for their birthdays. He sends Brooke around Los Angeles to find the perfect plantains, yelling through the car Bluetooth that, ‘Yes I need green ones’, but also ‘THEY NEED TO BE BROWN AND SQUISHY, WHAT ARE YOU NOT UNDERSTANDING.’ He explains, when he gets home, that there are two ways you use plantains - super ripe or super squishy. He needs both. Brooke just laughs.

The man comes up behind him when he is trying to fry the tostones, wraps his strong arms around his waist and kisses his neck softly, “My little housewife,” before dipping his finger in the mayo-ketchup and leaving before Vanessa can beat his ass with the spoon. He frets around the kitchen all day until he’s made an entire banquet of classic dishes from arroz con habichuelas to pastelón de amarillos and pollo guisado. And then, somehow, he finds the energy to fret about table decorations for a little while longer.

It is the eve of the twins’ birthday and everyone is over, the food is already mostly gone and they’re all sat around the long table Brooke created through the open plan living area, chatting and yelling every-which-way. It’s noisy and ridiculous and there’s no place they’d rather be.

*

Nina plans for them all to go to Disney for ‘Gotcha Day’ in August and Vanessa pawns his Friday show off on A’keria and Silky the second he can. They pack easily, Brooke and the kids piling into the family ford, and tailing Nina and Monét the whole way there, switching Brooke and Monét out halfway because Brooke ‘has a headache’.

Unbeknownst to Vanessa, Brooke and Nina sit in Nina’s classic beetle planning a proposal. Brooke has the ring in his pocket, has had it in there since they left LA an hour before (the traffic is horrendous), and it feels like it’s burning through the shorts. Like a hot potato, he needs to pass it to someone else. He puts it in Nina’s rucksack instead.

They discuss it at length (although ‘discuss’ implies that it wasn’t just Nina orchestrating the entire thing) and quickly realise that Vanessa has always wanted her fairytale, so maybe it needs to be somewhere truly magical - somewhere from her favourite Disney film… “ARIEL!” Brooke shouts, startling Nina slightly as the Canadian grins at her from the passenger seat. “You know Disney, Nina, where is there an Ariel bit?”

Nina pauses for a second while she changes gear, her eyebrow quirking up as she thinks. “I know a guy,” she says, “There’s a ‘Little Mermaid’ ride and there’s a model where Ariel and Eric are sat in a boat, so maybe, I was thinking, you could go behind the scenes and propose there?”

Brooke lights up as they pull into the carpark. “Could you make that happen?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

*

“Papa, do you want the rest of your Dole Whip?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Brookie, do you need the rest of your Dole Whip?”

“Uhuh.”

“Monét, are you going to eat the rest of your Dole Whip?”

“Yup, kiddo, it’s mine.”

“Nini, can I have the rest of you Dole Whip?”

“Sure, here you go, kid.”

“NINA.”

*

“You sure you’re tall enough to ride, baby?”

“I swear to god , Brock, imma kick you if you make that joke again.”

*

“Papa? Can we buy Mickey’s ears?”

“I’ll get you them, kiddos.”

“Nina, no. Ugh, fine. Kids, say thank you to Uncle Nina.”

“You know you love it, Vanj.”

“Sure.”

*

Monét takes the ring out of Nina’s rucksack while she’s on the 'Under the Sea’ ride with Vanessa and the kids. She hands it to Brooke with a pointed stare and a muttered joke about ’forgetting everything, you dumb bitch’ before dutifully returning to the small pile of rucksacks they’ve accumulated as a unit. Brooke smiles down at it as he thumbs the black velvet box, opens it briefly - just to check - before shoving it deep into his cargo shorts. “They’re practical!” He’d defended in response to the ridicule of his soon-to-be fiancé that morning, pairing the offending shorts with a white Mickey Mouse T-Shirt (that matched Noah’s).

When everyone gets off the ride, Nina claps her hands as if to make an announcement before turning to the kids. “So, you know your papa likes Ariel? I may have arranged something, follow me.”

The kids squeal as Nina leads them down a slightly hidden hallway behind the ride, pushes open the doorway like she owns the place. Monét hoists Allie up onto her shoulders and runs ahead, leaves Vanessa and Brooke bringing up the rear, hands entwined.

Brooke giggles as he watches his boyfriend get excited over every little aspect of it, the music playing even though the ride is shut for 'maintenance’. He can feel himself get a little swept up in the magic, letting the kids run ahead as they near the point he’s going to do it.

It’s a model of Ariel and Eric sat in the boat, hands clasped as they face each other. He pulls Vanessa over with a smile, requests Nina take a picture of them re-enacting. They face each other, holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes for a second before Vanessa turns to Nina and gives the cheesiest grin he’s ever seen.

Brooke takes the moment.

He slowly moves down onto one knee as Vanessa whips his head back around, staring at him. His head tilts to the side and his eyes start to water as the Canadian lets go of one hand to reach into his pocket. He knows what’s coming, sees the glint of the ring before the box is even fully open, eyes pouring with tears as he looks to Nina to make sure this is definitely happening. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Monét, knelt with the twins, beaming. He melts a little more.

“José, my love,” Brooke sighs, relaxes his shoulders as he looks back up at the man. “It’s been a long, long road to get here, but I’m so glad we took it.” Vanessa nods, glassy-eyed. “For the record, I asked the kids’ permission to do this,” he chuckles quietly, “Allie only told me she would have to call me Dad. I don’t know about you but that doesn’t seem like a bad price.” Brooke tears up too now, his hand clammy in the other man’s as he squeezes it loosely.

“I love you more than life itself and I really want to share a drag closet with you, a coffee machine, and children, and a last name. I want it all, and I want it with you. ”

“Yes,” Vanessa whispers and Brooke swats at him.

“I haven’t finished yet, bitch.”

“Sorry.” He flushes a subtle red under the set lights - the slight strobing making his tears glitter like diamonds. Only diamonds would be good enough for him, Brooke decides.

“José, will you marry me?”

“No.”

“Baby.” He raises an eyebrow but the contented smile stays, he doesn’t need to worry, knows the real answer and the exact way the man’s mouth will form it, soft consonants and a hard vowel.

“Yes, Brock, always yes.”

They kiss and it feels like victory - crossing the line of a racetrack on an easy win, knowing you earned that crown, that trophy, that kiss. They melt into one for just a second and it’s all Vanessa needs to say everything.

Then the twins are running towards them at an alarming rate. “Dad! Papa!” They shout and it almost brings Brooke to tears again as he picks up Allie, spinning her round and round before pulling her close. She’s getting big and he almost can’t do it anymore butgoddammit he’s going to try. As he holds his fiancé and their kids close, he watches Monét press a kiss to Nina’s temple, thanks God for the family he has.

[wyd-dreams]

my subconscious made me marry jefree star

130420 

 I was standing in a mall in a grocery store, right next to the confections section, where you can always trust the lady behind the counter, a true master of her craft, to pack a piece of cheap fatty cake into a sheet of translucent plastic in a matter of seconds and hand it to your sugar-craving hands. Today however, I was not alone! Next to me stood a girl I know from class, who I’m going to call Sadie just in case she shows up again. IRL I don’t vibe with her but she keeps finding her way into my dreams anyway. 

The lady behind the counter looked at the two of us, squinting, and then challenged us to a food tasting test: she’d give us a piece of something, we’d have to name the ingredients, then we would go to the fish section of the store, get partnered up with some random person to cook the food itself. Sadie and I look at each other in confusion. “Oh fuck, but sure”. This is not the only time in this dream I consented to something weird. 

Anyway, the sweets lady gives Sadie a chunk of sponge cake and a mint-coloured macaron to me. I put it in my mouth. As you do. Still chewing, I say “Cloves, definitely cloves. Also uhh, butter, flour, probably honey? Condensed milk.” As you do? 

The lady’s jaw drops to the floor. She immediately goes “N-nobody’s ever been able to point out the cloves before, how did you know?” 

I take a whole bud out of my mouth like bitch what is this then. I did not, however, tell her that cloves taste like vomit to me. Apparently in this dreamland I got all of the ingredients correct too, so I head to the fish section feeling all proud of my wondrous flavour palette. 

I got partnered up with a lanky middle eastern guy and we got to work. At some point I had the most revolutionary idea of ideas “hey, let’s add sugar into sweets”. Genius. The guy gives me thumbs up and I go around looking for sugar. Little did I know, apparently I stumbled across an oasis of sugar nobody’s been able to find, since walking back with a pack in hands was near impossible. Everybody started clawing at me like a rabid dog, trying snatch the sugar from me. Never fear though, for my cooking comrade charges at me with a shopping cart, picks me up, puts me in the cart and we nyoom out of there. 

We stop in some lounge area on the second floor. How did we get there in a shopping card and, speaking of that, where was the shopping cart? Haven’t got a clue. 

I was looking out the giant window, admiring the lovely pines and casual tornadoes outside, when someone showed me the neat new forum thing someone made. A mixture of a bboard and a daily challenge site, like duolingo but orange and somehow more awful. I don’t remember what the challenges were, perhaps I was too tired from being a culinary genius. What I do remember though, was that the site had a surprisingly functioning chat. It wasn’t amazing, there were no proper notifications or anything, but it did the job. Like a bboard had a weird baby with duolingo AND interpals. Naturally, I start using that function. 

I think I zoned out or something, there’s a gap in my memory, but the next thing I know I’ve said yes (why) to Jeffree fucking Star proposing to me (why) and the guy’s here, sitting on the floor by the wall looking as miserable as ever. Subconscious, wdym?

Now, the interesting part is, my brain somehow managed to make Jeff more confusing than he normally is. In the dream Jeff was explicitly stated to be genderq, used almost exclusively she/her pronouns, was simultaneously doing drag and presenting as they normally do. They were wearing a ghastly pink-lilac amorphous dress thing and their hair wasn’t the iconic bob, it was a choppy, spiky, star-shaped thing. Star, haha, get it. Not that I minded their appearance, it was pretty neat, but like...why Jeff of all people and how the fuck did I say yes. WHY WERE THEY ON THE APP TOO. I feel like this was actually an arranged marriage between a 34y.o. And a 17y.o. Back in the medieval times or some shit, 

So I walk up my fiance Jeffy Jeff and they immediately jump to being all giddy and excited about the wedding. Apparently it was already scheduled to happen on May 24th. Jeff being Jeff, they want to start coordinating the clothing asap. “Cool” I think and the same second we are transported to this giant runway. Jeff is now on about a meter tall stilts, clad in a flowy dress of sunshine golds and yellows, with pineapple-shaped glasses and back to their white bob. Above him there is a counter, a counter of how much money we’re gonna lose of clothing. Gotta love wedding tax amirite? Anyhow, my lovely partnerTM gracefully gestures towards the runway and out comes my classmate Leia, who always shows up in clothing dreams. Neat. She’s on stilts too and is trying to manage walking with reaaaaly fancy frilly pants. She was complaining about them the whole way, but Jeff was amazed anyway. 

What I got from her monologue was that Jeff wanted to see what the guests would wear first and that everyone was bringing their own clothes. I immediately got nervous because I didn’t have anything that would match the level of pizzaz on display here, I didn’t want to be out in one of Jeff’s dresses either because 1) I’m smol 2) no dresses for me, no thank you. I was more anxious about the latter, because I realised I wasn’t out to Jeffy Jeff yet, I was scared they’d reject me or something but at the same time I was hoping they would because about them I started realising “wait I don’t even know them WAIT”. I was losing my shit while my fiance was yelling “THAT’S SPECTACULAR DARLING” in the background. Remember the money counter? Yeah, it showed that actually Jeff was gaining money from all of that.

At some point the fashion show ended and I brought up the courage to go and tell Jeff about my feelings. I go upstairs and they’re on a bed, aggressively making out with some random guy in a buzzcut. Frankly I didn’t care, they can do what they want, instead I went to the window and listened to the birds spilling tea about people I didn’t know. As you do. I walked to the room on the other side of a hallway, which was apparently my sibling’s room, and I found Jeff there, still in their gold dress, just chilling on the floor by the heater. They were petting a rabbit too.

I kneeled beside them, but instead of anything coherent “would she fancy an androgenie” leaves my mouth. Without a shred of doubt they replied with “oh so you don’t know the coda to pilot yet,” and I said “my words exactly luv.” Needless to say, the wedding wasn’t canceled. 

So I went back downstairs and started ranting about it to this random girl with red hair. Mostly about how I don’t even know the person. She looked me dead in the eye and said “you did talk to Skye for years tho.” And I immediately went “shit ur right I do know them,,,,, but  idk if I want to marry yet yknow.” She suggested I at least try to maybe postpone it a month or two and then I remembered that I hadn’t yet told my family about my engagement. 

And then I woke up on a cliffhanger. 

[rxcusant]

Lol explain Kingdom hearts to me. Like all of it. Cause I'm confused as fk. Not KH3 tho cause I'm still going through it.

buckle up lads

so theres a buncha keyblade masters called foretellers and theyre all runnin round like headless chickens cause their master disappeared and nobodys telling each other anything so they all start fightin (except this one guy luxu voiced by max mittleman, he grabbed a box and high tailed it outta there) and then it sparks a keyblade war for all the light in kingdom hearts i think ??? and then i legit forget what happens from here because i hate ux with every fiber of my being but it made this cool place called a keyblade graveyard, its pretty dope.

fast forward 1000 years and we got the cool wayfinder trio all living in land of departure about to take their mark of mastery except terra doesnt pass because Mark Hamil Said Darkness Sucks. also we meet this old guy Xehanort he kinda sucks a lot. theres these enemies called unversed rolling around and mark hamil tells aqua and terra to go stop them but ventus said HEY IM COMING TO and ran after terra so aquas left to be the mom to bring them both home idk and its revealed ventus is made of pure light and xehanort literally split the darkness form his heart and it made vanitas-- hes responsible for all the unversed, he sucks, we dont like him but we love him-- in an effort to forge this thing called the X-Blade (PRONOUNCED LIKE KEY BLADE I HATE THIS SERIES) that will open the door to kingdom hearts, and the x-blade can only be made when pure light and darkness clash, and like... restart the keyblade war and bring about balance?? idk. And xehanort wants to live long enough to see this happen so he literally possesses terras body. Cool! Just what the poor guy needed. Ven and vanitas fight and ven sacrifices himself so he goes to take a Very Long Nap and vanitas just dies like the bitch he is. But ven’s heart finds his way to baby 5yo sora who decides HEY ILL HOARD YOU IN MY HEART FOR THE NEXT 11 YEARS and thats why roxas looks like ventus. Aqua yeets him in the land of departure and then like..locks the world up and it turns into castle oblivion.  meanwhile terra and aqua punch each other and terras about to fall into a darkness pit but aqua sacrifces heself to get him out and so she ends up trapped there for 11 years and terra??is now terranort and has amnesia and this old dude Ansem The Wise finds him and adopts him and an apprentice. yeah. bet he wont regret that decision ; )

10 years later kh1 happens and sora and riku and kairi are chilling on destiny islands until it explodes and riku fucks off to the darkness and kairi fucks off to soras hearts -- i hope she said hi to ventus in there-- and sora ends up in traverse town where he meets donald and goofy. YOU SEE king mickey of disney castle also fucked off because worlds are disappearing to darkness and he left donald and goofy a note to go find The Key cause thatll help. so they do and they journey around with sora and become good buddies i love the trinity trio so much. eventually they meet riku at hollow bastion again and hes been posssessed by this dude Ansem whos not Ansem the Wise but is actually Xehanort’s Heartless (i hate this fucking series) and they find kairis comatose body chillin in the corner and they have a fight scene thats engraved in the memory of Everyone whos ever played PS2 KH1 KAIRI! KAIRI! OPEN YOUR EYES! ITS NO USE. THAT GIRL HAS LOST HER HEART. SHE CANNOT WAKE UP. oh my god why didnt they add a skip scene button. anyway they punch the possession outta riku and sora stabs himself with the keyblade to release kairis heart BUT it also releases his own heart which created his nobody, Roxas, who got vens heart???who thats why he looks like ven?? and it created namine who is kairis nobody because??i honestly forget i hate this goddamn series. anyway soras a heartless for a few minutes but kairi got her heart and life back and wanted to get some sweet sweet screentime and so she saved sora and restored him Thank you kairi. so sora dumps kairi off at traverse town and goes to give Ansem / Xehanort’s Heartless a good ol ass whopping ad they win and restore the worlds but kairi and sora are separated again I’LL COME BACK TO YOU, I PROMISE! I KNOW YOU WILL! WHEN YOU WALK AWAY YOU DONT HEAR ME SAY PLEAAAAAAASE OH BABYYY DONT GO oh also riku and king mickey and sora closed the door to kingdom hearts and trapped riku and mickey in the realm of darkness, that was a thing.

and then chain of memories happened. theyre in castle oblivion!!! whoa!! we meet the organization for the first time! whoa!!! we meet namine!! whoa!!! so like namine has sora-memory powers and can tinker with his memories and the memories of everyone hes connected to (AND HOLY FUCK IS THAT BOY CONNECTED TO A LOTTA PEOPLE NAMINE IS VERY POWERFUL) and the organization is making namine rewrite soras memories as he progresses throuhg castle oblivion to turn him into marluxias pawn so he cna use sora to like..overhtrow the organization, i think?? i hate this seriees. but it all works out in the end except soras memories are so scrambled he decides to sleep for a year to get all the right ones back. MEANWHILE RIKUS IN THE BASEMENT OF CASTLE OBLIVION and hes fighting his own demons i mean darkness i mean ansem i mean xehanorts heartless and he meet up with mickey a few times and then he meets DiZ and he also meets a replica of himself--yeah by the way the organization is making replicas, That Sure Wont Ever Be Referenced Again : )-- and its this game that rikus like YEAH I CAN USE THE DARKNESS AS POWER AND STRENGTH and HES GONNA WALK THE ROAD TO DAWN and then every riku rper put dawn in their url and i got confused trying to keep them all straight lord please help me im a little ol sammi

then we have 358/2 days for the DS which i never replayed cause it was tedious af which is all about the organization and roxas’s time in the organization and meeting his best buds axel and xion and saix standing in the corner being a jealous little binch PLEASE SAIX JUST BE NICE THEYLL GIVE YOU ICE CREAM TOO IF YOU ASK POLITELY Xion is another replica except shes a replica of sora but something got messed up and she got his memories of kairi which is why she looks like her but with black hair for whatever reason, i think nomura just wanted a cool goth girl to add to the series and we all thank him for it, and she and roxas become so close they kinda start influencing that weird memory shit going on and xion keeps trying to leave the organization to set things right but axel always gets stuck with the icky jobs and we got the iconic GO ON YOU JUST KEEP RUNNIN BUT ILL ALWAYS BE THERE TO BRING YOU BACK and i think around this time roxas is also super fed up with the organization and decides FUCK YALL IM DONE and punches saix and leaves. but xion finds him and they have a cool boss battle sequence got i love you xion you are a POWERHOUSE but roxas defeats her and she dies and its the saddest thing in the world AND NOBODY REMEMBERS HER WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT!!!! anyway roxas decides hes gonna punch kingdom hearts next cause it was xions last wish but riku, who is sporting a cool blindfold for edge, is like HEY WE NEED YOU TO WAKE UP SORA and roxas is all SORA THIS SORA THAT I DONT GIVE A FUCK and tey fight! and riku loses cause roxas has two keybladees! OBLIVION IS THE BEST KEYBLADE IT LOOKS SUPER COOL I LOVE IT SO MUCH WOW but riku rips off his blindfold and summons the darkness and he takes on ansems, xehanorts heartless, appearance and he squeezes roxas until he passes out and then they yeeted roxas into a data twilight town for a few days.

so enter kh2 with the 6 hours roxas tutorial in the data twilight town until he goes to find sora and returns to him. SO FINALLY AFTER AN ENTIRE YEAR sora wakes up with all his proper memories and so does donald and goofy and theyre like COOL LETS GO FIND RIKU AND KING MICKEY and they go journeying around the worlds again to stop the organization. meanwhile axels gettin desperate to see his best friend for life roxas again and kidnaps kairi but shes like HEY I AINT HAVING THAT and runs off and ends up in twilight town but axel finds her and kidnaps her anyway but then saix kidnaps her to the world that never was. and so soras like WE GOTTA GO SAVE KAIRI AND RIKU NOW cause by the way earlier like midpoint of the game maybe Mickey was like SAY FELLAS DID SOMEONE MENTION THE DOOR TO DARKNESS and its one of my favorite quotes in this hell franchise, so like THYE KNOW KING MICKEY IS OK that just leaves kairi and riku and stopping the organization. so they find kairi and they find riku and sora cries a bit and im just happy the destiny trio is together again. And DiZ showed up again, hes actually ansem the wise, and he talks about computers and hearts and research and xemnas, the organizations leader, is likeI WAS YOUR APPRENTICE! BUT YOU DIDNT LET ME DO ILLEGAL HUMAN EXPERIMENT SON HEARTS SO I KICKED YOU OUT AND RREMOVED MY OWN HEART AND THATS WHY THERES A HEARTLESS AND A NOBODY OF XEHANORT and ansem the wise is like YEAH BITCH and he explodes and riku turns back to normal but he also really needs a haircut. so they go punch xemnas in his zebra coat and riku and sora chill in the realm of darkness for about ten minute son the beach, i guess aqua was hanging out somewhere else, and they get a message form kairi in a bottle and the door to light opens and they go home and it was literally!!!!! a better fucking ending!!!! than kh3!!!!!!!!! thats my tea!!!!!!

so then we have KH3D, dream drop distance, which begins telling us ‘hey when you kill a heartless and a nobody that person is gonna be recompleted so uhhhhh xehanorts coming back Thats Not Good, make sora and riku do their mark of mastery test in the realm of sleep to get the power of waking’ and thats the whole game but its great because flowmotion! dream eaters!  TWEWY TWEWY TWEWY T W E W Y!!!!!! playable riku!!! fun worlds!!! soriku!!! except KH3D’s fatal flaw is THEY INTRODUCED TIME TRAVEL INTO THIS FUCKING COMPLEX HELL HOLE I WILL NEVER FORGIVE THEM FOR THAT. anyway rikus been doing a great hecking job!!!! except sora ended up in twtnw and kept chasing the dreams into the deepest pit of slumber and the organization broke his heart so they use him as one of xehanorts vessels [gesutres to my blog with will smith arms] yeeah babey. and riku is understandably like HEY GIVE ME MY FRIEND BACK and xehanort is like FUCK OFF TWINK and mickey and donald and goofy and axel, whos been recompleted as lea, arrive and steal comatose sora back form xehanort and xehanort monologues about the X-Blade split into 20 pieces- 7 of light, 13 of darkness- and so hes gonna make 13 vessels of darkness with his heart inside them and the guardians of light gotta gather 7 lights to clash and bringg about the keyblade war or bring about kingdom hearts, i-- i literally hate this series so much Why do you think i went on a year long hiatus??? i needed to calm the fuck down-- either way xehanort yeets off with his darknesses and soras STILL comatose and rikus like I WILL DIVE INTO HIS SLEEP AND SAVE HIM BECAUSE DEARLY BELOVED IS PLAYING AND if i continue this joke someones bound to get mad at me for ‘’’pushign a soriku agenda’’’ BUT YKNOW WHAT, RIKUS A REAL MVP AND PUNCHES A NIGHTMARE VEN AND SAVES SORA AND SORA HUGS HIM AND ITS GREAT AND I LOVE MY SONS SO MUCH and the kh3d ends with them saying ‘hey look kairis gonna do something!’ but Little Did We Know.

and thats your summary of what the fuck happened in kingdom hearts. i hate this game so much.

[roadswim-collective]

Three Times He Lied To Me  Lie 1.

I was twenty three when I met him. I was back at home, living with my mother, after three years in halls of residence. Here's a list of the places you'd be most likely to see me during the year I was twenty three:

on a train

in a library

at a railway station

in a corridor

at my tutor's office

in my bedroom.

I had literally no social life, unless you count going to the shop for tobacco. My best friend was my I, Claudius box set. On Friday nights when my mother was out with the girls from darts, I'd drink Prosecco in the bath. Sometimes I'd do that on Saturday nights too.

I did go other places sometimes. If the weather was nice you might see me in a castle. Caerphilly was my favourite. Or I might be at a Roman site like Caerleon. And now and again you might see me out of breath at the top of a hill somewhere looking at the remains of an Iron Age fort. I was always alone on these excursions. I'd end the day pretty much as I'd started it, lying in my bed, in my old bedroom, probably watching Gladiator.

I was halfway through a master's in history with archaeology, a two-year course, and I was completely broke. Amazingly I'd got a First in my degree, and my tutor recommended me for post-grad. It was all a bit overwhelming. I was the first in my family to go to uni, you see. Well, my father was accepted at some art college back in the day but he didn't finish the course, he dropped out. Other than that, though, I was the first to go on to higher education. It was quite a big deal at the time. Nerve-wracking. I more or less expected to crash and burn.

Everyone else seemed so confident, so talky, and loud. So English, I was about to say. But that's not fair. I just hadn't met many people like that back then, middle class people. A lot of them hardly bothered going to lectures and they were always incredibly insulting about the tutors. They were always on the piss too. Now me, for the first two years I just kept my head down and my mouth shut. I worked as hard as I possibly could, hoping to keep up. I read literally everything. When a lecturer praised my work, I'd carry that around with me for days like a little glow of fire to ward off the doubts.

Not that I was some kind of nun. My main indulgences were:

thin little roll ups in liquorice papers smoked on the library steps, about one every half hour

a bottle of vodka in my bottom drawer for winding down at the end of a long essay

the occasional lump of cheap hash to see me through the holidays

a boy from Norfolk with nice dark eyes, though that was more trouble than it was worth.

By the final year, though, I knew I was heading for at least a 2:1, possibly even a First. There didn't seem so many of the loud talky ones around by then. There were a lot of drop outs. On the one hand that made it hard, because the spotlight began to shine on me a bit more. I couldn't just hide in the back of the seminars anymore, I was invited to contribute. On the other hand, those little glows of praise from my lecturers had grown into a proper fire, burning day and night. And I started to see them as human, my tutors, not as untouchable gods or whatever but as people who were obsessed by the past, by trying to dig it up and see it as it was, just like me. It was hard to believe I'd made it to the end of the three years. And now they were encouraging me to take it further, to do an MA.

I mean, it was way beyond what I'd expected. That last year was just wonderful, I loved it.

The day I graduated, my mother cried and my brother puked. We were all in the union bar, toasting each other. I can drink my brother under the table, and I did that day. Uncle Lloyd was there too, wearing a blue suit that I won't forget too soon, putting away the cheap beer and chatting a bit too much to girls. My father hadn't turned up. He'd promised he would, but that's my father. I can't believe I really expected him to be there. Maybe I didn't, I can't quite remember now.

So anyway, yes. That was, nice, to be doing so well. And now I got to spend the next couple of years digging around in sub-Roman Britain, a time I'd been mildly obsessed with since I heard the stories of Saint David and Saint Dyfrig in RE at school. I always saw it as this mysterious realm full of saints and kings and warlords and clashing cosmologies, and all of it hidden in layers and layers of myth and dirt. It was like digging up a real life epic, it was kind of  a dream come true for me.

On the other hand, after three years as a student I was completely broke, massively in debt, and I hadn't made any friends. And now I was back at home, with my mother, in my old bedroom, commuting to Cardiff from Aberdare, an hour each way on the train, to do my studying. I was making a tiny bit of money working part-time in college libraries at different campuses all over the place, Merthyr, Treforest, all over. I read my Mary Beard books over lunch, and on station platforms in all weathers I listened to podcasts.

My mind was usually far off in the mist, tracing trade routes of lost empires, digging through dead cities, reading old epitaphs. I was starting to feel a bit sort of nothing about everything, or everything modern, everyday life, here and now. I'd even stopped watching reality TV. The only things I watched now were documentaries. Well, and Derren Brown, I loved his stuff.

Everyone I'd known, my uni friends, had all sort of evaporated. The same thing had happened when I left school, or whenever I changed jobs. It was happening again now. Helen and Julie, Rupinder, Jay, Alex and Steve, Danny, my sort of ex, they'd almost faded out, just a year after we all graduated and I promised to stay in touch. None of my friendships were ever strong enough to survive the transition, everyone just floated away. I couldn't say why.

I was happy enough though, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my own company. To be honest, I couldn't really imagine looking round a historical site with someone else. Having to talk to them, listen to them, instead of just looking at the stuff. Or standing on an iron age site, a hill fort, looking down into the valley, no sound, only the wind whispering and the birds calling – and just because someone else is there you've got to ruin it all with small talk. I tried to see it in more positive terms but I failed to convince myself. I just couldn't imagine it. Very often, I paid for the audio guide tour, with the headphones.

Anyway, there was this librarian I was sort of obsessed with. His name was Will and he was twenty nine. He worked at the humanities library at Cardiff Uni. I did some shifts there, he was sort of my line manager, one of them anyway. He was slim and tall with thick hair and he talked a lot. The women all loved him. He was funny though not quite as funny as he thought. Well, they never are, are they? But he wore tight jeans and brown boots and they suited him, oh my god they suited him. His eyes were green and twinkly, his grin was cheeky. I didn't think he fancied me but I knew for sure that he knew I fancied him.

I sometimes got flustered when we were chatting in a corridor. I was full of pent-up lust. There were moments when literally all I wanted out of life was for Will to turn up at my door late one night and fuck me senseless. Preferably a Friday night, when my mother was out with the darts girls and I was all wet and alluring from my Prosecco bath.

Anyway it was no good, he had a girlfriend. Cerys. They lived together. No kids though. So there was always the chance they'd split up. I tried to gauge the likelihood. It seemed a pretty stormy relationship. He made lots of bad jokes about him and Cerys rowing all the time, her insane jealousy.

He turned up to work one day with his wrist in a splint. When we asked him about it, he said this: "A woman in a bar came up to ask where the toilets were, and the missus didn't like it so she broke my wrist, just as a friendly warning." It turned out later he was joking and he'd actually fallen over drunk. Everyone laughed. But the next day when we were getting cans from the machine Will confided to me that the reason he'd fallen was because Cerys pushed him over some bins on the way back from the pub. "We shouldn't drink together, me and her," he told me. "Only one of us should be drunk at a time. Or it goes bad."

So it all seemed quite volatile. Sometimes he looked miserable. There were phone calls from Cerys that sent him scuttling outside, scowling. He made lots of jokes about how unreasonable she was, how she flew into a rage, shouted and screamed. In dark moments I imagined that what he was leaving out from all these stories for the sake of decency was all the amazing, passionate, hot sex they were having when they weren't rowing. She probably shouted and screamed all the way through that too. Lucky bitch. I didn't have enough experience to make that assumption, really, but it crept up on me sometimes as a slightly depressing certainty.

All this drama seemed very distant from my own life. It was like watching I, Claudius, all that passion, the lust and the violence, Brian Blessed. And there was me, alone in my teenage bed at night, my hand wandering down, trying to visualise the exact lift and curvature of beautiful Will's tight bum. I was wondering if it was finally time I invested in a vibrator.

So then they did split up, Will and Cerys. It wasn't the first time but she'd gone back to Llanelli or Ammanford or wherever she was from, and apparently she'd never done that before. Will seemed pretty upset and he got a lot of sympathy at work, which he obviously enjoyed. I'd say the percentage male/female split at the humanities library was about 30/70 to the girls. Some of the men seemed a bit uncomfortable with this, with being out-numbered, but others blatantly loved being surrounded by women. Will was one of those.

He started going out for drinks after work. We'd all go, a big pack of us. Yes, me too. This sort of party gang developed. Friday nights mostly and usually around Cathays, in the Woodville or the Pen and Wig. There was boozing and there was bad behaviour. I got caught up in it a bit. I'm not really into that kind of thing, in general. I'm useless at small talk, it's just embarrassing, so I drink too much to compensate, and I talk a load of crap, wear myself out, and have to spend the next fortnight in bed. But it's funny how a change in just one colleague's relationship status can act as a catalyst on the pent up frustrations of the whole office.

And of course I always had to catch the last train back home. That was at ten to eleven so I was leaving early, baling out while the night was still young. They were all staying out, Will and everyone, they were going on somewhere else. And I'd be on the train, half-cut but not quite pissed, with all the sweaty bellowing valley boys, nodding-waking-dribbling all the way back to cold dark Aberdare.

There was nothing left for me at home really. The girls who'd stayed there were on their second or third kids. We had nothing in common now. All the boys were messing about with the same old things as before, cars and sports and booze, just with jowls now and already balding. Thinking about it, I don't suppose I had much in common with anyone in the first place.

So I started staying the night now and again with my new friend Abby who was doing a PhD and lived in Roath. Not every weekend, just if it was going to be a big night, someone's birthday or whatever excuse came up. I was quite good at drinking, still am, and I'd always be among the last standing. It was me who had to get Abby into a taxi and find her door key and let us in and, more than once, hold her hair back while she was sick. And when it came down to the last handful at the very end, Will was always there too. Will and me, Abby, Hannah, Chris, a few others. There until the bitter end. None of us had anything much to go home to really.

So one Friday night we ended up in this over-priced cocktail bar on City Road, six or seven of us I think, probably about 1am. Abby and I happened to be sitting opposite Will, the three of us leaning in close over a tiny glossy circle of table to be heard above the music. He was on great form that night, Will. He listened to the latest installment of Abby's catastrophic love life with great interest and had a lot to say about it all. He told Abby that none of it was her fault and she deserved much better. He said, "Look at me, after all this Cerys stuff – I'm bruised, sure, I'm bruised to holy fuck, but I'm not bleeding." I'd almost say he was cosying up her to her but I didn't get that feeling, it read more like a supportive friend thing. Also, I noticed that he was addressing quite a few of his comments on love and heartbreak and so on directly at me. As in, right into my eyes. So of course I began to feel ridiculously excited and kept insisting on more drinks all round.

When men try and chat you up, it's almost always boring, and forced, and makes you cringe. I mean, I suppose I'm partly to blame because I'm just no good at small talk. And chatting up is usually just a subset of small talk, really. You're not usually talking about anything in particular, there's nothing to cling on to, and it's all crappy, you're just wafting these threadbare festoons at each other in desperation. So I tend to just sort of clam up and that's the effect most blokes' efforts have on me, their intended target. Not Will. He was good.

Abby was talking to Hannah so now Will and I were just looking at each other over our tiny table. He grinned and beckoned me to lean in closer, so I did, and he said, "I'd like to try something out on you, if you don't mind." So I raised my eyebrows at him and said Um, okay..? To which Will did a mischievous little chuckle and told me it was a kind of personality test, and I said A test? O-kaaaay... "Don't be worried though", he said, "it's not serious, it's just a bit of buggering about, of no diagnostic value," so I said, Well that's a relief and he chuckled again.

And he was wearing this really nice aftershave and I could see the hairs on his chest poking over the top of his shirt. Plus I was half-cut. Plus it had been a bloody long while since I'd even been near a bloke. So you can imagine, can't you?

Will's idea turned out to be quite good. Basically, you've heard that thing – if you could have as your superpower either being able to fly or being able to make yourself invisible, which would you choose? Those crappy questions you get on Facebook that are meant to reveal some essential truth about your personality based on a seemingly throwaway choice you make. Well, Will said he hated it because it was an obvious fix, a swizz, the superpowers thing, because all the traits associated with flying were really good ones – success, confidence, flying high, reaching for the sky, freedom, the great beyond. And then you had invisibility, said Will, which was the choice of creeps. Think of the kinds of things being invisible would allow you, would invite you to do. It's nothing very noble, is it, Will said. It's sneaking around, it's hiding, not being upfront and honest. It's peeping toms, he said, it's sneaks and spies and saboteurs, it's eavesdroppers and shoplifters and pickpockets. Invisibility appeals to the voyeur, to the nosey parker and the perv. So it wasn't really much of a choice, he said, in fact it was a complete fix and he'd thought of his own, much better alternative.

I was laughing at all this, by the way, and reaching across to maul his arm from time to time. This was a good deal better than your average chat up, I was thinking, and even if it wasn't a chat up I was having fun with a silly man on a Friday night and and he was making me laugh so just go with it, just enjoy yourself for god's sake.

"Okay," says Will, "here's the thing. Some old fella down the road from you, mad professor type, he's built a time machine. It's in his garden shed and he's invited you to have a go."

"So this old man is trying to get me to go into his garden shed with him?" I say. "I don't think I believe he's got a time machine in there, to be honest. I think he might have other reasons."

"Fair point," says Will. "Make it your grandfather then. Someone you trust."

"How about my grandmother?"

Will says, "What's the matter, you don't trust your grandfather?"

"Very funny," I say. "Well, yes I did trust my grandfather and he did make things in his shed, but he's not alive now so..."

"Oh shit. Sorry," he says. "I haven't got any grandparents left, as of last month. Ah well, life's a shit, your grandmother it is then. Okay, so you go into the shed, there's the time machine, and your lovely old Nana is inviting you to be the first to have a go on it."

"First?"

"Yup. First ever trip, the maiden voyage. And she wants it to be you, her favourite grand-daughter."

"Her only grand-daughter, " I tell him. "So, I'm like a sort of guinea pig? My Nan wants me as a guinea pig?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Will says. "But in a very loving way."

I did one of my stupid big honking snorting laughs all over him at this point. By now, fed up with shouting over the music, Will had come round the table and we were pretty much squeezed together. He seemed to enjoy it, this muffled explosion of me. We were laughing at my laugh. I called it my walrus call, he said it was a great, unashamed, life-affirming laugh, he said it was one of the great laughs. What a bloody charmer, eh? I was seriously starting to wonder if I'd be spending the night at Will's instead of holding Abby's hair as she puked. I was starting to feel pretty damn good about myself, doing all the sexy banter, all the flirty-flirty stuff. I'm a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, I don't always read the signals. This, though, with Will, this Friday night, I felt bloody fantastic about everything.

"Alright, forget about your Nan and the shed and everything," Will said. "You've just got hold of this time machine somehow, okay? But you can only use it once, I mean for one return trip. There and back, then that's it. So the question is – where would you choose to go, the future or the past?" Then he frowned. "Actually this might not work so well on you because you're an archaeology student, not a normal person."

Anyway, to speed things up a bit, that question of Will's led to a conversation between us that went on until we all got chucked out of the place at about two and then continued in the taxi heading for Abby's house. I told Will I'd choose to visit the past, of course, either to sub-Roman Britain to see what it was really like, or all the way back to the start, before agriculture, to when we were still nomads. We talked about that for a while, the distant past, then Will said if he had the one-trip time machine he'd definitely choose the future, no question at all. At least two thousand years, he said, either that or a few million, because he wanted to see how it all panned out. 

So then we talked about that for a while, the far future. It was all quite slurry and rambly and drunken, of course, but it just kept going, and we got on to what all this might for our respective personalities, and about the state of the world in general, whether things were getting better or worse, whether there was any hope for the human race and all that. 

And then, suddenly it seemed, we were outside Abby's house and she was getting out of the taxi, stumbling on her doorstep, trying to find her key, fiddling it into the lock, waving goodnight, and falling into her hallway, while I was staying in the taxi with Will, who was in the middle of saying that there never was a golden age, it was just a fantasy, there was never a time when everything was in harmony and everyone was happy, but that there could possibly be one at some point to come if we didn't blow ourselves up or make ourselves extinct through climate change, and also there was Paul the spotty Australian IT boy who was fast asleep and snoring and had to be shoved really hard to wake him and get him out at his place in Riverside while we went on to Will's flat, quite a nice one in Llandaf North.

And then, suddenly it seemed, it was a year a later and we were on holiday in Rome. It was my first ever visit and it was amazing, overwhelming, beautiful, and Will and I were celebrating the anniversary of that night when we got together, and we were walking around having what was basically a continuation of the same conversation that we'd started then, in that over-priced cocktail bar in Roath.

It was an odd match really, Will and I. We were different in lots and lots and lots of ways. We hardly agreed on anything. And at first, I think we were both kind of fascinated by how different we were, despite having quite a lot in common. Here are some of the things we had in common:

smallish working class valleys hometowns, Aberdare and Glynneath

stopped feeling that we fit in to our respective hometowns at around the same age, 14

each had an older brother who got married and moved away, his to England, mine to Monmouthshire, which amounts to the same thing

divorced parents, both our dads had left home, both of us were under 10 at the time, and neither of us really saw much of our fathers

both went to Welsh school but hadn't really kept up the language since

first in our family to get a degree, Will having achieved a 2:2 in psychology

we'd both been members of the Green Party at some point, although neither of us was now

similarly miserable teenage years, greasy depressions spent in cocoons of totemic books, music, films, art, clothes, comedy, metaphysics, magic, comics, etc, evolving into a dense and intricate personal para-reality to which the everyday world of bus stops and dog shit was merely a laughable and mundane annexe.

It felt as though we'd started off in roughly the same place but had headed in different directions. We kept coming back to the past/future thing, it was like some structuring principle we used in thinking about our differences. Here are some of differences we noticed:

Favourite films - me: Agora, with Rachel Weisz as Hypatia, Elizabeth, with Cate Blanchett, Mel Gibson's Mayan epic Apocalypto, and yes Gladiator. Will liked Bladerunner, Alien, Star Wars, the first Matrix, The Fifth Element, and Guardians of the Galaxy

Books/authors – On holidays from my study reading I liked Sarah Waters and Hilary Mantel. One of my favourites was Alan Garner, ever since I read The Owl Service when I was thirteen. As a kid I read and loved all of Tolkien to the point where it affected my dreams and I saw epic battles on my walk to school, raging in the morning clouds that cling to the scarp of Maerdy mountain. Will had never read any Tolkien but had an impressive number of multi-part space operas under his belt, his favourite being Iain M. Banks' Culture novels. He could quote huge chunks of Douglas Adams and he also loved William Gibson...or was it William Burroughs? One or the other anyway. He mostly read non-fiction now, a lot of pop science, Freakonomics, Malcolm Gladwell, Dawkins.

Music – I listened to Fairport Convention and Nina Simone. Will listened to German minimal techno

The state of the world today – we both agreed that everything was in a right mess, massive poverty, total exploitation, greed, capitalism, eco collapse, extinction event imminent, all caused by us. Not just Will and me. Humans. Where we differed was where we looked for possible solutions. It was the time machine again – he went forward, I went back. Will felt there was no way to fix all the things wrong with the world by going back, it was too late. Humans had caused damage to the world by being too clever – fossil fuels, international tourism etc – but it was only humans therefore who could fix it all, by being even more clever. He looked to a post-market utopia in which we've abolished scarcity, outgrown the lizard brain, conquered evil and greed with intelligence, and built a new world based on a new understanding. We'd first heal our planet with our incredible new machines, and then we'd move out beyond Earth in creative, peaceful waves, slowly evolving into children of the stars. I exaggerate, but only a bit. And me, I still do the same now, I dig back to older societies and pre-modern ways of life, tribal ways and folk narratives, non-profit motives, sustainability, to structures of feeling abandoned on the road to modernity, old medicines for our modern sickness. Will was never very open to any of this stuff. His closing flourish was always something about whatever the old days might have had going for them, it was basically a kind of blissful ignorance, hardly to be envied, and besides, no-one – not even you! - would genuinely want to live in any era of human history before reliable anaesthetics were invented.

As I say, we hardly agreed on anything. But in the early days that was part of what made it fun. We used to debate things a lot in the early days, it was what we did. And whatever we were talking about, at some level you could sense that same old past/present thing, his time machine thing. It really seemed to me he'd hit on something essential about his approach to life and mine, and the differences between them.

So we were in a cafe opposite the Colosseum having coffee, sat right in the bay window, watching the street life. I tried to order two double espressos but I messed up my pronunciation and the waiter brought us singles. Will beckoned the guy back over, and the waiter smiled and said, in English, "You want milk?" Will gave him half a grin, shook his head, and said, "Nessun latte – doppio – prego," and they both laughed, the waiter nodding and whisking off our tray. Then Will turned back to me and grinned his bloody adorable grin. I was thinking we might have this coffee then maybe pop back to the hotel room for an hour or so.

"Milk indeed," he said. "He must have taken us for a couple of weak ass English milk weeds."

I laughed.

"You know what you should do, Will? You should be a writer. You should write something."

"Ha, what?" he said. "I don't think so. I haven't got anything to say."

"You've always got something to say, you idiot."

"Well, yeah, but it's all bullshit really, when you come down to it."

"Well, yeah, but that needn't matter. Look at some of the crap that that sells."

"Mmm, Da Vinci Code, Fifty Shades, Jeremy Clarkson, fair point," he said. "But, no, no, I really don't think there's anything in my particular brand of bullshit that would sell."

"I don't know," I said. "What about your time machine? I'd say you could definitely make something out of that. It's good. It gets you thinking."

"Do you reckon?"

"I do, yes, I think you could make that into something, a story, something funny and clever," I said, "like you."

And he leaned across the table and kissed me. A big kiss, right there in the bay window, with everyone going by. When I opened my eyes again he was smiling at me, his eyes were so warm, he was so handsome, and golden autumnal Rome was glowing away behind him. I felt so good, so happy, more than happy. It was all so much more than I'd expected. I whispered a suggestion to him and, after our espressos, we popped back to the hotel for an hour.

Will often said he'd like to write but he never did. And the thing is, he already had a story about that time machine, an actual story with a beginning, a middle, and a funny but very bleak punchline. I couldn't see why he didn't write it up. Can we just skip just for a minute back to that first night I spent with Will, at his flat in Llandaf North? So it's stupid o'clock in the morning, we're both at the point where you drink yourselves sober, and we're out on his brown bolted balcony. I'm squinting at

glimpses of the Millennium Stadium and the BT building through the trees. A mile and half away, the city centre. The rain is falling but the air is warm and smells sweet. We're still not quite sure if we're going to do it. Will had a text from his ex earlier – at three in the morning! - and it sort of made the atmosphere between us a bit weird. So now we're on the balcony, talking. I remember telling him that all his Bladerunners and his Aliens and his cyberpunk whatever, all these futures he was into were all horrible. Mostly these were all dystopias. It was satire. The future in most of these things he loved was some crazy exaggerated version of today's world, with all our problems pushed to the limit. I remember him grinning as I pressed the point.  Well, he said, realistically, and whatever I'd prefer, it's probably more likely we'll fuck it all up and ruin the world. Realistically speaking, he said. That's funny, I told him, you love the future but you don't even believe in it really. Your best guess is it's going to be even worse than today.

And then he told me this story. There's this couple, he said, and she's like you, she loves the past. And he loves the future. And one day this time machine really does turn up, but you can only take one ride each in it. Just one return trip because human minds can only deal with the experience once in a lifetime, any more and you burn out your brain. So she goes first, heads into the past, and comes back a few seconds later in a state of deep depression and disillusionment. Then he has a go, into the future, and comes back a few seconds, depressed and disillusioned. They conclude from their experiences that the present is as good as it gets and enter into a suicide pact. As for living, they say, our spambots can do that for us. But then he remembers that he's already visited both their graves in the far future and the dates on their headstones made it clear they were going to live for several more decades so they don't bother and just split up. She later married a quantity surveyor and bought a big house near Chepstow, and he drank himself to death.  

So it was a funny little story with a bleak punchline. I kept telling him to write it up but he never did. I couldn't understand because he kept saying he wanted to write. I mean, I thought it would be a good little exercise to get him started. After all, he had the whole thing there, he just had to write it up. But he didn't write it. He didn't write anything. If he did, I never saw it.

This morning I looked through my bedroom window and the sky was turning a lighter and lighter blue as the sun came up over the motorway. Everything around was beginning to glow. By the time I got to work the clouds had come, colours went grey, and at lunchtime it started raining. It was pouring down as I drove home at five. I sat in a traffic jam on Cathedral Road, blowing the heaters to clear the windscreen, getting hot and prickly, opening the window and getting splashed, and thinking, well, how quickly it came and went, that early sun, and what a long time ago it seemed now.

There's a Welsh saying, Nid yn y bore mae canmol diwrnod teg. A rough translation would be something like, Morning is not the time to praise a fine day. In other words, it's very unwise to call it a nice day when it's still early and it might well piss down later. I love that. It's one of the cliches about the Welsh, that we're very pessimistic. All down to the rain, or the diet, or being conquered, or the Miners Strike. I can't speak for anyone else though, Welsh or otherwise. You might call it pessimism, fair enough - I just call it realism.

I've just got back from a conference in Rome. The paper I gave looked at some of the connections between Macsen Wledig of the Mabinogion and the real life Roman emperor Magnus Maximus. It was beautiful, of course, as it always is in the autumn, golden, and glowing. I walked down by the Tiber where all the plane trees had turned orange and were dropping their leaves into the river. Being the maudlin bitch I am, I made a point of walking pretty much the exact route I walked with Will, eleven years ago now, from the Circus to the Colosseum and up to the Capitoline Hill. It was dark by the time I got to the top and my legs were aching. I leaned on a railing, looking down at the spotlit Forum, and I thought about Will, and I thought about my father, who died six months ago next Tuesday, and I felt like crying to be honest. But I didn't, partly because it would have been pathetic and made me feel worse, but mainly because these anti-depressants I'm on seem to dry up my tear ducts. I get the trigger to cry but nothing comes. Probably for the best.

When I get home from these things I'm always exhausted. Even a short trip with no paper to give leaves me completely worn out. I know what it is. It's not the work, that's nothing. It's not even giving the paper, I've long since built my public speaking armour, I can climb into it whenever I need to. No, it's all the other stuff. The chatting and socialising. Relaxing, kicking back. Networking. All that side of it. I'm useless at it. Wears me out. Never been any good at that stuff.

So I tend to get home, lock myself in my house, set the phone to messages, and basically not talk to anyone for, well, for as long as I can get away with. Which is usually about 48 hours, then I go back to work. I always make sure to book time off for exactly this purpose. I call it my decompression period. If I don't get it, if I have to go straight back to work, I go a bit mad. Noticably so. Incredibly irritable, interspersed with moments of mild hysteria. To be fair to my colleagues, they're used to it by now, they've adapted, it's become 'a thing', an amusing thing everyone knows about me, Anna. Academia is a perfect trap for eccentrics. Everyone has their quirks, but actual, diagnosable personality disorders are no more or less common than in any other vocation.

I haven't really changed. Not really.

During decompression I can't even read anything. All my books stay on their shelves. I turn instead to the internet. Last night I watched a whole series of a forgotten ITV sitcom from the 80s called Me and My Girl, starring Richard O'Sullivan as a widower bringing up his now teenage daughter Sam, played by Emma Ridley. Don't ask me why, it's not very good. And this morning I looked up Will's Facebook. Don't ask me why. He's got his profile set to public so I can have a good look at all his family holidays, his wife's birthday, their anniversaries, their kids growing up. Not that I envy her, I can just imagine all the crap she has to put up with. She probably doesn't even know the half of it. She looks more and more hopeless in the pictures, to be quite honest, and a bit thinner every time. This – looking at Will's Facebook – this is no good. I realise that and I hardly ever do it. Why would I, really? I found out all about Will a long time ago, and that's why we're not together now. The main feeling I get when I think of how close I came to ending up with him is relief. I look around my cosy house and I think, wow, close escape. But when I'm in this state, post-conference, I end up doing it, peeking into Will's life, I don't know why.

I wondered if Will ever did rouse himself to write anything. If he ever made something of his time machine thing. By the look of his Facebook, he hadn't, he was still at the humanities library, head of department. When I was full of his family pictures I just sorted of drifted through various Google searches, all pretty desultory. I suppose I was vaguely wondering if anyone else had come up with a similar idea anywhere in the world. Turned out, someone had. My drifting led to a review of a book of short stories, called Minimum City, including one which sounded remarkably similar to Will's time machine story. It was just a synopsis really but it was enough to make me look up the short story collection and its author. It was an American author, a man, quite a big name but I'd never heard of him. Contemporary set fiction still isn't really my thing. From reading the Amazon reviews and all the rest of it, this is what I learned about Minimum City:

It was made up of 28 stories

They were all very short, some only a paragraph long

It was a very slim book, with big type and wide margins

All the stories were set in the modern world

They all tended to have some kind of twist / sting in the tail

The tone was cynical, darkly funny, etc etc

It didn't sound like my kind of thing but I could imagine Will enjoying it, at least Will as he was when I knew him, I can't speak for now obviously. I found the story. It had first been published in an online literature journal before being collected in the Minimum City collection. Its title was The Return Trip. It was very short. A couple come into possession of a time machine. All the rest follows exactly as in the story Will told me on the balcony of his flat in The Crescent at about four in the morning, twelve years ago. Right down to the spambots line. 

I'd already checked publication dates. The Return Trip by this American author whose name eludes me now was first published in an online magazine called Young Boasthard's four years and eight months before Will told me the story. It was collected in Minimum City and published by Harper Collins six months before Will told me that story and passed it off as his own, on the balcony of his flat.

And I started laughing and laughing, until I had to put my bowl down in case I got milky cornflakes over my t-shirt.

[tyranttortoise]

I mostly just want to know what your headcanons are for the AU skelebros [UT, US, UF, SF]. Also, Squatter Skeletons and the Landlady is freaking wonderful.

Hey there!  Thank you so much; I’m glad you’re enjoying Skeletal Squatters and the Landlady!  =D

My headcanons tend to shift depending on the timeframe/what I’m writing for, so I’ll do the ones for the skelebros of SSLL! I’m going to throw in a few thoughts of the Reader, too.  

UT!Sans:

He’s pretty much the leader of the family–this is his timeline, afterall–so he tends to stress out about the responsibility.  He’s usually much too apathetic to deal with much more besides making sure Papyrus is happy, so the fact that he’s now trying to keep this bunch of skeletons under control is really taking its toll.  He de-stresses by drinking at Grillby’s and spends a disconcerting amount of time in the basement of the lodge.  He’s also.. kind of wary of you going into the woods alone for some reason.  But when you ask him about it, he just makes a joke.  In fact, he’s really good at deflecting with humor.  He also suffers from nightmares, so he doesn’t sleep much.. yet naps throughout the day.You never know what he does for a living–if anything.  He’s vague and mentions odd jobs, but that’s it.  Papyrus mentioned something about Hot Dogs, but it went over your head.

He’s a little wary of you at first, but mostly just relates to the need to get away from your stress and take a breather.  He’ll try to lighten your spirits with puns, and since you treat Pap well, you’ve earned his respect. If you like bad food, good laughs, and long naps, he’s the skelebro for you.

Sans has never had a relationship.  But he did kinda take Frisk on a date at the MTT Resort, and then made a few thinly-veiled threats that made them cry.  Good times.

UT!Papyrus:

Papyrus is a complete sweetheart, but he isn’t as innocent and naïve as he’s made out to be.  He does, however, strive to do everything absolutely perfect, no exceptions.  The Surface world excites him, and most of his knowledge about human customs comes from watching TV, so he’s sometimes horribly misinformed–but means well!  He wants to learn everything he can about life with the humans, and he sees the good in everyone.. this includes Edge and the Swapfell bros.  He’s super excited to have a huge family now!  The more friends and family, the better!  He loves going new places in his car, but never admits to taking a vacation.  To him, he’s always working.  He is the self-proclaimed monster mascot, after all!  He has to uphold his position!  Did I mention he still sleeps in a race car bed?  Yeah, you’re totally going to cruise while you snooze with him at some point.

Paps introduced you to his family to bridge the monster-human gap because he’s good at his job.  He’s so good that it’s just his natural personality!  He’s going to be slow to pick up on his own feelings, but the way to his heart is through compliments and just being kind to others.  Oh, and wait.. you can cook spaghetti?  Yeah, you’re golden.

Papyrus has never had a relationship, but he also dated Frisk!  Once.  In his bedroom. … And he also made them cry.  

US!Sans:

Life on the Surface is exciting!  All these humans are exciting!  Living with the other skelebros is EXCITING! Blueberry is a little ball of energy that can’t contain himself.  Because of his demeanor and level-of-hyyypppe, he tends to get treated like a child, and he hates that.. Unless he can use it to his advantage.  He’s cunning enough to get away with more than he should because of those assumptions, especially where humans are involved.  That said, he wears his heart on his sleeve and really doesn’t hold his emotions back.  If he’s hurt, he’s going to cry.  If he wants to hug you, he’s going to hug you.  Though he sees the good in most like Papyrus, he still doesn’t really like the Underfell bros or the Swapfell bros.  But that’s probably because he sees a lot of himself and his brother in SF!Sans&Pap, and Edge antagonizes him.  He’s incredibly close to Stretch, who’s a touch on the overprotective side when it comes to his brother.  

Blueberry is going to do whatever he can to get close to you and try to make you happy whenever you’re around him.  He tends to get jealous easily (though not so much when it comes to Stretch), and tries to demand all of your attention.  If you treat him like a child, it’s going to break his heart, but he’ll do what he can to make you see him as an adult.

Blueberry has also never had a relationship, but he’s had fleeting crushes.  

US!Papyrus:

Stretch is apathetic and lazy, as clearly seen with his room.  He spends a lot of time crashing on the couch because he can’t be bothered to untangle the ball of sheets his bed’s become.  His hoodie reeks of smoke and honey, and he doesn’t get out much except for going to Muffet’s bakery (it’s not his Muffet, but it’s close) and going along with Blueberry whenever he leaves the lodge.  His brother is the most important person in his life, and anyone that messes with Blueberry is going to have a bad time.  He watches a ton of TV with Red, and although the two of them argue for the sake of arguing from time-to-time, they’re on pretty good terms. Much like Sans, Stretch spends a good deal of time in the basement and suffers from nightmares, so he has difficulty sleeping through the night.  His vices are spiking his honey with monster whiskey and smoking.  If he doesn’t have a cigarette between his teeth, he usually has a sucker.He’s also incredibly perceptive.  He doesn’t look like it with that lazy grin perpetually set on his face, but he’s the master at reading body language and can tell when you’re hiding something/lying.

He really likes touching your hair, and while it may come across as treating you like a child, it’s actually that he just thinks it feels soft and nice.  He’s trying to be careful with calling you “kid” like he wants to ever since the whole Grandpa thing.  He’s pretty sure he’s never going to live that down.  He thinks you’re fun to tease, and if he can make you blush, it’s a victory.  He has the occasional selfish moment.. like when he ended up snuggling with you in his bed against his better judgement.  That night was really the catalyst for making him wish you’d just stay.  

Stretch has had a few casual flings, but never an actual relationship.  He’s also kept those a secret from his brother.

UF!Sans:

Red still calls his brother “boss.”  In fact, the collar he’s wearing was given to him by Papyrus to mark him as his property so no other monsters would mess with him.  Red is stronger than most monsters, sure, but his abysmal HoPe means that one wrong move would be enough to dust him.  Thankfully, being the brother of the Captain of the Royal Guard meant that not many dared to mess with him.  With peaceful Surface life, Red pretty much just goes along with whatever the boss wants, while spending his free time eating greasy food and watching TV.  He gets bored easily, and he’s a total pervert.  His brand of humor is dark and self-depreciating, and he honestly doesn’t have a great deal of self-esteem or self-worth, but much like his Classic! counterpart, he deflects with humor and hides behind a smirk. He also suffers from nightmares and doesn’t sleep well during the night.  He admires his brother–he always has–but he’s terrified of his wrath and doesn’t appreciate anyone speaking ill of him despite his misdeeds.  If the boss is unhappy, chances are that Red’s unhappy, too.

From the get-go, Red was attracted to you, though his come-ons were mostly just for the hell of it.  He’s the type to try to get your attention any way he can, and he enjoys messing with you to see how far he can push you before you push back.  His feelings start off as casual interest, which start to grow the more he gets to know you.  Right now, he’s the skelebro that knows the most about you (yep, he snooped through your phone), and you might not be so happy with him once you figure it out.. He’s the jealous type, but when his brother’s concerned, he’s not going to fight him over you… yet.

Red’s never had an actual relationship, but like Stretch, he’s had a couple of flings.. only they were when he was younger, back before Edge became an adult.  Ever since he got the collar, his sex life has been dead.  

(It’s never even occurred to him that now that they’re on the Surface, he could take it off.)

UF!Papyrus:

Edge isn’t a fan of humanity.  The barrier’s broken, and he wants nothing more than to take revenge on the humans that trapped all the monsters down there… but… he can’t.  There’s just too many of them.  And now he’s not the Captain of the Royal Guard (and that infuriating Blueberry keeps telling him “ALPHYS WAS THE CAPTAIN, NOT YOU!” which makes no sense whatsoever because that crazy reptile bitch could never have what it took to be in the Guard, much less Captain).  It leaves him without purpose, and that SIMPLY WILL NOT DO.  Whenever he goes out in public, humans gawk at him and he glares.  He’s in a perpetual bad mood, and he takes it out on everyone around him.  Sometimes, Red can placate him.. but the two brothers don’t always balance each other out.  Edge is actually protective of Red and will throw down on his behalf without a second thought.  

Pffftt, you don’t interest Edge at all!  You’re just a pathetic human!  Someone as weak as you would never be a proper match for someone AS TERRIBLE AND GREAT as him! … But he can’t seem to stop picking at you.  Is it because the others are being so friendly toward you?  Or is it just because you’re interesting?  Or that.. he actually enjoys seeing if he can rile you up?  UGH!  It’s not like he likes you or anything!

Relationship?  Are you joking?!  Someone once suggested that ol’ Edgy get laid to relieve some of that stress, but THAT’S FOOLISH!  EDGE RELIEVES HIS STRESS BY YELLING.  CONSTANTLY.  AT EVERYONE. HE ONCE EVEN YELLED AT SOME TREES.  YES, THIS IS THE ONLY WAY TO PROPERLY RELIEVE STRESS, YOU FOOLS!

SF!Sans:

Blackberry is beyond difficult to handle.  Not only is he completely egotistical, but he’s pretty much down-right evil.  Okay, maybe not that far, but close.  The little skelebro has no qualms about torture or underhanded tactics in a fight (or if he’s just not getting his way), and his orders his brother around like he’s his personal slave.  He’s ruthless and cunning, but also.. kinda adorable in a weird “Blueberry’s evil twin” way?   Treat him like a child and die; he demands respect.  

His brother coerced a few monsters into going on dates with Blackberry, but they didn’t end well and it’s best not to ask what happened if you value your life.

SF!Papyrus:

Fell pretty much serves his brother, and despite their height difference, he’s actually a bit afraid of his wrath.  He smokes heavily and is perceptive as Stretch, but without the morals.  He’s a silver-tongued pervert, and although he loves puns and dark humor, his brother hates them, so he’ll never joke around in front of Blackberry.  A great deal of Blackberry’s ego inflation is due to Fell’s string of compliments, but despite the master/servant outward appearance of their relationship, Fell is compliant strictly because he cares about his brother.

Like the others, he’s never had an actual relationship, but this skelebro has seen more action than all of them combined.