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flying-guinea-pig · 3 years

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Not What He Seems (ch.1)

(Prefer to read this on AO3?)

(It’s happening folks. The big reveal, four years in the making.)

NotWhat He Seems: Chapter 1

Thomas' heart always beat a little faster when he summoned something, even after several years in this job. It was the thrill of calling a powerful being into this reality with only your wits and some chalk lines as protection.

Beëlzebob was an intermediate-level demon. He took the appearance of every cliché devil ever - hairy black goat legs, a ridiculously buff and gleaming red upper body, large curled horns. The works.

He was also not cooperating at all.

"You are... di̵s̢tra͢c̢te͜d," the demon whispered, his voice echoing back strangely from the corners of the summoning lab. The shadows seemed to thicken.

Thomas kept his face impassive. These were just some special effects, after all. His binding circle was perfect, he didn't need to worry.

"I have outlined our offer in this document. These are the terms you have previously discussed at length with my colleague," he said, reaching out slightly to hand Beëlzebob the carefully rolled up contract. "All should be in order."

The demon unrolled it and took his sweet time reading it through. He would make a good addition to the safe summons list, despite being a bit higher level than their usual choices. This old-fashioned approach, with the written contract and all - it would teach the students to be patient and give them time to focus on the details before shaking on anything.

"Yes," the demon said, dragging a black claw over the parchment. "These terms are acceptable. However, there is one issue."

"Is there?"

A horrible, fanged grin. "The contract must be written in your o̦̰͚w̮̮n̬͇̹̕ blood, mortal."

Maybe it was his experience with grandstanding demons, or Tyrone had been rubbing off on him, but Thomas was not impressed. "That wasn't in the agreement."

"You will rewrite it. Ḩè̲̙͙̩̤r̦e̹̦ ͏͕̥a̝̱̺͟n̘͔d ̛̦̱̲̖n̩͈̪o̰̻͓͓͢w̺͍͎̦.̪̣͇̩́"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, mildly. Seriously? All that work was just wasted? Typical. He was not going to use his own blood to write it, sheesh. With all those clauses and addendums the thing was way too long. Not to mention willingly given human blood had power - power that wasn't a part of this offer.

The shadows twisted - the candles flared. "You will, little mortal, or I will step over this boundary and write it myself, straight from your veins."

"This attitude is not convincing me you're a good fit for our list."

"You have summoned me and I will not leave without my deal!" Red-tinged smoke filled the circle, edging over the chalk lines and spreading into the room. It stank of sulphur and decay.

Thomas coughed. Dramatics aside, maybe it was time to get rid of Beëlzebob. Too bad, Hicks would be disappointed to cross off another name on the safe summons list… It had shrunk a lot in the past years. If this kept up their students would soon only get to summon the Organ Duck. If they couldn’t offer a proper practical education they might eventually run out of interested students as well, which was bad news for the survival of the demonology department.

"Whoa, did someone drop a rotten egg in here?"

Tyrone usually didn't barge in during summonings, especially when they were trying to get more demons for the safe summons list, but this time Thomas didn't mind. The open door let in some fresh air and that was very welcome at the moment.

Tyrone entered the room, waving away some of the smoke. "Hey, Hicks mentioned you wanted to have a talk?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Thomas said, distracted. The smoke was dissipating with record speed and Beëlzebob was visible again, staring at Tyrone in abject terror. "I'm a bit busy right now though."

"Do you need any help?" Tyrone offered. His smile was perfectly friendly.

Thomas glanced at Beëlzebob. "As a matter of fact, he was just leaving."

"Yes! Yes indeed," the demon hurried to say. "Just leaving. Right now. I’m going. Big misunderstanding, you know how it is, have to be somewhere else, goodbye now!"

“Thanks buddy," Tyrone said. "Very accommodating of you, leaving without a deal like that. I will remember this. Here, have a snack."

With a snap of his fingers a familiar deep-fried ball appeared, partly wrapped in a festive paper towel.

Beëlzebob caught it with a flinch and popped away without another sound.

“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“Just a second, let me clean up first.” He frowned at Tyrone. “Speaking of cleaning up, what happened to your shirt?”

“What?” Tyrone glanced down at the brown stains on his usually so crisp white shirt, and made a face. “Aw man, seriously?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I bumped into Banerjee on my way here. He was carrying samples. And he didn’t even apologize, can you believe it?”

Banerjee was the Cryptozoology department’s newest hire, working on his doctorate involving – honestly, Thomas had no idea, he just knew it involved a lot of mud. He wasn’t aware of Tyrone’s true identity. The university staff tried to keep that one under wraps. Parents might object to their children coming to a university where Alcor the Dreambender was frequently hanging around.

“He owes me a new shirt.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can literally make it brand new with a thought.”

“He doesn’t know that. It’s about the principle of the thing.”

Shaking his head, Thomas set to work. To his students it often came as a surprise that practical demonology involved a lot of cleaning up. The preparations were extensive, of course, but afterwards someone had to put away the candles and mop up the chalk, blood, and other assorted fluids the demons occasionally left behind. Beëlzebob in particular had left footprints of some kind of sulphurous ooze that he probably shouldn’t handle without gloves…

Safely removing summoning circles was an art, really. It’s not like you could just start scrubbing away with these things – the outer part was usually the binding circle, and you never knew if the demon was still hanging around, invisible, waiting for you to make a mistake. Not that he expected something to happen while Alcor the Dreambender was literally waiting at the door, but proper caution was a good habit to have.

“You know, I could clean this up for you with a snap of my fingers,” Tyrone mused, lounging against the wall while he waited. His shirt held no trace of the brown stains.

“Are you offering?”

“For free?”

Thomas snickered at the almost scandalous look on Tyrone’s face. Put down his cleaning supplies. He had planned to do this differently, but you know what? Now might be as good a time as ever. And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to put Tyrone off-balance for a moment? “How about a deal then?”

Tyrone perked up.

“You get this room back to its cleaned-up, usable state,” said Thomas, and felt the smile break through on his face. “In return, you get to be my best man.”

To his credit, it didn’t take Tyrone long to realise. “Thomas! You finally popped the question then?”

“Yep. I said I was going to do it soon, this can’t be a surprise –“

“And she said yes?”

“We did talk about it beforehand, you know –“

“Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Thomas grinned. “So, what do you say? Fair warning though, being my best man comes with certain responsibilities. Making sure I’m on time at the wedding and such.”

Organising the stag night as well, technically. Though Thomas suspected Brad already had some thoughts in that direction.

“I’ve been someone’s best man before, I know how it goes,” Tyrone said. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Thomas.”

The room around them shifted, the magical arrays fading away and taking the trailing odour of brimstone with them.

Tyrone’s expression shifted too, as he let go of Thomas’ hand.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem upset?”

“I am happy for you,” Tyrone said. “It’s just… you’re getting old.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean – look at you! Getting married. Maybe kids and a house, soon.”

“I’m not buying a house on a teacher’s salary,” Thomas said. “The rest… who knows? We’ll see how it goes. Is that what’s upsetting you? That I’m growing up?”

Tyrone shrugged awkwardly. He seemed smaller somehow. “You’re going to be very busy with all that – that life stuff. It’s happening already. Everyone is so busy. Your dates with Elisha, Eddy’s got his new job, Brad’s mucking around in his dad’s company - when was the last time we all hung out, just for fun? Not because it was someone’s birthday or anything? It’s been ages since we had a game night.”

That… had been a while, true. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. There are more demands on your time, you get to juggle more responsibilities.”

“I’m not getting older.”

“Right.” Thomas took a deep breath. “Listen, so… we’re busy more often. And it’s not like in college, where we all could just hang out all the time. But you’re basically part of the family, Tyrone. Alcor. You’ll always have a place here. And I’m sure the rest of the gang would say the same.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Thomas said. And smiled, to lighten the mood. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You’d just miss all the amazing deals I make with you.”

“Of course” Thomas said, glad Tyrone was now teasing instead of moping. “I’m clearly only using you for your clout as Alcor. You’ve made my life so much easier.”

Tyrone mimed a gasp. “Sarcasm, Thomas? Ouch.”

“Not entirely sarcasm,” Thomas admitted. “You do make my life easier, sometimes. When you feel like it. For instance, vanishing that sulphurous stuff Beëlzebob left behind, I was not looking forward to handling that. The smell lingered.”

Tyrone suddenly looked way too innocent. “Oh, I didn’t exactly vanish it.”

Oh Stars. “What did you do?”

“Might have put it somewhere. Like, oh, I dunno… Banerjee’s car.”

Thomas facepalmed. Serves him right for making a vague deal like that. “Is it at least safe?”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Tyrone!”

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I promised not to deliberately harm the university’s students and faculty, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“All this for an accidental stain on your shirt, really?”

Tyrone folded his arms in front of him. “He didn’t apologize.”

Thomas shook his head, exasperated.

Demons. They really knew how to hold grudges.

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

The Mindscape was a vast, endless realm where the strong hunted the weak and territories were defined, invaded, and redefined. This was the place where demons lived, and they didn’t like each other any better than they liked humans. The collective noun for a group of demons, as they say, is ‘a carnage’. Teaming up was rare, and more often than not ended in the stronger one destroying the other as soon as their goal was met. That was just the natural order of things.

Even so, sometimes even they needed a neutral place to go. Somewhere deals could be made without worrying about being devoured. This place was the Midway Bar, run by a demon known only as the Bartender, and for the past six years it had attracted a group of regulars.

They took over the table in the corner. Sometimes the group lost a member, occasionally it gained one. They weren’t here to make deals. They were here to drown their misery and sneak away before a stronger demon took advantage of their intoxication to ambush them outside these walls.

Beëlzebob entered the Midway Bar. He went straight to the Bartender, who after a short conversation pointed in the direction of the gloomy table in the corner.

“Get lost,” Flaga the Eagle-winged said, at his approach.

The demon next to her, who mostly looked like a giant fungus with teeth, curled a green tendril around their glass. “Yeah. This is a private party.”

Beëlzebob paused. He was stronger than each of them, he knew. But this was no place for threats. “Apologies for the interruption. May I sit?”

That wasn’t how demons talked to each other, especially not to a bunch of low-levels like them. They shared a suspicious glance. The one across from Flaga, some kind of feathered crocodile hybrid, raised his empty glass meaningfully.

Of course. “Listening can parch the throat so,” Beëlzebob said. “Let me get those refilled for you, and then we̙̮'̥͉̘ll̟̮ ț̳̮a̪̩̗̥l̯̹̹k̰.”

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #thomas strange #fic: not what he seems #the midway bar #demons #I mean it's TAU so that's a given

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Galactica, Chapter 45 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Aiden’s jealousy worsened, and Bianca invited Courtney to lunch.

This Chapter: Courtney, Adore and Violet all receive unexpected invitations.

***

It was kind of amazing. How Courtney could be sitting across from one of the most influential, powerful women in New York and feel so...well, comfortable. She knew that any sane person would feel horribly intimidated in this situation, but Bianca just kept on making her laugh so much, it was like she forgot to be nervous. Or...well, she wasn’t exactly not nervous, but it was a fluttery kind of excited nervous, curling pleasantly in her abdomen as they bantered back and forth.

“So...what class are you taking later?” Bianca asked, stirring her latte.

“It’s a street jazz class at BDC,” Courtney replied.

“BDC?” Bianca raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it stands for Broadway Dance Cen-”

“Yeah, I know what BDC is, I’m not a moron,” Bianca interrupted, and Courtney bit back a laugh, finding her abrasive style somehow endearing. “I just didn’t realize you were a dancer.”

“Oh. I’m not really. I just uh...want to get into music. Eventually. Like, pop music. When I got to New York, I went on a bunch of auditions, and I realized that my dance background was nowhere near strong enough to be competitive-” Courtney stopped abruptly. Was she saying too much? As nice as Bianca was, she was also one of Fame’s best friends.

Bianca didn’t seem concerned though, simply listening, nodding, a soft smile on her face. She really was so beautiful. Courtney’s heart hammered a bit faster.

“Do you mind...um...not telling Miss Fame about that? I don’t want her to think I’m not committed. I just, feel like she’d disapprove, and I really need that job, so-”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Bianca’s smile deepened, dark eyes shining.

“Thanks.” Courtney smiled back as the waitress set down their food, relieved.

“So how’d you end up at Galactica, anyway? It’s not exactly a direct path from there to being a pop star.”

“Uh, it’s kind of a long story. I was applying for like, any job that would let me stay in the country, and when I saw the opening with Miss Fame, I was thrilled. And then Adore and I were at this club, and we ran into Violet, and...I guess she kind of put in a good word for me.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have expected that,” Bianca mused.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just… Violet’s always seemed a bit...uptight as fuck?”

Courtney had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud, explaining, “She takes her work very seriously.”

“Oh yeah?” One of Bianca’s brows raised a little, challenging. “Do you?”

“Of course! I’m so lucky to have that job, a million girls would kill to be in my shoes. And Miss Fame, you know, she’s a great boss.” Courtney blinked at Bianca, watching her muffle a laugh with her hand. “What?”

“No, nothing. You’re just cute when you lie.”

That fluttery feeling was back in Courtney’s belly, stronger than ever, as she insisted, “I’m not lying! She’s great! You’re her best friend, you should know-”

“Exactly. I’m her best friend. That’s how I know you’re lying.” Bianca bit down on a sweet potato fry, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, maybe she’s a little…”

“Yes?”

“Well, she’s not the easiest boss, or the most predictable, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a good one.” Courtney crossed her arms, a pretend little pout on her lips.

“Fair enough.”

And with that particular landmine safely side-stepped, Courtney let out a relieved sigh.

“Hey, uh, here’s a question. Do you have any Thanksgiving plans? I know you’re not American, so-”

“Really, what gave that away?” Courtney asked, lashes fluttering.

“Lucky guess,” Bianca laughed. “Anyway, Adore and I usually go home to New Orleans. But my sister Liz is going through a divorce and she’s apparently just an absolute cunt to anyone who dares even look at her. So we decided to stay in town and avoid that nightmare altogether.”

“That’s nice. Very supportive.”

“Hey, I’m paying for her attorney,” Bianca defended herself, and Courtney laughed. Of course she was paying for her sister’s divorce attorney; she was quickly proving to be one of the most generous people Courtney’d ever met. “But yeah, so...would you have any interest in joining us?”

“Really?”

“Sure. I know Adore would love to have you there,” Bianca said quickly, and after a moment of hesitation, added, “And hey, I’d like to encourage her to hang out with people who read. So, you know, win win.”

Courtney bit her lip, Bianca’s sarcastic deflection as she folded up a napkin in her hands making the whole thing painfully cute.

“No pressure, I just, uh...wanted you to know you’re welcome.”

“I would love to,” Courtney said, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the invite, knowing that this was a holiday people spent with family. “I should warn you though, I just went vegan.”

“Oh shit, invite rescinded.”

Courtney giggled, twirling a lock of her hair. “I know, I've already lost 3 friends over it. And I think I’m on very thin ice with Adore. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal. I actually eat a lot of vegan food, even tried it myself for a few years,” Bianca said. “I am a lesbian, after all.”

Courtney leaned forward, intrigued. “Is that like a thing?”

“Oh yeah,” Bianca nodded.

“Why do you think that is?” Courtney asked, lifting her glass to her lips, trying to find the straw without looking.

Bianca thought for a moment and then said, “Well...part of it is probably just lefty-feminist politics. And then of course there’s the purely unscientific belief that a plant-based diet makes your pussy taste amazing.”

Courtney choked, spitting out some of her smoothie, cheeks flushing hotly.

A mischievous smile spread across Bianca’s face as she handed over some napkins. She looked both terribly amused and a bit proud of herself.

“Sorry,” Courtney sputtered, wiping up the mess. “I was...not prepared for that.”

“I hope I didn’t destroy your innocence,” Bianca said, voice soft and teasing.

“I’m not that fragile. I’ve been Adore’s best friend for 4 years, remember?” Courtney reminded her.

“Right.”

As Courtney set down the napkins, she looked up and caught Bianca’s eyes again, both of them breaking out into matching grins. She couldn’t quite explain the way her heart thumped faster every time they looked at each other--all she knew was that looking into Bianca’s warm brown eyes, she felt better than she had in months.

***

“Fame?”

Patrick toed his shoes off, resisting the urge to dump his tennis bag by the door. He played tennis every other Saturday morning, tennis and his occasional swims the only form of exercise he had ever found bearable, even though Fame had tried to get him turned into yoga more times than he could count.

Patrick waited for a second, either expecting his wife or his dog to come down to greet him, but neither happened, instead, all he could hear was the faint sound of the TV.

“Fame? Darling?”

Patrick put his bag down, vowing to himself that he’d remember to come back and pick it up, before he made his way into their townhouse.

He found her in the living room. Fame was sitting on the couch in a silk robe, the TV on, the curtains drawn, Charles' head resting on her lap.

“Did you have fun?”

“We finished 5 sets.” Patrick smiled, Fame not actually asking how he had done at tennis, the rules of the game on the long list of things she didn’t care about, though she had shown up to watch him play, the shorts apparently making it worth it. He walked over to the couch, sitting down and leaning in to give his wife a kiss on the cheek, when he felt Fame’s hand on his face, blocking him.

“Don’t-” Fame turned her head, pulling herself away from her show as she looked at Patrick through her fingers. “I just had my skin done, and I refuse to let you mess up my microneedling.”

“Ah. Glad it’s not a chemical peel month.” Fame always looked absolutely insane after those, her skin flaking off. It was rather disgusting, and he tried not to be around for those, seeing your wife shed like a lizard weirdly enough rarely doing wonders for a sex life.

“Shut up.”

Patrick grinned, and Fame smiled as she pushed him back, Patrick settling in on the couch so Fame could snuggle up against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “And what are we watching?”

“Snapped.”

Patrick had to hide a snort, Fame absolutely devouring any and all true crime media. When she’d first gotten addicted to that particular show, all about women who murdered their partners, he’d wonder if she was trying to tell him something. Her response when he’d asked, “Keep asking questions like that and you’ll find out,” had made him burst out laughing, his wife’s sardonic, grisly sense of humor one of the things he loved the most about her, only coming out in rare instances but always a delightful surprise. Almost as surprising as her porcelain chicken collection.

“Your bag better not be flung anywhere.”

Ah.

Busted.

***

Katya hummed to herself as she was setting the table, a bottle of wine for Trixie and sparkling water for her chilling in the fridge.

Trixie was locked up in their bedroom, working away on the cost predictions for the Spring prêt-à-porter collection, sweating over numbers and doing everything he could to make sure everything was running smoothly.

He had promised her to come out for dinner, so Katya had arranged a surprise, a gigantic order of Chipotle on its way.

“Hey Katya?”

Katya looked up from where she had been folding the napkin, to see Pearl leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. She was wearing a pair of drop-crotch sweats and a sleeveless jersey tied up around her midriff, certainly not her typical going-out clothes. Was it possible that she was staying in? On a Saturday?

“Everything okay?”

Pearl gave a slow, unconvincing nod, walking forward a few steps.

“Are you sure about that?”

“How did you know that you wanted to be with Trixie forever?”

Katya paused, the napkin still in her hand as she considered Pearl’s question. Normally, she would have made a joke about Trixie’s luscious butt, but judging from Pearl’s face, this wasn’t the time.

“I honestly…still don’t know.”

“Please,” Pearl sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Katya smiled. Pearl and Trixie had been friends for forever, but they didn’t become best friends until after Katya and Trixie had started dating, Pearl moving in with Trixie while she was in rehab for that final time. “I liked being single. I liked having little whirlwind romantic flings and then going back to starfishing across the bed when they were over.”

Pearl laughed, shaking her head, and Katya declared a small victory for making her crack a smile.

“If I’d been single forever, I’d have been perfectly fine.”

Maybe not perfectly fine, but Pearl didn’t need to know that, the things Katya had done before Trixie came into her life not really things she was particularly proud of.

“I liked being free.” Katya shrugged, trying it out.

“Mmmh?”

Bingo.

Katya hid a smirk, Pearl straightening up the moment freedom had been mentioned.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Pearl was struggling in her relationship with Adore, that her friend was probably freaking out about being with someone for any extended amount of time, since Katya had never seen Pearl do anything like what she doing now, long-term relationships not really the Liaison brand.

“But I met Trix, and I like him more than freedom. Or, well, that’s not really accurate. Actually…” Katya sat down beside Pearl. “The truth is, I feel my freest when I’m with him. Knowing that he’s in my corner. But I mean, knowing for sure? I just don’t think certainty is in my nature. Luckily, it’s in his. That’s why we’re a good team.”

“Yeah. That makes sense. You guys are a good team.” Pearl sighed.

“Do you feel like you guys are a good team?” Katya asked carefully.

“Sometimes. I mean...we’re a lot alike. Maybe too much alike. I dunno.” Pearl avoided Katya’s gaze.

“Here’s a question...are you happier with her, or without her?” Katya asked.

“I...don’t know.”

Katya reached for Pearl’s hand. “Pearl, listen. I like Adore, a lot actually. I think she’s sweet and beautiful and funny and she obviously cares about you so much. But I also think that stringing her along when you’re feeling like this...it’s not fair to either of you.”

“I just don’t want to give up so fast!” Pearl exclaimed. “I always do that. I promised myself that I would actually try this time.”

“Well, then maybe you just need to be reminded of why you got together in the first place.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Also...now I don’t want to sound like I’m preaching here,” Katya began.

“No, it’s fine. I asked for your opinion,” Pearl said.

“Well...in my experience...it’s really hard to maintain any kind of real relationship--friendship, romantic, whatever--if you prioritize your ego over the other person’s feelings.”

Pearl blinked at her for a few seconds, letting the comment sink in, before dropping her head to the table with a soft, “fuck…”

Katya chuckled and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. “You’ll be alright.”

***

“Drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drink YEAHHHHHHH!” The girls cheered as Adore finished her beer and slammed the empty glass down on the table.

Adore laughed, wiping her mouth, looking around at the group. Originally, when Courtney had introduced her to these girls years ago as “my sorority sisters,” she was picturing stuck-up, prissy little spoiled brats, who would judge her and never accept her - the punk rock lesbian who walked around in bare feet and no bra most of the time.

She was pleasantly surprised when they ended up being fun, and mostly turned their Mean Girls Judgement on others, or each other. Somehow Adore became the untouchable and beloved mascot of the group, the cool, alternative one who gave them all street cred. Tyra loved her because they were both from the South, both from big families and both of them possessed deeply developed bullshit detectors. Tati enjoyed doing shots with her and wreaking havoc (and was good for a sloppy drunken makeout session at least a few times a year) and Morgan - well, Morgan was kind of a cunt, but in the very best way. It was part of her charm, and, as she explained it, part of her Scottish heritage.

This night out with her friends was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her current relationship drama. She’d only spoken to Pearl once since their fight the other day, and it was tense, Pearl claiming to be running into a meeting. After that, nothing. No messages, no calls--she still wasn’t 100% sure where things stood between them.

Adore turned to Courtney, who absentmindedly stirred her drink with a straw, staring into space. She’d already noticed a bit of a change in her mood from a week ago - there was definitely something lighter about her. Still, quiet wistfulness wasn’t her general M.O. in a club - usually she was the first one on the dance floor. Adore nudged her gently with a hip.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Courtney turned to her with a little smile, green eyes soft.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course! I always have fun with you,” she said, wrapping her arms around Adore’s waist and cuddling closer, laying a head on her shoulder.

Adore pressed the kiss to the top of her head before asking the other question on her mind, “So...um...what’s going on with you and my sister?”

Courtney’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I heard you hung out today…and that you’re joining us for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh. Right. No, I just ran into her by chance.”

“Where the hell are you hanging out, where you run into someone like that?” Morgan asked. “The fuckin’ SoHo house?”

“It was a bookstore.”

“Ugh, smart bitch.”

“And like…she bought me lunch because she knows I’m poor,” Courtney explained, “and since you guys will be in town and I don’t have family here, she just asked if I wanted to come.”

“Oh yeah, no big deal,” Tyra cut in, “She just took you on a date and then invited you to a family holiday…”

“It wasn’t a date!” Courtney said, laughing. “It was really all just very casual. She was just being nice.”

“Being nice for no reason. Sounds like Bianca alright,” Adore said, one eyebrow raised, and Courtney giggled again, shrugging.

“Maybe she’s nicer than you think.”

“Listen, Courtney, I’m glad you’re gonna be there because I love you. But just...you know, my sister is very...uh…”

“Yeah?”

“No, she’s great. Like, she’s the best. But…” Adore trailed off, grabbing a shot from the round Morgan was setting on the table and tossing it back.

It felt weird to be having this conversation. Did she really need to warn Courtney about Bianca? After all, B had joked about hitting on her before but never actually done anything. And what would she even say? ‘My sister is very good at charming the pants off every girl who catches her attention--especially the blondes’? ‘Beware the dimples’? She was certain that Bianca would never make a move on someone who didn’t want it, so...why not just leave it alone?

“You know what? Nevermind. Whose phone is that?” Adore felt her pocket, realizing that the out of control buzzing was her own phone--hopefully not her sister being an impatient cunt about Courtney’s number.

PEARL: Hey. I’m sorry about how I acted on Thursday.

PEARL: And yesterday

PEARL: There’s a warehouse party in Brooklyn tomorrow

PEARL: At the navy yard. Wanna go?

PEARL: It’s right by Grimaldi’s…

PEARL: Best pizza in NY

PEARL: My treat

ADORE: So you like pizza again, huh?

PEARL: It’s my favorite ;)

ADORE: Lol, okay, I’m in. <3

Adore looked back up at her friends, grinning at the group. “Let’s go dance!”

***

Sutan wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t, because that would be ridiculous.

Sutan took a sip of his coffee, watching people walk by the cafe he was sitting at. It was a surprisingly sunny Saturday for October, the air crisp and fresh. He had already waited for 20 minutes, Violet once again late, but Sutan had asked for a chocolate croissant with his first cup of coffee, his girlfriend's time management skills surprisingly terrible.

Sutan was planning to invite Violet to Aspen with him, Raja and Raven for their annual ski trip. It was a tradition of theirs, Raja and he owning a cabin together that they visited every year. He wasn’t a brilliant skier, but he liked the mountain air, the sense of freedom, and of being disconnected while out on the slopes.

He had thought about inviting Violet along for weeks, Raven needling him about whether or not Violet would be coming with him.

Sutan wanted Violet to join them. Wanted to see her all dressed up in winter wear, wanted to teach her how to ski and have drinks by the fire in the evening.

There was just the teeny tiny insignificant detail, that the last time he had asked someone to come with him and Raja to Aspen, it had been a terrible time.

He didn’t hate Kahmora, at least not any more, their divorce lasting longer than their marriage, but he still felt a sense of dread every time he visited L.A. - which was why he avoided the city as much as he could, Kahmora thankfully relocating once they severed ties.

Violet wasn’t Kahmora though, actually, they were as different as day and night.

“Hey.”

Sutan turned his head to see Violet come walking towards him, her coat closely around her, her new bag in hand, and Sutan was glad he had splurged for the largest model Dior made, the purse already stuffed.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Violet pressed a kiss against his cheek, sliding in on the other side of the table, her dress brushing against him. “Have you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Violet didn’t need to know that he already finished a chocolate croissant, that sin between him and his trainer.

“Ah,” Violet looked guilty for a second, brushing a bit of her hair behind her ear, her earring of the day a tiny golden hook. “Sorry, I was at work and time just flew by-”

“Work?” Sutan twisted his wrist, taking a peek at his Rolex. “It’s 10:33 on a Saturday?”

“I went in at 6.” Violet picked the menu up, the fact that she tried to pretend that she wasn’t going to order avocado on rye kind of cute. “I know I have to turn my dress over to tailoring sooner or later-”

“But you want to finish as much as you can?” Sutan smiled, emptying his coffee cup. “Of course.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Sutan held up his hands in defense. “Promise.” He couldn’t help but sneak a peek at Violet’s right hand, her fingertips thankfully not the raw red points he had helped wrap and put ice on. “It’s just very dedicated-”

“This is my first chance to get an actual piece on the runway. It has to be perfect-” Violet was cut off as the waiter came over, Sutan hiding a grin as she ordered avocado on rye, his second breakfast a plate of scrambled eggs and salmon.

“Speaking of perfect.” Sutan moved his chair while the waiter walked away, his stomach tied up in a knot. “I was wondering, if…”

“Yes?” Violet tilted her head, clearly listening, her brow eyes resting on his face.

“If you’d like...” Sutan had no idea why this was so hard, “to come to Aspen with Raja, Raven and I in January?”

“What?” Violet looked genuinely confused.

“Raja and I own a cabin, and-”

“Like, in Colorado? Like Aspen Aspen? Like posh skiing Aspen?”

“Yes?” Sutan lifted a brow. “Do you know any other Aspen?”

“No, but I-” Violet bit her lip, her white teeth sinking into it. “I don’t know how to ski?”

“Oh,” Sutan laughed, the admission not at all what he had expected. “Well, lovely eyes.” Sutan smiled. “I can promise you, that that is not a problem.”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #bitney #adore x pearl #vitan #courtney act #bianca del rio #miss fame #katya zamolodchikova #pearl liaison #adore delano #raja gemini #violet chachki #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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motiveandthemeans · 5 years

Text

When Dan met Abbey

He’d met her at a random lunch meeting on the Affordable Care Act he’d been forced to attend. She was the arguably the youngest (his junior by at least five years), and the most beautiful woman in the room. Probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Abigail Holland, RN, MSN, CEN. Blonde hair, blue eyes, long legs, the strangest accent he’d ever heard. Not quite southern, not quite west coast Cali girl. She’d been brought in as an expert on primary care deficiencies and for some reason the Senator Feinstein insisted Dan go in her stead, despite health policy being 100% not his area of expertise or interest.

Everyone noticed her pillowy lips but Dan had noticed her smile, the way she tried not to appear intimidated, surrounded by politicians and political players alike. She was clearly out of her comfort zone as well. He didn’t miss the once over McDonough had given her, how it disgusted him a married man could be so blatantly attracted to someone else.

They’d been inadvertently sent to the background of the meeting, clearly not the key note speakers at this particular luncheon.

“Is it always like this?” She asked quietly.

He chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much. I’m usually sitting against the wall though so this is new for me too.”

She smiled, grateful for companionship. “I’m Abbey. You’re Dan Jones. You work for Senator Feinstein, don’t you?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “How did you know? Is it that obvious?”

She laughed and he felt his heart skip a beat. “No, no. I just...I saw you in her office a couple of months ago. Just in passing.”

“Really?” He couldn’t think of a scenario how he could not have noticed her. “Do you know the Senator?”

“Her granddaughter and I were college roommates. We spent many spring breaks at their house in San Fransisco.” Abbey said. “She and my father were on a couple of committees together when she was in the house.”

“You’re Dad is Dr. Benjamin Holland?” He sputtered. “The director of the NIH?”

“Yep.” She said awkwardly.

“I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

She shrugged. “Four boys ahead of me so, it’s not like it’s all that important. Also I’m a nurse, not an MD, so it’s a stain upon the family name to be sure.”

Dan smirked. “Because you’re the ones actually bedside and know what’s going on with the patient?”

She looked at him, shocked.

“My mom was a nurse.” He clarified.

Her powder blue eyes lit up when grinned. “She must be awful proud of you, making it big in D.C.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m making it big, but yes. She’s your typical Jewish mother. Anytime the Senator makes a big move, she’ll say ‘My son did so and so...’”

“Don’t be too humble now, D.C. is cut throat. People might think you have morals.” Abbey said with faux disgust on her face.

“Not a fan of politicians, are you?”

“I have a healthy enough tolerance.” She countered with a wry smirk.

Dan couldn’t help the smile Abigail brought to his face and was going to tell her so when he was interrupted by McDonough calling an end to the luncheon. He lost her through the crowd, heart sinking at the idea he’d have to find some asinine way of contacting her when he felt something slip into his hands. It was a napkin and it had Abbey’s number on it.

She grinned over her shoulder as she walked away, he smiled back.

He’d agonized over how long to wait to call her, it’d been years since he’d dated, well out of the convoluted dating scene of D.C. it was early, almost six thirty in the evening when he finally dialed her number.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d call me.” She teased. “Hello, Dan.”

“I’d give you some bullshit excuse about being busy with work and not worrying about seeming too interested, but I get the impression lying to you wouldn’t go down so well.” He grinned. “Hey, Abby”

“Am I that easy to read?” She asked with a laugh. “What are you up to?”

“Working, to be honest.” He said dryly. “You?”

“About to leave for work, actually. They’re short tonight and it’s my turn to pull call.” She answered.

“Sorry, do you need to-“

“No, I have a while till I need to clock in. I live around the corner from GW.” She said. “Is it getting late for you?”

“No, technically I’m supposed to be off work and enjoying the weekend but well...”

“Duty calls?” She mused.

“Yeah.” He chuckled breathlessly. “Something like that. Do you work tomorrow night?”

“No. I’m off till Tuesday after tonight, thank the gods.”

“Let’s have a drink.” Dan wondered if he sounded as casual as he hoped he did.

“Alright, when and where?”

“Old Ebbits, eight o’ clock?”

“Sure.” He could hear the smile in her voice and he wonder if she could hear his too.

—

She wore black slacks that accentuated her slim waist and a black lace top he could make a tell tale sight of her bra through, such as was the style for women these days. Christ she made his mouth water.

“Dan.” She greeted, her make up was light, natural. Her blonde hair fell in waves to her back. He wore his nicest jeans and button down. Naturally, people gave them strange looks. He knew she was out of his league, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Hendricks and Tonic, please.” She said to the bartender when asked what she wanted.

“Hungry?” Dan asked.

“Nah, I already ate.” She shrugged. “You?”

“No, I actually remembered to eat today.”

Abby grinned. “It’s a rare day I get to eat lunch, too. Much to my mother’s dismay. All five children grown and out of the house and she can’t seem to kick the habit of ensuring we’re all fed.”

“My mom still sends me care packages like I’m a college freshman.” He joked.

“That’s sweet.” Abby took a sip of her drink. “What kind of nurse is she?”

“Labor and delivery.” He answered.

Abby made a face. “That was my least favorite in school. I passed out in my first delivery. And naturally the OBGYN was buddies with my father so, that was a fun congressional Christmas party.”

Dan winced. “I can only imagine.”

“You never told me what it is you do for the senator.” She said.

“I’m basically a liaison for her intelligence committee.”

“And that’s about all you can tell me, isn’t it?” She ventured.

“You do know your D.C., don’t you?”

She smiled. “So what do you do for fun? Since work is clearly a subject we must steer clear of.”

“It doesn’t bother you I can’t talk about it?” He asked.

“Why should it? Anybody who asks you to jeopardize your position is no friend, Dan. I’d hoped you know that by now.” Abby replied. “Also, we are more than our job designations. For instance, I love to bake, but I’m terrible at making cakes.”

Dan laughed. “Really? Is that a thing?”

“Hey, don’t mock till you’ve had my key lime pie. It’ll make you forget cake is even a thing.”

She grinned.

Dan sipped his whiskey. “I run five miles every morning.”

“I swim.” She replied. “I love the ocean. I was born in Hawaii and lived there till I was 12 while my Dad was in the navy.”

“Never been.”

“You should go sometime.” She joked.

“Yeah, it’s on the bucket list.” Dan smirked. “I grew up outside of Pittsburgh.”

“Steeler Nation?” She rose her brows.

“Of course.”

“My father is a die hard Steelers fan.” She said.

They carried on back and forth, laughing and lightly teasing. Regalling childhood stories of growing up with four older brothers and a single mom in Pittsburgh. Abbey wasn’t what he initially expected, she’d had a job all through public high school, bought her own car, worked during the summers in college. Her father paid for her BSN from Chapel Hill, but she went on for her masters of nursing directly after graduating. She was 27 and head charge nurse of one the most prestigious hospitals in the nation. Dan made a perfect score on his SAT and took a full ride to Elizabethtown, earning his masters from John’s Hopkins and his post doc from Harvard. He grew up Jewish, but only attended temple on high holy days and definitely did not keep kosher. His father had died in a car accident when he was three and his mom remarried a nice guy when he was in college. David owned a landscaping company and treated his mom like she was gold so Dan couldn’t complain.

“Walk me home?” She asked. “But just so you know I won’t be inviting you up for coffee. I do have my standards, Dr. Jones.”

“I expect no less, Miss Holland.”

She lived four blocks from the bar in a nice neighborhood, clearly her salary out ranged his, not that it bothered him. They laughed and joked more, especially when he made a pop culture reference she didn’t understand.

“Hey! You’ve got like five years on me!” Abbey joked defensively.

“Almost seven, actually.” He looked down into her smiling eyes when she came to a halt in front of her townhome. “Nice place.”

“My brother, Anders, owns it, he rents it to me cheap.” She shrugged. “Well, cheap for D.C. anyway. And he lets me keep Frog.”

Dan gave her an incredulous expression. “Frog?”

She grinned. “My cat.”

“You have a cat named Frog?”

“Are you gonna kiss me or what-“

Before she could finish the sentence, he swooped in and kissed her. Gently at first, then as Abby leaned into it Dan wound his arms around her deepened the kiss. She tasted like tonic and cherries and he thought he’d died and gone to heaven at how soft her lips actually were. They were both a bit breathless when they broke apart.

“What are you doing Sunday?” She asked.

“Working, though I could be persuaded otherwise.” He chided.

“Come over for dinner.” She said. “I’ll make you something, however there will not be sex for you in lieu of dessert.”

“How can a man refuse such an offer.” He laughed. “Should I bring anything?”

“Frog is kind of mean. A cat toy would not go amiss.”

“Ever think it’s because you named him Frog?” Dan joked, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

Abby rolled her eyes benignly. “Everyone says that!”

Dan kisses her gently once more. “Goodnight, Abby.”

“Good night, Dan.” She smiled, unlocking her door and disappearing from sight.

As he hailed a cab, Dan couldn’t get rid of the grin stuck on his face.

#thereport #adamdriver #danjones #adamdriverthirsty #dan x reader #dan jones x reader #adam driver x reader

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kg2hub · 5 years

Text

Rules for mobile users

[[here’s a google doc for the updated list of rules, applicable for all my blogs]]

anything under this cut is from my outdated rules.

[rules updated: 08/15/2019]

–STUFF YOU SHOULD DO–

• No godmodding. No sending (implied or explicit) homophobic/transphobic/bigoted messages to me or my character either.

• Please don’t over-pester me for replies. I promise I’ll get to them. Feel free to drop me a reminder after at least a week of no replies, though. In return, I usually give you a week too, unless otherwise specified in your own rules, until I remind you if it’s your turn to reply (or more often, I chicken out and trust that you’ll eventually respond/want to drop it and end up never bringing up that particular thread ever again). You’re always free to start multiple threads with me, that is greatly encouraged because I love having lots of threads with people.

• If you start getting bored with the roleplay, feel free to drop it and/or end it. We can always start up another thread in the future.

• However, please let me know if you want to drop a roleplay thread! It can give me major anxiety when I’m waiting for a response that’s never going to come, and I wonder if I did something wrong and assume that’s why you’re not replying anymore :’) I’m not forcing you to let me know if you want to drop a thread, you can drop it without saying anything too. But I personally really appreciate being told about that sort of thing.

• Don’t reblog a thread you’re not part of. This should go without being said, of course. Personals will be hardblocked immediately, rp blogs will receive a warning.

• If you can trim your threads, please do! It’s fine if you can’t, though, because I will most likely trim the thread for you. If you don’t trim threads with other people, however, I’ll be less likely to follow you since I don’t like scrolling through long posts.

• Please don’t claim any of my art as your own. If you post it somewhere, the least you can do is credit me by at least including a link to my blog or something. Bonus points if you ask me first before reposting my art, but I understand if you’re anxious because so am I :’)

• If any of your art is featured on my blog, as an icon or something and you don’t want me to use your art, please tell me!!! Message me privately or contact me in some way and please let me know that you want your art taken down. As a fellow artist, I understand wanting other people to not use your art (although I am personally fine with it as long as proper credit is given,) but if you’re more strict about it than I am, that’s totally okay too! Just let me know, and I’ll stop using your art immediately, will delete all icons I have of your art, as well as delete every single instance of your art being used on this blog.

• That being said, if you’re following me, please let me know if I’m doing something that’s making you uncomfortable or is breaking one of your rules!! I do read the rules pages of everyone, but I’m human and forget things, and I’m not a mind reader either ;~; I care, so please tell me if I’m ever doing anything bad

• You can reply to any of my open starters at any time! Even if they’re a year old! Even if other people have already replied to it! My open starters are open for a reason, and we don’t have to be mutuals for you to reply to them either :’)

—

–STUFF YOU SHOULD KEEP IN MIND–

• I am of age to do smut, but Ted is literally in kindergarten so that is a no for this blog! There might be occasional references to adult stuff, given the mature nature of the canon game, but that’s about it. No explicit smut in this house.

• This blog is not a spoiler-free one. I will not tag roleplays with spoilers, but anything else will be tagged with Kindergarten Spoilers

• I’m alright with roleplaying nsfw in general, minus smut. Gore, violence, and generally dark roleplays are cool with me. It should be, considering the game this character is from. I love angsty things just as much as I love fluff ;w; Speaking of gore, you’re more than welcome to fight/harm/injure my muse to any extent! You don’t even have to ask! If you want to do a rp where he dies, however, please dm me first.

• I prefer not to roleplay with personals, unless you are someone I know from school or something like that. Personals in general are allowed to follow me too! However! Personals are not allowed to reblog roleplays, in character posts, or ooc posts especially if I say in the tags that I’m going to delete the post later. Only things that are tagged with my “musings” or “art tag” tags are okay to reblog. Headcanon posts are not okay to reblog unless I say otherwise.

• Like spamming is okay! I very occasionally lose roleplays, and getting lots of notes from likes are never a factor for that, for me personally. If I lose a roleplay, it’s mostly just because I forgot, so that’s really a “me” thing. I’m usually very good at keeping track of who I’m roleplaying with and how many ongoing threads I have, and I reply pretty consistently, so just remind me if I haven’t responded after a week or more days (as stated in one of the above rules)! And I like it when people like my posts! It lets me know that you like my blog and the stuff I post, and it makes me happy :’)

• If you are an OC, I will assume our muses have never met unless you plan ahead with me what their relationship is like.

• That being said, characters who have already interacted in canon will know each other. Unless the roleplay takes place in a different point of time and we are staging their first meeting, of course.

• Doubles are welcome to interact too! Although currently I don’t know of much other Ted roleplay blogs lmao. I’m also cool with interacting with and following duplicates of different characters than my own muse!

• This blog will not have mains. Ted will not have any specific version of a muse that he’ll talk about in threads, unless the thread is specifically about that one muse for some reason. For Kindergarten blogs, he will typically be the Ted in your muse’s timeline in serious roleplays, unless your muse is part of an AU/UA/canon-divergent universe, or there are things about your muse’s backstory that would contradict Ted being in your timeline naturally, or you talk about it with me beforehand.

• I’m pretty lenient with short replies. Don’t feel pressured to match the length if my reply gets long! Multi-para (usually 2-5 paragraphs) is my go-to for roleplays, so I usually do long replies by default.

• Adding onto that, I honestly don’t mind one-liners. Of course, in crack/online roleplays it’s fine but I’m okay with it in serious roleplays too. I prefer it if you don’t give me one-liners, but hey, as long as I’m still having fun with the roleplay anyway, it’s cool with me! I understand not being able to think of anything to write, so just as long as you don’t give me one or two words as your reply like ‘He smiled.’ or ’*laughs*’, I’ll be cool with it. Put at least some effort even if you’re only gonna give me one sentence, otherwise I’ll drop the rp once it becomes a repeat offense.

• I will not change the formatting of my roleplays to fit yours. I’m comfortable with sticking to only paragraph style roleplays, thank you very much. Feel free to keep formatting your own posts though, because I think formatting looks really cool! I just don’t want to format my posts, however. I will not go all out with formatting my own posts with all that cool ‘small text’, and indents, and bolding and all that. The most I ever do with my formatting is italics for emphasis on certain words, and using icons.

• I tend to move roleplays from asks onto its own post. If I send you an ask meme and you answer it, I’ll respond by making a new post, tagging you, and linking to your reply.

• I accept any sort of asks! If they aren’t answered after a while, either I don’t know how to answer it or I might be drawing it out and I am a very slow artist- Sorry-

• Feel free to tag me in any of those tagging memes! I don’t mind and I think they’re pretty fun to do! ^^

• Adding onto the above rule, you’re more than welcome to send me those chain asks like “send this to 10 roleplayers you think are really great!” because it’s super duper nice that you would think to send one to me! But don’t expect me to send them to other people, because I won’t :’) my anxiety won’t let me, so I’m sorry-

• If I follow you, that means I’ve already read all of your rules. I might not send the codephrase, though, because most of the time I get very anxious over having to send things like that. I’m very sorry–! But if I follow you then chances are that I have definitely read them before following- If you choose not to trust me on this, I understand.

• I generally follow every rp blog that follows me, but I might not follow some people back for a few reasons. Some might be for the type of content you post on your blog, but I am still non-selective! I will roleplay with anyone who asks (unless you wanna rp gross things or you’re a mean person,,,, like your muse can be as much of a dick as you want, that’s no problem but don’t be gross to other people as yourself) and if I do roleplay with you, I will be more likely to follow you as well.

• Adding onto the above rule, however, please respect that it’s nothing personal if I ever unfollow you either! It’s not that I hate you or anything, but if you haven’t followed me back and you’re a private rp blog, or if we’re mutuals but never really roleplay, our muses just don’t click, you spam stuff that I don’t want to see on my dash, or you’ve become inactive for years and/or don’t interact with me anymore, there’s nothing wrong with that! We can still be friends but I prefer to have all the people I follow be potential rp partners. Feel free to follow me on my personal, Briightskies, if you still wanna keep in touch but not rp :’)

—

–ABOUT THIS BLOG–

• This blog is OC, multiverse, and crossover friendly! I love OCs and have many of my own tbh, you’re all more than welcome to come rp with me!!

• I’ll also rp with fandoms I’m not into either, as long as you have a good about section for your character, which also indicates how you portray them (any headcanons or AUs you have that aren’t canon, or whether you portray them as canonly as possible, unless they’re OCs of course since a regular about page is a given) and I’ll probably look up other things about that fandom in its wiki if I don’t know what something is anyway.

• This blog is multiship and will only ship with other child muses! Kid crushes are adorable! I used to have many crushes as a child, and the game does depict children crushing on each other or outright ‘dating’. So any relationships my muse is involved in, are in different timelines unless specified. Poly relationships aren’t bad though, just saying. I ship pretty much anything unless it’s incest or if they’re children paired with someone a lot older. Because Ted is a child, he won’t really get intimate with his partners, but romantic stuff is okay.

• I also only ship with chemistry. My muses need to get to know yours first, so don’t get disappointed if he only sees you as a friend/acquaintance at first and has no intention of pursuing a romantic relationship with your muse. Give my muse reasons to care about your muse and let the feelings develop naturally, and don’t ever force your muse on mine. Unless it’s to mess with him, or whatever other reason. Unrequited stuff is absolutely okay with me too!

• I will tag common triggers and such, but don’t be afraid to tell me if you have something you want me to tag! I promise I’ll remember to tag it from then on. I do not have any known triggers myself. Any trigger warning tags will be written as “tw; ____” with a semi-colon, not a colon. If I feel like something should be tagged as a trigger but I’m not sure what to tag it exactly, I’ll just tag it as “tw” as a sort of catch-all tag.

Requested tagged triggers:

none right now

• I will only talk through the IM system ooc. If you send me a message through there, I will not respond with ooc brackets ((these things)) because I will automatically assume you know that you’re talking to the mun. I do not do roleplays on there.

Thank you for reading this really long list of rules! It means a lot if you did!

There’s no password, because I’m also anxious with those for other people’s blogs as I said above. But if you would like to interact with me, you can shoot me an ask directed to my muse, or like one of my starter call posts at any time (also feel free to re-like those posts so I can make another starter for you at any time!) for me to write you a starter!

#links for mobile users #rules #|| I Did A Thing! || Blog updates.

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daggcrisms · 6 years

Text

Rules for mobile users

[[here’s a google doc for the updated list of rules, applicable for all my blogs]]

anything under this cut is from my outdated rules.

[rules updated: 07/28/2019]

–STUFF YOU SHOULD DO–

• No godmodding. No sending (implied or explicit) homophobic/transphobic/bigoted messages to me or my character either.

• If you start getting bored with the roleplay, feel free to drop it and/or end it. We can always start up another thread in the future.

• Don’t reblog a thread you’re not part of. This should go without being said, of course. Personals will be hardblocked immediately, rp blogs will receive a warning.

—

–STUFF YOU SHOULD KEEP IN MIND–

• I am of age to do smut, but Kris is a minor so that is a no for this blog! There will occasionally be sex jokes, but that’s about it. No explicit smut in this house.

• This blog is not a spoiler-free one. I will not tag roleplays with spoilers, but anything else will be tagged with Deltarune Spoilers

• I’m alright with roleplaying nsfw in general, minus smut. Gore, violence, and generally dark roleplays are cool with me. I love angsty things just as much as I love fluff ;w; Speaking of gore, you’re more than welcome to fight/harm/injure my muse to any extent! You don’t even have to ask! Come in and fight this gremlin tbh! If you want to do a rp where they die, however, please dm me first.

• I prefer not to roleplay with personals, unless you are someone I know from school or something like that. Personals in general are allowed to follow me too! However! Personals are not allowed to reblog roleplays, in character posts, or ooc posts especially if I say in the tags that I’m going to delete the post later. Only things that are tagged with my “online reblogs” or “musings” or "art tag" tags are okay to reblog. Headcanon posts are not okay to reblog unless I say otherwise.

• Like spamming is okay! I very occasionally lose roleplays, and getting lots of notes from likes are never a factor for that, for me personally. If I lose a roleplay, it’s mostly just because I forgot, so that’s really a “me” thing. I’m usually very good at keeping track of who I’m roleplaying with and how many ongoing threads I have, and I reply pretty consistently, so just remind me if I haven’t responded after five or more days (as stated in one of the above rules)! And I like it when people like my posts! It lets me know that you like my blog and the stuff I post, and it makes me happy :’)

• If you are an OC, I will assume our muses have never met unless you plan ahead with me what their relationship is like.

• Kris will be pretty meta sometimes. They are aware of who Players are (they're definitely not fond of them other than the few good players they've met), and they know they live in the game world, and are aware of alternate universes and things of that nature.

• Kris is nonbinary on this blog. Although, I don’t care if you refer to them as a boy or a girl (Kris personally will care if you refer to them as a girl though, because they usually Don’t like that). Their order of preference for pronouns is they/he/she, although they will definitely like you more if you use exclusively they/them pronouns. I respect all headcanons about Kris’ gender, and same goes for any Frisks and Charas. If you play a KFC kid, gendered or not, I will use the pronouns they want used, and I do hope that you use they/them pronouns for my Kris. I personally will default to using they/them for other Krises, Frisks, and Charas unless specified on your blog. No discourse about this, please.

• Doubles are welcome to interact too! Of course they are, considering the Kris Squad. I’m also cool with interacting with and following multiple blogs who portray the same character other than Krises as well!

• This blog will not have mains. However, the only “main” they really have is the Berdly over at @berdbrainx. That Berdly originates in their timeline in the “main verse.” Other than him, they will not have any specific version of a muse that they’ll talk about in threads, unless the thread is specifically about that one muse for some reason. For Deltarune non-Kris blogs, they will typically be the Kris in your universe unless you already have a Kris main or you talk about it with me beforehand. Doubles of Kris will be treated as alternates. In their “main verse” in spontaneous roleplays/asks/replies to in-character posts (online roleplays), they reside in their own separate timeline. It’s a classic timeline that doesn’t have any other muses in it, so they don’t have a specific blog’s Susie, or Noelle, or other character that is from their own timeline. So they will treat your muse as if they are an alternate of their own timeline’s counterpart of them.

• I tend to move roleplays from asks onto its own post. If I send you an ask meme and you answer it, I'll respond by making a new post, tagging you, and linking to your reply. Until formatting on asks are fixed, I will answer any asks sent to me in a new text post rather than asks.

• I accept any sort of asks! If they aren’t answered after a while, either I don’t know how to answer it or I might be drawing it out and I am a very slow artist- Sorry-

• Feel free to tag me in any of those tagging memes! I don’t mind and I think they’re pretty fun to do! ^^

• Adding onto the above rule, however, please respect that it’s nothing personal if I ever unfollow you either! It’s not that I hate you or anything, but if you haven’t followed me back and you’re a private rp blog, or if we’re mutuals but never really roleplay, our muses just don’t click, you spam stuff that I don’t want to see on my dash, or you’ve become inactive for years and/or don’t interact with me anymore, there’s nothing wrong with that! We can still be friends but I prefer to have all the people I follow be potential rp partners. Feel free to follow me on my personal, @briightskies, if you still wanna keep in touch but not rp :’)

—

–ABOUT THIS BLOG–

• This blog is OC, multiverse, and crossover friendly! I love OCs and have many of my own tbh, you’re all more than welcome to come rp with me!!

• This blog is multiship! So any relationships my muse is involved in, are in different timelines unless specified. Poly relationships aren’t bad though, just saying. I ship pretty much anything unless it’s incest or if they’re children paired with someone a lot older. Selfcest is fine too. Because Kris is a minor, they won’t really get intimate with their partners, but romantic stuff is a-okay.

• I also only ship with chemistry. My muses need to get to know yours first, so don’t get disappointed if they only see you as a friend/acquaintance at first and has no intention of pursuing a romantic relationship with your muse. Give my muse reasons to care about your muse and let the feelings develop naturally, and don’t ever force your muse on mine. Unless it’s to mess with them, or whatever other reason. Unrequited stuff is absolutely okay with me too!

| Requested tagged triggers:

tw; gore

tw; contagious diseases

tw; self harm

tw; child abuse

tw; spiders

tw; blood

tw; homestuck

tw; fnaf

tw; drugs

tw; smoking

tw; alcohol

tw; needles

Thank you for reading this really long list of rules! It means a lot if you did!

#rules #links for mobile users #|| Cherish This Manual || Blog Updates.

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berdbrainx · 6 years

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Rules for mobile users

[[here’s a google doc for the updated list of rules, applicable for all my blogs]]

anything under this cut is from my outdated rules.

[rules updated: 08/14/2019]

–STUFF YOU SHOULD DO–

• No godmodding. No sending (implied or explicit) homophobic/transphobic/bigoted messages to me or my character either.

• If you start getting bored with the roleplay, feel free to drop it and/or end it. We can always start up another thread in the future.

• Don’t reblog a thread you’re not part of. This should go without being said, of course. Personals will be hardblocked immediately, rp blogs will receive a warning.

• If you can trim your threads, please do! It's fine if you can't, though, because I will most likely trim the thread for you. If you don't trim threads with other people, however, I'll be less likely to follow you since I don't like scrolling through long posts.

—

–STUFF YOU SHOULD KEEP IN MIND–

• I am of age to do smut, but Berdly is a minor so that is a no for this blog! There will occasionally be sex jokes, but that’s about it. No explicit smut in this house.

• This blog is not a spoiler-free one. I will not tag roleplays with spoilers, but anything else will be tagged with Deltarune Spoilers

• I’m alright with roleplaying nsfw in general, minus smut. Gore, violence, and generally dark roleplays are cool with me. I love angsty things just as much as I love fluff ;w; Speaking of gore, you’re more than welcome to fight/harm/injure my muse to any extent! You don’t even have to ask! Come in and fuckin deck Berdly in the face, I approve greatly!! If you want to do a rp where he dies, however, please dm me first.

• I prefer not to roleplay with personals, unless you are someone I know from school or something like that. Personals in general are allowed to follow me too! However! Personals are not allowed to reblog roleplays, in character posts, or ooc posts especially if I say in the tags that I'm going to delete the post later. Only things that are tagged with my "musings" or "art tag" tags are okay to reblog. Headcanon posts are not okay to reblog unless I say otherwise.

• Like spamming is okay! I very occasionally lose roleplays, and getting lots of notes from likes are never a factor for that, for me personally. If I lose a roleplay, it’s mostly just because I forgot, so that’s really a “me” thing. I’m usually very good at keeping track of who I’m roleplaying with and how many ongoing threads I have, and I reply pretty consistently, so just remind me if I haven’t responded after five or more days (as stated in one of the above rules)! And I like it when people like my posts! It lets me know that you like my blog and the stuff I post, and it makes me happy :’)

• If you are an OC, I will assume our muses have never met unless you plan ahead with me what their relationship is like.

• Doubles are welcome to interact too! Although currently I don’t know of much other Berdly roleplay blogs lmao. I’m also cool with interacting with and following multiple blogs who portray the same character! Such as the Kris squad.

• This blog will not have mains. Other than the Kris at @daggcrisms. That Kris originates in his timeline in the "main verse". Excluding them, he will not have any specific version of a muse that he’ll talk about in threads, unless the thread is specifically about that one muse for some reason. For Deltarune blogs, he will typically be the Berdly in your muse’s timeline in serious roleplays, unless your muse is part of an AU/UA/canon-divergent universe, or there are things about your muse’s backstory that would contradict Berdly being in your timeline naturally (like Berdly being dead or something), or you talk about it with me beforehand. In his “main verse” in spontaneous roleplays/asks/replies to in-character posts, he resides in his own separate timeline. It’s a classic timeline that doesn’t have any other muses in it, so he doesn’t have a specific blog’s Susie, or Noelle, that is from his own timeline. Only Sponte/Kris from the blog mentioned above.

• Adding onto that, I honestly don’t mind one-liners. Of course, in crack/online roleplays it's fine but I'm okay with it in serious roleplays too. I prefer it if you don’t give me one-liners, but hey, as long as I’m still having fun with the roleplay anyway, it’s cool with me! I understand not being able to think of anything to write, so just as long as you don’t give me one or two words as your reply like ‘He smiled.’ or ’*laughs*’, I’ll be cool with it. Put at least some effort even if you’re only gonna give me one sentence, otherwise I’ll drop the rp once it becomes a repeat offense.

• I accept any sort of asks! If they aren’t answered after a while, either I don’t know how to answer it or I might be drawing it out and I am a very slow artist- Sorry-

• Feel free to tag me in any of those tagging memes! I don’t mind and I think they’re pretty fun to do! ^^

—

–ABOUT THIS BLOG–

• This blog is OC, multiverse, and crossover friendly! I love OCs and have many of my own tbh, you’re all more than welcome to come rp with me!!

• This blog is multiship! So any relationships my muse is involved in, are in different timelines unless specified. Poly relationships aren’t bad though, just saying. I ship pretty much anything unless it’s incest or if they’re children paired with someone a lot older. Selfcest is fine too (though I really don’t know how to feel about Berdly x Berdly,,,,,, I mean, if you want to try it with me, go for it lol!). Because Berdly is a minor, he won’t really get intimate with his partners, but romantic stuff is a-okay.

| Requested tagged triggers:

tw; gore

tw; spiders

tw; insects

tw; blood

tw; homestuck

tw; smoking

tw; drugs

tw; alcohol

tw; needles

tw; oceans

tw; cutting

duplicates // (if anyone else has a specific way they want something tagged that's different from my tagging style, please let me know)

tw; zombies

tw; bats

tw; maggots

tw; sibling death

tw; sibling peril

Thank you for reading this really long list of rules! It means a lot if you did!

#rules #links for mobile users #|| Onto A New Page || Blog updates.

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didanawisgi · 7 years

Link

The Odyssey is about a man. It says so right at the beginning — in Robert Fagles’s 1996 translation, for example, the poem opens with the line, “Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns.”

In the course of the poem, that man plots his return home after fighting the Trojan War, slaughters the suitors vying to marry his wife Penelope, and reestablishes himself as the head of his household.

But the Odyssey is also about other people: Penelope, the nymph Calypso, the witch Circe, the princess Nausicaa; Odysseus’s many shipmates who died before they could make it home; the countless slaves in Odysseus’s house, many of whom are never named.

Emily Wilson, the first woman to translate the Odyssey into English, is as concerned with these surrounding characters as she is with Odysseus himself. Written in plain, contemporary language and released earlier this month to much fanfare, her translationlays bare some of the inequalities between characters that other translations have elided. It offers not just a new version of the poem, but a new way of thinking about it in the context of gender and power relationships today. As Wilson puts it, “the question of who matters is actually central to what the text is about.”

Why it matters for a woman to translate the Odyssey

Composed around the 8th century BC, the Odyssey is one of the oldest works of literature typically read by an American audience; for comparison, it’s almost 2,000 years older than Beowulf. While the Iliad tells the story of the Trojan War, the Odyssey picks up after the war is over, when Odysseus, the king of Ithaca, is trying to make his way home.

Both poems are traditionally attributed to the Greek poet Homer, but since they almost certainly originated as oral performances and not written texts, it’s hard to tell whether a single person composed them, or whether they are the result of many different creators and performers refining and contributing to a story over a period of time. (The introduction to Wilson’s translation includes a longer discussion of the question of who “Homer” was.)

Wilson, a professor of classical studies at the University of Pennsylvania, has also translated plays by the ancient Greek playwright Euripides and the Roman philosopher Seneca. Her translation of the Odyssey is one of many in English (though the others have been by men), including versions by Fagles, Robert Fitzgerald, Richmond Lattimore, and more. Translating the long-dead language Homer used — a variant of ancient Greek called Homeric Greek — into contemporary English is no easy task, and translators bring their own skills, opinions, and stylistic sensibilities to the text. The result is that every translation is different, almost a new poem in itself.

A battlefield epic, the Iliad has very few major female characters. The Odyssey, however, devotes significant time to the life (and even the dreams) of Penelope. Circe, Calypso, and the goddess Athena all play important roles. This was one of the reasons I was drawn to the Odyssey as a teenager, and why I’ve returned to it many times over the years.

But the Odyssey is hardly a feminist text. Odysseus may have trouble getting home, but at least he gets to travel the world and have sex with beautiful women like Calypso and Circe. Penelope, meanwhile, has to wait around while boorish suitors drink and carouse in her family’s home, pressuring her to marry one of them. To buy time, she says she can’t marry until she finishes weaving a funeral shroud for her father-in-law, but every night she undoes the day’s work, making the task last as long as she can. “His work always gets him somewhere,” Wilson told me. “Her work is all about undoing. It’s all about hiding herself, hiding her desires, and creating something whose only purpose is to get nowhere.”

Some feminist readings of the Odyssey have tried to cast Penelope as heroic in her own way, sometimes by comparing her to Odysseus. “I think there’s so many things wrong with that,” Wilson said. “She’s constantly still being judged by, is she like him.” What’s more, the heroic-Penelope reading focuses on a wealthy woman at the expense of the many enslaved women in the poem, some of whom meet an untimely and brutal end. When Odysseus returns home and kills all the suitors, he also tells his son Telemachus to kill the slave women who had sex with (or were raped by) the suitors. “Hack at them with long swords, eradicate / all life from them,” Odysseus says in Wilson’s translation. “They will forget the things / the suitors made them do with them in secret.”

As a woman, Wilson believes she comes to the Odyssey with a different perspective than translators who have gone before her. “Female translators often stand at a critical distance when approaching authors who are not only male, but also deeply embedded in a canon that has for many centuries been imagined as belonging to men,” she wrote in a recent essay at the Guardian. She called translating Homer as a woman an experience of “intimate alienation.”

“Earlier translators are not as uncomfortable with the text as I am,” she explained to me, “and I like that I’m uncomfortable.” Part of her goal with the translation was to make readers uncomfortable too — with the fact that Odysseus owns slaves, and with the inequities in his marriage to Penelope. Making these aspects of the poem visible, rather than glossing over them, “makes it a more interesting text,” she said.

Wilson’s translation is different from its predecessors in subtle — and not so subtle — ways

Part of the way Wilson challenges previous readings of the Odyssey is with style. Her translation made a splash months before it was published, when an excerpt ran in the summer 2017 issue of the Paris Review. I and other Odyssey fans were excited by Wilson’s opening line: “Tell me about a complicated man.” In its matter-of-fact language, it’s worlds different from Fagles’s “Sing to me of the man, Muse,” or Robert Fitzgerald’s 1961 version, “Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story / of that man skilled in all ways of contending.” Wilson chose to use plain, relatively contemporary language in part to “invite readers to respond more actively with the text,” she writes in a translator’s note. “Impressive displays of rhetoric and linguistic force are a good way to seem important and invite a particular kind of admiration, but they tend to silence dissent and discourage deeper modes of engagement.”

“There’s an idea that Homer has to sound heroic and ancient,” Wilson told me, but that idea comes with a value system attached, one that includes “endorsing this very hierarchical kind of society as if that’s what heroism is.” Telling the story in plainer language allows readers to see Odysseus and his society in another light.

There are flashes of beauty in Wilson’s Odyssey. “The early Dawn was born,” she writes in Book 2; “her fingers bloomed.” Of the forest on Calypso’s island, where many birds nest, she writes, “It was full of wings.” But throughout the book, there’s a frankness to Wilson’s language around work and the people who do it. Of Eurymedusa, a slave in the house of princess Nausicaa, she writes, “She used to babysit young Nausicaa / and now she lit her fire and cooked her meal.”

The slaves in older translations of the Odyssey do not “babysit” — often, they’re not identified as slaves at all. Fagles, for instance, calls Eurymedusa a “chambermaid.” Fitzgerald calls her a “nurse.” “It sort of stuns me when I look at other translations,” Wilson said, “how much work seems to go into making slavery invisible.”

Wilson, by contrast, uses the word “slave” for Eurymedusa and many other enslaved characters, even when the original uses a more specific term. The Homeric Greek dmoe, or “female-house-slave,” Wilson writes in her translator’s note, could be translated as “maid” or “domestic servant,” but those terms would imply that the woman was free. “The need to acknowledge the fact and the horror of slavery,” she writes, “and to mark the fact that the idealized society depicted in the poem is one where slavery is shockingly taken for granted, seems to me to outweigh the need to specify, in every instance, the type of slave.”

While Wilson’s language is often plain, it’s also carefully chosen. She told Wyatt Mason at the New York Times magazine she could have begun the poem with the line “Tell me about a straying husband,” an even more radical choice that would still have been “a viable translation.” But, she said, “it would give an entirely different perspective and an entirely different setup for the poem.” She spoke, Mason noted, with “the firmness of someone making hard choices she believes in.”

Those choices show up clearly in her treatment of Penelope. Penelope is a frustrating character — it’s not entirely clear why she doesn’t simply send the suitors away or marry one of them, and the poem offers limited access to her thoughts and feelings. Wilson didn’t try to make Penelope easier to understand — “the opacity of Penelope,” as she puts it, is one of the aspects of the poem she wants to trouble readers and make them uncomfortable.

But small details can tell us something about even the most frustrating of characters. At one point in Book 21, Penelope unlocks the storeroom where Odysseus keeps his weapons — as Wilson writes in her translator’s note, this act sets in motion the slaughter of the suitors and the resolution of the poem. As she picks up the key, Homer describes her hand as pachus, or “thick.” “There is a problem here,” Wilson writes, “since in our culture, women are not supposed to have big, thick, or fat hands.” Translators have usually solved the problem by skipping the adjective, or putting in something more traditional — Fagles mentions Penelope’s “steady hand.” Wilson, however, renders the moment this way: “Her muscular, firm hand/ picked up the ivory handle of the key.”

“Weaving does in fact make a person’s hands more muscular,” she writes. “I wanted to ensure that my translation, like the original, underlines Penelope’s physical competence, which marks her as a character who plays a crucial part in the action — whether or not she knows what she is doing.”

Wilson does not give Penelope more agency or power than she has in the original poem, but she also does not take any of the queen’s original power away by making descriptions of her conform to modern gender stereotypes.

“Part of fighting misogyny in the current world is having a really clear sense of what the structures of thought and the structures of society are that have enabled androcentrism in different cultures, including our own,” Wilson said, and the Odyssey, looked at in the right way, can help readers understand those structures more clearly. The poem offers a “defense of a male dominant society, a defense of its own hero and his triumph over everybody else,” she said, “but it also seems to provide these avenues for realizing what’s so horrible about this narrative, what’s missing about this narrative.”

Recent events have led to a widespread debate over how audiences should consume the work of people we know to be abusers of women. This is intertwined with the question of how we should consume art that has racist, sexist, or otherwise bigoted elements. Often elided from this conversation is the fact that people of color and women of all races have been consuming racist and sexist art in America for generations (in many classes on Western literature, for instance, they have had little choice), and developing their own responses to it, responses that are often deeply nuanced.

Conservative talk of “special snowflakes” demanding trigger warnings ignores the fact that people marginalized in the Western canon have long read literature from it in exactly the way Wilson describes: both as an endorsement of its author’s values, and as evidence of how horrible those values can be, and whom they leave out.

Wilson’s translation, then, is not a feminist version of the Odyssey. It is a version of the Odyssey that lays bare the morals of its time and place, and invites us to consider how different they are from our own, and how similar.

#emily wilson #odyssey #Greek Mythology #linguistics #ancient greece #mythology #poetry

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theclaravoyant · 7 years

Text

It’s a desert in my heart (and I know where to hide) - Skitz

AN ~ This is the combination of several Skitz prompts, including "first kiss," "bonding over backstory, esp their dads," and "One Foot by Walk the Moon," from which the title was drawn. Please note this is a romantic Skitz fic, though you're welcome to prompt me platonic FitzDaisy as well.

Fitz tells Skye about his encounter with her father in the field, and it leads to a discussion of parental legacy, who we are, and the hopes of what we might become.

Rated T. Skitz. Mild angst/hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending. Only mild references to Alistair & Cal in terms of graphicness. Set approximately 2x08.

Read on AO3 (~1500wd)

There was not much room on the old Bus beds. Not much room at all. Fortunately, this was not so noticeable most of the time – like when they were laughing or cuddling, draping themselves around each other like so many kittens. It was sometimes noticeable, but not typically uncomfortable, when they lay together like this; elbow to elbow, watching their favourite movies, or any movies, really. Tonight, though, it was both.

Fitz found his shoulders were tight. Skye kept flexing a crook in her neck. The winner of their “lets drown fear and pain in candy fluff” ballot, Elf, was playing; it was one they had both seen before, but tonight they seemed to be able to enjoy neither it, nor the increasingly rare gift of each other’s uninterrupted company. Fitz, because for some reason he was tempted to bite his tongue and hold his breath and stare far to intensely at the screen and Skye because she was driven to distraction by Fitz.

“Hey.” She elbowed him – on purpose this time. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Fitz cleared his throat, and tried to shake off his nerves. He failed. “Just shaken I guess.”

“From yesterday?” Skye frowned. “You know Trip is gonna be okay, right?”

“That’s not it.”

“ …Is there something I don’t know about?”

She waited, watching as Fitz let out a long, heavy sigh. His eyes dropped from the screen, unseeing – or rather, as if seeing back in time.

“You know,” he began, his voice shaky. “You know what you said the other day – ‘you look like you saw the devil out there’ – well I think… maybe, I did. Not the actual devil, obviously, but…”

Skye squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s scary as hell going into the field, I’m with you on that one, and watching someone do that to Trip…

Fitz shook his head, waving her off as he tried to explain: “It’s worse than you think, Skye. Coulson didn’t want to tell you the truth but… here we are I guess. It was your dad. And he didn’t just hurt Trip, he tricked us into thinking he was helping. Turned out he was just making it so we couldn’t let go of those – those clamps or he’d die. It was bloody terrifying, ‘n not just because I was damn close to ca- cramping up and dropping the bloody things. He was so intense, like he was… jealous of Coulson, or something, for being near you. Kept insisting we call you Daisy, send you ‘home,’ stuff like that.” He shuddered. “Sounded like he wouldn’t have been afraid to send all three of us home in bodybags if that’s what it’d take to get you. That man is twisted. Gives me nightmares.”

“Me too,” Skye whispered. She hung her head, the tears in her throat silencing anything more. Fitz shut the laptop and rearranged them; making room under one of his arms so that Skye could lie across his chest. She huddled in, glad to have him to cushion her misery. There was a sour taste in her mouth, the bitter sting of naivety, for having put too much faith in the dream she’d had, of her father. She should have turned on him when he’d threatened Simmons; no good man, she thought, and certainly not one that she was interested in knowing, would hold her friends ransom like that. She should have learnt when she’d the broken picture frame, or when she’d begun to piece together the stories, or when she’d realised that her father was working with Hydra. But hope and loneliness, she knew, could be a powerful - even blinding - combination.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Fitz assured her, gently brushing a hand up and down her back. “I’m pretty sure every kid reacts this way to learning their parent is… not all parents are chalked up to be. It’s okay. He means well, he loves you; he just doesn’t know how to express it.”

Skye propped herself up for a moment, to look into Fitz’s eyes. “That sounds like Something.”

Fitz flinched, barely noticeable even though she was staring right at it, and dodged the question. “I just mean, people can do a lot of messed up things if they think they’re doing them for the right reasons – like saving their daughter, for instance.”

“Or ‘saving’ their son, by torturing him into fitting in?” Skye prompted. “You seem awfully forgiving about all this.”

Fitz shrugged. “My mother is a very forgiving person. She doesn’t believe in bad people and neither do I. What I saw yesterday was not a good man, Skye, but maybe he was one once. Maybe he could be again. And even if he isn’t, you – you aren’t doomed to be like him. Monster isn’t in your blood, even if it is in his.”

“Another something your mother said?”

“Mm.”

Skye held Fitz’s eyes for a long moment. Several breaths passed in silence, speaking to the fears she had left unspoken and the stories he had left untold. They were incomplete, the both of them, but she lowered her head back down and pressed an ear against his chest, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat as he resumed his slow and steady backrub.

“She says a lot of things, your mother,” Skye remarked.

“She does,” Fitz agreed. “She had to. Raised me on her own – well, I mean, except for Nan. And I needed a lot of advice. I was a, uh. Troubled kid.”

“Really?” Skye looked up as best she could.

“Oh, yeah,” Fitz explained. “I mean, not the smoking, drinking, having-sex-way-too-early kind, but I had a lot of anger issues. Used to throw a lot of stuff. I was bad at sharing. Obsessively particular. Not to mention, you know, the standard antisocial supergenius… thing.”

Skye snorted. “Sounds like a supervillain backstory.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Fitz agreed, but his tone was a little too sincere for Skye’s liking. She realised then that this was the point of his story. His story of monster.

“It gets better,” he continued, “- or, well, worse for me, I suppose, once you add Dad into the mix. Origin story material, he was. A right bastard. Left when I was ten, fortunately, though I suspect that was only ‘cause Mum kicked him out. She’s never ex- ex- explicitly told me, an’ of course I was a kid at the time, but I’ve always known somehow. She did it to protect me.”

“You really love her a lot, huh?” Skye mused. Her heart ached a little at the fondness, the longing in his voice. When was the last time he’d even spoken to his mother? Did she even know he was alive?

“’Course I do,” Fitz swore. “She’d do anything for me. I like to think I’d do the same, push come to shove.”

“I hope my mother’s like that.” Skye sighed. “Fairytale stuff though. I’m no Annie. You know, I don’t even know my real birthday? Sure as hell never stayed in one place long enough to find somebody willing to die for me.”

“Well, now you have.”

Skye sat up again, and this time his gaze did not waver. It was powerful, pure and earnest, and she knew – from experience – that he meant every word of it. Her breath caught and before she knew it she was leaning in to kiss him. His lips were soft and warm, his gentle passion breathtaking. A tingle ran down her spine as his hand slipped under her shirt and up her back, encouraging her until she pulled away for breath.

In the dim light, his eyes were a stormy blue and hers a shimmering onyx. Skye could smell him on her breath and she treasured it even as her heart thudded in her chest, waiting for this fragile moment to fail. She waited for the panic to hit one of them like a wave – some sort of guilt, some sort of promise broken, some sort of reason why they couldn’t – but her breaths kept coming in, one after the other, and Fitz smiled; lopsided, uncertain and adorable.

“Are you—“ he began, before she interrupted:

“Don’t though, okay?”

“Don’t what? Kiss you? I…”

“I don’t need anybody else doing any more stupid things for me,” Skye insisted. “I don’t want anybody to die for me. Ever. Least of all you.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Fitz assured her, finding and squeezing her hand. “I wasn’t planning on it. I just meant – I’m not going anywhere. I’m in your corner. We all are; me, Jemma, Coulson, May… You have a family now. People who care about you and want the best for you. People who, I should hope, you can turn to whenever you need them, whatever the reason.”

“People who can save me from my supervillain origin story?” Skye teased. Fitz just smiled, and brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

“It’s cute you think that,” he said, “but as far as I’m concerned, your story has always been the hero’s.”

#fitzdaisy #skitz #daisyjohnsonfic #aos fic #aosficnet2 #did it kill me to put this much foreshadowing in about jiaying and the team's reaction to skye's powers? no because I LOVE PAIN #*cries*#clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff

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firewallofstanix · 6 years

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★ FILL IN THE QUESTIONS AS IF YOU ARE BEING INTERVIEWED FOR AN ARTICLE AND YOU WERE YOUR MUSE.

TAGGED BY: @sparkofcombination

TAGGING: @thebestdecepticonleader, @grand-galvatron (mun’s choice) (The questions I erased were kinda nsfw for me, but if you wanna answer them, go to who tagged me and copy that one to fill.)

1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME? “I am Firewall of Stanix, citizen of Cybertron and of Velocitron.”

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME? “My real name is Firewall.”

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE CALLED THAT? “I called myself Firewall, after deciding to form my identity around being a protector, a defense against all enemies of Cybertron”

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN? "I am currently single.”

5. WHAT ARE YOUR POWERS AND ABILITIES? “I have the ability to summon a Cyber Key from subspace that enables me to access an extra function in my frame, in my case a set of booster rockets.”

6. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES? “They are a bright shade of gold.”

7. HAVE YOU EVER DYED YOUR HAIR? ”This must be a human’s quiz... My helm has always been the same orange as my frame, with accents of grey and yellow.”

8. DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? “My parents died when I was a sparkling; a family friend named Beacon became my legal guardian after that, but I believe he...perished, in the destruction of my home town. Beacon told me I have an older brother who joined the Autobots, but our bond was so weak that I hardly feel it anymore.”

9. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? “Velocitron has a small variety of domestic animals, but I have no interest in one.”

10. TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE. “I dislike anything that keeps me from getting my work done. Loud noises; incompetent mecha hindering my progress; my own limitations… It irritates me to have so much working against me.”

11. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES OR ACTIVITIES YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME? “Hmm…I have started resuming my crystal studies lately; I have quite a collection now and am hoping to visit Crystal City some time soon. I also enjoy watching local races and volunteering to help those less fortunate.”

12. HAVE YOU EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE? “As a Decepticon soldier, hurting others was inevitable…almost regular…”

13. HAVE YOU EVER… KILLED ANYONE? "…Another inevitability in the war. It was my duty…and casualties were more frequent than I had wished…”

14. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU? She narrows her optics. “In what context are you asking that question?”

15. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS. "I am told I put too much responsibility on my shoulders; that I’m overly-fixated on guilt and prone to overestimating the importance of my actions.”

16. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE? “I looked up to Beacon before he…passed. Now, I am not so sure. The Autobots whom I have come to know certainly display some admirable qualities, but I don’t know if I would say I look up to them just yet.”

17. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL? "Is this another human question?” She looks up the terms. “You’re asking me what kind of Cybertronians I am attracted to? Well, for starters, our attraction is different from that of humans…but to answer the question, history has shown that I am attracted to mechs, not that I have much history. And…I suppose there is a slight preference for fliers…”

18. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL? “I received the full standard education for a Cybertronian, though I missed the chance to pursue any additional academics because the war quickly became my priority. Now that there is peace, I have been considering finding a place to extend my education and perhaps start a career with it, in the future.”

19. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS SOMEDAY? “That’s quite a far-sighted goal, but that does sound nice, one day.”

20. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANS? "--I’m no one famous or well-known. Why would I have a fan?”

21. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF? ”I have always had this looming fear of death...but now... I’m afraid of the war starting again. Megatron is gone, but...what if another uprising starts? Or what if a civil war starts here on Velocitron? It could happen; I don’t know how likely it is, or if I would be prepared for it, and that scares me.”

22. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR? “Only my armor; I typically don’t accessorize, though I may find something for a special occasion.”

23. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE? “…No. I don’t.”

24. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? “I would say, perhaps… lower middle class.”

25. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE? “It depends on who would be comfortable accepting my friendship. I know there are a few who would be pleased with that; even so, the number would be under ten.”

26. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE? Firewall grows tired of your organic questions, seeing that’s what it is as she looks up the word. “Whatever the humans wish to eat is none of my concern, and don’t think that this particular food has an energon equivalent.”

27. FAVORITE DRINK? “I like a light mid-grade Stanixian mix, with some silver for added sweetness. I’m open to tasting other mixes as well, but this one has remained my favorite for many vorns.”

29. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE? “It used to be a small recreation center back in one of my home’s neighboring cities… Now, I suppose I like the racetracks and highways of Velocitron, as well as a small plaza in the city I live in. The plaza has a healthy balance of sounds and activity, and solitude and quietness that I find the best environment to think in.”

30. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE? “…I don’t believe I am.”

31 has been removed.

32. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN? “I did spend some time in an ocean-- rather, in an ocean. As cooling as the water was, the feeling of it coursing through my vents was just too uncomfortable for my taste. I doubt I would feel any difference in a lake, so I would rather simply stay on land.”

33. WHAT’S YOUR ‘TYPE’? “Again, I have very little history to consult. I'm not sure if I even liked enough mechs in my lifetime to determine a ‘type’.”

34 has been removed.

35 has been removed and Firewall really wishes you wouldn’t ask questions organic in nature.

36. CAMPING, OR INDOORS? "There were occasions where I camped outside during reconnaissance missions; unlike most of my experiences, I found those instances rather enjoyable-- if the other soldiers didn’t bother me. I think I would be fine with either option.”

37. ARE YOU WAITING FOR THIS INTERVIEW TO BE OVER? “Yes, I think you learned enough about me to satisfy your curiosity-- and if not, what I told you will have to suffice. Now if you will excuse me, there is work to be done.”

#(( i apologize for firewall's occasional rudeness #i also think it might be interesting that she changed her name to firewall at some point #cuz idk what her parents would think that'd result in 'Firewall'#what could a sparkling to do earn that name huh?#so now I gotta think of a first name for her ))#tag meme #Verse: Aurex | main #about firewall

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goldenedtriangle-blog · 7 years

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tagged by: No one, but I took it from @synthmama! tagging (and tag me so I can read your responses!): @vipercrash, @starcharted, @silkandsilvers, @afourletterwordfordirt, @detectiverickitubbs, @alwaysfine, @pastguided, @methodcop

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE? He doesn’t have a strong scent, but he does have one. Because he burns incense, if you manage to get close enough to him, you might be able to pick up that smoky, woody smell and the fragrance oils typically infused into them. If you get even closer, you might find he has a subtle smell of the beach, too--living by one has made it so that its air has bled into his home and everything in it, clothes included. But like I said, it’s very subtle.

He doesn’t wear any fragrances.

HOW OFTEN DOES YOUR MUSE BATHE/SHOWER? ANY HABITS? Every day. Given that he lives by the beach, as I mentioned before, that tropical smell seeps into his clothes and hair. Plus, he’s an extremely neat and orderly man. He’s always clean whenever possible.

As far as habits go, no, except, perhaps, when he stands under the water and lets it drip and pelt over him as he--you guessed it--ruminates or clears his mind. I have this idea he stood under a waterfall meditating before.

ANY BODY MOVEMENT QUIRKS? (E.G. KNEE SHAKES?) There are several. In numerous instances, when standing with his arms down on either side, I've noticed he has this tendency of curling then uncluring his hand before making this tapping motion with his fingers. It happens more right before something personally heavy happens such as when he was waiting to reunite with his ex-wife. Aside from that, he sometimes rubs his brow when in deep thought, brings his hand to his mouth for the same reason, and, more notably, doesn't maintain eye contact often, though this is not because he's insecure or intimidated. Castillo’s also a big offender of shoving his hands into his pockets.

WHAT DO THEY SLEEP IN? He finds himself sleeping in his work clothes sans jacket and tie a lot, particularly when he’s crashing in his office chair or sofa. When he’s at home, sometimes the same as though he fell asleep working on a case he brought home. He doesn’t have what you think of when you hear “pajamas.”

WHAT’S THEIR FAVOURITE PIECE OF CLOTHING? He doesn’t have a favorite. He has a usual. That usual is a dark gray or black suit and a white or light blue button down. He wears several ties throughout the series, but seems to usually wear a skinny black leather one.

WHAT DO THEY DO WHEN THEY WAKE UP? Castillo’s an early riser. Not I’m-going-to-get-out-of-bed-at-7AM early, but I’m-out-of-bed-before-the-sun-rises early. When he’s out of his brief sleep, he has coffee or tea then sits in a chair and ruminates or meditates in the silence, alone, for a long time. Twenty minutes. Thirty. More. Then, when time’s up, he leaves for work.

On day’s off, particularly when his spirits are low, he will find himself on the beach early enough so that he’s by himself.

HOW DO THEY SLEEP? POSITION? Lying down, sitting in a chair, standing--he can sleep in any position. Perhaps from his experiences in Southeast Asia, he is an unnaturally light sleeper and will wake to any noise, so much so that one might even wonder if he just pretends to be asleep. He always has been hyper-aware. What happened made him more so.

Still, if there were a preference? Lying down on his back. He doesn't move much at all.

WHAT DO THEIR HANDS FEEL LIKE? Warm, sturdy, firm. Despite Castillo’s cold exterior, he’s on the astonishingly high end of warm-to-the-touch. His hands aren’t soft, either--you can feel some worn callouses given his rough past--but they aren’t unpleasant. Still, they’re firm and unsurprisingly very assertive, so that may make someone feel either uncomfortable and intimidated or secure.

IF YOU KISSED THEM, WHAT WOULD THEY USUALLY TASTE LIKE? You wouldn’t be kissing Castillo, period. I’d imagine not like anything in particular, but in such a close proximity, you’d pick up on all the scents--the smoky incense, the beach. You might taste coffee or tea, too, so something bitter or herb-y; and though not related to taste, his kisses can be remarkably soft in contrast to his rigid character. With May Ying, I get the impression he was the generous and gentle lover. but, also, he has a leather tie and more than once says “I know what you’re gonna need” so, like, the duality of man

#goldenedtriangle: HC #[if u walked into castillos home at 3am he'd be sitting in a chair in the shadows facing the door #it'd b pretty freaky. is he even real?? is he a figment of the imagination??]

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animeniac · 7 years

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Starbomb Ch. 1

Fandom: BNHA Pairing: Bakugou x Uraraka Genre: Romance and Comedy probably Summary: After Uraraka sends Bakugou flying into the air, the short-tempered hero-in-training gets the idea of marrying Uravity for her quirk one day. Shenanigans ensue.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

Somewhere between ten and twenty meters into the atmosphere, Bakugou Katsuki realized his helplessness. Perhaps his blasts could return him to a comfortable distance from the ground, but for that moment, he would have preferred to use that energy in a more constructive manner and aim it at his assailant - Uraraka Ochako. He should have put her in her place when he had the chance.

Then, Bakugou's eyes met with hers. Amongst the blonde's barking and the roars of laughter from his classmates below, the cacophony faded into his stark realization. Uraraka's smug smile shined up at him with a haughty taunt. She was in power from the moment she shoved him into the air, and there were few options he could do to give him the advantage in a fight. However, he envied her position, and as he stayed suspended, he wished for her advantage.

Explosions could not have possibly incited the degree of futility that anti-gravity did. Eventually, his opponents could more than likely find some kind of pattern, but this feeling - his stomach turned in his gut like some kind of painfully slow roller coaster.

Before teachers returned, she decided to give him relief - but not without the last laugh. When she increased gravity's pull on him with a simple hand sign, she made sure that he would be light enough to catch in her arms. And so, she did. "Sorry," she apologized, "you were pickin' a fight with Deku, so I had to do something." Naturally, the gesture earned another burst of laughs from her peers.

"I'm gonna blast your fucking face off, fucker! Put me down!" he shouted.

When Uraraka finally released him, she turned around to Deku who sweat bullets and put his hands up slightly below his chin. The anti-gravity girl always found his nervous gesticulations endearing. He was always modest and kind towards everyone - already, a true hero. She smiled, "Where do you wanna eat lunch today?" Surely, he could have handled himself, but she didn't mind having a bit of fun with his long-term tormentor.

Satisfied, the crowd that had swarmed the scene dispersed to their desired corners of the campus for food at the same time that a teacher noticed the commotion. Unfortunately, that meant that Bakugou had to refrain from seeking his revenge at that moment. Lucky for her, too! He would have destroyed her.

Midoriya didn't want to anger his former childhood friend. While he thoroughly appreciated Uraraka's heroic deed, he would have spared Bakugou the humiliation. Fortunately, the bellicose boy had remained pensive above the ground instead of attacking everyone in sight. While he had made headway with his integrity since entering U.A., that particular moment signified a profound mark of maturity.

Iida grinned and touted Uraraka's bravery as he patted her shoulders, "Your courage knows no bounds, Uraraka."

Whether or not Uraraka and Midoriya were aware, Iida like the rest of their class implored their relationship. Since they adored Midoriya, they wanted him to be with someone like Ochako - a sweet, delightful cutie that had been by his side since the first day of school. Within the insufferably chaste classroom, they yearned for the class sweethearts to realize their feelings for each other and take the plunge into a fruitful relationship.

So then, witnessing what they saw as a grand, romantic gesture only heralded the monumental confession that would cement a timeless romantic bond.

Well, everyone cheered for them except for Bakugou who had been indifferent up until that day, and, when grazed by the objectively endearing display, he developed an acrid taste of revulsion that stuck with him for the remainder of the day.

"Let's sit by the tree outside. It's a nice day, right?" suggested Uraraka to her group of friends as she led the way around the corner.

Her male companions gleefully followed.

Midoriya enjoyed the warm air that Uraraka carried with her. Her encouragement had nurtured him since his beginning as a hero-in-training. Without her, he was uncertain how he would have developed into the person he was at that point. Somehow, the rumors and sentiments of the class regarding his friendship with Uraraka hadn't reached him. Maybe he had been too wrapped in his personal goals to pay much heed to the future of their friendship.

For the time, he enjoyed the seconds one by one.

Bakugou mumbled and snarled under his breath since the infuriating incident. He incinerated his lunch before he could finish it, but that was FINE! He wasn't hungry anyway - not with the sickening image of that girl on his mind. In fact, her smarmy smirk burned into the foundation of his minds and exploded and expanded into his dangerous fixation.

Kirishima thought he could allow the rage to gradually leave Bakugou's body by staying quiet. For most of that year, the bomber man had made progress with managing his destructive anger. However, that day was different, and he had no idea why. Perhaps the most confounding mystery of his scuffle with Uravity was how he didn't put up much of a fight. True, they weren't on the battlefield, but typically, Bakugou would have put more effort into somehow retaliating.

Bakugou recalled the fluttering in his abdomen accompanied by the heated bursts in his chest as he stared down into her wide, brown eyes. And, no matter how many times he violently shook his head, the sensations clung to him. This situation had gotten out of hand and became more complex than he could comprehend in one sitting. Maybe, he had witnessed first-hand the helplessness that she could incite in a foe.

Then, his great epiphany arose from beyond the horizon of his despair and brightened his outlook. He had heard about the concept of quirk marriages - two people with quirks could conceive a child with an unprecedented quirk. Naturally, since Bakugou aimed for the best in every aspect of his life, marrying for power was the only option he saw at that naive stage in his young life.

Rejuvenated was his hunger but not for the lunch that he carelessly disintegrated. From that point, he mused over his fortuitous brush with fate and voraciously anticipated the inevitable.

That onset of humility and infirmity must have meant one thing and one thing alone - that anti-gravity power was destined to merge with his future.

He flashed his sinister grin as he unleashed a notebook from his satchel and slammed it to the table before him.

"W-What are you doing?" questioned Kirishima. There was a huge chance the blond couldn't hear him through the thick, malicious air.

Once his pen hit the paper, he didn't lift it for the rest of lunch period and the entirety of class. The logistics of their powers came together as he sketched out the sweet melody of raining destruction. Nebulaboom! Supernova Destruction! No, Starbomber! The ideas flooded pages of his notebook while he sat through the remainder of his lectures.

By the end of the school day, he had built the necessary resolve to share his intentions with Uraraka herself.

"Round-face," he addressed her immediately following the bell. "Meet me down in the courtyard of the dorms in an hour." Although he could have said what he wanted to in that instance, he had to explain his logical conclusion and that would require food in the interim.

Uraraka glanced over her shoulder and had to do a double-take to make sure that he was talking to her. "Uh, okay," she replied. Naturally, she assumed that he wanted a rematch of some kind. Maybe a respectable spar. However, there was an uncanny sense of calm about his aura that hadn't been present earlier that day. She shivered before she walked away with her group of friends.

He wasn't going to try to kill her, was he?

The rain had been falling all afternoon since lunch. Bakugou's soaked shoulders failed to slump as he waited from the time he retrieved a new, late lunch. She hadn't shown up yet. The weather may have dampened him and all his clothes, but it hadn't dampened his determination!

Soon, the rain paused and allowed for sunlight to pass through the tree that he sat beneath.

After having forgotten about the entire agreement, Uraraka spotted the angry young man through a window from the cozy, warm dorms. For some reason, she assumed the weather would have deterred him. Rain would have surely subdued his quirk. Didn't he need sweat or something? And, he wasn't the type to give her such an advantage. Either way, the rain had ceased.

She sighed and made her way down the stairs and to the courtyard against her better judgment. At that point, she would have understood if he lunged at her. "Sorry," she apologized. "I forgot that you said you wanted to fight. I don't really wanna get in trouble, okay?"

Uraraka at least respected Bakugou. She trusted him enough to ally with him in times of need, but she would never even trust him to watch her abandoned belongings. She wouldn't trust him with much information, either. Definitely, she knew that she couldn't trust him to treat Deku well. Maybe she could have also apologized again for sending him into the air. Everyone knew Bakugou's fragile pride could break under innocuous circumstances.

But, yes, she at least respected him - for whatever reason.

"I'm sorry for earlier, too. I won't do that again unless we're in a fight," she vowed with an unnerved smile.

Jumping to his feet, he disregarded every word she may have said and began, "You think you can prance around from here on out like I'm some pathetic wimp and juggle me like I'm one of your cheap, shitty circus tricks? Never again, round-face! You're going fucking down, and you're mine now, got that? From this day on, you focus on me because I'm not holding back, and you're not going to run away from me either."

What was he saying? She tilted her head after that vehement monolog. "Uh," stammered Uraraka, "So, do you wanna fight?"

"Give me a break," scoffed Bakugou. "This isn't some pathetic question. I don't know who the fuck you think I am. I'm telling you what's going to happen."

Was he saying that he wanted to fight later? She bit her lip and slowly backed away. He certainly was not being clear, or maybe, she didn't understand his language. "'Kay," replied Uraraka. "I'll see you later then?" She limply raised the palm of her hand to wave goodbye despite her uncertainty on what exactly he said.

When he didn't respond and remained still with his fuming nose in the air, she slowly shuffled off to the dorms.

"What was that about?" asked Midoriya when Uraraka returned.

"I dunno. I couldn't really tell what he was sayin'," she shrugged before they joined up with Iida.

So then, Bakugou knew that he had cemented his future and the vitality his lineage with ease. He could go back to training to become the world's top hero. However, he found her behavior following their encounter to be rather obnoxious. There was a fine line between overly chummy behavior and a flippantly distant demeanor, and on that fine line, was the satisfactory reaction that Bakugou expected.

Of course, if she thought his explanation meant they were suddenly friends, he would push her away from him. But, that never fucking happened even once. He didn't have the time or the emotional intelligence to contemplate his sentiments. Oftentimes, he'd assumed that he either felt anger or frustration. The possibility that he could have wanted her closer failed to cross his mind.

He wanted her under him. And, naturally, he was not capable of understanding that phrase as a double-entendre.

All in all, he expected a simple acknowledgment from time to time. Why did he expect that? He had no time to think about that shit all day. The fact of the matter was, she wasn't giving it to him!

The important and most angering aspect of this situation was the issue that she hung out with that damn dork and his nerdy friend day in and day out. A few weeks passed, and she repeated the same worn out joke of avoiding him. Was she taunting him yet again? Did she doubt his capability? No, she looked down at him and mocked his entire proposition! He didn't have the time or energy to dwell on this for too long, and so, he needed to address the issue as soon as possible.

Indifferent to his witnesses, Bakugou took a stand once Uraraka blew the final fuse one day by bumping into his desk without a simple apology. Accompanying the cry of the bell, Bakugou roared, "If we're going to get married, then you can't dance around with that nerd."

Of course, that spark of drama caught the eye of every one of his classmates. "Married? What are they talking about?" murmured various voices as they stopped to spectate the scene.

"What?" gasped Midoriya. Did he miss something?

"I don't know what he's talkin' about!" declared Uraraka as her face colored red. Where did that come from? And, why did he have to say something that stupid in front of Midoriya? She shivered beneath the gaze of everyone in class. Maybe this had to do with his outburst on that rainy day a few weeks before - but, thinking back, she couldn't remember anything that would have indicated marriage. "You've got the wrong idea."

"Don't you dare fucking play games with me, Uraraka," Bakugou growled each syllable of her name as he stepped towards the woman. "I already told you what was going to happen."

Iida stepped up first. "I am not sure what you're referring to, but we're all too young to get married."

"You butt out of this."

Everyone wanted to boo. Afterall, the degenerate known as Bakugou threatened the bond of 1-A's sweethearts. How characteristic of him to ruin a pure love between Midoriya and Uraraka - who weren't dating, mind you, but that was aside from the point. The potential of their loving relationship mattered the most.

Midoriya put a few fingers to his chin and tilted his head down to contemplate the situation. Bakugou often had difficulty putting himself in the minds of other people outside the battlefield, so this case must have hardly differed. Perhaps, he saw the advantages in reproducing Uraraka's quirk with his, so for that reason, he wanted to marry her. The potential of that happening sank Midoriya's stomach.

If Bakugou wanted to marry Uraraka out of love, then Midoriya could respect it. If that wasn't the case, then Midoriya had to decide if he should intervene. They were a few years away from being able to legally commit, so was the conflict worth a fight? There must have been something that Deku failed to properly detect. Meanwhile, the grief and shame in Uraraka's frown were enough to urge Midoriya to end the scene somehow.

Kirishima knew that he was the only one who could possibly quell the situation. He stepped in and blocked the trio of Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida from Bakugou's line of sight to say, "Hey, you didn't tell me anything about this. We should talk about it when we study for that test tonight."

Right, they had an upcoming exam.

Bakugou could rationalize postponing this interrogation until he took care of his present affairs. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled before he exited the scene.

With that, the class collectively let out a deep sigh - everyone except for Shouto who had something he needed to address with their class's infamous Katsuki Bakugou.

#kacchako #bakugou x uraraka #bnha #idk what the ship name is

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ramajmedia · 5 years

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The Sopranos: Christopher Moltisanti's 10 Best Quotes On The Sopranos

The Sopranos was a show known for its complex, and often-unlikable, characters. Michael Imperioli’s performance as Christopher Moltisanti, an up-and-comer within the crime family, created one of the show’s longest lasting and most vivid characters. Fans hated to love him and loved to hate him.

He was as brutish as his distant cousin, Tony Soprano (the head of the family), but, like Tony, he hid a more sensitive side from those around him. While acting as Tony’s protege, Christopher would also pursue a career as a screenwriter throughout the show and it gave his character a particular penchant for memorable dialogue. Here are his ten best quotes from the show.

RELATED: 10 Best Pop Culture References Made On The Sopranos

10 “Wait here, I’ll get your viagra.”

Even though he’s the youngest and by far the most inexperienced of Tony Soprano’s main crew, Christopher is never afraid to make jokes at the expense of the other crew members.

Sitting outside, Tony spots a beautiful woman crossing the street who he points out to Silvio and Christopher. Silvio asserts “I could do that, no problem.” With Christopher not even missing a beat before firing back with his putdown.

9 “In my thoughts, I used a technique of positive visualization. How come I always feel undermined?”

A source of many of Christopher’s problems is how unfulfilled he feels in general. He usually interprets this as a symptom of not moving up quickly enough within the crime family and it leads to him jumping the gun in numerous situations.

After violently sorting out a big problem for Tony, but in an unprofessional manner, Christopher expects to become a made man and expresses his impatience to Tony in his typically philosophical manner; much to Tony’s amusement.

RELATED: The Sopranos: Tony’s 10 Most Intimidating Quotes

8 “I don’t care if they shove a scud missile up your ass. This is my corner. You pay anyone but me, I’m coming back for your thumb.”

For all of his problems, Christopher is undeniably good at being a gangster. He’s fearless and ready to throw down whenever it’s required of him. In this particular instance, he casually approaches a man in a friendly and conversational manner before suddenly beating him to the ground over a pay dispute.

Once down on the ground, Christopher begins to strangle the man with his own yo-yo as he lays down the law of his territory.

7 “I’ll leave you here, you one shoe c***sucker... You know how fast I can run, I’ll leave you in the f***ing dust.”

One of The Sopranos’ biggest rivalries was between Christopher and fellow gangster Peter "Paulie Walnuts" Gualtieri. Much older, and far less connected than Christopher, Paulie frequently butts heads with him over their standing in the gang and what each one thinks they owe the other.

After botching a murder in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, the two become lost in the frozen maze of trees and quickly fall apart under the pressure. After Paulie loses a shoe and night falls on them, the pair really begin to crack.

RELATED: The Sopranos: Paulie's 10 Most Intimidating Quotes

6 “Why don’t you just f*** yourself. Save a little money.”

The somewhat respectful, somewhat hateful, back and forth between Christopher and Paulie Walnuts follows the pair no matter where they are. When one is happy, the other is often unhappy. When one is winning, the other’s usually losing.

After Paulie suggests that he may go find “a broad” to cap off a great meal, Christopher makes his own suggestion as to what Paulie can go and do.

5 “Pours you a drink with one hand. Judges you with the other if you take it.”

Of all of Christopher’s difficult relationships throughout the show, none is more complicated than his one with Tony. Clearly, both characters are frustrated by one another. Christopher resents Tony for his lack of upward movement in the organization while Tony resents Christopher for his lack of reliability.

Both are unable to fully express their frustrations as they’re family but Christopher particularly as Tony is still his boss above all else. This rare assessment of Tony is only said to a group of people completely outside the mafia.

RELATED: The 10 Worst Episodes of The Sopranos, According To IMDb

4 “You touch a single f***in' crust, you’re gonna wish you took that job at McDonald’s.”

When waiting for his turn in a bakery, Christopher becomes increasingly angry at the clerk serving fellow crew member Vito Spatafore before him. Not knowing who he’s talking to, the clerk refuses to back down. Things go as well as you’d expect with Christopher being his usual hotheaded self.

The situation continues to get worse until Christopher pulls out a gun and gets his pastries as he barks orders and fires bullets at the terrified clerk’s feet.

3 “Louis Brasi sleeps with the fishes.”

The Sopranos was a show that frequently alluded to the larger gangster stories of American pop culture, particularly the iconic movies that depicted the Italian mafia in America.

During a discussion with cohort Salvatore "Big Pussy" Bonpensiero over a murder that Christopher committed without authorization, Christopher attempts to shrug it off by misquoting the famous line from The Godfather, “Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes,” which Pussy corrects him on.

RELATED: 9 Things Which Make No Sense In The Sopranos

2 “What I’m saying is…”

As Christopher’s drug addiction worsens throughout the show, he becomes increasingly worse at hiding it and his musings become more incoherent. As evidenced by his eulogy to Tony’s mother, which you can read below in its trailing-off entirety.

“They say there's no two people on Earth exactly the same. No two faces. No two sets of fingerprints. But do they know that for sure? Because they would have to get everybody together in one huge space and obviously that’s not possible, even with computers. And not only that, they’d have to get all the people who've ever lived, not just the ones now. So they got no proof. They got nothing. Mrs. Soprano may have passed but who’s to say there isn’t another Mrs. Soprano just like her, or will be? Maybe not with the same fears and paranoia but the same. What I’m saying is…”

1 “You ever feel like nothin’ good was ever gonna happen to you?”

The tragedy of Christopher is how consistently lost he feels throughout The Sopranos without ever really finding any resolution. He struggles with addiction but inevitably relapses into it. He achieves most of his professional goals in, and outside of, the mafia but he never truly feels fulfilled by any of it.

He expresses this lack of contentment to several characters throughout the show and, in this particular instance, to Paulie Walnuts. He talks about how he feels like a fictional character with no story arc and the resulting fear that his life will never have meaning. True to form, Paulie answers his question bluntly: “Yeah, and nothing ever did. So what?”

NEXT: The Sopranos: 10 Hidden Details You Never Noticed

source https://screenrant.com/christopher-moltisantis-10-best-quotes-sopranos-ranked/

#screenrant

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lifeonashelf · 5 years

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CIGARETTES AFTER SEX

Perhaps fittingly, the band Cigarettes After Sex was recommended to me by a woman I have been simultaneously naked with.

If she’s reading this, I want to assure her that she won’t be identified here (no need to drag her name through the mud; I figure anyone who’s been simultaneously naked with me has already suffered enough). Fortunately, she wasn’t naked when she suggested I should give Cigarettes After Sex a listen—if someone’s thinking about bands to recommend to you while you’re simultaneously naked with them, you’re clearly doing something wrong. Plus, had she been naked at the time, it’s highly unlikely I would have even registered her advocacy of Cigarettes After Sex—I very much enjoy seeing her naked, so contemplating any matters unrelated to her proximate nakedness is generally unfeasible under those circumstances. She told me to check out the band roughly an hour before any mutual nudity transpired, and I duly noted her endorsement because at that point I wasn’t even aware that mutual nudity was pending—if I had known that, I would have definitely been raptly musing on how super-awesome it was that we were both going to be naked in a hour instead of raptly musing on what this band she was telling me about called Cigarettes After Sex might sound like.

And maybe you’re now thinking, “dude, you had your arm around this girl on the couch in your apartment and she started talking to you about a band called Cigarettes After Sex… how could you not know simultaneous nakedness was imminent?” Which is, you know, a fair question. So I guess I should clarify that me and this woman have been friends for many years, but we’ve only taken our clothes off in the same locality on a handful of occasions—in other words, when we see each other, it isn’t necessarily a given that we’re going to see each other’s genitals at some point in the evening. It’s actually sort of ironic that this particular girl would be the one to tell me about Cigarettes After Sex, because I would very likely see her naked more frequently if I didn’t smoke cigarettes; she’s inherently grossed out by the habit, so whenever we hang out I have to be mindful that if I light up around her, the chances of any subsequent synchronized nudity taking place become greatly diminished.

Anyway, since everyone who knows anything at all about me knows I love music, people are always recommending bands to me. Truthfully, I rarely actually investigate those bands. This is mostly because I’m always worried I’ll think their music is terrible and end up trapped in an awkward situation when the person inevitably asks for my feedback later, at which point I will either have to: a) lie, or b) inform them I think the band they told me is awesome sucks. Neither of those scenarios especially appeals to me, so I usually just play things safe and say, “I haven’t had a chance to check them out yet” a few times until the person forgets they ever recommended a band to me at all. It’s not a perfect solution, but I am not a perfect man (as anybody who has ever been simultaneously naked with me can readily attest to).

Despite my typical methodology, I decided maybe I should go ahead and listen to this specific recommendation, both because Cigarettes After Sex is a decisively superb name for a band, and because the suggestions of the girl who told me about them have been mostly on point in the past—for instance, she was the first person to play me the Metric song “Patriarch On A Vespa”, which was the song that made me realize Metric is fucking rad. Even though Radiohead is her absolute favorite band of all time and I think almost everything Radiohead has recorded in the last 17 years is ostentatious dogshit, generally she has excellent taste (despite her choosing to engage in contemporaneous nakedness with me on occasion).

So I did indeed make it a point to seek out Cigarettes After Sex. And, hey, as it turns out: Cigarettes After Sex is really, really, really good. Their music is totally sensual, too, so once I heard them I inevitably ended up reckoning they would have supplied a perfect soundtrack while me and the girl who mentioned them to me were in the process of becoming simultaneously naked that night (at the time, we were instead listening to a record by an outfit called Pity Sex, which—looking back—is probably not the band I would have chosen if had known we were soon to begin subtracting clothes from each other, regardless of their moniker being decidedly appropriate under the circumstances).

Rest assured, even if you’re not in the altogether with someone while you listen to Cigarettes After Sex, they still sound marvelous (I’m the only naked person in my apartment at the moment, and I’m enjoying their self-titled debut just fine). Most of their songs are virtually interchangeable—imagine Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” played at a half-speed on a broken turntable with Hope Sandoval from Mazzy Star handling the vocal duties and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what every track on Cigarettes After Sex sounds like. Notwithstanding, the band’s single-leitmotif approach doesn’t bother me too much because they do the one thing they do extremely well. And the voice driving these wistful canticles is unequivocally superb—so exquisitely feminine and amatory, in fact, that I was frankly amazed to learn the tunes were all written, produced, and performed by a singer named Greg Gonzalez, who ostensibly has a penis.

Though the lyrics are predominantly focused on various erotic entanglements, the downcast aura which permeates this slow-burning cycle seems to infer that sex inevitably leads to catastrophe (this is another thing that anybody who has ever been simultaneously naked with me can readily attest to). Gonzalez’s tales are raptly fixated on the grey shades in the pupils of starry-eyed lovers, reveling in the duskiest corners of carnal partnerships, where ardor has as much potential to cause pain as pleasure and sending roses and sending dick-picks are weighed as equally romantic gestures. His pensive poetry is infused with a compelling and refreshingly candid duality, vacillating between tenderness and vulgarity with an almost-schizophrenic abandon. It’s certainly jarring the first time you hear a phrase like “show me your tits” or “sucking cock” in songs this gorgeous, yet Gonzalez isn’t merely being crass—he’s just a songwriter honest enough to acknowledge that sometimes sweethearts make gentle velvety love and sometimes they fuck each other’s brains out. He peers his lens into the windows of bridal suites with perfumed silk sheets and filthy 20-buck-a-night motel rooms with paper-thin walls, and evidently feels equally at home in both. Though each track here qualifies as a beautiful love song, the overall dictum of Cigarettes After Sex seems to be that lust has a regal beauty of its own.

Don’t be misled, though. The somber ambiance that permeates the record suggests that the beating heart of this lush and alluring song-cycle is a fragmented one. The disc’s magnificent opener “K.” plays thing fairly straight, bursting with meditations about kissing until dawn and bodies blissfully intertwined in afterglow as they wait for sleep to come. But this candlelit exuberance only lasts about five minutes; the title of the next song—“Each Time You Fall In Love”—is also its first line, and the second line is, “it’s clearly not enough.” Even on a cut called “Sweet”—in which Gonzalez makes the truly awh-worthy declaration that when his girl sends him dirty videos, her smile and her eyes are the parts of her body he focuses on most—the sweetness culminates with him vowing, “I would gladly break my heart for you.”

It’s maybe a bit incongruous that music this melancholy will undoubtedly fuel countless make-out sessions—hell, at this very minute, there are probably multitudes of people getting undressed in tandem while Cigarettes After Sex softly plays on the stereo in the background (and good for them; they’re certainly having a better night than I am). But whether you’re fervidly caressing someone’s anatomy or simply sitting at your laptop drinking iced tea in your underwear at three in the morning, I’m here to tell you that Cigarettes After Sex is a wonderful record which I have absolutely nothing bad to say about. And now that I’ve acquainted myself with the band, I can categorically state that finding out about them was easily the second-best thing that happened to me the night I found out about them.

Which reminds me, it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen my friend who I sometimes experience concomitant nudity with. I should shoot her a text tomorrow and see if she feels like coming over to listen to records sometime soon.

Hey, I was only suggesting I should invite her over so she can recommend some more bands to me since I like this one so much… Why, what did you think I was talking about?

July 16, 2018

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forrestleifwoods · 6 years

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Jessica Malone with Giorgi Khokhobashvili

Cante Ao Vinho 5250 Front Street, Rocklin, Cal. 95677 Friday, May 18, 2018

With a smile, bangs hanging attractively over her eyes, and guitar in hand, Jessica, and accompanist Giorgi (violin) -- both happily playing acoustic -- ease into the gentle lilt of "Gold Flowers of the West", rock wall appropriate to this quarry town as fitting backdrop, a mystery of the wine bar’s interior configurations balancing the acoustics to fine effect. The song, casually fading in the middle over rhythm guitar, is a brand new one inspired by how much Jessica misses California when she’s away; a line from which, 'My voice was meant for singing', accurately sets the tone for the performance. It is; she was.

Another new one, “Lonesome in Montana”, written for her mom, shows her strong vocal midrange. The evening's drink of choice, ‘Vinho Doce Dessert Wine’, a white port at a reasonable $8, is confidently well-fettled, itself, and so good, I couldn't put it down, even made it seem there was an extra verse to the song. Giorgi whips off a short solo, sharp and melodically mindful, and just at the upper bound of ideally loud. The people at the soundboard have everything dialed.

Dreamily languorous arpeggios alternating with complementary single notes open their third number, an exceptional piece of wistful melancholia that Jessica’s recorded twice, in two effectively differentiable mixes. The song proceeds, as many of hers do, like a laid back summer day out in the country; and later, during the bridge, Giorgi fills the role a drummer handles in some of their live shows: with his right hand he taps his bow on the violin's body, and with his left, gives the upper neck a four-fingered tap, all in a timed-tandem. I'd always heard it was a versatile instrument. She tilts her guitar, calling thus to the muses of the backcountry highways, and follows through with a decisive chord, bringing in Giorgi's violin solo of poetically aerial tones harvested from the Steinhardt strata; and he finishes off “A Fine Line” with a tranquil downbow.

Strong guitar chords begin the uptempo of the next number, as the violin seconds her into a song closely akin to The Beatles' "I've Just Seen A Face"; and if so, it's worth noting that McCartney, the songwriter, felt it rather country-western, making its rendition, here, that much closer to a match; fitting, too the performer's repertoire of well-disposed songs, romantic introspections of life that have all the relevance that bands posturing with dated credos never do.

Imperative chords, building to further solidity, soon adds the violin into another new song. There’s a total assuredness, and certainty, in her playing; and this she accentuates expressively, joyously; while Giorgi, in one of many stringed idioms, slots in an early, short solo. “Summer Weather” is my favorite of the set so far, a minor-keyed folk blaster with a muted violin wah wah solo; and if your eyes wander to the floor, as eyes that are well-wined might, you'll see a bank of at least six pedals in front of said musician -- or more; there were a lot. A weaving violin solo over downplayed guitar ends the number.

Next up is “Angel of Montgomery”, a Prine classic burnished to lustrousness. I can forgive the annoyance of an occasional cover when it’s a track heard so infrequently; and more, that the performer plays it deftly into their performance, as she does, here; and to even better effect, being from the viewpoint, a woman's, for which it was written. Meanwhile, Giorgi takes a polite background to Jessica’s voice, the latter of whom fittingly hits the guttural on key words, as “cowboy”. A fiddly violin solo appears late in as three more people arrive, give attentive ear; and no one leaves.

Picking up a ukulele for the next song, and, striking some crisp strings, Jessica leaves just enough room for the violin to easily glide into “Wake Up With The Sun”, the track that opens her second CD release. Her expressiveness adds to her art, wraps the audient in the song’s presence; the duo now playing to a reasonably full house, all but one table occupied. Facing Giorgi during an extended violin solo, she's on it with her ukelele, matches him; and calls it, another in a succession of songs well-pedigreed from the hinterland of country-folk.

Before their eighth, Jessica relates her earlier life in northern Cal, with her dad as roadie, a good tale. High-treble uke chords, sharp, even staccato, open “Best Love”, a slow and methodic piece, working into a passage of lone ukulele, the violin subtilized into a faraway background until we hit the anthemic chorus, the centerpiece of whose yarn she spins out as, “I'm blazing trails with my baby, Some people might think we're crazy”. When the lyric calls for it, her voice is once again throaty, and she employs it to optimal effect. A violin solo rounds it out, the whole song characterized by well-spaced four-stringed chords, sharp and in full-color contrast, wrapping up their first set. If I had a quibble from the show, and it’d be the only one, it’s that the chorus is a tad repetitive, could perhaps use an added couplet of rhymes to spur the intrigue; but it could also well be said that the song’s very particularity of character compensates.

A break followed; and as I resistantly fixed to make my unwished-for departure, it appeared that, of the audience, at least half were staying for the second part of the performance. To this she warmed up with what, I think I may safely say, is in typical Jessica fashion, galloping confidently into the piece, minor key in hand, opening the door to a winning progression of scales on this second set opener, singing, "...this love's on fire...", as Giorgi returns to take his place on stage for an obliquely darksome tune of a positively rocked Americana.

A gentle hum remained with me for hours afterward: the wafture from that stemmed glass; the rapture of Jessica’s songs. Looking at the numbers on her event page for the night, either everyone showed up, or found replacements to save face, a rarity for most performances where 'interested' somehow equates to 'going'. Call it a higher quality following: All but one person in the venue were wrapt or otherwise attentive during the show. Looking for more, to follow up on my post-concert exposure, from her web repertory she offers at least one tune I’d denote pure country (which I credit with the twang of steel I'd misremembered, as I found when returning to the song several days later), and easily a few that favor the folk idiom; but in the main, the body of her work strikes me as roping in both of these, the live experience then amplifying them into a rock-and-rolled lark, easily defining a genre -- if only a few thousand know it so far. Jessica’s spirited command of her instruments, including – especially – her measured voice, bright, and articulately projected, sees her casually flinging her songs out, so that you receive, with smiles, the joie de vivre her words imply. The old west mule-paced lilt of select phrasing on the ukulele pulls you right into her world of a happy past; and this she passes on to those present. She’s published two studio CDs (see JessicaMaloneMusic.com) all of whose tunes you can spot, in addition to some others on Soundcloud and Youtube. Even the high art-folk of Joni’s strings -- guitar and piano -- were never this emphatically unambiguous; and her recordings not only set the standard, but the bar, for well-defined notation from ‘68-75, over and above the (adjectivally speaking) less accentuate Judy, Judee, Judith, Julie, Jackie, Janis, Joan, and... -- oh wait, Jolene was a song -- these by way of epochal instance. I tend to think that if Jessica's catalog took a trip on the wayback machine, it'd find itself as a reasonably apt companion piece to Cheryl Dilcher's Special Songs (1970).

Jessica's estimable recorded body of music reflects much of what I’ve cited here; but it's the live experience (I'll say it again) that is, conspicuously, that much more riveting, the contrasts, shadings, and dynamism of every chord paired with and against every individual note; and more remarkably, if possible, the smooth quality and control of her softly resonant voice, mistily opaque, expressing a wider dynamic range, far beyond the scope of what others of her stamp, plying her genre (or any other) are generally capable of; that said with no exaggeration. Timbrally, the twanged accent requisite of country singers is absent, barring a lone syllable or two. Unexpectedly, an occasional bluesy edge to her voice erupts, often melding into a dash of the sultry; then held, just, in check. It’s the way she flings it out. From edged kinetics with swing, to the pastorale, and no pretensions, she lets her hair down and keeps it there; artful songs of the heart seen through a window on the West, old and new, of languid evenings under the empyrean when the heart pines for the wide open spaces and skies; music of the open roads; and dusty, footloose, and freeborn, she alloys the not-inconsonant remembrance of faraway melancholy and secret triumph within her sound, which, at the end of the day is ever-optimistic, the cheer of a pot of gold at the end of each painted number. The heart, solitary and otherwise, always overcomes.

Songs of patient longings, straddling the wistful and the pensive, her voice ranges wide; and, into the warp and weft of her material, there’s even a piece of medieval literary history that fits, satin glovelike, into the theme of her work. Singing, too, of leisure days in the country and hearts fraught, but sanguine, these cancoes, bountifully personalized, lay out a banquet of character, markedly distinct from the lazy, lo-fi, one-chord, atonal folkie strum carried, when at all, by dragging, off-key monotone vocals mouthing naive lyrics; whose old-hat minimalisms are fobbed off by gushing fans, as the new, fashionably underground, thing; the amateur decompositional substance of whose fluff is, to a varying extent, fulfilled by the latter-day likes of Berryhill and Difranco; by early Kahn and Jewel; and into whose puddle, to Jessica’s credit, she seems in no immediate hurry to step. ~ And I’ll be the one to break it: only a mass pharmacopic delusion gives the Fateful Meds any remote semblance, beyond that of a glorified jugband, of actual musicianship, there being a point where lack of sophistication crosses the line from 'homespun charm' to 'unburdened by talent'. In marked, and classy, distinction, what we’ve got here is the blithesome antithesis: Jessica keeps the ‘art’ in artist.

______________ The venue, a partner of the Placer Wine Trail, is pronounced 'Cahntay Ah Veenyo', and translates to 'sing to the wine'; though there's no question but that the wine was singing to me. The helpful service from the lady behind the counter was exceptional; and I cannot more highly recommend the rich nectar of their Vinho Doce Dessert Wine. While hoping for the return of their riesling, and Sweet Dreams Dessert Wine, their red berry sangria, beckons, as does the apple caramel (which, sneakily, looks like a white wine). Cante Ao Vinho is located, picturesquely, across from both an historic chapel (of 1883 vintage), and a small grapevine-enwreathed orchard. adding to the local color, all on a side street just off Rocklin Road, and far enough from the thoroughfare to lend a sufficient sense of a quiet country air within the city, providing you with peaceful potations, ao ar livre, on their front porch. Their tasting hours are Friday-Sunday 11-5; the wine bar's open Wednesday and Thursday 4-8, Friday and Saturday 5-9; with live music on many, if not most, Friday and Saturday evenings, 7-9: Do check their calendar: CanteAoVinho.com/events/, as Jessica Malone is scheduled to make another stopover, soon.

-Forrest Woods

Source: Smaug Thought

#Violin #Ukulele #Ukelele #The Waiting Hours #Sacramento Live Music #Rocklin #Music #Miles Left to Walk #JessicaMaloneMusic #Jessica Malone #Giorgi Khokhobashvili #Folk #Entertainment #Country Folk #Cante Ao Vinho #Americana #Acoustic Guitar #Posted by The Stygian Heresy in Concert Reviews

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