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callmecallmecrazy · 4 years

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Keeping Up with Old Friends

*****

Well, it’s another odd one. Somewhere between preppy and stodgy, old-fashioned man I guess? This is actually brand spanking new! If it hadn’t been for Covid, this would have been the fastest story I’d ever written!

*****

“Josh? Is that you?” Henley saw his old college pal, the wannabe hipster with a scruffy beard and flannel button downs ordering coffee at a Starbucks. Except, scruffy Josh was smooth shaved with a gentle part in his hair and dressed in a tight fitting lime green polo, creased khakis, and polished loafers. And the Josh he knew would never order from Starbucks or any corporate chain for that matter. But the tiny polo logo on his chest suggested that had definitely changed.

“Henley! Hey man,” his voice was still the same chipper and little high pitched. Henley met his friend in a hug, noticing that his formerly thin arms had a plethora of veins bulging up over visible muscles. For someone who claimed to hate pretension, he sure had gone full tilt.

“Surprised to see you here,” Henley half-joked while teasingly pressing on the polo player on Josh’s shirt.

“Ha! Yeah man, turns out they have some good stuff! Plus, it’s close to work.”

“Where are you working now?”

“Hemplebaum Inc.” The big smile he offered was met by a wide eyed stare from Henley. Josh was a film and lighting guy. Last they’d talked, he’d been working on some plays downtown. Certainly not at “evil corporation incorporated”.

“What happened to the plays?”

“Ya know, I wanted a change.” Josh shoved his hands into his pockets. “Plus, the money sucks. I didn’t want to share a studio my whole life.” “Aren’t they, like, totally evil?” Josh frowned, his face taking on an overly broad and exaggerated look. Had his head grown?

“Hey man, they’re cool. I got headhunted by a department chief. I’m not one of those office drones filling foreclosures and manipulating bank accounts.” In response to Henley’s increasingly horrified look, Josh shrugged and laughed. “I don’t think they do that stuff anymore either.”

He glanced at his watch, a shiny rolex, and then back at Henley. “Hey man, great seeing you. Maybe we’ll hang out sometime? I gotta get back to the office!” Henley watched Josh walk out, noticing how well he filled out those khakis. His buttocks had developed a shelf like quality, curving the pants out awkwardly as he walked away.

“That was so strange,” Henley said aloud. But people change. Josh seemed happy and healthy. Maybe he always wanted to be a frat boy after all? Henley got his coffee, black, and took the train downtown. As he sipped on the scalding coffee, Henley did think about some of what Josh said. Downtown was prohibitively expensive. Henley paid in time what he couldn't afford in rent having to ride in everyday. Sure, he loved life down here but he really couldn’t enjoy it as much as he’d like. But then, Henley could never handle being some corporate drone.

-----

“Josh? Is that you?” The big man standing in front of the drink counter, picking up a gigantic fuzzy looking drink, didn’t physically resemble Josh at all. He was big, the Navy blazer he wore couldn’t hide the broad shoulders and his green and blue rep tie had a hard time lying flat over his bulging pecs. And his hair, last time well groomed but still with a youthful length, was sheared down into a practically flat bit of black hair, shiny and parted. The face was still the same, even though the hair made his face look extremely square.

The man looked back at Henley confused for a moment before a tinge of understanding glittered in his eyes.

“Henley Tator,” his voice was slower and deeper. While Henley went in for a hug, Josh replied with a one armed side hug and pat on the back. He practically grimaced when Henley went full hug.

“Josh! Man, it’s been awhile.” “Yes Henley, I’ve been very busy at work. And please, call me Joshua, it’s more professional.”

“Wow, still at Hemplebaum?”

“Yes, moving up the ladder. What about you, Henley?”

“Oh ya know, I’m still at the art funding startup. It’s hard but I enjoy it.”

“Pay well?” “Ha, you know it doesn’t.” “I can tell,” Joshua eyed Henley’s tattered jeans and waffle shirt with distaste. Henley was taken aback by the outright disdain.

“Well, I’m passionate about it.” Joshua just nodded. “You’re looking good. Gym time is really paying off.” “Yes,” Joshua’s stern demeanor dropped a touch, there a bit more levity in his voice suddenly. “There’s a corporate gym and it’s free and they even give you an hour a day to use it - paid!” He was practically giddy as he talked. Henley relaxed a bit. This was the Josh he knew, chirpy and friendly though not exceptionally outgoing. And honestly, Josh had always been the kind of guy who dove head first into anything. It really wasn’t shocking that he’d treat his job the same way he’d treated edibles, EDM, and frisbee golf.

“You still doing frisbee golf? Since you’ve got the bod now,” Henley playfully slapped one of Joshua’s broad shoulders and was shocked at how firm the muscle was.

“I’ve been doing a lot of golf! I play with several of my coworkers and even some of the junior partners. I’m getting my handicap down too.”

“Oh, you’re playing real golf?”

“Yes, it’s very enjoyable. And great for business bonding. Chance for men to talk about work, wives, sports. Say, you watch the game last weekend?” That was wholly unlike Josh. But again, he was probably throwing himself into the corporate world.

“Nah, man, I’m not into basketball.”

“It’s football season.” He replied so directly and sincerely Henley almost fell over. “I know not everyone is into the NFL, but I assumed you would at least watch your alma mater. And our Bulls are having a great season. 4-0 in conference play.” Joshua kept talking about football as Henley stared deep into his eyes. Was this really Josh? The guy hadn’t even known what sport a touchdown was part of.

“Anyway, Henley, it’s been great catching up. Maybe we can grab some beers and watch a game sometime. I need to return to the office.” Joshua checked his watch, flashing the shiny gold in front of Henley. As the muscleman walked out, Henley couldn’t help but notice the incredibly large derriere. The vents on his suit jacket hung awkwardly over the luscious rump and it jiggled every so slight as he walked. A stunning contrast to the hard muscle covering the rest of his body.

“Yeah, great to see you Josh-ua,” he forced out the last syllable. It made sense to do it. This was not the Josh he knew. This was apparently Joshua, his friend? Henley grabbed his coffee, black, and tried to sip on it on the train. It was a little too hot for him and he was stuck holding it between his hands awkwardly for the whole ride.

-----

“Josh? Is that you? I mean, Joshua?” Henley had avoided the coffee shop since their last encounter. He told himself it was all in his head, but everything about these encounters creeped him out. Joshua seemed like a totally different person. He wasn’t sure if it was steroids, the growth seemed extremely quick, or perhaps just the makeover itself made him look different. But he was finally caffeine deprived enough to step in, and there was Joshua. Or at least a Joshua facsimile standing next to another man.

This Joshua wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly straining at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch. It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button down shirt and blue and green rep tie. His hair was the same, but his face had undergone a change. His jaw, formerly a little pointed and sharp, spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape. He stood ramrod straight, sipping from his milky looking drink. The man next to Joshua was older, but otherwise nearly identical. He was thicker around the middle, but any gut he might have was hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His tie was black and grey with a subtle windowpane pattern.

The man stared at Henley for a moment before tapping Joshua on the shoulder.

“John Howard,” his voice was slow and deep. “I believe this boy is trying to get your attention.” The younger man turned to look at Henley and then a faint bit of recognition crossed his face.

“Henley Tator,” the voice was practically monotone, low and deep. He took a few powerful steps forward and offered a large, rough hand. Confused, Henley accepted it and the grip practically shattered his bones.

“Mr. Amplebottom,” Joshua turned to face the older man. “This is a friend from college. Henley Tator. Henley, this is my boss.” He gestured robotically between the two. Amplebottom offered his hand and it was the same rough shake.

“Nice to meet you….,” Henley sort of trailed off, hoping to get a first name.

“And to you, Henley,” he put a very strange emphasis on the words, as though he had never said them before. Henley turned back to his old friend.

“So, Joshua,...” he was cut off by a cough from Amplebottom.

“Please call me John Howard,” Joshua said curtly. “Mr. Amplebottom thinks I would be better suited professionally as John Howard.” The way he spoke, extremely even in both rhythm and pitch, was unnerving. Henley could make out some of Josh’s features in the hulking face before him. An upturned nose and naturally thin eyebrows over wide eyes resembled the Josh he knew. But the rest of the face clearly belonged to this corporate meathead named John Howard.

“Okay, John-”

“John Howard.”

“John Howard. So, how is work?”

“I am very happy at Hemplebaum. I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions under Mr. Amplebottom. He has been a great advisor in my career.”

“That’s great. Glad to hear you’re doing good!”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom has assigned me to a downtown acquisition project.”

“Acquisition?”

“Correct, we have a potential development on 520 Porter and need to remove the building.”

“Huh, okay. So what building are you removing?”

“Currently the future site of Hemple Housing Porter is occupied by the Cherub Theatre.” “Cherub Theatre? You used to work there? You wanna tear it down?”

“It is an eyesore. And it occupies a lot with high economic potential. It is better suited for development.”

“Josh-,”

“John Howard.”

“What the hell happened to you?” The wide eyes suddenly narrowed sharply and almost seemed to sink back into his skull a little.

“I’m offended by your tone, Henley. And honestly,” he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves while disgustingly eyeing Henley’s dirty clothes up and down. “I grew up. You could do with some growing.”

“You’ve grown into a soulless jerk. We used to mock those fucking money obsessed frat boys back in college.” “I just bought a house out in Chester. Right next door to Chadwick Statton. You remember Chadwick?” “Oh my god, he was that Kappa Kappa Kappa asshole.”

“The KKK joke is stale. Besides, it’s very difficult to purchase a home in that neighborhood. I was fortunate to golf with him and he gave me an in with the Board. Plus, I’m working on my country club application. The application fee is $50,000. Could you afford that?” “Jesus Christ! Fifty k just to fucking apply? You’re insane.”

“And you, Henley, are a child. But if you ever decide to grow up,” he reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a thick black card and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt.

“John Howard,” Mr. Amplebottom suddenly interrupted the discussion. John Howard stiffened up and faced his boss. “I’m glad you had this chance to catch up with your fraternity brother, but we have wasted time. I assume you’ll stay late to make it up?” “Of course, Mr. Amplebottom.” They turned to leave. Henley got a good look at the pair. Despite the broad shoulders and bulging pectorals, both had a distinctly pear shaped body, with wide hips and massive butts that shook just a touch as they walked. Henley laughed to himself, realizing Amplebottom really lived up to his name.

Henley grabbed the card from his pocket and examined it. It was a thick card stock and slightly textured. The Hemplebaum logo was obnoxiously large in one corner. Right in the middle was John Howard Johnson, Associate. Henley was quite sure he was going mad. That was absolutely not his last name in college! Had he changed his entire fucking name to fit in with these people? Golfing with Chad, obeying his boss like some braindead goon, destroying his old workplace to build, what? Multi-use condos? Like there isn’t enough of that? The Cherub is a relic, in a good way. Had Josh been putting on the entire time he was in college? Was this who he truly was? No, no this name changing was a deeper sign. Maybe a psychotic break?

It occurred to him that standing in a Starbucks staring at a business card as people queued up around him made him look insane. And he had to get to work anyway. This whole thing had become so ridiculous he’d just ignore it. He ordered his coffee, adding a heavy dose of cream, and went downtown.

-----

“John Howard? Is that you?”

“You’ve reached Hemblebaum Inc acquisitions division. How may I direct your call?” Damn, his card didn’t even list a direct number. Henley had tossed the card around his apartment for a while, even starting to dial once or twice. But then he’d ask himself why exactly he was doing this. John Howard, whoever he was, wasn’t Henley’s old friend. He wouldn’t have even spoken to Henley back in the day. But theoretically this man was Josh or had been Josh. And Henley couldn’t shake him from his mind.

“May I speak with John Howard Johnson?” Henley’s voice cracked a touch as he spurt out the words.

“I’ll transfer you to his desk,” replied the chipper female voice. The line filled with static and then began ringing. After a few rings, he was bumped back to the secretary.

“Would you like me to give Mr. Johnson a message on your behalf?” “Oh, uh, no thank you.”

“If this is a private matter, I can forward you to his personal mailbox.”

“Sure.”

“One moment.” There wasn’t any ring, just straight to the mailbox. He could practically see the stodgy man who produced the recording.

“You have reached the desk of John Howard Johnson. Leave a message and I will respond.” Damn, he was so terse and humorless. And what exactly was he going to say? The words came out of his mouth before he could think about them.

“Hey, John Howard. This is Henley Tator, from college. I was thinking about what you said when you gave me your card. So, call me back?” He left his number and hung up. What on earth had he been thinking? I mean, the growing up thing had crossed his mind. His two bedroom apartment was rough to afford even with two roommates. It would be nice to have his own place. And his clothes could use an update from his student days. Of course, he wondered exactly how long he’d be waiting for a call back, which gave him far too much time to ponder his plans.

------

“This is Henley,” he wouldn’t normally answer the phone for an unknown number, but since he had no idea when John Howard would call, or from what number, Henley snagged the phone every time it rang. Sure, he’d fielded a few calls from telemarketers, but he was going to get to the bottom of this. Hardy Boy or something or other.

“Hello Henley, this is John Howard Johnson, I am returning your call from 2:15.” Damn, he was a total stiff. He was probably sitting at his desk, feet flat on the floor, back ramrod straight staring straight ahead.

“Hey John Howard, how’s it going?”

“I am well, Henley, how may I assist you?” Straight to the point.

“Well, you know I was thinking about what you said at Starbucks. About growing up and stuff.”

“Yes, you are quite childish.” “Can you help?”

“Of course, I think an interview with Mr. Amplebottom would be a delightful way to have a new start. I shall arrange an 8:00 a.m. appointment tomorrow. He’ll be expecting you. Check in at the lobby by 7:45. Oh, and please find more suitable attire. This is a professional work environment.” “Great, well, that’s a lot more than I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Umm, no idea.”

“You asked for help, I am providing it. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, no. Thank you so much! I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll see Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you, John Howard.”

“You are welcome, Henley.” Click. Well, that was brisk. But a development. Now of course, he’d need to find clothes. I mean, he had a suit, just the one, in navy blue, and it got pulled out once a year or so for weddings. A dab of cologne would top it off. He didn’t want to be suspicious. Of course, as far as he could tell, the only person who thought something was amiss was him.

-----

“This is Henley,” he replied to the officer checking name at the front desk. He was a private security guard, bulky and bull necked with biceps that practically shredded his sleeves. The stern faced man checked a list carefully.

“First name?”

“Henley.” The officer stared at him.

“Henley Henley?”

“No, Henley Tator.” He could sense the guard sighing internally. Henley was such an odd name, it usually was more than enough information for people to locate him. But, judging by John Howard, this was probably an extremely by-the-books business.

“39th floor. Please give your name to the secretary and she’ll let you in. Tator, Henley. Less confusion.” The man curtly directed him towards the elevator and returned to his post by the door.

Everything about the lobby, the elevator and the entry way on floor 39 was the same: wood, dark, overbearing. Harsh fluorescent lighting easily guided the path. The whole place was like a time capsule, the height of early 60s style. This might as well have been a set for the early seasons of Mad Men.

The sharp ping of the elevator signalled his arrival and after a quick check-in, he was led across a sea of cubicles towards a large office in the corner. Despite the early time, the office was already alive. He caught glimpses of suited men at some desks and a trio of buff suits standing by a water cooler.

Amplebottom’s office continued the trend. It was big with large windows along the wall. He had a gigantic wooden desk with an equally large chair that seemed twice as wide as normal. Which made sense given his butt. He glanced up as Henley entered but did not stand.

“Henley Tator,” the way he said his name was so peculiar. He spoke so slowly that emphasis ended up on the wrong syllables, making the words sound foreign to Henley himself.

“Mr. Amplebottom,” Henley walked over in front of the desk and offered his hand. Amblebottom leaned forward and shook it. He’d prepared himself for the vice grip and felt the muscles in his forearm swell as he clenched back. Once that was over, Henley pulled back a chair and began to sit.

“Before you sit down,” his thick words poured molasses over Henley’s movements. He found himself standing upright and looking at Amplebottom. The man was a practically a hypermasculine parody, low brow, big nose, wide jaw with a gigantic cleft chin. A touch of receding hair over the temples added more dignity than age. His clothing was similar to the other day, pale black suit and subtle tie.

“John Howard setup this interview. I am unsure how you can contribute to Hemplebaum.” Henley stood uncomfortably as Amplebottom stared at him. He took a dry swallow and stared into the big man’s eyes. They were a strange grey color, cold and severe and almost lifeless. He also found it hard to look away, they were enrapturing. “What do you expect from me?” Henley was almost sure he saw the grey eyes flash.

“I guess, umm, I was just hoping for a job?”

“That sounds very convincing, son,” the droll response unnerved Henley more.

“I want to try something new. More grown-up.”

“Hemplebaum isn’t some urban start up with billiards and soy milk. This is a very demanding corporation. I expect my employees to be eager and dedicated.”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom,” Henley found himself nodding in response. He spread his legs a little wider and clasped his hands behind his back. It was more comfortable than just letting them hang and it prevented fidgeting.

“This job can also be very rewarding. Acquisitions works on a baseline salary plus commission incentives and bonuses.”

“How much could I make?” Henley honesty hadn’t thought about the actual financial potential of the job. Sure, he’d casually looked up the cost of homes in Chester, but he hadn’t really considered the salary.

“As a Junior Associate, you’d start with a baseline of 100 plus three percent commission with incentives quarterly based on goals and projects. Do well, and you can quickly move up.”

“Shit, seriously?”

“I am always serious Henley.”

“No, sorry, Sir,” he tacked on the honorific quickly. The financial prospects were huge! “That’s more than twice what I make now.”

“Yes, the corporate world has perks.”

“I’d like a job as a Junior Associate, Mr. Amplebottom.” That caused the bigger man to smile.

“Are you willing to dedicate yourself to your job, Henley? We do not tolerate slackers.”

“Yessir!”

“Well, I think, based on John Howard’s recommendation, that I can give you a test run.”

“Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“However, there will be a few adjustments required. Your suit is fine, the sneakers are not. And ties are mandatory with a collared shirt. Human resources will give you a rundown of our policies. I’m assuming you probably won’t have work appropriate clothing. The company can offer you a corporate card to get yourself setup. You’ll receive automatic payroll deductions to pay it back.”

“Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“I appreciate this new eagerness from you. I assure you, if you work hard, you’ll find Hemplebaum the most rewarding place.”

-----

“This is Henley Tator,” he said confidently to the guard. The officer, a gruff man with visible tattoos on his hulking forearms, gave him a once over and checked his name off a list. He said nothing as Henley headed inside towards the elevator. The glass walls of the elevator gave him a great chance to reflect on the past twenty-four hours.

The employee handbook was massive. Something like 200 pages of rules, regulations, and suggestions mixed in with corporate speak and industry jargon. While HR had gone over some basics of the position, personnel forms, and whatnot, the only section he’d read closely was on wardrobe since Amblebottom specifically mentioned it. It wasn’t terribly confusing since it included not just general recommendations but pictures, stores, and tiers of items towards “building a man’s wardrobe.”

Henley followed the basic directions and found the elegant, tiny menswear shop the manual recommended. Upon hearing that he had recently gained employment at Hemplebaum, the elder employee immediately went to work, selecting an array of khakis and polos to start. Henley had resisted the creased pleats but to his dismay the shopkeeper insisted. He had successfully rebuffed the notion that he needed new underwear. He was an adult, he could make private decisions on his own. The man also said he’d begin working on a basic suit. Henley referred to it as “black” and was politely informed that the color was “charcoal” and black suits were only for funerals.

Which is how he found himself, smooth faced from new toiletries, in a salmon polo and crisp khakis, waiting on the elevator. He had a minor flashback to when he first ran into John Howard. Joshua. Josh. Whoever he was now. Their outfits were similar, but Henley took a moment as he brushed a lock of hair from his eyes to remind himself that he was just playing pretend. He was figuring something out. Capitalist finery was required. Although his mind had already started calculating exactly when he could get his own apartment.

-----

“This is Henley Tator,” he answered as the office desk rang. He’d quickly been put into a cubicle and signed into a company website to begin training. Usual stuff, safety procedures, privacy policies and intellectual property, then lots and lots of company information, acquisition and retail training, even negotiating for beginners. He had been expecting to find a diversity or harassment training, but the program, like seemingly everything else here, was highly structured and old-fashioned. It was probably deeper in the training. He’d swiped his new ID card when he got up for the bathroom or to get some water, the program seemed on a timer because if he dallied or got distracted the pages would time out and he’d have to start again. On the plus side, it made the day pass extremely quickly.

“Henley Tator,” he recognized that stoic bass. “This is John Howard Johnson.”

“Hey, John Howard, how’s it going?”

“I am well, Henley. I will be going to the cafeteria for lunch in 15 minutes. If you are hungry, you are welcome to come along.”

“Sure thing, John Howard! Thanks! I am getting hun-.”

“Please meet by the elevator in ten minutes.” John Howard was not a chatter. Never had been. But it gave him something to look forward to so he rushed to finish a basic finances video quiz narrated by a corporate casting finance bro in a tasteful suit talking about “life at the club” and “the importance of appearances.” Finally, he badged out of his computer for lunch.

By the elevators, in an impossibly rigid stance, legs apart, hands straight at his side, face forward, was John Howard. The square faced muscle man was packed into a charcoal suit and shiny dress shoes. Henley noticed the colorful tie had been replaced with a more muted one with barely noticeable muted black stripes.

“Henley Tator,” he offered his rough hand and Henley accepted.

“John Howard Johnson,” he said, half mocking but also happy to see a semi-familiar face.

“The cafeteria is on Floor 15,” John Howard said briskly as they stepped in.

“So, having a good day?”

“My day is doing well, thank you. How is your day?”

“Good, lots of new information. Guess I need a lot of training.”

“The gym is on the fifth floor. It is a good source of weight training.”

“Oh awesome! Yeah, man you look great. I definitely should hit that up.”

“I am happy to show you. I workout an hour before work each day and one hour afterwards.”

“Holy crap dude! And you live out in Chester? How do you find time to sleep.”

“A good night’s sleep is important for muscle growth. I try not to waste time on silly things.”

Henley had built a small salad for himself and grabbed some water. John Howard had taken the platter, a slab of meat in gravy, potatoes, and greens. Combined with what appeared to be a frothy glass of milk. He sat the two down at a table with two other men. One was a stoic, stern faced man who looked like he could be John Howard’s brother. The other was a much flashier man with smooth blonde hair and a plaid bowtie.

“Henley, this is Bert Anderson, accounting,” he gestured to his clone. “And this is-” he was cut off by the flashier man.

“Rotterham Casper Cornelius Southard, call me Rip. Accounts. So, J.H. mentioned you were his old college bro? Bet you got up to some mischief back in the day, eh?” he gave John Howard a playful punch, and he did not react.

“I prefer John Howard.”

“I know you do, J.H.”

“So, you’re both in accounting?” Henley asked. Bert shook his head while Rip laughed.

“No, Bert here is a number cruncher. I manage accounts. Management, keeping clients happy. Happy-hours, bars, strippers, the works. I’m the fun one.” “I’m sure your wife does not approve.”

“She approves of that pool boy I hired for her. She approves of our second home in Mayfield Valley. She can approve of my dalliances.” Henley mostly stayed silent as they talked about work, wives, and sports.

-----

“Take a seat, Henley,” Mr. Amplebottom gestured to one of the extra wide chairs before his desk. Henley hardly took up half, but he wondered if they were wide enough for Amblebottom’s ample bottom.

“Is everything alright, Sir?” Henley hadn’t seen much of his boss the past week, but he’d found himself thinking more and more fondly of his boss. The training videos included a lot of stuff on professional behavior, and while a lot of it seemed like a pathetically antiquated throwback to worse times, it wouldn’t hurt to adopt some of the culture. At least while he was here.

“Just doing a check-in, seeing how it’s going.” Amplebottom made constant eye contact. Those grey eyes were engaging, sort of hard to look away from.

“It’s good, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Enjoying the training?”

“It’s very informative.”

“Glad to hear it. I take my employees personal development very personally. I want you to think of me as a mentor.”

“Yes sir.”

“So, let me give you some advice.”

“Yes sir.”

“I appreciate the fraternity makeover. Really, it’s a classic look. But it doesn’t say corporate. It doesn’t say rising star. It doesn’t say money. Does that make sense?”

“Umm, I guess so.” “Page 183 in the handbook. Suggestions for the transition between fraternal life and entering the corporate world.”

“I wasn’t in a fraternity,” Henley laughed.

“I was under the impression that was how you know John Howard. That you were one of his Kappa Alpha Sigma brothers?” “I, umm, no. And I don’t think… John Howard was either?”

“You should work on speaking directly. These umms and pauses don’t project confidence.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, you’re dismissed.”

“Thank you sir.”

One his way out, Henley took a moment to swing by John Howard’s desk. Partially just to wish his fellow worker a good weekend, but also because that fraternity question bobbed around his head.

“John Howard?” The stalwart man seated perfectly straight rotated his chair to face Henley. Henley noticed that he sat on an extra wide chair and seemed to fill it well. All those hours in the gym seemed to harden every muscle on his body except his butt.

“Henley Tator, do you need something?”

“Just wanted to say have a good weekend.” “Enjoy your weekend as well Henley. If you’re feeling comfortable, I can show you the company gym Monday. I workout at 7 am and 7 pm everyday.”

“Yeah, that would be great- wow you’re here a long time!”

“I take a lot of pride in my position at Hemplebaum. I hope to become a division partner. Legacy membership at Rolling Acres is five hundred grand. And that’s my place.” Henley pondered the man before him. Honestly, there was a lot to like about John Howard. He was honest, straightforward, and hardworking. But there was something callous, cold, and privileged about him.

“Hey, John Howard. Were you in a fraternity?”

“Kappa Alpha Sigma, you know that Henley.” Did he know? He looked like a K-Sig, the kind of former athlete who came to party hard and maybe pass a class or two.

“Anyway, enjoy your weekend. I need to finish up. Good night.” John Howard turned back towards his desk without another word, leaving Henley to shrug and walk to the tube and head home.

-----

Page 183 started with three pictures: a polo and khaki sporting college student, a man in trousers and blazer, and finally an old and noticeably thicker man in a conservative suit. Then it talked about the foundations of a man's future and his wardrobe.

“The navy blazer is a classic item that works for semi formal occasions and casual office places. Even as a man transitions to daily suits, the navy blazer will always have a place at a garden party or fraternity alumni event.”

“Ties and bowties are a delightful way to add color to an outfit. It is important to view the event and location when making a selection. Bow ties in particular are more flamboyant in a workplace and should be considered carefully. Business attire defaults to long ties, and more conservative workplaces require more conservative choices. Consider emulating the attire of your superiors.”

“Supports should be practical and supportive. Belts are fine for casual outings; however, braces are more desirable for suiting, both for support and style as it allows a more traditional and flattering cut. Similarly, undergarments should provide support and coverage. A traditional undershirt with sleeves is ideal, as it provides sweat protection. Briefs are the most appropriate underwear choice, as it provides support without being extraneous. It is also compatible with tennis for those who participate in sport.”

This had to have been the third comment someone had about his choice of underwear. It seemed a deeply intrusive thing for a company to comment on. But a lot of other sections are good information. It explained why men like Bert and John Howard wore ties and Rip, in a more colorful position, had the flashier bowtie. He took some basic notes and decided he’d hit up that menswear shop. They had a company account, he could probably just tack it on to his previous bill.

-----

“Henley Tator,” he said simply. The guard, the same one as every other day, checked the list and let him in. Uncharacteristically, the guard spoke to him.

“Early start?”

“I’m supposed to meet a friend at the gym.”

“Ah, good choice. I’ve been lifting since my football days,” the guard said while flexing a bicep. It strained the fabric of his shirt so much there was a tiny tear at the sleeve.

“Ah damn, gonna have to size up. Sorry, please don’t report me.” He suddenly seemed mildly afraid.

“Report you?”

“Some of the guys here are real sticklers about manners. They don’t like cursing.” “No, man, we’re cool. You look great! Not sure I’d want to be that big honestly.”

“Hey, once you start, you never wanna stop.”

Henley wanted to stop. John Howard was already changed and waiting on him, so Henley rushed to change and hit the floor. The next hour was a diabolic hell. John Howard started with squats. Henley got a good look at his friend's monstrous calves and steel cut quads, surprisingly pale but doubted John Howard wore short pants much. The most shocking feature was watching that jiggly ass clench and thrust with each repetition. Hard muscle lurked underneath the jelly-like layer. And it went on and on. Big lifts, slow lifts, legs, legs, legs, he was deeply certain he would never be able to walk again. John Howard had to help him strip down and lumber into a shower stall.

He took his time rinsing off, rubbing the corporate provided products into his aching muscles and letting the hot water relax him. Leaning against a wall, still gasping for breath, he let himself drift off for a bit.

“You alright, Henley?” John Howard asked, cracking the curtain.

“Just, just finishing up,” he said, turning off the water and grabbing his towel. In the locker room, he saw John Howard's muscled glory in more detail, the ravenous cuts of his back rippled as he walked. He was thick from below his pecs down to his butt, no real waistline, and most of that part of his back was covered in cotton fabric. His legs were bare below the butt, the garganuan thighs popping through the pristine white cotton of the briefs.

While Henley got ready, John Howard went to a mirror and began applying white shaving cream to his practically smooth face, treating every exposed piece of chin and neck to the cream and razor. Slipping back on his underwear, Henley donned a white undershirt and pulled up some pleated khakis. Out of his locker came a white button down shirt which he began hastily buttoning. John Howard was finishing his face with aftershave and examining himself in the mirror. As he approached the lockers, Henley got a frontal look at him. He hadn’t realized how high waisted these briefs were from the back. His bellybutton was completely hidden, practically cartoonish.

Henley went to the mirror and began combing and styling his hair, working in product and brushing a part in. His hair was getting trained for it, the strands beginning to grow a part on the right side naturally. It looked pretty good like this. More corporate that he had preferred, but it was a classic style for a reason.

As he returned to his locker, John Howard was pulling some trousers up his legs, hoisting them up with a pair of silk braces. Everything about John Howard was just so big nowadays, his proportions practically Marvel comic level, that he hadn’t realized how high waisted his pants had become. No one wore them like that nowadays. At least no one who wasn’t LARPing or Mr. Amplebottom. John Howard reminded Henley of Mr. Amplebottom, a lot. The book said to copy your bosses outfits. John Howard had taken that to heart.

Henley fashioned the gold and green tie around his neck before slipping into a navy blazer with prominent buttons. John Howard walked towards the mirror again as he rolled up the cuffs of his shirt and adorned them with cufflinks.

“Nice man,” Henley admired.

“Thank you,” John Howard was almost bashful as he showed them to Henley. He noted the onix black button had the letters J.H.J cut into them.

“Are they monogrammed?”

“Yes! It’s very popular at the club. And they were suggested by the haberdashery.” “Haberdashery? Wow, that sounds so English.”

“These are made in America. All the clothes recommended by Hemplebaum are.” John Howard seemed agitated by the suggestion. “I just meant the word.”

“I don’t want people to think I’m un American.” The stern response caused Henley to stay silent as the pair continued dressing.

-----

Henley was honestly looking forward to his weekly review meeting with Mr. Amplebottom. He was starting to get in the swing of this whole corporate thing. And the tantalizing prospect of his first paycheck was right around the corner. That wasn’t the only corporate benefit he was enjoying. His clothes were tight. Quite tight. At first he’d thought something was snagged, but the small strain on the buttons of his shirt was unmistakable. As he pulled up his pants this morning, he’d heard a slight tear as a few seams in the rear snapped. He’d have to get some things let out. Or maybe new ones altogether.

The growth had bothered him a bit at first, it seemed to come out of nowhere. But John Howard explained it was just the result of an effective workout and diet plan. On John Howard’s suggestion, he’d dropped the salads and switched to the daily platter, a fuller meal for growth. And the workouts meant he was exhausted everyday after work and went right to bed. Which kind of went against his reason for working here in the first place. Wait, why was he working here again? To make money. He wanted to enjoy more of life downtown. Wasn’t it something about John Howard?

“Take a seat Henley.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Henley gratefully replied. He plopped himself into the cushioned chair and did his best to keep his back tall and straight. The men around here had impeccable posture, at least the ones in acquisitions. Rip certainly knew how to relax. Which gave him an idea for after the meeting.

“How has work been proceeding?”

“Very good, sir. The trainings have been very helpful and I am eager to begin assisting with projects.”

“Good. I am pleased with the energy you’ve devoted to your job.”

“Thank you Sir.”

“I’ve decided to assign you to the Hemple Housing Porter project under John Howard Johnson.” “I look forward to it.” “Very good. We’ve acquired the property, but there is still concern about ‘historical value.’ You will be tasked with pricing and selling anything valuable inside.” “Yes sir… is that the Cherub theatre?” Henley got a touch concerned.

“We refer to projects by our goals. But the Theatre currently sits there. Is that going to be a problem, Henley?” His grey eyes seemed to flash.

“No, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Good. You never struck me as the theatre type anyway, Henley. I assumed you were into sport.”

“Not really Sir.”

“That surprises me. Since you are friends with John Howard, you must have attended many football games with him. And that sport is your preferred leisure activity.” The words came out like a metronome, even paced and simple. But they stuck in Henley’s mind. What else would he and John Howard have done together? He was clearly obsessed with sports and his fraternity. And Henley was enjoying the gym, which was truly just another sport.

“Now,” Mr. Amplebottom continued. “You will be working with some old men from assets and banking. Really conservative types. You should try speaking slower. That will deepen your voice and give you more presence.”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom,” the words spilled out in nearly double the time. His tongue felt heavy as he spoke and every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.

“Very good, Henley, with practice you will also be able to use a deeper, more masculine tone. That will be very helpful in business.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Now, just one last thing, Henley,” there was a venomous glint in his eyes as he stumbled over Henley’s name. “Henley is a very peculiar name. Unique. It sets you apart when you should fit in, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” “In business, you know how important it is to give the right impression. The men in these industries tend to be very old-fashioned. And so much of this business is based on rubbing elbows and social connections. You have to give yourself every possible advantage.”

“Yes, yes Sir.”

“I know you want my advice. I am a good mentor.”

“Yes Sir. You are a good mentor.”

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as Henderson.” Henley’s brain practically exploded.

“Yes Sir,” he muttered weakly.

“Try it on me.”

“Hello, my name is Henderson.” More brain explosions. It felt partially like getting hit in the head and partially like taking really good meds. “Slower.”

“Hello, my name is Henderson.” A glitter bomb went off in his brain. It felt like magic.

“Very good, Henderson.” Hearing someone else say it, as though it always had been, made the magical glitter settle on his brain, covering it in an ashy fog. “Well, I figure you might want this before you go for the weekend.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a large printed piece of paper. He handed it over to Henderson who grabbed it eagerly. Upon seeing the amount of money on his check, Henderson’s pupils practically morphed into dollar signs.

“Associates get more than double that.” More dollar signs flashed before his eyes. “And it’s a fairly simple promotion. Good work is always rewarded.”

“Yes Sir! Thank you sir!” The first set of words rushed out of his mouth. He calmed himself and regained his slow speaking tempo. He glanced down at the check and realized it said Henderson Tator.

“I don’t think I can deposit this.” “You’ll use the company banking system from now on. You’ll find it has much better rewards for higher income brackets. We have built in direct deposit. But I wanted to see the look on your face the first time.”

John Howard was hard on work when Henderson knocked.

“Henley Tator,” monotoned his deep voice. Henderson had a flashback to Starbucks and a similar conversation, but now the shoe was on the other foot.

“Please call me Henderson, John Howard,” his thick, slow voice drawled out. “It is more professional.

“I agree, Henderson,” Henderson could have sworn a tiny smile crept onto the corners of John Howard’s mouth. But the stoic man’s face returned to it’s sculpted indifference immediately. “What can I do for you?”

“I was considering asking Rip for some... herbals, for the weekend and wondered if you cared to partake. Maybe watch a game?” Henderson had a distinct memory of two dudes chilling out to some cheap weed and beer while watching Reefer Madness and laughing their asses off. John Howard's face was not amused.

“No, Henderson. You know I do not partake in such things.” “What? You went through a whole rasta-ganja phase in college…”

“I did not,” John Howard was visibly angry even if his voice maintained its impressive monotone. “I do not approve of illicit substances or behavior and I do not appreciate your slander.” “Woah, calm down, big guy,” not that John Howard wasn’t calm. But Henderson knew that one punch from the dude would knock him silly. “I was just thinking back to our college days….”

“Yes, I remember Chadwick forcing us to try the stuff during Hell Week. As I recall, you disliked it even more than I did.”

“What? What does Chad have to do with this?” “The only time I ever tried marjiuana,” his voice gained a hushed tone as he said the word. “Was for a fraternity induction. And if you continued to use it, I was unaware. If you would like to watch the game and enjoy some beer or liquid that would be fine. But I will not associate with drug users.” Henderson was taken aback. This man, well maybe not this man, but this dude he might have been at one point spent nearly a semester acting like some sort of stoner God.

“I’m sorry, John Howard.”

“If you are still interested in watching the game and having a beer, I would not be opposed.”

“Yeah, totally!” Henderson swallowed awkwardly after he spoke. Those words felt wrong. But either way, he’d spend a little more time with Josh Howard and figure out what was going on.

-----

“Tator, Henderson,” he said at the gate. The officer was the same as before, but there were a few subtle differences. His tight uniform now had full length sleeves and he wore a cap on his even more masculine face. “Good morning, Mr. Tator,” the man’s deep voice spoke slowly and severely. His face had not a glimpse of recognition. That was fine by Henderson because he was actually quite tired. He’d ended up in Chester Saturday, bringing a small batch of beer to a football party. It was very strange to him, meeting several of John Howard’s neighbors, though Chadwick was mercifully absent. He had a great time, watching, drinking, and shooting the breeze. The evening went on far later than he anticipated and despite the offer of a guest room, he had taken a late night Uber back into town. Newfound interest in football meant he had spent Sunday watching football, drinking beer, and ordering pizza. And now he was meeting John Howard for a workout with a beer hangover on a Monday.

The workout was much better this week. He found himself making great strides in his max lifts which made him exceptionally proud. John Howard gave his butt a big swat after they finished cleaning up and he felt his rump shudder within his pants. His pants had gotten so much tighter and when he looked in the mirror, the back of his sportcoat practically lay flat from the shelf on his behind. As he admired his form in the mirror, Henderson couldn’t help but brush the smooth shaved line of his prominent jaw. It really stood out nowadays.

“Miss a spot?” John Howard asked, assuming Henderson was rubbing stray hairs.

“Hey John Howard, why is working out making my jaw bigger?” John Howard stared at him curiously and shook his head.

“I don’t think I understand.” “Since, I’ve been working out with you, my face just seems bigger. My jaw and chin in particular.” “Maybe losing some baby fat? Or maybe your improved posture is making your face look different?” Henderson couldn’t explain it. He examined the reflection a few seconds more, sure that something was amiss. But he didn’t have an idea better than John Howard’s so he let it pass and went into the office.

Henderson’s job required calls, lots of calls. Calls to landowners, historical groups, insurance companies, auctioneers, all with their own opinions and interests. Henderson wasn’t actually supposed to do any research, simply talk to the right people to get appropriate evaluations and transportation. He found himself mimicking John Howard’s voice, deep, slow, and disinterested. It wasn’t exciting work, but the progress was slow and consistent. Museums wanted some old posters, there was a buyer in Argentina for the chandelier, and several vintage stores wanted furniture pieces. A few calls were less productive, with upset protestors yelled at him. He’d tried being sympathetic at first, but quickly found that being stern and direct got them off the line quicker so he could return to work.

His days soon blended together. Morning workouts, work, lunch, work, home, sleep, repeat. He sometimes worried that he was missing out on stuff, his old friends called or texted but he rarely responded anymore. It always seemed to happen at an inconvenient time. Eventually, he joined John Howard for his evening workout as well, the results were great, even if he’d had to go up a size or two. Walking around with pecs straining a dress shirt felt incredible, like a huge dose of testosterone had been injected into him. Strangely, his buttocks were growing considerably, in strength and size. But it accumulated a soft layer of fat that spread across, making him even wider. He’d asked John Howard about it once, and he simply told him a big butt was better than a big gut. And Henderson had to agree. None of the men here had big guts. Mr. Amplebottom had a huge butt. And Henderson wanted to be like Mr. Amplebottom as much as possible. More and more, Henderson felt extremely grateful towards his superior. Not only had he hired an unqualified applicant, but he had acted like a mentor and guide and coach. He gave Henderson more and more advice, about standing, walking, talking, and each time he came back eager to learn more.

“Stand tall, Henderson. Head up, don’t slouch. Keep your hands at your side. And don’t fidget.”

“A deeper voice commands attention better. Be direct. Contain emotions, you are better suited to appear calm and in control at all times. There is no need to appear energetic or excited.”

“Wide steps, heel to toe. Legs apart.”

-----

“Tator, Henderson,” he said calmly as he buzzed in. It was old hat by now. The security guard was probably the same one as before. Henderson paid less attention nowadays to things like that. He had noticed that the security uniform had slowly been replaced with something more formal. The man wore a coat and bowtie along with his cap, looking halfway between a mobster and the world's most muscular butler.

“Good morning, Mr. Tator,” he intoned back as he let him inside. Henderson felt the weight of his body as he walked, his chest stuck out and helped keep his chin up. The broad shoulders made him feel like he took up the entire doorway. And his big wide stride made his butt and crotch kind of wiggle as he walked. He could feel the fabric of his pants tighten around his balls and release, then tighten on the other side. It was mildly arousing.

As he walked in, he greeted a few of his fellow coworkers as he walked to his desk. Moments after sitting down, he received a call to head to Mr. Amplebottom’s office.

He stood at attention in front of the desk, legs apart, arms slack at his side, and staring directly into the grey eyes of his supervisor. Amplebottom seemed to examine his employee for a moment before directing him to sit. Henderson did, his increasingly wide and plump bottom expanding out, consuming nearly 3/4ths of the extra wide seat. He bagged his pants as he sat, causing the crotch of his pants to ride up and give him a large moose knuckle.

“The last sales were processed by accounts payable. You did a good job getting every last dollar out of that disgusting building.” “Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom,” came the monotonous reply.

“How do you feel about the Theatre?”

“The Hemple Housing Porter project will be very profitable.” “Yes, but how about the Cherub Theatre. It’s an old building.” “The lot is better suited for new development.” “Do you like theatre, Henderson.” “No Sir, I was never interested in art.” “More of a sports fellow?” “Yes Sir, I love football.” “Bet you were a big ole lineman back in the day, huh?” “No, I never played.” “I’m pretty shocked,” Amplebottom smirked. “So, no hard feelings about tearing down a 100 year old Theatre.” “No Sir. The development will be very profitable for Hempelbaum.”

“Good man,” Amplebottom kept his eyes focused on Henderson, maintaining steady eye contact. “Well, looks like you’ve earned your first commission check.” He pushed a small piece of paper forward to Henderson, who picked it up. His eyes bulged and dollar signs flashed before his eyes.

“Holy crap!” “Don’t swear Henderson, it’s unbecoming.” “My apologies Mr. Amplebottom. I wasn’t expecting this.” “Three percent commission can be an awful lot when you do a good job. And your percentage goes up with promotions. And good work like this makes me think you’ll be getting on very soon.”

Henderson thanked Mr. Amplebottom profusely and headed straight to John Howard’s desk.

“John Howard Johnson,” he said in a deep, slow voice.

“Henderson Tator, what can I do for you?”

“I got my first commission check,” he said, flashing it for John Howard to see.

“Congratulations. It feels nice to receive appropriate compensation. Men like us work hard, we deserve to make money.”

“It feels great. I could get a down payment on a house.” “Or you could apply for a membership at Rolling Acres Country Club.”

“Oh, no offense, John Howard, but I don’t think I’m country club material.”

“I think you’d like it, Henderson. It’s very nice, and a good way to make connections with other successful men.” John Howard flicked his wrists and displayed a set of ostentatious cufflinks engraved with the country club logo, a laurel wreath surrounding a tree with “Rolling Acres” written over it.

“That seems flashy for you.” “I was accepted as a legacy member. They only let legacy members purchase them.”

“They’re very shiny.” “Yes, too much for the office normally. But I was very excited. Oswald Laurence Carrington IV called personally to inform me. It’s very rare to get a call specifically from the Director of the Board.”

“I’m happy for you,” Henderson said simply.

“Come golfing this weekend. I know you will enjoy it. I can bring guests now!” John Howard’s voice was still precise but there was just the subtle hint of mirth that made Henderson smile slightly.

“Fine, what do I need to wear? I’m sure they have a dress code.” “Meet at my home before. I will have appropriate clothing.”

-----

Henderson had thought a lot about Chester since his last time out here. The spacious green lawns, gigantic homes, and expensive cars cleaned daily should have disgusted him or at least made his eyes roll. Nowadays, he couldn’t help but imagine what life must be like out here. There weren’t music festivals or concerts, but there weren’t smelly people vomiting on the sidewalk or polluting cabs on every corner honking loudly. John Howard’s elegant home had a room dedicated for watching football. It wasn’t even the media room, he said there was a room with a movie projector on the second floor! This was just his man cave, except it was a sunlit, high-ceilinged game room. It was bigger than the apartment Henderson was currently living in alone. He’d kicked out his roommates a month back. They smoked too much weed, it made him dizzy, and he could easily afford the rent on his own nowadays.

John Howard answered the door dressed exactly as he went to work. Henderson had expected something more casual- he’d worn khakis and a pink polo himself. Instead, his bulkier counterpart was embarrassed by his attire and insisted he put on one of his old suits. Henderson thought about protesting, but instead allowed himself to be turned into a Ken doll clone of his coworker, the only difference being the subtle patterns on the tie. He asked John Howard if they were golfing like this, and he insisted they would be changing at the club. Henderson wouldn’t imagine most people showed up dressed like this, but whatever made John Howard comfortable.

Henderson was glad he’d been made to change. After they got past the gate and into the main clubhouse, every man he passed had a tie on. Some of the younger lads were dressed in polo and khakis, but the acne and baby fat on their faces made him happy to not be confused with them. They checked in and “Legacy John Howard Johnson” entered his guests name and they headed to the lockers to change. John Howard handed him a pair of black trousers made of a stretchy and breathable material.

“You sure this one is mine?” “They’re identical.” “Oh, I’m not sure I’ll fit.” “I’m certain we’re the same size, Henderson.” Which they were apparently. Henderson was shocked as the pants expanded over his thighs, showing off the thick trunks he’d developed and the amble jiggly buttocks that pressed generously backwards. They sat a little higher on his waist than he was comfortable with, but he didn’t want the pants to sag on the ground. John Howard handed him a white sport polo with the clubs logo on the left breast. Then he added a black golf cap. Henderson had been afraid he might be wearing jodhpurs and knee socks, so the mainstream outfit was relieving. They tidied up in the mirror, and seeing the two of them side by side, dressed exactly the same, Henderson had a bit of a shock realizing how much he looked like John Howard. His body had filled out tremendously, broad shoulders and baseball like biceps, a thick but strong core, that overly wide ass that led into legs and calves formed by deadlifts and deep squats. The biggest thing was his face. He really could swear that his face had been almost heart shaped, but now there was a distinctly square shape to the thing. His longish ivy league haircut gave him a more youthful appearance than his coworker, but otherwise he might have been a son or young brother.

As they walked out onto the course, golf bags strapped across their backs, Henderson could see a tall figure in the distance, seeming to greet them with a small wave. John Howard returned the small gesture.

“Who’s that?” “Chadwick Stratton. I invited him to play with us?” “You invited Chad?” “Chadwick, yes. He’s been a friend since my fraternity days. You know that Henderson. I thought you would get on quite well. Besides, he’s on good terms with many important people. No one is a better connection.” Chadwick was in stretchy salmon colored pants and a white polo exactly like the ones they were wearing. He had a ballcap on with their college logo on the front. Locks of blonde hair spilled under the brim.

“Hey bro,” Chadwick shook John Howard’s hand and pulled him in for a pat on the back. For his part, John Howard tensed up but did not resist. “Damn, you’re getting thicker all the time.” He groped John Howard’s shoulders aggressively.

“Henderson, this is Chadwick Stratton. Chadwick, this is Henderson Tator. We work together in acquisitions at Hemplebaum. He also attended college with us.” Chadwick grabbed Henderson into a similar handshake to hug and Henderson felt a strange repulsion in his stomach.

“You look familiar. Were you a brother?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Henderson replied.

“What fraternity were you in?” “I wasn’t.” “A big bro like you? Damn, we missed you. Would have loved to see you on our intramural teams. Bruiser like you can definitely rough some people up huh?” He laughed playfully and punched Henderson solidly in the chest. It didn’t hurt. “Well, let’s play.” “Are we taking the cart?” Henderson asked, pointing to a line of white, polished golf carts.

“Nah,” Chadwick reached out and gave both John Howard and Henderson hard butt slaps. “Figure you two fatasses need some cardio!” He laughed barkingly and John Howard laughed along. “Kidding, bro. I know dudes like you are all about that max lift. But I still got abs and the ladies love ‘em!” He pulled up the bottom of his shirt showing off the solid, smooth abdominals carved into his tiny waist.

Chadwick was extremely friendly and a little physical. Upon learning that Henderson had never golfed, Chadwick took it upon himself to teach him everything he could, resulting in him saddling up behind him to correct stance and form, but also jokingly pressing his crotch into Henderson’s butt and thrusting. The boys all laughed at the inappropriate horseplay.

Henderson had a hard time hating Chadwick. Taking away all the pomp of politics and social structure, Chadwick turned into an incredibly friendly alpha. The kind of guy who would be quarterback, homecoming king, and fraternity president (all things he learned Chadwick had been). And Henderson was just another one of his bros, dressed in expensive clothes, spending a morning on the course talking about work and finances and spouses. He could remember specific events, Chadwick being horrible during the election season when he was campaigning for a fraternity brothers father, taunting an LGBT students group, and pissing on Tara Kissimmee’s car. But his brain was giving each of these events a little different interpretation now: he was working hard to get Senator Mulligan elected, taunting the gay kids had been meant as a harmless prank, and he was drunk out of his mind with Tara and she never pressed charges so it wasn’t that big a deal. Chadwick was just being a drunken frat- fraternity brother like everyone expected.

“Wife’s pregnant with the third. I got started early!” He bragged while grabbing his crotch. “Chrissy Collop was always into you.” “Yup! Her dad’s super rich, he’s president of the C-Group, that big currency trading operation. Old, old money. But how about you?” Chadwick got a mischievous glint in his eyes as he hand reached towards John Howard’s crotch and gave it a hard smack. John Howard yelped as he grabbed his balls.

“Nut check!” Chadwick busted out laughing. “But seriously, bro, getting those fellas ready? Almost breeding season, boys,” he whispered to John Howard’s balls. Henderson was kind of disturbed but John Howard was laughing and so he joined in too.

“What does that mean?”

“J.H. is getting married. Missy Dorianger.”

“Congratulations!” Henderson said happily.

“Thank you. We’re finishing some final details. Her Mother is very specific. Sometimes she acts as though I’m unworthy.” “Missy can’t do better.” “She is a perfectly suitable spouse. I am very pleased with the situation.” “Can’t wait til we can throw that bachelor party!”

“We’ll do something at the club. I have no desire to watch you stagger around Vegas and hold your head while you vomit.” “It’s your party bro! I’d be holding your hair for once,” Chadwick laughed. John Howard rolled his eyes as he set up his shot and launched the ball. He let out a whistle of appreciation.

“Good shot,” Chadwick and Henderson said simultaneously. John Howard suppressed a grin.

“Henderson, I know it’s late notice but I hope you can at least attend the wedding. The club has strict guest limits and I’m running out of passes for nonmembers for the bachelor party.” “Thank you John Howard. I’m sure I can make it.” “And if you get your membership before, you can enjoy all the fun!” Chadwick winked at Henderson and snagged at his nipple that pressed out firmly from the polo. The boys laughed and continued playing.

The locker room at the clubhouse was a lively place stocked with bathing supplies and also booze. Henderson intended on just showering up and getting dressed, but John Howard and Chadwick were both sitting in their briefs (Chadwicks a traditional cut, John Howard's extremely high waisted to fit over his enormous rump) and undershirts removing the cork from a glass bottle and pouring three full glasses of amber liquid.

“Bourbon,” Chadwick said shortly as he handed Henderson a glass before taking a deep swig of his own. Henderson was very confused about what to do. He was standing in a towel while his two golf buddies relaxed in their unmentionables sipping on a bourbon that probably cost more than those obnoxious club cufflinks John Howard has. He didn’t want to upset his new friends, and the financial connections they represented, so he pulled on his grey Hanes Boxer briefs (his growing buttocks had necessitated so many new underwear purchases that he was desperately searching for cheaper brands) and white undershirt and sat down. Taking a big swig of the liquid, he did his best to relax, leaning back in the chair and spreading his legs as his friends chatted.

“You’re getting pretty good at the trap shot,” Chadwick toasted John Howard.

“You’re still better,” John Howard was already refilling his drink happily.

“Always gonna be, dude,” Chadwick laughed again. “But keep trying. I enjoy competition.” He held out his cup which John Howard dutifully refilled. “Man, I’m glad you’re here, J.H.. I miss having some bros. This club is great, but too many of the brothers moved away. But at least I got you two!” Chadwick winked at Henderson and encouraged him to finish up as another round needed to be poured. Despite his increasingly sturdy frame, Henderson hadn’t been drinking much lately. He hadn’t been much other than working, but the alcohol was working its way through his golf dehydrated body quickly.

The trio continued chatting until John Howard excused himself to the toilet, leaving Henderson alone with a man he once thought of as detestable. But this afternoon was fun. He got a small knot in his stomach as Chadwick turned to him with a viperous grin.

“Henley? Henley Tator?” Chadwick suddenly said, dropping his voice low. Henderson was confused for a moment. He hadn’t thought of himself as Henley in a while. It was almost shocking. But then he cautiously nodded yes.

“Please, call me Henderson, Chadwick.” “Oh, I will, Henderson,” he emphasized the name. “You look good. I was pretty sure I recognized you, though you look a lot better now. Hemplebaum’s done wonders for you.” “Thank you, Chadwick. I am very happy working at Hemplebaum Incorporated.” Chadwick nodded and smiled as the robotic words left Henderson’s mouth.

“I like having fraternity brothers around. It’s a real lifetime bond, ya know?” He took another deep swig. “Something that really defines a man. Who he is. Who he’s going to be.” He seemed to stare at Henderson curiously. For his part, Henderson had no idea what to say, and so stayed silent. “If I’d known this is who you were going to be, I’d have made sure you were my brother. Of course, I knew Henley. Not Henderson. Not big strapping Henderson.”

“Yes,” Henderson stirred his glass and sat there. Chadwick was slurring slightly, but Henderson wondered if he'd be able to stand up. This drink was strong and Chadwick was pouring him a third.

“Now, Henderson. What do you think Henderson was like in college?”

“I’m Henderson.” “Yeah, but in college you weren’t. I just wonder what you wish you had done?”

“I wish I’d gone to football games. I love football.” “Fuck yes dude. Big guy like you played in high school,” it wasn’t a question.

“I’d want to have a group of men to watch sports with.” “Yup, every game we had a part at the house.” Henderson stared at him with glassy eyes. He was confused. It seemed like Chadwick wanted him to say something but he could only shrug.

“Would have been nice.” “I hope you apply for membership. The club would be a good fit for you.”

“I really enjoyed myself. It’s very expensive. I was kind of looking into getting a new apartment.” “Where are you living nowadays?” “I have a two bedroom downtown. It’s a heap, but I live alone.” “Thought about buying a house?” “I can’t afford a house in the city.” “What about in Chester?”

“What?! No, I haven’t, I mean, I don’t need a mansion,” Henderson sputtered as he spoke despite training himself to not.

“Not yet, but once you get a wife and some kids, plus Chester is right next to Rolling Acres.” “I’m not sure it’s right for me.” “It’s right for Henderson. For football playing, fraternity brother, corporate shark Henderson,” Chadwick smiled and let out a tiny burp as he finished another drink. Henderson blushed, though it was hard to tell through his liquor flushed face.

“It’s hard to buy a house in Chester.” “I can set you up.” “Really?” The idea was setting itself in Henderson’s mind. Far from feeling like a fresh fantasy, it embedded itself deep inside, as though it had always been there, as though he’d always wanted to buy a giant mansion in a gated neighborhood with an expensive country club. It was always the goal. It’s why he did what he did.

“I always support my Kappa Sigma Alpha brothers.” He poured two more drinks and raised his glass in a toast.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond.” Chadwick said and stared at Henderson. Henderson hesitated, but his mind wanted it so bad. He wanted Chadwick to like him, to be his brother, to go back and be a total frat boy in college.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond.” Chadwick smiled and the two chugged down their drinks. John Howard showed up a moment later and plopped down while pouring himself another, though he was several behind now.

“What did I miss?” The other two smirked and poured another round and the three K-Sig brothers passed another toast to their fraternity.

-----

Henderson woke up naked with a gigantic erection on the softest white sheets he’d ever felt. HIs head throbbed like never before. A glass of water and several ibuprofen sat next to the bed and he swallowed both without hesitation. Looking around, he admired the pristine cleanliness and order of the room. He was pretty sure where he must be, even if he’d never seen John Howard’s guest room before.

A white cotton robe laid over an old wooden chair, but no other clothes were about. Wrapping the fabric tightly around himself, he opened the door and peered down an equally clean and quiet hallway. He ducked back in the bedroom, helping himself to the toiletries in the attached bath before heading downstairs. John Howard was dressed similarly, though the half closure of his robe meant that Henderson could see the waistband of his briefs. He smiled weakly at Henderson and offered him a cup of coffee which he accepted happily.

“Where are my clothes?” Henderson croaked after a strong sip.

“Washing machine. You vomited all over your suit.”

“Your suit, sorry man.”

“Quite fine Henderson,” John Howard let out a quiet laugh. “Haven’t had a night like that in years. Reminded me of our fraternity days.” Our fraternity days. Henderson went to protest but found his brain muddled. They had talked about it a lot last night, keggers, hell week, initiation, rush, all kinds of random details of fraternity life flooded his brain. The memories seemed like his mostly, though they had a dreamy quality that he attributed to the hangover.

“Remember that party where Van Boegearden vomited after his keg stand? And then he insisted on drinking it up again?” Henderson laughed hoarsely and John Howard joined in. “He’s a congressman now,” John Howard added.

“Good, good. Always knew he’d do well in politics.” They both took large sips of their coffee. John Howard was reading a paper but also had ESPN on, reviewing yesterday's college football.

“We missed the game!” Henderson moaned.

“We watched the game, Henderson. At the club.” “Oh God. They’re never going to let me join now!” “I wouldn’t be so sure. Oswald V seemed quite amused by you.” “Which one is that again?”

“Son of the Board Chairman. I’d commit that to memory.” “I have now. Well, so long as he was amused. Hopefully he can appreciate old fraternity brothers getting together.” “We’ll have to do it again soon.” “Hopefully often once I’m a Rolling acres member.” “I’m glad you’re going to apply,” John Howard smiled.

“I belong at a place like Rolling Acres,” Henderson said with a new confidence.

“Men like us need places like Rolling Acres,” John Howard replied.

“I’m going to have to call a cab,” Henderson said looking at the clock.

“I can take you.” “It’s quite a drive into town.” “I slept through church,” John Howard said, yawning. “And I’m not feeling up to a workout today. Besides, I thought I might take you around Chester first. There are a few lovely homes for sale you might want to see.” “That would be delightful!” The two men turned their attention back to the TV and their coffees, nursing the kind of hangovers they swore they’d never get again but always did.

-----

Henderson strode into the building swiftly, impossibly perfect posture, dressed in a charcoal suit and tie that he borrowed again from John Howard. He noticed there was a new guard at the gate when he gave his name.

“Fine weather, Henderson?” the young guard, a redhead with a trace of a tattoo on his neck asked. Henderson was appalled. He’d ended up spending most of Sunday at the club, enjoying dinner at the men’s grill. At the club, the staff spoke using honorifics and only used questions relative to their service. He was deeply annoyed that this young guard spoke. However, he buried that feeling as he hustled to the elevator. He had a busy morning ahead.

After his workout, a grueling leg day that left him wobbly but his calves looked tremendous, Henderson asked Mr. Amplebottom’s secretary for a meeting, and his 9 a.m. was open. So it was that he found himself standing before his boss's beautiful desk, arms at his side, staring into his eyes.

“What can I do for you, Henderson?” Henderson had been trying to find the words to be concise but found that impossible.

“I want every piece of advice you can give me.”

“Why is that?” Mr. Amplebottom was suppressing a smug smile though Henderson didn’t notice.

“I want to be just like you. And John Howard. And the men at Rolling Acres.” “Enjoy the club?” “Immensely. I belong there. And here at Hemplebaum. I want to become a partner. I want to move out to Chester, in a house, not in some rubbish apartment in this squalid town,” he cast a disgusted look out the skyline of the window. “I want money.” That was low, deep and felt like a great truth awoke inside him. Mr. Amplebottom smiled.

“So, Henderson, are you willing to fully commit yourself to Hemplebaum?” “I am sir,” he replied like a soldier.

“Excellent. Well, I may say this suit is a good start.” “I’m borrowing it from John Howard.” “Yes, a good start. You should get a dozen I think, at least. Plus a few formal ones for special occasions. Many ties and shoes. New supports as well, you do look much better with your trousers at your proper waist.” “Thank you Sir.”

“A haircut. I’m quite surprised you’ve stuck with the ivy league so long. You are much better suited to something short. Like mine and John Howard’s. The part is a classic. But I can set you up with my barber.”

“Yes Sir.” “Now, there is a rather large change that I believe is a necessity for your continued progression at Hemplebaum as well as your new social circle.” “What is that sir?” “Tator. Just a gross, common name. You agree?” Henderson snapped back confirmation even though it made his head spin. “Personally, I’ve always been very fond of alliterative names. It’s a nice mnemonic device socially. And it looks so great monogrammed.” “You want me to change my last name? To something with an H?” Henderson asked, slightly confused.

“Well, I thought you wanted to. To succeed.” “Yes Sir.” “So you want to change your name? To what?” “I don’t know Sir.” “So you want my help, is that what you are saying?” The words were coming so fast and his eyes so enticing that Henderson nodded.

“Yes Sir, please tell me what my name should be.” Amplebottom leaned back in his chair, clearly relishing in the moment even though Henderson had no idea why.

“This is my favorite part.” Henderson didn’t say anything. His boss clearly didn’t want him to. And he’d just asked for help so there was no need to say anything. “It’s a great moment, when you realize you want to be whatever I want you to be. I was wrong about you Henderson. I did not think you’d make it. But here you are, willing and able. And looking much better with the muscles.” He reached into a drawer in his desk and produced something that looked like a ring box. Ceremoniously, he pulled it open before Henderson’s eyes. Inside were two silver and black cufflinks. LIghtly engraved in the black was three vertical lines and one horizontal connecting them all.

“Henderson Harold Hearst. H.H.H. Classic, but preppy, which seems to be the direction you’re taking. Though I believe you should at least be a Junior. Yes, Henderson Harold Hearst, Jr.” Amplebottom suddenly got a concerned look in his eyes and made even more intense contact with Henderson. “You’ll insist on being called Henderson. No nicknames or shortening it. Certainly, not Henry. Tell them it was Grandmama’s maiden name. A fitting tribute.” Amplebottom seemed deeply satisfied as he leaned back in his chair a bit. His jacket fell a touch to the side, and Henderson caught a glimpse of his black silk bracer. He eyed the waist of the trousers, noting the lack of wrinkles and the perfect transition from charcoal wool to starched, cotton white. Nothing was ever out of place on his supervisor, it was probably easier when you had such a boring wardrobe, each piece fit together without thinking.

-----

Henderson had set up an appointment at Winston and Co. right after his meeting with Amplebottom. They booked him for a half day on Saturday, which seemed like a very long appointment but they had assured him that this would be a one time appointment to get a permanent account situated. His palpable excitement made his workouts and work days fly by. He’d reworn the suit he borrowed from John Howard three times. It was remarkable how it made him feel, strong, manly, and also kind of plain. He’d talk shop with other men in his department, bland conversations about work and sports and home, that he found uninteresting but comforting. There existed very little variety among the men at acquisitions. No one ever brought up a thoughtful or challenging conversation, the most confrontational it ever got was between rival football teams.

And so it was that Henderson showed at exactly at 8 a.m. in front of the delightfully antiquated haberdashery (as John Howard had called it) for the full treatment. He was greeted studiously by an old man with silver hair and thick black glasses who introduced himself as Art Sebert and insisted on calling Henderson “Mr. Hearst.” That name made his blood jump and boil. He’d thought the concept awkward only days ago, but found himself spouting off the name with such a simple, natural cadence he might as well have been born with it.

Forced to strip down in a rather spacious dressing room fitted with a few chairs and mirrors, Art had offered him coffee which he happily accepted after adding some cream and milk. His personal fears around nudity had decreased in the corporate locker room but it still took him a minute to feel comfortable letting Art assess his bare form. But he measured every inch with such quiet professionalism that Henderson soon became quite comfortable. Art rattled off small measurements as he worked, informing Henderson that he’d need custom clothing for life. Henderson found his brain startled by that information, but an honest assessment in the mirror showed how true that statement was. He simply wasn’t built like a normal person anymore. His neck was thick and his shoulders cartoonishly broad. The jutting chest gave him a permanently puffed up vibe. Uninterested in cardio, his thick rib cage continued straight down into hard abs. And then the true shock, his sumptuous round booty. It looked unreal, not only were his hips and buttocks wide and strong, but somehow there was a gelatinous layer on top that wiggled and shook whenever he moved. It was a shockingly feminine touch on an otherwise hyper masculine body. Henderson loved his butt. It reminded him of being a lineman in high school, it was just like John Howard’s and Amplebottom’s. Ridiculous but masculine and prominent, it took up space, like a man should.

“Alright, Mr. Hearst, give these a try,” he handed Henderson two carefully folded white objects. The first was an undershirt, quite stiff and recently pressed. He pulled it on with little problem, the starchy material felt soft enough on his skin and he appreciated how there wasn’t any excess pulling or snugness. Even better, it actually reached past his belly button, which was further than his current shirts were doing, but still seemed undesirable. The next item was a comically cut pair of briefs, again seemingly starched and pressed, blindly white with a simple waistband with a thin blue line running halfway through. Henderson’s mind mounted a short-lived protest that didn’t even exit his mouth. He’d known it was coming, it was in the book, from his boss, even at the club. It was just another way he was going to fit in with the others. It was deceptively erotic, something overly personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in. He pulled the cotton fabric up his body, watching the white fabric stretch perfectly across his rump. He attempted to leave the underpants lying low, just above his hip bones, but Art stepped up and dutifully pulled them higher, keeping the undershirt tucked in as they stretched over the belly button, up the stomach, before settling just below his rib cage. He looked like a strange sort of sausage stuffed into a bleached white packaging. There was something about, so uniform and simple, that Henderson couldn’t stop himself from smiling broadly at his reflection.

It went significantly faster after that. Art offered him a range of trousers of slightly different fits, making marks and eyeing alterations, seemingly finding the best base. An overly starched, white button down slipped over his upper body. Henderson let it hang open as he sat in his skivvies and shirt, drinking a whiskey the store offered, as a suitable pair of trousers were whipped up for the day. Half an hour later, he was being ordered to button up his shirt, as silky black dress socks were pulled on his feet and the wool fabric of the pants began their climb. Higher, much higher than his old pants, even seemingly than the borrowed ones, these custom trousers rose up until the very top of the pants rested just millimeters below the briefs. The pants were already designed for braces, completely lacking belt loops, and Art adjusted them precisely, ensuring that his pants would sit at this exact height forevermore. Henderson recognized something was being pushed out, some bits of color or variance in his lifestyle and perhaps personality as he allowed himself to be dressed like a doll, clothing cut and shaped so he wouldn’t even have an option on how to wear it, let alone what to wear. It was a deeply comforting thought.

The process was repeated with the coat, explaining why he had been required to book hours of time with a salesman and tailor. But they assured him, everything would be perfect afterwards. All his measurements would be on file, new pieces would be created on a strict schedule to ensure he had neither too few nor too many pieces. He enjoyed another libation as he waited, the old fashioned television in the room had been flipped on to college football and he delighted in sitting back and watching. Not that he really sat back as it were, the stiff shirt and exact cut of his trousers seemed to keep him upright and tall, legs planted firmly on the ground, the crotch of his pants pulled tight into a prominent moose knuckle, head staring almost directly forward. Henderson sort of laughed to himself about it, feeling slightly robotic, and enjoying the rigid pose. It reminded him of John Howard. And he liked John Howard. He liked being like John Howard.

The cut of the jacket was phenomenal, even with a thick waist, his broad shoulders and bulging pecs required a fantastic V shape that made him look thick and strong and almost debonair, in a sort of boring way. Art selected a beautiful silk tie, completely generic and tasteful, and made it taut around the neck. He stepped back, admiring his work and checking the length of the cut of small sections as Henderson stood, militaristically straight posture, arms at his side, staring straight ahead. Once everything seemed to be in order, he instructed Henderson to remove the tie, jacket, and oxford shirt. He’d continue working as another man offered him a pair of house slippers and escorting him into a room that looked like an old-timey barbershop with two chairs.

The wall had four pictures on it of generic hairstyles, each numbered. His barber pointed at number one and told him he would receive that cut unless he did not approve. Henderson felt nothing and simply nodded. The shearing began, his back and sides thinned and trimmed and the edges shaved smooth. The top was reduced and thinned repeatedly, clumps of hair falling lazily to the floor. Each time, the barber seemed to be examining something on his head, but he said nothing to Henderson, who was silent in turn. Finally, apparently satisfied, he squirted a greasy clump of goo into his hands and began working through Henderson’s much thinner hair before combing it aggressively. The final look should have been shocking, but Henderson seemed to have accepted it already. His hair was now dark, short, and combed and parted within an inch of his life. The product gave his hair of bright sheen that was the only notable trait on the otherwise generic hairstyle. It was an exact replica of John Howard’s and Amplebottom’s and almost every man in acquisitions. It was perfect.

The only thing left was a hot shave, which left his skin buttery smooth, and tingly once the aftershave was applied. The barber briskly informed that all the items would be added to his order, so he’d have everything he needed to maintain his appearance. Henderson thanked him shortly and was directed back to the dressing room. The slippers were removed and a highly polished pair of black oxfords were slipped onto his feet. He was redressed in shirt, tie, and jacket and Art began applying a few small touches. First, his french cuffs were closed with shiny silver cufflinks, square, with a delightful HHH cut in them. A white handkerchief was tucked into his breast pocket and folded ever so carefully so that the monogrammed HHH was just visible over the jacket. A dab of cologne followed, smelling woody, leathery, and astringent. They informed him he could leave today with undergarments, ties, and grooming products, and to return in three days to pick up a large order, twelves suits, twenty four shirts, plus two speciality suits (one in seersucker and a formal black) in addition to a tuxedo. He shook hands with the salesmen who had helped him, feeling quite pleased with the whole experience.

-----

“Heart, Henderson,” he said curtly to the well dressed guard at the gate. Henderson noticed that he was far less chatty than last time. In fact, the security officer barely seemed to register Henderson as a person, and more as an item line to check off. He marched dutifully to the elevator. Henderson admired himself in the mirror as he waited. Quite frankly, he embodied everything a man should be: big, strong, soon to be rich. Those commission checks had added up quite quickly, combined with incentives and the fact that Amplebottom had been hinting that he would be moving up to Associate very soon, so Henderson was feeling mighty pleased with himself, and honestly a bit haughty, as he slipped how hands up and down the tasteful braces holding up his trousers. Despite the fact that his clothing hardly moved an inch in any given direction, he still unconsciously attempted to pull up his pants and underwear, making sure everything was in place. It was a big day after all.

Mr. Amplebottom took John Howard and Henderson out to a large lunch in a company car that was clean as a whistle and beyond luxurious. As they stepped out of the Partner elevator, they were greeted by a strapping man in a full chauffeur outfit, cap, gloves, and jodhpurs. He greeted the men properly before taking Amplebottom’s keys and practically running to fetch his car. He held the door open militantly as each man entered. Henderson stopped to give him a good look, there was something familiar about him. Henderson realized this was the old door man from his side, although the corporate makeover and more servile uniform gave him a less threatening appearance, and his empty obedience was a far better look than the military scowl and tattoos that were once visible.

The car took them downtown. Amplebottom had made casual conversation about work but the atmosphere in the car was mildly tense. Henderson had never been invited to something like this and he wanted to make a good impression. John Howard seemed rather himself, upright and professional, nary a mention of personal life unless questioned.

They exited the car and Amplebottom led them into a high rise building with black reflective glass covering the outside, making it look kind of like a supervillain’s lair. They rode the elevator up, stopping at the 6th floor. Unfinished with not even a desk or chair in site, they ambled over to the window and looked out. They weren’t high enough to have a great view of the city, but they did overlook one particularly small building below. Police had cordoned off a section as a throng of protestors with signs seemed to be confronting them. Behind the police, by the building, were construction workers.

“I thought you’d want to see the results of your hard work,” Amplebottom said slyly. John Howard and Henderson stared down curiously as the protestors seemed to get louder. He hadn’t been here in so long, Henderson was unsure what he was looking at. The chintzy building was old and surrounded by expensive real estate. His mind began wondering how much the lot was worth and who could possibly own it when John Howard spoke.

“Cherub Theatre,” his voice was different than usual, quicker and lighter. Amplebottom smiled.

“The future site of Hemple Housing Porter,” he gloated. “And it’s all thanks to you.” John Howard seemed uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. Henderson just looked quietly. Then something happened. The entire building shook and collapsed.

“Well, it wasn’t very grand, I admit. But that’s the start!” Ample said happily. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two envelopes and handed one to each of the men. Henderson opened his tenderly, wondering what awaited him. It was a very formal letter, on thick paper, declaring his promotion to Associate with a new salary of 400k a year, four percent commission, and a new set of company perks. Henderson practically came inside his briefs and when he looked at Amplebottom he was holding out his hand. Henderson accepted the firm handshake happily.

“Wow,” John Howard spoke quietly as he read the letter.

“Surprised?” “Yes, I, thank you, Sir!” John Howard’s momentary trepidation was gone, replaced with a beaming smile and he shook both their hands with the energy of a toddler on redbull.

“You’re a little young, to be honest. But I think you’ve demonstrated a dedication and promise that will benefit Hemplebaum for years to come. And Hemplebaum rewards good employees, Junior Partner John Howard Johnson.” Amplebottom emphasized the last bit so Henderson understood. J.H. had just moved into a whole new income bracket. A whole new way of seeing the world. There had been some trepidation, some fear, as he had looked at the theatre, but now all he saw were profit margins.

“I'm starving. There’s a great steakhouse nearby. I say we get some prime rib and bourbon and have a toast.” The three fatasses business men strutted out of the building, richer and more content than ever before.

-----

Things had progressed really well for Henderson. He was now a member in good standing at Rolling Acres Country Club, which meant he’d been bumped up from guest to groomsman at John Howard’s oversized wedding. Apparently, everyone and their dog walker’s best friend had been invited, so long as their net worth was greater than John Howard’s. Which is how Henderson found himself, sitting in an auxiliary dressing room with the rest of the groom’s party, in nothing but their skivvies getting toasted hours before the ceremony. John Howard himself was maintaining a pretty stoic demeanor, but several of the groomsmen were going whole hog.

“Just brilliant, J.H.,” Rip patted John Howard on the shoulder again, his eyes were slightly unfocused.

“Careful, you’ll be unconscious before the ceremony,” came a stern warning for their co-worker Bert.

“Imma juss wishing my buddy all the damn- happiness in the world! Hopefully, your marriage is happier than mine!” Rip sat down clearly woozy. Rumor around the club was that his wife did not “approve of his dalliances” like he had hoped. He’d recently spent some time warning the college boys about the value of pre-nups.

“Have some water, Rip,” Chadwick said, forcing a tall glass of sparkling water into his hands. Even though it was John Howard’s day, Chadwick did a great job of ensuring he was generally at the center of things. He’d been the best man, the bachelor party planner, the one who got everyone to relive fraternity induction by sitting around half naked drinking whiskey straight on a saturday afternoon. There was something deeply fraternal about the thing. Henderson could recall himself and a few dozen other young freshmen in a similar situation as their pledge master and rush chair had guided them through a vow committing them to the fraternity.

“I’m ready for another, not you Rip. You’re sitting this one out,” came a highly affected male voice. It belonged to Oswald V, practically a guest of honor. John Howard had been absolutely beside himself when Oz had agreed to be a groomsman. Henderson was happy for him. J.H. was definitely a social climber and at Rolling Acres he could not do any better. For his part, Oz was charming and congenial, born into a life of socializing and money, he had all the natural airs of an heir apparent.

“So, I got the bridesmaid situation worked out,” Chadwick leaned into John Howard and Henderson. “Missy was insisting on Kitty Bell being third, but I got her to swing her down the line and swap in Millie Cashon. Oz doesn’t like her, but fuck him, he’s married. So, Henderson, I got you set up with the hot one. And the single one.” Henderson looked bashfully at the floor as the other two stared at him.

“Oh, okay,” he sort of shrugged.

“Listen, Huck,” Chadwick had taken to calling Henderson “Huck” because apparently all men needed a nickname among brothers. “This took a LOT of work on my part. I’m not saying you have to marry her, but if you don’t get to at least second, I will consider you a waste. Also, I owe Missy a doubles game of tennis now,” John Howard looked horrified at the prospect. “So, J.H. is gonna have to slip into some tiny white shorts and I’m gonna deal with a ticked off aristocrat. So have some fun!” Chadwick slapped Henderson’s shoulder in a paternal fashion as he returned to keeping up the fun in the room. John Howard and Henderson made awkward eye contact for a minute.

“Sorry,” Henderson said sheepishly.

“She’s hot,” J.H. appraised. “Dad’s not worth too much, but he does have some great boats. Might as well make the most of it.” He tipped his glass up to Henderson who met it solidly, producing a harsh click in the room.

“Here’s to J.H.!” Rip was attempting to make a toast, seemingly recovered from his drunken daze.

“To J.H.-John Howard!” Henderson polished off his drink and happily accepted a refill. Without John Howard he never would have gotten a job at Hemplebaum, he’d never been sitting in this room, drinking liquor that cost more than a cable bill, planning on making an offer on a home in Chester, and planning on how to get into Kitty Bell’s dress tonight. Cheers to J.H. indeed.

#callmecrazy #preppy #mental transformation #suit #nosex

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blazehedgehog · 4 years

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As an Internet veteran and draw-person, I really need to ask: what anime influenced you and many online artists circa 2000s? There's a specific style from those early 2000s webcomics and fanart I'm looking for and trying to replicate, and your old art fit in that "style", in my opinion. Thank you!

It’s hard to narrow it down, but it’s also not that hard to narrow it down. Anime was a much, much smaller industry back then. The “boom” was just beginning thanks to efforts by the Scifi Channel and Cartoon Network to bring anime to television in timeslots that people would actually watch.

So here’s your crash course in casual anime history, I guess, from someone who definitely isn’t like... obsessed with anime. Or isn’t anymore, but was back then.

For me, it all kind of started with, like... Dragon Ball, and this was a show that struggled to gain any traction at first. Where I lived, it aired at 5am on Sunday mornings. If you knew a kid that watched Dragon Ball, there was a solidarity there like, “Yup, you get it.”

Then DiC got the license to Sailor Moon and started airing it in the weekday morning slot I would typically describe as “right before you catch the bus.” You’d wake up around 6am, maybe 6:15, and watch whatever was on at 6:30 while you ate breakfast. As the credits were rolling, you’d head out to catch the school bus. Sailor Moon was what I remember doing that with the most. That combined with Dragon Ball formed my foundational interest in anime.

Around this time (1995, 1996) you were starting to see anime start to seep in to the mainstream elsewhere. There was a commercial I remember for, like, an anthology of anime classics like Akira...

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And, y’know, when you’re like, 14 or 15 and you see a commercial like this -- cartoons! With blood! And nudity! It’s like, holy crap. Most of the classics we know today (Akira, Ghost in the Shell) were only really available via mail order like this back then.

More shows started getting localized for TV, too, like Ronin Warriors was one a lot of my friends got in to. It was considered “The Manly Sailor Moon.” And then there was, of course, Samurai Pizza Cats. Eventually Saban stopped dubbing Dragon Ball altogether and moved straight over to Dragon Ball Z, and that gained enough popularity that I think it eventually shook it out of its Sunday Morning time slot to somewhere a little more visible by general audiences.

Coming in to 1997 and 1998, anime was really starting to gain some momentum. The Scifi Channel had begin doing their “Saturday Anime” show, which aired at 3am every Friday Night/Saturday Morning. They probably figured it was one of the only ways they could get away with showing violent cartoons.

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For me, this was where I got my first “real” taste of anime. They had a stable of about 5 or 10 movies and OVAs they’d run. Venus Wars, Vampire Hunter D, Project A-KO, Robot Carnival, Tenchi Muyo In Love (my favorite), Project L.I.L.Y. Cat, Beautiful Dreamer, Galaxy Express 999, Fatal Fury The Motion Picture, Record of Lodoss War, Dominion Tank Police, Roujin-Z, Demon City Shinjiku, Gall Force...

That felt like the bandaid got ripped off. Suddenly we were all buzzing about anime. Hey, have you heard about this movie called Ninja Scroll? There’s hardcore sex in it! No American movie, live action or not, could ever match the body horror of Akira! Hey, does anyone remember Robotech from the 80′s? That was actually anime, too! Wow!

Cartoon Network was smart enough to take notice and snatched up the rights to air Sailor Moon and Dragon Ball Z at reasonable, non-morning hours, and they dug out Voltron and put together a simple block of anime. I don’t even think it necessarily had a name, it was just an hour or maybe 90 minutes of anime a day, and it exploded. Right place, right time. So Cartoon Network expanded.

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They added more classic anime, and some shows that were similar in tone, and called it Toonami. Robotech, Ronin Warriors, The Real Adventures of Johnny Quest, Reboot, Thundercats...

And this became the place to watch anime. Which is when we enter the era you’re asking about, the early 2000′s. This is where it starts to feel like a little too much to cover, because it came hot, heavy, and fast. There was a thirst for anime that was hard to quench because production companies were small and choosy about what they’d dub, but at the same time, a sort of gold rush was starting.

When I think of peak, classic-era Toonami, the stuff that really influenced me artistically, it was shows like Outlaw Star, Ruroni Kenshi, and Gundam Wing. I’m sure I’d also have friends speak highly of Big-O, G-Gundam, and Yu Yu Hakusho, three shows I never really got in to.

Eventually, Cartoon Network (and Williams Street, then called Ghost Planet Industries) began to realize that there was a growing library of anime they couldn’t show in the afternoon because it was too intense for the kids. There was also an undoubtedly vocal contingent of anime fans who were frustrated when their favorite shows had to be edited for broadcast. This gave birth to Toonami: The Midnight Run, the precursor to what would eventually become Adult Swim. The Midnight Run became home to uncut (or simply less-cut) episodes of afternoon shows that restored blood, alcoholic references, and the few cases of more extreme violence.

Midnight Run started getting exclusive shows, too. When I think about what Midnight Run (and later Adult Swim) was known for, it was shows like Cowboy Bebop, FLCL, and again, though it wasn’t really something I saw a ton of, Paranoia Agent.

Other networks did try to cash in on the anime craze. I think Tech TV/G4 tried to get in on things with Serial Experiments Lain and a few other shows, but to be honest, it never hit as hard as Toonami did. Then there was obviously the work of guys like 4KIDS, with the Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh and Digimon shows on Saturday Morning, but those felt noticeably different in vibe and in tone (something that only got more pronounced when Kids WB started a Saturday Morning Toonami block that was even more aggressively sanitized than what could be shown on Cartoon Network).

Beyond broadcast TV, the stuff I remember being popular among my circle of friends were things like Tenchi Universe, Ranma 1/2, Slayers, Saber Marionette, and.... like, Di Gi Charat and Chobits? This was probably right around the era of Azumanga Daioh, too.

Unfortunately, much past 2003 or 2004 is where I started falling off of anime. The feeling of it being “new” and “special” was starting to wear off, and there was enough coming out that the standard of quality was beginning to drop. Whereas small studios like ADV and Manga Corps. could only afford to bring out the best of the best, we were starting to get junk like Duel Masters, Rozen Maiden and Tenchi Muyo GXP.

I remember friends speaking highly of shows like Bleach (heh), .hack, Full Metal Panic, Midori Days, Tenjo Tenge, Yakitate Japan, Eureka Seven, and Air Gear, but I can’t tell you anything about them, personally.

Either way, I’m sure I’ve given you more than enough to chew on.

#questions #anime #toonami #scifi channel #syfy #4kids #kids wb #foxbox #saturday anime #Anonymous

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frostburnx · 4 years

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AngelFell part 13

Frisk woke up the next morning and looked over at Chara who was in a strange awkward looking position that you would think would be uncomfortable to her, but clearly isn’t. He kind of chuckled at the oddity of her sleeping habits. After a second she abruptly startled awake falling off of the slab onto the ground with a thud. Fisk’s eyes widened and he looked over the edge at her. She was just laying there with a wide smile on her face and bright eyes to complement it.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Mhm!” She sat up grabbing Frisks cheeks in her hand but not too roughly so that she wouldn’t accidentally cut him with her claws, “Good morning!”

“Good morning! How did you sleep?”

“I slept great!” she exclaimed full of enthusiasm and excitement, “You?”

“I slept amazing! Thank you for asking.”

Chara let go giggling before she stood up and promptly stretched. She turned to Frisk about to say something when one of her fairy-like ears twitched for a second and she instead turned to the entrance to the cave.

Standing there was a knight. They had short brown hair with bright emerald green eyes. They were wearing light weight armor with red accents and a small flame emblem on their chest plate. Their complexion was a soft tan and unlike most of the people Chara had seen when she was on the heaven side, this was a human. Their eyes widened at the sight of the two and they sprung forward with a wide grin.

In a swift motion the knight picked both angels up and man handled them.

“So adorable!” They nearly squealed with excitement, they had a medium toned voice.

As soon as they had picked them up Chara stiffened and looked towards the cave entrance as a familiar looking knight stepped in. It was the fish woman from the other day and she had a wide smirk on her face flashing sharp teeth in Chara and Frisk's direction.

“Quick, take Frisk and let’s go!” She ordered.

The knight sprinted past their superior still holding onto both angels and began racing towards the barrier.

“Sam!!! What are you doing!?!?” She bellowed after the guard who was still running and looking down at the two with admiration.

“Hi! I’m Sam, what are both of your names?” They asked.

“I uh I-I’m Chara,” she said meekly, very confused on what was happening.

“Aw, that’s so adorable!”

Chara looked behind Sam too see the woman running after them with a sort of agitated look on her face. Soon after they reached the buried and the knight known as Sam put Chara on the ground before quickly crossing the barrier and placing Frisk down on the heaven side. As soon as Frisk passed the barrier however, suddenly a quiet whistling noise filled the air. He turned towards what it was and saw a couple of objects flying right at him. He didn’t have any time to react before the objects hit him. They went around his body to the base of his wings and clamped down tightly. A small beep came from them and Frisk was then thrown off his feet as he was being pulled away from the barrier with a strong force. All of it happened so fast he barely registered it and started to look around to see what was pulling him, but he couldn’t see anything. Whatever was pulling him, it wasn’t an object, it had to be magic.

Chara slammed her hands against the burier watching in horror as he was being pulled away from her.

“Frisk!!!!!” She cried out.

The woman crossed the barrier beside Chara and she only noticed after she entered her sight in front of her. The woman then grabbed Same by the plate of armor on their back and was dragging them away from the crossover.

Chara fell to her knees beginning to cry as she continued watching Frisk being pulled farther and farther away out of view.

Frisk continued to be pulled, he looked around kicking his feet uselessly trying to keep up with the force but it was useless. He looked up to see the familiar arch of the doorway into the castle and he soon after came to an abrupt stop. He sprung to his feet and reached over his shoulders and around to his back trying to pull the cuffs off, but they wouldn’t budge. In his blind struggle he hadn’t noticed someone approached him.

“Frisk...I didn’t want this, but the kingdom needs you,” a familiar voice full of sadness explained to him.

He turned to see Asriel standing before him and his eyes widened. Thousands of thoughts rushed into his mind, some were worried about Chara and others were that of betrayal. In the end the thoughts about Chara over ruled the ones he felt about Asriel.

“But she is there all alone!” He cried out, “The only reason I went over there this morning was to tell her I wouldn’t be there and you sent Undyne!”

“You said you would help me, b-but you weren’t there..” he paused before continuing, “I was advised to send Undyne after I volunteered to, they didn’t want me going!”

“So now am I a prisoner that is being kept here??”

“No..” Asriel looked away with an expression that said he doesn’t want to do this and he looked like he was barely keeping it together anymore, “You aren’t meant to be over there, you’re supposed to be here. I’m sorry!”

Frisk shut his eyes turning his head to the ground with a shallow feeling enveloping him.

Asriel just quickly walked away keeping himself together with just a thread.

It was silent in the throne room, the only sound was the soft crackling of the fire. Frisk clenched his fists for a second before releasing them. He would see her again, he knew it. He had to stay determined. One day he will get the cuffs off and go straight to her and stay with her for as long as he possibly can. It wasn’t fair that she had to be alone. It wasn’t fair that both of them were being held prisoner to their own sides. But for now he had to deal with it, for now anyway.

Frisk's thoughts were interrupted by the throne doors opening and someone running up to him. He turned his head with hope that it was Chara but instead it was a small squirrel like girl. She had yellow stripes going down her and bright yellow eyes.

“Oh wow! I really am going to be working with the angel!!” She exclaimed and did a small dance spinning around.

She stopped with a wide smile, “I am supposed to tell you what your objectives are. It will be chaotic now but I’m sure it will be a-okay!”

“Yeah..sure,” Frisk blankly said, still upset.

“I’m Elexis!” She held out her hand to him with a bright smile.

He slowly shook her hand before sighing sadly.

“Alright! Let’s go!”

Roughly 11,000 years later, Frisk was 10 and a half.

Frisk was just finishing repairing a roof and jumped down. He looked up at the sky and it was a gorgeous deep blue, with only a few clouds here and there. The nice spring breeze blew down the street putting a small smile on Frisk’s face. He then looked down and started walking down the stone street looking for any more work he needed to complete before the day was over. In front of an inn there was a woman talking to two guards. The guards were smiling wide and displaying outwards body language. He walked a little closer to see if he could overhear the conversation.

“Yeah, she came back with a black feather on her armor too!” One said.

“I can’t believe she managed to kill that fallen angel,” the other guard said with a surprised tone.

The woman put a hand over her mouth, “Reall?” She had a hopeful tone.

“Yeah, I want to be strong like Undyne,” the guard looked away like they were just imagining it now.

Frisk felt his heart drop in his chest and his eyes widened, “No way, Chara didn’t die.” he thought in denial.

He then looked in the direction of the barrier and started flying to it, after a few minutes he landed in front of it. There in front of him he could see Doug a little ways into the hell side huddled over a bloodied black feather. He was circling around it and Frisk could barely make out the sound of whining. From the feather on the ground there was a black bloody trail coming from farther away.

“N-No, she couldn’t have died! Maybe she was able to get to lava, or-or maybe she- She just can’t have died!!!” Shock overwhelmed Frisk and he went to cross the barrier. But the cuffs on his back glowed a little before he was quickly dragged away towards the castle like it always did everytime he tried to cross. When he arrived at the castle he got to his feet drawing in a breath trying to rationalize what that was and what he heard. Undyne walked into the throne room and went up to him wrapping an arm around his head giving him a noogie.

“Heya punk!”

Frisk wasn’t amused this time, instead he turned to her with a worried look.

“Were you on the hell side recently?” He began hiding his shock from her as to not seem suspicious.

“I was, I had a mission,” She smiled wide at him, “You still up for anime with Alphys and I later?”

“No, I’ll pass this time,” Frisk said, suppressing a quiver to his tone.

He then ran out of the castle and flew to the barrier once again trying to cross but being brought back to the throne room in a repetitive cycle of attempting to cross and being pulled back to the throne room. He couldn’t handle the thought of her being dead. It couldn’t be.

Soon after the rumor of the death of the fallen angel spread through the kingdoms of the heaven side which brought relief to everyone that feared the potential destruction of the heaven side. Frisk kept trying to cross for multiple days and for a few years was in constant denial and sadness, but he still felt that she was alive, she had to be. She couldn’t have died, they must be wrong.

(This was a little bit longer than a normal chapter because I had a lot to put in, and it was compensation for not writing the other day since I had gotten busy, this story is far from over. I hope you enjoy what’s to come. I will eventually start posting some of my art, I can’t promise quality as some of them are a little bit old and my art skills have improved a lot since some of these were made. So yeh.)

#undertale #undetale au #angelfell #chara #frisk #frisk and chara #asriel dreemurr #undyne #roleplay

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kittymaverick · 5 years

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MCF: Black Crown commentary part 2 and overall review.

Spoilers! Though I’m going to post the spoiler free quick review up here.

Another great MCF game, I dare say, despite me constantly having to look away because of my fear of skulls. I’m a little sad that somethings weren’t explored a bit deeper, but overall the plot fits the MCF series, the art was of good quality, the puzzles were of the right difficulty. Not sure when and what the next game is, but I look forward to it if the quality keeps up!

1. [And then the walkthrough spent a full 5 minutes on a complex door puzzle] I was wondering when those would show up. MD: ...I’m more surprised no one sneaked up on me while I was going about this...

2. MD: Hm, maybe I should light this thing-- *Lights the entire passage way* Great, now they know we are here! MD: ...I was never meant to be stealthy, you know...

3. That’s... a somewhat floating ship, albeit on chains. MD: Seriously, they sailed that thing back from Louisiana?! What were they going to do instead, take a plane?

4. Girl: Hi there, also, look what I have. Doctor and Nurse: Help? MD: I KNEW IT. NOW WE HAVE A HOSTAGE CRISIS. Guess we aren’t deviating too far from classic MCF blunders after all.

5. Phineas: Let’s parley! MD: Sure! Give me the doctor and nurse, and I won’t burn your whole estate and ship down down. ...And the girl? MD: He can keep her. If there’s anything I’ve learnt, is leave no survivors to take revenge. Doctor and Nurse: Detective, no.

6. Phineas: Anyway, fix my ship until it’s seaworthy, and they go free, deal? MD: You’re gonna renegade anyway so is there even a point in me agreeing? Phineas: The other ghosts were right, you really are a spoilsport. MD: I’ll also like to point out you have at least 11 conscious subordinates to do your bidding still. Surely THEY can do SOMETHING.

7. A... tavern. MD: The fact that this is the first time I’ve seen a tavern surprises me. That’s a weird, sea monster, thingy, up there...

8. MD, please tell me you’re coming up with a plan to redrown this ghost, again. MD: Hm.... MD, please... MD: I mean, I’m thinking of a word that begins with m, can you guess what it is? Murder? MD: ...I was going more for mutiny, but sure, murder works too.

9. You know, one thing that’s nice about Phineas as a villain is he shuts up and let you do the work. MD: Ah, the sound of a tense peace and quiet... that is not at all pleasing. Time to blow some stuff up just so we can disturb it some. Wait WE’RE IN A CAVE--

10. [One controlled detonation and a ship released later...] MD: Okay, now hand over those hostages! Phineas: Bargain’s fulfilled. You can have them back. MD: ...What, really?! Phineas: I’m just missing some treasure though. Well, more like ONE PIECE (ahaha, ahem, sorry). My sword is missing. Can you get that for me? I’ll release the girl. MD: One, why would I even want that when she wants me dead? Two, I’m pretty sure that mutiny happened in the Americas. How on earth would the sword be here in England-- Phineas: I said A mutiny, not THE mutiny. MD: ...Oh. Still, do I have to rescue the girl? Doctor and nurse: Um, YES?! MD: Oh FINE, I’ll go play the hero... Phineas: I’ll be waiting in the captain’s quarters. MD: ...One, that sounded VAGUELY suggestive, two, you’re going to sink me with you, aren’t you?

11. MD: BTW, you two are taking this ghost pirate ship thing insanely well. Nurse: Um, we DO work at Manchester asylum, for one thing. Doctor: That and we’ve had to deal with you, once upon a time. MD: ...right, that, explains everything.

12. MD: Okay, that’s a lot of treasure on the boat. Maybe you can ask Her Majesty to loan us the army on account of rescuing some treasure? MD: She likes stories better. Awww.

13. Hm, a curse and a priestess... wonder who that priestess might be... MD: At this point, it could be any of the supernatural beings I’ve encountered.

14. Another skill the MD has: diving. MD: Can’t believe all those licensing lessons are paying off.

15. MD: Okay, got your sword! You can spring your trap now! [Ship sails away from the dock] MD: ...That’s one way to isolate your enemy, I guess. Maybe you should check for gunpowder before seeing the captain? MD: I really should do that, shouldn’t I?

16. [Inside captain’s quarters] Doctor and Nurse: Hi. MD: ...SERIOUSLY??? WHY DID YOU COME ON BOARD?! Phineas: Ahem, so the girl? MD: Yeah yeah, give her to the doctor, I don’t care. Phineas: Good! Off ye go, lass, and welcome aboard as my new crew hand, detective! MD: .............Haha, real funny-- Doctor: Remember that contract you signed? That was the service contract. Also, thanks to you, we’re immortal now. MD: ...I fucking knew that paper wasn’t just something random, AND ALSO OF THIS INEVITABLE BETRAYAL! *clench fist* Oh, as for immortality... I’ve got my feather, all good, no thanks.

16. Doctor: So long as the ship sails and we’re on board, we’ll have an eternity to enjoy them! MD: ...Okay, thanks for telling me how to stop you. Time to look for those powder kegs! Phineas: Damn minions, why can’t they keep their mouth shut.

17. Crew member... something: Find me some navigation charts! Another Crew member: I need a new target to throw at! MD: What am I, your servant?! Phineas: Well, judging by the contract, ya probably are. MD: ...You are going to love what I’m about to serve all of you. At least it wasn’t a prenuptial contract or the like, right?

18. Crew member I’ve-lost-count: Thanks for the extra hand! ...I guess they’re still a little insane after all... MD: Not sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing... Crew another: I need to feed the bird, but the bird isn’t here... but I need to feed the bird, but-- MD: ...Let’s go with good for now.

19. [Fire a canon] Phineas: Which one of you did that?! MD: *whistles and goes downstairs*

20. MD: He... stored her remains in the FIGUREHEAD??? ...Wow, at least it wasn’t you, right? MD: Not at all helping!

21. MD: Got all the needles, now... HEY PHINEAS! Phineas: Wha? MD: I got a bunch of needles, and guess who’s gonna get stabbed? Phineas: Traitor! This is mutiny! MD: In seriousness, did you really expect me to serve you willingly? Phineas: No, but I didn’t expected you to be this stupid and try to rebel so early! MD: Oh you bloody... *Stabs doll like crazy*

22. Phineas: Wait until I’m free! I’ll rain all the wrath upon ya! MD: Nice try, now I’m going to take the crown, and also this other thing from you... now stay still while I go break the curse. Phineas: You will regret this! MD: I already don’t regret this! 8D I think for once, the MD might be having a bit too much fun tormenting their foe. 23. Phineas: NOOOOO MY SHIP!!!! MD: Off the sides, everyone! Take your leave before it’s too late-- AAAAHHHHH. You would think the voodoo priestess would be nicer and not drop you into the ocean like that. MD: I’m just thankful I’m alive, honestly. Girl: Also, thank you for saving me. MD: ... Dammit I didn’t exactly mean to do that... Oh well, just, please don’t come after me again. My life insurance is getting worse with each attempt. Phineas: *cackles from under water* MD: Oh shut up you ectoplasmic goop. I need another vacation-- Hey, a letter from Louisiana! Time for that American holiday, right MD? MD: *sighs*

[Extra content start here!]

24. So, guy’s got horucruxes. MD: What’s up with people putting pieces of their souls into stuff, huh? It mostly explains their state of mind, to be honest.

25. Only death can find you... creepy... MD: I mean, they’re not wrong. Death’s almost found me many times. And actually did find me that one time...

26. OOOOOHHHH that’s the shopkeeper’s body alright... MD: Welp, guess I’m on my own, plus that southern guy out there. Southern guy: Oh, she’s dead? Well, then I’m out. Keep the amulet to protect yourself! MD: Yes please, I no longer do search and rescues. At least not unless it’s paid well.

27. AAAHHHH TREE MONSTER THINGY! MD: AMULET PROTECT ME PUT THE JAW BACK PUT IT BACK *Thing collapses into dust* MD: ...Oh that was easy. Yeah, guess that’s over-- FLYING SKULL FLYING SKULL MAKE IT GO AWAY! (Kitty has nearly passed out from too much skull exposure at this point)

28. MD: Okay, into the crypt-- oh that’s a lot of skulls (Kitty once again passes out from too many skulls...)

29. Ghost: Heard you hate Phineas too, so we’re gonna help you get him. MD: Great! How do I-- Ghost: Just gotta find his skull among all the skulls here, good luck. MD: ... (Kitty is just gone) MD: Welp fuck me.

30. Ghost: Assemble the four great pirate elements! Wade: Teeth! Terrel: Tentacle! Joe: Eye! Wayne: Pistol! Ghosts: Together we are...! MD: ...A match-3 puzzle??? REALLY????????? Thank you for not making it skulls...

31. MD: FOUND YOU. GET OVER HERE AND BURN TO ASH! Phineas: Ehehe, you missed a tooth! MD: ...fuck.

#Mystery Case files #black crown #big fish games #eipex games #MCF

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moved99999999999 · 5 years

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U guys wanna know what I think about that hell hotel show

I feel like twitter’s very tired of seeing ppl talk about Hazbin Hotel, so I putting my opinions on tumblr where they belong. I’m not a “professional critic” by any means, but I’ll try my best given what I know. And don’t worry, I’ll be incredibly nit-picky to suit the internet’s needs.

I’m gonna mainly focus on HH itself instead of Vivzie’s accusations because that's a WHOLE other can of worms to open.

During the time of me writing this, I haven’t watched any YT reviews, but I’ve read a few threads criticising the show, so take that as my social influence bias.

My ted talk is allllll below the cut. Enjoy~

Context:

My first exposure of Vivzie’s work was her “Die Young” animation that I came across around 2016. Instantly I fell in love with how “smooth” and lively her animation was, and especially the fact that it was hand drawn. Animation like that was extremely rare to come by (and still is) and seeing her execute it so well with such complexed characters was amazing to my fetus self.

A few years later and I see the first trailer for HH. I instantly went OH I RECOGNISE THAT STYLE AND THOSE CHARACTER TYPE DESIGNS and was looking forward to what it had to offer.

On “opening day” I watched the pilot ASAP to avoid my opinions from getting warped by all of the key-mash memes and post call-out bitching (literally the extremes of the HH opinion spectrum), and overall.....

I thought it was good.

Not ground breakingly amazing, not horrifically terrible, but charmingly good.

(Ok now it’s actual review time)

Animation Quality:

As a hand drawn animation that has the freedom to get creative with its shots, a lot of effort was clearly put into how everything moves (it definitely didn’t take any lazy flash puppet shortcuts for the main sections of the show) and I can appreciate that. However it tends to be... rather inconsistent, most likely due to the varying skill level of the animators on the project. It’ll be nice and smooth one minute, and then awkward and choppy the next which can make the viewing pretty confusing at times. I’ll be honest I found myself overlooking these inconsistencies due to the characters and backgrounds themselves being very visually engaging, especially considering how over designed some of them can be (which I applaud the team for handling cuz wow that must have been painful). However, the needle thin and exaggerated art style makes some things incredibly hard to look at. While it helps with adding fancy details, it hurts in catching peoples eyes in the right place.

It’s also chalk full of little details, visual gags, and references that are hilarious to look at if you have the luxury of pausing every two seconds (the news segment and Sir Pentious turf war w/ Angel and Cherri are good places to look). But I feel like these lil details were put in at the cost of some some continuity errors (Charlie not wearing her coat in one shot, and having it back on in the next, papers being blank, etc.) and lip-syncing issues which really shouldn’t be happening considering all of the detail they were able to put in. There are also some shots that have just SO MUCH detail put into them, only to be shown for less than a second. I get that’s the cost of animation sometimes, but save the detail for the shots that need it, because at that point you’re just causing the animators to waste their efforts.

However, I was surprised at how professional the soundtrack and editing was. Not one but THREE songs in this single episode was really surprising, and the variation and quality of each was great (as cringy as Charlie’s song is)

But overall, the production quality is surprisingly good for a project like this, the editing, sound effects, and sound track act like a cherry on top. Of course there are some noticeable drops in quality, but given time and a budget, it has enough chops to look like an actual show.

Writing:

As far as overarching plot goes, it seems like it’s going to be one of those procedural shows that tries to be serialised, but it’s a creative twist on hell and has an interesting premise to begin with. You can get really creative with seeing how you’d dive into getting redemption out of all of these seemingly lost causes, and I’m sure there are many people willing to know the backstories our main cast. As a pilot, it did it’s job of launching the plot very well, setting up the premise of the hotel and introducing characters in a very engaging way. I was legit really interested in each segment with who in introduced, and it didn’t feel like I was being overloaded with names to remember (which can be a problem for many medias and introductions). The cohesion between each scene is VERY smooth, and I genuinely enjoyed some of the cliché cuts/gags.

Unfortunately I can’t extend this interest to our main character. Charlie is one of the most generic tropes we’ve ever seen. She’s a boring Disney princess who has a “cute happy positive goal to change her world” and the only thing that would make her more generic is if she wore a dress and cried “I’m tired of being so privileged”.

(Although it’s impossible to tell, I honestly think Viv is just projecting through her, especially considering how horrifically accurate the hotel’s opening mirrors the internet’s reaction to the pilot itself)

I would be more forgiving if she was a supporting character or someone less important, but she’s the freaking protagonist, arguably the character that has to be the most interesting. Angel’s personality seems to be “flirty porn star”, and while that’s just as bad as being a boring Disney princess, at least he gets a few jokes and has a profession more interesting than Charlie’s. Around the end of the pilot he just seems like he’s getting involved because Viv likes giving him attention. If he’s supposed to be leeching off of the hotel, wouldn’t not care if it survives or not?

(There’s that whole stereotype issue that everyone keeps bringing up, but I genuinely think that’s BS because people are blatantly ignoring the fact that Angel is a porn star, Vaggie is portrayed as helpful, and that the show takes place in H E double hokey sticks.)

The transitions may be smooth, but the dialogue pacing can get really awkward at times. This paired with the animation sometimes having awkward quality drops makes some movements incredibly jagged, and has some detailed shots show for incredibly unbalanced screen time as mentioned before.

I don’t have enough to give voice acting it’s own section so I’m just popping it down here:

The voice acting is legitimately better than several big name projects I know. It’s consistent, great at expressing the character’s mood properly, and each voice fits each character perfectly. My only gripes are that Alastor and Sir Pentious tend to grain on you after awhile due to them keeping a single tone for too long.

Character Design: AKA the only thing I have legitimate experience with.

First thing’s first. The characters are WAY too over designed. There are so many markings and accessories that are incredibly unnecessary. I think the mindset for these characters was “the more complicated and attractive the better”, which makes them look like they’re designed by an edgy tumblr artist (heck I fall for this too some times).

Especially if a character is going to be animated, you have to keep in mind the value of simplicity. You absolutely don’t have to fill in your character with markings and trinkets to make them look unique, I mean just look at the gen 1 pokemon starters. Thanks to the limitations of the game, the sprites were forced to be simple, and it was that simplicity that made them such unique and varied creatures. You can tell Blastoise is a bulky water blasting turtle just with a quick glance.

Many of the characters suffer from over complication, but I’ll look at Husk for example. He has these stripes all over him that do not contribute to who he’s supposed to be at all, and only look like they’re added to make him more unique. The markings that DO help are the little card suite marks on his wings, because those at least infer he’s linked to a casino/gambling type of theme. I would say his outfit helps as well, but formal wear and bowties are worn way to often by the main characters, which brings me to another problem.

They may look different, but they feel way too similar. From the same skinny body type, to generic head shapes, to outfits, the focus characters just don’t stand out amongst each other. Even the ones with interesting features still suffer from feeling generic. I’d say Sir Pentious is a good example of this. He has a serpentine/naga body and clever hair style that make his concept really creative, but his skinny body type, complicated eyes all over his tail, and generic “young but supposed to be at least middle aged” face just push him back into obscurity. He’s even wearing the SAME outfit as Alastor (who's an even worse offender of that generic face problem), and unless Viv has some plan to link the two, I’d say the characters need to stop using a dress code.

A successful character design can to tell you who the character is just by looking at them. You should be able to tell if a character’s personality, function, age, the universe they belong in, and if they’re important or not, and that’s a big problem when it comes to the background characters. If you pause on one of the extras for a minute you can see all of the effort put into designing them, and that takes away so much attention from the main cast. Not only that, but they have actual variations in their body types and outfits, which makes them more intriguing than who we’re supposed to be interested in.

Regardless, this pilot has potential, and if they can get someone to comb out the flaws, you can end up with something good. No one can deny a legitimate animation was made here, and the team successfully executed the start of a story, and that’s something anyone can look up to.

TLDR: The pilot is good. It has some major flaws, but it has potential to be a good show.

If you actually read this far epstein didn’t kill himself.

#I'm only doing this cuz i wanna draw angel dust and i feel like I have to justify myself before ppl start calling me mean things #Fan art is coming ;)#hazbin hotel #HH is good yall just have a mob mentality #critique

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bottled-bliss · 5 years

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birds as beautiful as these

At first, Karen had thought they’d never go through with it. Foggy and Matt could bicker for hours, but they always made up in the end. This should be no different. Except it was. They’d had one disagreement too many and now, she had to watch Foggy take down the sign from the door and shove it in a box with the last of the stuff from his desk. ‘Nelson and Murdock’ was no more.

“You didn’t have to stick around for this.”

“Don’t worry, Foggy.” She squeezed his arm and sighed. She was really going to miss working with him. “It’s not like you’re making me late for work.”

“Sorry you’re out of a job,” he smiled halfheartedly.

Ah, yes, there was that too. “I’ll find something.” Preferably sooner rather than later. Rent was cheap, but not that cheap, and she quite liked eating, so being able to afford that would be nice.

“I wish I had some suggestions for you,” he grumbled as she held the front door open for him and they stepped out in the street. “Apart from that one… Hey!” An idea lit up his eyes. “I know a guy who knows a guy!”

“Looking for an assistant?”

“Technically, yes.”

“Oh, wow, that didn’t sound fishy at all,” Karen frowned.

“No, listen,” Foggy insisted as he shifted the box from left to right. “It’s going to sound weird but it’s good money. At least until something better comes along.”

There was no harm in listening to his suggestion, especially if the money was good. “How naked do I have to get?” she joked.

“I’m not sure. Is partial nudity off the table?”

She expected him to laugh any minute now. Any minute now. He just kept looking at her, waiting for an answer. “Foggy!”

“I’m not talking about porn,” he clarified in a whisper. “I’m talking about art! An artist looking for a model and nothing else.”

Imagining herself posing with a sheet draped over her body seemed funnier than porn for some reason. “I’m not a model, Foggy.”

“But you’re model material,” he said and winked playfully.

“How well do you know this man?” Karen pressed. There were lots of weirdos in this city and prior experience with an art major she knew in college, had taught her that artists could be the weirdest of them all.

“He tried to sell me insurance some time ago, before he switched careers,” Foggy explained. “I would never mention this if there was anything strange about it, okay? My guy is solid. He’s as good as they come and he has assured me the artist is decent, if a little bit rough around the edges. Kind of a recluse.” Seeing Karen’s hesitation, he decided not to push. “Think about it is all I’m saying. Sitting still for long periods of time isn’t the worst job description.”

That was true.

Which was why she’d agreed to meet the artist, see for herself what kind of vibe he gave off and have him explain what he would expect his model to do exactly.

His house, which could be more accurately described as a small, modest mansion, could at least speak to his wealth. But even before she set foot inside it, she could tell it wasn’t a home. It was certainly decorated beautifully, but it lacked warmth that the sun coming in through the large windows couldn’t make up for. Not a great start.

“Miss Page, I am Curtis Hoyle,” said the man who had let her in, the guy who knew the guy. “We spoke on the phone.”

Karen was somewhat disappointed that he wasn’t the artist, because the vibes coming off of him were generous and kind. “Nice to meet you in person, Curtis,” she smiled as they shook hands.

“You too.” He smiled back. “My buddy, Nelson, spoke very highly of you and I was anxious to see if half of what he said was true.”

“It probably wasn’t,” she laughed as he led her down a long hallway. Her perusal of the paintings in the foyer would have to wait- they weren’t all that interesting and there was artwork wherever she looked anyway.

“So you’re not patient and caring?”

“Well…” Karen bit her lip. She could be patient, if she tried. Was that going to be part of her duties though? Having her patience tested by the elusive painter? “I can be.”

“Hard-working and dedicated?” Curtis went on as if checking qualities off a list.

“Definitely,” she nodded.

“And I can see with my own eyes that you’re gorgeous, so it seems that Nelson wasn’t lying after all,” he grinned as she went around observing a couple of paintings, unsuccessfully trying to hide her blush.

She pointed at a small watercolor of a cathedral. “Is this his?”

“God, no,” he laughed loudly. “Frank hates that one and I only left it here to annoy him. Something about the equilibrium of the colors rubs him the wrong way. We don’t really keep his stuff in the house.” He moved to stand under the painting of a garden. “Besides this and...” The other one, the one he shouldn’t bring up. “And his current projects, but those are all in his studio.”

She didn’t know much about art which meant she couldn’t appreciate the process of creation like a real connoisseur could, but she’d have loved to have seen how this painting came to be. The elegant, crimson flowers popping out of the green, the tree whose misshapen trunk revealed it had weathered several storms but still stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky. And those two birds, soaring with their wings spread like they’d just risen from the ashes, the silk of their feathers glistening and shining under a sun just outside of the frame. She had never seen anything like them. “This is…”

“Surprisingly, not his best work,” Curtis told her, a hint of pride in his voice.

“If he’s that good, how come I’ve never heard of him?” she asked, very carefully running a finger over the frame.

“He’s very famous in Europe.” What he didn’t mention was that Frank had managed to upset the most important art critics on U.S. soil, making promoting his work here next to impossible. “His reclusive shtick helps a lot. They view him kinda like Banksy, makes them go crazy.”

“People love what they can’t have,” she whispered, almost like she hadn’t intended to say that out loud.

“Exactly,” Curtis beamed.

“Is that why he’s hiding? Marketing reasons?” An intrigued smile rose to her lips.

“Uh, no, he…”

He hesitated a moment too long and her smile fell away. “How terrible is he?”

“He’s not terrible, he’s just…” His eyes quickly flicked from her to the painting and back, and his shoulders lifted with tension. “Been through a lot. Hardened. Which sometimes translates to being-”

“Difficult,” she chimed in. “He’s difficult, I get it.” As long as he wasn’t rude. “Are we actually going to meet though? You don’t expect me to agree to work with a person I haven’t met, right?”

“In here.” He walked further down the hallway and knocked on a door at its end. “Frank, we have company.”

“Not now,” the artist boomed from the other side of the door.

Curtis turned to Karen with an apologetic look on his face. Then he twisted the door knob, pushed and entered the studio, while she stood back, wondering if this would be like what she did for Matt and Foggy; pretending she couldn’t hear them arguing, until the time came to bust in and act as a tranquilizer.

“When I say we have company, it means you have to stop being a hermit and talk to people,” Curtis spoke softly, only to spare Karen the awkwardness of overhearing a conversation that shouldn’t be happening at all.

“I’m not being a hermit, I’m busy,” Frank replied, his voice gruff and forbidding.

“Busy doing what? You were just looking out the window.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m busy in my head,” he grunted. “Go away, Curt.”

Yup, exactly like Matt and Foggy, Karen noted in her own head.

“Well, inspiration will come knocking again later, but Karen Page is here now and you will see her,” Curtis demanded.

“Another model?” he asked over the sound of shuffling papers. “She gonna be like the last one? Honestly, I’d rather go back to landscapes than work with someone who’ll struggle holding a pose for more than two minutes.”

“Frank,” Curtis blew an exasperated sigh.

Sighing was always her cue. She stepped into the studio. “Mister Castle, I’m Karen Page. Pleased to meet you.”

Ruggedly handsome, like a Roman sculpture that hadn’t suffered a limb deficiency, Frank Castle stood with his side to an enormous window, leaning over a drafting table. He straightened up immediately to shake the hand extending to meet his, and nodded. “Ma’am.” His eyebrows seemed to be perpetually knitted together in a scowl, complemented by the thin line his full lips were forming under his beard, while his ears blushed a bright pink.

He’s shy, Karen thought as she tried to suppress a giggle, watching him flounder with his pencils for a while.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told, but modeling isn’t easy money.” He turned to her with what, she imagined, was his most intimidating glare. “There will be times when your back will hurt and you’ll want to take a break, but the perfect shadow will have landed on your nose and you won’t be allowed to move a muscle, do you get that?”

She’d been able to sit very still during depositions of convicted criminals –one of them a murderer- even though her back, her head and her stomach hurt; and he believed this would scare her? “Uh-huh.”

Something he caught on her face seemed to pique his interest and he held her gaze as he asked “How long can you hold a pose?”

“I don’t know. Let’s find out,” Karen said, dropping her bag on the floor. “Where do you want me?”

(ao3)

#kastle #kastle fic #kastleff #kastle au #frank x karen #a thing i wrote #I stayed up until 5 in the morning writing this #tell me if you like it or if I should bury it

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borisbubbles · 5 years

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Eurivision: 40 - 36

40. Maja Keuc - “No one” Slovenia 2011

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Psychedelic, secretly evil masterpieces <3

“No one” is often overlooked in many rankings, by people with utterly vanilla tastes, and while vanilla is an excellent flavour, sometimes vanilla needs to bloom into something better with more flavour and texture. ENTER, this sneakily fierce song, featuring Bettan’s hip-waving choreo <3

"No one” slowly but gradually lulls you into its dark, alluring storyline, tricking you into believing this is a break-up song in which the woman is crying over the loss of the relationship, ONLY PLOT TWIST the girl is a textbook psychopath and this message of empowerment is actually one of psychotic obsession and petty revenge. Is this Gone Girl?

That’s in a nutshell, why “No one” is such a fantastic entry. It gradually, slowly unfolds like a paper fortune teller, except every flap contains a message of unfiltered, devious, psychotic energy. 😍 It’s so unabashedly dark and I cannot wait for ~Amaya~ to epically return to ESC (within the next three years) and give Slovenia their first top 10 since Nuša Derenda.

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39. Elina Nechayeva “La forza” Estonia 2018

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[2018 Review here]

Elina is so beautiful.

Wow. I mean, WHAT IS LA FORZA though if not a magnificent wonderland of stunning visual effect. It’s the best example of Estonia’s technological prowess at Eurovision. I mean, look at these projections. They are breath-taking, in the literal sense of the word:

Naturally, I must address that “La Forza” has received the criticism of “ugh, it’s boring”. However most of those people like Tamtaratam, so their opinions can be safely discarded into the rubbish bin. 🤭 I personally think “La forza” is a perfect execution of opera, providing captivating vocals and a sincerely stunning act. Opera is supposed to be a mind-blowing spectacle and “La forza” is exactly that.

However, it might actually be... a bit too perfect for my tastes. Its greatest strengths also made “La forza” a bit aloof and distant, and while this is far from a dealbreaker, it does prevent me from ranking it further.

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38. Loreen - “Euphoria” Sweden 2012

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[this entry was inspired by a popular youtube cooking channel]

Yes, this is not a ranking with Loreen as their #1. This could have been a ranking with Loreen as their #1 if she had gone to Eurovision with either of her other two melfest entries, but look at the flag and look at Sweden’s general taste in melfest winner:

It’s even a wonder a selection which produced THOSE winners also produced "Euphoria” to begin with.

Anyway, now that we’re on to the subject of Sweden, it appears that over the years, the general of opinion of Sweden has dropped. This is because out of all the countries participating in Eurovision, Sweden is by far the most smug.

Which is why the first step in covering the song that is generally considered their best entry, is to humble Sweden:

Hey Sweden, See this country? It’s called Switzerland. Switzerland once won the Eurovision Song Contest with Céline Dion. Céline Dion is one of the best selling artists in the world. She made double the sales ABBA made and has non-stop performed, while ABBA broke up less than 10 years after they won. You’re not better at iconic winners than Switzerland, Sweden. Remember that.

See this country? It’s called Moldova. It is the poorest country in the Euroverse and has amazing staging everbody talks about. Nobody ever talks about your staging because it just conveniently pretty people in various degrees of treadmill. You don’t stage better than Moldova, Sweden. Remember that.

See this country? It is called Malta. Malta have sent a woman to Eurovision for five years straight. They are one of the most unapologetically pro-female countries in the world. Even all of their JESC entries except for two have been women. Meanwhile you aren’t sending women and you know why? Because melfest is a rigged and fangirl pandering sausagefest. You’re worse at inclusion than Malta, Sweden. Remember that.

See this country? It’s called Ukraine. Ukraine have reached the grand final every year they’ve participated. Have you got a better track record? No, because you cannot guarantee qualification without properly without eating crusty professional jury ass first. You’re not better at reaching a Eurovision Grand Final than Ukraine, Sweden. Remember that.

See this country? It’s called Portugal. Portugal are the one of the few countries to have never sent songs with English as the primary language to Eurovision. They have proudly stuck with their native language even though it sounds like drunk Spanish. You know why you aren’t signing in your native language, Sweden? because you have no guts and let’s face it, no glory, that’s fucking why. Also your language sounds like Norwegian with a mouthfull of surströmming. You’re not better at native languages than Portugal, Sweden. Remember that.

See this country? It’s called Luxembourg. Luxembourg is a microstate that everyone wants to see back in the contest. Does anyone get excited when you return to the contest? No because they know you’ll get an underserved top five hand-fed to you, no matter what generic gobshite you’re sending. You’re worse at generating buzz than Luxembourg, Sweden. Remember that.

See this country? It’s called Norway. Norway’s last three entries have scored more televote points than yours have. You know why? Because their entries speak to people and are entertainment. Your entries only speak to people with boring taste and no friends (Denmark). Which is why you will never find or be repped by a KEiiNO. You’re not better at fun than Norway, Sweden, remember that.

See this country? it’s called Ireland. They.... okay, they aren’t better than you. I’ll be honest, Ireland is just a worthless, flavourless slice of slock in Eurovision. They’re flavourless, bland, completely without taste or texture. They’re the iceberg lettuce of this world. It’s a shock they won so many times, but I guess that’s anglophone privilege for you. Still, they have won Eurovision 7 times. Have you won Eurovision seven times, Sweden? Nuh uh, not that, peace! Remember that ;)

Now that Sweden has been properly humbled, it is time move on to the Loreen write up:

“Euphoria” is an everlasting piece of art and everyone who thinks otherwise needs a therapist.

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37. Bojana Stamenov - “Beauty never lies” Serbia 2015

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FINALLY I CAN SAY, THIS SONG IS FANTASTIC AND IT’S... fucking more than “okay”. Bojana is a FORCE OF NATURE.

It is therefore UTTERLY baffling to me that so many jurors ranked this song LAST??? Like,

a of all, look at how the crowd POPS at the key change, that’s as much an objective parametre of quality if ever there was.

B of all, I legit do not understand watching 2015 (a rather mediocre year of Eurovision) and thinking that Serbia is the worst, over, say... Bogus?? Because Bojana is a Goddess while Boggie is boring cunt and Goddesses > Boring cunts.

The jural dislike is even more baffling considering that “Beauty never lies” is a touching and deep exploration of overcoming self-loathing, I rant about meaningitis a lot, but one of the BEST ideas Serbia had was to revamp “Ceo svet je moi” into a body-positivity anthem because that theme + Bojana is a match made in Euroheaven. “Beauty never lies” starts off captivating, a gripping narrative about self-loathing with hints of avant garde artistry. It also has some of the best lyrics found in any Eurovision song. “Finally I can say-” is forever, but “beneath this veil of skin my heart’s entangled in, beauty’s embodied” is pure poetry. Excellent, just excellent.

and then, after a full minute of build-up and completely without warning "Beauty never lies” transforms into... a SHAMELESS CAMPY SCHLAGER MASTERPIECE 😍

This has to be one of the best key changes in Eurovision, right? As “Beauty never lies” starts off sentimental and contemplentative, it suddenly blossoms into an unapolegetic bop that completely DIS-MAN-TLES body-shaming in one fell swoop. Songs like these make me feel ALIVE and proud of being Eurovision fanboy. Thank you for your wise lesson Bojana, you stunner you. Signed with sincerity, BorisBubbles.

This will come as no surprise but she was also the highest Serbian entry on this list, which means it’s also recap time:

Statistics never lie, Serbia was pretty good in this decade. I rarely care for their entries with the intensity that I did for Bojana, but they are also consistently inoffensive. It it what you can expect for a small country bursting with musical talent (and Zheljko Joksimovic).

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36. Giorgos Alkaios & Friends - “OPA!” Greece 2010

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OPA!

I cannot let anyone with that haircut reach my top 35 in good conscience ,but jesus what a FIRECRACKER! I think the general apathy towards 2010 comes from the general lack of ENERGETIC bangers, but between “OPA!” (caps and exclamation point are mandatory) and “Allez Ola Olé”, I don’t think anyone can complain. This song is an EXPLOSION.

Much like how “Dancing in the rain” was a showcase of Spain’s greatest talent, so is “OPA!” an excellent calling card for Greece’s Eurovision prowess: they excel at drunken party anthems. “OPA!” is a bangin’ bacchanal, punctuating every sentence with kickass virile energy, examples of which include ejaculating drums:

Electro-Fiddle solo’s <3

and hammy nokia noises <3 (attempted pandering to the hosts and getting the country wrong <3333333)

This song and “Alcohol is free” were the final times where Greece excelled at high voltage fun (there’s also “Rise up” I guess but lol @ that). GET IT TOGETHER GREECE, but I guess I’ll elaborate further once it’s Koza Mostra’s turn to be judged, juried and executed.

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#Eurovision #Eurovision Song Contest #Maja Keuc #No One #Slovenia #Elina Nechayeva #La Forza #Sweden #Loreen #Euphoria #Serbia #Estonia #Bojana Stamenov #Beauty never lies #Giorgos Alkaios #Giorgos Alkaois' friends #OPA

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somefinelipstickonthatpig · 6 years

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“A Job No One Wants,” a Tales of Vesperia fan fic

It’s when Raven doesn’t complain that Rita realizes something’s wrong.

Takes place at Mt. Temza, but spoilers through the Shrine of Baction.

Raven & Rita and implied Rita/Estelle.

[Please leave a comment on AO3 or a review on ff.net!]

“Wow, you young’uns sure are full of energy! This old man can hardly keep up!”

“Ah, the vigor of youth… You guys have to slow down a bit for this old man.”

“You guys sure scale mountains like it’s nothing. I don’t know how you spring chickens do this.”

Rita never thought she would see the day that Raven finally shut up. He complained about everything, from the food to the weather to the quality of the inns they slept in. It was hard to believe he was over twice her age. Sometimes she wanted to turn to him and smack him as hard as she could with her book, if only to get him to just deal with everything silently, like everyone else was! They all suffered just as much as he did!

So… Rita was expecting it to continue. Raven probably didn’t like silence, which was why he filled it with complaints whenever he possibly could.

Rita didn’t exactly realize something was wrong at first. They were just climbing their way up the mountainous terrain, taking hurried steps. Though no one had said it, they were essentially racing against the Hunting Blades to find Judith, and none of them wanted her to fight them on her own.

But it was quiet. A nice kind of quiet. Yuri and Estelle led the way at the front of the party, like they usually did, and talked together in quiet undertones. Rita wasn’t jealous or anything, and wasn’t straining her ears to hear, but the roads were only big enough for one at a time, and she was in the back, stuck between Raven at the rear and Karol directly in front of her.

And that was when it clicked. The old man wasn’t complaining about everything under the sun. She frowned and glanced behind her — and she wasn’t concerned or anything, certainly not about that geezer. He didn’t even notice her look, actually, with his gaze focused straight at the ground. His breathing seemed louder than normal, irregular. It seemed like maybe he was a pace or two behind his usual speed. His hand clutched at his chest, and Rita thought that wasn’t normal. He didn’t normally do that, did he?

“Hey, old man,” Rita said.

It took just a beat too long, but Raven lifted his head and met her eyes evenly. His hand dropped to his side in the same motion. “What?” he said, daring to sound amused. “You should know better than to call your elders such cruel names, Rita darlin’.”

She scowled and deigned not to acknowledge that. “You out of water or something?” She couldn’t think of any other reason why he’d look so pale, but then why the hell would he act like nothing was wrong?

Raven’s eyes widened. Just a fraction, but she caught it before he pulled out his canteen. “Sweet of you to worry about this old man here,” he said, giving the thing a shake. This close, she could hear the way the water sloshed about inside, could see the way it weighed in his hand. Wait, was his wrist shaking? “But I’m good for a few more hours.”

“Hm.”

Rita wasn’t especially convinced. But the two of them had stopped, and Raven was actually started to look concerned! He had the nerve to knit his brows together when she was the one worrying about him!

“Hey, Rita!” Karol’s voice sounded, jarring her. She spun on her heel to saw the rest of the group had paused up ahead. “Raven! Come on!”

“We’re comin’!” Raven called in her stead, and Rita wanted to turn around and punch his shoulder for that. She didn’t, though. Instead she just huffed and trudged onward to meet up with them.

But… Raven was acting weird, too. If he was totally fine, he’d have some sort of snappy comeback, wouldn’t he? Or was she reading too much into this, even though there were all sorts of other things she should be worrying about?

UGH.

“Hey,” Rita said as they came up to the others. “Let’s take five. My legs are killing me.”

They weren’t, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to call her out on it. Estelle’s eyes turned on her, worry creasing her brow, and though it made Rita flush, she wasn’t going to accept Estelle’s healing artes. Estelle would probably be able to tell nothing was really wrong, and then how would Rita explain she’d done it because she suspected Raven needed it? She didn’t need them to know she had… had some sort of affection for that guy.

That dumb geezer didn’t even have the nerve to second her suggestion! Even as Yuri glanced to Estelle and shrugged, as if he didn’t agree or disagree, Raven stayed silent as a statue. “I think there’s a wider spot a few minutes ahead,” Yuri said. “We’ll rest there.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. But she noticed the way Raven tensed.

If he collapsed, she was going to grab his body and thrust him down the hill, and then they could pick him up on their way back. What an idiot.

He didn’t, though, thank goodness. But the moment they reached the outcropping, and Yuri turned to everyone and said, “Five minutes, then we’ve got to keep moving,” Raven was the first to drop to his ass and lean against the mountain.

“Good god,” Raven groaned. He didn’t pick up his canteen, but Rita saw the way his shoulders heaved. “You adolescents sure love to run this old man ragged, don’tcha?”

Rita glanced around. Estelle’s eyes stayed on her, even as she took a seat next to Yuri. Was she really that worried? Rita glanced away from her and instead popped a squat next to Raven.

She wasn’t concerned. She didn’t really care. Raven was annoying, and honestly, he had a tendency to show up whenever they didn’t want him to. But…

Raven frowned at her. She met his eyes evenly, without hesitation, and he finally gave a long-suffering sigh before his hand reached up to clasp at his chest. “Thanks, kid,” he muttered, and he was definitely put out by having to thank her. She just didn’t get it.

“You could have just said something yourself, y’know,” she snapped back, but she kept her voice down. She didn’t want the others overhearing just yet, when it seemed like Raven was trying to keep whatever this was on the down-low. “Why didn’t you? What’s wrong with you?”

Raven laughed when she said that, and… it almost sounded like it hurt. “More like, what isn’t wrong with me,” he corrected. But her scowl did not move, and she didn’t avert her eyes, so he sighed again. “Nah… I have this heart thing. Have for a while. Usually it’s fine, but if we’re doin’ somethin’ strenuous, or climbin’ high altitudes, it pitches a fit.”

Yeah, they were doing both of those right now.

“A… ‘heart thing?’” Rita stared at him. Raven finally was the one to look away, and he definitely seemed embarrassed, which made absolutely no sense at all. “So what? Just talk to us, you idiot! If you don’t think Yuri and Estelle would wanna take that into consideration, then you’re even dumber than you look!”

Raven winced. “Hey, hey,” he hushed, and she realized her voice was raising. She waved a hand to Estelle, knowing the princess was probably watching. “Listen. I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell them.”

“Why not?” Rita hissed, getting ready to punch the man herself. Asking her to keep quiet while she was pissed was asking for a miracle, but she was doing her damnedest. “That is the stupidest thing ever. If you really have a medical condition, then you’re practically obligated to tell everyone! What would’ve happened if I hadn’t asked to take a break? Would you have keeled over and just rolled on down the mountain and died, you idiot?”

“Hey now, easy on the idiots,” Raven replied with a smirk, and if he was finding something funny here, she really was going to push him off. “Nah. I’d probably just lag behind for a bit. It wouldn’t ever get like that, unfortunately.”

“‘Unfortunately?’” Rita echoed, eyebrows raising.

Raven shrugged, like that didn’t mean anything at all. “Besides, it'll stay like this till we climb back down. No sense in cryin’ over spilt milk, and all that.”

“Look, that isn’t how illnesses or conditions or whatever actually work, and I think you know that, and I think you know I know that. So cut the bullshit, old man. If you don’t say anything to them, then I will.”

She stood up, dusting the dirt from her ass, and in the same motion, Raven grabbed her wrist, yanking her back down. “I said no,” he hissed, quiet and dark and low.

Rita blinked, and frowned. When she didn’t say or do anything else, Raven let go of her with a long sigh. “I’ll… get around to it,” he finally said, which they both knew was a roundabout way of him getting around her complaint. “Look, I’ve made it this far without the lot of you knowin’. I know how to take care of m’self.”

“Uh huh,” Rita said with disdain. Raven pouted at her and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, whatever. I won’t tell them, but on one condition: You’ve got to actually ask for a break when you need one. Okay? If your heart explodes, I don’t want to be the one cleaning up.”

She was joking, but for a second, Raven looked horrified. Maybe he was picturing it?

What the hell kind of heart condition was it?

He shuddered before getting himself together. “Uh… I dunno how well that’d work for me,” Raven said with another shrug. “Like I said, I’ve made it plenty without any kinda helping hand. Besides, I complain so much, it’d be just a bit like the boy cryin’ wolf.”

“Fine,” Rita snapped, crossing her arms. “Then just tell me when you’re being serious, and I’ll ask. God.”

One beat passed, then two. Rita’s face was starting to get red when Raven finally laughed. “Ah, you young’uns.” He almost sounded like he waschirping, like a bird about to burst into song. “Yeah, all right. Fine. If you’re that worried about me, then I’ll play along.”

“I-I—I’m not worried!”

“Are you two all right?” Estelle asked, and Rita almost jumped as she realized Estelle was within earshot. “Rita, how are your legs?”

“Uh, they’re fine,” Rita insisted as she got to her feet, quickly, voice nearly cracking. Raven cackled beside her, and her cheeks burned as she turned to the old man and gave him a good, solid thwack to his head like she did with Karol. Raven yelped, but even still, a huge grin was stretched across his face, and she wished he would just shut up. “W-whatever! Are we ready? Is everyone else done resting? Let’s get back on the road, before those dumb Hunting Blades show their faces again!”

“Damn,” Yuri said with a small laugh as he got to his feet. But he shrugged, and turned to everyone else, making sure they were all ready to go and weren’t forgetting anything important. If he hovered a bit around Karol, Rita wasn’t going to call him on it.

“Hey,” Raven said, voice softer than before. She blinked as she turned to face him. His face was… darker than usual. “Look, uh. Thanks.”

He almost sounded sincere.

“... Are you being sentimental —”

“Now, let’s go!” Raven cried, pushing ahead to lead them. “Temza can’t be that far ahead!”

Rita shook her head. Damn. Well, if Raven wasn’t going to take care of himself, then she would have to do it for him.

Idiot.

#rita mordio #raven #raven tov #tales of vesperia #tov #vesperia #ristelle #(kind of it's super heavy handedly implied)#anyway! take this! i'm tired of looking at it #mod eli #eli writes

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istgimamess · 6 years

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Label: JYP entertainment

Stage name: Song Ha Rin [Ha means great or talented, Rin means unicorn; so yeah, I picked this name for you because you're a great, talented unicorn and you should be protected at all cost, duhh]

Debut year: 2016 (3 years active)

Debut concept: electric pop, upbeat, cute and girly, sassy girl power, dance and vocal heavy

Number of members: 5

Group name: HolyElectric

Fandom name: Sparks

Position: main dancer, vocal line, the mom of the group [because you're super protective, patient and caring]

Male bestie: Choi Minho (SHINee)

How you meet: he's your protector but also your tormentor, if you're being honest! Your first meeting was a bit of a shit show, one minute you're practicing some basic dance moves for a live broadcast and the next you're hanging off the side of the stage in a mess of limbs and covered in water. His necklace tangled in your hair, your heel caught in his belt loop; the both of you soaked beyond repair, an empty water pitcher laying hazardously at the bottom of the stairs. "Umm, you think you can tell your pants to let go of my shoe!?" "Yeah, as soon as your hair releases my necklace.." He pushes at your forehead, palm covering your face completely, nothing happens. You knee at his torso and hip, nothing happens; you both try again. "Ouch! Watch yourself, King Kong! I cant breath!" "Okay, let's not panic! It'll just leave me pantsless and you bald!" After that it was like you were inseparable, quickly becoming friends through the shared experience of that tragic, embarrassing event. Turns out you have a lot in common, personality wise! You're both really sarcastic and just plain goofy; (you have this game, always competing to see who can make the funniest, goofiest faces) so, obviously, you make eachother laugh alot but you're also very protective over one another. "Hey, Minho! HolyElectric's Harin is your best friend, right?" "Yeah, she is! Why?" "Shall we send her a little video!? Quickly do something to make her laugh!" "Harin, I miss you!...(^ gif ^)..."

Female bestie: Tiffany Young (SNSD)

How you meet: you take singing very serious! You're always working on your vocals, trying out new techniques, experimenting with your range; you're very hardworking and your dedication to getting better is something everyone seems to notice about you, right off the bat. So you're always down for vocal classes and one on one's with your vocal coach, always excited to learn something new! And that's how you meet Tiffany, through a friend of a friend of a friend of your vocal coach! You were doing your warm ups, waiting on your teacher to arrive when Tiffany stuck her head in the room to compliment you on your vibrato! You tend to come off as a bit rude, because of how shy you are, so at first it didn't really go well! "Wow, you sound so good! Those runs were amazing!" "Umm, I know..no, I-..I mean, it's not like I think I'm super good or anything..I-..sorry." She ended up laughing your response off and joining you in the room! You quickly became really good friends, constantly listening to music and practicing together; going out for lunch and meeting up on the weekends for some quality shopping time! "Who would you say your best friend is?!" "Oh, she is also a singer! Her name is Harin and she's in the girl group HolyElectric! We hang out together probably every week!" "Oh really!? What are your favorite things to do together!?" "We are both shopoholics, so we're constantly shopping! And afterwards I always drag her out for ice cream because..(^gif^).." Your friendship is so cute!

Group bestie: NCT

How you meet: this is probably the most unconventional way you've ever made a group of friends but it worked, whether you wanted it to or not. There are probably a hand full of things that you absolutely hate in life: people who lie, crabs and bugs are just a few! When faced with any of these, more specifically crabs and/or bugs, you tend to run the opposite way, screaming at the top of your lungs, arms flailing! It's your natural reaction! So when you find yourself being used as a human shield between a grown ass man-child and bugzilla, you're forced to square up and save the man child! "OH MY GOD SAVE ME IT'S GOING TO EAT ME AHHHH EOMMA!!" You're being pulled close, your body picked up and thrown around by the trembling boy! You feel like you might actually vomit but also, oddly enough, you feel really protective; the mom in you suddenly coming out: throwing your fists up in a fighting manner, kicking your feet and swatting the sky in defense. "NOT TODAY, SATAN!!" Eventually the bug gives up on it's hostile takeover, there are about 3 seconds worth of calm and suddenly you're surrounded. "Taeyong! What happened!?" "Yeah, we heard screaming!" "I was attacked!! I thought I was going to die!" "What!? What happened!? Attacked by who!? Are you o-" "Yeah, sorry to interrupt, but are we going to actually sit here and pretend like we don't see the girl Taeyong-hyung is holding up off of the ground like a teddy bear?! We just ignoring that!?" "Haechan, dont be rude!" "How am I being rude!?" "You're always-" "Sorry, can you put me down, my legs are going numb.." And it was all down hill from there! They wouldn't leave you alone, following you around like a group of sassy, over-dramatic puppies! But you don't really mind! They're your biggest supporters, always streaming your music and cheering you on during award season! They also send you little video messages to congratulate you on your wins! "...(^gif^)..." "Wait, are you recording?!" "Yeah, Harin is about to perform so we need to send the message fast!" "But not everybody's here yet!" "Well, tell them to hurry!" They're truly adorable!

Boyfriend: Shin Hoseok/Wonho (Monsta X)

Ship name(s): Ha-Ho, Wonha, Ho-Rin

How you meet: you love, love, love traveling and you get the opportunity to travel a lot, with your job; but that's really not enough to satisfy you! So, whenever you have a day off, you like to travel! Nowhere too far, since you only really have the one day, usually to Japan, or China, any place near by! That's where you meet Wonho, in the airport; one second you're grabbing your baggage, minding your own business and the next you're face-full of chest! "Oooff, I'm so sorry-" "It's okay! It's not everyday cute girls use their face to assault my chest!" He's very sure of himself, very honest and openly flirty and it doesn't take long before his assertiveness pulls you out of your shy shell! You spend the day together, grab some coffee and then hit up the local ramen shop! It doesn't take long for you to become official: redcheeks and sweaty palms, shy confessions underneath the bus station hanger. He's the best boyfriend you could ask for, he's practically whipped! And his group members never let him live it down! "Hey, Wonho! Harin stayed the night last night, didnt she!? But you guys were soooo quiet, in your room! What were you doing!? Quickly, tell the camera!" "...(^gif^)..." They make him suffer, you find it hilarious!

Your biggest fan: Kim Yeri (Red Velvet) is probably your biggest fan! She is constantly making dance covers to your songs, streaming your music and watching your v-lives! "I'm a huge fan of HolyElectric! My favorite is Harin! She's such a good dancer and her vocals are always on point!" She's very vocal about how much she loves you and your music; so much, that even her fans are trying to make it so that she has the opportunity to meet you! "Yeri-unnie! Harin-unnie is your girl crush, right!?" " Yes~...(^gif^)..." "Hopefully you can meet her soon!" It's ridiculously cute!

Scandle: you're a dancer, that's what you truly want to be known as! You've been dancing since you could stand up straight and you've been like a spunge ever since; always trying to gain as much knowledge over the art, as you can! You take extra classes, make covers, mimic other great dancers, you're constantly in the practice room! So, yeah, you dance more than you breathe, this is not a secret! You've also known EXO's Kim Jongin for years, again, not a secret! He was one of the only idols to really reach out and interact with you in your trainee days; always offering to answer any "idol" questions you may have, offering to practice with you, teaching you new dance moves, critiquing your performances before every evaluation! He quickly ended up becoming your greatest teacher, an even greater friend, almost like a brother! So it's no shocker you're photographed together, a lot: Jongin entering your apartment building, Jongin picking you up and taking you out for dinner, you entering Jongin's apartment building etc. What is a bit shocking? The headlines that come with those photos, when Dispatch drops them. 'Neitizens get a HolyElectric shock when EXO's Kai takes new girl friend!' and 'HolyElectric's Harin sparks new dating rumors! Could EXO's Kim Jongin be the one?!' It was a bit confusing! "What the?! 'Could EXO's Kim Jongin be the one?!' What Disney movie is this!?" "The good kind, one with a great soundtrack and a beautiful dance number! You should feel lucky!" "I just threw up a little bit.." It's really cruel how much Jongin's enjoying your discomfort!

Other activities: obviously you're a great dancer, singer and all around performer but sometimes you really just want to be challenged! So when you're management team signs you up for a spot in 'The King of Mask Singer' singing competition, you're both super excited and super nervous! It ends up going well and you gain a ton of new friends and even more fans from the experience! "It was so fun! I didnt know singing could be so exhilarating!" "So what?! You want to give up dance and become the next Mariah Carey?! Good choice! Less competition for me~" "Jongin, I will cut you.." What a massive dork!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@bbwonho here is your private idol life ship! I hope you like it~ Let me know what you think! 😌

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baneismydragon · 7 years

Text

Draw me Like one of your French Girls... Part 1

This fic is dedicated to @yunyin who was a big part of bringing it about in the first place ^_^ (Warning some spoilers for ML Season 2- (Just the stuff we knew during the hiatus nothing important from the new episodes)

“Listen furball, I am ten times as sexy as you are. That is just a fact. People would pay to see pictures of me.”

“People DO pay to see pictures of me,” Chat shot back.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he grumbled, “the point is that I am obviously the sexier of the two of us.”

“Guys, I know this is a slow patrol night but you are giving me a headache,” Rena Rougue sighed, dropping down onto the platform and sprawling onto her stomach against the cool metal of the tower.

“Wait,” Chat said with a terrifying grin, “Rena. My dear, darling, friend.”

“Oh this can’t end well.”

“You are a fox of impeccable taste are you not?”

“Maybe.”

“And you are an excellent judge of both male and female attractiveness as well, are you not?”

“Ladybug is the hottest out of all of you,” she smirked, not bothering to get up.

“Yes, that is a given, but the point is-”

“The point is that I could pull off sexy far better than this mangy stray,” Bee interrupted.

“Could not.”

“Will you two please just stop fighting, it’s been too hot to deal with this level of stupid,” Rena sighed.

“It’s not stupid, my honor is at stake!” Bee huffed. “If you want us to stop then tell him that I clearly would be better suited to being a sex icon than he would.”

“Foxy lady, please tell Bee that she is clearly pollinating the wrong flower.”

Rena groaned. Clearly there would be no reasoning with the two of them until this had been hashed out.

“Fine I will judge your stupid contest. We just get a picture of each of you and then we can decide who wins.”

Both of her partners eyes light up with an unholy gleam and then turned to face each other with a terrifying intensity.

“Ground rules-” Chat said, “sketches only, no color, has to be done in 48 hours.”

“Agreed. Also no professionals, they are too easily bribed.” Bee shot back.

“Um...Guys…”

“Agreed.” Chat plowed on. “Realism only no alternate styles.”

“Like I want some anime portrait you weeb.”

“Says the girl who marathoned Mai-Hime last weekend.” “I told you that in confidence you mangy cat! You are so going down.” Bee glowered lifting off the ground in irritation, her wings fluttering.

“You wish,” Chat purred.

“GUYS!”

“We meet back here in 48 hours and Foxy and LB vote on the winner.” Chat said, pulling out his baton and twirling it for good measure.

“Deal. See you then whiskers.”

And before Rena Rouge could even get another word out, both of her partners had disappeared into the night.

“I meant we could just take a picture on my phone…” she muttered into the silence. She didn’t look forward to explaining this to Ladybug before patrol on Sunday.

~~~

Marinette stretched as she finally stood up from her sewing table. She felt bad about having ditched out on patrol, but she had really needed to get this dress done for her aunt.

Besides it wasn’t like her partners couldn’t handle a night on their own.

“Well Tikki I think I am going to head to-”

She stopped talking as she heard a soft repetitive tapping against her skylight.

Well that couldn’t be a good sign.

She nodded to Tikki who quickly darted into her hiding spot in one of Marinette’s plants, and hurried up the ladder to her loft to let Chat into the room.

“Hey, stranger,” she teased, “so what brings you to my side of town? Don’t you guys usually have patrols on Fridays?”

“Been keeping up with the Ladyblog I see,” Chat said, dropping down onto the bed and flashing his trademark grin.

“That’s not an answer to my question,” Marinette replied, climbing back down to her main room with Chat on her heels.

“Eh, it was a slow night. Also I need a favor.”

“A favor?” Marinette asked, settling down into her desk chair and leveling him with her best ‘What did you do now’ stare. She really hoped she wasn’t going to have to help him break into the Louvre again.

“Don’t worry nothing illegal this time,” Chat said as if reading her thoughts and putting a hand over his heart, “just a simple project that you are particularly well suited for.”

“Am I making you cookies again?”

“No. I mean if you WANT to I won’t say no, but that’s not why I am here. I need you to paint me.”

“What?”

“Well, not paint. Draw me. Black and White, pencil, full body. As sexy as possible if you don’t mind. Oh and I need it by Sunday night.”

Marinette glared at her intruder.

“Oh that’s all?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much all I need.”

Marinette picked up a ball of yarn sitting on her desk and threw it at Chat’s head.

“You can’t just barge into someone’s house and order them to draw a pin-up of you.”

“I didn’t barge in, I knocked.”

“That is not the point, you still just waltzed in and expected me to draw you.”

“Well you do draw.”

“Yes fashion. Not on demand portraits.”

“I am also not demanding, I asked for a favor.”

“Yeah well my answer is no. It’s not like I sit around hoping for you to stop in so I can draw you as some sex god.”

“But you do think I am a sex god?” Chat smiled leaning in just a little too close and laughing when Marinette shoved him away with a blush. “Yes, I have so got this!”

“You haven’t got anything. You can’t just ask people for free drawings, do you know how much time and effort these things take! It’s not like I sit around drawing all day you know.”

“I can pay you.”

“Fine, I want a new serger. Top of the line.”

“Done.”

“Wait, I was kidding.”

“I wasn’t. I can have it for you tomorrow.”

“Chat those cost like 600 Euro. You can’t just waltz in with a high end serger.”

“Sure I can, we have like 8 of them lying around the East Wing,” Chat said with an off handed wave.

Marinette simply stared at him.

“So can you do it or not?” he asked with a pout. “I need an answer cause I only have 48 hours.”

“You’re serious,” Marinette said. “You are actually offering to bring me a new serger if I draw a portrait of you.”

“A sexy portrait.”

“Whatever.”

“Yes. Like I said, this is very important and I know I can trust you.”

“Wow, that’s… actually really flattering. Ok, in that case I guess I accept.”

“Great. So I figure we can meet up tomorrow for the actual sketch. You get done at school around 12 right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Awesome. I’ll be here by 12:15.”

Marinette nodded and watched as Chat did some sort of odd victory dance.

“So are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“Oh it’s just a small bet I have with a friend. I am totally going to win though.”

“I guess it’s nice to know you have so much faith in me,” Marinette said.

“Well... I mean I was going to ask Nathaniel, but I figured that might get awkward with the whole sexy thing.”

“Wait I was your SECOND choice?”

~~~

Nathaniel was pretty sure he must have fallen asleep, because there was no other explanation he could think of for why one of Paris’ masked Heroines was literally crawling in through his apartment window.

“Ugh,” Queen Bee huffed as she awkwardly clambered into the room, “I know you are all bohemian artsy and whatnot but would it kill you to have bigger windows?”

He said nothing, simply staring as the heroine looked around his room.

“Well you certainly have enough stuff,” she said, gesturing towards the walls and desks cluttered with various art supplies. “Yes, you will do nicely.”

“Um… I am sorry, did I miss something?” he asked, blinking a few times for good measure. Nope she was still here.

“I need you to do me.”

Nathaniel jolted backwards, tripping on a power cable and crashing back into his drafting table.

“You need me to what?”

“Draw me. You know that whole art thing you do?”

“Oh, right… that makes a lot more sense. Actually no. No it doesn’t.”

“God, I knew this was going to be difficult. Ok. I,” she pointed at herself, “need you,” she pointed back to Nathaniel, “to draw a picture of me. By Sunday. I figure if you can make little miss goody goody pigtails look attractive this should be a piece of cake.”

“Okay,” Nathaniel said rubbing his temples in an attempt to starve off his oncoming headache, “either I have gone insane or you have, because I have no idea what you are talking about. Was there an akuma? Should I be looking for cover or something?”

“No, I just need you to draw me. And make it sexy. I mean I am always sexy, but it needs to be like extra sexy. Try not to drool on my picture. You’ll do great.”

Nathaniel was fairly certain he was the source of the oddly choked wheezing noise that sounded when Queen Bee patted him approvingly on the head.

“Um, Queen Bee…”

“Just Bee is fine. We have a working relationship now.”

“Ok, Bee… why am I drawing you, exactly?” Nathanael asked, side stepping away from his uninvited guest and sitting down on his drawing stool.

She blinked as if he had asked her to explain the current state of the geopolitical climate and not a simple question. “Because I asked you too,” she said.

Nathanael opened his mouth to argue that you can’t just tell an artist to draw you because they can, but realized that the girl currently thumbing through his portfolio could probably toss him one handed out of his previously acknowledged small window, and thought better of it. She could be under the influence of an akuma. It was hardly unprecedented after all for one of the heroes to get caught in the crossfire after a fight, and without more information it was best to stay on her good side.

“These are actually really good,” Bee said with a smile, and Nathanael felt his cheeks reddened at the compliment, “I always did have an eye for quality.” She shot him a playful wink and Nathanael wondered if he could die of embarrassment. If nothing else he was pretty sure that his skin was the same shade as his hair.

“Well, um… I guess I could draw you as a commission. It would cost-” he began, but before he could finish Bee’s whole face lit up delightedly and she squealed.

“I already thought of that,” she grinned, reaching into the small weapon satchel on her hip and drawing out a pile of bills that she slammed onto the table next to him. “Oh this is going to be so great! I can’t wait to see the look on his stupid face! So, we aren’t going to do the actual drawing here right? I don’t think the lighting is going to set me off to my best advantage.”

“That’s like 500 Euro,” Nathaniel gasped, staring down at the pile of money.

“Yeah, that should be plenty for a deposit, you’re not Degas you know.”

“A deposit?” Nathanael gasped.

“Yeah, I know how this works. You get the rest when we are done, I don’t want you going crazy with artistic liberties or whatever. This has to be perfect. We can meet up tomorrow at the park next to your school at the end of classes and go from there ok?”

Nathanael looked at Queen Bee, smiling like she had just won the lottery. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut that taking this assignment on was going to end up being a lot more complicated than just doing a simple drawing. His eyes drifted to the pile of cash. He really did need to replace his drawing tablet. Not to mention the other supplies he could purchase if she was serious about this just being a deposit.

“Oh what the hell,” he sighed, “where in the park do you want to meet exactly?”

~~~

True to his word Chat Noir arrived on her balcony promptly at 12:15, the promised serger in his arms and a devilish smile on his face.

“I trust this will meet with your approval? It’s supposed to be an excellent brand but my f- my supplier favors a different company, so this one was destined to collect dust for all eternity.

“I can’t believe you actually got me a serger,” Marinette breathed, trying not to drool at the exquisite piece of equipment that apparently now belonged to her.

“Well, shall we get started?” Chat said.

Marinette nodded and they both climbed down into her room.

“So,” Marinette began sitting down in her computer chair and grabbing up her sketchbook and pencil, “how exactly do we want to do… thi… Chat what are you doing?”

She watched, fascinated, as Chat rushed around her room with a strangely determined expression, adjusting curtains and angling her chaise lounger.

“We need some up lighting. Do you have- oh never mind I see one,” he said grabbing a clip light she had attached to the window by her dress form and repositioning it.

For about 20 minutes he moved, tweaked, and adjusted every available light source in her room. Then when he was finally content with his work he grabbed the back of her chair and spun her into position with a triumphant flourish.

“What was that?” Marinette asked, finally breaking out of the stupor brought on by his uncharacteristic behavior.

“70% of great composition is good lighting,” Chat said with the parroting tone of someone who had heard that phrase a thousand times.

“Do you work for a photographer or something?”

Chat laughed delightedly, “You could say that. So what sort of pose would you like me in mademoiselle artist? Remember we need this to be sexy.”

“Oh dear,” Marinette said teasingly, “I don’t know if I know any poses that can make pun loving nerds sexy.”

He glared playfully at her and pounced onto the chaise.

“Oh I know,” she continued with a giggle, “if we want to be thematic we should try to stay with the cat aesthetic, maybe have you lay on your back with your paws in the air!”

“Very funny princess.”

“Ooo! Or how about that thing where cat’s stretch and stick their butts in the air! I am sure your admirers would love that.”

“Well I do have a fantastic butt,” Chat smirked, “but this is actually very important. So how do you want me Marinette?”

Marinette ignored the nervous little flutter in her stomach at his phrasing and tried to think. After all, she was getting paid extremely well to do this and she owed it to her friend to try her best.

“Alright well why don’t we try a sort of, lounging pose? Try laying back or something.”

“Sure,” Chat said, his brow furrowing in concentration for a moment before he swooned back onto the chaise, one arm above his head, one leg dangling lazily off the lounger, and his face angled slightly up as he gave her a knowing, come hither smirk.

Before today, Marinette would have said that she knew just about everything a person could know about Chat Noir without compromising his identity. They had been partners for almost 3 years, he had been friends with her as Marinette as well for 2 of those. She knew his favorite flavor of ice cream, his ticklish spots, how to make him purr and that fact that he would always get embarrassed when he did. She knew how he liked his tea and that he would mouth along with his favorite movies. She knew he was kind. She knew he was brave. She knew he was sometimes oblivious and prone to occasional bouts of jealousy. She knew he was easily entertained and would literally die for the people he cared about if it came down to it. She knew that he was a nerd with a terrible sense of humor. What she hadn’t known- or at least hadn’t truly understood on more than a hypothetical level before this very moment- was that Chat Noir was also very, VERY sexy.

She stared open mouthed at boy… man… ridiculously pretty cat thing in front of her, her pencil hovering uselessly over her sketchpad. He stayed perfectly still, all lithe lines and easy grace, as if sprawling on a couch looking like he was waiting to be devoured by hormone riddled females was his day job.

Where was her rambunctious, guileless partner, with his over-wide smiles and constant fidgeting? Who was this intense, restrained, gorgeous figure that had taken his place? And was there any way she could get a refund on her sanity?

She heard a soft thud and her cheeks flamed as she realized she had dropped her pencil.

“I donnow, I don’t think I am feeling this pose,” she babbled as she scrambled to retrieve her fallen pencil and calm her frazzled nerves, “Wh..why don’t you try sitting up? Maybe something more… I don’t know… uh… formal?”

“Okay,” Chat said with a shrug, completely clueless to the mental and emotional roller coaster she was experiencing as he adjusted into a new pose.

He sat forward on the edge of the chaise, one leg tucked up while the other foot rested lightly on the floor. One hand propped lightly against his knee while the other braced against the couch. This time his head was slightly tucked down, his brilliant green eyes looking up with a captivating gleam and his lips softly curved in a half sheepish, half hopeful smile that was somehow five times more devastatingly appealing than the smirk had been.

“This better?” he asked without the slightest trace of sarcasm or suspicion.

“Yeah… great,” Marinette gulped.

“Okay! Make me sexy princess,” he said, his grin widening for just a moment before falling back into his pose.

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Marinette muttered. Ignoring the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks, she began to sketch.

___

Nathaniel wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved when he saw Queen Bee trying, and failing, to hide herself behind a tree in the school courtyard.

Several of his other school mates had already caught sight of the hero and were giggling amongst their friend groups or pulling out phones to grab some pictures.

“Psst! Nathaniel! NATHA- ugh- I’m over here!” She began frantically waving him over, clearly struggling not to resort to shouting at him.

Nathaniel bit back a smile as he watched the out of place superhero, clearly oblivious to the stares and whispers she was garnering. The lack of stealth was actually rather endearing. He was almost tempted to pretend that he didn’t see her just to see what she would do, but decided it wasn’t worth it to press his luck with someone who could probably pick him up with one hand.

He hurried over and as soon as he was in grabbing distance found himself hauled into a nearby bush.

“Oh good you’re here! So Nath, can I call you Nath?”

“Um… no?”

“I’m gonna call you Nath. So anyways Nath, I have the perfect place for you to work, it will be a much better atmosphere than your cramped little bedroom. I assume you have everything you need?”

Nathaniel blinked. “I have a sketchbook and my pencils, but-”

“Perfect! OK! Let’s go!”

“Wait what do you- OH MY GOD…” and without any further warning Nathaniel found himself desperately clinging to his new patroness as she lifted them both effortlessly into the sky.

The next few minutes were a blur for Nathaniel. I was fairly sure that Queen Bee had yelled something at him, but it was drown out by his own occasional scream of terror as they zoomed horrifyingly close to chimneys, spires, and even one particularly menacing looking (at least at the time) clock tower.

By the time they landed at their destination his vision was blurry and he was trying not to throw up.

“See, here we are safe and sound,” Bee said happily. She slapped him on the back and Nathaniel staggered forward.

“Jeez, you really don’t like flying do you? Sorry. I’ll go slower next time.”

“Next time…” Nathaniel wheezed, allowing Bee to pull him forward from the balcony and through the large glass doors.

“Here, sit. Let me get you some water. That’s what you want right? Water?”

“Water would be great,” Nathaniel said, letting out a long breath as she hurried off to complete her task. Now that he was no longer in fear of being dropped to his death, Nathaniel allowed himself to relax and catch his bearings.

He looked around the large suite, noting the impressive amount of natural lighting, the lavish furnishings… the very familiar furnishing.

He stood up, rushing over to the other side of the room. Sure enough, there was a large king sized canopy bed, complete with the Ladybug plush pillow and a small, well loved yellow bear.

“Nath? Nath, where did… oh, there you are. I have your water,” Bee said, holding out the glass with a smug little grin.

“OMG You’re Chloe,” Nathaniel said.

“What,” Bee said, her voice taking on a familiar shrillness, “no I’m not, why would you say that?”

It was like a lightswitch had turned on in his brain. Now that he knew everything seemed so obvious. How could it be anyone BUT Chloe. She had her looks, her voice, her mannerisms. Nathaniel had drawn dozens, maybe hundreds of pictures of all of the five heroes, yet somehow he had never made the now obvious connection. It must have been some kind of magic. It was the only thing that made sense. Either that or he was the world’s biggest idiot.

He was going to go with magic.

“You’re Chloe,” he said again, mostly because his brain was still trying to process the fact that one of the beloved heroes of Paris was actually the school’s reigning queen of terror.

“Of course I am not Chloe! I mean… that would be stupid. Plus, Chloe is like, really busy being fabulous and probably out buying those amazing Dulci pumps I’ve been meaning to grab for forever.”

“Really?” Nathaniel said skeptically.

“Obviously,” she said with a dramatic flip of her hair, though her voice trembled nervously.

“We are in your room,” Nathaniel pointed out flatly.

“Yeah, so?”

“So I’ve been to your room before Chloe!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she insisted stubbornly. “Besides everyone says that this Chloe person is really mean. And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. I’m a hero.”

Nathaniel felt his heart soften a little in spite of himself at her vulnerable tone. He stared at Chloe, so many things clicking into place now that he knew her secret. Her continued obsession with Ladybug, her complete turn around on her opinion of Chat Noir whom she had always been dismissive of back in their first year of college. Her slow but steady attempts to be nicer to everyone in the school who wasn’t named Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“You know Chloe has actually gotten a lot better these days,” he said cautiously.

“You… you think so?” she asked breathlessly, and Nathaniel couldn’t quite hold back a soft smile.

“Yeah,” he said, and she beamed. The smile lit up her whole face and for the first time Nathaniel caught a glimpse of Chloe hiding behind all the pride and hostility. The Chloe Adrien had always insisted was buried deep down waiting for a chance to come out. It seems he had been right.

“You know,” he added “Adrien was even mentioning it the other day, how it was nice that people were getting to see you as the friend he’s known for so long and not just the class bully.”

He watched amused and Chloe puffed up with pride, her smile melting into her signature smirk.

“Well I would hope so! Given how much work I have put in to following all his stupid rules about proper behavior, including the one where I’m apparently not even allowed to brag about the effort I am putting out, the least he can do is make sure that everyone is appreciating... “ she trailed off and looked at him with a wide eyed, horrified expression.

“Appreciating what, Chloe?”

“Oh crap…”

___

Well I hope you guys have enjoyed this so far!

I was going to finish the whole thing and post it in one go, but A. Its way longer than I meant it to be and B. The middle section that I am trying to clean up is giving me burn out so I need some positive reinforcement lol. Anyways I am still working on in even as I post this so more might go up today, it will probably all but up before the week is out lol. Anyways hope you liked it so far! See you soon!

#my fanfiction #my writing #DML fic #Marichat #Chloenath #humor #zag spoilers

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kpopandcream · 7 years

Text

Moon Day - VI

Pairing: Dongmin x Reader & Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Humour.

Warnings: Strong language, Implied smut, some dark themes.

Jungkook told you about Min Yoongi many times. How he didn’t take to strangers. How he preferred to stay unknown. How he thrived in the underbelly of society where he could do what he wanted without anyone caring. Yet, after many short talks about him, all of that information still seemed to land on deaf ears. You couldn’t remember a single thing about him except for his name, which landed you in a puddle full of milk and under a confused stare.

Word Count: 5.5k

Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Masterlist

Your feet dragged you to the familiar shop Ahro had taken you to a while ago where you’d decided to get all of your mid-day snacks from. By mid-day, you meant the half hour break you had between you class that ended at six thirty p.m. and the one that started at seven. You were exhausted, this week being particularly heavy. With exams coming up soon, every class was loading more work on you and you mostly just wanted to lie down and sleep for an eon. There was no such luck, however, due to this unsettling building of pressure in your chest. You didn’t understand why you felt like someone had been slowly inflating a balloon in the pit of your stomach and you didn’t appreciate it either. It made your head hazy and your thinking unclear and you only seemed to operate on the most basic level. Even memorization was difficult for you.

So, when you managed to make your way to the shop, you were more than desperate to have some quality food that would take your mind off everything for a few moments. With earbuds jammed in and your music the slightest bit louder than usual, you stuck your hands into your coat pocket and waited patiently in line. November was a terrible time. It was either too cold or too hot but all the heaters were working in this establishment and soon, you felt the cool sweat start on the palms of your hands. Begrudgingly, you began to remove your bag when a large hand clasped your shoulder.

Loudly yelping over your music, you jumped up and turned to the owner of the hand, letting out an exasperated sigh at that. The immediate fear stilled in your heart after a few moments and you picked your bag off the floor, embarrassed completely that you had yelled so loudly in public. Yoongi didn’t quite take this approach, simply laughing and offering to hold your bag so you could take off your jacket.

“Scare easily?” he asked, looking behind you to see how fast the line was moving before glancing back down at you. You simply shook off your coat, redness in your cheeks not fading as you reached for your bag with a nod. He handed it to you with a light smile, rings of black circling both eyes that crinkled the slightest bit at the ends. Slowly, you regained your composure and the beating of your heart subsided.

“What are you doing here?” you asked lightly, trying to act natural. Yoongi simply shrugged, eyes attaching themselves to the boards scrawled with food names and prices.

“I don’t want to cook tonight so I’m getting dinner.” He squinted as he did so before asking for you to read the third entry from the left and you chuckled, obliging. He added that he forgot his glasses at work but he didn’t want to go back and get them and you chuckled at that, knowing you’d feel the same way.

“From here though?” You ran your eyes over the menu and frowned, knowing none of these would be satisfying enough for yourself, much less someone who probably ate more than you. With a frown, you glanced at his arms, which were clung to by a tight, white turtleneck. The contrast of his hair and his shirt made him look paler than before and you thought it added to how sickly he looked as he nodded in response.

Your hand came to wrap around his wrist and, upon feeling the bones in it, you frowned deeply. “Are you eating enough?”

There was a look of shock in his eyes as he blinked at you and you wondered why he was so surprised. He said he had been eating just fine but he skirted around your eyes. Pressing your lips together, knowing your place, you murmured a small ‘okay’ and decided against saying anything more. He sparked up another conversation just as quickly, taking out his wallet as you were both next in line.

“I really do think you’re following me, by the way.” He said it so nonchalantly, as if he genuinely just wanted to press your buttons. With a narrow of your eyes, you opened your mouth, incredulous.

“If I recall correctly,” you started, pointing your finger up as you reached for your wallet with your other hand, “you walked in after me so doesn’t that mean you followed me?”

He clicked his tongue at you, shaking his head. As some of his hair moved into his eyes, he reached his hand up to fix it, pouting his bottom lip out. “Those are just specifics I don’t necessarily want to get into.”

“Ah,” you breathed, chuckling a little and he gave you a small smile. If you weren’t so tired, you might have continued and berated him further but you decided against it. He asked you what you were getting and you murmured a generic hot chocolate, never being one for coffee or anything really hard. He gave you a small look, the both of you moving forward in line.

“Don’t like coffee?”

“Never have,” you chimed, fidgeting with the small change you had in your pocket, “probably never will.”

He made a small sound at that, seemingly perplexed as he muttered, “never would have guessed.”

When you tried to question him why, he simply brushed it saying most university students liked coffee. It was a general statement and you probably would have said the same thing so you let it slide. As the person in front of you left and the man behind the counter called you up, you motioned for Yoongi to go first. Slowly, he accepted and you listened to him order, listing his sandwich and a large coffee and then your drink. You almost protested but he was already paying so you decided against it. Though it was mildly annoying, it also meant that you could spend your coins another day and wouldn’t have to go looking through your old piggy banks at home for more. Plus, it was really, very kind of him.

“Wow, fancy music producer,” you drawled, getting out of line quickly to get beside him. He looked mildly embarrassed and you couldn’t pinpoint why but he covered it quickly with a dumb shrug of his shoulders and a jokingly smug smile.

“What can I say? I take pity on those of lower stature.”

A laugh escaped your mouth, your brain being able to register the joke and the further embarrassment spreading onto his cheeks. You gave him a firm look, trying not to giggle through your sentence as you murmured, “that’s offensive, you shouldn’t say that to people you hardly know.”

“I’m sorry.” He was immediate but it didn’t seem insincere just rather odd coming out of his mouth. Slowly, as you spoke about work and school and the camera around his neck while you waited for your food and drinks to be made, you realized you had him all wrong.

At first, he seemed so cold and disinterested, as if no one and nothing mattered. He really was one of those underbelly of society people who lived so far under the radar, no one even knew he existed. It wasn’t like he was doing that for mystery purposes- to be that guy everyone knew about but didn’t really know, like Gatsby or any famous literary man. He just preferred to be left alone, quite content to leave people alone themselves.

Yet, he was so full of passion. You would never admit it to anyone but you were enamoured by how in love he was with what he did. The photographs in his camera and the art he created in his music were so important to him that even a few sentences hearing about it made you understand how greatly he loved it. Many people were meant to do certain things but only find out so late in the game. You marvelled at how lucky he was to have found his calling so young and to still be as warm as the freshly brewed cup of hot chocolate now in your hands.

The both of you had stopped at an empty table to fix your coats around your bodies, cups placed firmly on the table and his sandwich now in his small bag. You were adjusting your collar, just ending an idea on how hard editing photos were, remembering a slight tidbit of looking over Taehyung’s shoulder while he worked away on his laptop. Yoongi was intently listening along, agreeing and not at the same time, always having two sides of the story for you. He picked your brain until the both of you were comfortable enough to go back outside and brave the cold and then he stopped, asking what felt like a final question.

“Are you going home?”

You looked out the window, huffing at how dark it had gotten and muttering, “no. I have class.”

He saw the way your shoulders dropped and furrowed his eyebrows, following your gaze. His coat was long and ended just above his knees in a deep brown colour. He looked better than you expected him to, much fancier than you’d seen ever before with dark jeans and black boots. The look simultaneously fit him and didn’t, making him older and somehow more unattainable. The way your heart sank was unnatural but he took your mind off of that easily, spinning his words into another question.

“You’re really going to walk back in the dark?” There was concern written in his tone and the small lines that filled the space between his brows, which offset you. He’d been kinder than usual today and, while you were grateful for it, you didn’t understand what you’d done to deserve it. As you confirmed his suspicion, he frowned, raising his arm. Moving his sleeves, he looked at the watch on his wrist before humming, “which way is your school?”

“Just down this street and to the left.” You pointed out the window, not very fond of remembering street names or proper directions. Yoongi followed your hand movements with a nod, looking back at you with a slight determination.

“Well, I need my glasses anyways and my studio is near there so, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll walk with you?” This was something he left very open ended and you knew you had every right to say no. The thing was that you didn’t particularly want to. You found his words pulling you in at every turn, trying to show you something your mind didn’t understand. It was the way he moved even that made you want to know so much more and so, the nod of your head came so naturally.

“I thought you were too lazy to go back for them,” you said, picking up the strings of his sentence to push a conversation. You were now walking towards your school and there had been a lulled silence filled with the passing cars and ringing streetcar bells. Yoongi looked down at you, hands firmly in his pockets and seemingly lost in his head.

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I mean, it might not be the smartest idea to leave them behind. They’re my only pair and what if I have to drive somewhere in the middle of the night or something?” He shrugged, giving you a small smile and you snorted.

“Drive where?”

His mouth curled into an uncertain frown. You watched as his lips hardly stretched as he spoke, keeping them in a tight circle. It was odd but it was simultaneously something you’d never seen before. He didn’t need to open his mouth to speak and still, his voice was loud enough to be heard over the street din.

“To get food or something. Midnight snacks aren’t a thing; in my house, we have meals.” His voice was hardly animated and somehow, that made his statement the slightest bit amusing. He showed you his gums in his smile as you chuckled lightly, shaking your head and calling him an idiot.

Receiving another one of these smiles held your heart in such warm content, you never wanted to leave. Something about Yoongi made you feel like you were in another era, where your whole life was drastically changed and people were aliens. It was upsettingly comforting but you still wanted to lay there for a few moments in the just falling snow and orange lights of downtown and speak to him as if you were the oldest friends there ever were- as you were always meant to.

Snow was caught in his hair and you were sure it was in yours too, your hands coming up to fix the hat around your ears. He flicked at a ring on your hands, making a metallic click resonate near your ears and you went to look at it. He seemed fond of the jewelry, something old in his stare and you explained where you’d gotten it from.

“It’s an infinity ring,” you started, eyeing the small, glittering diamonds on the top of the band, “I don’t remember who gave it to me but I’ve been wearing it everyday for the past few years. It’s even got my initials here.”

You took it off to show him the inside of the band and he gingerly grasped the ring, handling it with more care than you ever have. It looked so small and thin in his hands, like it could get swallowed in the sea of lines that were drawn across them. He looked at the tiny inscription with a faint sadness, handing it back to you while murmuring, “it’s very special.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, sliding it back onto your finger before reaching for your phone. Yoongi was oddly silent, not even breathing as loud as before but you embraced it. Sliding your finger down the screen, you checked your messages before returning the device to your pocket. There weren’t any messages from Dongmin and it was upsetting because it’d been radio silence for the whole day. You wanted any sign of him to pop up across your screen but there was no such luck and you were so tempted to give into the urge to text him first.

“Who was that? Your background,” he clarified, seeing the hint of confusion on your lips and you found an acute smile forming. You resisted the urge to show him the picture again and explain exactly what had been happening and simply settled on giving Dongmin’s name and who he was to you (though that was a little difficult). You first decided on friend and then took it back and then attempted at saying something more but shook your head. Nothing fit.

An uncomfortable chuckle fell through his lips, eyes now trained ahead into the snowy night, orange orbs illuminating every flake that was falling slow enough to melt just before they hit the ground. “What does that mean?”

“Well, we’ve been friends for a long time but we’re going out on this date thing, I think? Soon? I don’t know, it’s all kind of confusing,” you admitted, frowning lightly and pushing some of your falling hair out of your face. He simply hummed at this and you gathered that it was hard for him to comment on this. To return the favour, you asked about his own love life but this made him laugh bitterly.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone. There’s been no one interesting.”

His words seemed so deadly harsh and it set you on edge. Searching for a way to make light of it, you nodded, crooning, “the tunes are the only relationship you need.”

To this, he nodded and pink formed in his cheeks. Together, you chuckled at the terrible joke and neared the large lights that surrounded your campus. Regretfully, the two of you said your goodnights at the opened metal gates that guarded the entrance path to the main building. It was almost like two teenagers parting after their first date, unsure of whether to hug or not but you led him into one. The way his arms wrapped around you made you feel so unbelievably safe, like you’d created a home and it had stayed hollow for so long until you came and lit your candle again. A part of you didn’t want to let go but you knew you had to, releasing him so reluctantly. As he took his steps away, you waved and called after him.

“Tell your dog I said hello!”

Pausing in his tracks, he turned to be half facing you and hardly shouted over the wind that began to pick up, “how do you know about Holly?”

“D- didn’t you tell me?” This unsettling feeling crawled up your spine and rested right at the base of your head, tingling unnaturally. You could’ve sworn he had but when he shook his head, you were entirely discouraged. It made no sense how you knew but you tried to blame it on Jungkook’s stories. It seemed practical enough but the words that played in your head about Holly weren’t Jungkook’s. They were Yoongi’s tone and culture, mimicking the comforting sound of tires over an unpaved road.

At this, Yoongi simply furrowed his eyebrows together and accepted this response. You were too far away to see the look in his eyes but assumed it was somewhat unbelieving. However, he simply waved his goodnight again, reaching into his bag for clunky headphones that he fixed over his ears. You watched him walk and turn a corner- watched until he was out of sight and ignored the growing uncertainty in your chest. Yet, before you could mull over it for longer than you needed to, the alarm on your phone sounded and you cursed, running so you wouldn’t be late to your class.

Dongmin’s hands were shaking almost as he walked into the store you worked at, carrying two paper bags filled with food. He waved hello to your coworkers, who seemed enamoured with his smile so he tried hard to flash it at them. The doubt in your heart built more as you walked up to your manager, asking where you were. When he pointed him to the backroom and placed a large hand on his shoulder to lead him to you, Dongmin’s heart picked up. He was a dreadfully worrisome person, dwelling on worst case scenarios and really not wanting you to hate him for showing up so suddenly.

Yet, as he made his way through the winding path to find you animatedly speaking to one of your coworkers as you rummaged through your bag, his heart calmed. The worry still existed but in an excited way- one that would be erased by your grin. He couldn’t deny that he was inevitably going to fall for you, from the moment you opened your mouth to speak to him. He didn’t know when it happened- at what point in the first year of knowing each other that he began to cling to every word you said or every smile you tossed his way. He didn’t necessarily regret this decision though, somehow content to have waited so long to obtain what he always wanted. He just regretted not being able to build up the courage to say something to you.

“Y/n,” your manager boomed, drowning out the words you were saying to your friend and the both of you turned around, eyes locking with yours as he continued with, “you have a visitor.”

“Dongmin,” you grinned, placing down whatever was in your hands as you came to wrap your arms around him. His arms worked as they always did, squeezing the top of your body as yours fit around his waist comfortably. The weight of your head against his chest comforted him and he was no longer as unsettled as before, happy he came to visit.

“Why are you here?”

With a lift of his arm, you laid your eyes on the bags of food. Excitement as well as gratefulness flooded your cheeks and eyes, fitting into his as you grasped them from him. “For me?”

“Well, now you’ve got to share,” the coworker mused, opening her hand to see the contents of one bag. He almost protested, wanting to eat lunch together but you were quicker, clicking your tongue as you sheltered the bags from her.

“As if,” you crooned, bringing the brown paper bags to eye level and happily humming, “this is for me only. Hence the special delivery.”

Dongmin chuckled at that, grabbing them from your hands easily, knowing exactly how to get between your fingers and make you drop what you’re holding. “I’m eating too.”

You frowned, sighing lightly as you moved back to your bag to shoulder it. “That’s depressing. Kind of wanted to eat lunch alone.”

“Buy it yourself then,” he shot back quickly and you simply chuckled, looking at your manager before asking if you could leave the store. He allowed it reluctantly, reminding you to be back in half an hour and you obliged perfectly, even shooting him a flashy smile. The two of you rushed out of the store together, walking much faster out than he had walking in but he didn’t mind. The more time he could spend with just you seemed like the better option.

As you two found a seat, Dongmin listened as you chatted his ear off. There was nothing annoying about how fast your words were spilling out of your mouth. Some of your words would be mispronounced and he’d prey upon it before you groaned for him to shut up so you could continue and he’d smile, clearly amused. You continued to ramble on, leaning into him for comfort as your eyes scanned the food court seats. You went to your tiptoes to see over some heads and he couldn’t help but find it absolutely adorable as you pointed for a seat across the large canyon that was the food court. He followed you as you grasped his hand to lead him to where he saw, hands clutching those stupid paper bags so tight.

He called you short in the process and you huffed at him, narrowing your eyes before turning your head quickly, the ends of your hair that were caught in a high knot grazed his chin. He hated how much he found your little quirks enticing, undeniably living in the way your facial expressions changed in an instant and how you went back to talking like nothing was more comfortable for you. Coming to the table, you let go of his hand and it hurt the slightest bit but he knew he could always reach out again and slide his fingers between yours.

You seemed so comfortable with each other, which wasn’t ideal for most people but it was what he wanted most. Adventure and excessive fun were exhausting to him. He preferred staying home, having a pillow to sleep on and a person in his arms- it was what he wanted more than anything and he knew you followed the sentiment. Once, you’d spoken about this in a moment of weakness, him lying in your bed much too late at night. You ran your fingers through his hair and whispered this was all you wanted as you looked him dead in the eye. You didn’t remember it the next day, claiming the alcohol got the best of you but he never let it down. It was all he wanted too and murmured that back to you. You were so close that night, sometimes he wanted to take it all back and plant one on you then and there but… he just couldn’t.

Often, Dongmin called himself a coward and that was one of the prime moments he would remind himself of. Yet, being across from you now stilled this in his head and he was so happy to right there, close enough to touch and hold. As you ripped open the bag, your eyes lit up and he felt the relaxation seep into his bones at the sound of you calling this your favourite fast food. He knew but he couldn’t help but be proud he could elicit such a radiant smile by doing something so simple.

“You know, all of my coworkers are going to think we’re dating now,” you pointed out, raising your eyebrows as if that was supposed to set him off. This never really bothered him when he first thought about bringing you food. It did just dawn on him that it might make you uncomfortable and he was scared to ask, not wanting to know the answer.

“I know,” he hummed, pausing before reluctantly asking, “does that bother you?”

You shrugged, biting down on your lip as you unwrapped your chicken burger and reached for a mayonnaise package. “No, but it’s a wrong conception of us.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he pointed out lightly, taking to his own food and biting down on a fry. You simply gave him a fixed look, unsure of what to say and obviously flustered.

“Y- yeah, but- but we’ve never gone out on a date,” you attempted, looking down at your food instead of at him. The growing rosiness of your cheeks made him smile slightly; just knowing he could make you feel this way so easily caught his heart in a web.

“We can. We will, right?” He asked mostly for confirmation but the bubble of worry showed up so quickly, it was almost hard to swallow it down. You were drinking from a terribly thin staw, pursing your lips together with a quick nod.

“Yeah, of course,” you said all too quickly as you swallowed, placing your drink down. Dongmin’s mind gave up on its racing then, slowing for a short break. It seemed you were both eager, which caused his being to find comfort. He was happy you were both excited to see each other like this, to take a step forward, to become something you’d both been wishing for, hopefully.

“Well, anyways,” you hummed, taking the discussion in another direction to relieve some of the energy. You picked up a fry and began to talk about a weird meeting with a Min Yoongi, stating how you remembered a dog of his. Half of Dongmin wanted to repress the jealousy that built in his chest and the other wanted to probe you more to see how much you truly remembered.

This scared him more than it should have. What did you know and how did you know it? Your mind worked in ways he couldn’t trace, always being mindful of big events but giving you back small, stupid details like a dog or a greeting. He listened as you twisted the ring around your finger and murmured something about feeling like you were missing something.

“It’s just so weird,” you admitted, pressing your lips together and avoiding his gaze to look far off, “sometimes I feel like I’ve got it all back from the accident but then stuff like this happens and I wonder… I wonder if that’s true.”

Dongmin slowly picked at his food, not knowing what the right thing to say here was but landing on, “it all comes back with time. I don’t know how much you’re missing or if you’re missing anything at all but I’d give it to you in a heartbeat if I could. I know how hard it is.”

You smiled at him, finally meeting his eyes and everything about you was malleable here, where your whole being was laid bare before him. He didn’t dare touch a piece of you, so afraid he would bend and mark you up so he tore his gaze from you. Your hand found its place on top of his and she whispered a thank you across the small table.

The way you two fit together was inevitable, he found. His legs were pressed against yours under the small divider and the spaces between his fingers fit yours perfectly. It was a mystery how it’d taken so long but somehow, you had been conspired together. The irony of realizing this not only so late but in a crowded food court where there were more than a thousand people there was not lost on him. He knew it was ridiculous to feel like you were the only two people in a moment but that was unfortunately the truth. He was happy and perhaps you were the source of that all.

“Maybe I don’t want all my memory back,” you murmured to him, clearly still stuck on this. He pressed you for more information and you simply shrugged, eating with your free hand. “Sometimes, I wonder if my lost memory is just my body doing me a favour; like everything would be ruined if I did know it.”

“You don’t know if there even are any lost memories,” he chimed, knowing that was entirely false. You simply clicked your tongue, saying how that was irrelevant to the point you were making but seemingly taking this to heart as you continued.

“I just mean… maybe there’s something I’m not supposed to know and that’s why I haven’t gained it back yet. What if a force of nature that knows better than I do is trying to protect me and I’m just going against it?”

Dongmin huffed, trying to discourage you as he muttered, “do you really believe in all of that?”

“Well, it works in Shakespeare so why shouldn’t an imbalance in life work for me too?” You were always quick to retort, bringing up relatively irrelevant points to support your points. Dongmin simply shook his head, trying to find a response to that but he couldn’t. So, he decided on genericism, hoping it would be the best way to go.

“If you were meant to know, you would,” he attempted, looking at you so intently for any trace of a doubt in his words. However, you seemed content to take this to heart as well and relaxed in your seat. You wanted someone to tell you that you were right and maybe you should stop working towards discovering everything to fix your worried heart. He couldn’t deny you of that.

After an array of conversations that stemmed from there, leading from this morbid conversation to brighter and better things, the two of you were sat there simply holding each others hands, leaning so far in to each other that the table seemed so unnecessary as a separation. It had lulled between you but neither of you reached for your phones, Dongmin choosing to study the lines on your face as you closed your eyes and breathed easily.

“Dongmin?” you murmured over the din, not opening your eyes at all but they fluttered.

“Hmm?”

“Does this count for that day you planned for us to go on?” Your question was hesitant, the crease in your brows forming slowly. His hand reached out to massage it away, noticing how his touch erased the worry and how his words eased the tension in your mouth.

“God, no. Not even close.” He wanted to be kind about this but he couldn’t. There was no way a simple lunch with fast food on your thirty minute break from work would ever be the date to win your and he couldn’t believe you would ever assume that. Though, maybe it was how candid you both had been that made you feel this way and that comforted him slightly.

A bright smile spread across your features, eyes flicking open to meet his as you leaned away slightly. “Good.”

“Good?” he repeated, amused and you tried to cover up your excitement but to no avail. He’d seen how enthusiastic you were and he wasn’t going to let it down, poking at a cheek that was turning red.

“What?” you hissed, trying to play it off so hard. You shrugged off his finger, raising your shoulder to get it off and he simply grinned, shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he hummed, hands retreating and working at collecting the garbage lying around on the table, “just glad I brought you lunch.”

Teasingly, you joined in at helping him, getting up to throw it out as you muttered, “okay, you sap.”

He snorted as you walked away, watching the way you moved and feeling so content. These few moments, where he could pretend none of his problems or yours existed made his being lighter. The beating in his chest became regular, his breathing settled, and he felt at peace with himself. He could only hope he gave you this same comfort, in any way he could.

A/N: god this took me forever to write and I am so sorry. I keep trying to stick to my Saturday schedule but it’s been so hard for me lately to manage school, my family, and my writing. This is also the slightest bit shorter but I promise these are all building to somewhere so! Please look out for the rest of this story! I hope you enjoyed seeing into Dongmin’s head today and I will see you with the next one! Have an amazing day/night/afternoon!

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