#first time drawing jolene too when i think about it

[lillambtotheslaughter]

HI HI \(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)/ and welcome to my blog! You may know me from my main blog @lelandmylove but here in this blog I mainly focus on posting about my Tcsm OCs ☀️Cindy Mayfield☀️ and 🪻Jolene Olight🪻!

There will be NO NSFW on this page but light flirting with the OCs here and there won't hurt! If you don't like my page and what I post simply block me or don't interact with my page! Tw for violence, murder, injuries, cannibalism, self harm, being force fed, Child abuse, and Emotional abuse and yeah while I'm not really that confident in my writing this is just a head ups of what will be shown on this page.

Rules for this blog

• Obviously no spreading hate

• Don't use my characters without asking me first or notifying me that you will be using them for something

• DON'T BE WEIRD AND SEXUALIZE MY OC'S

• And most importantly just have fun here!

•THIS IS NOT A SAFE PLACE FOR PEOPLE WHO SHIP ANY OF THE FAMILY MEMBERS TOGETHER GET THE FUCK OFF MY PAGE!

•Basic DNI

I will write (if I'm confident enough) and draw for my OCs here on this page and you are allowed to ask questions about any of them if you want! Now onto my OCs ✧⁠\⁠(⁠>⁠o⁠<⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠✧

☀️ Cynthia (Cindy) Mayfield☀️

🏵️Mood board🏵️

Lore: (I'm sorry the creator himself doesn't even know unfortunately he's just making stuff up as he goes.)

🪻Jolene Olight🪻 (she does not use the swayers last name.)

🍇Mood board🍇

(Sorry the creator doesn't have his shit together so it's still being made😒)

Lore: (surprisingly the creator does have her lore but he's too lazy to fix it up and make it make more sense because he wrote it months ago half asleep) While coming back from a trip into town Nancy stumbled across what she thought to be an empty box abandoned on the side of the road but upon further inspection was surprised when she laid eyes on a few week old baby with the name "Jolene Olight" written on a small piece of paper taped onto the worn out blanket she was wrapped in. Thinking it was another one of "gods blessings" she carefully reached into the box, gently picking up the fragile baby girl and cradling it in her arms with a bright smile on her face deciding that she would keep it and raise it as her own just as she did with her Johnny. Upon taking her home with her Johnny was the first person to find out about the newest addition to the family, and of course being ten years old at the time wasn't all that happy about having a sibling he'd have to help take care of. But all that changed after a few years of having her as a sister, the two grew close during Jolene's childhood and from the moment she could walk Johnny started taking her with him on little hunts, teaching her how to sneak up on prey and capture rabbits and field mice. Even being there when she caught her very first hare and her very first kill when she turned 13. Later on he'd go on to gift her a switch blade he'd found off one of the victims bodies which is the same exact one she uses now in present times. While growing up in the house Jolene would often be left at the house with bubba and nubbins whenever a hunt was going on however instead of staying with them she would sneak off and stay with Grandpa the whole time talking to him about bugs and sometimes even complaining about Nancy and Johnny. Even though he wouldn't respond to her that didn't stop her from continuing to talk his head off all the way until she was picked up by Johnny to go back home where she would give his legs a hug and then run off to go home. While she isn't the strongest family member there or even the smartest her small and lean frame helps with her stamina allowing her to keep up with victims making sure to always give them a good chase. It's like a game of tag to her.

Ability (Savior): SAVIOR CAN ONLY BE ACTIVATED ONCE BLOOD BOTTLE IS FULL AND IF GRANDPA IS STUNNED. ONCE SAVIOR IS ACTIVATED GRANDPA AROMATICALLY GETS OUT OF THE STUNNED STATE NO LONGER HAVING TO WAIT FOR THE COOL DOWN AND BACK TO HIS ORIGINAL LEVEL HE WAS AT BEFORE BEING STUNNED. THIS ABILITY SAVIOR CAN ONLY BE USED TWICE THROUGH THE WHOLE GAME AND MUST BE USED WISELY FOR THOSE STICKY SITUATIONS. WOULDN'T WANT A VICTIM TO GET OFF THIS PROPERTY NOW WOULD WE?

(please be nice to the creator he will cry.)

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.211 thoughts

[I'm Beggin' of You Please Don't Take My...Band???]

(Contents: power system analysis - Unchaste, character analysis - Kururu)

Damn, didn't get to make the "don't take my mom" joke, but at least I still got to use the Jolene joke at all

Speaking of things I was wrong about, I'm bummed that Kururu's interaction with Kaede wasn't at least somewhat amicable, but it is clear that there's something wrong (probably from a development in Kururu's life or manipulation on Soul's part), so it's definitely not too late. I was at least right about Fuuko and Julia joining the band to replace lost members, though! Just...not at all in the way I initially projected! I also seem to have been right about Kaede and Raita's souls being the components that Fuuko needs to fix her vessel, but I won't worry about speculating on that this week

The real meat of this chapter though is Kururu herself, as she's finally getting some much-needed development and her stocks are going through the roof! Both her near-useless power and her fairly generic archetype have been fleshed out tremendously in this one chapter alone, doing wonders to hype me up for what's to come next in her story!

Starting with Unchaste, we've seen a lot of Negator abilities undergo massive changes between Loops, like Unfair's activation requirement switching from being hated by others to acknowledging others' strengths or Unstoppable's deactivation switching from breaking oneself to breaking something else, but I think this is the first time that the target has changed

Previously, Kururu seemed to define chastity as a lack of love; if her target knew love but didn't currently possess it, then to her, they were living a chaste life. In other words, while she couldn't negate "true love," Kururu could fill the holes in the hearts of those who were lacking love. This is why she thought she thought she could affect Fuuko, but because she believed Fuuko wasn't actually in love with Andy and was instead just pining to have someone to fill the void created by her decade of isolation

Now, Unchaste creates that hole and then fills it. Now, chastity isn't just the lack of love, it's also the the purity of devotion. Being faithful to your beloved is a chaste act, so naturally, adultery is an Unchaste act. If "true love" is chaste, then Kururu can negate it and steal it, creating an impure love built on deception

...Wait a second, this really IS Oshi no Ko!!!

Ahem...so not only is the targeted concept expanded, the overall effect seems to have expanded as well, though that might just be because we never really saw it in action. We were told that those affected by Unchaste "bum rush" Kururu, and Kururu called Fuuko her "captive" when she used it on her. I'm assuming the idea was that the target would obey her whims, but that's not really how it was explained. I always thought it was an ability meant for drawing attention, like an aggro ability, and that the targets would basically chase down the user

However, not only did the fans seem unaffected, but the people she wanted to effect are acting as they normally would towards the people they already love. This implies that either a) the overall effect has changed, and b) that Kururu's level of control over who is affected has changed. She isn't just unilaterally affecting everyone who hears her music, she specifically went out of her way to steal Kaede's bandmates. In other words...

Kururu's tragedy has already been averted!

Her original problem was that her fans rushed the stage and the concert had to be stopped, and then even after she got more control she didn't want to cheat by making people love her over other idols by any means other than her own talent. Now, not only are her fans not rushing her, it seems she can also decide who does and doesn't fall under her spell! Thanks for the help, Soul, the only thing we need to do now is fix whatever confidence issue she has and she'll be a friendly in no time!

Well, there's probably more to it than that, of course. Honestly her real tragedy has probably just been changed like Feng's, but still, the act of defeating her here and subsequently having a discussion with her will probably be all we need to fix her. The question though is how

Presumably, she might still be able to use Unchaste on the fans if she needs to, like if she perceives that they're leaning towards Kaede over her. If Kururu's abandoned her pride and is willing to use Unchaste to make fans now, then Kaede will need to take advantage of some kind of weakness within Unchaste. My guess is it will have something to do with the soul, since she seems to be gaining access to hers, so maybe by "touching the audience's souls with her own," Kaede will wipe away Kururu's negation?

In fact, the soul is probably Unchaste's weakness overall. If Andy were to come in, I think it's pretty safe to say he'd be able to resist Unchaste, and the best way I can think of for him to do that would be for him to use some immutable aspect of his soul to retain his memories of Fuuko

Of everyone, I think that Nico would be the most resistant since Unchaste erases and replaces memory, which would require that the target forget details about their past. Since Nico is Unforgettable, he should be immune inherently, but even if he isn't, the expansion of his memory from his brain to his soul likely gives him an extra line of defense

How the rest of the cast who aren't present would fend off Unchaste isn't super relevant, though. The important thing is how Kaede and Raita will manage, and I think that Kururu gave us a pretty big hint this chapter

"Up until now, all I've wanted to know is what you have that I don't. I have that thing now. I'm done losing."

At a glance, it seems like the thing that Kururu has in common with Kaede is the ability to appeal to her specific audience, as evidenced by her aforementioned enhanced control of who Unchaste affects. Thematically, though, one would assume that the thing that Kaede has over Kururu is love

"True Love is Sincere! Infatuation is Mere Veneer!" - Kururu's encantation, Viz translation "Ai wa magokoro. Koi wa shitagokoro." - original Japanese “With love (愛), the heart (心) is right in the middle (真心, sincere) but with mere flings (恋) the heart is underneath (下心, ulterior motives.)” - literal translation

Kaede is willing to make her voice sound awful to a general audience in order to appeal to a specific audience with poor hearing. To Kururu, that must seem like Kaede is willing to change herself, throw away everything that makes her her, to be loved. No wonder, then, that Kururu has completely changed her style from pop to death metal; her very identity no longer matters to her as long as people will love her

But that's where her mistake is. Kaede isn't beloved because she's willing to bend over backwards and be someone she isn't to gain love from the crowd; she's beloved because she's a genuine and earnest person with a sincere love for the crowd. She's flexible enough to change her approach to ensure that her audience will have the happiest experience possible, even if it means letting someone else take the spotlight

Kururu, meanwhile, has always been portrayed as someone willing to change herself to appeal to others; she lies about her hobbies, her skills, and even her favorite foods, all to make her brand more appealing to a general audience. In other words, Kururu's true self is hidden behind a veneer, a focus-tested pretty face put on with the ulterior motive of garnering maximum popularity. This version of Kururu doesn't care if the crowd enjoys themselves, she cares that the crowd loves her

The distinction is pretty subtle, as in the end the crowd should theoretically have a good time either way, but one performer aims to give the crowd something to cheer for, while the other aims to take the crowd's cheers

Whatever ends up happening between her and Kaede, I'm honestly just really glad that I was finally able to dig this deep into Kururu's character. I don't think it's a controversial statement to say that Kururu was one of if not the least interesting Negator previously, she was certainly near the bottom of my list when I did the character sorter, but now? Well, I won't say she's one of my favorites just yet, but damn if I'm not attached! And her arc isn't even done, she's in her villain era right now! How much more will I like her when she turns good and gives us a genuine smile??? We've probably got a few more weeks until we find out, and I can't wait!

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[mini-sae]

Homelander × Reader

His girls :

The Homelander watches you put on a sexy dress for your date, tonight.

You weren't into sexy dresses. Sure, you liked to be pretty for him, but you always stayed true to yourself.

- We don't have to go. We can stay here if you want.

He smiles before those wide eyes of yours.

- Nah I want to go out. Sorry for ruining your date, guys.

- Alright. - He surrenders.

He loved Sally, a lot. But he wasn't in love with her. He was in love with you. Not your alters.

It always amazes him when one them is fronting. How similar and different you were. It was hard for him to keep his hands for himself. But he would never indulge to his urges or the ones of your alters. He was yours and only yours.

He was so shocked when you told him about your condition. Of course, he had noticed there was something wrong. When you started working at Vought, he immediatly took an interest in you. So he kept a close eye on you. He was definitely stalking you.

At first, he thought it was moodswings, but you behaved too differently. You were even speaking differently. There was so much misunderstandings around you. Not to mention the things you forgot. You even forgot conversations you had with him.

When he finally confronted you, you confessed your sickness to him. DID. The term for multiple personality disorder.

He searched and asked about this sickness. He wanted to understand what it was really about. He needed to know how this was working. How you managed to live like this.

And instead of pushing him away, it made him fall head over heels for you. He was already in love with you, he knew it. But now, he was just wrapped around your finger.

None of you speaks of what caused this. You don't remember your traumas, but one of you does. Katherine. She's very cold, despite her kindness. She's also the most protective of you.

Katherine was the one who carried all the horrible memories. She knew what you could take and what you couldn't. And for a while, the Homelander was a big no no.

So he showed patience. He proved her that even if he was not really a good person, he loved you more than anything in this world. And if she couldn't trust you with one thing, is that he would never let anything happening to you. It took time, but she eventually cave in.

When she shows up, they mostly talk about you. How to avoid the triggers and how to make you the most comfortable. They're not really friends, but they trust each other.

Jenny was something else. She has no problem with homelander, but she's in her own world. She reads, draws, plays games. She doesn't talk much. It pains him, but he leaves her alone. He knows better than to upset your alters.

His favorite alter is Jolene. She's the kindest, and she's very maternal. Even more than you. She cooks delicious meals for him. Always takes care of his wellbeing. She knows that this is important for him and for you.

- You're ready ? - Sally asks.

- Yeah, yeah.

He was lost in his thoughts. He was disappointed to not go out with you, but that kind of things were a part of your relashionship. Your plans were often cancelled when an alter decided to show up.

And he was kind of glad that it was Sally, instead of Katherine or Jolene. Shevwas so joyful and easygoing. She acted like him sometimes. If he denied her, she would sulk for hours like a child.

- Let's go.

He takes her to watch a movie. He privatized a room for just the two of you.

While Sally were completly taken with the movie, his mind couldn't focus on anything but you. He didn't know what pushed you to hide, minutes before your date night. You always happy to go out with him.

Sometimes, he feels an indescribable anger when he thinks of what happened to you. Whatever it was, it was so bad and horrible that your mind just snapped. It created a whole world inside your head. It made you forget everything. In a way, he's happy that you forgot. But you shouldn't have terrible memories to forget. No child deserves this.

- Baby ?

He turns to you so fast that his neck could have cracked.

- Hey ! Sweetheart, come here.

He takes you on his lap and holds you tight.

- I wasn't expecting you. - He whispers in your ear.

- Well, Sally thought you were weird. She thought there was something wrong.

That's something he's thankful for. Every time he wasn't feeling well, any of the alters would push you to front.

- I'm fine. I was just missing you.

You brush his hair and kiss his forehead.

- I'm sorry. I'm here, now.

- Did something happened ?

- It's nothing.

He hears your heartbeat and knows that you're lying.

- Honey. - He almost beg.

You sigh and tightens your grip on his suit.

- Well I was tired and didn't really want to go out anymore. I was afraid that you would be disappointed. So I started to get nervous and...

He rolls his eyes and smiles at you.

- You don't have to be afraid. You know I would never force you to do anything.

- I know, but you do so much for me. For us. I feel like I don't do enough. I'm not good enough for you.

- Don't ever say that again.

He looks angry, but you know you have nothing to fear.

- You're all I could dream of. Sweetheart, I love you so much. Please, don't ever think something like that again.

You nuzzle against his neck.

- I love you too. So so much.

- And since you're tired, let's go home. I don't like this movie, anyway.

- Ok. - You say with a chuckle.

He flies you back home and undresses you to put you in your pajamas. You wait for him to join you on the couch. Like always, you smile when you see him in a shirt and pants. It's so rare.

You tap your lap, and he lies down. You caress his hair, listening to his purrs.

- I'll make it up to you.

He looks at you and smiles.

- It's okay. I guess I'll have to make it up to Sally.

- Probably. But she's not mad, don't worry.

- Still, she'll make me pay for this.

You laugh and gently tap his chest..

- She won't. You know, they care about you. They protect me, but they're protecting you too.

That makes his heart clench. He knows they do. But it still heartwarming to hear it.

- I care about them too. But it's you, sweetheart. It will always be you.

He can feel tears forming in his eyes.

- Hey, baby. What is it ?

- It's just... I feel like I have everything I ever wanted. It feels like having a family. I would be perfectly happy with only you, but you give me so much more.

It is how he truly feels. You are the love of his life. But Jolene is like a mother. Sally and Jolene, like little sisters. Katherine is like your best friend he gets along with, but with who he has serious common grounds.

And it makes him feel so whole. Having people caring so much about him. Taking care of him. And even though the point of all this is to take care of you, to make you happy, it makes him happy as well.

He loves his girls. Each one in his own way, but he really does. They're all parts of you. Extensions of you. Just for that, he loves them even more.

[squidmayo]

Jolene cousland and Alistair WIP  ଘ(੭ˊ꒳​ˋ)੭✧

click for quality

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Queen Takes

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1938

Summary:

With Beth home from Moscow, her friends gather to celebrate her achievement. One guest arrives late.

The colour of Kentucky feels like a trick after Moscow. Her blue home—her mother’s home—is a playhouse, not the American standard it’s masquerading as. Sure, Russia with its cold, with its blacks and browns across the walls of the hotel where she stayed and on the jackets of the old men in the park, is striving for a monopoly on drab stoicism, but Beth Harmon passed her early years in a trailer as silver as a bare tin can. You can find barrenness anywhere, even inside a person.

Across the coffee table, Jolene looks back at Beth like she knows what she’s thinking, those morbid thoughts. Beth can hear the smooth crack of her friend’s voice in her head. It’s… comforting, the sense that someone can simultaneously have no time and all the time in the world for her. Jolene’s eyes don’t tell her she’s a fool for taking so long to recognize love or a genius for refusing the draw (plus everything before and after)—they just say, nice dress. Subtly, Beth raises her Coke and inclines it towards her friend. Thanks.

Matt and Mike are keeping her living room balanced, one twin on either couch. Harry’s moving his hands with precision and intensity as he reiterates the brilliance of Beth’s endgame over Borgov, though Jolene is laughing at him, laughing in airy howls, because she has no interest in chess. Unlike Alma/Mrs. Wheatley/Mother, Jolene does not possess the patience to sit and listen while Beth unravels her win, move by move. How different is a friend from a sister, a sister from a mother, a mother from another mother again. This is fine. Beth, smiling, admires her guests and accepts that she has quite enough chess-lovers in her life.

There’s a knock at the door.

Jolene’s laugh cuts off like there should be a blade dangling in midair.

“Well,” she says to Beth, “go get him.”

“He’s worse than any of these three,” Beth warns with a smile, stalling and hopefully concealing the waver in her words, hands, and heartbeat.

“I’m anticipating a sanctimonious pain in the ass, and that’s just from the articles I read about you playing him.”

“You could’ve met him in New York,” Mike says as Beth gets a grip on herself and the couch, pushing up and striding with sudden purpose to the front door.

“Fight New York City traffic in my nice car? Just to sit in some dirty concrete basement? All of you talking nothing but chess?” She huffs a laugh from her nose. “Even when I was an orphan, I had better things to do than that.”

Beth’s heart is doing something painful and distracting in her chest and she misses any rejoinder the boys might have made, though she wouldn’t advise one. Very few people are so much their own person as Jolene is. Very few. Her hand is clammy on the knob as she takes hold and swings the door open. He doesn’t speak, and yet she hears, again, his voice down the long, long line, reaching her in her hotel room the night before the final. He doesn’t even smile.

“Benny,” Beth breathes, and collapses into him when he greets her with a startling kiss that captures the remainder of her oxygen. Her eyebrows raise when he pulls back. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

His gaze dips down to her dress and back to her face. Now, he smiles.

“I guess I’m playing white.”

She narrows her eyes.

“What happened to determining sides with an impartial method?”

“Don’t have any pieces on me to hide in my hands. You wouldn’t happen to have a board in the house, would you?”

Beth smiles again and holds the door wide to let Benny enter her home. She sees his car tucked against the curb out front. Likely, it contains his hat. His head is uncovered.

“And that was fair, by the way,” he whispers as she walks him into the living room. “When have you known me to skip a chance at making the first move?”

With the addition to the party, there are fresh drinks to be poured, trips to the bathroom to be taken, and things are shuffled around some until Jolene joins Beth on one couch, the twins and Benny opposite. He’s slung his leather jacket over the back of the couch and elects to sit forward. With his elbows braced on his thighs in this way and fingers intertwined in the space between, he could be contemplating one of their many games. But it’s her he looks at—staring straight across with a steadiness she can’t match in front of the others.

Jolene and Benny swap remarks, her judgements a strange and wonderful counter for the way he has always spoken in foregone conclusions. She calls him by his full name every time, just the way she told Beth she read it. As the afternoon stretches and Jolene’s career ambitions take their place in the conversation, Benny begins to call her ‘Esquire’. Beth looks on warily. Jolene breaks into a slow smile and nods her permission with a proud bob of her chin.

They bring out the cake she’s been pretending not to know about. Once, on a plane, she told her mother that a Houston tournament would take first place in her life’s Christmases; well, this feels like the best birthday she’s ever had and she doesn’t even have to age for it. Beth only cries at moments of excruciating frustration or when she is ambushed by emotion, no escape route of three moves prepared, so, naturally, the tears spill over.

“You. You did this,” Jolene insists, firm hold on her shoulders as she rocks Beth side to side on the couch.

Beth can only sniffle and smile down at the cake, chocolate, as Benny wields a knife (from a drawer in the kitchen) to slice uneven pieces. It’s heavenly. Despite high hopes of leftovers and sending each guest home with a slice, the six of them devour the cake. Harry chases the last crumbs around his plate, Matt groans and kicks his feet up on the table in search of relief for his overstuffed stomach, and Beth lies on the floor, raking her fork lazily through the icing before raising it to her lips and licking the tines clean. It’s only the pleasure of the day she means to extend with this exercise, but she can feel Benny’s eyes on her. Black makes its opening move.

She hugs each of her friends at the door as they drag themselves away. The alternative is to risk passing out across her chic living room set, and she hasn’t offered to let them stay. If any of them asked, she certainly would, but no one is at a loss for where they’ll be spending the night and they’re all—Beth knows—too aware of the car parked out front with the New York plates to want to intrude.

“You’re a queen,” Jolene says. She’s the final person to fold her into a hug. “You deserve this and more. And I bet,” she adds, dropping her voice so it’s just for Beth, not Benny, standing at the picture window and watching the boys drive away, “tonight’s going to feel even better than when you wiped Ohio with his skinny ass. Or whatever the hell happened between the two of you since then.”

Beth draws back, hands still on her friend’s waist, and gives her a look.

“Please,” Jolene begs, “it’s obvious. You’re World Champion and I am staring at the only thing Benny Watts wants to win.” She leans in with a conspiratorial smile. “This and more, Cocksucker.”

Laughing out loud, they break apart. Beth’s flushed as she waves from the doorway, arm making a wide sweep over her head, tears of gratitude welling up as her friend peels away. She dabs beneath her eyes with her fingers. She shuts the door. She flicks her eyes to Benny as she sidles around the little bit of wall separating the living room from the front room, dominated by her mother’s piano.

“I threw up in that one,” Beth volunteers, pointing out a silver cup trophy to Benny as he turns from the window. He shoots her a critical look.

“And the papers all say you’re so glamorous.”

“Everyone’s different in their own home.”

Benny gives a sideways nod to concede this.

“You’re different, I think,” she ventures. She’s less sure now, skirting the piano to come closer to him. “Like you might actually sit down.”

“I sit down,” he protests.

“For something other than a journalist.”

“I sat on your couch for hours.”

“Like you might actually stay.”

Him not entertaining her with flimsy attempts to leave, to find a hotel for the night, was his move. This boldness is Beth’s. Will he laugh at her? He could. She wonders if Harry ever mentioned to Benny that he did a stint as her roommate.

“Are you going to pull something inflatable out of someplace and condemn me to blowing it up?”

She laughs under her breath.

“No. You’re welcome to come upstairs.”

There are dishes, a light left on in the kitchen, but this mess is unlike what she did to the space herself while drunk. This scene is simply lived-in. Beth ignores the dishes and the light, eyes locked on Benny. It isn’t ‘now or never’ with him like it was with Harry—with Benny, it’s then and again. He brushes by her at the piano, the way he would in his New York apartment before they began sleeping together; the more he made sure not to touch her, the smaller the space felt. The near-collisions alone nearly drove her mad, she didn’t need chess for that. But when he’s almost past her, his fingertips connect with her skin and trickle down her arm to take her hand. Beth exhales with a smile. His middlegame remains the least predictable stage of his play.

Though she’s made the master bedroom her own, she turns the other way at the top of the stairs, right instead of left, wanting to show him where she studied and learned. He lets himself be pushed back onto her flowered bedspread. She indicates the torn mesh canopy overhead as she staggers forward on her knees to sit astride him and he hikes the black dress up her thighs. As he reaches for her back and unzips her—Beth tilting accommodatingly towards his chest—she talks ceiling visualization. How she found it, how she mastered it, how she got it back in Moscow. She waits for Benny to parrot her annoyance over discussing chess at a time like this, but he wears an empathetic smirk. Following leisurely minutes of undressing each other—“Slow down, Harmon, this isn’t speed chess”—that smirk is just about all he wears.

His necklaces glide across her chest as he kisses her neck. When he slips his hand between her legs, she invokes touch-move, insisting he finish what he’s started. Play progresses from there. This is all mine, she thinks, feeling Benny, denting a pink pillowcase with her clutching hands.

They’ve written her up as someone who attacks early and with ferocity. She lunges and thrusts, she likes control. ‘Out for blood,’ ‘killer instinct’—they make her something more than human. In her time, she’s been a talent, a prodigy, a virtuoso, a wunderkind. All of that’s become a bit mechanical. Have they forgotten, or have they never understood? Beth swipes her fingers through Benny’s hair as they catch their breath.

Chess can also be beautiful.

[gophergal]

A/N: SO, this is the Michael Myers x OC story rewrite I was telling y’all about! I started it in August of 2019 around the time I started this blog. The only warning for this chapter I can think of is home invasion. I would also like to thank @bucketofcowboys for beta reading this for me. I <3 you, dude!

I’m Not Lonely - Chapter One

Word count: 2000+| Rating: M |  Michael Myers x OC | M/F

Houses passing by slowly drift farther apart as the car bulleted forward on the empty road out of town. Clouds overhead obscured the moon and stars that Jean loved so dearly. Instead, the world was masked in inky blackness, save for the headlights and few porch lights left on by the sleepy residents inside. Beyond that, there was nothing, just the varying shades of black that made up the road, trees, and sky. It was a quiet night, Halloween night, she reminded herself. Seems that if you have no kids to take trick or treating and no parties to get drunk at that Halloween is just a date on the calendar. A block of black up ahead drew closer. It was her home, the house she'd inherited when her grandfather passed away. The old man had always been taken good care of her and, even after death, still kept that up.

“Thirteen dead and two injured tonight after a killing spree perpetrated, possibly, by an escaped patient of Smith's Grove Sanitarium. The suspect, one Michael Audrey Myers, is thought to have been caught in an explosion at Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, though police urge residents of the surrounding area to remain cautious until further notice,” the radio droned as Jean tiredly pulled her car into the driveway. Jean shook her head, dirty blond locks sweeping across her face as she frowned. The world's really gone downhill when things like this happen every day, she thought, or maybe I just never noticed how cruel it can be.

A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about the madman running amok, murdering innocents. Mentally, she slapped herself. Keep your cool, Jean. No way could a loony like that evade capture for long. Hell, he might even be lost in the woods, looking around wildly as coyotes sized him up for a meal. He was probably dead, or at least would  wish he were. She couldn't be losing her head over something the police could handle. She was safe here. That name though- It sounded familiar.  

The moon was already high in the sky when she finally pulled open her front door, kicked off her shoes on the mat, and shrugged her coat off, stretching the stiff muscles of her shoulders. It had been a late shift. That was never a problem for Jean though. She didn't have anyone waiting for her at home and everyone knew it, so she was a good choice for late nights. Not that she minded. Jolene, her co worker, liked to lecture to her about getting out there and “catching herself a man”. Well, to Jean, dating was a tiresome and pointless game, and it wasn't like she had a line of suitors waiting to sweep her off her feet. Keys clinked in the dish where they were set and Jean ran a hand through her hair, her body rapidly growing heavy with exhaustion as the day caught up to her. Thinking back on it, she'd never been very popular. No problem though. Popularity didn't matter if you didn't want it to, and Jean was perfectly happy on her own.

She slipped by the kitchen, grabbing first for an apple then, remembering granddad's lectures about “eating heartily and eating well”, prepared a sandwich instead. Lazily she took a bite, too tired to care about how it tasted. Without thought, she flipped on the radio. For a moment she stood in front of the table, knowing very well that getting ready for sleep would zap what was left of her dwindling supply of energy, but not wanting to go to bed. She would have time to read a book if she put off brushing her teeth. She'd recently gotten a copy of that book Jolene recommended to her. Some horror story about a hotel. The Shining, she thought it was called. Jo seemed to like it quite a bit, but Jean had never been a big fan of horror. She often found the protagonists a bit stupid and would reluctantly admit to being easily spooked by those kind of stories. Still, she'd wanted to give it a chance, but hadn't yet had a chance to start reading it.

With the last crumb of bread stuffed into her mouth, she grabbed her pen and pad of paper to jot down a note to buy more bread. Tomorrow would be a good day for laundry and relaxation, she thought. Sunny and warm according to the forecast, as much as early November can be. It would be a good day off, she decided. She finally surrendered to her exhaustion, the need for sleep driving her through her routine. She only briefly stopped to look in the mirror, examining the dark circles under her eyes. She sighed, flopping into bed unceremoniously and snuggling into the soft covers. Exhaustion overtook her and the comforting dark arms of sleep came easily.

THUMP. Jean bolted upright, panic flooding her veins as she became aware of her surroundings. A stone sunk in her guts as she realized that she could not remember locking the door. She groped beneath the bed for the baseball bat she kept for home defense. She cursed herself silently for not taking granddad up on his offer for shooting lessons all those years ago, Her nerves were not calmed as she slid her hand over the smooth wood of her weapon. She had a white knuckle grip on the bat to keep her hands from shaking as she padded silently down the stairs, avoiding the creaky last step with practiced ease. She kept to the wall as she entered the living room, her terror striking her mute as she beheld the sight before her. Upon her couch, covered in blood and soot, lay a strange man, the ragged rise and fall of his chest her only indication that he wasn't a corpse. He shifted, mask clad head turning to her before he sprung up to shaky feet, filthy knife held defensively in his wavering grip. Even from here she could see the shaking of his large hands.

“Woah! Woah, hold it, big fella!” She exclaimed, bat extended in the space between them, “I'm not going to hurt you, not unless you hurt me first” A stupid thing to say honestly, given that he had a great deal of height and mass over her and, even injured as she believed him to be, could likely subdue her with ease. Not to mention the fact that he was an intruder. Logic seemed to leave her when she needed it most, it seemed. She swallowed thickly as he tilted his head, seeming to consider her words. His hand came to hang at his side, the knife loose in his fist. She lowered her home defense, her gaze still shifting nervously as she searched for his eyes behind the mask. A futile effort, for all she could glimpse was the sunken blackness of the eye holes.

“Why don't you take a seat. Wouldn't want you to pass out in the middle of my living room floor. You're a bit too big for me to carry,” she said as she studied his person to see what injuries he'd sustained. Jesus Christ, she thought, has he been fucking shot? Indeed, the telltale entry wounds were present, six in total, on his chest, arms, and leg. The dark blood that had bloomed around them was beginning to dry. The man all but fell to the couch, his sudden weight making the springs creak slightly.

“I'm willing to bet good money that you've been hurt pretty badly from the look of you. But 911 isn't really an option now, not with the breaking and entering, y'know.” The intruder remained stone still, as he'd been since he sat down. Jean fidgeted, thinking of what to do next. “Since going to the hospital probably isn't an option for you, I could patch you up, if you want. I mean, I'm no doctor, but it's better than nothing.”

At the mention of “hospital” he seemed to stiffen, if only slightly. The offer to tend his wounds seemed to relax him again. Though maybe she was looking too deeply into things. “I'll go ahead and get the kit, you- well you need to strip down a bit so I can help you.” She didn't wait for an answer of any kind before she began up the stairs, her full weight coming down on the squeaky step in her rush. She was playing nurse to the strange man- strange masked man, she corrected- that had broken into her home and threatened her with a knife. The ridiculousness of the situation, the pure stupidity of it all, was not lost on her, but now she was on autopilot. Moving without thinking.

With the first aid kit and water basin now safely in her arms, she moved down the stairs purposefully, almost hoping that her unwelcome guest had left or had been a dream. Her hopes were dashed when she saw him there, partially undressed, on her couch. For how scorched his jumpsuit was he had relatively few burns. In fact, the biggest one was about the size of a hand on his left side. It had blistered, but the rubbing of cloth must have caused them to rupture, leaving them as seeping open wounds. The gunshot wounds were concerning though. They were hard to see under all the crusty dried blood, but she knew that the bullets had to go.

Drawing nearer, she saw on the coffee table sat five bullets, droplets of red pooling around them as the masked man's thick, grubby fingers set down the last one. Jean blinked, then decided it wasn't worth the shock, horror, or confusion. She just needed to tend to him, get some sleep, and wake up from this weird dream. If she was quick enough, she could let it fade from her memory with no problems. Carefully, she cleaned the wounds, watching as the water changed from it's original crystal clear state into a murky red. His wounds, however, looked better than they had before. She dressed them with ointment and bandage, every movement slow and deliberate as she treated the wounds.

She lent to him an old pair of jeans and a button down her granddad had owned. Anything would be better than those grubby coveralls. The more she thought, the more she realized that not all the blood on them could possibly be his, but she pushed it from her mind. The sooner he was out of here, the better. And that would be much faster if she cooperated. You'll regret this later, a small voice, probably her common sense, told her. Maybe I will, she thought in response, but I'll burn that bridge when I get there.

With everything being returned to it's proper place in the box and the filthy water  drained into the sink, she looked to him, a slight nervous grin on her lips, “You'd better get some rest then. Those wounds won't heal up very well otherwise.” He looked in her direction in a way that her exhausted mind read as unsure, yet confused. With a sleepy stagger, she made her way up the stairs to her room. The door slammed slightly behind her as she entered the room, the sound of it echoing throughout the room. She greeted the bed readily, succumbing to unconsciousness as soon as she hit the soft pillows.

Downstairs, the man, now wearing another stranger's clothes, sat on the couch. His mind working to weigh the options at hand. The immediate pleasure of stalking up the stairs and watching the light fade from her eyes as he stripped her life from her was tempting, but this woman, she was useful to him. More-so alive than dead, he figured. And so, he would wait. He was very patient; He'd needed to be for 15 years and could wait just a bit longer for her death. The very thought of it satisfied him.

The night's hunt had been less than successful. Prey had escaped. He'd been injured. And the Doctor- he'd tried to kill him; tried to shoot him dead. Not that it surprised him. Doctor Loomis had promised him for years that he would be killed if he stepped out of line. No matter. He was free now. He could not be stopped. And anyone who tried to stop him would simply become more prey for him. There was only one that had escaped him and she would be hunted, caught like a rat, then slaughtered by his hand, and his hand alone. But first, his body needed rest.

[inkyveins]

sunflower, waves, waterfalls, freckles, blushing, watercolour (ooo there’s a u), pine, & clouds!!

you don’t have to answer all of them but i’m just curious about you bc i love you 🥰

aaaa love you too!!! only senpai i'd have a dramatic mid-game flashback about, catch me screaming "선배!!!!" and going absolute feral magical girl on the opponents. (also i am so sorry this is so long asdlfjs;lk)

Answers under the cut! (of course I answered all of them, this just feeds my inflated sense of self-importance uwu)

sunflower: if there was a door that went to a city that was a good representation of you, what city would it be and would you go through the door?

Honestly? With my emotional repression and questionable coping mechanisms, we're headed for Ba Sing Se, babeyyyy~♥ I think it'd be a door to the city I studied abroad in (not to be that guy, but...) because it's got that small town, secluded calm but is also just a short ways away from a bigger, more urban city so you can vibe at all energy levels. I would definitely go through the door (although if the city is a good representation of me, it's definitely infested with night terror demons or something).

waves: is there one music genre you can’t listen to?

Modern country ("i'm cheating on my wife with my tractor" style. Not Jolene-era. I vibe with Jolene). Leaves a bad taste in my mouth and an unpleasant ring in my skull.

waterfalls: describe your perfect date.

*cracks knuckles* alrighty, buckle up buttercup, we're about to go on a

Mental Journey.

So we meet at a park (ideally there is an outdoor photography/art exhibition because I'm extra like that) and walk around a bit, people/art-watching and chatting. We take photos of each other in front of our favorite pieces (and yes there are Moments where we pose each other and share brief but meaningful Wordless Gazes), and then take a picture together in front of the art. Later on, we'll draw silly memes/stickers on these and send them to each other, but for now, on to the secondary location! It's a bookshop/café, where we sample each other's pastries and point out our fave authors/books. There's a frankly sickening amount of poetry/literature being quoted/purposely misquoted/slipped into conversation throughout this entire thing. (No this is not realistic, no I don't care)

freckles: what’s something that makes you happy? describe the first thing that comes to your head.

The feeling of making something delicious for a loved one and seeing them enjoy it. Knowing that something I made with love is being loved is such a nice feeling!

blushing: describe a rad person you know.

There's this girl I know who is so incredibly resilient and brave. I really admire her because she's been through a Lot, but it's so important to her that she doesn't let it make her cynical or hardhearted. She approaches life with so much mindfulness and kindness, even when it's difficult, and her emphasis on making conscious decisions that make her happy with herself is so rad. We went to highschool together and she's one of the few people I still talk to from that Dark Age lmao.

watercolour: talk about something someone you are interested in can do that never fails to make you find them attractive?

Get excited about something they really care about! Bro if they get that sparkly look in their eyes and start speeding up when they talk....it's over. Critical hit, fatality, doki doki ultimate tachycardia.

pine: if you could only smell one scent for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Freshly bloomed jasmine flowers 🌸

clouds: list your top 5 songs at the moment and how they make you feel

(song names are links to yt)

Paprika (Japanese Breakfast) - hopeful; bro this song makes me wanna dance! This song makes me okay with being afraid of the future and plunging into it anyways.

Amandoti (Måneskin w/Manuel Agnelli) - look this song has everything: glam rock, ballad, tender crooning, rad bassline. Makes me want to stomp around in platforms, kiss someone with red lipstick and call them lover, maybe do a little h*ndh*lding.

Fresh Blood (전동석, Dracula the Musical) - vibin and mildly nostalgic; Dong Suk Jeon is my favourite Dracula in the Korean run of the musical and the way he snarls out some of these lines is so deliciously wicked. Every time I listen to this song I remember the first time I heard it, when I was putting together my honors thesis proposal

Your Blood (Nothing But Thieves) - seen; the lyrics really resonate with how I've been feeling lately about Asian-American identity

Posing in Bondage (Japanese Breakfast) - hnnggh I love Michelle Zauner so much, this song makes me feel like my reflection stepped out of the mirror, gave me a hot pocket, and told me it was okay to cry. (also makes me think about Asian American identity in a really raw way; honorary mention too for Slide Tackle from the same album)

[danger-xylophones]

A Rose Garden in a World of Sage Brush oc list (The leads)

{ARGWSB masterlist}

Octa Delilah “Ranger” “Octie” Miller

Big Iron - Marty Robbins

Tumbling Tumbleweeds - Marty Robbins

God’s Gonna Cut You Down - Johnny Cash

I Walk the Line - Johnny Cash

Lonesome Polecat - 7 Brides for 7 Brothers

Bless Yore Beautiful Hide - 7B7B

When You’re in Love - 7B7B

Wonderful, Wonderful Day -7B7B

People Will Say We’re in Love - Oklahoma

Ten Minutes Ago - Cinderella

Do I Love You Because You’re Beautiful - Cinderella

- Parents moved west in 1844, the year she was born. 

- Octa was 16 when she met Ashton - parents passed so Octa moved to California 

- They broke up when she was 18

- Octa roamed the land, became a ranger/bounty hunter

- She’s 25 when she meets Rose

First impression: Octa is rather stoic due to her natural, more reserved personality. She’s not used to staying in one spot for long, again, due to her occupation. By the time she meets Rose, Octa has been on her own for seven years, moving from place to place. She’s not quite friendly but she’s not outright rude to people either. She’s just distant. 

Personality: Octa is a lot of things. She’s kind, but distant. Serious, but happy to joke and tease people she likes. Reserved about her life but not withholding on her emotions. She’s also a flirt. She’s very confident in her abilities and herself and when she knows what she wants, she knows how to get it. Very capable. She has a more grey-scewed moral code because of her line of work. A hopeless romantic too.

Random: Octa likes to draw. Her favorite color is lilac. And she does not know how to read or write (important later).

Physical attributes: Octa is tall, pushing 5′11 and she dresses more ambiguous to hide her body type. This helps her intimidate people. She’s sturdy from years of dragging or pushing people around when needed. Long legs, narrow hips, her shoulders are on the broader side (think triangle). Her face is a diamond shape and her nose is hooked and just slightly too big. (Hence Smoke’s nickname for her, Hawk Head). It also crooks to the left. 

Her skin is a tawny brown with a very warm undertone and darker in some spots due to frequent sun exposure. She has fair green eyes reminiscent of jade. Her hair is dark brown but is often mistaken for being black, she keeps it up at all times with two frayed and faded red and gold ribbons that were gifted to her by her mother. When down, it hits her upper back and is naturally wavy. 

Equipment;

1 Colt Navy Revolver 

1 Flat Crowned, wide-brimmed hat in black with a red ribbon tied around it

1 tan, brown, and black ruana

Rose Christendatter

Still developing

Rose Garden  - Lynn Anderson

The Little Green Valley - Marty Robbins

Violets and Silverbells - Shenandoah

Goin’ Co’tin’ - 7 Brides for 7 Brothers

When You’re in Love (Reprise) - 7B7B

Falling in Love with Love - Cinderella 

June Bride - 7B7B

People Will Say We’re in Love - Oklahoma

Ten Minutes Ago - Cinderella

Do I Love You Because You’re Beautiful - Cinderella

Jolene - Dolly Parton

- Rose Christendatter was born in 1842 in New York

- She learned how to read and write from her Grandfather who also taught her how to teach. 

- Moved with her parents out west in 1867

- Became the local teacher in an outpost founded by a family friend - Lee Docker

First impression: Demure. Uptight. Flappable. Neurotic. Stuck in her ways. 

Personality: Rose Christendatter is all of the above. Definitely not the sort you’d expect out West. She’s a prim and propper, God-fearing young lady. If given the option, she’d much prefer to be back East with her grandparents. But she is curious about the world around her if not still incredibly naive. She is emotional sometimes to her detriment. Definitely dealing with internalized homophobia and misogyny. Got a long way to go in her story. But she’s also very sociable and well-liked in her community.

Random: She likes flowers and the story Don Quixote

Physical attributes: Rose is short to contrast Octa. She stands at about 5′2 with a pear-shaped body. Her face is very round. Her mouth is a little too small for the rest of her face, she has wide grey eyes, and long, straight dirty blonde hair. Her face is white with a notable, constant pink tint to it - sunburn or blush, hard to tell. She has a rounded, button-like nose and notable dimples. She keeps her hair braided back and normally hidden by some type of hat - it hits at her shoulders when down. 

Equipment

White, crocheted shawl

Various hats

Light brown, high heeled boots gifted to her by her grandfather

C-spectacles

Ashton “Smoke Storm” Morgan

Still developing

Savage Dogs - Palko Musiki

Billy the Kid - Marty Robbins

It’s All Over but the Crying - Ink Spots (specifically the first part of it)

Sobbin’ Women - 7 Brides for 7 Brothers

I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire - Ink Spots

Stepsister’s Lament - Cinderella (Jk)

Ring of Fire - Johnny Cash

Jolene - Dolly Parton

-  Ashton Morgan moved out west in 1849 when her parents became 49′s

- Born in 1843

- Also from the East

- Abandoned gold-mining in favor of good old fashioned fuck you government actions 

- Started a band of rogues that ran up and down the west coast and terrorized settlements

- Was Octa’s first and longest girlfriend prior to Rose

First impression: Ashton is a master of disguise when it comes to who she is so what you perceive upon first meeting her is different depending on why you’re meeting her. But, generally, she comes across as non-threatening but with a rebellious debonair attitude. 

Personality: Ashton is dramatic in the best way possible. She’s spunky, loud, and sharp-tongued. While not the most astute at times, she more than makes up for it with her ability to wriggle out of any situation. She’s very clever. It’s her world, we’re just living in it. She does have a temper also but it cools just as quick as it flares. Stubborn as they come. 

Random: Ashton has a raging sweet tooth

Physical Attributes: Ashton Morgan is, simply put, a vision. Around 5′5, hourglass figure, shiny auburn hair, pouty lips, wide, brown eyes in an oval face.

Equipment:

Colt Single Action Army

[aturtleinmiami]

INTERVIEW WITH ALEXA LASH 11.3.20 If you don’t know who Alexa Lash is, then you must “like” her on Instagram and follow her immediately. She has her very own “Sound check song” in which she’ll include a stranger or a friend in the lyrics and makes up an interesting story to begin her set. I find myself singing it sometimes so it’s quite catchy. Alexa has a powerful voice to match her lyrics. She began playing locally with a ukulele, then during quarantine picked up an acoustic guitar and learned to play on her own. Now, she feels more empowered than ever and her craft has taken a fiercer shape, just like the tattooed phoenix on her back. My personal favorite is, “Every Little Thing I Do” where she pleads for her lover to say those magic words, we girls desperately want to hear and then strums along to a frustrated rap because the lover isn’t responding. Although most of the songs Alexa sings are originals and her new EP is due out shortly, she covers anything from “Valerie” by Amy Winehouse, “Zombie” by The Cranberries to the local’s favorite, “Jolene” by Dolly Parton. Alexa has diamond eyes and a beautiful smile with a quick wit that will have you singing along with the crowd to “MIA” and cheering during breaks as she sips on her old fashion. Our Interview went like this: 
VA: It’s difficult for me to pinpoint your style of music, how would you describe it?
AL: It’s funny, I always have trouble answering this question because I feel like I sound a little different with the band and as like when I was with November May I felt that I sounded like you know, more like alternative, soulful, a little funky. Now what I’ve been doing is singer-songwriter stuff; I guess my style is storyteller with soul. A little folksy but not. I don’t know my inspirations are drawn from various places including like 80’s music and Hebrew songs from JCC, Jewish camp. VA: What inspires you to write? AL: Well, what inspires me to write now and what has been I mean are mostly just experiences either that I have been through or that people I know have been through like I’ve actually written songs for other people who are about other people’s life you know, telling a story, like if it’s my story that’s great, if it’s another person’s story that’s great or made up stories like I just imagined something happening or how I would react or a collection of things that have happened over the course of whatever amount of time. I like telling stories about real life or fictional life, a lot of it was about relationships but now it’s kind of transitioned. It went from just you know a lot of oh, heart break and you know, I’m suffering to now it’s emotions that I’m experiencing in quarantine and those trigger song ideas. I wrote about anxiety during quarantine, that was one of my first songs that got a lot of connectivity and traction during quarantine, people were like, “Alexa, I really like your song, I connect with it” and people would start telling me that, since that song. Then I wrote some songs about thinking about death, about loneliness, about stress and just like all those feelings combined and then just kept writing. I wrote more and more and more. I just finished a song the other day about thinking about my future because music has become a priority. VA: When you sing, “She’s Gonna Be Fine” I feel the hurt from your gut, it’s a beautifully painful song, do you harvest the emotions of when you wrote that song right before you sing it? AL: Yeah; She’s Gonna Be Fine is such a special song to me. I actually recorded it recently so it’s going to be on my EP that I release out of the four songs and trying to replicate how I sing it in person is not easy when you’re in a room by yourself and I’ve noticed that I sing that song very differently depending on the audience and when the audience is engaged in my story telling like I can feel it throughout the night, I tend to sing it with more backing so when I start to sing that song, I don’t know if I’m conjuring up emotions but that song makes me sing emotionally because I know the words, they’re very measured and that song is based on a true story so it’s very easy for me to fall into it. I recorded it originally and then showed it to someone and they were like, “Alexa the pacing is kind of fast, can you redo it?” and I was like, shoot, you know, I really like the way that this sounds, I did some cool stuff with my voice but she was right. I didn’t draw the same emotional pull that I do when I’m in person and I don’t know why, I think I was just too excited to record it so last night, I re-recorded it and you can hear me like almost crying in it. Yeah, that song always makes me want to cry when I sing it. It takes a lot of out of me. When I’m done singing it, I feel like I can take a nap or go crawl in a corner and just keep crying or something. VA: What is your favorite song to perform and why?
AL: There’s a mix. She’s Gonna Be Fine is one of my favorites to perform now, just because it tends to silence a room and there’s something special to be said about that for me because I’ve never been able to command a space as much as that song’s given me the power to do so. Beyond that song, I really like singing Sunrise, it’s also new, it’s one of the new ones because when I sing that, there’s a part that’s like with you, with you, with you, like I yell it and now everyone yells it with me but my favorite that’s kind of always been my favorite to sing with everybody has probably been MIA. I wrote that on the ukulele, and everybody’s just has always been really down to sing along and I love when the audience comes into the picture and sings it with me. There’s something special about even strangers who don’t know the song start to sing it, it just is a nice community exercise. VA: You play the ukulele and more recently learned to play guitar; are there any more instruments you have thought about playing in the future? (In my view, a keyboard is set up next to her)
AL: I was telling somebody the story on a podcast that I did recently about my dad supporting my music. There’s more backstory to that but basically lately, my family, my friends have kind of all been into this dream of mine and I was thinking about getting a keyboard for a while. When quarantine started, I just, I wanted to learn everything and then I saw a friend of mine play the keyboard and I was like, oh my god I want one so badly and I was like, oh well you know if I have a keyboard and the band wants to come over then my keyboardist doesn’t have to drag his, then I’ll have it so I just have all these random instruments that everybody can, so now I’ve got to get drums or something. Quarantine stopped from a lot of things being delivered and I ordered this keyboard about three months ago. My dad got it for me as like a, I want to support your dream kind of gift and I was like, are you sure? Like, I was going to get it anyway but like, are you sure? I was going to go broke dad. And I fell in love with this one and I ordered it and I was like, this thing is never coming in, ever. On that podcast I just did, I mentioned the keyboard and like two days later, after that podcast aired, I get the call from Sweetwater that it was in and it was being shipped. It got here on Halloween, but I couldn’t open the box yet and on November 1st I opened it for the first time, and I haven’t moved from this spot. VA: During quarantine, you have made new musician friends and have brought them to share your stage; how does it feel to be a talent scout of sorts and do you think it is something you would like to continue to do?
AL: I’ve been very lucky and it’s funny because your question lead into my day. Tonight, is my 90’s night, which is why I’m rocking the Jurassic Park shirt (I love it) for my zoom open mic that I’ve been doing since April. I’ve done a lot of stuff during quarantine, I did a song writer exchange, I did an Instagram takeover for Make Music Miami, I did some weird Jewish events, I got called the funky Zionista and I was like a little bit like, alright, chill that’s a little too much for me. Any chance I got to make music, I tried to do during quarantine; I dressed as Elsa for god’s sakes. All of these things that I did then lead to people coming to my open mic night from all of these different resources so during the song exchange, that person, her name is Rew, came on to my open mic like I went on to hers and she came to mine and then she brought her friends who are now are regulars of my night. Rock-n-roll Johnny always likes to be called out but all these people you know, come on and they were supporting me while I was trying to do my song writing lessons like trying to teach people how to write lyrics and to write music or to write songs. I tried different stuff and these people supported me and when I got a chance to go on a stage I could have played by myself for three hours but I was like, you know why not share the love with some of the people who have made quarantine more manageable so people like Clover, April I already knew before quarantine who just went on stage with me, my friend Cynthia same thing before quarantine, Luis was a friend of mine and then he brought the flute player in. This whole network of people that have just been supporting each other during quarantine are the ones I put up on stage, like you didn’t have to show up to my open mic night, it was helpful if I didn’t know you already or wasn’t too familiar with your music because Bar Nancy is a scared place for me like, I worked there pre quarantine that’s my family, that’s my home so who I bring into it is important to me like if you’re a jerk or an asshole, I’m not going to put you on stage with me and everybody’s attitude changes from day to day so you could have been nice prior to quarantine and then become not the nicest person. I’ve just gotten lucky, I’ve met all these talented people and I’ve gotten a chance to put them on a stage and I’ve tried to get them paid as much as I can, it’s not easy but I’m trying to create the opportunity for them. Honestly, it gets exhausting so as much as I want to say I’m going to keep scouting talent, I just keep hoping that I get lucky that people show up either to the open mic that I’ve never met before that live in Miami or that somebody introduces me to someone just because of the networking opportunities here because talent can be easy to find in Miami but talent with a heart and a solid, kind personality that’s not the easiest to find like people who aren’t out just for themselves I guess is what I’m saying. I feel very lucky for the people I’ve met Honestly, if Johnny didn’t live in New York, I’d put him on a stage in a heartbeat, if Rew didn’t live in New York, same thing. If my new California friends didn’t live in Cali - stage. I wish I could put more people on the stage that I’ve gotten to meet through quarantine. VA: If you had your choice of an artist to collaborate with, who would it be? 
AL: Like Famous? Are we talking dead or alive? For a living artist, the first person who came to mind is Lady Gaga. I don’t know why that was the first name that came to my head, but I think it’s just because I admire her musical style like a lot. The way she sings, that would be amazing. I want to see how she writes. So probably her, I can’t even like think of anyone right now if you’d had asked me a while ago, I would have been like Meatloaf or Queen. Apparently, Lady Gaga because that’s where my mind just went. Alexa is finalizing her four song EP and her release party is scheduled on January 1st at none other than Bar Nancy. AL: The four songs are Sunrise, She’s Gonna be Fine, Sage & Wine and Who Knows Me. I was trying to tell a story and it was written in the same time period so I guess the idea is that the person you’re enjoying the time with somebody, know that they’re going to leave, they leave, she’s going to be fine, she cleanses her space and then she’s like, who even knows me anyway so it’s like the story.

Please come out to support Alexa and other talented local artists Friday nights at Bar Nancy on Calle Ocho. Bar Nancy is a great spot for drinks, food and live music. If you are hungry, The Cheese Stands Alone serves amazing grilled cheese sandwiches and if you’re vegan, don’t worry, Amanda has you covered.

[aion-rsa]

Anya Taylor-Joy Infiltrates the Boys’ Club of Chess in The Queen’s Gambit

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Netflix’s period piece miniseries The Queen’s Gambit spans a decade in the life of fictional chess prodigy Beth Harmon (Anya Taylor-Joy), a wunderkind whose natural aptitude for anticipating her opponents’ moves is blunted by her addiction to the tranquilizer pills with which she credits her wins. Following gawky teenage Beth through her early tournaments in the 1950s to the aloof redheaded beauty wowing spectators in Europe in the ’60s—and leaving a trail of defeated men in her wake—the seven-hour series was faced with the challenge of making every chess scene equally thrilling to enthusiasts and non-fans alike.

The key, Taylor-Joy explains to Den of Geek, was in having every single game be recognizably unique. “[Series creator and director] Scott [Frank] and I would have a lot of conversations about both the chess and the addiction scenes, and how we were going to make each of them different and each of them fresh,” she says. “Because this show is seven and a half hours, and if a lot of that is the same chess game, people are gonna wander off.”

The cast and crew imbued each chess match with specific emotion, matching Beth’s personal and professional growth, and unique physicality. For the latter, that involved bringing in chess consultant Bruce Pandolfini (who also consulted on Walter Tevis’ 1983 novel on which the series is based) and grandmaster Garry Kasparov to plan out the series’ many games down to every gambit and checkmate. Because neither Taylor-Joy nor her on-screen competitors had played much chess prior to shooting, treating the gameplay as choreography helped them pick up the moves.

“I saw the whole thing as a dance,” explains Taylor-Joy, a former ballet dancer. “I saw learning the choreography as dance, but just with your fingers.”

Costar Harry Melling, who plays one of Beth’s early rivals Harry Beltik, agrees that the authenticity was found in the tactile movements of the pieces themselves.

“One of the most important things in terms of the choreography was the feel of the pieces,” he says, “about how you take pieces—whether you slide it across the board or whether you lift it up or put it down. All of these little details [are] what makes it look like you’ve been doing it your entire life.”

“It’s like riding a horse,” says Thomas Brodie-Sangster, whose chess champion Benny Watts is known for a distinctive leather duster and laconic attitude. “It doesn’t really matter if you can ride a horse, it’s more about if you can get on the horse and get off the horse and look cool doing it. That’s what people pick up on; it shows that you actually look comfortable doing it.”

While Beltik and Benny are as fictional as Beth, the actors were encouraged to draw inspiration from current and historical grandmasters on which to base their characters’ games. “Every game in the show is based on a real game,” Brodie-Sangster says. “If you’ve got a really keen eye, you can probably recognize games from across the history of chess.” He modeled Benny’s moves after Bobby Fischer, while Melling devoted a lot of time to watching current World Chess Champion Magnus Carlsen play.

“That was really fascinating,” Melling says, “because I knew nothing about chess whatsoever—so [I was] starting from ground zero, really, working out how these people operate, what makes them tick.”

Equally important as the dance steps were the dance partners. Taylor-Joy credits the originality of each sequence to who Beth is playing at that moment in time—like Townes (Jacob Fortune-Lloyd), a hunky competitor who flusters young Beth. “The first time that Beth plays Townes, it’s the first time that she’s ever liked somebody that she’s playing opposite against,” she says, “so she wants to win, but she doesn’t necessarily enjoy seeing him crumble, which is a new experience for her.”

Taylor-Joy soon found the game as dramatic as Beth does. “For her, it is life or death,” she says. “This is her intellect being challenged, and her intellect is the only thing she has any faith in. So I definitely felt the pressure, and then—whenever she’s playing with somebody—the power high of that.”

It’s no surprise that Beth gets a power high from defeating her male opponents, as it is a very insular boys’ club into which she enters as a dowdily-dressed teenager in the ’50s. For her first match with Beltik at the Kentucky Chess Championship, Melling says, the former is very much in his element, “and then she sort of enters his sphere, and he becomes completely in awe of her talent, and he knows that she’s a better player than him. His bubble gets burst very quick.”

Though Benny saunters into their first match together, Brodie-Sangster acknowledges that there is also an immediate spark with Beth. “Her presence is a bit of a surprise, and a bit of an enigma for him,” he says. “She is very much in a man’s world and doesn’t really look like she really fits in there; neither does he, and I think there’s a kind of connection there.”

Beth grows up in the world of chess, both as an aspiring grandmaster and as a young woman. Taylor-Joy had a blast playing so many different versions of Beth, though she laughs recalling how Frank initially asked her how young she thought she could play. Fourteen or fifteen was her answer—“eight, you’re gonna have to get another actor to do that one”—and so she portrays Beth from her inelegant teenage years through to her mid-twenties.

Over the course of the series, we witness Beths who are alternately brilliant and awkward, shy and sexy, on top of the world and extremely vulnerable. “Because [the show] takes its time and because you do grow with her, you as an audience are allowed insight into why she is the way she is,” Taylor-Joy says. “You see the things that shape her, and you see her grow from it, and you understand why she’s grown in that direction.” 

To move between those many phases, she would devise her own backstories for the different Beths: “She starts off walking very clumsily and awkwardly and almost side-to-side, and then I was like, ‘Oh, and this is the first time she’s ever seen an Audrey Hepburn movie’ and she starts wearing the black pants and the turtleneck and starts standing differently, if a boy’s around. And just trying on different personalities, as I think we all do, especially in that age range, and probably into our adult life. It was really fun.”

In contrast to her male opponents and love interests who inhabit the same sphere, the two key women in Beth’s life exist almost entirely outside of the chess world. Fellow orphan Jolene (Moses Ingram) shows her the ropes at the orphanage, much like an older sister, but resentment stretches between them when Beth is adopted and Jolene is left behind.

“It’s all in how they’ve grown up with each other and gotten to know each other,” says the theatrically trained Ingram of her first on-screen role and the difficult emotional history between Beth and Jolene. “I think people that truly love one another certainly get the very best, but also the very worst, of each other. When you can see someone that deeply, you can’t help but be locked in to one another.”

Complicating their relationship is the fact that preteen Jolene is the one who introduces eight-year-old Beth to the tranquilizer pills to which she immediately becomes addicted. “Jolene was just teaching her how to cope in the only way that Jolene has learned how to cope,” Ingram explains, but that simple act irrevocably shapes Beth’s approach to chess for the next decade. Initially used to “even out” the orphans’ disposition (and then later banned for their habit-forming tendencies), the pills help Beth envision a chessboard in the shadows of her bedroom ceiling at night. Taylor-Joy says she would track Beth’s mental and emotional state not just by the different matches, but by how the ghostly chess pieces appear to her: “Sometimes they’re familiar, sometimes they’re very threatening, it all very much depends on where she’s at.”

Unfortunately, where Beth is often at is relying too much on the pills to help her focus during chess games, believing herself unable to triumph when not in her altered state. Her dilemma is complicated by the fact that the tranquilizer pills come back into her life care of her adoptive mother Alma Wheatley (Marielle Heller), who initially comes off as a stereotypical ’50s housewife who can’t function without “Mother’s Little Helper.” (Though the pills go by the fictional name Xanzolam in the series, they seem to be a cousin of Azolam and other benzodiazepines.)

In the past four years, Heller has been best known behind the camera, as the director of such celebrated films as The Diary of a Teenage Girl (for which she also wrote the screenplay), Can You Ever Forgive Me?, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, and What the Constitution Means to Me. While Heller had always referenced her history as an actor as “part of my superpower as a director,” she says that she began to feel like “a fraud” when directing stars like Tom Hanks or Matthew Rhys. “I started to feel like, ‘Do I even remember what that feels like, to be an actor, to be asked to do these things, to be asked to go into these certain emotional places?’”

So when Frank, a long-time friend, invited her to join the series and spend a few months shooting in Berlin, Heller saw it as the perfect opportunity to, in her words, “keep my street cred as a director who was an actor.” As a director who seeks out projects about the uncomfortable things that people don’t talk about, Heller found that Alma embodied those same sensibilities: “She’s someone who has a lot of pain in her past, and that makes her most interesting; she’s not some version of a ’50s housewife that doesn’t feel real. So much of what I try to do as a director is to tap into that thing that has made somebody the way they are.”

Despite mother and daughter’s initial friction, as Beth carves out her niche in the chess world, and Alma begins accompanying her on her more glamorous tournaments, the older woman is inspired to revisit her own long-abandoned dreams of devoting her life to a creative pursuit. “For Alma,” Heller says, “she had this dream deferred. She was somebody who wanted to be a pianist and artist and never could, and that’s a pain that I feel is very human, and I totally connected to.”

What’s remarkable about The Queen’s Gambit is that each of its female characters experiences a different and specific struggle for the time period. “Scott did that really beautifully,” Ingram says of playing adult Jolene, advocating for change during the Civil Rights movement while Beth is moving up through the ranks of the chess world. “He didn’t let us forget what point in time we were in the world—we’re in the ’60s, in the smack-dab [middle] of civil unrest, because people aren’t being treated fairly. And I loved that Jolene is out front and being a crusader, being a champion for change, when very clearly all she’s known is white people her whole life. So it was beautiful to see that she’s found herself later, in changing the world—trying to, at least.”

In that endeavor, Jolene describes herself as a radical, though Ingram also feels that the word was a fitting theme for the series overall.

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“I think it’s radical that Beth, as a woman, is this far into the chess world at this point in time,” she says. “It’s unheard of that she’s there, and everyone’s shocked by it. It’s definitely a story of radical love, and radical faith.”

The Queen’s Gambit premieres October 23 on Netflix.

The post Anya Taylor-Joy Infiltrates the Boys’ Club of Chess in The Queen’s Gambit appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[argylemnwrites]

Fire Inside

Character: ??? 😮 ???

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu) referenced

Book: The Royal Romance (The Royal Heir, various chapters)

Word Count: ~2100

Rating:  PG-13 (adult language)

Summary: Doing what needs to be done isn’t for the faint of heart. Sometimes channeling that fire inside will bring out enemies, but only the timid worry about that.

Author’s Note: So, this is something pretty different from what I usually write, but the idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. I don’t know if anyone else will like this, but I had a lot of fun exploring motivations of this character. I just wanted to dislike this character for interesting reasons, not hate them for dumb reasons that lack all nuance. So, yeah, not trying to defend this character, just trying to make them a dislikable human instead of a silly, annoying trope.

Inspired by Day 4 of the Choices November Challenge - Rage. Tagging all my TRR peeps, so apologies if this isn’t your thing. Like I said, I know this isn’t my usual style.

How did that old saying go? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar? Something like that. She’d heard it plenty of times throughout her life. She just never really understood it.

It’s not that she didn’t get the intent; she wasn’t stupid. But she just didn’t quite get why anyone would want to catch flies in the first place. Swat those annoying buggers away. Let them live their life while she lived hers. Why would you want to attract nuisances when you could scare them off instead? And no point drawing them in to kill them. There would always be plenty more pests coming after them.

But growing up, everyone seemed to tell her she should be more nurturing, more caring. Buying her dolls for her birthday and for Christmas. Trying to get her to care for the chicks after the coyote got into the pen and ate the hen. Scolding her when she hadn’t held Bee’s hand and wiped away her tears with gentle thumbs and soothing words when she’d fallen from the tree and broken her arm, but instead had carried her back to the house, arm wrapped in her own shirt as a temporary sling. But her practical solution hadn’t been enough. She was supposed to tend to her sister’s emotional pain, not just the physical.

They all wanted her to be sugar, spice, and everything nice. Well, if that’s what little girls were supposed to be made of, it never made sense to Leona that everyone seemed to ignore the middle ingredient. You wouldn’t call two pieces of bread on either side of some sliced ham a bread sandwich. That’s a goddamn ham sandwich. So why did everyone think that girls should be sweet little angels, not spitfires full of heat and intensity? 

Leona was never cut out to play the damsel, dependent on someone else. She would fight for herself, fight for what she thought was her due. And she was never going to apologize for being that way. Her fire served her well. It’s how she got out of taking home ec in high school, instead getting herself a spot in shop class. She could live with rips in her clothes that she couldn’t mend well and food that filled her belly without winning a prize at the state fair for its flavors. But if the equipment on the ranch broke down, well being able to fix that herself would save her whole family time and money. And that just seemed a hell of a lot more useful than learning how to be a perfect little homemaker. 

Of course, in shop class, none of the boys or Mr. Linvel had viewed her as anything other than a novelty. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the boys who laughed at her anytime she made a mistake, or the ones who assumed she couldn’t do it herself, always coming over to “help” her. What they didn’t understand is that she never needed their help. They weren’t better than her just because their fathers had taught them those skills already. She would do it herself, no matter how many tries it took. 

Because the world was a harsh place. It never made sense to Leona that she was expected to stay soft. She didn’t understand how anyone could. But all the girls around her seemed to manage it just fine. Cathy and Linda and Susie braided each other’s hair and shared lipstick. They giggled and gossiped and swooned over Chip and Bobby and Kenny. They hugged each other and passed around hankies when those same idiot boys all fell head over heels for the new girl, Patty, with her bleached hair and bell-bottom jeans. They all cried over their Dolly Parton records, moaning about how “Jolene” was their song. Leona didn’t get it. Why waste any time on some boy who was inevitably gonna let you down?

But one by one, she watched them go off, get married, start their families. Cathy caught the eye of some traveling salesman, Linda finally got Bobby to put a ring on it, and Susie moved to Houston to go to secretarial school, but quit and got married 4 months after her first posting. And one by one, she watched them get broken, by bills and mortgages, by baby after baby, by unfaithful and cruel husbands. And as they cried on the front porch, wondering how they got to that point, a not-so-small portion of Leona kept thinking, “I told you so.” She didn’t feel bad for thinking it either. Because she knew what they thought of her. Bitter. Cold-hearted. Bitch.

But she took it all, because she knew that life wasn’t a fairy tale. It’s a series of hardships you just had to face head on. She told her sister that everyday, not wanting her to make the same mistakes that so many of the other girls made. And for a long time, it worked. It was just the two of them and Dad, taking care of things on the ranch. But eventually Bee wanted more. She wasn’t content, always dreaming of something different. She saved her money. Traveled. When she came back, she was full of stories. But she was different every time. Still could pull her share around the ranch, but she was teasing her hair. Had new blazers with shoulder pads in addition to her practical work clothes. Talked about some fancy-ass coffee drink she had at some restaurant. And then she saved enough to go overseas, coming back a few months later, holding hands with some fancy European asshole. Told Leona she was moving to some country called Cordonia to marry that man. Left the ranch without a backward glance, leaving Leona and Dad to manage it all. She made promises of coming back in a couple of years after Jackson’s service requirements were complete, but first a son came along, and then a daughter. And each year that went by, Leona knew that Bianca was never coming back. Sure enough, phone calls promising a move back next year soon became phone calls promising a vacation. The life they had known together was now a novelty, an escape, not a reality. She only did make it back to the ranch once with the kids.

Those two were lost causes, as far as Leona was concerned. Brought up in a world of gold and diamonds, parties and designer clothes. Hell, the boy was best friends with one of the princes. And when she was the one who had to bury Dad in the orchard all by herself, six feet down, right next to Momma, she knew she was the only one left in the family with any common sense or perspective. She just hoped that Bianca remembered a little bit of the toughness she’d tried to teach her when those ass-kissing, stuck-up nobles she’d surrounded herself with inevitably screwed her over.

Leona was surprised that Bianca lasted over there as long as she did, nearly two decades before it all came crashing down with Jackson’s death. But she did crash, hard. Her life fell apart. And who did she call up, but the sister she’d abandoned, left to carry on the family business all alone. And once again, she wanted Leona to be softer. To offer sympathy and comfort. Well, she offered a roof over her head and food in her belly when her so-called “friends” somehow couldn’t be bothered to spare a dollar. That would have to be comfort enough. 

She’d heard Bianca crying many nights. At first, she knew it was over her husband, a man who gave his life for some over-important royals, leaving behind his own goddamn family. And after years of watching her sister struggle to finally heal from that, the crying started again when Drake called, frantic, saying Savannah was gone, asking if by any chance she’d come to Texas. She recovered faster that time, though. Leona hoped that she was finally learning, that she was tougher. Stronger.

But that all came crashing down one fall morning, when Bianca bounded into the barn, telling Leona that not only was Savannah back in their lives, but that she had a baby. Baby Bee was a grandma. Not only that, but she was going back to the hellhole of Cordonia to see this baby and to watch Drake marry some fancy duchess of some sort. She was optimistic and energetic. It was as if she’d learned nothing from her first time there. 

They’d fought, Leona asking her sister how many times she was gonna get her hopes up about that place. Bianca saying that things would be better this time. Yeah, right. Leona had seen enough to know how this would end. Bianca brought her kids up in the world of posh nobles and fancy rich people. It was only a matter of time until they decided they were too good for her again.

But Bee ignored her warnings, not only flying out there for some pompous hoighty-toighty wedding, but offering to host Savannah’s wedding to some frickin’ Duke of snobbery, the same man who knocked her up and then neglected her and the baby not two years earlier. Amazing what you could get away with when you had money.

To make matters worse, Bee invited some motley crew of royals and nobles to come stay on the ranch for this wedding. They weren’t outwardly disdainful, so maybe they did learn some manners from their fancy pants educations, but still. Leona had a ranch to keep afloat. The last thing she needed was to babysit a group of rich kids playacting at being cowboys. 

She felt a little guilty selling info on Drake and his wife to the press. He was the most helpful of the group, and he was family, after all. He seemed to remember a few things from his visit as a child, seemed to have kept a handful of practical skills. But his wife was overeager, annoying, and seemed to think that she had something in common with Bianca and Leona just because she used to wait tables. That growing up in a fancy city like New York was somehow equal to hard, physical labor because she hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. If he had chosen to marry someone like her, then he probably wasn’t much different than the rest of them. The fact that they were orchestrating some bizarre political move to get their kid onto the throne just sealed the deal for Leona. So she did what she had to do. Granted, they all ended up being much kinder than she’d guessed them to be. But their kindness wasn’t going to keep the ranch going long term, keep the hands hired and the electricity on. So, Leona kept on selling any info she had. Morality was all fine and dandy when you were privileged, but it had no place in the real world.

It wasn’t until Riley was screaming at her, yelling about how she would never forgive Leona, hand protectively placed across her very pregnant belly, that she saw something more than kind but spoiled little princess. She saw pure anger, fire-forged and intense. She saw rage and hunger. She saw someone that maybe had been hardened by life, but kept that intensity hidden away, covering her true strength with silliness and laughter.

Leona couldn’t be sure, of course. She barely knew the woman, and she had no illusion that she and this woman would be bonding as in-laws going forward, so she probably wouldn’t get the chance to find out. She had never been naive, after all. She knew that bridge was burned. But she wasn’t one for regrets. She’d made her choices, and while she’d hoped maybe her nephew would understand her reasons, calm his wife down, she wasn’t surprised when that didn’t happen. So she went back to Texas, to her parents’ ranch. To her ranch, really. What was done was done.

She hadn’t anticipated her sister’s anger. Bee had never been the overly-protective, Momma-bear type, after all. But she’d yelled, alright. Told her off about betraying the family. Selling out her own nephew. Making it so that Drake and Riley were never going to be willing to bring the grandbaby to visit. Bianca expected grovelling, contrition, regret. But she wasn’t going to get that. Leona had the fire raging inside of her to keep moving forward; she would never apologize for that. And if anyone took issue with that, well that was just their own damn problem. No one else was going to solve it for them. Certainly not Leona. Anyone who expected such a weakness could just go fuck themselves.

Tags: @choicesnovemberchallenge @dcbbw @mfackenthal @yaushie @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @octobereighth @ao719​

[elo-kodon]

Untitled Iwaoi Short Story #1

(Part 1 here)                             

                                                        PART 2

           “That was such a great dinner, Auntie! I’m completely stuffed, right Iwa-chan?” Oikawa exclaims happily, his voice carrying through the small house in bright, musical tones.

           Iwaizumi receives a short but painful jab to his side with Oikawa’s elbow. The movement almost makes him drop the dinner plate he’s scrubbing into the soapy water. He gives Oikawa a short, annoyed look before responding. “Yes, thanks so much!” he calls out hurriedly.

           “Ohh it was no trouble at all boys,” Oikawa’s aunt says, gracefully gliding down the stairs in her long, summery-red pleated skirt.

           Once Iwaizumi had met Oikawa’s aunt, her sophisticated and bubbly personality was one of the first things he noticed about her. She gave the boys a warm hug, welcomed them in, and immediately turned to Iwaizumi. “Now Iwaizumi dear, let’s do away with the formalities for now. Why don’t you just call me Hisako? Goodness knows all my colleagues already do.” Hisako waved her left hand air in a quick flourish and lead the boys into her house. She showed Oikawa and Iwaizumi to their room upstairs. “I’ll leave you two to unpack for a while. I’ve got to head back downstairs to finish up dinner. Feel free to join me whenever you boys are ready to eat!”

           “She’s great, isn’t she?” Oikawa threw his duffel bag onto the ground, turning back to Iwaizumi proudly, “Mom says she’s a spitfire, but I like her a lot! She’s always been there for me, ya know?”

           Iwaizumi considers Oikawa’s past words as he continues to work on the last of the dinner plates. It’s no surprise that Oikawa would like her. Hisako had a lot of qualities that reminded him of his best friend. Their determined attitudes and boundless energy were practically the same. No wonder Oikawa was so excited to make the trip up here.

           Hisako calls out from the other room. “If you two are about done with the dishes, would you mind meeting me in the living room in a bit? I’d love to show you a few of my designs for the show on Sunday. Tooru, you also need to hear the rundown of the itinerary so you know what to expect.”

           Once the boys get done cleaning up, they join Hisako on her pink and blue floral patterned couch. It’s a cozy fit with all three of them, Hisako on the far left, Iwaizumi on the far right, and Oikawa snugly in the middle.

           Tucking a loose strand her wavy black hair behind her ear, Hisako reaches down to the side of the couch, picks up a thick shiny black binder and hands it to Oikawa to open. He carefully takes the huge binder from her and opens to one of the first tabbed pages.

           “So for this particular show, since it’s still only my second one, I really wanted to focus on kids’ streetwear. I’ve noticed that a lot of students like to have clothing that’s still modern and practical, but also wear things that fit to their own unique sense of style…”

           They spend the next half hour pouring through the thick and colorful pages of Hisako’s designs. Oikawa listens with keen interest as his aunt talks to them about her ideas and underlying concepts with model’s outfit. It seems like with each particular outfit and pattern, Hisako has a wonderful remark or funny story to recount on each model.

           “You see now why I wanted you to join me on this project Oikawa? I really need students with strong personalities, since the show’s main concept is based around stories of youth. So, this is where you come in…”

            Oikawa lounges back while he listens to his aunt talk about what she has planned for his design. He loves hearing about Hisako’s stories and inspiration behind everything, but he can’t help but wonder if Iwaizumi is starting to feel a little left out. Carefully, out of the corner of his eye, he slowly and surreptitiously directs his gaze to Iwaizumi. With Hisako’s voice still in the background, he puts his hearing on autopilot for a few moments while he stares at his best friend.

           Iwaizumi has his knees brought up to his chest, his hands wrapped around them as he gazes down at the sketch of Oikawa’s proposed design for the show. Oikawa’s breath hitches softly as he scans Iwaizumi’s face. There’s a fondness to the boy’s dark eyes, his lips are slightly pursed. It reminds Oikawa of how Iwaizumi used to look at him when they were children. But there’s also something else to it… With a confused realization, it dawns on him. Iwaizumi looks like he’s concentrating on something. Like he’s drinking in the design on Hisako’s drawing, trying to memorize the curve of each pencil marking, of each splotch of color on the roughly sketched pattern. Iwaizumi’s left hand reaches down to feel the small piece of fabric stapled onto the bottom right corner of the page. Oikawa catches his eye once Iwaizumi turns to pretend to look at Hisako.

           Iwaizumi locks the back of his jaw once he realizes Oikawa’s caught him staring. The pair lock eyes for a second. The light brown irises of Oikawa fixate on his own, like a curious tiger pup. Iwaizumi ducks his head down towards his lap, knowing that the heat traveling up his neck and onto his cheeks are definitely noticeable. “Stupid idiot…” he thinks.

           Goosebumps appear on Oikawa arms as he slowly averts his eyes. “Weird…Why did Hajime blush just now?”

           Guess he’d have to tackle that question later.

———————————————————————————————————

                                                       *Saturday*

           “Here you go!” Hisako sings out, beaming down at Iwaizumi and Oikawa, setting down a plate of pancakes and two tall glasses of strawberry-and-kewi smoothies in front of them. “Now, Tooru, dear, just so you know, I’m gonna be out at the office in town for the majority of this afternoon and the evening, so you’ll have to be in charge of making sure this young man,” she gestures to Iwaizumi, “gets fed a good dinner, okay? There’s a nice little market about a few miles still outside of town that you two can drive over to pick up whatever you’d like. I’d make dinner for you both but I need to stay late at the studio tonight so we can finish paperwork and make any last minute adjustments before the show tomorrow.”

           Oikawa nods eagerly and salutes his aunt, “Of course Auntie, you can count on me! Can’t wait to see my outfit in person tomorrow, I bet it’ll make all the girls swoon!”

           Hisako lets out a sparkling laugh, “Oh, I’m sure, Tooru.” She puts her breakfast dish in the sink, walking over to the front door to grab her sweater and her large canvas bag. “Hope you two have fun hanging out today! There’s a great beach nearby that you boys should go to if you have the time. I’ve got to run, take care now!” Iwaizumi and Oikawa hear the final few clacks of her shoes as she shuts the screen door behind her and walks down the steps of the front porch towards her car. They hear her engine start and then she’s off.

           “God, you really are a putz” mutters Iwaizumi, lightly smacking the back of Tooru’s head.

           “Not my fault you don’t know how to talk to women, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says as he attempts to dodge Iwazumi, but ultimately failing.

           Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and gets up from his chair. He didn’t feel like bickering with Oikawa today. He was in too good of a mood, plus he really wanted to go somewhere with Oikawa to play volleyball anyways.

           “Sooooo Iwa-channn what’s on the agenda for today?” Oikawa asks. He stands up from his chair and stretches out his tall torso, his arms almost touching the bottom of the fan in the kitchen.

           “Wanna do a practice match somewhere?”

           “Hmmm. Yes, but I also wanted to check out that beach Auntie mentioned. Not like we really have a beach back home.”

           “Why don’t we do both? We can set up a court once we find a good spot.” Iwaizumi suggested.

           “Ohhh a beach match? You’re on, mothman.”

           Iwaizumi lets out a small, soft “Dumbass” under his breath, then quickly runs up the stairs to grab their duffels, Oikawa slowly following up after him.

———————————————————————————————————-

           Oikawa’s high-pitched falsetto voice pierces Iwaizumi’s ears while he tries to keep concentrating on the winding road in front of him. He sings out another lyric of the weird country song that they happened to discover on the local radio a few minutes ago.

           “Joooooooooooleeeenne, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Puh-LEASE don’t take my maaannn. Even though you totally caaannn-“ Oikawa drawls out in a feminine, old-lady voice, intentionally fucking up the lyrics.

           Iwaizumi lets out another round of loud barking laughter. He forgot how genuinely funny Oikawa can be once he lets his guard down. But that usually only happens when it’s just the two of them together. He scrunches up his eyes, tears of laughter pricking at the outer edges of his eyelids. He’s laughing and smiling so much that his jaw is starting to get sore. “S-stop it you bastard, you’re gonna make me crash this damn car.”

           Oikawa grins over at Iwaizumi, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He turns back forward and smiles quickly to himself. He absolutely loves Iwaizumi’s laugh. The sound never gets old. “Damn, what a stupid song. Who the fuck is Jolene??”

           “I don’t-“ Iwaizumi tries to respond but is stopped by another round of laughter. “I don’t know man, but she’s got some issues apparently. I feel kind of bad for her, honestly.”

           “Eh, not bad enough,” Oikawa grins. “Since when does Japan have American country stations? Is this a new fad or some shit?”

           “I have no idea.”

           “Oh, Iwa-chan, there’s the turn up ahead!” Oikawa says hurriedly, leaning forward in his seat.

           Iwaizumi turns off the main route onto another small, dusty dirt road. As they make a couple more turns, the truck spits up dust.

           “Oh wow, is this sand?” Oikawa tries to squint through the yellowish haze.

           “I guess so. We must be close.”

           They head around a row of trees and then make one final turn. Iwaizumi parks in one of the faded parking spots, then kills the engine. It doesn’t take too long to unpack the bed of the truck. With both duffel bags slung around Iwaizumi and Oikawa carrying the net bag, they walk down a sandy path to the beach below.

           They find a good, flat area of sand and throw down their bags. Iwaizumi sets up the volleyball net while Oikawa takes off his flip flops. He unpacks the volleyballs, water bottles, and snacks.

           “Hey, ‘kawa, the net’s done.”

           “Lit.”

           Iwaizumi throws the net bag down near the duffels and Oikawa takes a couple minutes to mark the edges of each side of the court using a stick. He squints at the line on each side, then runs over to the other side to check the dimensions.

           “It’s fine, Oikawa. Let’s play already.” Iwaizumi drawls.

           “Fine, fine.” Oikawa takes his sunglasses off and perches them neatly in his hair. He picks a light blue volleyball up from the ground and walks onto his side of the court. Iwaizumi’s already on his side, hands on his knees, ready for Oikawa to start. Using only one hand, Oikawa swiftly throws the ball high up in the air. “You know I’m totally gonna win this match, right?”

           Iwaizumi snorts and smirks at Oikawa through the holes of the net. “Not on your life, pretty boy.”

———————————————————————————————————-

           Soaring through the air over the net, the small blue volleyball heads toward Iwaizumi’s side of the court. With the quickness of a puma and the grace of a warrior, the spiky-haired male crouches down and receives the ball. The volleyball bounces back upwards, over Iwaizumi’s head and the boy looks up. He ends up timing the comedown of the ball perfectly, executing a three step approach. Calf muscles tensing, Iwaizumi swings his arms back and jumps up in the air. With a look of fierceness set in his face, eyes gleaming, his right arm whips forward and sends the ball flying straight down towards Oikawa’s side.

           Oikawa dives forward and manages to keep the ball up, but only enough to the point where it flys forward underneath the net. His sunglasses fall down crookedly onto the bridge of his nose. He groans. He almost got a mouthful of sand from this last one.

           Iwaizumi lets out a snicker, “What was that about beating me again?” He grins, watching Oikawa pick his lanky frame up off the sand.

           Dammit. Oikawa was sure his past spike wouldn’t turn into a chance ball, but somehow Iwaizumi managed to receive and turn it into a downward attack. He watches Iwaizumi take off his shirt through the lenses of his sunglasses. Iwaizumi grabs his water bottle and takes a long drink of water, his other hand resting on his hip.

           What a cocky bastard. Oikawa mentally convinces himself that he’s not taking this moment to run his eyes down the frame of Iwaizumi’s body. Nope. Definitely not taking in his wonderful, tan shoulders, and his stocky biceps, and of course that stupid lovely six pack- Wait what the hell? When did Iwa-chan get so buff??  Has he been doing extra strength training on the side or something?

           “Ready to get your ass whooped again, Shittykawa?” calls out Iwaizumi.

           Oikawa dusts the sand off his knees, sweat dripping down his bangs into his face. He takes a few ragged breaths. “You fuckin wish, biiiitttcchh.”

           Iwaizumi is about to make a retort when he notices Oikawa’s fast panting, his chest heaving in and out to try and steady his breathing back to normal. His hair is drenched, his shirt covered in sweat. Oikawa glances down worriedly at the wrap on his knee, reminding Iwaizumi of his past injury. He hastily looks at his watch.

           “On second thought, you look pretty tired, Tooru. It’s getting close to dinnertime anyways. Let’s call it a match and pack up, yeah?”

           Oikawa lets out an annoyed huff but then concedes.

———————————————————————————————————–

           They arrive back home, laughing about another funny joke Oikawa said when they were on the road. Iwaizumi and Oikawa tramp up the porch steps and through the screen door, both letting out relaxed sighs when the air conditioning hits them. They head towards the kitchen counter. Iwaizumi turns around and tosses his water bottle quickly to Oikawa, Oikawa wordlessly catching it in his hand.

           “Take this back up to the room, then we can go to the market and get some food. I’ll make dinner tonight if you want.”

           “Uh…sure Iwa-chan.” He replies, hurrying up the stairs in a daze.

           He sets both he and Iwaizumi’s water bottles on top of the dresser in their room. He takes a minute for himself, grabbing a towel and running it through his locks of hair to get the sweat out. He’s about to head out of the room when his eyes naturally find their gaze to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. He walks closer to his reflection, placing the towel around his neck.

           Oikawa inspects his appearance in the mirror. Eyebrows knitted together, he turns his face to either side, looking at his cheekbones. His wide, almond shaped brown eyes. His thin lips, still nicely rounded out for a guy’s mouth. He had okay teeth, straight and not too big.

           “Iwa-chan’s still prettier though,” he thought.

           He shakes his head, trying to regain focus. Bounding down the stairs to meet Iwaizumi, he realizes he left his flips flops somewhere in the living room.

           “Almost done Oikawa? I’m starving, we should head out now.” Iwaizumi calls from the kitchen.

           “One second!” Oikawa answers. He’s slipping his toes through his sandals he found underneath the coffee table when something black and shiny catches his eye. “Auntie’s binder?”

           He reaches over and slowly slides the binder towards him. He opens to a random tab and somehow manages to get to the exact design that’s supposed to be what he’s wearing for the show tomorrow. Running his fingertips over the drawing of his figure, it finally dawns on him. His eyes widen and snap up from the book. “I’ve figured it out! I know what I need to do!”

           “Seriously Shittykawa let’s-,” Iwaizumi walks over and stops to see Oikawa staring at the designs, “go…”

           Oikawa quickly looks up at him from his sitting position on the floor. “Oh Iwa-chan, uh-“ Iwaizumi notices his eyes flit away from him for a couple of seconds. It looks like he’s trying to come up with something to say. “Right, about dinner…uh, could you go on without me? I uh, have a stomach ache. I’ll just stay here. Pick out whatever, okay?”

           His wide orbs stare up at him nervously and Iwaizumi knows he made that last part up. “Sure….if that’s what you want…” he narrows his eyes at Oikawa. He just knows the little shit’s up to something.

           “It is, now please goooo Iwa-chaaann. Out, out, out!” Oikawa pushes him happily out the door, tossing his truck keys to him.

           When Iwaizumi’s finally gone, Oikawa sighs heavily and looks up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was already 5pm. He does some quick math in his head, trying to see if he has enough time to leave and come back before Iwaizumi gets back home. It would probably take Iwaizumi about 20 minutes or so to get to the market Hisako had told them about.

           “There’s no way I can make it all the way into town and back without the chance of Iwa-chan knowing I was gone. Hm. Unless….yes of course! I’ll use that shortcut!”

           He grabs the house keys, changes into his running shoes, and sprints out the door. Instead of running alongside the road all the way into town like he usually would, he hops a small fence and takes a shortcut through the neighbor’s small forest. He ends up running through a wide barley field, the sun beating down on him in waves and his body starting to get sweaty all over again. The leaves of the plants in the field scrape against his calves but Tooru pays it no mind. He makes his way down to a large road on the corner of town. Once he crosses one of the main roads, he’s able to slip behind the main buildings and into a suburb which he knows will lead him to where he needs to be.

           He passes the last house in the long, narrow neighborhood street and makes another turn, leading to a small set of offices. He runs through the bronze double doors and takes the elevator up to the fifth floor, leaning back against the wall of the elevator to finally catch his breath. The door opens to a bright white hallway, giant black and white photos of models striking dramatic poses in different outfits line the walls. He gets to the end of the hallway and fast-walks into his aunt’s studio space. He scans the area and spots Hisako standing near her desk with two colleagues, leaning down and pointing to a areas on a printed photo with her pen.

           “Oh, Oikawa dear, I’m quite surprised to see you here. Where’s your friend, Hajime?” she asks curiously.

           Oikawa takes a deep breath, wringing his hands in front of him. “Yeah, about Iwa-chan… Auntie, I need you to help me out with a huge favor.”

———————————————————————————————————-

A/N: wooww wonder what happens next?? Yeah I meant to post this way earlier today since I was hella excited about it and I had already typed out the outline for this part but it ended up being pretty long lol. Anyways, thanks for reading, if you like the story so far let me know by liking and commenting on it! I’d love to hear what you think! Also stay tuned for Part 3 where we finally get to the day of the fashion show! 

Also if anyone knows how to get a quick AO3 invite/account set up, let me know. I’d love to be able to post this to that site as well. Thanks so much for all your likes and support for my first ever haikyuu fic!

-Elo

[bleeding-fangs-ffxiv]

[Eclipse] A Glimpse at Enforcing

[Part One here]

The shot hammered into the ground before the pair there, causing both of them to immediately snap their gaze up. Two most, it meant a threat had appeared and needed to be dealt with. Gado knew that there were cameras everywhere in here, and that Stark could see it all. He wasn’t here to just play a game, as he pulled again and fired once more. At that, they had scattered, with one of them drawing what he could identify as a lever-action rifle. Yet when it had trained onto him, the Hrothgar found himself immediately having to bolt to the nearest cover.

It wasn’t just a full on caliber round that fired back at him. No, not as he glanced over to spy the rubble that fell from the crater in the wall where he once stood, he scowled. “How the hell did they get that..?” It was mostly a rhetorical question aloud, as he swiftly, ejected the catalyst and drew another one to slot in. Gado was at least half certain that he didn’t spy anything heading to the Eclipse family’s territories for some time. Though, it didn’t mean that they hadn’t slid through the cracks at all. Slipping from cover, he had also drawn his second handcannon free and leveled both of them, squeezing the triggers. As the charged energy fired off, he shifted and side stepped, making his way to a new level of cover.

Debris was upon the ground in no time at all, as he made it to the center of the main level of the area. There was no armored suit upon him, and he knew that this would be just like some of the older days, and only the body’s endurance could save him here. Aiming carefully, he squeezed once more, the last spark of energy in the catalyst barreling into the man’s shoulder, causing him to spin a bit and giving Gado the chance to rush with a sharp kick to send the first one tumbling to the floor, probably concussed with how much force was behind it. Swiftly he slid the handcannon away and then leveled his second one, glancing about.

“I know you’re here still… And I am certain that this guy isn’t the Enforcer. We can make this simple. Allow me passage, and you’ll get to live.”

A deep chuckle bounced along the air, causing Gado to swing about, aiming at… nothing.

“Brave and foolish you are, beast, for walking in here. Should’ve chosen the maze. You would’ve had an easier time. How… unfortunate, that you were tasked with coming here.” There was the sounds of gears turning.

When Gado twisted about again, he noticed two things. First: the area was morphing, things rising up to form a hallway.

And second: The one he kicked was not on the ground.

“Great…” He rushed back around, only to feel a sharp pressure making its way home into his chest, sending him back a few fulms, and shaking off the feeling that there were definitely things amiss now. First there was the woman outside who seemed to command so much respect, the Lady’s head maid, and her eyes, dark and red. And now, there was this… pair before him, who seemed to have known one another.

“Don’t tell me, the two of you are the Enforcer?” He raised his arm, trigger already being squeezed to get off a shot, only to feel a hand jerk and upend his aiming, causing the shot of energy to hit the reflective wall instead. With a snarl, Gado had lashed out, breaking the hold, and stepping in. Each of their moves seemed to mirror one another, just barely managing to lay a hand on each other now that they were properly facing off. Yet the old man had a bit of a disadvantage, knowing that the firearm he held was only getting in the way. At their last break, he leaped back, and held up his hand for a moment, then secured the second weapon away.

“Not much point getting into this if I can’t even get a proper move in.”

The one that he’d been facing off with, didn’t really say a word at the moment. No, that was the other one who did all the talking it seemed. “This is true. We, are Hawk. And you would be?” The pair bowed, eyes still trained upon him.

“Just a passing through Hrothgar, hoping to have an audience with the Lady.” Gado raised his hand and fist offering similar in regards.

“Well then, passing through Hrothgar…” Oh so the other one did talk.

Gado watched as each of the two had drawn free a small blade, causing him to blink behind the visor. So much for a large measure of honor. At least it wasn’t a gun. Fingers flexing, he spaced himself and gave a small nod at the two. 

As the one on the right had started towards him, the left suddenly vanished, leaving Gado to defend from the furious swings and forced to watch for wherever the second might appear. Managing to push the first half of this Hawk figure back a few fulms, the Hrothgar started forward to begin his own offensive, only to reel backwards at the surprise slash that caught him across the shirt he wore. With a snarl, he flexed and immediately lashed back outward, a swift jab, then a second one, and followed with an uppercut. Only the first two had landed against something solid, but with the third, he felt like coursed through mist.

“Really? Shadow magic too? You couldn’t just be some stealthy—“ Gado had trailed off, arms raised up to disperse the force behind the flying kick he received. With a shove, he brought his arm out to parry the swing of the knife, and retaliated to use a grab, and again felt the same mist that he dealt with before. Right afterwards, he felt a slash, a stinging pain upon his side that had him twist to try and snag the man. He felt nothing but the same thing, followed by another one, only this time it was faster. 

With each moment, he felt it again and again, the angles always changing. The quickness of them had him certain that he was dealing with both of them having a go at him in intervals, almost impossible to calculate. They repeated a pattern, he noted on the seventh cut across him. Twisting, Gado had started to move, only to revolve and propel his arm out, slamming the fist into the gut of the one who had just appeared from the mist like darkness, and breathed out. 

“Getting real tired of th—“ The shock of his jaw receiving a boot had him tipping backwards, made worse by the two feet that slammed into his chest to cement him hitting the ground with a grunt. 

The resounding force of it, he was certain, had sent fractures, as his breathing stuttered for a moment, and his mind raced to compensate somehow. 

“Well then, it looks to us,”

“That you aren’t that tough.”

“Maybe we need to just,”

“Put you out of your misery, Mr. Hrothgar.”

Gado’s eyes blinked, noting the flickering signs in his visor display. Yeah, he knew that he had taken a deal of damage, which was obvious. Maybe this was it. He’d have to hope they’d give him at least a chance to write a final farewell. A slow breath escaped him, chest rising, and allowed his eyes to shut. As they had opened at the sudden tap upon his chest, he spied the pair still standing there. Well, one was standing, the other trying to rouse him.

“On your feet Mr. Hrothgar,”

“We would make this a match where you end, standing.” 

Blinking again, he sighed. “Thanks. I think.” The old man growled out in passing, while accepting the one hand and being pulled up. Dusting at his bloodied suit, he frowned, and drew the jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. Jolene was probably going to yell at him for the damages to it. All the same, he shifted, and took a few steps away from the two and made to face them. 

A fuzzy sound made itself known upon his ears, while he raised his arm and blocked a kick, only to shift and jab at the second one that came at him.  

Sicarius,

Gado’s brow furrowed as he blocked another time, parrying and almost dancing with them. The voice, it was the same from the dreams.

Modus,

He growled and brought his arms up to break the first man’s block, and after pulling the arms loose, stepped in and rammed his elbow in, then followed with a sharp kick to send him skidding back, leaving space between the two. While they had speed, he had the sheer power to throw them places. Yet it had its drawbacks, such as leaving Gado vulnerable to attack as he reset. The other half was appearing from the dark mist that appeared, bringing the blade forward, aimed at his covered eyes.

On.

Gloved fingers closed tightly upon the forearm that held the blade, ilms away from finding purchase, while the Hrothgar sort of just stood there, eyeing them. No, he wasn’t really seeing them, so much as what was around him now. This shouldn’t have been a struggle. No, it was only because he was holding back.

Eliminate Hawk.

The voice had ordered. And he obeyed. With a sharp twist, the sound of a limb being wrenched was enough to lead to the Hrothgar reeling his arm back and slamming his fist home into the man’s face with such force he smacked into the floor and bounced once. Gado eyed the one he had punched so hard, then looked up, already kicking off into a run. His blood was pumping, the intent building up within him. No, it had already started to, he had merely been suppressing it.

He’d been getting soft, it seemed… Too much time hanging around those only willing to deal with the supernatural, the monsters. Not the living. With a snarl, he shot out jab after jab, leaning back and weaving or parrying. Hawk was good. His mind acknowledged this. Definitely trained in a murderous art of combat with a blade like this, causing Gado to use his forearm to stop the man by the wrist or higher before the blade landed. Snapping about to avoid another, he shot his hand out, catching this part of Hawk by the side of the face, a brief stumbling, but it was enough to leave the Hrothgar to twist about and land another sharp kick into the man’s chest, sending them back.

Yet this time, again the mist appeared, leaving Gado alone in the hall. A twitch of the ear, and Gado dipped to the side, just avoiding the blade that slashed through the air, and snarled, grabbing Hawk by the back of his head and ramming him face first into the ground. A sickening crunch of the flooring greeted his ears, leaving Gado quite content. 

As he stood upright, back straight, like a model soldier, there was a clicking sound behind him, leading him to turn slowly and stare at the space in the wall. Gaze narrowing, he spied the same man standing there with an arm extended. “The Lady Stark will see you now.” 

Looking back down, he noted that the body there, wasn’t there any longer. Upon further inspection, neither body was still upon the ground. A test, then. Perhaps more than the usual. Spying the small form of W’jeza peeking out from the other side, Gado noted the soft smile she gave, those crimson hues flashing again. “Prízrak, you have done exactly as I asked. She will receive you now.”

Come to me. Came that same voice again through his pearl, something that none of them heard. He nodded mutely, and walked forward.

[A lot of this piece was inspired by John Wick, as seen by the music and some of the images. While I do not write to recreate the scene of it, nor do I feel that I can, this series definitely has a place in my heart as far as how Gado’s time with the Familia went]

Prízrak = Ghost

[artificialqueens]

Undone, Chapter 20 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 20 of UNDONE, our slow burn Bitney lesbian AU. Here’s a linkto the previous chapters.And here’s some art inspired by the story(by people for whom I would happily give up a kidney!).  

Summary: Bianca finally opens up.

Thank you so much to our guardian angel, @missdandee – this chapter never would have gotten written without her.

TW for emotional abuse, PTSD

***

It’s a long, silent ride to the beach. Courtney takes Sunset, thinking that the pretty scenery will help, and realizing very quickly that Bianca isn’t going to talk until she feels good and ready.

Courtney finds a blanket in the trunk and pulls it out, along with the groceries, then opens Bianca’s door for her. Bianca takes her offered hand and numbly follows her.

They end up on a patch of sand just past the grass...far enough from the water that they’re safe from high tide, but still close enough that they are getting the chilly ocean breeze.

Courtney thinks she sees Bianca shiver, and wraps the blanket, meant for them to sit on, around her shoulders, while Bianca continues to stare straight ahead at the ocean.

Courtney dumps the groceries on the ground and kneels beside them, sifting through for perishables and potential snacks. Popsicles, a tub of hummus, lentil chips. She knows that none of this is going to be Bianca’s idea of comfort food, but it’s the best she has to offer at the moment.

“I don’t suppose you want a sugar free banana popsicle?”

Bianca looks down at her, almost as if she’s realizing for the first time that she’s not standing alone on the beach. She looks back at the ocean, taking a few moments to process her surroundings. How did she end up here?

“Why not?” She sinks slowly to her knees, letting the dogs out of their travel bag and accepting the slightly melted popsicle. She’s still wearing her shades and wipes her eyes under them.

After a few minutes of silence, Courtney ventures. “So...does that happen often?”

“No. Usually I’m the drunk one.”

“I didn’t mean that. I mean the way he...was talking to you.” Courtney’s careful not to be too harsh.

Bianca takes a shallow breath.

“It’s not a big deal. He’s just mad because I’ve been…” her voice breaks, as she realizes that she’s about to make another excuse for him. “Fuck.”

“Hey…” Courtney reaches over, covers Bianca’s hand with her own.

“God. You must think I’m such a fucking mess.”

Courtney inches closer to her, not letting go of her hand, taking it into her lap.

“Tell me what else I’m thinking.”

Bianca lets out a dry chuckle, then looks back out at the ocean. Courtney doesn’t say anything, simply laces their fingers together and waits, ready to listen.  

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Bianca opens her mouth to speak and then immediately closes it. How is she supposed to explain this, the steaming pile of garbage that her life has turned into? She clears her throat.

“I was 18 when we met. I had just started school and I felt...so lost. Growing up, I had always felt like the smartest person in the room. Even when I wasn’t.”

Courtney laughs fondly.

“But there, I...I didn’t feel that way. I just felt out of place. And all those other kids seemed like they already knew each other. From winters in Aspen and summers on the Cape, and...I had nothing, next to them. I hadn’t been anywhere or seen anything, and--then there was him. And everyone wanted him. But he wanted me. And suddenly I mattered.”

Bianca takes a shaky breath, and Courtney strokes the back of her hand.

“He made me feel special.” Bianca rolls her eyes at how cheesy that word sounds. “Lucky. Like I...had won the fucking lottery. And he acted like I was the most brilliant, sexy, hilarious, beautiful girl he’d ever met…”

“You probably were,” Courtney says with a little smile.

Bianca shakes her head.

“He found out that I loved theatre and took me to Broadway shows and an opera at the Met and he didn’t even care that it was boring to him because he said I was so beautiful all dressed up that he could just stare at me the whole night...and I just-” she stops, hanging her head. What was she even talking about? “I’m sorry.”

Courtney squeezes her hand, a little embarrassed how much she’s relating to this douchebag.

“It’s okay, B. Take your time.”

Bianca nods, leaning her head against her knees. She tries to remember to breathe.

“That Spring, freshman year, he tanked one of his final exams - not enough to fail the class, but just a pretty dismal showing, and I had aced it. So, I teased him a little, mostly along the lines of how maybe he’s not as smart as he thinks, and he should work a little harder, and he...lost his shit.” Bianca imitated him, saying, “I know I’m not not as smart as you, Bianca, but you don’t have to fucking rub it in. Maybe if I pranced around shaking my tits at the professor, I’d have gotten an A too.”

“Jesus.”

“But then...he was crying, and he was sorry, and he was saying that I was the best thing that ever happened to him and it was all just…Every time I had doubts, or fears, or took a step away, it would be...he can’t live without me, I’m everything to him, I’m his world, I’m his soulmate…” Bianca’s picking up her pace, words tumbling quickly from her mouth as if she can’t get rid of them fast enough. “And I just thought, how selfish can I be? To not...let this man, this man that anyone in their right mind would think is Prince fucking Charming, love me the way he wants to? I thought that it was me, that I just couldn’t accept that kind of love. I mean, I didn’t really know my dad, so...maybe I was just too fucked up to recognize what a good relationship was supposed to be. I thought it was my fault. He told me it was my fault. I...”

Bianca sniffles, drying her eyes on her sleeve.

“Fuck.”

Courtney puts an arm loosely around Bianca’s waist. Bianca sags against her, burying a face in her neck, feeling the breeze, the gentle way Courtney sways, just barely, rocking her.

She smells like heaven. Bianca wants to bottle it and remember it forever, along with the perfect sensation of her arm around her. But then she remembers. And suddenly she’s overcome with so much guilt, so much shame, that she can barely stand it. She wishes she could jump straight into a lake of fire and burn all the ugliness away, become as pure and bright as Courtney deserves.

“What I said to you, I-”

“Shh, B, that’s not important right now...”

“No, no you need to know, that I...I didn’t mean it.” Bianca pulls away, tears streaking down her cheeks, grasping both of Courtney’s hands in hers, desperate for her to understand.

“Okay.”

“I just, I didn’t know how to tell you, so...I-”

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not. There’s no excuse.”

“Okay,” Courtney says softly, after a pause. Now doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to delve into her own emotional journey. Another time, another place. Today, her job is to just be a friend. “Apology accepted.”

Bianca pulls off her sunglasses, allowing Courtney to see her swollen red eyes.

“I know it’s dumb, but I was trying to Dolly Parton you.”

Courtney’s brow furrows in confusion.

“You were trying to what now?”

“You know...Jolene...please don’t take my man?”

A nearly invisible smirk pulls at the corner of Courtney’s mouth. She clearly wants to reply, but thinks better of it, pressing her lips together.

“It’s okay to say ‘I told you so,’” Bianca offers.

“That’s not what I was gonna say.”

“What were you gonna say?” Bianca’s heart races when Courtney moves closer to her.

“The thing about Jolene is...she’s got no interest in taking anyone’s man.”

“I know,” Bianca whispers, closing her eyes for a second. “I know, I just...I wasn’t angry at you, not really. I was angry at him. He did it on purpose. Ruined our-” her voice breaks again.

Courtney looks up at the sky.

“B, I get it. Okay?”

“No, you don’t.” Bianca looks back up at her, eyes full of fear, and says, “I love you.”

Courtney isn’t sure what to say or do. Hearing the words she’s longed to hear for so long, she should be thrilled. But she can’t help but feel just a bit resentful - even this moment has been tarnished by him.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Bianca adds quickly, wiping her eyes. “I just...I needed you to know. Maybe it was selfish, but I just, I think about us all the time, and I want you, and if there’s any chance that you want me back-”

“B. Thank you. But-” Courtney stops as Bianca lets out a small, choked sound and lays a reassuring hand on her cheek. “But I want us to do this the right way. After you figure out what’s gonna happen with Jared-”

“I already know. It’s over, I can’t be with him, it’s not-”

“Okay. Okay, but...does he know that?”

Bianca looks down, and Courtney tilts her chin back up.

“Give yourself some time. Some closure. I’ll be here for you, I’ll support you, I’ll love you...as your friend. Because I can’t just be an excuse to leave a shitty marriage. I think I deserve more than that.”

Bianca nods. It’s not what she wants to hear, but it’s true. It’s fair. Tears collect in her eyes once again.

“Does that make sense? I want you, but I just...I don’t want to rush into things for the wrong reason. And you need to make sense of everything. You know?”

The lump in Bianca’s throat is so big, she feels like she may stop breathing. She turns back to the ocean, watching the waves rolling endlessly towards the shore.

“Yeah, I get it. I just...don’t know what I’m gonna do. I can’t face him yet, I can’t go back there-”

“You can stay with me,” Courtney cuts in. “If you want.”

Bianca takes a sharp breath, looking at her in disbelief.

“Are you sure?” Bianca bites her lip.

“Of course I’m sure. I told you I’m here for you, didn’t I?” Courtney gives her another smile. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Panic rises in Bianca’s throat as she thinks about how very not okay this situation actually is. How little Courtney knows. Maybe if she knew, she wouldn’t be so quick to get involved. Maybe she’d be singing a very different tune right now.

Bianca squeezes her eyes shut, chokes out, “There’s something else you need to know…”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

After a pause, Bianca says the words-- the words she hasn’t said out loud yet, to anyone.

“I’m pregnant.”

Courtney’s eyes widen and her mouth falls open. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up with her shock, but as soon as it does, she manages to squeak out, “Oh my god!”

She throws her arms around Bianca’s shoulder and pulls her in for a fierce hug. And Bianca can’t help but wonder--is it one of congratulations, or of sympathy? Even she doesn’t know what makes sense right now.

“I’m so happy for you,” Courtney whispers, still embracing her tightly.

Bianca nods, allows herself a few brief moments of relief, accepting Courtney’s joy and enthusiasm and trying desperately to breathe it in. Despite the frankly agonizing pain of Courtney pressing against her swollen tits, she doesn’t want to let go. But eventually, she pulls back, wiping her eyes again.

“So that’s why I can’t go back.”

“Right.” Courtney keeps her hands on Bianca’s shoulders, grounding her.

“And if you want to back out, I understand. It’s gonna make things a lot more complicated, and I know that-”

“We’ll figure it out,” Courtney tells her, voice soft but firm, face filled with tender affection.

Bianca inhales, filling her lungs with salty ocean air, practically drunk on oxygen. It feels like the first time she’s taken a full breath in hours. Days, maybe. Weeks?

She tries not to cry with gratitude, instead clutching the blanket around her shoulders, silently mouthing the words, ‘Thank you.’

“Do you wanna go home?” Courtney asks.

Home. A tear slips down her cheek, and for the first time all day, it’s not hot and bitter.

“Yeah.”

***

It’s been a long day.

Bianca looks frayed and exhausted, and so Courtney quickly helps her settle into the guest room, encouraging her to nap while she walks the dogs and makes some dinner.

They eat in comfortable silence, Courtney holding back her impulse to chat in order to give Bianca room to breathe, to think, to just be.

When Bianca gets into the shower to wash the day away, Courtney settles into bed with a book, finally giving herself a mental break from all the stress.

She bolts upright at the sound of a soft knock on her door.

“Everything alright?”

Bianca pushes the door open, slipping inside. She stands there, hair slightly damp, face scrubbed clean, shifting.

“Um…” She swallows, looking up at Courtney with eyes still a little red. “I was just...in the shower and, I mean you’re right, of course, about how I need to leave and start over and everything, first, before we...but I...everything in there smelled like you and I-” her voice breaks.

“B…”

“And I promise, tomorrow, I will stop being a codependent asshole, but. Just for tonight, can I please…” Tears are falling, and Courtney reaches to her.

“Come here,” Courtney whispers, and Bianca practically flies to her on the bed.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what we agreed. It’s-”

“It’s okay, I know.”

“-It’s just for tonight.”

Courtney takes Bianca’s face in her hands, gently brushes away her tears. She jumps from the bed, throwing back the covers and gesturing for Bianca to get in, then turning to her dresser.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to find bottoms,” she laughs.

Bianca props her head up with her hand, watching her.

“I wouldn’t have complained.”

Courtney tosses a knowing smile over her shoulder, rummaging in the drawer for some basketball shorts that she knows she has somewhere. Once appropriately attired for a platonic sleepover, she returns to the bed.

“Well, I was right about one thing,” Courtney says, settling in under the covers.

“What’s that?”

“You definitely don’t need makeup to look beautiful,” she replies.

Bianca grins, dimples deepening.

“Shut up.”

Courtney laughs, leaning on her elbow, then says,  “I think we need some ground rules.”

“Oh yeah? Like…‘hands outside the covers’?” Bianca giggles.

“That’s not bad, actually…”

“I promise I’ll be good,” Bianca assures her. “That’s not what I’m here for, anyway. I just need-”

“I know.” Courtney presses a sweet kiss against her cheek and lays down on her side. “Goodnight, B.”

“Goodnight,” Bianca sighs, eyes already falling closed.

***

“Mmmh…” Bianca’s eyes slowly flutter open, morning light filtering in through Courtney’s sheer, gauzy curtains. She rolls over, ready to say good morning, to find the spot beside her empty. After a moment of panic, she notices a few small brightly-colored squares on the headboard, and picks them up, falling back against the soft pillows. Post-its, in Courtney’s careful, delicate handwriting.

Welcome to a new day. :)

Went to store cause fridge is empty and you’re eating for 2.

P.S. Dogs are walked and fed. XOXO, C

With the Post-its clutched to her chest, she relaxes, eyes falling closed once more, soon drifting off into a peaceful sleep. When she stirs again a little while later, she’s immediately aware of a scent - it’s not quite coffee, but it’s similar. She rises, yawning, following her nose into the kitchen, where Courtney is unloading a huge quantity of groceries.

“Good morning! How’d you sleep?”

“Um...well, I slept, so...pretty good.” Bianca leans on the counter, noticing that it’s lined with about 20 bottles of various vitamins and supplements. “What the fuck is this?”

“So, before I went to bed last night, I texted my dad. He’s an herbalist and like, alternative healer-”

“Well, that’s the least surprising news of the year.”

Courtney giggles.

“He sent me a list of supplements to take while you’re pregnant. So we’ve got prenatal multi-vitamins, magnesium for energy, ‘cause I know you’re probably having caffeine withdrawal, and folate, iron, vitamin D, ginger, fish oil, probiotics...you know, the basics.”

“If you say so,” Bianca says, shaking her head, a smile pulling at her mouth.

“Plus, he gave me a list of the best foods to eat. I may have gone overboard.”

“You think?” The counters were overflowing with berries of every type, avocados, whole grain bread, sweet potatoes, lentils, peanut butter, almonds.

“And he said that you need to eat a lot of protein and dairy. Of course I got a variety, but I was realizing...it’s probably not a good time for you to go vegan cold turkey, so I’m relaxing the house rules.” Courtney opened the fridge, gesturing to some salmon and chicken, then held up a carton of eggs and huge tub of Greek yogurt.

“Are you serious? Oh my god, I would kill for some eggs and bacon right now.”

“Well, we’ve got eggs and tempeh bacon...will that work?” Courtney grinned.

“Yes, sure, holy shit. Thank you.” Bianca smiled, dimples deep. “And what’s that smell? It’s not coffee, right?”

“Chicory. The woman in the store said it tastes similar. I also got rooibos and coconut water...I wanted you to have options.”

“I think you succeeded in that goal,” Bianca laughs.

Courtney pours the contents of a small saucepan into a mug and hands it over. Bianca takes a sip, grimacing slightly.

“Is it awful?”

“No, it’s...uh...interesting.”

“Okay, well, let’s do better with your eggs, shall we?” Courtney pulls a pan and mixing bowl out of the cupboard and sets it on the stove, then turns around with a puzzled look on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never actually made eggs.”

Bianca laughs, nudging her gently to the side.

“I’ll do it. Just get me a whisk, a cutting board, salt and pepper, and if you have them, some tomatoes.”

“Yes ma’am!”

Bianca bustles around, giving Courtney instructions, falling comfortably into her typical boss role.

Once the groceries are away, Courtney stands at the cutting board, chopping garlic, smiling to herself. Of course, there is the brutal reality of the day’s agenda, but she’d rather not think about that yet, content to just enjoy the moment, the company. It’s Bianca who brings it up first, after clearing her throat and tossing some tomatoes into the sizzling pan.

“So...I guess we should go pack up my stuff today, huh?”

Courtney turns around.

“That would probably make sense.”

“I started to make a list and it’s like...more than I originally thought, with all the sewing shit and…it’s a lot.”

“Well, once we see how much stuff it really it, I can call in reinforcements.” She carries the cutting board over to the stove for inspection.

“Know anyone with a truck?”

“Come on,” Courtney laughs. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” She leans over Bianca’s shoulder with the garlic. “Ready?”

Bianca nods and she slides the garlic into the pan.

“But yeah, he’s gone for like 10 days, so the big stuff can wait for next weekend. Today, I just want to get some more clothes, and stuff for the dogs. And of course anything I can from the bathroom. Because I can’t live like this.” She gestures to her hair, the wild untamed curls that Courtney’s been dreaming of.

“Are you sure?” Courtney murmurs. “‘Cause I love it.”

She fingers a curl, and Bianca swallows, cheeks growing warm.

“Spinach!”

“Sorry?”

“Uh, something green. Do you have…?”

“Oh. Yeah. Will rainbow chard work?” Courtney asks, pulling open the fridge.

“Perfect.” Bianca goes back to the eggs, beating them so much that they start to turn frothy.

***

Once Bianca is in the apartment, she feels an overwhelming need to get everything done immediately. The plan to come back another day is suddenly not a realistic option; she knows that spending a minute longer than she needs to there will send her reeling right back into the oppressive headspace that she’s desperately trying to escape.

So they work their asses off. Emptying Bianca’s dresser, her closet, the bathroom cabinets. Gathering together everything in her sewing room. Courtney’s friend Simon comes with a dolly and two friends to start loading both of their cars, and at the end of the day, Shea and Sasha arrive with their truck.

Bianca keeps herself busy filling boxes and directing everyone, thinking only about the task at hand and not what it means. Not her failed marriage. Not the way her skin crawls looking at his things. Not the knowledge that eventually, she’ll have to face him again.

After the vehicles are all loaded, while Shea goes with the boys to pick up some dinner and Sasha and Courtney take the dogs out for a walk, she sits down at Jared’s desk with a piece of his stationary, biting back tears.

Jared,

Please let me have

I think it’s best if we

As you know, things have been

What the fuck is she supposed to say? She bites her lip, trying to take a deep breath. Why is it so hard to breathe in this fucking apartment? She tries to remember why she’s doing this. The real reason. A cluster of cells barely the size of a pomegranate seed.

I can’t do this anymore.

Please give me some time to figure things out. I’ll contact you to work out the details as soon as I can.

I’m sorry.

She removes her rings, placing the engagement ring and wedding band beside each other, on top of the note, then walking back into the living room, where Courtney and Sasha are sitting on the floor with the dogs.

“Everything alright?” Courtney asks.

Bianca nods.

“Is it possible for us to bring the food back to your house?” Bianca asks softly. “I just...don’t really want to be here anymore.”

“Of course.”

She forces herself to take one last walk through the apartment. Checking cabinets, drawers, closets. The last thing she does, after locking the door, is to slide her key through the mail slot.

It’s not until she’s in her car, on the way back to Courtney’s house, that the full weight of everything hits her. She rolls down her window, breathing slowly, keeping her eyes on the road.

Everything is fine. She’s free.

[spongeekat]

The 6 Times Peter Wanted To Reveal his Identity (And the 1 Time He Did) Chapter 3

Masterlist Here

Day 3 - Tuesday

Peter’s hand rubbed against the zipper track beginning above the curve of his spine, fingertips again coming up empty. His arms dropped uselessly against his side, groaning to audibly show his disappointment.

His zipper was there somewhere. He heard it dinging against the metal teeth up the length of his back, and if he kept feeling for it he would find it.

Peter yawned, tears peeking out from the corners of his eyes, as his fingers continued to prod in the small of his back. He was completely and utterly exhausted. The night previous perusing the city had been brimming with robberies, car jackings, and muggings, as if the slight increase in temperature prompted every convict to crawl out of their hiding spots to wreak havoc. He’d clawed himself into his bed sometime around 5 AM, caught 2 hours of sleep, and was out the door sprinting to class by 7:00. He was looking for any reason not to go on patrol, even if it was as minor as an unlocatable zipper, to at least give him a chance to rest for a few seconds.

His gloves eventually brushed the pull tab, and he deflated. Guess he had to finish suiting up. He tugged the zipper up to his neck and fiddled with the spandex momentarily, pulling it snug in all the right places.

That was, until a knock on his window pane had the tired boy jumping 5 feet in the air and throwing himself backwards into a defensive position on his furthest wall. His toes firmly drug to a stop on the wallpaper, one arm shooting out with his fingers ready to tap his web-shooters if need be. There was a muted scuffling behind the glass, though his curtains were drawn so he couldn’t see who was there. It didn’t take long to figure out, however.

“ Petey, Petey, Petey, Petee-eee-ey ~” The intruder was caroling his name to the tune of Jolene , repeating his knuckle raps obnoxiously to the beat of the song. “ I’m begging of you please just let me in. ”

“Wade?” Peter snapped as realization sunk in to his chest. It took seconds to calm his adrenaline-ridden heartbeat, more relieved that he wasn’t about to face a criminal than he was mad Wade had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. He peeled himself silently off the wall, taking short, but annoyed, steps to stand behind the curtains without drawing them. “What the hell, dude? You scared the pants off of me. Why are you on my fire escape? And singing Dolly Parton?”

Wade hummed the rest of the verse to himself, presumably out of parodying song lyrics, before he started to whisper-yell. “Ignoring the fact I should totally make fun of you for what you said, I’m here to check up on you! I said I was going to keep those sweet cheeks safe. Can I come in?”

“Into my bedroom?” Peter asked, weakly, swallowing the suggestive- but intrusive- thoughts that the question entailed. “Um, I’m kinda...preoccupied.”

“Ooo oooh ?”

“Not like that!” Peter groaned, smacking a hand to blanket the reddening of his cheeks. God, he had to change, and fast. He tore the zipper undone he had put in so much effort to find, shoving the suit off his shoulders and hips. “Give me a second!” He kicked the rest of fabric off and lodged it under his bed, using a pillow for extra cover to be safe. His web shooters clattered into the lockable drawer on his desk, the cartridges following them. Shutting the drawer so hard it shuddered, he located the first clothing options in sight; a pair of fluffy pajama pants and an Einstein shirt 2 sizes too big (which was totally a gag gift from MJ months ago that he’d never put  away), which he shimmied into. Confident that he had probablyconcealed every Spidey related item in his panic, he drew open the curtains and flashed Wade an unimpressed look. And there he was, in his full-suited glory, hanging upside down on the rail of Peter’s fire escape as if it was a playset.

“I have a few questions.” Peter said as he pushed the glass open, the screen absent due to years of him climbing out for his nightly routine. Wade didn’t seem to notice- or at least didn’t comment on the lack of one- looking ecstatic that he even answered. “First...why didn’t you call to check up on me? Or use the front door?” He gestured vaguely towards the direction of the living room to accentuate his point.

“You barely texted me today.” Wade answered, curling so he was sitting on top of the bar and facing Peter. The sit-up made his muscles bulge in the leather covering his thighs and abdomen and Peter inhaled carefully to maintain a level expression. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely. Also, I missed you.”

“Good to know.” Peter rolled his eyes, watching Wade drop to hang upside-down childishly. “Just come in. You’re gonna break the rails.”

“Me? Getting on the VIP list to Peter’s bedroom? I feel like I got a golden ticket! Move aside, Willy Wonka!” Wade dropped himself to his hands, flipped ungracefully on his feet, and followed Peter’s lead to let him crawl inside the apartment. His muddy boots hit the carpet and he managed to pull his entire body inside the small opening. He paused upon straightening up, giving his bedroom the same scrutinizing examination he had to the living room his first time visiting. “Never mind. I wanna go outside again. You’re messy, and that’s something coming from me.”

Peter stared at him silently. The mercenary shrugged and half-lept to fall on top of his mattress. “Kidding. It’s cute. It fits you.”  

Peter did his best to ignore the creaking noise of his bed, making his way to his office chair to sit across the room. “I appreciate the housecall, but is that the only reason you came? I actually was kinda in the middle of something.”

“I’m hurt. I brought home-cooked meals and you already wanna kick me out?” Wade gasped in faux-pain, pulling off his pink Hello Kitty backpack. He drew out a grocery bag filled with containers, setting it beside the foot of the bed.

Peter was taken aback, a slightly stunned expression passing over his face. His outward appearance hardly changed, yet his stomach churned nervously at the thoughtful gesture. “You cook?”

“Nah, they’re frozen, but I make a mean pancake in case you’re ever interested. It’s the thought that counts though, right?”

“Thanks.” Peter rubbed his forearm, finding anywhere else to look to avoid staring at Wade.

“Soooo, what’s a kid like you busy doing tonight?” Wade asked as he stretched out across his comforter, propping his feet up on his mattress. “Playing games? Watching porn? Still wallowing about that ex-girlfriend that’s pregnant with someone else’s money-burner?”

“What? No, there’s no ex-girlfriend, dude, I already said that.” Peter muttered, struggling not to let his vision wander to his Spidey suit shoved  beneath Wade’s sitting place. “I have a lot of homework I have to catch up on.”

“Boooo-oring.” Wade kicked a few of his pillows aside, rolling onto his side as his bed squeaked again. Peter desperately needed that noise to stop if he was going to guard his sanity.

“Okay, well, this was a great visit and all, but you can text me next time you wanna play therapist, okay?” Peter pushed himself to his feet, walking over to offer his hand to Wade to help him up. He stood there a moment with no reaction, Wade seemingly refusing to accept it, instead sitting up on his own.

“Do you seriously want me to go?” Wade asked, a weird tone ebbing into his voice. Was he confused? Disappointed? Peter wasn’t .

“I-I mean, yeah, I already said I was busy.” He was trying to not sound as annoyed as he felt, but his throat was taut with irritation. It wasn’t quite with Wade, though, because he was trying to be nice. Mostly he was upset with himself; with his inability to execute with his plans that had landed him in a difficult situation he couldn’t imagine resolving without either or both of them ending up hurt; with his emotions that were so intense they were painful, only made worse by the fact Wade was acting so generous to him outside of his superhero identity; and with the fact Wade knew his name, his family situation, and where he lived. Yet he still wasn’t able to bring himself to say that simple sentence.

I’m Spider-Man.

He’d been ready to lay it all out on the line two days ago, albeit with hesitancy, but somehow he had convinced himself that Wade might actually start to reciprocate his feelings if he knew the man behind the mask. His gaze trailed to the plastic bag still resting on the mattress. He had gone out of his way to care for him multiple times. He might be a fun project for Wade to pass the time, but Peter didn’t think he would go this far for some kid he found fun to mess with.

Peter’s eyelids screwed shut, his mind piecing together a way to confront the issue. He could ask him why he was hanging around, and hopefully conversation would naturally circulate back to Sunday night. “H-Hey, Dea-”

“I’ll get out of your hair.” Peter suddenly felt the air change and Wade was towering him, his much larger frame barely an inch from his chest. He had to turn his head up at a steep angle to look at him. There wasn’t the usual humor in his words, and his body language was a lot more tense. Terrific. An upset Wade was never fun. He always had to dig to even get a hint of what was bothering him.

“What?” Peter blinked, watching as Wade shimmied passed him to grab his pack and sling it on his shoulder.

“You said you had stuff to do. I can tell when I’m a problem, Petey-Sweetie. Glad to see you didn’t off yourself today. Good job on that.” Wade shoved the window he had come in open, poking a leg out so that it connected with the grate of the fire escape. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Peter chewed on his lower lip, his confession filed away in a queue of things to tell Wade in the future. He gave a short nod, guilt immediately radiating in the pit of his abdomen. “Thanks...for this all. Sorry to cut this so short. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“You better. I’ll be waiting.” Wade dropped his pack out the sill, waiting for it to clang against the metal, then ducked his body out of the small cavity. He grabbed his bag, moved to grip onto the ladder leading down into the darkness, then craned his neck to shout one last thing. “You  should get a window screen. You’ll get spiders or ants in your room if you leave it open like this.”

Peter suppressed a spurt of ironic laughter, settling for an amused half-smile instead. “I’ll remember that. Goodnight, Deadpool.”

His weight made the ladder rattle and bang on the poles obnoxiously, probably annoying every other neighbor underneath him, until the sound disappeared and Wade had run off. Once Peter wasn’t able hear his boots scraping the asphalt he pulled his curtains shut, finally feeling able to breathe.

He bent to grab the meal containers, to put them in the freezer before he left for his patrol. It was quite the stock of food, enough to stop him from starving for the rest of the week that Aunt May was absent, and his stomach growled in appreciation.

Maybe he’d see Wade on patrol as Spider-Man, and they’d converse with the comfortable familiarity that had developed naturally between them through years. Wade would make some flirtatious joke, along with one about the spider being his hero that had the strength punch him into another timeline, and they’d team up and be on their way. Peter would be able to feel like his strong, normal self. They’d be friends and superheroes, and not a weak kid and his supposed guardian angel. No lies hanging heavily between them.

He’d muse on Wade’s kindness, that he didn’t deserve, later. For now, he pulled his spidey suit out  and started dragging it up his legs. He had a city to protect, people to save, and his angst would have to be put on reserve for another day.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Hand-Me-Down Words

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1639

Summary: A publisher wants to print the Beth Harmon story, but Beth doesn't know how to go about writing a book. Luckily, she knows someone who does.

They want her to write a book. With triumph over Borgov behind her, Beth requires a new challenge, and with the payout from Moscow, she doesn’t need to enter any American tournaments for the time being. Tedious car journeys and rough hotel sheets combined in trips that end in prizes of piddly amounts aren’t in her future unless she wants them to be. Victory means control. Writing, writing should mean control too.

Except that Beth’s never done anything like this before.

Numbers are the Harmon language—hers and her mother’s. Expressions, equations, calculations, and chess. Even Alma made sense of life through budgeting. Beth’s first thought after meeting with the agent she selected to represent her and the acquisitions editor at the publishing house is, Thank god I’m already in New York, because she needs help here. She needs somebody who’s done this before.

Unsure how quickly or if they’ll fall into their old pattern of sharing the bed, Beth informs Benny that she’s buying him a couch. A couch which will really be for her. She rejects even the remotest possibility that she’ll ever again sleep on that stupid inflatable mattress, pretending not to get a cramp in either her calf or the arch of her foot (or both) when she had to work the damn pump every night to avoid his gloating smile, to perpetuate his mistaken understanding of it being a situation of him providing her with something instead of the opposite. She maintains that he did promise a couch and is therefore a boldfaced liar. Which she should have seen because, liar? Yes, of course. The man plays chess for a living. A face that can alternately frighten and reassure an onlooker is a necessity. Come stay with me at my apartment in New York while we’re both aware of your attraction to me. Frightening. Don’t worry, you’ll sleep on the couch and this arrangement will keep things platonic and focused on your chess training. Reassuring.

“I’m buying a couch for your living room.”

“No.”

Well, fuck him. Beth leapfrogs her original scheme and buys an entire apartment. Not a nice one—she still has the Lexington house to caretake and eventually reinhabit—but it is above ground. She insists it’s hers, a good investment, a base in New York for all of her future meetings with her agent and editor, until Benny gives her a look that has her raising her palms and halting her excuses. She never asks him to give up his place. When he walks into hers one day with the key she had made for him dangling from his finger and a box of possesses under his arm, she just scrapes her chair back from the table and shows him the space she left for him in the closet.

She thinks they might have sex the day she comes back from a publicity event (they’re drumming it up before she’s written a single coherent page) to find Benny napping on the couch with his hat over his face like a cowboy, instinctively pulling her close when she knocks it away and startles him awake. Or when he suggests that she begin carrying a knife too and jokingly taps her thigh when she asks where she’s supposed to conceal it. Or when he stumbles blearily into her room in the early morning because she’s crying tears of frustration over her typewriter and he wordlessly gathers her into a sleep-warmed embrace. Or when they quit acting like he’s a guest and he calls it “our apartment” for the first time.

Beth wants to charge through the book. She’ll write for hours at a time, answering questions only as they occur to her, the way she’s danced back and forth with her true competitors on the chessboard. But Benny has the wisdom of a published author here and ruthlessly edits these pages—verbally, never picking up a pencil. He pushes her to compose the questions ahead of time, allowing her to address them with equal weight. Also, to come up with certain themes or trains of thought that are vital to the forward energy of the book and capture the spirit of her play, which is really what she’s made this deal in order to describe. People are hungry to see chess through her eyes. They’ll pay good money for it.

Whenever they’re on the brink of an argument because Beth is hammering away at the typewriter while Benny’s trying to get to sleep, or Benny is being as pushy and transactional as her editor while Beth’s desperate for a little encouragement, one of them inevitably suggests a match.

Playing at home is helping to break his habit of wagering on games. She never says anything directly; progress seems to come more easily for him when he doesn’t feel watched, which she gets, from having people voice their concern over the tranquilizers. It’s been… well, since the night she decimated him and his friends at speed chess, that he thought he had a failproof method for beating her. He can’t afford to lose every game—he has to contribute to the household finances.

They play three games at once, on three separate boards. They play without a board, swapping moves as they eat lunch and people-watch on a park bench. They play blindfolded until they get into a fight because Beth isn’t familiar with the shape of one of his sets and thinks she’s been moving a bishop when her fingers really stuttered over the pieces to land on a pawn. (They remove the blindfolds after checkmate to see that pawn ‘checking’ the king from a diagonal across the board and Benny discounts the entire match as illegal.)

They play games that last a day or more, leaving notepads beside the board like they do at tournaments and checking each other’s over the hours for new moves before responding with slides and taps and exchanges of their own. During one of these, when Benny’s been taking forever to take his turn (because Beth has him pinned and he’s being stubborn about conceding), she comes into the kitchen to start dinner and sees him sitting at the table, staring at the board, still not making a move.

“You can get out of it,” she comments, standing next to his chair with her arms folded. She doesn’t really believe that and he knows it; she watches him shift irritably in his seat.

“I think I would’ve done it by now.”

His refusal to even try while she’s standing there watching (yes, she still loves to watch him play) makes her just as determined to beat her own white pieces back as she was formerly determined to beat him. She studies the board harder and it does take several minutes. Finally, she spots the move.

Without thinking, Beth drops down onto his lap and says, “Here,” as she reaches out and drags the king onto a new square. “It looks like an exposed placement, but it’s really the perfect bait to get white to rearrange its offensive, opening things up for a comeback by black. See?”

She turns her head and her heart swoops as Benny’s gaze strokes unhurriedly up her neck to her face. He blinks twice, quickly, like seeing her here is a surprise and a dream. Gently, he shifts her hips back a little, until she can feel the firmness at his groin. He stops sleeping on the couch.

With trimming and factchecking and too much coffee, her book is suddenly in its final draft, pressed back into her hands by the editor who’s probably really, really tired of reading about chess. Regardless, the woman still loves the book. Vibrantly, aggressively. The house’s whole staff does, the way they can only love something they’re publishing in a frenzy, before interest in the young female champion wanes. Beth is amazed to find that she loves it too. It has a lot of heart, she feels, between the numbers that have defined her career; though it isn’t one of the sections she’s been requested to rejig for this last edit, she finds herself flipping back to a page near the beginning, where she writes about going to her first tournament unrated. Though journalists have always been curious about the morbidity of the car crash and her orphanage upbringing, she doesn’t give up too much of that. The highs and lows of Methuen—Jolene’s resilience and the green pills’ quicksand—will go unprinted. Readers will have to search for the personal. It’s in the brimming praise of Mr. Shaibel that Beth fought to include, and the passages of effusive respect for Alma, who learned to both manage and mother her.

It’s in the dedication.

Beth carries a copy home from the first box of the first printing. For the moment, it’s precious, but soon those boxes will be shipped out to bookstores, where employees will stack and shelve and shoppers will recognize her name on the spine and go, “Oh, isn’t she the one who…?” She smiles to imagine it.

“Benny?” she calls into their apartment. “You home?”

She curls around him from behind when he raises a hand from the couch. He’s reading but he puts the book down to transfer his complete attention to her and she kisses him with her mouth so full of the delight of her accomplishment that they almost get carried away. Breathless, she draws back, then hands her work over. She watches eagerly as Benny turns the pages, stopping him before the introduction.

His name isn’t the only one on the list—compiling people worth dedicating her book to was an exercise in recognizing the luck of her life—but it is the last. The endgame.

…and to Benny, it reads. Let’s set it up. Let’s think it out.