#he makes otherwise boring people say the most interesting shit imaginable trying to describe his physical beauty and presence

[darkshrimpemotions]

I feel like this is an excellent time to get back on my Weird Girl Jensen soap box.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Hello, dear friend. I’d be interested in hearing your take on any of these questions. I always love hearing your thoughts.

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

E: What character do you identify with most?  Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

F: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

H: How would you describe your writing style?

K:  Do you have a guilty pleasures in fic (reading or writing)?

L:  Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write?

Q: Do you like getting prompts from your readers?

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?

X: How would you categorize your fanfic reading?  Are you a voracious reader?  Do you carefully pick and choose?  Something in between?

so many questions!!! you sure do know how to indulge a girl ♡ thank you, dear friend. you are my favorite daffodil full of sunshine.

A. window across the galaxy and adorations are my favorites. i think window’s the best longform piece i’ve ever written (and probably ever will) and i poured so much of myself into it. it was everything i wanted for rocket and it was healing for me, and i love and identify with jo so much. and adorations just makes me happy. ohhh you know what? i also really like ugly sweater and traditions. and machinery from prompt week. and triptych, sunshine, sweatshirt girl, and reconnaissance for beginners. and some of headcanons & imagines. shit.

E. i put a lot of myself in every oc and reader tbh. sweatshirt girl and jo are probably the most transparent self-inserts so far and came from places where they were 100% what i wanted to give rocket + the comfort i needed (sweatshirt girl was very much a reflection on my life at the time). well, and reader from tomorrow, which was 100% my attempt at self-comfort after a bad day at work. i reflected a lot of my real-life experiences through those characters, and i based the way they interact with others almost entirely on how i try to move through the world. i also expect to identify with noa at least as much as jo (oc from other duties as assigned, which might be why it’s so hard to write it). and honestly? i identify with rocket a lot. he wears his pain differently than i do but we both have skeletons that are not doing what we want them to do, chronic pain, and buckets of survivor’s guilt. plus i headcanon rocket has a sequencing disorder like me (ꈍᴗꈍ) i allude to it a lot in cicatrix and certain headcanons (like the sudoku one!) and some other things and i'm trying to write a fanfic about it lol

F. the only fic i have a mental playlist for is the very boring adventures of space pilot & sweatshirt girl, and it’s mostly chillhop essentials winter 2019 and aviino’s plush and cocoon albums but the thing is it HAS to be on vinyl because that’s the whole sweatshirt girl vibe

H. my writing style is chaotic, exists entirely outside the bounds of space & time (mostly because of the sequencing disorder) and is more about feeling than making sense. my word choice is self-indulgent and erratic and based more on what tastes right to me than anything else. emotions are way easier to write than plot. (huh. maybe that’s the sequencing disorder too.)

K. do i have any guilty pleasures in fic-writing or -reading?? girl i write raccoon porn. it would all be a guilty pleasure if i believed in guilty pleasures. but i don’t. i try really hard not to feel guilt about any of my pleasures. life is short. capitalism sucks. write about raccoon dick

L. it’s hard to say which piece of fanfiction was the most emotionally challenging for me to write because i think writing is actually a way of organizing and processing emotions for me. if anything, writing emotional scenes feels cathartic — a relief. but finishing things always feels risky. endings rarely satisfy people. so the more people like a piece of mind (blackmail material, window, windfall), the harder it is to end. it's more about trying to manage imposter syndrome than anything else i guess

Q. GIVE ME ALL THE PROMPTS

R. markus zusak has been one of the most influential writers for me. i love that every character in his books has their own story, their own value and journey, independent of the main narrative. jonathan safran foer writes the sentences i want to write. the read like a gut-punch. (he gets quoted a lot in other duties.) both of these writers would probably be horrified by this because im fairly certain they do not write smut, especially not featuring raccoons

X. how do i characterize my fanfic reading? it really depends on what is going on in life. we all have to ration our time and i hate having to choose between reading and writing and drawing, but here we are. if it’s a fic by an author i like, i prioritize it. it can be really hard for me to read things that are released chapter-by-chapter over an extended period, so i am more apt to read things that are short-run or that are close to being finished. but i especially like to support writers i know — which is why i always ask folks to add me if they have a taglist ♡

[renetess-b]

I'm curious as to how episode 5 would go in your swap au

This one’s a bit messy because I don’t have a proper finale for it yet hhhhh

But I’ll share what I have right now:

Once again, the new order of the stone are treasure hunting, in the exact temple the enchanted flint and steel were supposed to be. Unfortunately for them, that was another case of coming out empty-handed.

So they head back home, and just as in the original, Olivia and Axel are distracted by Ivor’s mess of a house. When Ivor asked if they’ve found anything, their answer got him all worked up and worried. They didn’t understand what he was so concerned about, but he told them to go talk to him in the Order Hall as soon as possible and runs off there first. As Jesse and Petra were approaching it, they’ve spotted Aiden, who was nervously shuffling near the entrance. Once he noticed them coming toward him, he regained his composure and quickly came down to business. He said he’d received Jesse’s letter and got here as soon as possible. They wanted to resume their conversation inside, but got quickly interrupted by Ivor. He was really concerned with the fact that someone got their hands on the key for getting the Eversourse. He demanded that they head out as soon as possible, as it may not be too late.

Jesse couldn’t just leave Aiden hanging while they go out adventuring, so she quickly tells him about the confrontation they’ve had with the Ocelots the day that she wrote him a letter. When they realized that they were supposed to find a flint and steel, Jesse says that they’ve heard Lukas, Maya and Gill mention it that day. So his friends might have something to do with this whole situation they’re having right now.

Since Jesse’s group have all the information about that thing Lukas, Gill and Maya were interested in, Aiden wants to go with them. He’s only interested in finding his friends and said he’d leave as soon as they get to them. He’s very reluctant to ask for help at first, especially with how “great” the last time he tagged along with them went, but this was his only lead in months and he couldn’t possibly miss that chance.

In the end, Jesse, Petra and Aiden follow Ivor to the portal, which had already been opened. They didn’t want to waste any more time and enter it.

Luckily for them, Lukas, Maya and Gill arrived only a few hours prior, meaning they still got a chance to get the treasure first. But during that time they’ve managed to leave a really good impression on the Founder. She recognizes them as people who clearly know what they are talking about when it comes to building, and she sees their visit as a great opportunity to exchange knowledge and experience. So things are going great so far for the Ocelots.

When Jesse and the gang arrives, they break the rules by building a bridge. While they were exploring the city, they discover that some other people arrived here not that long ago too and they’ve actually managed to get into the palace. After the witness of their horrible bridge building crime informs the guards, they confront Jesse and the others in order to arrest and escort them to the Founder. Since the Ocelots weren’t shit talking them, their situation is not that dire actually, but they’re still in trouble for breaking the rules.

They’re given a chance to either escape with Milo’s help or surrender. As in the original, Ivor thinks this is the best course of action since it’s the fastest way to get into the palace and Petra’s saying they should leave right now. Aiden actually agrees with Petra at first, but if his friends are really in there, and if that’s the fastest way he could get to them, he’s willing to take this chance. Jesse thinks this all can be resolved if they just talk it out and makes a decision to surrender.

As they’re led to the Founder, they find Maya, Gill and Lukas standing beside her. Of course, Jesse, Aiden and Ivor are greeted with “Oh god, not you again”. As they seem to recognize each other, Isa asked the Ocelots to tell her what they know about them, so she knows who she was dealing with. Basically, they’ve described them as mostly harmless, but unpleasant to deal with.

So Jesse’s telling Isa everything as it is: they didn’t know the rules, it was all a big misunderstanding. And this is the first time the Ocelots have heard about the law that prohibits building and think: “??? Kinda fucked up”. Then she takes Jesse to have a conversation in private on the balcony, while the others are kinda left there to awkwardly wait for them. But Aiden got there with one purpose: to talk to his friends. And he tries to strike a conversation, but is quickly shut down by Lukas. After all, he shouldn’t be discussing personal stuff in a room full of random people, it’s at the very least impolite. But he doesn’t give a damn about being polite, he’s been waiting for this moment for months and doesn’t want to waste it. They actually end up making quite a scene and prompted guards to shut them all down.

As Jesse and Isa returns, naturally, they’ve failed to defend themselves and are going to jail, which shocked both groups. After they’re escorted to jail, Isa and Lukas are having a conversation where he actually questions her decision and laws. He may not like these guys, but getting jailed because of building something is wild. Isa notes that he and those criminals actually share the same mentality when it comes to things like these and warns him that even if they’re her guests, she expects him and his friends to respect her rules.

This time Reginald doesn’t get Jesse and the others out of jail, because he has no reason not to trust the Ocelots. They’ve been nothing but polite and respectful to the Founder and the citizens (well, for the most part). So they’re pretty much stuck there. Their best options are either to wait for Petra to somehow get them out of there or to break out themselves. Which they spend quite some time unsuccessfully doing.

Some time later they hear someone approaching their cell. To their surprise, Lukas, Gill and Maya came to bust them out of jail. Even if things are still pretty tense between them, it just feels like the right thing to do. Besides, a couple of spare hands would be quite helpful right now, as they still need to figure out how to get back home.

Waiting outside of jail were Petra and Milo. Turns out they were caught by the Ocelots while trying to sneak in and they actually agreed to help them free their friends and leave this place all together. So now basically everyone is a criminal and they all need to get out of there quickly.

Now they have a temporary alliance in order to escape while still looking for the Eversourse. Eventually they all end up in the storage room where all the spawn eggs are kept and that’s where they find Benedict. But then they’re confronted by Isa and the guards. She’s very angry that she was betrayed by the Ocelots and thinks that it all was some kind of convoluted plan to get to the Eversourse. So a big fight starts out, which resulted in Jesse, Lukas and Isa falling over the edge and discovering that there’s land underneath Sky City.

Aaaand this is pretty much all I’ve got for now lol. With how things have been going, this episode won’t have some grand spectical finale and they actually could safely escort all people to land, so there aren’t many high stakes there really, so it can be pretty boring.

Also, after this point, there’s no big enough reason for Aiden not to stay with his buddies. I obviously didn’t go into too many detail with dialogs and how the scenes play out (otherwise this post would’ve gone on forever), but by the end of this episode Maya, Lukas and Gill actually want to make things better again with Aiden, or at least try.

But at the same time I really want to send Aiden adventuring without his friends as it progresses his character development even further, plus him interacting with Jesse, Petra and Ivor even more and in ways he never did in the original is such a blast to imagine and write.

So yeah, these are my thoughts

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 8

*snickers*

[AO3]

x

“Here.” Sidney Glass dropped a file on her desk, making Lacey look up. “Next assignment.”

She sat back slowly, picking up the file and raising an eyebrow.

“So what is it this time?” she asked. “Flower-arranging at the local church? First prize in the pumpkin-growing contest?”

“Pumpkins aren’t in season yet.”

“Then the story will only be slightly more boring than it otherwise would be.”

Sidney sighed.

“I have no idea why you even moved here if you find it so dull,” he said. “Wouldn’t you have more fun in the city?”

She gave him an amused look.

“Would you believe me if I said I actually wanted a quiet life?”

“Not really.”

“It’s true,” she insisted. “Or at least it’s mostly true. I grew up in a small town. Being back in one is kind of - it’s like I’m a teenager again, so I’m rebelling against it even though I know it’s a good place to live, you know?”

“Good,” said Sidney. “In that case you won’t mind writing a piece on Zelena West’s charity work.”

“Charity work,” Lacey snorted. “She’s a mean-spirited witch.”

“True enough, but she still organises the food drive every year.”

“Probably because it’s the only way she can hold any power over people,” said Lacey. “I bet she takes the best stuff for herself.”

“Get some proof of that and the piece might get interesting,” said Sidney. “In the meantime just stick to the brief.” 

“Five times Zelena West didn’t get bitch-slapped for talking shit about people and one time she did?” suggested Lacey.

Sidney chuckled as he sat back down at his desk, sending her an amused look.

“I’d read that,” he said. “But she’s going beyond the food drive this year. A charity dance. All profits to the church outreach program.”

“Wow.” Lacey pursed her lips. “She trying to bang the priest?”

“I doubt it,” said Sidney, shuddering. “She’s been trying to get her claws into Mr Gold.”

“Really?” Lacey sat up, an odd sensation going through her. It almost felt like outrage, which she couldn’t understand. “She had any success?”

“What do you think?” he said dryly, and she nodded, settling back in the chair.

“Okay, I’ll interview her,” she said. “If she’ll talk to me.”

“Good.”

There was a moment of silence. Sidney tapped at something on his keyboard, glancing at the screen in front of him. Lacey pondered the unwelcome image of Zelena West throwing herself at Gold, and shuddered just as Sidney had. Not that Zelena was unattractive. Just unstable. Lacey got the feeling she didn’t easily take a hint, and she was almost intrigued to know what Gold’s response to her would be.

It had been several days since she had come across Gold naked at the cabin. Clearly the guy was comfortable letting everything hang out. Maybe that was how he relaxed. She supposed she could understand that. It wasn’t as though it had been an unpleasant sight, anyway, just - unexpected. She still hadn’t summoned the courage to go and apologise to him, and told herself they had both been busy.

“So,” said Lacey, putting her feet up on the desk and her arms behind her head. “Mr Gold. What’s his deal?”

Sidney looked surprised at the question.

“Well, he’s landlord for most of Storybrooke,” he said. “Owns a pawnshop, richest guy in town…”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, what’s his history? He married? Single?”

Sidney’s surprise turned into alarm.

“Please don’t tell me you’re planning on hitting on him.”

“What? No!” Lacey was surprised at her own vehemence. “No, it’s not like that. I’m just - interested, that’s all. He seems like kind of a loner.”

“Well, he keeps to himself, that’s for sure,” said Sidney. 

“That has to get to you, after a while,” observed Lacey, tapping a pen against her lower lip. “Alone every night, only your own thoughts for company… You think he’s into anything weird?”

“Oh, I can’t begin to tell you how much I do not want to think about that,” muttered Sidney, and Lacey smirked.

“That’s not a no.”

Sidney sighed, slapping a file down on her desk.

“I don’t know a thing about Gold’s private life,” he said. “No one does. He keeps it - well, private.”

“So he could spend every Friday night dressed in leather and riding a huge butt plug and no one in town would know?”

“Oh my…” Sidney ran his hands over his face. “I’m gonna need bleach to get rid of that mental image.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lacey snickered, and Sidney shook his head.

“Look, aside from being a hardass with people who don’t pay their rent, he’s quiet and reserved and spends every hour holed up in the pawn shop,” he said. “He’s a generous donor to Storybrooke General Hospital, particularly the children’s ward. He takes a walk every morning and gets coffee at Granny’s. About as straight-laced as you can get.”

“It’s always the quiet ones.”

Sidney sighed, shaking his head.

“Okay, you want to cover something more interesting than the church fundraiser, and I want to pretend this conversation never happened,” he said. “How about we make a deal?”

Lacey perked up.

“Really?” she said. “What deal?”

“Simple,” said Sidney. “Get Gold to give you an interview.”

Lacey felt her face fall.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You get him to agree to sit down and talk to you for half an hour, you’ll do something no one else at the Mirror ever has,” said Sidney. “Make it something personal and I’ll even give you a raise.”

“But he hates me,” she complained.

“Why would he hate you?”

Lacey shrank down in the chair a little.

“We kind of - got off on the wrong foot,” she muttered, and he shrugged.

“Guess you can’t want that raise too much.”

“Okay, not so fast,” she said, sitting up again. “I’m not saying I won’t do it, I’m just saying - well, it’s not gonna be easy, that’s all.”

“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” said Sidney. “So I’m told.”

x

Gold made his way up the path, wincing at every step. His leg had been giving him hell all day, and he suspected that it meant rain was coming. It was a night for taking a couple of painkillers, drinking whisky and losing himself in a good book while he waited for them to take effect.

He mounted the steps, pausing when he saw a cardboard box in front of the door. Probably his delivery of special ingredients from August’s in Boston. He found that Storybrooke could satisfy most of his culinary needs, by and large, but there were things he couldn’t get in town, like dried porcini, smoked paprika and loose-leaf Earl Grey tea. Smiling at the thought of the things he could make with the box contents, he opened the front door, scooped up the box and went inside.

It had been a long day, and he went straight to the kitchen, dropping the box onto the table and pouring himself a glass of wine before shrugging out of his coat. Taking a sip, he pulled a knife from the wooden block and sliced open the tape sealing the box. The contents made him frown; he was used to gleaming jars of ingredients nestled in packing noodles. This box was padded with scrunched up brown paper, wedged around boxes containing - oh.

Gold withdrew one of the boxes, a full ten inches, the cardboard thick and gleaming, silky to the touch. On the box was a picture of an anatomically-improbable plastic penis, the text on the box boasting ‘realistic feel and ten-speed vibration’. He dropped it back, picking up a smaller, square box with a bright pink wand made of curved silicone. Intense clitoral stimulation for rapid climax, announced the box. Perfect for solo play.

Gold pushed the box back in amongst the brown paper, flipping the lid closed again and eyeing the label that he hadn’t bothered to check. Miss L French. Of course.

He could feel his cheeks heating, and a vision of Lacey using the products on herself burst into full colour in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to dispel it and cursing the telltale twitch of his cock. The image changed, and to his dismay he realised he was imagining himself using the toys on a very naked Lacey, her body undulating against his as she moaned in pleasure. His cock began to swell, and Gold shook his head, remembering the look on her face when she had seen him naked, the disparaging words she had used to describe the encounter to Miss Lucas. The images disappeared at once, and he sagged in relief. Sighing to himself, he was about to seek out some tape to seal the box again when he paused, fingers drumming against the sides. Fuck it. I’m taking it over there now. If she’s the one embarrassed by our encounter it’ll make a bloody change.

x

Lacey peered inside the fridge, chewing her lip and trying to decide which of the unappetising contents to have for dinner. She really needed to go grocery shopping, but kept forgetting that Storybrooke’s stores didn’t stay open late. One drawback of being in a small town. 

She closed the fridge door and opened the freezer section. God, not frozen pizza again! Jesus, Lacey, get your life together. The cat eats better than you.

As though he had heard her thoughts, Darcy appeared at her feet, mewing, and she sighed, pulling out a pizza box and dropping it on the counter.

“I have to learn to cook something more than omelettes,” she told him.

Darcy stood on his back legs, paws against the fridge, and Lacey grinned.

“Okay, let’s feed you first, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She gave him a pouch of food, and although he sniffed at it cautiously, he settled down to eat. She wasn’t sure where his recent lack of appetite had come from, but he was in good condition, so if he wasn’t eating what she put down, he was clearly eating somewhere else. A knock at the door made her glance around, and she headed for the hallway, pausing as she recognised the silhouette of her neighbour, cane held a little out to the side. Lacey took a deep breath, fists opening and closing, and nodded to herself. Well, he’s here. You may as well apologise. Suck it up, girl.

She strode towards the door before she could think about it too much, wrenching it open and nodding at Mr Gold. He was carrying a cardboard box in one arm, his gaze steady.

“Hey,” she said abruptly, and Gold showed his teeth.

“Miss French," he said. "I apologise for disturbing your evening.” 

The words weren’t said in the stiff, terse way she was used to. Instead they seemed to flow, dark and soft, like black silk. Idly, she wondered if he wore underwear that matched his silk shirts.

“Yeah, you interrupted a heavy evening of heating up frozen pizza and drinking wine,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

He glanced down at the box, then back up. There was a gleam in his eyes she hadn’t seen before, and she wasn’t sure if it was amusement. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk.

“I appear to have something of yours,” he said. “I was expecting a delivery, and so I opened it without checking the address label. My apologies.”

Lacey shrugged.

“Sure. No problem. Happens to all of us, I guess…”

Her voice trailed off, a heavy weight sinking into the pit of her stomach as she recalled what she had been expecting to arrive that week. A shipment of sex toys for a freelance review piece she was doing. A blush rose in her cheeks, and Gold’s smile grew.

“I’ll leave these with you, then,” he said, handing her the box. “Do enjoy your evening, won’t you?”

He bowed his head, heading down the porch steps and swaggering back to the house. She was desperately trying to think of something clever to say, but her brain had gone blank.

"Well, I will now!" she shouted, and he glanced over his shoulder, grinning widely. The bastard.

Lacey slammed the front door, leaned back against the wall with the box in her hands, and waited for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

She still hadn’t apologised.

[guildedlily6]

You Plus Me Equals Soulmates Part 2 (Peter Parker x Reader Soulmates!AU)

Summary: 2nd part to You Plus Me Equals Soulmates.  Y/N doesn’t believe in soulmates, but she can’t help the feelings that are growing for Peter Parker.  Will she give in to her feelings or let her best friend, Liz, have Peter, regardless of the tattoos that might say otherwise?

Author’s Note: Hi also let me know if you like Part 2.  This one is a bit longer than the last one, so enjoy (to whoever might read this).  If you haven’t read Part 1, you might not understand Part 2 so make sure to click on the link down below to read Part 1.

Part 1

Word Count: 2,125

Warnings: swearing (that’ll probably just be common from now on).

POV: Point Of View.

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

“You know, I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Sure you did,” Liz says.  We’re walking down the concrete hallway, looking for the number of Parker’s apartment.  “You totally could have found another excuse and backed out.”

I had attempted to back out, but as I was forming my homework excuse, Ned had interrupted me.

“I tried to.”

Liz shrugs before knocking on the apartment door.  “Obviously not hard enough,” she states.

The door opens after a small pause.  Parker stands there with his hand on the door handle, a pencil tucked behind his ear.  I don’t think there are enough synonyms for “dork” that could help to describe this kid.

“Hey Peter,” Liz greets, breaking the awkward silence.  Again, why is he looking at me, not Liz?  I look away hastily, breaking the eye contact I hadn’t realized Parker and I were making.

“Yeah, uh, hi.  Come in,” Parker stammers.  He opens the door and Liz and I walk past him.  His apartment is cozy and there’s a fairly young woman in the kitchen.  Does he have a sister or something?

“Peter!  I didn’t know you were bringing girls over.  You never bring girls over-” “These are my friends Liz and Y/N.  We were just going to study,” Parker says, cutting into what the lady was going to say.  The chick gives Parker a look that's a calm equivalent to wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.  “Liz, Y/N, meet my aunt May.  Aunt May, meet Liz and Y/N.”

“Oh!  It’s so nice to meet you two.  I’ve heard a lot about you Y/N.”  Aunt May adds in the last part without hesitation, causing Parker to blush.

Heard a lot about me? But he’s going to homecoming with Liz?  What a creep.

“Yeah, uh...let’s go.  Ned’s in my room,” Peter says while leading us to his room.  The bedroom is small with light grey walls.  There’s a bunk bed but the top bunk is covered with clothes and a few boxes.  Other than that, the room looks nice, apart from being able to see the clothes and other random crap shoved under the bed.

“Oh, hey guys.  Sorry, I’ve already built half of the Death Star already.  But you two can help with the rest,” Ned says eagerly.  He sits on the floor in a pile of Lego pieces.

I plop down on the ground and take out one of my binders and a few pens.  “No thanks.  Like I said, I have homework to do,” I announce.  Liz shoots me a look that screams “don’t be a bitch”.

“Yeah me too, Ned,” Peter adds, glancing at me.  Ned looks at him, seeming a little confused.

“But you just said-”

“I said I have homework to do,” Peter says insistently.

I don’t know if they’re not normally this weird, or this is just something I should get used to.  Either way, I’d appreciate it if they could act like normal people. I look down and focus on my Algebra homework.  Although, it’s kind of difficult to focus while Parker is staring at me from his spot a few feet away.  I look up.

“What?  Do you need help or something?” I question.

“Um n-no.  I-I mean yes.  Could you, uh, help me on this one?” He points to a problem on his paper.  “I don’t really understand how to get to the answer…”

He’s on AB honor roll and takes a shit ton of AP classes and he’s asking me for help?

“Yeah sure,” I scoot closer towards him so that our shoulders brush against each other lightly.  I explain the problem and then show him what I did to get my answer.  I can’t help but get the feeling he knows exactly how to solve the problem, though.

I finish explaining the problem and look back up at him, only to find him staring at me, once again.  There’s a moment where we don’t say anything and I feel butterflies in my stomach.  His eyes aren’t chocolate brown.  They’re a dark oak color with streaks the color of honey carefully scattered around his iris.  My eyes dark from his eyes down to his right wrist.

After the loss of eye contact, he clears his throat and looks down at his paper. This whole time, Liz has actually been helping Ned with his lego Death Star.  But at this moment, she’s looking at Peter and I with a hint of jealousy and anger in her gaze.

I take my eyes off of Peter’s sleeve-covered wrist and continue to work on my Algebra assignment.

___________Peter’s POV___________ I clear my throat and look back down at my paper, trying to make myself seem more interested in this boring slim piece of dead wood rather than the girl sitting next to me.

That was full-on eye contact.  AND she didn’t immediately look away.  This is progress.  Maybe.

I’ve liked Y/N since the second semester of freshman year.  And she hasn’t noticed.  But now I’m stuck with Liz.  And now Y/N is at my apartment.  I sigh. But so is Liz.

Y/N, Liz, and Ned look up at the sound of my random sigh.  I blush lightly and pretend to have been sighing out of frustration at my homework.

Ned knows I like Y/N, not Liz.  Ned knows all of my secrets, basically.  He even knows I’m Spider-Man after that incident that included him destroying the first Lego Death Star we had made.

The whole situation when I ended up asking Liz to homecoming instead of Y/N was quite possibly number one on my list of dumb-things-I’ve-done-on-accident. 

I had been probably annoying Ned all day on my plans of how I was going to muster up the courage and ask Y/N to homecoming.  I mean, if I have the courage to literally jump off of buildings and fight actual Avengers, then surely I would’ve been able to ask a girl out, right?  Nope.

I had marched myself up to the both of them, Ned silently cheering me on.  Y/N had paid no attention to my appearance, but Liz’s face had lit up instantly.  At the time, I thought it was clear that I was asking Y/N out to the school dance, but when I think about it now, I was too busy looking at Liz and her happy energy for Y/N to notice that the question was directed at her. 

“The uh-the...ha, sorry...homecoming is coming up...you know...and so...would you go with me?  I mean you don’t have to you-”

“Yes!  Absolutely!  I thought you’d never ask, Peter,” Liz had answered enthusiastically.  It was at that moment I knew I had fucked up.  Usually, I’d never use words like that to describe anything, but I think it’s an accurate description for my thoughts and feelings during that moment.  Y/N had just sat and watched me ask out her friend in front of her.  And her friend had accepted it so cheerfully.  There was no way I could build up another mount of confidence to tell Liz that I was actually asking Y/N out.

All I did was let out an uncomfortable laugh as Liz happily embraced me in the middle of the hallway for everyone else to see.

So yeah, I messed up pretty badly.  The classic Peter Parker Bad Luck. Somehow, though, I’ll fix this.  Somehow I’ll show Y/N that I like her and not her best friend.  Maybe I’ll even get to see her soulmate tattoo; I’ve been waiting so long to find out if she’s the one.  When I look at Y/N, my chest physically aches with the desire to know if she feels the same way I do.  But in reality, I don’t think she even likes me as a friend.  The tattoo on my wrist means more to me than anyone could imagine.  To me, it means a guaranteed happiness with someone. Soulmate scientists have said that sometimes one half of the soulmate pair takes longer to fall in love, so maybe that’s the case.

Don’t say love.  What if she isn’t the one? 

I feel terrible.  Liz thinks I was asking her to the dance and then if I turn her down or disappear at the dance, most likely she’ll be heartbroken or worse, tell the whole school I’m an asshole playboy.  But if Liz isn’t my soulmate and I don’t feel anything for her, shouldn’t I reject her?

_________Y/N’s POV_________ An hour goes by as Liz and Ned finish making the Lego Death Star while Peter and I work on homework.

“Do you have any food?” I ask.  My stomach is grumbling and Peter hasn’t offered us snacks, even though it’s past 6pm.

“Oh yeah, sure.  What do you guys want?” he asks in return, standing up just as I stand up as well.

Ned asks for some chips and Liz requests water.  I look over at Peter, realizing that we both got up.

“Oh, sorry.  I thought I could get it for you guys,” Peter explains.  Oh god, it’s like their awkwardness is rubbing off on me.  What, did I think we were all going as one big party to the kitchen?

“Yeah, sorry,” I laugh it off, but as I’m about to sit down Peter speaks up.

“But maybe you could help me carry the snacks,” he offers it quickly, like he’s secretly been wishing for me to help him carry snacks or something weird like that.

“Uh okay, I guess.”  Liz looks between Peter and I.  She shifts uncomfortably and opens up her binder, abandoning the Lego Death Star for her English homework.

Peter and I walk out of his room and into the kitchen where Aunt May is doing dishes.  At the sight of both of us alone, she suddenly shoves a glass into a cabinet and utters something along the lines of “I have that thing to do”, and scurries out of the kitchen and around the corner.  Everyone remotely related to Peter, it would seem, is a little odd.

Peter gets a glass and starts getting Liz’s water from the fridge.  “You can look in the pantry for Ned’s chips.  Feel free to get what you want.”

I open the pantry and grab Ned’s chips and a bag of popcorn for me.  “Can I have some water, too?” I ask, as if he’ll tell me no.

“Yeah sure, help yourself.”

I open the cabinet I saw Peter get Liz’s glass from.  Immediately, however, I lose my grip on the cup.  But before the glass can hit the ground, Peter’s hand darts out of nowhere to catch it.

“Damn.  Some ninja-like reflexes you have,” I say, which is true.  Who the hell has a light-speed reaction time like that?  What kind of Edward-Cullen-meets-The-Flash shit was that?

“Uh y-yeah I guess I just acted on instinct,” he says hastily, pushing off some accusation that I didn’t even make.  He pours me a glass of water from the refrigerator and we head back into his room where Ned and Liz are sitting in silence.

The rest of the evening is spent in peace and quiet with the occasional glance between me and Parker.  I don’t know why I keep looking at him.

Did he always look cute while focusing on school work? Shut up, I tell myself.  Liz likes him and from what I can already tell, she doesn’t appreciate Peter and I constantly sneaking glances at each other like we’re in some kind of dumb cliché rom-com.

Eventually, Liz decides it’s time to go and we say our goodbyes to Peter and Ned.

As we walk back down the concrete hallway away from the apartment, she turns to me.

“Why’d you do that?” She says, her voice wavering a bit.

“Do what?”

“You kept sneaking cheeky glances at Peter, thinking I wasn’t looking.  And then you went to the kitchen by yourselves to go get snacks.  What are you trying to do here?”

“What?  Liz, I don’t understand.”  I actually did understand what she meant, but to admit it would make me look guilty when I’m not.

“Yes, you do.  I was so excited when Peter asked me to homecoming and now you’re being all flirty with him.  I want you to stop.  Call your mom or something to come pick you up.”  She starts walking away.

While she’s still in earshot, I reply to her claim, “I wasn’t flirting with him.  I didn’t even want to come, remember?  He’s still Peter-The-Dork to me and I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

Or was I?  How am I supposed to know what my subconscious was telling me to do?

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

Thank you for reading!

Part 3

[johannesviii]

Top 12 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2012

We’ve now entered the first year in a trio of fantastic years for hit songs, so yeah, it’s a top 12.

You won’t like some entries on this particular list.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

Still working in Paris in 2012. Getting rapidly fed up with that. In constant stress to pay the rent because the landlord is bad and refuses to pay for stuff he should actually be responsible for in the flat. Other than that? Life was pretty good. “Having Money(tm)” meant being able to actually eat decent food and my health started to improve. Also I adopted a cat. That’s also the year I discovered the French branch of the SCP Foundation and started to contribute a lot to it. I also made this Tumblr blog!

I subscribed to a magazine called Elegy which always came with a music sample, which was great to discover new and vaguely obscure stuff.

Quite a lot of notable albums that year: Some Nights by fun., Night Visions by Imagine Dragons, Monkey Me by Mylène Farmer, Living Things by Linkin Park (with poorly chosen singles unfortunately imho), Revelations by mind.in.a.box., Babel by Mumford & Sons, Neverworld’s End by Xandria, and most importantly, the dreamy and emotional Valtari by Sigur Ros and the dark and excellent Hide & Seek by The Birthday Massacre (even though my year was mostly ruled by Automatic (VNV Nation) that came out the previous year in 2011). Actually having money meant I could finally own the albums I had wanted for years, and you can bet the fact that I owned zero The Birthday Massacre albums even though I had loved their stuff since 2008 was quickly rectified.

Nothing too annoying as far as non-elligible songs go this time, apart from the fact that more stuff from Mylo Xyloto (Coldplay) should have charted higher, and that I kinda regret the absence of La Vie Est Belle by MC Solaar. Not even sure I would have put it on the list, but still, great song.

Honorable mentions first!

Dusty Men (Saule) - Nothing to say about this. Pretty cool.

Young And Wild And Free (Snoop Dog) - That is a super chill and nice song.

Happy (C2C) - At the time, my brother was part-time DJ and opened a gig for these guys, and I was so proud of him! And I was also really glad to see some of their songs become hits. Very good stuff.

Midnight City (M82) - Borderline annoying or very good, depending on my mood.

Burn It Down (Linkin Park) - As I said, my opinion is that the singles from that album were poorly chosen, and Castle of Glass should have been the first one because let’s face it, that song is fantastic. Burn it Down isn’t bad at all, though.

Glad You Came (The Wanted) - I love how this song is written and it’s a lot of fun to hear every sentence starting with the end of the previous one.

I Cry (Flo Rida) - A ton of energy, very propulsive song.

Domino (Jessie J) - There’s a shit ton of weird metaphors in there but it’s still a very solid song.

Princess of China (Coldplay ft Rihanna) - I know I keep going on and on about Mylo Xyloto and how weird it was that the biggest hits from the album weren’t at all its best songs, but still, that’s really good stuff.

Ho Hey (The Lumineers) - The last cut from the list. This song is adorable and always puts me in a good mood. It’s so cute it almost feels mean to leave it out of this top. It’s also elligible for 2013 but I had even less room on that list, so...

And now, a top 12.

12 - Diamonds (Rihanna)

US: #94 / FR: #5

Was considering leaving it out of the list, decided there was no way I could leave it out, realised there was no room left, and added a slot. Welcome to a top 12 instead of 10. But yeah, love that song even if it’s no longer on my playlist nowadays.

11 - Bangarang (Skrillex)

US: Not on the list / FR: #92

Yes.

The other reason this list was turned into a top 12 was to put Skrillex on it.

I’m not even remotely sorry.

Make fun of dubstep all you like, that track is an explosion of sharp colors and edges, like an audio version of edgy street art. It’s almost impossible for me to listen to it without miming the shapes of the sound with energetic gestures and some hand-flapping. Perfect stim music.

10 - Die Young (Kesha)

US: #85 / FR: #78

This is no Take It Off but it’s the next best thing available, and it’s catchy and has a lot of fun little details (like the dirty socks line), and also, unlike the previous two, it’s still on my mp3 player, so yeah, 10th spot is fair. I love a party song with some sort of apocalyptic mindset.

9 - Skyfall (Adele)

US: Not on the list / FR: #2

I usually don’t give a damn about James Bond movies but I sincerely loved that one, with its stakes becoming smaller and smaller and more personal as the story progressed, and most importantly, it had some visually striking colors near the end, and this wonderful, wonderful song. As I already said about the previous Adele song, I only like slow, emotional songs when there’s some energy behind them or at least some sort of dramatic atmosphere, and boy that’s some quality Drama(tm) right there.

8 - A l’Ombre (Mylène Farmer)

US: Not on the list / FR: #86

If C’est Une Belle Journée was the “last great Mylène Farmer song”, A l’Ombre might just be her best single released post 2003, at least imho. It’s only #8 because the general quality of hit songs in 2012 was insanely high, otherwise it would be way higher.

It’s about losing your identity and as you might already know I’m a sucker for that theme ; also the music video features Olivier de Sagazan, an artist who puts layers of clay, paint and mud on his own head and body to sculpt new faces, and it’s disturbing in all the best ways (obvious body horror tw for the link even if it’s clay and very abstract. Also there’s wolves. I’m just saying because I have one friend who’s scared of them).

7 - Thrift Shop (Macklemore)

US: Not on the list (#1 the very next year obviously) / FR: #7

Finally, a song about my favorite type of clothes: the cheap, comfy, unfashionable ones. With a great beat! And really fun lyrics! And a great music video! And a couple of actually insightful lines! Can’t even imagine how happy I would have been if this had dropped 3 years earlier back in university when I was still called “the hobo”.

I was still wearing that same old black coat from 2006 in 2012, mind you.

6 - Lights (Ellie Goulding)

US: #5 / FR: Not on the list

This song looks fantastic and, just like Fireflies by Owl City which to me looks exactly like fireflies flying in the night, it’s incredibly satisfying to hear a song titled “Lights” which looks like a series of pulsing semi-distant lights in the dark.

5 - We Are Young (fun.)

US: #3 / FR: #21

As far as favorite bands go, the 2000s charts gave me Linkin Park, Placebo, The Killers and My Chemical Romance. The 2010s charts were a bit less generous and only gave me fun., who’s own arrogance killed them right when they were at the top of their game and that’s nothing short of a tragedy considering how f█cking good their few hit songs were.

I guess your band either dies a hero, or it lives long enough to see itself become Imagine Dragons.

Oh well. At least we had some of the best songs (if not the best) of the 2010s while they were there.

4 - Turn Me On (David Guetta ft Nicki Minaj)

US: #35 / FR: #57

Ooooooh I bet some of you are furious this is placed 5 slots above Adele.

Listen. You know I love dance music, especially when it’s aggressive or with a darker edge. And yeah, that sounded like a lost Benassi Bros track, and it had a great (but way too short) rap bridge. You also know how literal-minded I am. So when I first heard Nicki Minaj’s voice with a ton of electronic distorsion saying “Make me come alive, come on and turn me on”, I didn’t picture anything sexy, but a robot. I’d rather pretend songs are about interesting things instead of generic supposedly sexy club anthems.

PLOT TWIST! As it turns out, the music video, instead of featuring some generic club stuff, featured everything I wanted and more: a weird, steampunk world of robots in which an inventor just created an android that looks way more alive than all the previous ones, and they all become jealous, and break his door down. With an axe.

Framing is everything. I absolutely love it. What a gift.

3 - It’s Time (Imagine Dragons)

US: #91 / FR: Not on the list

Believe it or not, I used to love Imagine Dragons. I still love the album Night Visions, which, apart from a couple of duds (like Demons, which is dreadful), is damn good. I don’t know what happened after that. I really don’t. Everything became slow, and heavy, and kind of boring. It worked fine for Radioactive, because that was a post-apocalyptic song, but when you try to apply the same formula to motivational songs, it simply doesn’t work.

Oh well. At least, for now, there was It’s Time. The music video, with people walking through a wasteland, is the perfect imagery for that song. Rebuild something new, but don’t change who you are. Things might get broken, but we’ll make art with them. We’ll plant trees over the graves of people who burnt them. Positive pessimism only, lads.

2 - Good Time (Owl City & Carly Rae Jepsen)

US: #38 / FR: #40

The most innocent song about parties ever written. It IS always a good time when you listen to it. It reminded me of the parties at the campus at my job training the previous year, where we’d make dumb contests like “best disguise but if you buy anything you’re disqualified” and I made Freddy Krueger claws in papercraft and a friend won with his “emperor Nero” disguise which was basically a toga made with his bed sheets, a crown made with ivy he found outside, and him looking incredibly punchable on purpose.

It’s an incredibly cute song, it never outstays its welcome, always puts me in a good mood AND gives me some much needed energy. You already know I loved Owl City to begin with, even if I wanted him to have way more hit songs, and Carly Rae Jepsen was going to end on my playlist eventually, with several fantastic future songs. I’m glad this was a hit. They both deserved it.

1 - Some Nights (fun.)

US: #14 / FR: Not on the list (why. how. f█ck off)

There’s drums! There’s ‘woho-woho’s! There’s guitars! It’s a perfect pop-rock earworm that never ever gets annoying! There’s a goddamn solo made with an autotuned version of the singer yelling “aaaaaaa”!! What more can you possibly want from a hit song?

I’m saying this right now: this is my favorite elligible hit song of the entire decade. Spoilers, I know. The #1s for 2013 and 2014 both come really close, but they aren’t as anthemic as this one. What did we do to deserve something this f█cking good in that day and age? I have no clue, but clearly, we didn’t deserve more of that, because these guys split up very quickly.

Anyone know some kind of magic spell to bring them back for an encore?

Next up: The Year When Just About Everyone Dropped An Excellent Album

[geewithluv]

ESOTERIC [two]

ESOTERIC: intended for or likely to be understood by only a small number of people with a specialized knowledge or interest.

The ins and outs of the prominent gang, Bangtan, can seem esoteric to the general population that is most affected by their actions.

Ｓｙｎｏｐｓｉｓ： ❝ Jimin is going to take over Bangtan after Hitman falls ill. Not feeling confident that Jimin is ready, Hitman pulls in the pacifistic daughter of a (now deceased) close associate. Kit hasn’t been around Bangtan for years, but now she’s forced to in order to help the remaining members of her family. ❞

Ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：Jimin x Female OC (ft. the rest of BTS, Bang PD, members of Seventeen & BlackPink)

Ｇｅｎｒｅ：mafia!au, some fluff & some angst

Ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ： cursing, death from illness, mentions of death by gun violence, anxiety attack

Ｗｏｒｄ Ｃｏｕｎｔ：4k

ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ  [part one]

Kit woke up later than she would have preferred. As much as she tried to keep her sleep schedule consistent no matter when she was working, her body always seemed to betray her wishes for a stable sleep cycle. With a yawn, she stumbled into her kitchen, turning the TV on as she passed it. “I could’ve sworn I bought more tea.” Kit grumbled to herself as she glared at the empty glass jar that should contain packets of teabags. But not a single packet sat in that jar, not even the tea she had disliked but kept around for when she had seemingly forgotten her addiction-esque need for the beverage.

 “Late last night popular restaurant, Ossu Seiromushi, went up in flames and the local fire department is still trying to contain the situation. The cause is currently unknown. Please be sure to avoid 4th street during your morning commute as it will be blocked off while firefighters attempt to control the blaze.” 

 Kit hated the morning news anchors voice but this time she let herself drown in the soundwaves coming from her television. She rubbed any remaining sleep from her eyes to look at the video playing and the headline written in the bold black text at the bottom of the screen. “Holy shit.” She whispered as she realized she wasn’t dreaming. The restaurant is burning to the ground. Bangtan’s restaurant. Who knew what else was in there besides food and very expensive cutlery?

  “There’s at least a 5 grand in cash currently taking its final form as a pile of ashes on the damn floor! That’s not even mentioning all the other shit that’s gone because of this! I don’t know if I should hope everything in there is completely burned beyond recognition because the last thing we need is a federal investigation.” Jimin paced around the spacious office in the Bangtan estate. It’s not even 7:30 A.M. and they’re already being reminded that they’re sustained by crime. Taehyung holds the firm belief that it’s much more of a 10 A.M. reminder. 

“Who the hell set Ossu Seiromushi on fire?” Yoongi was hardly awake, trying not to completely slump over in the cushioned armchair.

 Namjoon speaks up. “No one knows if it was even set on fire or if it just--”

 “Don’t even finish that sentence.” Jimin is quick to cut him off. “We all know a fully up-to-code and functional restaurant doesn’t just start randomly burning to the ground at 2 A.M..” The shrill sound of his cell phone ringing makes Jimin groan as he presses the green button. “What is it?”

 “I know it’s 7 in the morning, but would it kill you to sound a little more pleasant?” Kit’s voice came through the other line as Jimin sits down in the leather chair behind the large custom wooden desk. “What the hell is going on at the restaurant?” Kit continued realizing Jimin wasn’t going to answer her remark.

 “You tell me. Seokjin, Jungkook, and Hoseok are there now waiting for an answer.” Jimin glides his hand across the sleek surface as Yoongi, Taehyung, and Namjoon watch him intently. “You’re only a few blocks over aren’t you? You didn’t hear or see anything?”

 “A few blocks is pretty far, Jimin.” Kit scoffed. “And I didn’t because I was sound asleep at 2 A.M.. Some of us have actual jobs that require us to have a schedule and--”

 “Save your 8 to 10 hours and circadian rhythm rant. I’m coming over.” Jimin stood up, making the three other men jump up as Jimin yanked open a desk drawer, grabbing a few things and shoving them in various pockets. 

 “You absolutely are not! What makes you think that you can just come over whenever you feel like it?” Kit huffed, Jimin smirked imagining her practically stomping around her apartment trying to put things away and ‘clean up’ for him despite her apartment being cleaner than any private residence he had ever been to.

 “The fact that you’re a few blocks away from where I need to be right now, the fact that I won’t take no for an answer and the overwhelming fact that you only pretend to be annoyed when I invite myself over.” Jimin grabbed his car keys as he left the office. “You guys stay here, wait for the others to give word. If anything happens, call me. ASAP.” Jimin pointed at the three men who were silently hoping he stayed a little longer so they could hear more of his conversation with Kit. How often did he go over to see her anyway? Nevertheless, the slam of the front door shutting, meant they weren’t going to get any more information.

 “Think they’re fucking?” Yoongi crossed his arms before slumping back in the armchair, he runs his fingers through bleach blonde strands of hair falling into his heavy eyes.

 “Kit? Having casual sex? Didn’t think you were a comedian.” Taehyung laughed.

 “Maybe it’s not so casual.” Namjoon suggested with a shrug, sitting across from Yoongi.

 “You think Jimin’s going to commit to one pussy?” Yoongi moved one of his rings around his finger, a pathetic attempt to stay distracted from sleep calling his name.

 “Maybe, he’s gotta mature if he’s going to run this thing.” Namjoon was correct but no one would admit that it would eventually become time for Jimin to really commit to leading, and that meant he needed to think more about everything he did. Every decision could be life or death for over a dozen people. 

 No one wanted to think about that.

 “You’re obviously sleep deprived.” Taehyung snickered.

  Kit and Jimin stand in her bedroom looking out the window. They were able to see smoke rising just off in the distance. 

 “How much do you think you guys lost?” She asked after a few minutes of standing in silence.

 “We. You’re in this thing too, even if you refuse to say it aloud.” He glanced over at her quickly before he cleared his throat. “In dollars, we’ve lost 10 grand at the very least. Probably much more. A new shipment just came in.” 

 “Is Jin okay? I know he really loved it. Front for deals or not. It was still a working restaurant.” Jimin nearly winced, she was too nice. He worried about it being a downfall. He also winced as he realized that he had not even thought to ask Jin how he felt.

 “He’ll get over it. He can’t afford to dwell. None of us can. We found out who did it, we make them pay, we move on.” He stated simply. Kit turned on her heel to face him. “Don’t look at me like that.” Jimin sighed.

 “Like what? Like I don’t want anyone to get hurt?” Her dark eyebrows furrowed.

 “Don’t look at me like you think you can stop me from doing what I have to do. Don’t look at me like you think I’m better than this.”

 “You are better than this, though. You don’t have to hurt anyone.”

 “How can you think the world is so simple, kitten?” Jimin turned to face her. “You’re so…” he trailed off, thinking for a moment as a hundred words to describe her flood his brain and threaten to pour out his mouth, “optimistic.”

 “Maybe you’re just a pessimist.” 

 A flicker of a smile as he looks into her eyes. “Maybe.” He let out a deep breath. “I don’t know how the hell you’re going to handle this shit. This is light work.”

 “I can handle a whole lot more than you’d think.” Kit looked at the ground, her hair falling into her face. There’s an implication that doesn’t get to be addressed as the ding of Jimin’s phone fills the otherwise silent room.

 “I need to get back, you coming?”

 “You know I don’t like--” Kit cuts herself off, something in my mind tells her to go against the usual. “Yeah. I’ll come.” She said. Jimin raised an eyebrow in surprise as she grabbed a pair of shoes.

  Kit finds the meetings to be more than boring. They’re worse than the ones at the hospital when the protocol changes. So, instead, she finds something else to do. Usually opting to clean up around the large home since the guys won’t do it themselves and had apparently had a recent bad experience with a cleaning crew. So they’ve settled for hardly cleaning. 

 She hummed softly to herself as she passed the master bedroom, well, almost passed it. She had become used to passing it and hearing the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the IV drips. 

 Nothing.

 Complete and utter silence as she walked by except for her own mindless humming. She felt a sinking feeling, the same one that made her stop working the ICU and Trauma floors at the hospital. The feeling of knowing that it’s over. She knows, she knows before she actually knows, before she opened the door and stood in the room and looked at the heart monitor that had been unplugged by the man who wanted to spend his final moments in silence. She couldn’t blame him, who would want to die having to hear their heart slow to a stop. 

 She knew he was dead before she saw all these things. She had known it was coming. Everyone knew it was coming. She didn’t even like the man all that much. She had blamed him for years for the way her life had played out. But she still found herself on the floor and a scream leaving her body because it’s the only sound she could make before her face became drenched in wet sadness. 

 “Kit! Kit!” Her name is being called throughout the house as 7 men fear for the girl’s safety only to realize that she might be the safest she’s ever been. On the ground gasping for air as she sobs. Namjoon is the first one in the room before he calls out to the others. He knows there’s nothing to be done so he moves to Kit, grabbing her by her waist and pulling her up and out of the room as 6 other people run in. 

 “He’s dead!” She shrieked, thrashing around in the tall man’s arms as he takes her into the front of the house, nearly tossing her onto the sofa. 

 Jungkook and Hoseok don’t even enter the room, opting to stay in the doorway. They stared at the bed where the man who had controlled their entire lives, now lay lifeless. 

 Jungkook had never known a life that didn’t consist of being reprimanded and ordered around by Hitman Bang. Even in his final days, Jungkook still felt like the kid who nearly fell over the first time he shot a gun, not prepared for the recoil. Hitman had laughed before telling him he’d get used to it, stabilizing him, and making him shoot again.

 Hoseok was well aware this time was coming, but it didn’t sink in until now that there wasn’t another option. And now it’s here, he’s too late to prepare for a reaction, so his body stills.

 Yoongi chewed on his inner cheek, standing near the foot of the bed. “Fuck.” He mutters to himself, he’s pretty sure this is the first time he’s ever seen someone dead that wasn’t murdered or otherwise injured. And somehow, it hurt so much more knowing his own body did this to him. His body decided to kill him. The ultimate betrayal.

 Taehyung leaves the room, pushing past Hoseok and Jungkook and walking until he gets to the living room. He pretended he wanted to help calm Kit down. But he really just couldn’t bear being in the room without vomiting.

 Jimin and Jin stand on the side of the bed. Jimin starts casually dumping pill bottles and wrappings from needles filled with morphine into a nearby trash can. Jin tries to talk to him but Jimin quickly cuts him off. “It’s over. He’s dead. Now you can either help me clean this shit up or you can go call the morgue. One or the other. I’m in charge now.”

 Jin decides to call the morgue, coming to the conclusion that Jimin needed that bit of time to himself. And honestly, Jin needed some distraction and a second to breathe fresh air.

  Jimin takes Kit back to her house before anyone even shows up to remove the body. He claims it’s just so Kit doesn’t have to be there and watch. But it’s for his sake too, because he spends the rest of the day lying in her bed, holding her. Only moving to answer a few texts. “You can go home, Jimin.” She had told him more than a couple of times, only getting a hum of ‘I’m fine’ or some excuse in response. She doesn’t want him to leave, she finds resting her head on his chest with his arm around her to be more than comfortable, but she wants to keep enforcing the fact that he’s there because he wants to be in her bed cuddling her, not because he feels that he needs to be. So they held each other in her bed for hours, the television nearly muted. Only interrupted by two phone calls telling Kit that her mother was approved for transfer to the better hospital in the city and that her brother had a bed reserved for him in a rehab facility in Arizona. 

 Bang Sihyuk was a lot of things, but he was a man of his word.

 “Go to sleep, kitten.” Jimin whispered just before 10 p.m., slowly rubbing her back. They had nearly finished a full season of Grey’s Anatomy.

 “You need to sleep too.” She told him.

 “I can handle myself.” Kit shifted her body, somehow moving even closer to him, resting a leg over his.

 “It’s okay to be sad, you know? It’s normal to be upset. It’s not good for your mind to pretend you’re okay when you’re not.” She said softly, tracing the ink of his tattoo with her finger. He doesn’t respond, not sure what to say. She wasn’t really expecting a response anyway. “Goodnight, Jimin.” She presses a kiss to his shoulder.

  “You don’t have to take me to work.” Kit said with a huff as she climbed into the passenger seat of Jimin’s car.

 “You keep mentioning how long the walk from the hospital to the garage is. No telling who might be out there waiting for a pretty little thing like you to come walking all alone.” He started the car and drives out of the complex’s parking lot.

 “How many times do I have to tell you not to leave so fast! The super already came to scold me, saying you’re gonna ruin the pavement.” Kit scolded. The pavement has been in dire need of repair but no one wanted to pay for it so the superintendent decided that suing would be the best way to collect money.

 “I didn’t get a nice car and sit with Yoongi for a month to customize it so I could drive the speed limit.”

 “You’re so annoying sometimes.” Kit rolled her eyes as Jimin laughed, resting a hand on her thigh. “I work a 12 today, are you gonna be able to get me?”

 “Course I am, kitten. What do ya take me for?”

 “A very busy man? Especially at 9 o’clock on a Friday night.”

 “If you’re implying what I think you are, you’re wrong.” He slides his hand further up her leg before wrapping it back around the steering wheel. She doesn’t push further but has a soft smile on her face for the rest of the ride.

  “Took you long enough, my god, thought some psycho patient got ahold of you.” Jimin turned the key as Kit starts buckling up.

 “Sorry,” she whined, “you would not believe the shift I had. All to end with some 15-year-old telling me they went into cardiac arrest and I’m too stupid to figure it out.”

 “Let me guess, she consulted doctor google?” He raised an eyebrow as he started driving.

 “Isn’t it always?” Kit sighed as she leaned back in the seat. “What have you been doing?”

 “Cleaning up the restaurant.” He stated, a curious hum leaves Kit’s body. “Well, hiring other people to do it and watching over them.”

 “Did the police finally say it was arson?”

 “Nope, they didn’t say anything. Made sure they didn’t.”

 “Well, don’t you think the police should investigate?” Kit turned her body as much as she could to face him.

 “Are you-- my god, you’re still so innocent.” Jimin kept his focus on the road, fearing what he’d do if he saw that innocent look in her brown eyes.

 “I just don’t get it. If you can pay them to say it wasn’t arson, just pay them not to arrest you all.”

 “It’s not that simple, babygirl.” Jimin sighed, thanking God that his phone happened to ding and end the conversation. “Shit, shit, shit.” He muttered reading the text.

 “What is it? Jimin!” Kit nearly screamed as Jimin made a very illegal U-turn.

 “These dumb fucks! I can’t leave them alone for an hour!” He slams his hand down on the edge of the wheel. He pulls into a dark street, stopping short of what seemed to be a warehouse.

 “Where are we?” She looked around, unable to even figure out what street they were on.

 “Just…” He huffed as he opened the door. “Just stay in the car.” He got out without another word, slamming the door shut, leaving Kit in a state somewhere between confusion and frustration and on the border of a panic attack as she sees him run around the corner of the building. She started hearing some yelling but she couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. She wanted to get out, be a little nosy, help in some way. But Jimin’s words rang in her head and the look on his face as he got the text, it was better to do as he said. This was confirmed when a loud pop hurt her ears. Then another, a couple of seconds later another pop. Her body stiffened and her eyes widened. She feared the worst. She wasn’t sure if Jimin was the cause of the gunshots or the recipient. She didn’t even know who else was there.

 “Get in the fucking car!” A voice yells, managing to be so loud the soundwaves penetrate the car and she hears it clearly. She sees Jimin, Jin, and Jungkook run towards the car, she lets out a breath when she realizes they’re all fine, but she soon is filled with worry again as the guys scramble into the car. Jimin doesn’t say anything as he speeds out.

 “What happened to you all?” Kit looks toward a panting Jin and Jungkook, realizing Jimin wasn’t going to say answer even if he could unlock his jaw for long enough to talk.

 “Those dumbasses from Seventeen.” Jin groans. “They had a couple girls with them, didn’t even know they had girls in their gang!”

“I cannot believe you two almost got killed trying to get laid!” Jimin yelled and Kit thought she might not ever be able to hear properly again.

 “Well not all of us can bang the only girl in our circle.” Jungkook attempted to defend himself. Kit stumbles over words for a moment before Jimin shoots him a glare in the rear-view mirror.

 “I’m going to assume you said that out of agony and aren’t in a state to know better.” He growled. “Say that shit again and see if I don’t feed you back to Seungcheol.” For once, Kit is thankful for Jimin’s temper.

  Kit is sat in the living room of the estate as the guys talk, knees up to her chest. Jimin is pacing, she wished he would pick another habit because it only made her more anxious.

 “Maybe they’ll change their name to Sixteen.” Hoseok tried to lighten the situation with a joke.

 “Fifteen.” Jin laughed.

 “Nah, I heard Mingyu made it out. Probably wishes he didn’t.” Hoseok nudged Namjoon next to him as he laughed. But Namjoon isn’t listening. His attention was focused solely on Kit, he watched her expression change as the guys talked.

 “Breathe, Kit.” Namjoon stood up, making his way toward the girl.

 “What’s wrong?” Jimin stopped in his tracks, looking between Namjoon and Kit. Kit doesn’t speak, her chest raises and lowers rapidly.

 “She’s having a panic attack.” Namjoon spoke calmly, knowing that if he worried it would only make her worse. He lowered to his knees in front of her. “Kit, Kit, look at me.” She grabbed hold on Namjoon’s hands as she looked into his eyes, anxiety clear on her face as her body shook with her breaths.

 “Why is she having a panic attack?” Jimin rubbed his hands over his face. And why didn’t I notice before? He thought to himself.

 “Is it because we talked about murdering the guys from Seventeen?” Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows.

 “Of course it’s because we mentioned how we killed someone, you idiot.” Taehyung snapped, making Kit sob loudly. Namjoon starts speaking softly to her.

 “Everyone needs to leave right now.” Namjoon’s smooth voice replaces the murmurs.

 “You don’t get to make the orders around here.” Jimin responded before glancing back over at Kit, her brown skin turning red as cries leave her mouth. Her hands moved to clench the fabric of her shirt. “Everyone out.” He nearly whispered. For a moment he’s not sure if anyone even heard him. But they soon start leaving. Namjoon gives a small smile to the leader as he follows behind them.

 “You’re gonna be okay, everyone panicked a little at first.” Namjoon sat down beside Kit when the door closed. She didn’t respond, so he continued. “My girlfriend freaked out the first time I ever mentioned it.” He chuckled a little remembering that day. “I forget sometimes that my life isn’t normal.”

 “You have a girlfriend?” Kit mumbled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Namjoon nodded, a big smile on his face that helped calm her.

 “Yeah, I do. That’s usually why I’m not here. I’d much rather spend my time reading in her living room than taking orders from Jimin.” He said, getting a soft giggle from Kit.

 “He’s a little bossy sometimes.” She said, looking up at him. Her body was still shaking a little, her breathing not quite steady but she seemed to be calming.

 “He is, he means well though. You don’t have to keep doing this, staying here and helping out. Jimin’s got it covered. Hitman just wasn’t sure he could.” Namjoon explained. He was sure it wasn’t her first panic attack steeming from the gang and it probably wouldn’t be her last.

 “I’m not sure he really does have it covered.” Kit sniffled, Namjoon raised his eyebrows, motioning her to explain. “The amount of times I’ve talked to him about his concerns over a situation means he’s not sure. I’ve calmed him down way too many times. He won’t even admit that he’s worried, he doesn’t want anyone to know. But I know.”

 “Well… then... I’m glad you’re helping.” Namjoon was a little shocked. He, for once, wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Maybe I could link you up with my girl. You guys could talk about how dumb we all are.” He placed a hand on her shoulder as Kit nodded giving him a smile before she wrapped her arms around him.

 “Thanks, Joonie.” He pulled her closer into him, the nickname warmed his heart in a way he couldn’t explain. He hadn’t heard it in a while, not since Kit left Bangtan years ago. It was a stark contrast from the harsh yell of ‘Namjoon’ he had become used to.

 “Anytime.” He whispered.

End of Part Two. I’m going to try and get this up once a week by the way! Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think?

[thefantasticm]

Establishing Angst in AGBM

I am by no means a master of angst or conveying tension, and a lot of the times some of what I write that affects people the most was completely incidental. But I do try, and meet varying degrees of success depending on the scene. Here are some dank tools/things/advice I use and constantly keep in mind in order to help crank up the FEELS, and can apply to pretty much anything if you want some ideas as to how to do so.

1. Showing and Telling First thing’s first: ‘Show, don’t tell’ is absolutely ATROCIOUS advice. It is vague and unhelpful and wrong. Some things must be told. If everything were shown, every story in the history of man would sink to the bottom of the ocean, weighed down by a bloated scrotum of tedium and pedantry. There must be a balance, and yes, showing should be favored, but never to an extreme. I personally aim for a 70:30 ratio when it comes to showing and telling in my writing. It is a good ballpark to aim for because landing at 60:40 is still fine and 80:20 is also perfectly readable. Falling to 50:50 and below is where things start to get... bad. Anything below will usually be noticeably boring to even unpracticed readers. When it comes to conveying angst and tension in writing, emotions are key (so Cage has the right idea, but his execution is... well). It is fine and good and proper to tell the reader what the character is feeling, in simple terms. Yet it is something that must be balanced, as we’ve established. It is not enough to say “Hank was sad.” We must say “Hank was sad ABLOOBLOOBLOO.” And by ABLOOBLOOBLOO, I mean describing the physicality of that reaction. We’ve all been sad before, know what it feels like, so describing that churning gut, that beating heart, that sinking feeling - all of it helps to establish that sadness, and can make the reader feel it in turn. Maybe Hank will lash out with that sadness in an unhealthy attempt at emotional release. Maybe he’ll think about wanting to drink, or holding his gun, etc - and describing all of that becomes a showing of where that emotion takes him, depressive, reactionary thoughts that the audience can relate to. I say all that, but it’s also sometimes okay to just say “Hank was sad” and leave it at that. Sparingly, mind you... And exactly when those moments are most appropriate is a whoooole different discussion. 2. Third Person Limited This is less advice and more... information, since something like this is really at the mercy of the writer. Everyone has different preferences for how they narrate a story. I personally despise first person narration, I adore second person (in short bursts, it’s hard to carry a longer story with it), third person objective can be interesting or the exact opposite, and third person omniscient... well. In my very humble opinion, there is no easier way to suck all the emotional tension out of a story. If you are trying to tell an emotional story, third person omniscient is just... heinous. It can be great for grand, sweeping adventure stories, but when trying to establish an angsty emotional creep? Noooo fucking thank you. Holding the audience’s hand when it comes to how every character is feeling, giving information too freely - what a great way to remove any and all emotional stakes! Pick a character. A. One (1). Beyond that character, there can be no ‘outsider’ information. Everything must come through that one character’s eyes. They can infer, they can guess, they can assume the feelings of other characters. They might even be right most of the time! But the audience must never be told this through any other means. Which is why... Keep the narrating character uninformed. Nothing can dispel tension faster than certainty. Emotional tension and angst is most readily mined in what is uncertain. And God, this is such a fucking pain in the ass with ROBOT characters - not impossible, but fuck, I digress. Hank’s emotional hang-ups and struggles become more real and relatable when he does not know what Connor is thinking - when he projects, when he guesses, when he assumes. Hank does not KNOW Connor is in love with him, he simply perceives it, and convinces himself it is true, and thus convinces the audience. They see only what he sees, what he observes, and even when Hank is oblivious to it at the start, the audience is given the room and space to fill in their own conclusions because Hank does NOT know everything, and so when Hank has his ‘realization,’ the audience is even more convinced than he is! Absolute 9000 IQ shit, I know (it’s not). And so when Hank falls away from what he convinced himself of, which is separate from what the audience knows, it’s a little... gut wrenching? No, Hank, don’t doubt it! He does love you! But Hank can’t hear your screams from where he is... And when he comes back to it, when it is far more obvious, it has a much stronger effect. Can you imagine how fucking boring that shit would be if Hank was absolutely 100% certain Connor loved him from start to finish? Jesus. However, it’s important to give the audience a bit more to work with than just everything the main character perceives. Bits and pieces that the audience will pick up on, that the main character technically observes, but is something they do not out and out notice or give much thought to. Not every insight can and should be shared between the main character and the audience. The audience should have just a bit more information that allows them to draw conclusions that characters in the story might not otherwise think of. Which leads us to... 3. Dramatic Irony Mmm... Dramatic irony is just... *chef kiss* Mwah! It is beautiful and glorious. This is what makes the collective sphincter of an audience shiver with fear. I would not say it is my bread and butter, and good angst needs it not, but when it comes to a hard hitting tragic turn of events, no tool will smack an audience in the face harder than dramatic irony. Quick rundown: Dramatic irony is when the audience knows something the characters do not. Some of the most memorable tragedies make use of dramatic irony. Romeo and Juliet? The audience knew Juliet was asleep, not dead, but Romeo... did not. Oedipus? We know that’s his mom... Oedipus... Oedipus no! Dramatic irony is so powerful because the audience is given time to sense the impending doom but they are powerless to do anything about it. They want to stop it, but cannot. Helpless to watch things go wrong. The cold sinking feeling of your heart dropping to your feet. Dramatic irony can be hard to handle, since it will have little to no effect if you cannot get the audience invested in the story and the characters. It is also difficult in the sense that it can become somewhat silly if it is made too obvious. If the feeling of ‘oh god, x is probably going to happen’ comes too soon, the tension when it happens will not be as strong. On the flip side, if it comes too late, or god forbid, it’s not picked up on at all, it will fall flat. Not saying I did it perfectly by any means, but I did try. If you are looking to pull any sort of twist, or just fuck with the audience in general, dramatic irony is a great way to do so, without being hamfisted and preachy, or sudden and purposeless (like Alice being an android).

4. Repetition This is also highly personal choice, but over the years in writing I’ve found that pieces in which I used repetition tended to have better reception than those that did not. Repetition, whether it’s purely through language (which is mostly what I do) or theme, can help really really really drive home a point or emotion to an audience. Repeating certain phrases. Or just one word. Maybe a character says something they said once in the beginning of the fic. Of course, all of this must be done in moderation, and the timing of it has to line up with whatever you are trying to convey to the audience. Sometimes the ‘thing’ you are trying to convey can even be nebulous and mysterious, but then the point becomes to make the audience think more about it, which makes them more invested, which makes the hurts a bit hurtier... I do this a lot by repeating questions. What would he change? How had they arrived at this point? Honestly when I put it out like this I feel a bit silly, and it doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for some, and that is what matters. Mostly... it works for me! 5. The Short Short Long ‘Something was holding him back, a lump lodging itself in his throat. He thought of Connor at home and the way he called him Hank, Hank, Hank. There was nothing unusual about it, but beneath Wilson’s scrutiny it felt private, it felt intimate, and Hank could not find it within himself to lay open something that all of a sudden felt so profoundly raw.’ ‘Connor was the one that was embarrassed. Intensely so, to the point it had rubbed off on Hank. This was not a situation he would normally give much thought to, but Connor’s reaction made him feel as if he had done something wrong, as if he had broken some unspoken trust between them; and as he stood there watching the android, so human in the smallest of ways, Hank felt dirty.‘ ‘Hank wasn’t sure whether he dreamt those words or not. It felt like he did, with the hazy dreams that followed. In them, it was not Hank who left, but Connor - the one that could not be held down by the words that boiled in Hank’s chest but lacked the strength to be spoken; the outline of his body as he stepped through the front door, bathed in sunlight, warping the vision of him until there was nothing left.’ ‘In what capacity? It didn’t matter, did it? Hank needed him and his chest felt light; how easy it was to admit it now, all of a sudden, as if the past ten days, those agonizing ten days, had never happened.’ ...Get it? I’m not sure if this actually does anything. But I like it, so I’m putting it in. Long Short Shorts are also valid. Really the idea is that the rhythm of the tension suddenly gets much faster in the final point, thus making it seem more desperate, and driving it home more. But. I could just be imagining things? Hmm... 6. What Remains Unsaid Sometimes a character will want to say something, but doesn’t. Or they’ll think something, but say something completely different. Or they will infer a hidden meaning, unspoken sentiment, from another character. The things that aren’t said should still be told to the audience! However you want to do it. As much as these things can work in comedy, so too can they work in angst. It’s a very simple thing, but this can serve to drive up the tension, and have the audience clench their teeth from it. Deceptively simple! The feeling of ‘just say it, dammit!’ is a near universal one and should not be ignored! 7. DURRRRRRRRRR MUH CLICHE There is no such thing as an ‘original’ story anymore. You can add your spins and your twists and your little tweaks, but the fact of the matter is that every ‘core’ of a story has already been written. There is NOTHING wrong with cliche. NOTHING. Themes and plots and twists that are common are common because they are usually effective. Anyone who insists otherwise is... as much as I’d like to call them stupid, I really would, what they need is to be educated. The reason people tend to shy away from ‘cliche’ is because when it is done poorly, it is often excruciating. It can be really awful. But one should not shy away from cliche for the fear of doing it poorly. Embrace it! Write it to the best of your ability! If a ‘cliche’ is where a story leads you, then it’s not wrong! Why did I include this? Because most of all this fear of cliche applies strongly to angst, sad tropes, tragedy, etc. After that? Fantasy adventure stories and romance. 8. The High Highs Angst is worthless without a counterweight. Personally I think I’m god awful at writing fluff, but you will never be able to write good angst if you can’t squeeze out some manner of happy scenes. And going back to point #1, you have to show at least one of these happy scenes. It doesn’t have to be over the top. It can even be bittersweet. Hope over happiness, in case you don’t want to go full joyous. Once you start really getting into the angst the happiness and the hope will likely start to diminish, but I say it is usually a good idea to leave ONE good upwards scene interspersed in there somewhere. My final hopeful scenes in AGBM were Connor returning from Washington DC, and to a lesser extent the beginning of their final argument. I used a lot of loaded language in that small span of time to make the drop-off even worse, but that is an entirely different post...

9. Never Reward Your Readers Never reward your readers. Never reward your readers! NEVER REWARD YOUR READERS!!!!

Tell your story how you think it should be told.

NEVER REWARD YOUR READERS.

10. Alliteration Doesn’t actually do anything. I just like it.

[fluidityandgiggles]

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 5

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked

Notes (I guess): Welcome to ‘I’m bad at describing stuff’, part 1. This chapter was planned out way in advance, before I wrote the prologue even, and yet it gave me a lot of trouble because I had no idea how to wrap it up. So I hope that, for what it’s worth, this is a good one.

As always, thanks @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original suggestion, to @whatwashernameagain for her fantastic creation on which this fic is based, and to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual and @winglessnymph (hey Nymph look you’re on this list now!) for dealing with my crazy ideas. And a particularly special thanks to Miranda, again, for her poetic additions. She is the absolute best.

A quick note to any of you who are underage or have never been in such a situation (aka a massive fucking party) before - do not do anything that happens in this chapter. Please, drink responsibly, or don’t drink at all if you don’t want to. I made my mistakes so that you won’t have to. Do not do anything that happens in this chapter, watch your drinks, you know the drill. I can’t stress this enough.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @secretlyanxiouspersona, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @why-things-go-boom, @ilovemygaydad

(If you want to be tagged or removed, please let me know! Preferably via notes/reblogs, I have bad memory, but… you do you.)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter doesn’t have as much. Also mentions and slight talk of dysphoria, drinking, drug use, mentions of blood (aka periods, don’t worry, it’s periods)... yeah, that’s all I remember for now...

—————

It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was nowhere to be seen.

Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

——

22:38, Thursday, October 31st, 2002

"I really would've rather gone trick or treating."

"I know, boo, but you look great and my friend is gonna love you. I promise."

There were several wrong things about tonight where it came to Emile, and Remy knew all of them. One, he was sensitive to extreme temperature changes, as he told him over hot chocolate just the other day. But as things were, his costume exposed his midriff and he was snuggling up to Remy before they even left the building. Two, too many people made him incredibly uncomfortable. Strangers only intensified that feeling. And three… he couldn't bring his bunny with him to help with problems one and two.

This was building up to be a disaster.

"Well, isn't this party just so fun," India stated the moment she found Remy. "I'm surprised nobody is a Playboy bunny this year. Well… here's to hoping things will get more interesting later."

"It's totally fine, sweetie—"

"She said it's boring, can we go now?"

"Yeah, you two are better off coming back in about an hour, but you're already here. It'll be a waste of time. You're Emile, right?"

"Yeah, hello!"

"Nice to finally meet you. I'm India." Her smile was as bright as the lights reflecting off her Wonder Woman costume. "So how was Murder week? Did anyone strip?"

"No, not at Weld. What about you?"

"I'm not allowed to strip for immunity anymore, not after what happened two years ago, but… we had a couple of people walking around in towels."

Chris was there, piling red solo cups into pyramids. India and Emile kept talking about Murder and strategies for later years, and Chris was there.

He was… so beautiful. His skin reminded him of the sand on a beach. Warm and inviting beckoning him in. Caramel never looked so good on anyone else. The black hair a stark contrast. Dangerous but looked soft. Like if you touched it it would feel like cotton candy. What he wouldn't give to bury his hands into it—

Yeah... was there any way for someone to get drunk without actually drinking...?

"You're staring for far too long without actually doing anything," Remy heard someone whisper in his ear - Emile? - "go talk to him!"

"Are you trying to play fairy godparent with me?"

"No, but you're worrying me. And it's always best to talk to someone you like. How would they know you like them if you don't tell them?" Emile looked incredibly uncomfortable, even more so than before. "It's too cold…"

"Sorry, angel, don't got a sweatshirt for you." Emile huffed. "Why aren't you with India?"

"She's bringing me Fanta. Did I tell you that my sister is coming over from Evanston next—"

Definitely Emile.

"Yes, you told me. Five times already."

"Oh. Oops. But… really. He would never know you like him unless you tell him, and now is as good a time to tell him as any. And if it fails, I'm here and you can always come back here and we'll go back to your suite and order pizza!"

"I am so not into discussing Fahrenheit 451 with those assholes over there," India declared as she joined them. "What… are we waiting for?"

"Remy wants to talk to his crush but he's not doing anything about it."

"Stop saying that…"

Remy went anyway.

——

"And that's why I think that…"

Remy spaced in and out of the conversation with Chris. It was just… boring. He was talking about Blade Runner for twenty-five minutes out of the forty-five they've been talking, it was almost ridiculous. But he stayed, because… maybe he could… change the topic? Maybe? There was a certain number of times one could say radical or awesome before it turns into a chore, after all.

If only he'd shut up about his fucking crush on Harrison Ford…

"Have you ever seen Pulp Fiction?" Chris choked on his soda. "What?"

"You saw Pulp Fiction? I'd never think someone like you would—"

"Someone like me? And that's what, baby?"

"Just… you seem like the type of person who watches Beverly Hills 90210 or Gilmore Girls."

"And what stops me from liking both 90210 and Pulp Fiction?"

The conversation was incredibly boring, and Remy couldn't help it. He didn't even like 90210. Chris was… well, he was boring, and that wasn't part of the plan at all.

But… he didn't want to fuck this up at all. So… he'd put up with the boring. Okay. He can do it.

And he zoned out on him again…

"...me for a second." And then Chris was gone. What did Remy just get himself into… it wasn't what he imagined it would be like.

Huh. Maybe that's why you should never meet your heroes. Or… something like that.

And then someone jumped on his back.

"Did you tell him yet?" Emile didn't seem quite alright. "India let me out of her sight ‘cause I wanted to ask you, and—"

"Did you drink, sweetheart?"

"No! Absolutely not!" Emile didn't look him in the eyes. Nothing new, really. But Remy was still worried. "Well…"

"Emile, you're sixteen."

"Remy, you're eighteen. Stating obvious facts can be a two-player game, you know!" He sighed and hugged Remy again, only… not quite. "You wanna dance with me? Please?"

His big blue eyes were open so wide and he pouted. He actually pouted.

Remy wanted to kiss him.

No, wait, what?!

"Cutie, we can't dance right now. You look sick."

"I'm totally not sick! It's prolly just the makeup!"

"...no, you definitely look—"

"Sorry about that." Oh, great. Chris was back. "Hey, I'm Chris."

"I'm Emile, it's very nice to meet you, is this Fanta?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good, thanks."

Remy was convinced he was going to regret that night. His crush was one of the most boring people he knew (he might not be, but at least right now he was, and they did talk for almost an hour and that definitely means something), he couldn't find India anywhere, and Emile—

"That Fanta tastes funny… is that vodka?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"What did you put in that cup?" Remy whispered angrily at the upperclassman.

"Vodka. I swear it was only vodka."

——

00:17, Friday, November 1st

No, it wasn't only vodka. But Remy couldn't care at this point.

Yeah… that sounds awful. Of course he cared, but… yeah, he had a bit to drink. And he was making out with Chris in the corner, so it wasn't exactly his biggest concern at the moment.

"Your makeup's coming off," Chris laughed between kisses.

There was a slight issue with this situation. Chris kept trying to… touch. Which was usually a problem, thanks to his body being… well, his body, but today was even worse. For today was day two of shark week. And, like, it wasn't enough that he was trying to get to Remy's not yet existing dick, which even under sober circumstances Remy probably wouldn't have let him, but it was happening during the worst possible time to do that.

There was no better time in history for Remy to feel the dysphoria kicking in, and kicking in hard. Yeah. Look at how much fun he was having.

"Okay, lover boy, time to fuck out of here," someone screamed in his ear a couple minutes later. And forcefully pulled him away from Chris.

India.

"What do you want?"

"I get that you don't have much experience with booze, Skellington, but your friend is missing and I'm not going to look for him alone. And I can see you're enjoying yourself very much."

"Fine… oh. Oh shit."

"Yeah, oh shit. Now you gotta get fixing to get going, anything we gotta do before we leave?"

"...stop at the bathroom."

It was just changing a pad. He could manage going to the girls' room just for that. He could manage that—

"Make it quick, though. Any second we don't look for him is a second gone to waste."

"Alright. Just don't scream at me."

"I ain't screaming!"

It was just changing a pad. It couldn't take longer than two minutes. Just go in there, change it, get out, and—

Yeah… this was going to be tough.

——

It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was still nowhere to be seen.

Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

India only called it a night because she had early classes that day, and Remy tried to reach Emile's cell for a while before giving up and falling asleep around three.

It didn't feel right. He could be dead… Remy should've done more…

And then his phone started ringing. At around nine, his phone started ringing.

"Yes, hello, what—"

"Remy… everything hurts…" Emile was crying. Shit. No, no, that was—

"Where the fuck are you?"

"I don't know… but everything hurts. And…"

"Are you still on campus, sweetie?"

"I… I hope so."

"Can you tell me where you are, what's around you? I'm coming to get you."

Remy started looking for a jacket, still half asleep, as Emile kept talking. He described something that sounded a lot like Harvard Law to Remy. (Well, actually, more like what he imagined Harvard Law looked like after watching Legally Blonde fifteen times).

"Do you mind if I sing?" Emile was calming down. Great. He was still—

"No, not at all. But… one song, alright? I still need you to tell me where you are."

"Alright."

As Remy ran outside, still putting his shoes on, phone glued to his shoulder and ear, he heard a thing he never thought was possible —

"Whatever happened to Saturday night? When you dressed up sharp and you felt alright?"

"...are you crying while singing Hot Patootie?"

"It was the first song I could think of!"

Remy found Emile sitting on a bench (like when Elle met Emmett in Legally Blonde, his little voice told him), his costume still intact but incredibly messed up, the wig thrown to the side. He looked… sick.

There was no real way to describe what he looked like other than sick. And Remy felt guilty.

"Hey, hot patootie, where's your glasses?" Emile shivered, pulling his shoulders.

"I left them in my room... I had… I had lenses on last night… and then I lost them. I can't see much…"

"Do you remember anything?" Remy sat down next to Emile, holding him tight. He was freezing. It was…

Remy felt like he failed. It was the worst feeling. He failed his best friend.

"No. I know I drank… I know this… this guy, he was really nice, he asked me if I wanted to eat something… I don't remember more than that…"

"Sweetie… it'll be alright. I promise." He couldn't exactly promise. Not at this state, anyway. "Let's take you to the clinic, okay?"

Remy had to help Emile walk. Support him on the way, sometimes carry him bridal style, all for about two minutes of walking. But… he was clearly not okay. Remy wasn't going to just… not help him, this was his best friend on campus...

It was only when they made it to the incredibly familiar (at least to Remy) clinical wing that Remy realized he didn't even wear a bra. And only because Emile told him "if any of the people in the clinic call you miss, because your boobs are out, I'm gonna punch them."

He was not going to let Emile punch anyone, but that was not his main concern at the moment.

[benfriday-blog1]

That One Time... In Hell!

Part One: Ben’s Inferno

Growing up, my mother used to worry that the games I was playing would inspire me to worship the Devil. That one night me and my buddies would be sitting around the table in my basement and one of us would say “Hey guys, did you read that passage in the Dungeon Master’s Guide about how to serve the Devil through human sacrifice?” and that would be it; our souls condemned forever.  We’d be in Hell before the Cheeto dust had time to settle on our adolescent fingers. As it turns out, she wasn’t far off.

No, Dungeons and Dragons did not lead me to worship the Devil. I don’t actually worship anything, which was just as bad in the eyes of my Roman Catholic mother. Still, if I’m being honest, it was probably the fantasy games and novels that I used to obsess over that sparked my interest in magic, and magic would eventually lead me to Hell. Just not in the way my mother expected.

It was 2008. I was 23 years old, mom was dead, and I was living on my own for the first time in her run-down house on North Mulberry Street in the dilapidated town of Muncie, Indiana. I wasn’t working, I was in a punk band, and magic was paying the bills.

If you’re reading this sometime in the future and don’t know what “punk” was, it was a type of music that went out of style shortly before I was born. Not that it had ever been in style; that would have defeated the point... Wait. Was there a point?

Anyway, I was still very much an amateur then; I had only started taking the Arts seriously a few years earlier mostly to impress a girl. At the time I was experimenting with teleportation. No one calls it that by the way; No traditional Occult Magicians, your Aleister Crowleys and August Santanas (you know, the ones who take themselves seriously) always come up with shit like "translocation" or "matter displacement" but it’s teleportation. You start in one place and end up somewhere else by traveling through space but not time. It’s fucking Star Trek baby.

In my case, I was trying to find a way to travel from point to point on this plane by moving through another. I got the idea from Dreams in the Witch House by Howard Philip Lovecraft. Yeah, I know I’m well-read as shit. In the book, our protagonist believes that through a combination of arcane knowledge and higher mathematics it might be possible to step out of our world and into another, then with another step, return to our world at a point of our choosing. For me, this point was Las Vegas where I was planning to use the gift of clairvoyance to cheat at cards.

I won’t bore you with the details of how I came to solve this metaphysical puzzle because, for the most part, the details were just that boring. Most magic is boring, at least when you’re first trying to figure it out. You decide what you want to do, or rather what you want magic to do for you via rewriting the laws that govern the universe; Then it’s a lot of equations, a lot of poring over musty old tomes, a lot of ordering components off of the Internet and then looking for a way off of the government watch list you inevitably wind up on. It’s a good thing I did eventually master teleportation because I'm never going to be allowed on another plane for as long as I live.

The day of my big experiment, I found myself back in the basement where my friends and I used to spend our Saturday nights before we learned how to talk to girls. I moved the old table to one side of the room, folded up the metal chairs we’d stolen from Sunday school, and started to open my mind to the universe. No wards to protect me from what might be out there, no groundings to hold me to this world, I let my sigils and equations do their work. They ran through my subconscious the way a program might run in the background on your computer. The spell began loosening my grip on the reality.

I closed my eyes and I saw it, a spark, a flicker of light in the darkness like a match being struck out in space. It was the light of another dimension, one parallel to my own. All I needed to do was walk towards it and I would leave this place behind.

The most disturbing thing about magic is when it actually works. Most of the time it doesn’t, but when it does-- when you successfully throw back the curtain-- it almost always leaves you feeling a little smaller. You think you’d feel bigger, more powerful, having just made reality your bitch, but you don’t. Instead, you’re simply reminded of how much you don’t know about the universe. How much you’ll never understand.

Take teleportation for example. I was twenty-three when I successfully moved from one world into another. That means that for the first twenty-three years of my life I didn’t know you could do that. For seventeen of those years, I didn't even believe that other dimensions existed; not really. On that cold, autumn day in the basement of the house where I grew up, my universe got a little bit bigger. Turns out old H.P. was right.

I moved towards the light. With one step, I left Muncie, Indiana behind and with another I was in Hell.

Seriously, it was the actual Hell.

Like I said, I’m not religious but I had been raised Catholic. I know what Hell is supposed to look like.

Presently, I was standing on a precipice overlooking a lake of fire. Not lava mind you, just fire. Rolling orange flames were dancing across the surface of a great pit as men and women writhed in agony amongst its waves.

Oh yeah, there were people, too. In the lake of fire.

At first, all I could do was stare. There was something wrong with this picture. I mean, aside from the fact that I was watching people burning in a lake of fire. No, not burning. That was the problem. They were in a state of perpetual agony, but otherwise, they looked fine. Their skin wasn’t blackening or boiling or peeling off. That’s what sold it for me that this was Hell-- the fire that burned but did not consume.

Ok, so I was in Hell. Not what I expected, but also not a problem. My spell had worked. One more step and I’d be back on Earth, on the Las Vegas Strip. Probably drinking heavily. I closed my eyes, let my mind drift back into “the zone”. I looked for the light of my own world, I took a step. Nothing. I was still in Hell.

Fuck.

I didn’t have to open my eyes to know my spell had failed. I could tell from the heat and the smell. God, the smell! The rotten egg smell I would have expected; that’s just brimstone. What got me was the smell of rot-- that pungent, wet decay that permeated the place, and something else too, like piss and wet animal hair.

Imagine you’re going to visit your uncle, whom you haven’t seen or heard from in months. Now, imagine you walked into his trailer to find that he had died. Next, imagine that his body had been eaten by his twelve or so cats, all of which lived with him in his small trailer with only one litter box. Finally, imagine that in the weeks that followed, the cats had also died. Oh, and the trailer is on fire. That’s what Hell smells like.

I opened my eyes. “Shit.” I closed them again. Took another step. Opened my eyes. “Shit!” Closed my eyes, stepped, opened them. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”  I was still in Hell! This was bad, like really bad. As far as I knew, this was the worst and last fuck up of my life. I was wrong on both accounts.

Still, it had half worked. I was probably the first living human to have ever set foot here. I took solace in that thought even though I was pretty sure I was going to be the first to die here as well. Where would I go? I mean, Hell exists and I dabbled in the dark arts so… I may have bet on the wrong horse.  

I started to look around, trying to take in my surroundings. If I was going to get out of this mess, I would have to start by getting my bearings and coming up with a plan. Or, failing that, I’d have to pull something out of my ass.

I was still standing on the edge of Lake Friday. Yeah, I named a lake after myself. I’m a pio-fucking-neer. I could just make out the other side-- a barren, rocky coast led to a dark wall of obsidian that surrounded the perfectly round lake. Beyond the wall, I couldn’t see anything, just empty space on the horizon. That’s when I made the mistake of looking up.

Just beyond the horizon, there was another land mass. It was huge and just kind of floating there in space-- a massive ring of black Earth so big I couldn’t make out all of it. I had the feeling it was at least twice the size of where I was now. Beyond it, I could just make out the edge of another floating mass. It was like all of Hell was one big funnel in space made up of multiple rings… No, not rings-- circles. Like I said, I couldn’t make out all of it, but I had a feeling there were nine of them. Nine circles, and I was at the bottom.  Bens fucking inferno.

So, Hell was real and made up of roughly the same geography described by the poet Dante. not exactly the same (I'm pretty sure the bottom was supposed to be frozen and where I was standing was hot as balls) but it was close enough to make me wonder if inferno had in fact been a work of fiction. what made the whole situation worse was that I could see the ceiling. Yeah, instead of black space or stars or whatever I saw a rocky ceiling, like the roof of a cave where stalagmites hung down like fangs in the mouth of the beast. Hell, maybe they were.

What did it mean? Was Hell in a cave? Was I actually under the Earth? If I dug straight up would I be in Jerusalem like in Inferno? No, that couldn’t be right. My spell had half worked; I had separated myself from the material plane. This was another dimension, and aside from the books I had read and the stuff I was told in Sunday school, I really had no frame of reference from which to try and understand the place. No way to wrap my head around another world where none of the rules of my own applied.

I needed to get out of the open. I turned and surveyed my immediate surroundings. Behind me was about a hundred feet of rocky coastline that ended at an obsidian wall that wrapped around the circle. Set into the wall was an archway, beyond which I could see only blackness.

I approached the archway. I had no idea what was on the other side, but I also had nowhere else to go. Even after I was right in front of it, I couldn’t see inside; It was just too damn dark. I reached out a hand to make sure it wasn’t just part of the wall. Sure enough, my hand moved into open space.

As much as I needed to get out of the open, I wasn’t willing to stumble blindly into the mouth of the beast. I dug in my pocket for my keys. On my keychain was a red plastic lightsaber I had pulled out of a cereal box. I took the saber off of the keychain and snapped off the blade, underneath was a tiny light bulb. I pressed the button on the side and a pencil-thin beam of light shot from the end of the toy. Not much of a torch, but it would have to do.

I aimed the beam through the archway. The light struck the darkness and vanished. It didn’t even begin to illuminate that space; in fact, I’m pretty sure it got darker. It was like the light was just being swallowed up by shadow.

“Fuck that,” I said a little louder then I should have. There was no force on Earth or heaven that would get me into that… Hell cave.

I turned back towards the lake, not really sure where to go next. That was when I saw my first demon. It was big-- like really big, fucking humongous. It had a broad, muscular body covered in red scales, goat-like legs, and a bull’s head with 3 foot long horns and shaggy black hair. It was flying over the lake on a set of massive, membranous wings like those of a giant bat.

I stood there dumbfounded; I was too scared to run, too fascinated to look away. I watched as the demon swooped over Lake Friday, scanning the writhing masses. There was something familiar about it. A moment later it was joined by two more bull-faced bat-fuckers which swooped down from the circle above.

The first dropped into the fire and came up holding a human woman in his claws. She was shrieking as he tossed her into the air over the lake where she was caught by one of the new arrivals. It held her by one arm, allowing her to dangle over the pit. She screamed and squirmed as he held her there for the others in the fire to see.

I suddenly realized that these creatures weren’t just tormenting this one human; they were using her to instill fear in the others. It wasn’t enough that they were burning forever, they also had to know that things could still get worse. They had to have that constant anxiety hanging over their heads. Fear-- it was like the icing on the Devil’s birthday cake. Finally, the other newcomer swooped in and grabbed the woman by the other arm.

I knew what was coming and I didn’t want to see it. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could still hear it. There was a scream, then a pop, followed by a wet, sloshing sound like a water balloon to the ear. When I opened my eyes, the woman was gone and two of the demons were flying back towards the other circle. The third was staring down at me.

I turned and ran for the archway. I said there was no force on Earth or heaven that could get me into that cave; turns out there are a few forces in Hell that could. I barreled headlong into the blackness and…

“What the fuck? “

I found myself standing in what I could only describe as… a break room. Like, a really shitty break room. The floors were made from rusted metal grates, the walls were stained and moldy but otherwise, it was a definitely a break room. There were plastic-topped tables surrounded by metal folding chairs, a couple of vending machines and a counter with a sink and a coffee maker.

I looked down. I was standing on a glowing, white tile marked with a pentagram. I had seen this before. Not in dreams or visions, not in the pages of some unholy grimoire, or during a dark rite, but in Doom. The video game. I swear to God, it was one of the teleporters from Doom! I must have played that game a million times. Speaking of games, I suddenly realized why I recognized that demon. It was Pit Fiend- Lord of Devils and Servant of Asmodeus from Dungeons and Dragons. Holy shit, it looked like it had been pulled right from the pages of the Monster Manual. What the literal Hell was going on here?

No sooner had I stepped off of the teleporter than the door to my left (the door marked with a little picture of a horned demon with the word ‘men’s room’ written under it) opened and another demon stepped out. It was massive, with green scaly legs and a muscular body covered in thick brown hair. Its arms ended in two sets of writhing tentacles and most disturbing of all were its two baboon-like heads.

“Demogorgon!?” I asked aloud before I could stop myself. The bi-cranial ape turned to face me.

“What? Wait…Who the fuck are you?”

I turned to run back to the teleport only to be stopped dead in my tracks. Pit Fiend had followed me, and was now standing on the pad staring down at me and wearing a dumbfounded expression on its face.

“Yo, Phil,” called Demogorgon. “You seeing this shit?”

“I… I think so,” replied the unholy terror apparently called Phil. “Is that… a human? Like, a live one?”

I think it is… Oh God, how did it even get in here?”

“I don’t know. I saw It near the Stygian Pit. At first, I thought one of the damned had managed to claw their way out but It's wearing clothes and It has a heartbeat. Oh God! What are we going to do!?”

Phil took a couple of nervous steps back. Away from me. Like he was scared.

“Calm down, Phil! It’s ok… It’s going to be ok. I’m going to try and talk to It.”

Demogorgon then turned his attention back to me. He swallowed hard, cleared his throat.

“Uh, Hello… human. I am Trevor the Tormenter. I’m uh… Assistant Manager of General Torment here on the eighth circle. Oh, and this is Phil. He’s on the Disembowelment Board. Say Hello, Phil.”

“He-he-Hello… human.”

They were afraid, and once more, it seemed I was the thing they were afraid of. The demons… were afraid of me. What was it they called me? Not just human, but living human. Was it possible that these horrors only had power over the dead? I decided that maybe it was time I took control of the situation.

“Hey, guys. I’m Ben Friday. Nice to meet you.”

“Uh… yeah,” said Trevor, seeming to relax a little. “Nice to meet you, too. Always nice to meet a… living human.”

“You seem a little nervous there, Trevor. you ok?”

“What? Nervous? No… No, I’m not… I’m cool, man. I’m good.”

“I’m not!” Exclaimed Phil, who was actually shaking. “I’m fucking terrified! How… how did you get here? What do you want?  What are you going to do to us?”

“Shut up, Phil!” Trevor shouted with some urgency.

“Do to you? Phil, come on. You’re a big, scary demon. What could a little human like me possibly do to you?”

“Don’t… Don’t give me that.” Phil stammered. “I work with the damned souls of humans every day. I’ve read your files; I know the shit you people get up to when you’re alive.”

Suddenly it all made sense. These guys spend their entire lives managing the worst of the worst that humanity has to offer. Guys like Hitler, Dahmer, and Manson. If they thought we were all just like those guys, then, of course, the last thing they would want is to see one of us running loose in their backyard.

“Just today,” Phil continued, “I was tormenting the soul of Queen Mary.”

“You mean Bloody Mary?” Trevor cut in. “Man, that chick burned more people at the stake than I have.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Ok, but you guys do torture people.”

The demons were silent for several moments. Finally, Trevor spoke up.

“Well… yeah. I suppose we do.”

"You suppose you torture people?”

“Ok, yes, we do. But at least when we torment the souls of the damned, we do it because it’s our job!”

“Your Job?!”

“Well yeah,” started Phil, getting back into the conversation. “I mean, it’s not like we enjoy this sort of thing. Not the way you humans do. It’s just our job, it’s why we were created. Why I even find the whole business rather dull and tedious most of the time. Real nine-to-five slog, you know? Especially after you’ve been at it for a few thousand years.”

“You humans though!" continued Trevor. "the things you do to each other, usually just because you can… It makes my skin crawl."

“You have got to be kidding me. I just watched you pluck a woman out of a fire and dismember her.”

“Yeah, I did do that; it’s part of my routine. But you guys, what you do to each other can be way worse than anything we could think up.”

“Ok. Ok.” I said, putting up my hands. The two demons took a hesitant step back as though they expected me to start biting. “What we have here is a classic example of what we Earthlings call a sampling error.”

“A what, now?”

“A sampling error. Look, it’s like how on my world, in my country, a lot of people are afraid of immigrants right now. They turn on their TVs, and they see Fox News talking about all these different cases of immigrants committing violent crimes. Suddenly, they start thinking that all immigrants are violent criminals.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah, except it’s all bullshit meant to push an agenda. People think immigrants are criminals because they aren’t seeing all the immigrants that aren’t criminals. In fact, immigrants are less likely to commit violent crimes than the people who are born in the country, but you’d never know that by watching the news. Because “immigrants are coming to steal our jobs and rape our women” makes for a better headline than “some people just suck”.”

“So, you’re saying that humans aren’t so bad. That we only think they are because we only see the really bad ones.”

“Exactly. See, Phil gets it.”

“Yeah, ok, hu… I mean Ben,” said Trevor. “Maybe not all humans are as bad as the ones we have here. Honestly, I wouldn’t know. All I know about the souls I manage is what I read off of their rap sheets. Could be the rest of you are all saints, but that’s not what I’m worried about right now. I’m worried about you. Who you are, why you’re here, and what you plan to do.”

“Well, guys, that’s kind of a long story. Basically, I’m here by accident. I’m kind of a magician, you see. I cast a spell that was supposed to take me to Las Vegas and I wound up here instead. Now I’m just trying to get back home.”

“Oh,” said Trevor, letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s not so bad. I thought maybe this was some sort of invasion or coup.” The big demon chuckled. “But you say you didn’t even mean to be here?”

“No, and I’d kind of like to get back so… There a way out of here?”

“None that I know of. We’re more about keeping things in than letting things out. No, we’ll have to take you to see Lu. He’ll know how to handle this.”

“Lu?”

“Yeah, he’s kind of the boss.”

“Ok, so is he like the General Manager of Torment? “

“Oh no. That’s Larry; this is way above his pay grade. No, we’re taking you to the big boss, Lucifer Morningstar. He kind of runs the show down here.”    

Just like that, just when I felt like I had a handle on things, my blood ran cold. “The Devil. You’re taking me to meet the Devil.”

“The one and only.” Phil winked.

Trevor made a show of ushering me toward the door. “Right this way…Human.”

[returnerofthesky]

why do you hate skyrim so much, anyway?

To be honest, I don’t… “hate” Skyrim, per-say? Hate’s too strong a word for any game for me, and even then Skyrim isn’t necessarily a terrible game despite how much I dislike it.

Which probably sounds weird, but that’s just me; most games that I dislike aren’t just plain old bad games. I don’t have an emotional dislike of, say, Bubsy, or Superman 64, or so on. They’re shit games, but there’s nothing particularly redeemable about them. They might have had potential, but it’s more conceptual, rather than being very flawed games with some good ideas (like Gates to Infinity, or Super Mystery Dungeon to a lesser extent).

Anyway, to get back to the question, the reason I don’t like Skyrim is because it feels creatively bankrupt.

To steal a quote from Super Bunnyhop, it’s hard to get engaged in Skyrim when every character feels like the most boring character, when every quest feels like the most boring quest, when every dungeon feels like the most boring crawl… you get the idea. To me it feels like every single time Bethesda had the opportunity to do something creative or interesting in Skyrim or its DLCs, they took the easiest, most boring route possible instead, even though it actively hurts the game’s appeal. And it’s very telling that what I consider to be the two most interesting quests in the game (the murder mystery in Windhelm and the peace treaty in the main story) are also two of the buggiest quests in the game.

Like, vampires in Skyrim are a good example of what I’m talking about. There’s a book in the previous games about a vampire hunter and a scholar (actually a vampire) advising him, and he describes Skyrim vampires as having breath that could freeze the blood inside of you, as well as actually living underneath frozen lakes and being able to reach up through the ice, grab people, and drag them under to feed. That’s not only a fascinating (and grim) concept, but an incredibly cool idea for a snow-based vampire.

Now granted, that’s a fairly dynamic idea, and it’d be hard to implement in Skyrim (especially given they never bothered to add underwater combat), so while I could criticize them for that, I won’t. What I will criticize is the fact that they didn’t even try to make the best approximation of that idea, instead opting to make vampires into slightly tweaked and reskinned bandits/draugr/etc etc.

Like, it wouldn’t need to be exactly like the idea presented in the book, but imagine this: vampires spawn in this invisible, walk-through-able state and have a circle that activates them. Once you walk in and out of that circle, an “invisibility spell wears off” animation plays and they properly spawn, body, weapons and all. Then, they aggro and you might get ambushed if you weren’t being careful. It’s not exactly like the book, but it’s close enough, and since the rest of the game’s enemies are so samey it’d be a nice change of pace.

There’s so many elements that are lacking that it’s very easy to sense the hand of the devs making out exactly what you can and can’t do, despite the whole TES brand emphasizing freedom. It’s obvious that you can’t do absolutely anything (well, at least it was obvious until Breath of the Wild came out), but Skyrim is especially bad at locking you out or not considering other options.

You can’t double-cross or double-deal in the Civil War aside from one single part that basically is the last chance for you to decide your faction. Being a thief is basically useless unless you join the guild, because the Fence perk for Speech doesn’t unlock until the skill is almost max. Conversations in general are far less varied and open-ended than before, meaning speech checks are few and far between as is. Stealth is only really useful for sneak-attacking, since most dungeons aren’t designed to be stealthed through completely. Most of the game’s “puzzles” are those simple match-the-symbol ones, and there isn’t anything particular brain-teasing or dynamic compared to even Oblivion.

I mean, even dragons have this issue. Anyone ever try fighting a dragon without any ranged options? It’s hell. And boring. And oh, oh so bland.

Similarly, like I mentioned, the quests themselves are incredibly bland. I’ve already seen plenty of posts on here throughout the years about how even the most mundane, non-combat-sounding quests usually end up with “please go to this dungeon full of Draugr and get my thing”, but it really is that bad. Most of the quests in Skyrim are either being sent to a dungeon to deal with the incredibly mediocre combat, or you get a vague, completely unashamed fetch quest.

A lot of this is tied to the Miscellaneous quest option, which is basically the game’s way of saying “we whipped up a quick, shitty quest in an hour or two, have fun”. In Riften alone, there’s at least seven or eight Misc quests that essentially amount to “I need you to find me some items, please”:

Finding ten fire salts for the blacksmith

Getting a sword and bringing it to its owner at the castle

Finding alchemy ingredients for the alchemy shop’s apprentice

Finding some gemstones and other items for a jeweler

Finding some gemstones for a bartender’s unfinished wedding ring

Finding ice wraith teeth for a lady to preserve her

Going to another big city to deliver a dagger

Going to a small village to pick up some ore and bring it back

And there’s very little proper “masking” to make these quests seem more interesting. The two quests that I didn’t include that are still fetch quests are a quest about mead being stolen (actually smuggled out at lower prices, which you can partake in or tell to the guards), and a quest about a Dunmer raised by Argonians who wants to find out more about his real parents (which is at least vaguely interesting in and of itself, due to the general relationship between Dunmer and Argonians and all that).

It isn’t just the Misc quests that suffer from this, though. Most of the writing is flawed, bland, or otherwise retreading old ground already, and a lot of it suffers from huge pacing issues. The main quest seems to expect that you’re not going to get distracted, so all of the “urgent” situations it sets up fall flat.

The Fighters Guild recruits you, has you do one proper quest where you find out that they’re werewolves, do one more radiant quest and suddenly they decide that you’re important enough to become a werewolf too. Not that “you know so you might as well”, but that you’ve actually done enough work (two quests worth, oh boy) to merit it (also you’re forced to become a werewolf even if you don’t want to). The Dark Brotherhood essentially does the same Oblivion story of a traitor in the guild over again, except with less interesting characters and less personal stake in the goings-on.

And the quests that aren’t tied to guilds aren’t really that much better, save for maybe a handful that I can’t even think of off the top of my head. It’s lazy, messy, and boring. It’s not completely, utterly terrible or full of plotholes, it’s passable at its best, but it’s still not terribly thought-provoking. I mean, thinking about it is what made me realize it’s not that good, so.

Perhaps more damning than any of this though, is that the gameplay itself is so boring. It’s already kind of an issue that Skyrim has iffy writing in a genre that generally needs to have semi-decent writing most of the time, but its gameplay isn’t really interesting enough to pick up the slack, either.

Admittedly, this problem goes back deeper than just Skyrim - even back during the Morrowind days, people were complaining about the combat due to how you could walk up to enemies and attack or use a spell, and you’d miss even though you’re standing right next to them. People still complain to this day about how confusing the combat is for an action-RPG.

But the problem with that logic is that Morrowind isn’t an action-RPG, it’s a proper old CRPG, more along the lines of Baldur’s Gate or Icewind Dale. You might be moving in first-person with the WASD keys and so on, but make no mistake that its core gameplay is far more in line with how the older isometric RPGs played, right down to standing right next to an enemy and missing your swings even though the animation played. When you view the game this way, most of its design decisions make a lot more sense.

Unfortunately, that never really registered (again, people still say Morrowind’s an action-RPG), so Oblivion changed things to have some sorta-kinda action-RPG combat. They didn’t rebalance the rest of the RPG elements (how to level up, level scaling, etc) to compensate, though, but instead of tweaking everything to work more naturally in Skyrim, they just removed all of the RPG elements entirely except for the Health/Magicka/Stamina thing.

Of course, that results in another problem: if the game is going to lean so hard on its action elements instead of its RPG elements… why not just play a better action game? Like, Skyrim’s combat is nothing to write home about. Oblivion’s wasn’t great, but at least it was faster and you could attack while jumping and swimming. Skyrim’s is just slow and clunky, and lacking in depth unless you actively choose to add it in.

The perks system is what ties into the combat problems the most. The issue is that the combat actually does have a small bit of depth and quality of life improvements… if you pick the perks that activate them. There’s two main screws with this, the first one being that due to how the level scaling works, you’re better off choosing the perks that just upgrade the raw damage you deal. Since even the most basic enemies slowly become health sponges, the fancy perks usually aren’t as helpful when it comes to actually defeating them.

The other screw is that these upgrades are even perks in the first place. While some abilities are understandable (like the one that sometimes replaces a normal cinematic kill with a decapitation), the ones that alter your power attacks to have extra effects have absolutely no business being optional when the combat is already as shallow as it is. If these tweaks to the power attacks had been default abilities, the perk trees could have been changed or expanded to capitalize on the differences between each kind of attack. On top of this, the choice between maces, axes and swords could have been more significant, rather than simply being minor differences in speed and power.

I know there are more abilities and special things you can do with the dragon shouts, of course, but between having to fight through dungeons in order to get those shouts, and then kill a dragon for a soul to unlock it, it’s usually too much of a pain in the ass to be worth it. Forget going out of my way to get Throw Voice - why not just give me a Noisemaker Arrow or something and be done with it?

The unfortunate thing is that despite all these issues, the combat is still generally just okay at best, so it can be hard sometimes to complain about it. But when the entire game is focused almost entirely around this combat, with almost no quest or gameplay variety to speak of, the only way it could be really seen as “good” by any stretch is by people who haven’t played other, better games.

But anyway… uh, yeah. tl;dr: I don’t like Skyrim because even though it’s incredibly safe and boring to play… it’s incredibly safe and boring to play.

Like, it’s oddly depressing to hash all this out because I really was excited for Skyrim six years ago, and I did genuinely enjoy it at first. Hell, despite all these problems I’ve still probably put way too many hours into it than I really should have. But nowadays, it just doesn’t feel that interesting. Oblivion, Morrowind, Daggerfall, and ESO are all much, much better games, and even though they have their flaws, they have a lot more interesting ups, as well. Morrowind is all-around an excellent CRPG, Daggerfall is an incredibly interesting roguelikey experience, Oblivion generally has better atmosphere and more quest variety, ESO has great combat and writing, albeit at the expense of stealth and some puzzles.

Skyrim... I dunno. Skyrim is stuck somewhere between being an average game and an undercooked one, and that really eats at me because I know that the franchise can do better. I didn’t even discuss a lot of the other problems I have with the game, just the major ones. But considering that Fallout 4 has a lot of the same issues, but even worse... I worry for what the next entry in the series might be, if it’s handled by Bethesda proper.

[stereksummerexchange]

Mind’s a Mess

@inatshej

by @septima-sum

“This is our new student,” Finstock tells the class. “Derek Hale! Go easy on him, you rabid monsters.”

Stiles gets a burst of anxiety from the new kid. For a moment, he hears Derek’s thoughts loud and clear. I hate First Days. I never get used to the staring. Play it cool, damn it. Play it cool.

Stiles winces in sympathy. Yeah, First Days suck.

To Derek’s credit, he looks as bored and disaffected as he possibly can while introducing himself to twenty new people who will mercilessly judge every single one of his moves. His tells them that his family moved here from New York, which sounds cool until he mentions the upstate part. He has three siblings. Two of them also go this school, while is older sister is off to college. He likes gaming, movies, and food, by which he means eating rather than preparing. He’s also a werewolf. “And that’s it, mostly,” he concludes.

Okay, the last part is probably not something that comes up in most introductions, but that sort of info is par for the course in Beacon Hills. Everybody is something in this town. When Derek is finished with the introduction, he scans the rows of chairs and – hurray! – ends up claiming the free place next to Stiles. He’s slumping into it as if he wishes he could disappear. Makes himself smaller than he is. Observes everything.

Stiles very much wants to read his thoughts, really read his thoughts, deliberately, but doesn’t. He had many a talk with Ms. Morell why privacy is sacrosanct. Being born a telepath, it was a tough thing to learn. He’s always caught snippets of thoughts here and there, even if he didn’t want to. As soon as he could talk, that got him in trouble big time. Like when he’d mentioned the divorce to Scott, who hadn’t known about it. (And neither had his dad, actually).

Great powers beget great fuck-ups.

Speaking of which, Finstock’s cell phone goes off and prompts him to argue with the poor person calling him. “Are you kidding me? That’s why it’s called an insurance – no – that’s the literal definition of the word!” He scowls at the class as if they are to blame for his predicament. “You do group work until I get back! No shenanigans! I’m looking at you, Greenberg.”

“Stop picking on Greenberg,” a girl in the last row yells.

“I’m not playing favorites! I hate all of you!” Finstock shouts and slams the door shut.

“Wow.” Derek seems bewildered, to put it mildly. “Is he always like that?”

Stiles grins. “My sweet summer child… that’s nothing. Wait until he recruits you into the Lacrosse team and gives one of his motivational pre-game speeches. Now that’s a spectacle.”

Derek processes that. “Can’t wait,” he says dubiously.

“What’s up with the whole Clark Kent thing?” Stiles asks him, motioning to Derek’s bulky black glasses and his whole… vibe.  Like the plaid button-down shirt that strains to fit around his athletic form, or the very neat hairstyle that makes him appear like an engineering student form the 1950s.  He seems like the world’s least convincing nerd. As an actual nerd, Stiles feels compelled to defend the honor of his brethren.

Derek corrects the position of his glasses. “Clark Kent?”

“You know, Superman?” Stiles asks in a tone of profound derision. Jesus. They don’t make ‘em any brighter these days, do they.

“I know Superman,” Derek says. He sounds insulted, which, fair point, he has every right to be. “Kal-El from Krypton, created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster in 1938. I’m just wondering if you’re talking about the Pre-Crisis or Post-Crisis versions? The Golden Age? Silver Age? Bronze? Or maybe you’re talking about Bizarro Superman.”

“Um,” Stiles utters eloquently. This is not going the way he imagined it would go.

“If you mean the 1930s version, you’re practically describing me as an aggressive vigilante, so thanks for that. Or maybe you think I’m the archetype of the brave-hearted hero with a strong sense of justice, morality and righteousness? Like the version from the 1940s onward? Maybe. But you could also mean that I resemble the recent DCEU version, where Superman is deeply distrustful, doesn’t give a crap about human lives and the entire heroic arc is all about his ego. That comparison I would find offensive, frankly.”

“Uhhh… well.” It’s possible that Stiles’ knees turn a little weak. “I just meant because of the glasses and your whole suppressed jock vibe,” he says. “Dude, I don’t know you well enough to even guess which moral belief system you ascribe to!”

Derek considers this. “If you have to make a comparison at all, compare me to the classic Post-Crisis version,” he says earnestly. “And I’m not a jock, suppressed or otherwise.”

“Ok,” Stiles says, bewildered. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind. Fine. But really, what’s up with the glasses? Wolves have perfect vision.”

Derek seems to deflate. “I know, and so do hunters. My family insist I tried to blend in as much as possible. I’ve worn glasses for years.”

That Stiles didn’t expect at all. “Really? Wow.” He’s been so used to living in the little bubble that is Beacon Hills that he forgot what it’s like out there. “This town is warded. We haven’t had hunter activity in, like, decades. You couldn’t find a safer place anywhere on this planet.”

Derek looks unconvinced but doesn’t voice his doubts.

-

Truth to be told, Stiles is envious.

Of Scott, who lives for the full moons, for the nights spent running through the Preserve, where he can unleash his powers and feel at peace with himself. Of Kira, whose mother instructed her in the ways of kitsunes since she was a little girl. Even a little bit of Jackson, lizard freak that he is, because even he can display his kanima self in this town whenever he wishes to.

In contrast, telepathic abilities are intrusive by their very nature. Not something to be cherished and celebrated – they’re a problem to be managed.

Which is why Stiles loved loved loved the family trip to Chicago last year. Just being in the city and opening himself up, listening to the hundreds of voices streaming past him. He figured he wouldn’t do any harm that way, not if he couldn’t tell whose thoughts he was emerging himself in… but really, in all likelihood that was probably a convenient lie he told himself.

-

Derek sits with them at lunch. He learns that Scott, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are werewolves. He learns that Lydia is a banshee and Kira a kitsune.

It’s with the familiar nervousness that Stiles tells him he’s a telepath.

Oh shit, Derek’s mind yells. A telepath? Is he reading my thoughts now? Does he know I think he’s CUTE?

Stiles, under the greatest effort known to humankind up to this point, manages not to do a tap dance in the middle of the cafeteria. He closes his mind, but it’s too late to forget what he just learned. Cute. Derek thinks he’s cute!  

“You can read thoughts?” Derek asks out loud, an anxious edge to his oh-so casual question.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirms and fiddles with his napkin.

“Are you reading everyone’s thoughts here?”

“Absolutely not,” Stiles says and acts extra annoyed because of his latent guilt. “There are rules and guidelines. I have ethics to consider, man. Not that I’m interested in the dull inner workings of you unwashed furballs anyway.” The last part he says to all of the werewolves at the table.

“Like we’re interested in your inner workings either,” Erica says sweetly.

Yelping, Stiles ducks as Isaac throws a crumbled paper at him, but it still hits him right in the center of his face. Curse that scarf-wearing annoyance with his impeccable aim.

“You should really try out the Lacrosse team,” Scott tells Derek. “You look like you’d be a good fit!”

“He means that you’re built like a brick house,” Boys says. “And just for the record, I agree. Come to one of our open training sessions, check it out. There’s no harm in that.” 

Derek hesitates. He’s worried, that much Stiles can tell even without working his telepathic mojo.

“I haven’t really played sports yet,” Derek says. “At school, I mean. My mother was always worried I would be too good at it and would give my werewolf identity away.”

That earns him a few looks a pity, but Scott also slings his arm around his shoulders and tells him it’s all going to be fine.

And maybe for the first time that day, Derek believes them.

-

 Growing up, Stiles watched his parent interact with ease, often communicating mentally instead of verbally. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to him.

Sometimes Stiles will visit Claudia’s grave and the wind will ruffle his hair… almost with purpose, almost lovingly – and he’ll imagine it’s her. He’ll imagine that something of her is left behind; a fragment, a piece or her mind. In those moments, he allows himself to believe she watches over him still.

-

Stiles learns that Derek likes to run first thing in the morning, when the dawn is just breaking and the air is still chilly and damp.

He also collects graphic novels and studies for tests with a single-minded intensity that is nothing short of impressive.

Most of the time he’s so quiet that his deadpan humor all hits them a second too late, surprising them into fits of laughter.

And yes, Derek is great at Lacrosse – which irks Jackson to no end and delights everyone else.

-

They’re supposed to study together, but Stiles can’t focus on electrostatic charge right now.

Because: cute.

It’s unhealthy how often Stiles obsesses about that one word and ponders its many connotations. Why didn’t Derek ask him out yet? Why? It can’t be for the lack of puns about bisexuality, because Stiles didn’t spare him those. And yeah, it’s not like Derek is obligated to make a move, he hardly needs to ask out every person he found attractive for one split second, but… but.

“Stiles,” Derek sighs and closes the book he was reading with a thud. He looks at his friend with fond annoyance. “I feel like this would be so much simpler if you just read my damn mind.”

“You mean that?” Stiles asks, nearly breathlessly.

“I do.”

And that’s how it all begins.

For the lovely inatshej and their prompt: I love friends to lovers, preferebly high school, human, light angst with a fluffy ending, maybe nerd Derek.

[wellthatwasaletdown]

Hi there, I just stumbled upon your blog and I scrolled through it for some time and read a lot of the messages and I've got a few questions because I don't understand. 1. What exactly don't you like about Harry's promo and stuff and how they're showing him off? I just don't understand. I haven't followed his solo promotion that close.. 2. Why are people so angry with Harry & say that he broke up the band? I mean, I know that H proposed the hiatus but why are they so angry with him? And I read a few times that it wasn't okay what he did to the boys and I just don't get it. I genuinely don't understand all of this 3. Why are so many people against Nick?

4. Seems to me that a lot of people also don't like Jeff Azoff? Why is that? I'm also really sorry, I don't want to get on your nerves. I just would like to get an explanation because I haven't been following everything since the hiatus & there's a lot going on .. Thanks for your time to read & maybe answer this. 😊

***

Hiding my response under a cut, cuz I know it’s going to be abominably long, because I’m abominably long winded at the best of times.

Hi Anon! Don’t worry about anything, I’m happy to answer questions and I’m sure other followers in here will be happy to give their side as well since everyone has their own reasons and viewpoints on the subjects that you have brought up.

I will answer best as I can for each one! I just want to start this with the caveat that this is just MY opinion. I do not demand that others agree, and I fully respect that others feel otherwise about Harry, I only ask that they respect that these are my feelings.

1. I’ll start this off with the point that I used to be a big Harry fan. I came into this fandom as a fan of Harry, though I’ve only been a fan for about a year and a half (I came in about two months before the hiatus began, aren’t I so smart) but I was interested in what he would end up doing because I sorta assumed he would be a solo artist at some point and it’s safe to say I was not in the least bit surprised by his solo album coming out (more on this later though). I spent that year while he was recording and what not getting to know more about him, what he said publicly, watching interviews, etc, to try to suss out his public personality. I choose not to delve into the personal, I know he’s a private person and I respect that, but I’m not blind or an idiot, tabloid stories are hard to avoid but what I found with Harry, at least back then when I was watching interviews and older things he did with 1D, was that the person the trash media was trying to sell me didn’t seem to the be the same guy I saw in interviews. He struck me as very genuine, down to earth, kind hearted, intelligent, talented and witty. Not to mention that we shared an interest in classic rock, so I was definitely interested in what he would produce musically as a solo artist.

So you can imagine my shock and surprise when he released that bizarro, cheesy little video/teaser/commercial/whatever the fuck that was. Because my initial, immediate gut reaction was that it screamed arrogance and pretentiousness. It assumed that everyone who saw it would immediately know it was Harry Styles and that it was for a song. Except it didn’t really tell us anything, other than the fact that he can show off his body while wet and stare doe-eyed into a camera while a date scrolls across the bottom with some tinkling piano music in the background. I saw someone describe it as a bad cologne commercial once and frankly, that is the best description. Point is, I was highly unimpressed, it seemed very much at odds with the public personality I knew Harry as and I’m afraid things just continued to go down hill from there in my estimation of him.

Since then, with every interview, every appearance he has done, this arrogant, pretentious, but also rather robotic and lifeless personality has continued to prevail. There have been moments when I’ve seen glimpses of the Harry I used to see publicly, but they are few and far between. What really gets me is that this seems to be an Image that he is trying to sell. This aloof, above it all, sex, drugs and rock and roll star that hearkens back to the 70′s, which frankly is an era best left behind us for a lot of reasons.

So the question remains, is this the real Harry? Or is this a fabrication made purely to sell the image and music? I know that he is fiercely protective of his privacy and therefore his private self and I fully respect that, but if he is the super nice, kind, sweet, gentleman that we often hear he is from people who meet him personally, why not just be himself for the most part? Because that is someone I can get behind, that is someone I can support even if I’m not so into his music. This current image is just so unlikeable, cold, haughty and frankly, a little gross.

Speaking of the music. Despite my altered opinion of Harry, I was still very much interested in hearing his music and chose to keep an open mind and reserve judgement until I heard it. Unfortunately, for me, SOTT was kinda wah-wah. It bored me and I found the lyrics very lacking and not very interesting or deep. I heard ESNY on SNL and didn’t mind it at first but grew bored of it after about 5 listens. I’ve only heard Two Ghosts twice, when he performed them and it too bored me. I will be honest and say that due to my general dislike of those three songs, I haven’t bothered with the rest of the album. I’m a first impressions kind of girl and I gave him three and decided that I was done. I’ve heard enough about some of the lyrics, ones that make me incredibly uncomfortable because of their nature (and before anyone says it, I have ZERO problems with him writing about women or sexuality in his songs, I know he’s an adult and welcome a mature, adult sound from him, but I feel that not only did he cross the line into vulgar with some of his lyrics, he also pissed on the line and set fire to it).

2. Now, I do not have nearly as strong an opinion on this as many others and I believe that’s down to the fact that when I came into this fandom, I already knew the hiatus was coming and fully expected solo work from all of them. It does seem now that Harry might have been a tad disingenuous in his methodology, claiming to need a break but also hitting the ground running with a behind the scenes movie already set up and recording (under the presumption that people would care that bloody much about him recording the album in the first place, which is, once again, kind of on the arrogant side). But because I haven’t been a fan as long, my opinions, knowledge and feelings on the subject are frankly limited, so I will allow others to more concisely and clearly answer this question for you.

3. With Nick, for me it’s a personal feeling, which I know really only has merit for me at the end of the day. But he seems a bit slimy, as though he hooks on to his more famous friends to get more fame for himself. He’s often lacked tact (as someone mentioned, he was glibly chatting away about meeting up with Harry and what they talked about less than a week after Harry lost his step-father) and seems to bring up Harry and his other famous friends more often than he changes his underwear. He’s a name dropper and in my opinion, a user. Again, others can give their reasons for liking or disliking Nick to maybe give you some more concrete evidence than just my gut feelings.

4. Jeff Azoff, oh Jeff Azoff. I’m not a Larrie, and I wasn’t around when there seemed to be a strange consensus in the fandom that the Azoffs would rescue the entire band (from what, I’m not sure), but like Nick, part of my dislike is gut feeling, he seems like a coat-tailer, who is using Harry to build up his own business (which has failed once already, but rescued by daddy before any real embarrassment) and to have the bragging rights of landing a big whale.

Speaking of daddy, here is where I have some more concrete dislike with the Azoffs, namely Irving. The man is known as the Poison Dwarf for a reason to start with. But back in 2010, when all kinds of mergers and buy outs were going on and he suddenly found himself on the board at Ticketmaster, he received a whopping $2 million dollar bonus (plus another million later), his entire full years salary, and other cushy financial benefits while thousands were laid off from their jobs. I’m sorry, but that is shit business practice and as someone who has been laid off multiple times and knows how horrible that can be, the uncertainty and fear of what will happen next in this job market, I was thoroughly incensed to read that.

Jeff did work for Irving during that time at Front Line, though he has since parted ways to go off to start his new business, with only one client.

One client that he seems to cling on to like a turd that won’t let go.

Now I know a lot of people believe they are friends and yadda yadda, but from my perspective, it seems as though this friendship is built entirely on business and in my opinion, I would not be in the least bit surprised if Jeff dropped Harry like a hot potato should he no longer deliver. But again, this is my personal opinion and I will leave it open to others to also add their own reasons and perhaps some more facts than I am able to provide.

Anyway, this is as predicted, very long winded, but I hope I gave you some insight into where my head and opinions are. I know a lot of Harries believe firmly that if I don’t like Harry or his music, I should just bog off and stop paying attention to him. And maybe they are right, however, I work a boring job and frankly I enjoy conversing with people on the subject because as I said to a friend the other day, I invested in Harry. Not just financially, but emotionally, being a fan, with my personal interest and with my support and no one, not even me, likes to feel duped. If it turns out I’m completely wrong about some things, I will fully admit that, but it’s hard to be wrong about how something makes you feel. His promo gives me arrogant, pretentious vibes, that’s my subjective viewpoint. Others may disagree and that is absolutely their right.

Feel free to hang out though, ask questions or tell us what you think!

[ecotone99]

[MF] Fever From The Orient

His name was Matthew and he smelled of shit. He hadn't showered in 2 weeks, his crotch smelled like a combination of wet dog and rotten meat. The grease down there was thick and smelly, he reached his hands down there, wiped up as much as he could then ran his long, thin fingers through his filthy jet black hair, slicking it back. The film that developed on his inner thighs was so sticky it caused a rash to break out there from all the friction. He sniffed his fingers curiously, the rotten scent had begun to physically arouse him. He had gone stinko for so long that he gained a perverse enjoyment out of the whole thing. Every night as he went to bed he'd swear he would take a shower the next morning but so overcome by sleepiness and a lack of motivation, he also seldom left bed on time. He was chronically late to work at the customer service call center. There he had brought his habit of mumbling things to himself, it had started at home alone, then in the workplace between the all too frequent phone calls until finally, he found out that people either didn't care or just didn't want to know so he brought his verbal tics to the phone, in between sentences as some kind of period.

"Good morning sir fuck shit. What can we do for you today at the Stewards of Environmental Friendship customer service department, oh God kill me."

"Yeah hello I'm looking to file a complaint. My fuckin' tap water is fuckin' brown and it gave my fuckin' wife dysentery meanwhile I can't stop shitting over here, I'm speaking to you from my fuckin' toilet bowl. Now you gonna do something about it Sonny Boy or am I gonna have to come down there and speak to you up close, eh?!

"There's no need for that sir, here at the S.E.F. we pride ourselves on our customer service ,my life is worthless. Please hold while I transfer you to our water quality and inspections department, I have no balls."

"What's that Sonny? I didn't catch that last part? Something about balls?"

"No sir," he replied reassuringly, "I said I have many calls. Hold on, I'm transferring you now."

People didn't care. He was just another blank face in a sea of blank faces. He had grown up thinking that he would matter, that he would have an impact on society. But years of isolation and mediocrity had taught him otherwise. It had crossed his mind that one day he might break and then become one of them. Not that he wanted to, the idea nauseated him. Rather, it was the stark choice that he would one day come to out of desperation: either a purposeless life marked by sheer loneliness or one of assimilation into the mainstream. Feigning normalcy seemed to be the only way out of this god awful state he had fallen into. He could turn into a bland dullard who talked about the latest episode of the current Netflix show with his coworkers by the water cooler. A socialized consumer with the scent of status quo due to all the products he consumed with his fellow man. He had tried to fake interest in those types of things before but it was too taxing. He would rather spend his time staring at the wall for hours, idly twirling his hair and getting carried away by his overactive imagination then pretend to find stimulation from overpaid ex-convicts fighting over some kind of ball. Either that or he could go completely insane and become another type of office fauna; a mumbler, who was to be avoided. He could do his time, get a pension, and then die just like so many others. The bureaucracy had a way of reducing human. life to its lowest, basest form. Those were the paths that were laid out for him, at least until he got an idea.

It came to him one Saturday morning while he was watching the news. A new super virus had started in China. It was highly contagious and though the official number of fatalities given by the Chinese government was very low, they had effectively quarantined 3 cities making a combined total of 23 million people. If the mortality of the disease was so low like they say it seemed like an odd move to make. This had to be much worse then they were letting on, he thought. It could be the next plague and in this modern globalized world it would be very hard to contain. This idea excited him, his testicles shrunk as norepinephrine flooded his system. The news said so far there were only 3 suspected cases of it in America and they were currently being quarantined and treated for the virus. Research on the disease was still in its early stages though so the chances of those people surviving were slim. The world was so boring, every time something exciting was on the verge of happening the government stepped in and squashed it. How very mundane it all was. Mother Nature’s attempts at revenge were always being culled prematurely. Matthew reached his hands down his pants to his crotch and rubbed his inner thighs and genitals until his hands were oily and sticky. He took them out and smelled them with the vigor of a dog nose deep in another one's butthole. Then he ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times and began to think.

Matthew long fostered an unhealthy obsession with infectious diseases. This fetish was born two years ago when he was suffering from an array of unexplainable bodily manifestations that (drove him into a deep depression) started when he was in the midst of a deep depression.* Already being in a fragile state of mind, the symptoms terrified him. None of the doctors could figure out the cause. Their impotence drove him into a fit of monomania as he fell into a spiral of obsessive research and after countless hours spent scouring the Internet for clues he became convinced that he was dying from some rare, exotic malady. Squeezed in the vice like grip of neurosis, his already frail mental state was deteriorating rapidly until finally all the months of severe psychological strain and isolation came to a head when he suffered a major panic attack from which he never fully recovered.

He had gone to the doctor that day to be tested for a sexually transmitted retrovirus, which was impossible for him to have contracted as he was a virgin. In the days before the appointment his insomnia worsened. Every night he laid wide awake in bed contemplating his potential death sentence as the minutes ticked by ever slowly. By the time he arrived for his appointment he was a nervous wreck. He hadn’t changed his clothes in a week, he was too consumed by his thoughts to even notice. After checking in with the receptionist he took a seat in an empty corner of the waiting area away from everybody else. The scheduled time for his appointment came and went as he sat there occasionally muttering obscenities to himself. Nobody seemed to notice though or they pretended not to. It’s easy for a lonely person to lose their mind in this world where community has crumbled and from the ashes of it came a new world of atomized individuals who, like the old society, held mental health to be taboo. Matthew’s heart, strained by stress and sleeplessness began to beat faster. Knowing something was wrong, he tried to take some deep breaths to calm down but his ribcage constricted his longs keeping them from fully expanding. While struggling to inhale his left temple began to hurt then in his chest he felt a heavy, dull ache. A panic enveloped him despite his attempts to stay calm. This is it he thought, a stroke just like his father. By the time the nurse finally called him in he had forgotten the reason for his visit.

By the time the doctor had finally called him he was a nervous wreck. His brain was tingling and he was overcome by lightheadedness. Matthew frantically described what he was experiencing. The doctor nodded then had an EKG performed on him. The results were normal. The doctor left him alone in the examination room with the door closed as his heart beat faster and faster. She came back in with anxiety and depression questionnaires where you’d circle a number from 1-3 to indicate the severity of the symptoms listed with 3 being the most severe. He circled 3 on every single symptom except for the one about suicide. He knew that an honest answer on that one would send him straight to the psychiatric ward. Have you been feeling a sense of worthlessness? 3. Do you think you would be better off dead? 3. Are you unable to experience pleasure from activities you used to enjoy? 3, and so on. The doctor came back in and looked at the results of the survey.

“Doctor I think I’m having a stroke! I almost forgot what day it is and my vision is getting blurry!" He desperately cried.

“The EKG test came back normal.” The doctor replied.

“But an EKG doesn’t test for strokes, look!” He shoved his phone in her face which had a Wikipedia article open. “I gotta go to the hospital doc, I don’t wanna die!”

“You’re gonna be alright. Are you currently seeing a psychiatrist?”

“Yes for 5 years.”

“5 years?! And you are still feeling like this? Are you taking your medication?”

“Yes every day I never miss a dose.”

“Well you had better give him a call.”

“GOD DAMMIT I’M HAVING A FUCKING STROKE AND YOU WANT ME TO CALL A HEAD DOCTOR? I’M GONNA DIE IF YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING!” “If you want to go to the hospital then go but all your vitals are normal.” She replied, then exited the room.

Matthew texted his mother that he loved her,(she replied back with an 'Ok') then dialed 911 and called for an ambulance at the doctor’s office. It felt like an eternity had passed by the time the EMTs had shown up. They looked puzzled as Matthew walked out of the examination room, after all, who walks into an ambulance? They brought him out to the ambulance, sat him down, and took his blood pressure. It was a little high but not enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room.

“So how are you feeling, big guy?” One of the paramedics asked.

“Oh shit, this is all in my head isn’t it?” Matthew replied, burying his head in his hands.

“It’s alright pal just try to relax.”

They let him go after a short conversation where they had advised him to ‘go outside’ and ‘make some friends’.He couldn’t do any of that though, the motherly advice had vexed him and he was so mortified and humiliated by the whole thing, But it had all felt so real though! He had felt like he was going to die there, in the examination room. At the peak of the attack a feeling of tiredness washed over him like a warm bath as he had waited for the doctor to return. Is that what death felt like? Like just going to sleep? Huh, he thought, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be...

The idea had animated him. He got off the couch, put on his jacket, and headed out the door. He arrived in the Chinese quarter an hour later. Most of the shop signs were in Chinese which made his task difficult. He figured an old traditional medicine store would do the trick. Matthew spotted one after a few blocks, he couldn’t read the sign but the windows displayed bottles of what appeared to be ginseng and other herbal medicines. From the outside it looked cluttered, dusty and old, it looked even more so inside. A bell rang as he opened the door and went in. An elderly Chinese man with a bald spot stood behind the counter with his nephew by his side. There were a few people in line to pay and walking around browsing the aisles. He’d have to wait until they were all gone before he made his move. Matthew walked up and down the aisles several times until the other customers had all left. He went up to the counter whistling with his hands in his pockets. The old man eyed him suspiciously, Matthew looked different from his usual clientele. After all, every product in the shop had labels on them in Chinese, why would a white man come here?

“Good afternoon sir!” Matthew said loudly and then quietly: “I’m hoping you can help me find something.”

The old Chinaman looked offended. “What you want?” he asked in a heavily accented voice.

“I’m looking for something that’s been spreading pretty quickly in China, do you sell biological weapons here?”

“Huh? What?”

“Biological weapons, you know like that crazy flu that’s been ravaging China for a few weeks now. Do you by chance have any that I could purchase?”

The nephew looked at him bewilderingly.

“That’s not funny, asshole. I have family back there and they’re scared shitless!” He spoke. Through his clothes and lack of accent Matthew could tell he was Americanized.

“Oh that must be incredible! They’re at the epicenter of God’s wrath!”

“Sick! Sick! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Oh plenty’s wrong with me but I’m trying to get better, I’m trying to fix everything. So can you sell me a vial or whatever of the virus?”

The old man had been silently watching, trying to understand what was being said but he barely spoke English. He barked something that sounded like a question in Chinese to his nephew. The nephew shouted back to him in Chinese. The conversation went on for a few minutes, at first the old man looked positively furious but in the end it seemed like they agreed on something and both started giggling. The nephew turned back to Matthew.

“So you want that flu huh? Well my uncle here just came back from the Zicheng province! He can give you it, we will only charge you $100” Matthew was elated at this news.

“Oh yes! I knew you guys would have it!.”

He took out his wallet and gave him the money.

“So how do I get it? Is he gonna spit in a test tube or something?”

All of a sudden the old man leaned across the counter towards him and hocked a loogie right in his face.

“There, now you have it. Now get out of here you creep!” The nephew said.

“But how do I know I have it? There’s barely any snot in this thing, see?”

Matthew wiped the spittle off his cheek and showed them. Then he put his hand to his mouth and swallowed it. Both the nephew and the uncle’s jaws dropped to the floor.

“Give me more, that wasn’t worth $100.”

The nephew told the old man what he said in Chinese. The old man's eyes lit up.

“More? He want more?”

“Yeah give him some more.”

The old man smiled in delight. He leaned across the counter again, this time Matthew grabbed his face with both of his hands and forced his tongue into his open mouth. The old man let out a muffled scream. Matthew ran his tongue over every part of his mouth, sucking up any saliva that was in there.

“You bastard! Let him go!” the young Chinaman screamed.

After he was sure the virus had been transmitted he released the old man.

“Thank you very much! You don’t know how much joy this has brought to me.”

“You leave! You leave now!” Cried the old man, choking back a sob.

“Alright alright I’ll go. I just want you gentlemen to know that you have just participated in a historical event. Keep an eye on the news.”

With that he made guns with his fingers and shot imaginary bullets at them, making noises with his mouth and slowly backing out of the store. This was it! He thought. Finally I’m gonna make a difference in this world! He felt full of love and euphoria as he walked out into the street. He passed by a homeless man mumbling to himself 5 doors down. Ah, he’s just like me!

“Could you spare any change sir fuckass cock balls?” The hobo asked.

“Of course my brother!” He took out a dollar bill, licked it, then handed it to him.

“Don’t you worry friend, what I’ve given you is worth a hundred dollars! Stay strong my brother! Things will get better real soon!”

The bum looked at the bill then at him.

“You son of a bitch motherfucker crusty asshole on my face!”

He got up and grabbed Matthew by the collar.

“Oh ho ho! You want to make sure I gave it to you? Who am I to deny an eager man like yourself?”

He grabbed the homeless guy’s cheeks with his big yeti hands and gave him a deep kiss. The hobo’s eyes shot wide open in terror as he struggled to get away from him. Matthew let him go after he was sure he had tasted the man’s tonsils.

“Hey mister! What the hell!” he yelled frightened, backing away.

“God bless you sir! You were my first one! I will never forget you!”

“Wh-what? That was your first kiss?”

“No it was my second one, I just had my first one 5 doors down.”

“You’re crazy! Get away from me!”

With that he took off in a sprint. Matthew gazed at him lovingly like a mother looking down at her newborn baby. After he lost sight of him he popped his collar and strolled leisurely back home.

The feeling of euphoria carried over to the following Monday. Usually Matthew wouldn’t talk to anyone at the job but he had undergone an immense psychic change that past weekend. He talked with everybody and anybody would listen. He was constantly dishing out handshakes, fist bumps, and half hugs, taking bathroom breaks every now and again to get more crotch grease and spittle on his hands. His coworkers were frightened at first, but they warmed towards him after the initial shock. One of them, Jessie, caught him in the break room drinking out of someone else’s mug. He wrote it off as an honest mistake. Another one of his coworkers found him licking the water fountain nozzle. These vagaries went largely unnoticed though as the days went by. On Wednesday, Matthew went to his supervisor’s office.

“Good morning Tracy.”

“Hello Matt. So what did you want to talk about?” she asked.

“Well, it’s just that, I’ve been on the phones for 3 years now and I’d really like to branch out to broaden my work experience. Don’t get me wrong, I love this job, I just need something more stimulating, something challenging.”

She eyed him curiously.

“Well Matt, I’ve been hearing nothing but good things about you these past few days. But allow me to ask; what exactly prompted you to come here today and ask for a transfer?”

“Oh, it’s just that I finally broke out of that funk I was in ever since….well you know. Now I want to achieve things, I want to be more useful to the agency, My goal is to get the employee of the month award. I think I’ve always wanted to deep down inside but I never had enough motivation to go after it.”

“Hm, I’m impressed with you Matt. I know things haven’t been the same since that thing happened but I am very pleased to see you are doing well. Now what line of work are you interested in?”

“Well I saw there’s an opening at the front end. I think I’d very much like it there, as I’m sure you know I have excellent customer service skills so I think it would be a good fit.”

“Alright Matt. I have to send some emails but most likely the job is yours.”

Matt jumped up out of his seat like an electric eel.

“Golly thanks Tracy! I won’t let you down I promise!”

“I know you won’t Matthew,” she replied.

He stuck out his hand for a shake. Taking her petite hand into his, he pressed his palm into hers and maintained perfect eye contact. After about 30 seconds she broke her hand away.

“Did you just use hand sanitizer or something? Your hands feel sticky!”

“Yeah right before I came in. You gotta be real careful with all those viruses going around.”

Her eyes widened.

“That’s right! I was just watching the news this morning, they were reporting on that flu. That thing spreads like wildfire!”

Matthew broke out into an ear to ear grin. He bit his tongue to keep from laughing in ecstasy.

“Well thanks a bunch, Tracy. Have a good day.”

He made finger guns and pew pewed her as he shuffled out of her office backwards. At the door he performed a 180-degree spin and briskly walked back to his desk. Tracy stood behind her desk and sniffed her right hand.

He felt exuberant. Things that would usually bother him now ran off him like water on a raincoat. He even stopped mumbling to himself, his neurosis withered away and was replaced with a feeling of contentment. During this time he would go out at night and ride the subway back and forth, occasionally getting off to visit a museum or library where he would ask the librarian which books were popular nowadays then, hidden between the aisles he would inhale black pepper and sneeze on the first few pages. On the weekends he went to the cinema to see the latest blockbuster movie. Mostly they were juvenile superhero movies that he detested but now he didn't mind taking in 90 minutes of high definition opium. His habit of daydreaming which had consumed endless hours of his time had ceased. Now he didn’t feel the need to escape into the depths of his imagination. He took to life with a new zeal and for the first time since he was a child he was genuinely excited.

submitted by /u/bipolarthrowaway01u3 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3dqX2is

[lalka-laski]

The Day Before Thanksgiving = Slooooow Work Day

Have you ever been served breakfast in bed? On school days as a kid my mom would gently wake us up and ask us what we wanted for breakfast. Then she’d go downstairs to make it while we stole a few more minutes of sleep. She would then bring us up our bagel/pop tart/waffle/fill-in-the-blank and we’d eat it in bed. Wow, she was a saint. And if only I could still start my mornings that way...  What is the most challenging meal you have ever cooked? I’m slowly getting into cooking, so every meal poses more than a few “challenges” for me lately. But I’m having fun with it and learning a lot!  Are you one to approach others, or let them approach you first? I almost exclusively have others approach me. There are two reasons behind this: 1) I’m introverted  2) I just have a very approachable look/energy. Seriously, strangers come up to me or sit down next to me and tell me very intimate details about their lives, completely unprompted! I guess it’s nice that I look like a friendly and trustworthy person, but it can feel overwhelming at times. Just the other day at Dunkin Donuts it took me 5 minutes just to place my coffee order because the guy behind the counter was telling me how sad he was that his girlfriend broke up with him. I was like “Uh I’m sorry dude, but did I ask??”  When was the last time you took painkillers? When I had oral surgery years ago Have you ever picked flowers out of someone else’s garden without asking? I might have as a kid

What is your favorite thing to do as a little kid? I was- and still am- a huge bookworm, so reading was always a favorite activity. I also had a wildly active imagination, so I could entertain myself for hours living out fantasies in my head. I used to pretend I was a pioneer girl like the characters in my favorite books, and I’d make dirt and grass “soup” and pretend to churn butter in a bucket. Good times lol.  Are holidays as fun for you now as they were when you were younger? They’ve definitely lost some of the “magic” since I’ve grown up, but that’s true of most things. But I still really enjoy the holidays and I cherish the time spent with my family. Plus now I have a partner with whom to share all these traditions (and build new ones!) and that’s such a gift. I have a feeling this holiday season is gonna be one of my best yet.  Do you find non-fiction to be boring? What a silly question. That’s like asking “do you find movies to be boring?” Non-fiction is just an umbrella term encompassing an infinite number of sub-genres and topics. To find that “boring” would be saying that there’s not a single topic on earth you find interesting.  Are you a punctual person? Or are you always late? I’m very punctual, usually early. It’s the anxiety! :)  Do you own a thesaurus? Do you actually use it? I used to, but nowadays I just have Thesaurus.com bookmarked. And it’s almost always in an open tab. #WriterLife  Do you ever write your own short stories? Funny you should ask, ha! I wrote tons as a kid and I had a Creative Writing concentration, so I wrote plenty for assignments in college. I’d love to say that’s still something I actively do but sadly, it’s not. Time to change that... 

Have you ever won money by entering a contest/raffle? Not cash money but I’ve won prizes  Have you ever lost something very valuable? My dignity? Ha I’m just kidding. I still have a few shreds of that. Otherwise I can’t think of anything majorly valuable that I’ve lost.  Have you ever lost something with a lot of sentimental value? I’m an extreeeemely emotional person and I collect/keep everything of sentimental value. The only objects that I regret throwing away are some journals from my youth. I still have most of them, but there were a few I deemed too embarrassing or incriminating to save. I’d give anything to leaf through one of those now... Have you ever been close to drowning? That’s a horrifying thought. Thank God I never have.  Have you ever had a panic attack? Yes.... What stores do you go into when you go to mall? I have a problem where I insist on browsing in nearly every store, even knowing full well I’ll never buy anything. It ends up a huge waste of time. I’m trying to get better about just setting a plan for myself on a shopping trip and only hitting the stores I KNOW I’ll buy from.  Do you ever stop to eat in the food court? Yeah! Just the other day my sister and I ate some very disappointing pizza and fries.  Do you find it easy to relate to other people? I’m empathetic and I always seek to understand and relate.  Who is your favorite philosopher? I can’t say I have one What is your favorite song to sing? Whatever is stuck in my head at any given moment. I love to sing! (Doesn’t mean I’m *good* but...)  Do you consciously try to be unique, or do you just be you? Interesting question. I don’t like to feel the need to be mainstream just for the sake of it but at the same time, I don’t feel the need to deviate from the mainstream just for the sake of it.  Do you worry about being judged by other people? Only every moment of every day  If someone doesn’t like you, do you usually want to know the reason? Oh of course. And I’ll torture myself reliving every mistake I’ve ever made in my life until I find out why  When was the last time you told someone something really important? Yesterday maybe?  Have you ever lost a large amount of money? Nothing more than about $40. Which is still valuable, don’t get me wrong Have you ever tried to blame something you did on someone else? Well I grew up with two sisters so, of course.  Did that person get in trouble, or did the plan fail? We all had our failures and victories... 

What is the weirdest hairstyle you have ever had? Well I was a tween at the height of Lizzie McGuire’s popularity, so I was definitely a fan of crimped hair. But not totally crimped, no no. Just random stray pieces here and there with no rhyme or reason. And don’t forget the butterfly clips!  Describe the ugliest pair of shoes you own? I don’t own any shoes that I consider ugly. Why would I buy shoes I didn’t like?  How many times a day do you look in the mirror? For how long? I have a slight phobia of mirrors. Well, not a phobia, but I have obsessive tendencies about my appearance so it’s best for me to avoid my reflection as often as possible. For that reason, I don’t look in mirrors often.  Are you ashamed to leave the house when not looking your best? I give less and less of a shit lately. It’s freeing  If you are antisocial, WHY are you that way? I’m not. Would you describe yourself as modest? Modesty is a concept steeped in misogyny and it’s one I certainly don’t endorse. These days I probably *could* be described as modest just as far as my lifestyle and clothing choices BUT.... ya girl used to be a huge slut. And I don’t regret it. I support women making their own, informed decisions and doing whatever makes them comfortable!  What is your favorite singer? Bowie, of course! If you could relive one day from last year, what day would it be? Why? There’s one day, one small incident, that I’d kind of like to do-over. But that’s it.  What is something that you are afraid to fail at? Uhh... everything?  What would happen if you did fail at it? .....  Do you ever worry about your loved ones dying? It’s a constant worry. Thanks for reminding me :)))  What is the cutest thing a guy could do for a girl? Well I’m really partial to love letters, songs, poems and the like...  Stuffed animals–immature, or should everyone have one? I have several stuffed animals, some from childhood and some that were recent gifts, and I love them dearly. They make me happy! Surround yourself with things that make you feel good!!  What do you like in your breakfast burritos? Egg and cheese, and veggie sausage or bacon if it’s available.  What restaurant would you choose to go to for breakfast? There are a few trendy brunch spots around here that I like, one of my favorites being a Mexican place. But I love some good old-fashioned diner food, too!  How much money do you think you cost your parents? Um? A lot?? What an odd question though.  Do you have good hand/eye coordination? Laughably bad.  Can you do a flip on a trampoline? I’d 100% kill myself if I tried.  Do you remember the last time you climbed a tree? Sadly, no. But this tree in my front yard was one of my favorite reading spots as a kid. There was this one thick branch that was the perfect size for me to stretch my legs on while I leaned against the trunk and read my books.  Did you ever lie on your back and pick shapes out of clouds as a kid? I still do that Do you watch any Japanese anime? My boyfriend’s really into it so I’ve *seen* some but I can’t say I’ve actually WATCHED it lol  Is there a foreign culture you are interested in learning more about? So many! The world’s a big place, ya know...  Do you let your emotions get the best of you in a fight? HA HA HA HA HA. Do you know me? I am nothing BUT emotions.  Logic? Reason? Rationale? I don’t know her.  Do you know anyone whose reputation has recently been ruined? All the recently outed sexual predators in Hollywood come to mind.  When did you first get a cellphone? For Christmas my freshman year of high school.  And fun fact: a month prior, I gave my parents a presentation as to why I should have one. I had notecards and everything. And clearly it worked! I wish I could put that on a resume...  Do you have your own laptop computer? A chromebook, but I barely use it.  Do you drive your own car, or your parents? I don’t drive Say something inappropriate? No thanks!

What were you doing before you started taking this survey? I just had my lunch “break.” I use the term loosely because not a whole lot of work is getting done today. So it was a break from a break.  Describe the best summer you ever had? I could more easily describe the WORST summer I’ve ever had. I guess my favorite summer was the one right before I left for college. I had the tightest group of friends and we partied every night. It was just your typical care-free teenage dream.  Do you eat any meat other than turkey on Thanksgiving? I don’t eat meat any day of the year! Did you attend a pre-school? I did, and I went a year earlier than usual because my mom was the teacher. So, free childcare. Go mom!  Do you remember what it was like to learn to count to 100? Not even slightly  What is something you lost in the process of growing up? My ability to drink liquor straight  Do you wear any wristbands? If so, what’s on them? Nope  What was the last picture you were in? I took several selfies with me and the girl I nanny the other day Did you have required reading material in high-school? Of course. Most of it I really enjoyed and would’ve read for leisure anyways.  Do you keep your room organized? Yep. I’m a pretty neat person.  Do you vacuum daily? No, but weekly. 

How many board games do you own? I have one card game in my apartment now but no board games, sadly!  Own any books? No. Not a single one. I don’t know how to read. I don’t even know what a book IS???  Recently checked any books out from the library? I just borrowed an e-book from a virtual library so does that count?  Does your cat give you kitty kisses? I don’t have a cat but I wish I did! What’s in your make-up bag? I have several. And I have no idea why they’re separated the way they are. All my makeup is just tossed together 

[catswimsalot-blog]

Worst date of my fucking life. Thanks New York.

About 3 weeks after moving to New York for my internship, I went on, hands down, the worst date of my life. My boyfriend (at the time) and I decided to take a break since it was summer and we wouldn’t see each other until August. Anyways, this date…it wasn’t even a bad date. Instead, it was basically like someone transported me into my own personal vision of hell for an hour.

A little background information about the situation: I’d been seeing this guy for maybe two weeks and was totally turned off by the fact that he had a small child that looked exactly like him. My friends were saying things like, “WHAT? You can’t date someone with a kid. That’s not you at all.“ - I’m a great listener, therefore I decided to keep seeing him.

While some women do like the whole daddy thing, I would rather stick my hand into my food processor than date someone with a kid. It’s an established fact about myself. It’s not fair on me or the kid because I currently feel like children are a burden to society.

Honestly there was nothing wrong with this guy. Okay, that’s a lie, but on the surface, he was your standard nice guy. He was good looking, seemingly sweet, and did cute things like send flowers to my work. But there was one thing I couldn’t get over. His teeth.

Scratch that. There were two things I couldn’t get over. His teeth and his voice. His teeth were the nail in the coffin for me. It’s not like they were fucked up or anything. They were incredibly nice, but why did every single one of his shiny teeth show when he smiled? Why did he clench his mouth together and talk through a smile? Smiling with your teeth clenched together, while speaking is like one of the creepiest things a person can do. Eyes wide, teeth bared. It’s a fucking aggressive look.

And don’t get me started on his voice. His voice was like a thousand pencils being electrically sharpened inside my ear drum. He spoke like an announcer at a high school baseball game. That’s honestly the best way I can describe it. I don’t know. It was weird. Pretty normal flaws to pick out about a person, right?

Even though his teeth legitimately gave me true fear, I was bored and lonely. So, one night I set up a date to go meet him in Brooklyn. I got to the restaurant a little early and waited for him to show up. I wasn’t about to sit alone for 10 minutes, so I walked into an Urban Outfitters across from where we were eating. As I browsed through some records, I noticed someone jump out from behind a clothes rack. Oh boy. This was gonna be fun. Immediate regret washed over my soul. Oh yes, I felt completely dead inside. He gave me a HUUUUUGE hug and I felt one of my ovaries just entirely remove itself from my body. We walked into the restaurant and sat down at the bar. He smiled, talking through his teeth. Oh boy.

I was peer-pressured into ordering a whiskey on the rocks, my least favorite liquor of all time. Many people love it, but due to the amount of times that I’ve thrown up onto the floors of Egan’s Bar because of it, I would rather not. In a power move, he told me that he’d be choosing the whiskey for me. He was choosing. After I just said I didn’t care for whiskey. Okay. I like a man who is a bit aggressive, but this felt like your high school prom date trying to show off by ordering you the house special. I laughed and said, “Okay, whatever. I was kind of thinking about a dirty martini, actually.” “Well, I guess you’ll just have to see what I order for you,” he said, still talking through his Mister Ed (yes, the horse) teeth. Naturally, he ordered what I wanted and then misprounced his own drink (margarita). I barely even speak Spanish and he spoke it fluently, so how did that happen? Not sure.

Conversation was sparse to say the least. This is where it gets good. First, we talked about boring things like the weather, but then it took an unexpected turn when he leaned over into my ear and sexily said: “So, your friend I met, she’s kind of fucked up, huh?”

Smooth.

How did we go about talking about the breeze in Brooklyn to my “fucked up” friend and why are you trying to make this an intimate moment? I had so many questions.

“Dude, you’ve met her once and she was extremely nice to you, what are you even talking about?” I said, attempting to avoid a sunburn on my retinas from his bleached teeth. Seriously, was he using 100 Crest white strips per day?

“No, she’s fucked up!” he aggressively countered me.

“Okay, in what way, because I definitely don’t think that? I mean, everyone has their own issues, but I legitimately have no clue what you’re talking about.” I said.

He sighed dramatically to the point where people from, oh…I don’t know, every other table could hear. “Look, you know what I’m talking about,” he said as he gripped my hand and clenched his teeth all in the same motion. He honestly looked like he just sharted.

This was just beginning to get weird. I still had about 30 more minutes of this to work through.

“What’s up with our waiter, he’s such a douche!” he began to complain within earshot of the guy serving our table. “I don’t know, I guess maybe he had a bad day. I can’t imagine that he grew up wanting to be a waiter at 30,” I responded. “Yeah, well fuck that! If I’m paying someone a tip, they’re going to work for it. He’s acting like a little bitch.” K, let’s keep in mind that the waiter is hearing this entire conversation and my face has officially turned into something that looked close to a melting clock from a Dali painting. I was in sheer horror.

I’m one of those people that let’s that shit go. Because, being a waiter sucks and I suppose I have a limited amount of empathy for others? It’s not a big deal. I’m on a date to have fun, not make other people feel uncomfortable.

Our food came out and he aggressively took our plates from the guy like a teenage girl who just got her period for the first time. I took about two bites out of my food and decided I had lost my appetite. The waiter came back by and asked how everything was, in which I took the opportunity to go ahead and grab the bill. I knew otherwise I’d be there all night dealing with this shit. When the bill came out, I cannot make this up: he threw his credit card at the bill and then picked up a knife and stared at it for about 10 solid seconds.

Interesting/terrifying.

My eyes turned towards the empty barstool beside me as I glanced at an imaginary person like, “Are you seeing this shit?”

We left the restaurant and he didn’t speak a word to me. Finally, I decided to say something. "So, what’s up with all your negative vibes tonight? You’re acting really fucking weird.”

Probably not the best thing to say to someone who’s about to kidnap you, but you know.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. That was an amazing date! I wanted to keep hanging out! I was having a great time and you just had to end it,” he said sullenly as we approached my cab.

“Yeah…no. Things were definitely weird,” I said. He then awkwardly embraced me. I stood there with my arms pressed against my side, while he began to boa constrict around my body. I was finally released from the prison of his arms and he then began walking away in the most dramatic way that I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It was like bad child acting. He quite literally stomped off, dragging his feet with each step.

I got in the cab, took a second to collect my thoughts, and we drove past him. As the car got closer to whatever weird Frankenstein walk that he was doing, he quickly turned around in a flash, popped his head up, produced one of those psycho clenched teeth smiles, and began frantically waving to me.

What the fuck…I had to get out of here, like yesterday.

We drove up to the voucher guy and he said, "I’m sorry ma’am, we need a bill from the restaurant to let you out,” he rehearsed. "Look, dude. I just went on the worst date of my life and there’s no fucking way that I’m going back to get the bill from the guy. He’s crazy and I need to get out of here now.” He let us through. It was a good thing, because I was prepared to tell the driver to ram through the barrier at any given second. As the guy drove me home, my phone kept flashing with messages.

While this isn’t the end of this story, I feel like this is a good place to cut it.