#i really tried to find some sort of content expression for brian so he could have a nice time but they all looked weirder

[lakesbian]

putting them in the silly machine

[the-bloody-masquerade]

Bloodlines 2 - They/Them Pronouns and Trans and Asexual Representation

There has been some discussion recently regarding information that was presented in a recent podcast interview given by Bloodlines 2 writers Brian Mitsoda and Cara Ellison. I think it is important to know what was and what was not said and understand it in context so I would like to provide a transcript to the passages in question for us to reference as we continue to have discourse around the issue.

I also want to try to give a little more insight as to why they/them pronouns were not able to be added to the game as there are some substantial programming concerns when it comes to adding conditional content that cannot be accessed in versions of the game where the language used only has two pronouns instead of three.

This comes from episode 22 of The RE:BIND Podcast. Published on June 22nd, 2020. The interviewer is Emily Rose, the interviewees are Cara Ellison and Brian Mitsoda, lead co-writers of Bloodlines 2 (Mitsoda having been the original Writer on Bloodlines 1)

Character Creation and Pronouns (passage starts at 1:14:45)

Note: [...] denotes a false start or when they start their sentence over a couple times.  

Emily: In Bloodlines 2, how is character creation being handled in terms of gender?  

Cara: Oh, character creation. So, one of the major problems we have is, and actually this is not unique to us, but the entire industry, is that localization severely limits the way you can write characters and we’re actually coming up against this problem now even though we have made a bunch of decisions on like how you refer to the player character and the characters in our game. But like, a major problem that we always have in video games is that English has a way to refer to people who don’t want to have a gender. And a lot of languages around the world, don’t have that.   

Brian: Currently, there’s like, movements in some languages to get that.  

Cara: Right like, so if your Quebecois, there’s a term that’s like generally recognized as being ‘they’ that you can use, but a lot of languages might have people who for example are agender, but the terms that they use to refer to themselves are not thoroughly recognized throughout their language and country. And that provides us with a humungous problem because we are making a game about Seattle, and there are a large number of people who live in Seattle who don’t want to have a gender or don’t want to be referred to as a particular gender or they frankly don’t identify as a particular thing, so we represent those characters like we normally would, but we run into a bunch of problems when we try to localize. So like, in the character creation section what we decided was the best option for us is to essentially let you create the way your character looks in like, entirely separate of gender, so you can make your character look any way you like as masculine or as feminine or whatever you like. […] You basically can then say ‘I want to be referred to as ‘he’ or I want to be referred to as ‘she,’ and that’s the option that we give you. The reason we don’t give you the they/them option is because […] I think there are four or five languages that can do this, but a lot of European languages can’t refer to the player character as ‘they’ or ‘them’ because they have to choose one or the other, so, we ended up not being able to do the they/them option for the character creation. So we basically tried to give you a way of expressing yourself and how you look, whatever, but we do end up actually asking you to specify ‘he’ or ‘she’ because it actually is just the way we had to do it for localization. […] For example, when I worked at MiniMolecule they had the exact same problem and it’s a problem of scale as well, because if the scale was just like we only release in English, we could have done the third option, we just couldn’t do it. And also because, we actually systemically throughout the game, its structured to be able to like have lots of interactions based on your identity so we had to sort of choose that early on, so it kind of got structured that way as well. But we do have main characters in the game who do not have a defined gender, and at least if you play the game in English they will be referred to as ‘they.’ We did have the option for NPCs at least in English, to have that referent, but unfortunately, we were very limited by localization on that point. And we’re not the only game that’s limited by that, but as this is kind of more, this kind of specific thing in language rolls out across lots more languages I think actually it will become easier to do this over a time, I think, as well. I’m hoping, at least.  

TLDR; You will create your characters appearance separate from physical sex or gender and then you will pick he/him or she/her pronouns. The reason why they/them is not being included is because most of the languages that the game is being localized in do not have a 3rd/gender neutral set of pronouns and [presumably] would require all version of the game that only include 2 pronouns (because of language) to have their dialogue systems reworked/separately programmed. 

This is a bit different than “they should just put they/them in the English localization then.” If pronouns will be a character creation option that probably means they will be set up as a content trigger, which is what determines which voice and text lines you get (to correspond to your gender). For languages that only have two pronouns, what would you do with that third content trigger representing the they/them pronouns? They also talked content “structured to to be able to have interactions based on your identity.” If there were interactions that were only triggered by the they/them choice in character select, this content would effectively be lost in localizations that only had two pronouns in character select, (barring a comprehensive structural overhaul for regions with only two pronouns) 

The quicker way to do this would just be to have most NPCs use as little gendered language as possible to make most lines an content universal/not have to trigger alternate text/content based on the pronoun choice, but then this may defeat the purpose of being able to customize your PC’s gender and pronouns to begin with.  I do not mean to be an apologist. Gender neutral pronouns in RPGs are frankly overdue as an industry standard it is disheartening to hear that they/them will not be a choice in Vampire the Masquerade Bloodlines 2. I just wanted to try and elaborate on why the inclusion/exclusion of gender neutral pronouns in a game slated for world release is from a programming standpoint more involved that one may at first think.

Trans Representation in Bloodlines 2 (1:19:37)

Emily: So obviously we have some kind of gender-nonconforming representation. What is there in terms of maybe more specific representation, like say, are there any transmen are there any transwomen? Anything like that. Is that brought up at any point during the game?

Cara: […] I think what we want to do in the future is, actually have some main characters be transmen or transwomen, but I don’t—unless the junior writers have actually—actually no the junior writers have written some characters new that we have specified to be trans. But I would have to check, unfortunately, I don’t think we have actually put anyone who’s trans into the game currently unless I’m forgetting about someone. But yeah, I think our plans are to do that, but we didn’t want to do it like we’re just oh, we’re gonna just put it in…

Brian: Yeah there’s definitely […] when you’re doing the [game] design stuff, you’re looking for a character that might fit for the scene or the quest or the story beat that you’re doing and so one thing I never want to do just try to shoehorn in everything that we want to do.

Cara: By the time I had joined the main cast had been very clearly defined, so we didn’t have the option to add a trans main character which is what we have wanted to do.

Brian: Yeah, I would also like it, if we do add a trans character, we can find a voice actor who’s also…

Cara: …trans as well.

Quests with Trans Themes and DLC  (1:21:24)

(immediately follows last section)

Emily: That was gonna to be my next question, so that’s really good to hear actually. So I totally understand how it goes just in terms of like, the preplanning and establishing the world and things like that, and the main reason I bring it up in the first place is just because so much of Vampire does tend to gravitate around people’s identities their expressiveness with both their sexuality and who they are and so it’s just something that’s like kind of been kind of been some sort of undertone in the series for a long time so I was just curious how it was being handled in Bloodlines 2. Those are pretty sufficient answers.

[…a brief interlude where they talked about a random quest from Bloodlines 1]

(1:23:00)

Cara: We actually have a quest based on the idea of dysmorphia, like feeling like you’re trapped in your body and it doesn’t match the way you perceive yourself. A lot of our writing is based on what it actually feels like to be in this state of stasis when you weren’t expecting to feel that because it has happened suddenly to you. And so there are loads of issues that would be really valuable to explore in that way, and you know we have staff who are super interested in giving their input on that, so I think we should definitely approach it, we just haven’t actually put it in the game in terms of main characters. We wanna make a trans main character, I think that’s important to us. We’ve got some DLC coming up that we’re gonna like make a greater effort on that front, like its Seattle, it would be so weird if we didn’t have trans characters. [Note: Cara lives in Seattle currently. 

Brian: Mmhmm

Cara: So, yeah. [to Brian] Ask Margaret as well, our voiceover director, if there are any trans actors that she would recommend we could cast for the role and maybe write it for them. So yeah.

Emily: So that’s the thing and even I struggle really to think of many games that have a trans character in a main role, let alone--I can’t actually think off the top of my head unless they’re very like micro indie stuff any games that feature like a trans woman protagonist. I think the last time I saw a transwoman in a game was I think I wanna say like Dishonoured 2, one of the semi-core side characters you encountered for one of the quests is a documented as trans.

Cara: And I think the Dishonoured 2 team really really really made a huge effort on that front to be able to represent a huge variety of different backgrounds of people. They were very interested in [doing that] from the start, so yeah I think there are like some games where it does matter too, and it really feels like the world is bigger when you actually provide those characters.

In-game Asexual Characters and Their Ideal Approach to Portraying LGBT+ characters.  (1:25:29)

Cara: But yeah, like we have tried to represent asexuality as well in the game.

Emily: Good good.

Cara: We have characters who are asexual. Who are canon asexual. And yeah, […] We try as well, not to write it sort of clumsily, we don’t write characters that like, out themselves, because that’s not—

Brian: No, because generally someone does come up and say that immediately.

Cara: when you’re from a background that has been marginalized, you’re very aware of your own safety. Especially if a stranger who looks shady approaches you, like our characters, you’re not gonna like immediately say it. But we make it explicit that this is who they are, but not in a way like ‘Hi, I’m Cara! I’m transgender!’ You know?

Brian: Yeah, yeah.

Cara: I think some of the ways in which people have done it in the past have been a little clumsy so I’m very aware of that as well.

Brian: Yeah, I would never want to handle it in a way that’s like ‘The main thing about that character is that they are trans’ like that’s not right at all

Cara: I want the main thing about that person to be something that they’re interested in, like, actually like exploring with the player character and I think like, most people are coming from somewhere when they approach you and its not going to be about I want to talk about my…[they both trail off laughing,]

Brian: They probably want to talk about a way in which they’re going to fuck you over. Or get something from you, or get you to do something for them.

Cara: Yeah and I would love to write a trans character who is like really really interesting and really really involved in something and I don’t want it [their transness] to be their defining [feature].

~~

Thank you for reading.

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

The Couple Next Door II (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part I Here

A/N: Been a long time coming. I know it’s been literally half a year. I’ve been working through stressful family things, prep for university in the coming fall, spending as much time as I can with my boyfriend before we go our separate ways for a few months, etc.

 Stuff just got busy and I am SO sorry I haven’t addressed any of that. I know many of you want part two, and here it is. I don’t know if it’s as good as my other works on here, but the only way to find out is to post it, right? 

But anyways, yes, this chapter is here, and it’s kinda a filler. there’ll be more plot development in the next chapter, and I promise, if this part does well, I will not hesitate to post a continuation. 

Like I say in my other author’s notes, feedback, and any sort of note, whether it be a reblog, a like, or a comment, is greatly appreciated. it inspires me more to keep writing. So thank you!

Summary: Moving day is here, and you and Roger had the honour of meeting the neighbours across the street, the Garrisons.

(This can be read as Borhap!Roger or IRL Roger. Whatever mows your lawn)

WARNINGS: Swearing, mild sexual content (but NO smut), and zero knowledge of U-Haul History (I know they no longer exist in the UK, but I’m Canadian and I’m too lazy to do any research to make sure the timeline is matched)

Like the previous fic in this series, it’s rated a T for Mature Subject Matter

It was a bright, sunny morning in London (shocking, right?). 

The day would have been hot, but the wind chill cooled down the city rather nicely. 

Not only was this a wonderful day, but it was moving day. 

Roger was pushing the last box of vinyl records into the trunk of his car. He shut the trunk, and huffed a sigh before running his fingers through his sweaty hair. He didn’t remember the last time he’d lifted so much.

He took a minute to catch his breath, two ladies roughly the same age as him, jogging past. He drank in their appearances before winking at one of them and retreating to the apartment in which he and you once resided. 

He made his way down the hallway leading to your room, and although he was planning on going to the empty room that once was his own, he figured he could receive the same amount of nostalgia when looking at your now vacant bedroom. 

Roger found it so strange– The bare walls and stripped mattress. The empty closet and the unoccupied corners of the room. 

“Weird, eh?” Roger asked you, who was simply packing away the last of the books on your shelf. You turned to him, and he leaned against the threshold of your bedroom door, arms crossed over his chest. 

You shrugged your shoulders, glancing down at the floor and scratching the back of your head. 

“Just a little, yeah.”

Roger playfully pouted at you, shoving his hands into his jean pockets as he entered the bedroom. 

He looked around silently, and you went back to shoving your final books into its box before closing it up and labelling the cardboard. 

“I’m gonna miss this place,” you said, frowning at the realization that you’d already slept, ate, showered, cleaned, and cooked for the last time in this apartment. 

Roger took immediate notice of your upset tone. “Don’t get all melancholic on me now, y/n,” Roger teased, taking a seat right next to the box you just packed. 

“But won’t you?/" 

"Miss this place? Of course.” Roger smiled a little. “And Brian will miss us." 

”Oh yeah. He’ll definitely miss my awful singing in the shower every morning, and your extremely loud noises when you bring a girl over to bed.“ 

He just shrugged. "What can I say? I’m not about to fake being unsatisfied, especially when I’m trying to get a girl off." 

You shuddered. "I don’t wanna hear about your sex life, Roger." 

He laughed loudly, rising to his feet and picking up the box of books on your mattress. "Then I don’t wanna hear you complaining about how loud I am in bed." 

"You’re making it sound like we fuck,” you crossed your arms accusingly, your face twisting sourly. 

“Might as well be. We’re basically a couple.” He turned on his heel and left the room, but not before he sent a teasing wink your way. 

You simply shook your head, mumbling “gross” under your breath jokingly and moving to the bathroom to retrieve your remaining possessions in the medicine cabinet. 

_____________________________

“Are you sure you don’t need my help, guys? Christine isn’t going to get here for another few hours." 

"I think we’re all good, Bri,” Roger assured the tall guitarist, giving him a kind slap on the back. 

“But if we do, we’ll give you a ring,” you added, to which Roger smiled. He liked that about you. You were so humble, but weren’t afraid at all to ask for assistance. It was an admiring trait of yours. 

“Will do,” Brian confirmed with a grin and a simple nod of his head. You and Roger returned the nod, and walked to the car. 

After climbing in, and giving one last look at the apartment building the both you and Roger once called home, he drove you both off to your new humble abode.

____________________________

“We can just put it here,” Roger directed as the both of you lowered the piece of furniture on the floor. When it was set where the both of you wanted it, you plopped down in the chair on the other side of the living room, sighing loudly.

“It was real nice of Christine to give us some of her furniture,” you commented, watching as Roger collapsed on the sofa in exhaustion. 

“Well she’s got all Bri’s stuff now, right?" 

The question sounded more like a statement, and Roger wasn’t surprised when you didn’t respond. 

”… d'ya know what’s left to bring in from the U-Haul?“ 

"The mattresses and all the boxes from the car, I believe." 

Roger groaned, and got to his feet, much to his dismay. "Then we can rest,” he exclaimed with a sigh. You just smiled at the idea, pushed off from your place on the chair, and followed Roger out. 

He walked straight towards the moving truck and into the back, where one more box hid with the mattresses, which were now the only things occupying the truck. You, on the other hand, stood at the steps of the condominium, your eyes wandering around the complex. 

Roger, who was just about to pass you with the final box in his hand, bumped your hip playfully with his own before slipping away into the building. You turned to where he was a moment ago, smiling to yourself at the idea of just how childish Roger could be. 

Your eyes shifted to the right a little, and you caught the gaze of a man and woman who appeared to have been in their early to mid sixties, across the complex’s main stretch of road. You smiled, and waved at the couple, something you’d expect them to return. 

What you didn’t prepare for was when they waved back, and began approaching you to properly greet themselves. 

Your eyes widened and you began to internally panic. Roger was just exiting the front door, and you extended your wrist out, grabbing his arm tightly and pulling him back before he could go any further. 

You turned to face him, your expressions hidden from everyone but him. “Neighbours’ coming,” you warned in a hushed tone, your eyebrows bent in worry, and your bottom lip rolling between your teeth anxiously. 

“Hey, hey, nothin’ to worry about. I’m here. All you need to do is hold my hand, yeah? I can do all the talking." 

You let go of his arm after a moment, and he slowly curled his fingers around yours. He took a deep breath, as did you, before putting on bright smiles, and turning towards the neighbours, who just appeared from in behind the truck. 

"Hi! You two must be the new couple. Welcome to the complex! I’m Anna Garrison, and this is my husband, Charles." 

You and Roger branded the friendliest smiles you both could muster. You watched as Roger let go of you to reach out and shake the couple’s hands. 

"I’m Roger Taylor,” he introduced, glancing down and snaking an arm warmly around your waist. 

“… and this is my beautiful girlfriend, y/n.” You tried to ignore what Roger said despite feeling your face grow hot. You reached out and politely shook the Garrisons’ hands as well, keeping the smile plastered on your mouth no matter how much it ached. 

“I remember when we were that young and in love,” Charles mused in a soft tone. Conversations like this, Roger knew, you wanted to avoid at all costs, and he did as well. He was just… really good at lying. 

Although the Garrisons looked nice, there was something about them that made them seem rather nosey. 

And your suspicions were proven true when you watched Anna’s gaze fall on your bare wedding finger despite just hearing Roger and you were only “boyfriend and girlfriend”. 

“So… do you two plan on marrying soon? You may be young, but time does pass." 

You knew you should have remained quiet, but you began to panic, and you let out a laugh. "Yeah. We… we kinda talk about it. Not much." 

"We wanna settle in first,” Roger offered, knowing if he didn’t start talking soon, you would have said too much. 

You wondered how Roger could do that so easily: pretend, yet be so believable. You wondered if he simply tossed extra words in without thought. Like adding “girl” before “friend”, something he’d called you since you met. 

You wondered if he found it awkward to hold your hand, or have you so physically close to him. Then again, you two never exactly had/ personal space. 

You knew he had a method of doing this, but you couldn’t quite place exactly what he was doing, or how he did it so naturally. 

“Well, it’s gonna be nice, having another couple to have over for dinner." 

You could feel your throat swelling. If you made a list on everything you wanted to avoid doing with these neighbours in this complex that you were gonna end up having to do, a quarter of the list would have probably already been crossed off. 

"That sounds lovely,” Roger nodded politely, silently wishing himself that the day never had to come, for your sake. 

But it seemed Charles and Anna thought differently, and when the married couple made eye contact with one another, you and Roger just knew this invitation was not going to be forgotten about. 

“Why don’t you two come tonight?” Charles asked, to which his wife nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t worry about having to cook after a long day of moving in. I’m making a lovely casserole, and we can send you home with leftovers. There’s always too much for Charlie and I to eat anyways, with our kids having moved out and away long ago." 

Roger opened his mouth to politely decline the offer, but like a few moments before, you panicked and spoke again. "That sounds great, actually!" 

The blond looked down at you, and you could see in your peripheral that Roger seemed lost, though the Garrisons didn’t even notice. 

"Perfect! We’re right across the road. I suspect it will be done near six-thirty. Gives you two some time to yourselves after everything is moved in." 

"We’ll see you around six then?” Charles asked Roger, his old grey eyes wide and expecting. 

“Six it is,” Roger agreed, matching smiles with the older gentleman. 

“Six it is,” Anna repeated before linking arms with her husband, bidding farewell, and returning to their condominium. 

As soon as they closed the door, you tightly grabbed Roger’s wrist, and stepped inside your new home. When the door shut, you let out a long groan, bending your knees and squatting, your face in your hands. 

“I thought this is what you wanted to avoid!" 

"I know, I know, and I panicked and I fucked up and now we have to have dinner with them,” you whined helplessly. “You’ve known me for years, you know I do this all the time!" 

Roger, whose knees were bent, palms flat against his thighs as he thought, took a deep breath, and regained a neutral posture. 

"You know what,” he raised his hands in a calming sort of gesture. 

“It’s not as bad as you think." 

 "What do you mean "it’s not as bad as you think”?!“ You were horrified with Roger’s words. 

 "We do this once, and we never have to go back!” You raised your head from its once defeated position in your hands, but you could see Roger’s reasoning. 

"Oh my God…" 

"I know! Then we’re home-free!” He explained with a grin, his arms wide open. 

You leaned backwards, falling on your ass and leaning your head up against the wall in relief. 

“Oh God. We just gotta get through tonight.” You opened your heavy eyelids and smiled up at Roger. “We’ll be fine." 

 "Yes we will. Now, c'mon, Love. Let’s get those mattresses in here before someone takes notice we have different beds." 

And that’s exactly what you did. 

 And after the car was all unpacked, you and Roger took a well-deserved nap together on the couch.

_____________________________

A/A/N: Thank you all for your patience. Happy reading!

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[izzy-b-hands]

Well-Dressed

Literally all that happened here was I saw a picture of Bri with his shirt basically almost completely unbuttoned, and my brain led me to this. It’s silly and short, but it was nice to get some writing like this done since I’ve been struggling to write much of anything at present. 

And yes, this is the fic with the ending that I could not figure out that was hounding me. So I’ll admit that the way I ended this is not my ideal, but I had to end it or I was gonna yell lmao. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“How long should it take someone to put on a shirt?” 

“Context?” Freddie asked as he pulled on his own shirt. 

“How do you mean?” John asked.

“Like have they lost use of their hands, does the shirt fit them, are they even putting it on right-” 

“They’re Brian,” John interrupted, and pointed.

At the other end of the room stood Brian, fussing with his button up shirt. First buttoning more of the buttons, then unbuttoning them, then buttoning them again, only to promptly unbutton at least a few once more. 

“He’s finally lost it,” John hummed. “Tragic. And over a shirt.” 

“Stop,” Freddie hushed. “Where’s Rog?” 

John shrugged. “Maybe he’s trapped trying to figure out a pair of trousers.” 

“In a mood, are we?” 

“I have been watching him do this for the past twenty minutes,” John sighed. “And we need to be on stage soon, and-” 

“I’ve got it,” Freddie interrupted. “Worry not.” 

“I’m still going to worry.” 

“And that’s your right, but it will be for naught,” Freddie replied. “Right Brian?” 

Brian jumped, hands still on a button. “...what am I about to say yes to?” 

“Do you really need to know?” Freddie teased.

“Now I absolutely need to know,” Brian smiled. “What?” 

“John is concerned we won’t make it to the stage-” 

“I didn’t say that, I’m more worried we’ll just be late,” John interrupted. 

“Because you can’t seem to finish getting your shirt on and as far as we know, Roger has disappeared, held hostage by his trousers,” Freddie continued. 

“I mean I don’t know about Rog,” Brian said. “Where is he?” 

“Not sure, but presumably he’s somewhere at the very least,” Freddie answered. “But we’re talking about you. The buttons, what’s the issue?” 

“Ah,” Brian sighed, and looked down to his shirt as if he was somehow just seeing the buttons for the first time. “It’s silly.” 

“Sort of figured that,” John muttered.

“John!” Freddie hissed.

“Just because I’m taking some care into what I look like onstage, unlike some of us-” Brian started.

“Brian!” Freddie sighed in exasperation. “Enough, both of you! I don’t know what this is, but put it away until after the show.” 

“Then we can yell at each other to our heart’s content?” John asked with a smirk.

“No, then you can sit down and rest and not take out your bad moods on each other,” Freddie said. “And I might finally be at peace.” 

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Brian scoffed, then immediately looked down as Freddie sent him a withering glare. 

“What can we do to help you with this?” Freddie sighed, running a finger up by the buttons of Brian’s shirt. 

“We?” John laughed. “How did I get roped into this?” 

“You’re the one who brought it to my attention!” Freddie said. “Why wouldn’t you be included in the rest of this?” 

John shrugged. “Thought I might go find Roger, actually.” 

Freddie pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. “You know what? You go do that. Go rescue him from his trousers.” 

John trotted off, and Brian tried and failed to bite back a laugh. 

“Just like having kids, isn’t it?” 

“Honestly?” Freddie asked. “If you ever wonder why I won’t have children, it’s because I have all of you, and that is plenty. Any more and I’m liable to lose my mind completely. I mean, I’m used to herding cats, but you lot, some days...” 

“Extra cat-like cats?” 

Freddie nodded, and examined the buttons on Brian’s shirt. “They look fine, so what is it?” 

“I don’t know how many of them is too much, you know?” Brian fussed with the button in his hand. “If it’s too open, or too closed, or-” 

“Just wear it how you’re comfortable,” Freddie interrupted with a scoff. “You’re overthinking it, darling.” 

“I mean...some of the fans like it, you know...and not that I’m doing it just for them,” Brian said.

“But the confidence boost is nice when the girls all shout over seeing your chest,” Freddie grinned. “Still, just wear it how you like. They’ll shout for you regardless.” 

Brian nodded, but his hand still twitched at the buttons. 

“Oh, goodness,” Freddie sighed. “Let me try something, hm?” 

“Fashion advice?” 

“Sure,” Freddie said, and started to unbutton the rest of the buttons on Brian’s shirt. “There. Fixed it!” 

Brian stared down at the strip of his bare skin. “But...” 

“Just try it,” Freddie said. “It solves the issue of you forever doing and undoing your buttons, and you might like it. Or not, and then you’ll be able to better figure out the buttons issue because you’ll have a starting point on how you don’t want it.” 

Brian nodded his head. “I was overthinking it.”

“By a lot,” Freddie replied. “But no harm done, it happens. I’m just glad we’ve got you out of that loop of messing about with them. We’ve got five minutes to stage to spare even.” 

They headed for the door, only to nearly be pushed over by John. 

“You found Roger?” Freddie asked. 

“Stuck in his trousers,” John replied briskly as he shuffled through their bags, until he found a scissors. 

Brian and Freddie exchanged a look. 

“What?” Brian asked with an unbelieving chuckle. 

“He’s stuck in them,” John said matter-of-factly, and strode past them quickly with the scissors. 

“...we should go help,” Freddie murmured, his eyes following the glint of light off the scissors as John walked away. 

“It might be fine,” Brian said, only to wince as they heard a yelp from Roger. “Or they’ll manage to slice up his legs. You’re right, we should go...” 

The five minutes they were late seemed to be no mind to the crowd, who expressed no particular notice of it. There was talk of Brian’s ‘flashy’ (for him) wearing or rather not-exactly-wearing of his shirt, and a mention that Roger seemed to be wearing surprisingly loose trousers that didn’t appear to be his, by the length (and belonged in fact to another member of the road crew, though no one but them knew that.) 

“Overall, could have been so much worse,” Freddie said as they changed backstage. 

“I still can’t feel my legs,” Roger grimaced. 

“But you felt them well enough to play wonderfully, and you’ll not wear those trousers again, so still, not as bad as it could have been,” Freddie replied. 

“They’re in shreds, how would I wear them again?” Roger scoffed. “Though maybe you want them, Bri? Make it an ensemble, chest out, underwear showing with just these shreds fluttering round your legs?” 

“You’re hilarious, Rog,” Brian said, and shook his head. 

“I absolutely am, thank you,” Roger grinned. “Ah, one last thing.” 

He slowly made his way to John, and handed over a few bills. “Would have been another if we’d hit the ten minute mark, though I’m glad we didn’t.” 

Freddie watched the exchange and scoffed. “Did you two bet on how late we would be to the stage tonight?” 

“Being late is the worst,” Roger said defensively. “This was just a way to make it a bit better, a bit of fun. And it’s my money, and look who I have to give it to!” 

John grinned a la the Cheshire Cat, and shrugged. “I had a good feeling. And it made me money. No harm in making some good out of the bad.” 

 “Is the good going to buy as a round once we get to the bar?” Freddie asked, and gestured to the money in John’s hand. 

“What else would I use it for?” John scoffed, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he had heard. 

“I’m out a pair of trousers,” Roger, mused. 

“Drunken trouser shopping?” John asked, only to laugh as Roger pulled him out of the room with a happy shout. 

“We’re going to get kicked out of a shop, is what we’re actually doing, right?” Brian chuckled. 

“Absolutely,” Freddie replied, taking Brian by the arm as they followed John and Roger out. “But we’ll see that we at least get the shopping done before we get thrown out.” 

An uncounted number of drinks, one pair of new trousers, and three less-than-pleased shop owners, they had done just that. 

[queenarticlearchive]

Limp-wrist Section:

(Please read with a camp accent, stressing every second word)

New Musical Express

27 September 1975

Julie Webb

Forget those ‘Queen split’ stories - everything is just lovely. Elton is lovely as well. Freddie Mercury tells it like it is. By Julie Webb

It’s easy to understand how “Queen to split” rumours get under way. The band’s expected large summer gig never happened and the non-appearance of either an album or a single kept the silence at deafening point.

From America we heard that Brian May was offered a job with Sparks and in England there were stories to the effect that the band’s management situation was none too amicable. And throughout all this time the band remained stumm, giving no interviews and neither confirming or denying anything. Even a promised visit to see the band at Rockfield Studios was “put off” at the last moment. Is all well in Mercury’s trousers?

Still, all is now resolved. Queen now have a new manager, and their biggest headache in How The Hell Are They Going To Finish The New Album in time for November release. They are also planning a major British tour for late November and a single for October, so it’s time to zip up and get going.

It was three dishevelled members of Queen who were finally brought to bay at the studios in London. John Deacon was absent since they were adding vocals and I was informed he doesn’t participate overly on that side of things. Two members of Hustler - a quite different group - were sitting in the control room aghast at the meticulous way the band record.

If they sand “no no no” once, they sang it twenty times in the space of about ten minutes. And on each occasion someone would find fault. It must get exceedingly tedious.

The track in question is a Mercury composition “Bohemian Rhapsody” very much an operatic opus, taxing the vocal cords to the hilt. On playback it sounds truly magnificent, undeniably Queen yet with greater depth than on any previous efforts.

Mercury is bouncing about saying “Hello dear” to new arrivals. Brian May still looks fragile and Roger Taylor sits down rather wearily. They are scheduled to carry on recording till two a.m.

Mercury seems like he’s itching to talk and, yes, there’s plenty to ask. Like what happened with the old management, Freddie?

He takes a deep breath.

“As far as Queen are concerned they are deceased. They cease to exist in any capacity with us whatsoever. One leaves them behind like one leaves excretia. We feel so relieved.”

It appears to be an almost rehearsed answer. I plod on. How did the change of management come about - why change?

“We felt there came a time when we had got far too big for them to handle. We needed bigger handling. We needed a change. But I don’t want to delve into trivia…”

And on so to John Reid, new manager, also manager of Elton John.

“Actually we were approached by - and we ourselves approached - a series of top class managers to make sure we made the right choice. John Reid happened to be the choice because he flashed his eyes at me and I said ‘Why not’,” Mercury laughs.

“He’s great, actually, I thought he could do with another piano player so we could play duets all night. I said ‘What’s better than one piano player? - two piano players. In a way it’s just what we wanted and the combination is going to be startling. It’s the sort of combination we’ve wanted for years. The whole situation of record deals and his whole method of work, his whole approach is so right.

“He came in to negotiate the whole structure of recording, publishing and management.”

Mercury was present at the recent much-publicised John Reid birthday party last week (“we’re both Virgos you know”). This he pronounced “lovely”.

“I met his ‘other client’. He said ‘You must meet my other client, my other client wants to meet you.’ Elton John was wonderful - one of those people you can instantly get on with. He said he liked ‘Killer Queen’ and anyone who says that goes in my white book - my black book is bursting at the seams.”

The subject switched to the new album. Apart from the aforementioned “Bohemian Rhapsody” what other tracks are there?

“Well the album is called ‘A Night At The Opera’. We’ve finished all the backing tracks and it’s beginning to sound better than we expected.

“With ‘Rhapsody’ we’ve squeezed to our limitations for four octaves and not slowed down the tape! John Deacon had written a lovely little ditty called ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and Roger has written ‘I’m In Love With My Car’ including lines like ‘I’ve got a feel for my automobile’.

“Brian has an outrageous mammoth epic track ‘The Prophet’s Song’ which is one of our heaviest numbers to date. He’s got his guitar extravaganza on it. You see, Brian has acquired a new guitar specially built so he can almost make it speak. It will talk on this track.

“Then there’s ‘Good Company’ written by Brian, a George Formby track with saxophones, trombone and clarinet sounds from his guitar. We don’t believe in having any session men, we do everything ourselves, from the high falsetto to the low bassy farts it is all us.

“Another track is ‘’39’ a little spacey number by Brian, a skiffle style of number which we’ve never tried before and the albume ends with something totally unexpected, a little virtuoso track by Brian. There’s also ‘Sweet Lady’ a heavyish ditty in stupendous ¾.”

Apart from ‘Rhapsody’, Mercury himself has penned four tracks, “one is called ‘Death On Two Legs’ I’m not going to say anymore - just listen to the words carefully kiddies. A nasty little number which brings out my evil streak. The words came very easy to me.

“There’s also a lovely little ballad, my classical influence comes into it, Brian is going to attempt to use harp, real life-size harp. I’m going to force him to play till his fingers drop off. It’s called ‘Love Of My Life’.

“‘Seaside Rendezvous’ has a 1920’s feel to it and Roger does a tuba and clarinet on it vocally, if you see what I mean. I’m going to make him tap dance too, I’ll have to buy him some Ginger Rogers tap shoes.

“‘Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon’ (not the Kinks’ or the Small Faces’) is a short track, just one minute six seconds. A very perky spicey number dear. Brian likes that one.”

Summing up, Mercury says “There were a lot of things we wanted to do on ‘Queen II’ and ‘Sheer Heart Attack’ but there wasn’t space enough. This time there is. Guitarwise and on vocals we’ve done things we’ve never done before.”

In order to finish the album on time Mercury says they will “work till we are legless. I’ll sing until my throat is like a vulture’s crotch. We haven’t even reached the halfway stage yet but from the things I can hear we have surpassed anything we’ve done before musically.”

All right. Now to the other stuff.

Is it true about Brian being offered a gig with Sparks? Was there any serious thought of splitting up the band? Own up…

Mercury is contemptuous of the whole thing.

“About nine months ago Brian was approached by Sparks who said they would like him to join them as guitarist. But we all treat that sort of thing as everyday and mundane. We’re so involved in what we do - anyway we’ve all had offers to join other bands. We don’t give it a second thought.

“But while, say, Roger and I would tell them to piss off Brian takes his time about being nice to people so sometimes they get the wrong idea. Brian is really too much of a gentleman which I am not - I am an old tart - but not for one moment did he consider leaving us.

“But that was nine months ago, so long ago that that rumour went out with the Boer War. Still it’s very flattering to get offers.”

The November British tour, however should dispel any split rumours forever. Preparations are already being made for that.

“I’m thinking of being carried on stage by Nubian slaves and being fanned by them - in fact I’m auditioning for them now. I shall personally select the winners. But where to find a slave?

“I’m also looking for a masseur. The other one is no longer with us.

What happened to him? “His fingers dropped off.”

Trouble with Freddie, he’s always concerned with his health. Still there are reasons.

On the last American tour a couple of gigs were cancelled due to throat problems.

“My nodules are still with me. I have these uncouth callouses growing in my interior (throat). From time to time they harm my vocal dexterity. At the moment however” (he allows himself a smile) “I am winning/”

How can he ensure the problem won’t recur?

“I’m going to go easy on the red wine dear. And the tour will be planned around my nodules. Actually I came very near to having an operation but I didn’t like the look of the doctor and I was a bit perturbed about having strange instruments forced down my throat.”

After the British tour the band go once again to America and thence on to Japan. Japan hold fond memories for Mercury.

With a faraway look in his eye he say “I will be able to be reunited with my bodyguard. I must stress we all had one each - our own personal bodyguards that is. Mine was called Hitami and was the head of the Tokyo bodyguard patrol. His entire job was to pamper and cossett me throughout the tour and make sure no harm was to come to my person. He was very sweet, he gave me this lovely Japanese lantern which I treasure.”

Is there any likelihood Queen may do some American gigs with Elton John?

“Well funny you should say that. We had an offer to do two gigs in L.A. but we were far too busy so we couldn’t do them. But although we’re all the same family Reidy won’t put us out as a package. He knows the difference in the audiences we appeal to. He wants us to be a force of our own in America to maintain what we have, and to do everything bigger and better.”

Mercury is not quite sure if Seattle is on their American itinerary. He remembers a young lady from that part of the world quite vividly.

“A young American tart” he starts getting very angry at the memory of it all, “came in and pilfered my contents … my jewels, bracelets etc and she was just evacuating the room when I accosted her by the elevator.

“I pulled her by the hair, dragged her into the room, emptied the contents of her bag in the room and everything but the kitchen sink came out. I retrieved my things, and said ‘get out, you Seattle shagbag.’

Why hadn’t there been any recorded material from Queen for so long? (Yeah, I know that was an abrupt change of subject).

“Actually that was the way we planned it dear, but we should have a single taken from this album out in October. The album comes out in November when we start our world tour. We’re planning on a much broader scale than before dear.”

[charlesxavirs]

puppy love / cherik

charles has never had a dog. erik can’t believe it.  ( read on ao3 )

There aren’t many thing that surprise Erik Lehnsherr anymore when it comes to Charles.

Him taking honey in his tea instead of sugar didn’t come as any major shock, and you only had to take one look at his perpetually ruffled hair to know that the man was a restless sleeper. One by one, as Charles’s quirks were revealed to him, Erik catalogued and cherished every one, even his more questionable ones (the great sock-sock-shoe-shoe, sock-shoe-sock-shoe debate will forever go down in history as one of their most heated). Yet no matter how outlandish or seemingly random these facets of Charles’s personality were, not one of them took Erik by surprise. Endearing, yes. Frustrating, sometimes. But surprising? Never.

That’s why Erik has absolutely no idea how to feel at being completely gobsmacked at the latest revelation.

“What do you mean you don’t like dogs?” Erik gaped from his seat at the kitchen counter whilst Charles huffed at him, holding the teaspoon that stirred his morning tea with a grip that made Erik wince.

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” he sighed. “It’s just that I’m unfamiliar with them, and I’m found at a bit of a loss around them. It’s not like we had anything of the sort growing up.”

At the edge of Erik’s mind, the usual warm presence turned a little colder, as it usually did when Charles’s childhood became the subject of the conversation. The fact that Charles had grown up without a dog had shocked Erik. He could see Brian Xavier now in an old study, a golden retriever sat steadfastly by his feet, or could easily imagine Sharon sporting a pompous puff of a poodle just to stay in fashion. Heck, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Kurt had a couple of bloodhounds round the place just to make him look like the epitome of the intimidating blueblood he paraded around as.

Then again, Erik thought it must have been for the best. Erik knows his Charles, and his Charles is far too loving for his own good, and anything Charles loved, Kurt found a way to use against him, and no animal on the planet deserved to be held to ransom by Kurt Marko.

Projecting a steady stream of love and contentment, Erik maneuvered himself so he was stood behind Charles, his arms clasped soundly around his waist and his nose buried in his chestnut locks. As the presence in his mind slowly melted back to it’s usual sunbeam warmth, Erik perched his chin on Charles’s shoulder and breathed in his heady scent of Earl Grey and sleep.

“You know, liebling, that actually makes some sense.” Erik mumbled, pressing a kiss to Charles’s brow, and he could feel it’s resulting quirk under his lips.

The warmth in his mind flared as Charles’s lips quirked and he span in Erik’s arms to face him, curling his arms around Erik’s neck. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Erik grinned. “I know how you hate competing to be the most adorable thing in the room.” It was well worth the slap to the chest. Perhaps it wasn’t worth Charles turning away from him in a huff.

“Oh come on, Schatz,” Erik sighed, trying to get Charles to uncross his arms and turn back round to face him, and Erik would’ve thought Charles was really upset at him if it wasn’t for the constant wave of lovelovelove he was projecting. Really, Charles was very talented at sulking. “I’m just being honest.”

Slowly but surely, Charles turned around, looking up at Erik with those big bright eyes, his rosy bottom lip caught between the cage of his front teeth.

“Do you really think i’m adorable?” he asked, his head tipped down to focus on his fingers, which were absently playing with the string of Erik’s pyjama pants.

Taking Charles’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, he tilted his face up towards his, and placed a small peck on the corner of his mouth. “Extremely.”

Charles grinned that grin that made something airy and achy flutter wildly in his chest. It lit up his whole face, even despite the hair falling in his eyes and the last remnants of a red mark from his pillow ghosting over his cheek. That look could simultaneously undo Erik and put him right back together again. That look could absolutely make Erik fall to Charles’s every whim, and the thing was, Erik would happily do so every time. He hoped Charles never stopped looking like this, no matter how old they grew, no matter how much changed between them: cheeky, bright, and in love.

A pair of arms resumed their rightful place around Erik’s neck as Charles stood on his tip toes to look Erik (almost) in the eye. “Make me breakfast?”

Tucking that unruly hair behind his ear, Erik chuckled at Charles’s brazen exploitation of his, quite frankly, frighteningly honest devotion to the younger man. “Anything for you.”

Charles’s resulting smile proved Erik right. Charles would’ve won the hypothetical competition. Hands down.

It had been three whole weeks since their conversation and Erik couldn’t get it off his mind. How could Charles have never had a dog? Surely every child wanted a dog, though Erik supposed that wanting and having were two completely different things.

Erik always had dogs. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t. The big dogs were always his father’s. There was Sammy the Doberman, and then there was Käse (named by three year old Erik), the German Shepherd. Jakob loved his dogs and cared for them greatly, and Erik still has fond memories of his father’s large hands petting each dog on the head as he came in from work, without fail.

Edie always had a pup following her around, too. Generally, they were smaller, and tended to be lap dogs that would run around her feet and yap at anyone that dared to get close. After his father died and Erik moved out, he took some comfort knowing that Edie had a pint sized guard dog to look after her while he wasn’t around, even if it did bite at his fingers and bark incessantly at the back door when he tried to sneak a smoke.

Technically, Käse was Erik’s dog. Erik was only young when they got him as a puppy, and as such, they grew up together. He followed Erik around everywhere, and seemed to have a special gift of knowing when Erik was fed up, and would curl up at the end of his bed and nose at his leg until Erik caved and gave him attention. According to his mother, it wasn’t unusual to find him sprawled out asleep on the couch with Käse lying on top of him, acting as some form of blanket. It wasn’t exactly hard, either, considering the dog almost grew to be the same size as Erik.

His heart ached for Charles then. His dog was one of the greatest friends he ever knew, as sad as he thought it sounded. It was a constant in a life full of inconstants. No matter what happened in Erik’s life, he could guarantee that at the end of the day, there would be a mountain of a dog scratching at his bedroom door for walkies.

Charles had Raven, though, and he tried to comfort himself with the thought that Charles perhaps wasn’t completely alone in that big, cold house. Yet, he knew the troubles he and Raven had in regards to his telepathy, and a small part of Erik wanted to grieve for the young boy who could never fully be himself around his own family.

He expressed all this to his mother one Sunday afternoon. Usually, Charles would be with him (Edie adored Charles, and Erik suspected that she adored him more than Erik at times) but midterms wouldn’t mark themselves, so it gave Erik and his mother an ample opportunity to talk about the telepath.

“I just feel like he’s missed out, mama.” Erik sighed, swishing the dregs of his coffee around in his cup, drumming the fingers of his free hand on the table.

That hand was quickly covered by Edie’s, forcing Erik to look up to his mother’s kind smile and lined face. “Who says he still can’t have it?”

It took him a week for him to organise everything, but he finally did it. It was easy enough to hide the supplies he’d bought for the dog, considering Charles loathed to step foot in his office (“Honestly, Erik, must you decorate using only magenta?”), and actually going about adopting the dog without Charles knowing had been particularly smooth sailing. The hard parts really had been trying not to think about it, lest he accidentally broadcast his plans, and actually choosing the dog to bring home, but he was happy with his decision.

So, that Friday, Erik took a detour on his way home from work to pick up the puppy from the shelter, and once the paperwork was all sorted, he was driving back home with the dog safely in the carrier in the passenger seat, and Erik tried not to speed home.

As soon as he opened the front door, he felt Charles’s brilliant mind greet him, and he pushed his acknowledgement back at him, sending him the equivalent of a mental kiss.

“Charles?” he called out, toeing off his shoes whilst holding the dog in his arms.

“In here, darling.”

Erik peeped his head around the door, finding Charles capping the lid on his pen and smiling up at you.

“I have a surprise for you.” He blurted before Charles could speak, and he could feel Charles’s curiosity spark in his head.

Opening the door fully, Erik stepped inside and strode over to the desk, the tiny Corgi held safely in his arms. Hearing Charles gasp, Erik settled on his knees in front of his chair, kneeling up at full height to hold the puppy up to Charles.

Charles’s face was unreadable, yet Erik took the careful pat he gave to the puppy’s head as a positive sign.

That hand, however, was quickly withdrawn to his lap, and a sigh was huffed out of his nostrils. “Erik-”

“Before you say anything,” Erik interrupted, “what you said about never having a dog got to me. My dog was my best friend in the world before- well, before I met you, I suppose.”

Charles flushed, but let Erik continue.

“He was my best friend, and he was mine. You never forget your first pet, no matter if you have them at twelve or twenty seven. Everyone should have that, if they can, and I want you to have that.”

Tears turned Charles’s blue eyes glassy, and Erik still wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea, whether he had had just reminded Charles how lonely of a child he was.

He quickly got his answer, though, as Charles turned his eyes towards the puppy, and then to Erik.

“Can I hold him?” He asked tentatively, his voice just above a whisper.

Erik’s soft smile couldn’t be helped. “He’s yours, schatz. Of course you can hold him.”

After some careful rearranging, Erik gently passed the puppy into Charles arms. His heart swelled, and he tried to commit the sight to memory; Charles’s soft coos and murmurs, the sheer wonderment in his eyes, his gleeful giggle as the dog liked at his chin and his cheeks. If Charles shed a tear, Erik wouldn’t dare say anything, and if Erik accidentally projected his feelings of sheer adoration for their newfound family of three, Charles wouldn’t mention it either.

Later, when they were tangled tightly together on the sofa, the small pup falling asleep on Charles’s chest under the gentle attention of his soft strokes, the low tones of Attenborough filling the content silence between them, Erik asked: “What are you going to name him?”

Charles hummed, biting the inside of his cheek in thought as his eyes flitted about for inspiration. They landed, eventually, of a picture Charles had taken of Erik whilst they were in college, when Erik was at the prime of his mutant rights activism, and a sly grin overtook Charles’s face as he looked up at his boyfriend.

“Magneto.”

Erik groaned, burying his face in Charles’s hair as he chuckled underneath him.

“Menace.” He whispered into the curls, chasing his words with a kiss as Charles settled further against him, and the serene hush settled over them once more.

“Erik?” Charles piped up after a few minutes.

“Yes?”

“I’m still more adorable, right?”

With fondness flooding his stomach, Erik sent Charles the image of himself: drowning in one of Erik’s jumpers, lips reddened from being scalded on too hot tea, face flushed from their combined body heat.

“Every time, libes. Every time.”

[angrylizardjacket]

ask your destiny to dance [3] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

“I think I’m going to start wearing sequins to work.” It’s an idle thought that Ash speaks into existence on Wednesday afternoon in the back of a lecture hall. Freddie’s slumped over his desk, barely paying attention to the professor at the front, and makes a noise of agreement. 

“You should; more people should wear sequins to work.” Yawning loudly, he waves off the professor’s stare with a weak smile, before resting his head on his arms to look at Ash. “You’ve already got it ready, don’t you?” Half-smiling as she nods, grinning bashfully.

“Black sequinned, button up, sleeveless.” Whistling low through her teeth, Ash’s eyes glazed over at the mere thought of the shirt. “I’m gonna get so many tips.” After a beat, she flushed, turning her mischievous expression on Freddie. “And Smile’s playing, so Dave’ll be in the back room all night.” At his confused look, Ash leaned down to rest her own cheek against the desk, eye to eye with her friend. “Okay, so they’re the only uni band we hire, usually it’s just middle-aged dudes trying to be hip,” she rolls her eyes at that, and Freddie has to repress a smile of his own, “and good ol’ Uncle Dave takes one look at ‘em walking through the front door and he’ll grab a bottle o’ rum from the back shelf and wave me over to them,” her voice has dropped so that only Freddie could hear her, and he can see her barely contained laughter, “which, while hilarious, means I can wear basically anything I want.” 

“Don’t you do that anyways?” Freddie’s grinning outright now, amused at Ash’s quiet passion, but she doesn’t seem offended by the question, just laughs.

“I mean, yeah, but Dave’s always there and I don’t want him seeing me with like, more than three buttons undone.” Sighing wistfully, Ash closes her eyes, lets herself relax against the desk. “But every time Smile plays, he fucks off, I can undo a few extra buttons- Fred, I made like fifty pounds in tips last time! Fifty! Ate like a king at McDonalds that night.” It took everything Freddie had in him not to burst out laughing at her content expression, but moments later when the class was dismissed, he couldn’t help himself.

“At least buy yourself some real food now that you’ve got a job.” He admonishes her, ignoring her groan of protest.

“But no shops are open at two in the morning, Freds,” she whined, dragging her feet as she trailed behind him, cutting through the swathe of other students as they headed to the exit, “at that point I’m just hungry, and hamburgers are easy to find and so good.”

“How you function in regular society continues to baffle me.” He said fondly as the two of them made their way to their favourite afternoon coffee spot, bickering back and forth as they were often want to do. The week passes relatively uneventfully, and by the time it’s Friday, and Dave has complimented her appropriately buttoned, sequinned shirt, - “It’s nice; it’ll go over well with the kids.” - he’s all but absconded into his office as the band walks through the door.

“Evenin’ boys!” Maureen greets them warmly from behind the bar, drying off cups and hanging them up. Ash is already making her way around to greet them, grinning brightly at the trio.

“Hey, how’s it going boys? Ready for a good show?” It’s the fifth time they’ve performed here in just over two months, and Ash feels like she’s really getting to know them. After their final set for the past three times she’s taken a smoke break, the first time she and Brian shared a cigarette, the two of them looking up at the stars as he tried to point out constellations around the light pollution.

“You really know a lot about this stuff, don’t you?” She smiles at him, fondly amused, and he smiles back, a toothy grin filled with pride.

“I’d hope so, uni’s too bloody expensive to have it wasted.” And that’s how she learns he’s studying astrophysics. He joins her again the next time, though she’s quiet, listening as he and Roger banter back and forth about the quality of their performances for the night. Her hatred of Roger had softened somewhat, though it’s probably because she refuses to speak more than three words to him outside of serving him at the bar, so she feels like she hasn’t had to really deal with him. 

She’s seen him, of course, picking up pretty girls at Maureen’s end of the bar, the way they practically drape themselves over him at the sofa by the stage, has heard Brian complain more than once;

“At least go to her place, need I remind you how thin our walls are?” And maybe when she hears it for the first time she chokes on smoke in her lungs and Brian has to slap her on the back to try and help her through it. And maybe the second time her pencil presses down on the line of the dress she’s sketching a little too harshly, a little off from where she wanted, enough that she has to scrap the whole page, but that’s just what he’s like, she knew it from the moment she saw him, and part of her thinks she’s happy to be proven right.

The last time they’d played, Tim talked her ear off about his own performance while Roger and Brian loaded their stuff into the back of Roger’s van, and while Tim’s self-importance bored her almost to tears, she amused herself watching Roger become increasingly annoyed. Small victories.

“It’s going well, thanks Rocket, how about you?” Brian puts his guitar case down by the stage to walk forward and wrap Ash in a hug, which she returns.

“I’m good; always better with you guys around, I can pretend I’m in charge.” And she’s grinning brightly when she steps back. Brian’s always been the friendliest of the bunch, well, Roger may take the top spot for that in general, but not in the way that counts. Speaking of Roger, when she spots him, he’s actually giving her a smile, though his eyes are fixed more on her shirt.

“You’re very sparkly tonight, Ash.” Tim’s mild grin snaps her out of where she was forming a suspicious glare at the drummer, and she smoothed out her shirt, enjoying the sensation of the sequins passing beneath her fingers.

“It’s a good look on you.” Roger adds, gaze moving up to look at her face, and she gives him a proud little smirk in return.

“Made it myself.” And she lets herself bathe in the surprised compliments they offered, ignoring Maureen laughing over by the bar. The boys start setting up and Ash heads back to grab them each a drink before students start pouring in.

By the time the first set’s finished, she’s unbuttoned two more buttons on her blouse and had an old man who looked very out of place surrounded by students try and slip £10 directly into her cleavage. Taking the money from him and placing it there herself, she gives him his drink and her most winning smile before turning to the next customer.

“So that’s what it’s for, to distract hapless young men so you can take their cash?” Roger was grinning at her across the bar and Ash felt her whole body tense.

“What?” She snapped, not taking her eyes off of his as she tucked the note further out of sight, though his own eyes followed the movement.

“The shiny shirt.” He explained, finally pulling his gaze back up to meet hers. Gaze icy, she cocked her hip, crossing her arms beneath her chest. A single raised eyebrow was all the answer he received, though it seemed to be enough of a confirmation for him as his smile stretched into one of mischief, and he ordered another round of drinks for the band. She gives him her sharpest smile when she passes them over, but doesn’t say anything, and he leaves with a smirk and an eye roll.

“This whole passive-aggressive ‘hating-me’ thing is getting old, Pocket Rocket.” He’s the only one of the band members who uses the full nickname anymore, and she’s pretty sure he’s taking the piss every time he does. The other two band members are still inside when she goes on her break after they finish for the night. She hasn’t even pulled out her lighter when the back door comes crashing open and Roger walks through; he doesn’t even see her before he starts talking, just knows she’s there.

“Alright, I’ll drop the passive;” she said, focusing on the flick of her her lighter and taking the first puff of the cigarette before looking up at him, “fuck off.” The words were spoken around the cigarette, but even so, a phrase that universal was understandable no matter how it’s said.

“I’m just wondering what I did to warrant it.” Turning, he leaned against the closed doors of the van, crossing his arms as he looks back at her.

“I don’t like you, Roger,” Ash leaned back in kind, kicking her legs out in front of her, crossing her ankles as she relaxed against the brick wall, “because you’re the sort of boy who breaks pretty girls’ hearts.” As if to punctuate her statement, she takes another draft on her cigarette, and tries not to read into the way Roger’s regarding her curiously.

“Pretty girls like you?” It takes her a moment to recognise his tone, not that she hadn’t heard it before, not that hadn’t even used it herself before, but because he’d never been so brazen about it with her. He was flirting! The nerve!

“Oh, you wish.” Ashe couldn’t help but laugh at that, hating the blush that rose in her cheeks as she looked away, casting her gaze to the road at the edge of the car park. Roger watched for a long moment, enjoying the genuine, if amused, smile that lit up her face; he was so used to seeing the artificial mask she put up whenever she focused on him.

“You’re a hypocrite, love.” He calls, and the smile is gone in an instant, replaced with a frown that she levels directly at him. It doesn’t deter him, however, it was something he’d been wanting to bring up for the past two weeks, after he did a little digging about her, seeing if any of his friends from uni knew about her. “Yeah, I know about you and your first year, Ashley.” Her blood runs cold, expression was unreadable, which only served to make him more smug. “We do have a few friends in common, you know; pretty boys with broken hearts.” And finally he felt like he had clawed back to an inch of moral high ground.

For a long moment, she looks at him, expression fading to a thoughtful frown, cigarette sizzling away in her grip, though she did nothing about it. It’s still mostly intact, but she throws it on the ground, stamping the cigarette out with the heel of her boot against the gravel.

“‘s not the same.” Her voice is hollow, lips pursed, avoiding his gaze. Standing, she seems to hover for a moment, unsure of whether or not she was going to head back inside. “I’m a slut but I’m not a romantic about it, I’m not some wannabe rockstar reeling in boys with doe-eyed looks that promise the world, unlike some people.” Whole demeanour shifting, Roger’s surprised when she steps towards him, sneering. 

“I never really went for boys.” Roger mused, deliberately missing the point of her words as he moved from the van, meeting her halfway.

“You know what I’m saying; I only ever promised one night, don’t flatter me by thinking that’s all it takes for me to break a heart.” Her voice was a dangerous purr, the two of them standing barely a foot apart.

“And you think one night with me- ?” He’s grinning at her, nothing but amused in the face of her anger.

“Don’t flatter yourself either, you prey upon girls who already think you hang stars in the sky, it’s not the night that breaks them, it’s the morning after.” Ash snarls, her rant having filled her with adrenaline, and she waits, buzzing with anticipating about how he’d respond.

“You willing to test that theory?” With a tilt of his head and a slight smile, he looks her up and down, quietly delighting in the way her expression shifts from thinly veiled rage to shock.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The words spill from her mouth, as if she’s barely aware of them, but Roger huffs out a laugh.

“I’m willing to try anything to get you to stop glaring at me when I come up for a beer.” He murmured with a cheeky grin, and there’s that rage again, clear as day in her eyes. “Love, you’re like me,” he says it like it’s a compliment, reaching his hand to hold her chin. Something in his heart grew warm watching the way the gentle touch changed her expression from furious to softly surprised, “so we can both know it’s just a bit of fun, nothing more.”

“So which girl do you have lined up for when I say no?” Her voice tone was quietly accusing, and Roger raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“None.” He admitted easily. “I’m only promising one night, and you get to test that broken heart theory of yours.” 

“God, you’re so fucking arrogant,” she mumbled under her breath, squinting up at him; “one night,” she agrees, “and no I don’t think you hang stars in the sky, so there’s no chance of heartbreak.”

“But what if you’re the heart breaker?” Roger asks, mostly joking, though he’s already sliding his hand around her waist, pulling her close.

“Then you should have developed a harder heart before trying to sleep your way across the UK.” And she’s smiling in return, moving with him as he pulls her in for a kiss. He tastes like beer mostly, the scents of the pub sticking to him as she wraps her arms around him. Pulse racing, she’s the one who deepens the kiss, shifting to her tiptoes to get closer to him, but that only makes him laugh and pull away.

“This is the single worst pick up I’ve ever been on the receiving end of.” She purses her lips, breaking the embrace as she begins to step back to the bar.

“Does that include the middle-aged man slipped a tenner in between your boobs?” Roger calls after her, and to his surprise, Ash is smiling back at him when she looks over her shoulder, sunny and amused.

“Well yeah, I got a ten pounds out of it, didn’t I?” And he can’t really argue with her logic as he begins to follow her back inside to the rest of the band. “What do I get from you?” She smirks, and Roger lengthens his stride to join her as she walks through the door.

“I can’t tell you with company around.” His voice low as he murmured in her ear.grinning as she let out a quiet squeak of surprise. “But it’ll be worth it.”

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe  @laueecakee@smittyjaws @crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings@2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times@heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder @ironqueen98

[buy me a coffee?]

[atenementfunster]

all the more reason, chapter 7

ao3 link here!

Roger Taylor, dead as a doorknob, and his best friend John Deacon (also dead) meet some blokes who are decidedly NOT. Dead, that is.

(aka That Ghost Au that no one asked for, featuring Gay Panic™, John’s sass, and Brian being too endearing for this world. the overall vibe of the fic is not sad, if that’s a concern for you, but it does get rather melancholic. they are dead, after all.)

The grounds are beautiful for once, lit by the sun shining down on a clear day, with students lounging across the greenbelts all along the campus enjoying the rare warmth. Roger’s one of them, in a patch of sun a ways from one of the little fountains that so many like to flock around, mostly to avoid someone sitting on top of him. John’s nowhere to be found, which is reasonable, but Roger still misses him something fierce. Laying across the grass alone has its own comforts, though, and for a few minutes he shuts his eyes and loses himself in the muted bustle of the living around him, a happy illusion that he’s still part of it all.

“I can’t decide if it’s impressive or sad that a dead biology student still hangs around the uni grounds.”

Roger squints up at the figure a few yards away, adorned in a black blazer lined with stitched flowers and velvet slacks. He must be hot, Roger supposes, then he decides he doesn’t really care. True to his thoughts, Freddie sheds the blazer once he reaches Roger’s knees, dropping it in the grass with a light thud.

Roger can’t decide if he wants to laugh or punch him in the face. He tells Freddie as much, which gets him a chuckle in reply. “Fair enough, I deserved that.”

“Are you gonna tell me how you can see me?” Roger's question is frank and flat, looking up at Freddie as he rises up on his elbows. Freddie wrinkles his nose and puts his hands on his hips, seemingly content to tower over Roger.

“You gonna tell me why that pretty thing who was at your elbow yesterday is hiding from me?”

It’s said with cavalier, and Roger glares up at him, dropping the shredded blades and thinking about rising and grabbing Freddie by his thin top. “You really gonna ask me that?”

Freddie holds his ground for a moment before his shoulders drop a bit, and he leans over before lowering himself to the ground with a huff. Roger doesn’t look at him, and Freddie sighs. “No, that was cruel.”

The silence waxing between them isn’t quite uncomfortable, but it has Roger shifting in place all the same. He has so many questions, all warring at the surface of his mind, clamoring to be released. What eventually makes it out first is, “how long have you been able to see us?”

The question seems to take Freddie aback, and he’s looking over at Roger now, eyes wide and lips pursed. “I suppose all my life,” he says, leaning back on his hands. “As long as I can remember, anyway. It comes and goes - sometimes I have to focus to see anyone, and other times all I think I’m seeing are the dead.”

His tone is light, but Roger swallows at the implications. “Sorry to say, but you might be haunted,” he jokes, because he isn’t sure how to handle a thought like that. Freddie sniggers, squinting over at Roger, a bit of smudged eyeliner from last night still accenting his large eyes.

“Must be.” He looks up at the sky, and Roger wonders what it might be like to still feel the sun warm his skin through the chilly winter breeze, and finds he’s glad he remembers the sensation.

The quiet stretches again, this time a little more relaxed, an odd sort of peace between them. Clearly neither of them do well in the silence, though, because Freddie breaks it after a minute. “How long have you known Brian?”

For the first time since they’ve met, Roger hears a tone in Freddie’s voice that brooks no retreat, and Roger sits up fully, crossing his legs beneath him and hunching over with his elbows on his knees. “Three days,” he admits, and for some reason he feels an odd blossom of shame unfurl in his chest. It’s only been three days, but he’s chasing him like a lovesick hound.

Freddie doesn’t seem to share his concerns, nodding and leaning back, pressing his hands into the grass as he looks skyward again.

“Do you know why he can see me, then?” Roger presses when Freddie says nothing. Pursing his lips, he shakes his head, mane of dark ironed hair brushing his bared shoulders as he cranes his neck to look back at Roger. Which is good, because the anxiety that’s blooming alongside the shame feels like it’s about to take hold of his voice and start screaming at the guy to stop being so relaxed about something that’s literally changing his existence.

In truth, the relaxed posture seems to belay the fact that Freddie is on just as uneven ground as Roger is. “I didn’t know anyone could except me,” he admits, and there’s something vulnerable in his face that has Roger’s hackles lowering almost immediately. “Oh, it’s not all as dramatic as it sounds,” Freddie adds, waving a hand right as a gust of wind tosses his hair and ripples at the neck of his top. “I’ve not done much with it, at any rate. Chatted up plenty, sure, but I learned that it’s rather hard to keep it going. Some pretty major differences between me and a bloke who’d had a heart attack three weeks ago. Getting attached, trying to help - not much has come of it, dear, so you learn to stop trying.”

The forced lightness in his tone betrays the memories shining in his eyes, impossibly dark and vulnerable all at once. Roger has to take a moment to try and remove himself, because the words cut deep. You’re not worth the time to spend time with, there’s nothing that can be done for you, you don’t belong together.

Clenching his teeth and his fists, Roger stares down at his feet, at the shoes he’s stared at for over a year now, and tries to be objective.

Freddie’s been forced to see the dead as they are - unchanging, lost, and ultimately unfulfilling. But, he’s not really had much of a choice, not with the sheer number of dead lining the streets. If he looked up, Roger’s sure he’d see another walking through alleys they’d once known, sleeping on the sidewalk they’d maybe never woken up from.

Roger thinks of his own death, of John’s, how they’re still people, they’re still here, and turns to Freddie fully. Freddie, who looks wary, but accepting of whatever frustrations or griefs Roger’s about to unleash on him. Roger wonders if he’s had this conversation before.

“I get that,” he says, surprising both of them. Freddie’s mouth falls open and everything. “It sucks,” he adds, tone flat and eyes half lidded, acceding what they both know, “and it’s not fair. I can’t imagine seeing dead blokes and birds all your life, so many desperate for something more, and not knowing how to ask. Ignoring it is easier.”

“It’s not,” Freddie interrupts, that vulnerable look shining in his eyes again. He speaks with his whole body, shoulders turned toward Roger, hands clenched, back rigid. This means something to him, Roger realizes with a jolt, and it opens his mind enough to listen.

“It became necessary, after too long. I wasn't helping, I was only drowning myself in their losses. All these people, who'd had the chance to love, all that potential gone. Instead of possibility, all they had was me, a ponce from Zanzibar who could only see and touch and listen.” Freddie looks down at the ground, pouty lips curled over his teeth. There's too much history there, too many ghosts in the taut lines of Freddie's muscles, in the gaunt hollows of his cheeks, in his trembling fingers. Roger stares, tires to imagine it, and fails.

The lost expression Freddie's wearing melts away as he blinks, an intentional transformation as he smiles across at Roger. Surprisingly, it reaches his eyes. “These are all meandering platitudes, of course. I’m sorry dear - here you are, the dead one, and I’m off feeling sorry for myself!” He flings out a hand, casual as can be, and pats Roger’s shoulder.

What little agitation Roger had left for Freddie melts away beneath his hand.

“Call me ‘the dead one’ again and I’ll give you a reason to really feel sorry for yourself,” Roger says, leaning into Freddie’s grip and smiling with as many teeth as possible. The laugh he gets in reply reminds him of wind chimes, Freddie’s shoulders thrown back as he laughs, overbite on display. It’s a lovely, unguarded thing, and Roger leans back on his hands, palms pressed into grass he can’t feel, and breathes deep.

It's a lot to handle, sure. Three days ago, Roger's world was uprooted by a slight man with too much hair and a shy smile, and he'd thought his new life couldn't get any crazier than that. Now, here's a whirlwind of a man, disclosing personal shit - incredibly relevant shit - as he tries to bring comfort without asking for any in return. Not for the first time today, Roger misses John, his steady company, his understanding smiles and easy countenance.

“You know,” Freddie says once his amusement has faded, looking around for a moment before turning back to Roger, “you don’t have to wear the same clothes every day. Not that you can’t, it’s a perfectly fine look, I just wonder if you’ve grown tired of it, is all.”

Irritation lances white-hot through Roger’s chest. “I don’t exactly have a closet to pilfer from, Freddie.”

Instead of the expected apology, Freddie’s eyes go a bit soft around the edges, a sad little smile as he nods. “No closet needed, my dear. You remembered what you were wearing, and your brain is convinced there’s no other option.”

Freddie doesn’t say it, but the words hit deep anyway. He’s still wearing what he died in, and though they’re bloodless and tear-free, the blazer and slacks still serve as a pretty shit reminder. Something aggrieved must show on his face, because Freddie adds hastily, “It’s perfectly normal, darling, you don’t exactly have anyone telling you this sort of thing.”

Like a cresting wave, Roger’s anger peaks and falls, washing away with little sign it was ever there at all. In its place is an odd sort of grief, the same as he’s used to feeling but watered down, mollified by Freddie’s sympathetic and cautious smile. “I guess I do now.” Roger’s reply is brusque, but he knows there’s gratitude in the lines of his face. Taking chances isn’t something he’s ever shied much away from, and this is no exception.

Everything Freddie does is with a particular sort of flair, and shifting with embarrassment is no different. Hair swinging in his face as he shifts forward, he smiles with lips curled over his teeth, hands clasped in his lap. “I thought you were supposed to be mad at me, Roger Taylor,” Freddie says, looking up at him through his lashes, grin a sardonic little thing.

Roger lifts one brow. John would be proud. “We can go back to that, if you’d like.”

“Oh no, you were much duller when you were spitting like a cat,” Freddie brushes him off with a little wave, then glances around again. In a flash, Roger understands why he’s been looking around the quad every other minute - must look quite mad, talking and laughing with a tree.

Before he can suggest they move somewhere a bit more private, Freddie’s continuing, a whirlwind that Roger is surprised he’s looking forward to keep up with. “Just think of this,” he says animatedly, gesturing up and down Roger’s torso, “as all in your head. I’d say start with picturing yourself naked, but I’m not sure we’re at that stage of our relationship yet.” A wink, a touch to his arm, and Roger feels hope and delight alight in his chest, rising to his face in a toothy grin.

“Try something you owned, something you wore often. It’ll be easier that way, I should think.” Freddie’s smile is encouraging as much as it is flirtatious, shoulders squared as he leans forward; he’s entirely serious, and Roger’s nodding before he can refute what’s bound to be a hopeless endeavor.

Staring down at the grayed out grass, he thinks back on what he used to feel good in - the textures, the colors, the confidence both gave him. Freddie’s gasp makes him jump, and Roger looks over at him with a glare, nose wrinkled and ready to scold him for distracting him. Before he can, though, Freddie claps his hands together, eyes lit with glee.

“Much better! If I could, I’d steal that from you, darling, it’s marvelous.”

Roger looks down, and his eyebrows vanish into his hairline.

Where a light navy button-up and heavier denim trousers used to be, Roger’s now looking at one of his favorite blazers, black with red velvet trimmings, unbuttoned to show a thin light blue top and his collarbones just beneath. His crossed legs are adorned with soft dark kecks, and feet with brown oxfords.

He looks up at Freddie, whose eyes are still wide with delight, then back down at some of his favorite clothes - clothes he thought were lost to him - and thinks he might cry.

“There there love,” Freddie says, leaning close and setting his manicured hand atop Roger’s, which are both currently clinging to his bared ankle. “The change is nice, right?”

Roger wonders how many people Freddie’s done this for. How many have been stumbling through this sham of a second life, alone in all the ways that matter, and seen this beacon of a man that’s selfless enough to try and help. A change of clothes is nothing in the scheme of things, but to Roger it’s everything.

Part of him wants to tell Freddie this, make him understand how much this means to him, but there aren’t enough words for it. “I forgot to remember socks,” is what he winds up saying, eyes burning but smile bright as he chuckles through the tears threatening to choke him.

Freddie, mindless of the living and breathing people around him, leans forward and pulls Roger into a tight hug, face buried in his hair as he laughs right along with him.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #74

UPDATE 74: Aisha Does What She Can

Last time Skitter had gone to try to convince Panacea to cooperate and not be a lone wolf trying to run away from the evil. Maybe it’d have gone well if it wasn’t for Mannequin crashing the negotiations and ruining everything. Now Panacea is upset and away, Mannequin is going to attack Skitter’s territory again, and a couple of Heckpuppy’s dogs are dead. As usual, the arc starts with the deck stacked against the main characters. Let’s continue.

...it’s another interlude. There’s plenty of interludes recently. Mr. Wildbow must have received boatloads of donations often, if he had to write interludes every two or so chapters! I wonder how many chapters in the future are interludes.

I skimmed these first few paragraphs and I again can’t find out who this interlude is about. Maybe it’s like the last one, and it’s about a character’s civilian identity. There’s Sam, there’s Celia. Sam is a heavyset man, Celia sounds like a middle-age woman.

Looks like this is a junkie reunion. There’s pissing off the fire escapes, there’s powder to be snorted...I’d think they’re with the Merchants, if it wasn’t because that group is dead and gone. Oh, looks like they really were Merchants. The remaining Merchants stole some of the merchandise when Skidmark died, and kept their stashes. Two of them go to indulge in the drug, the other two don’t.

Aisha had to hop out of the way so she didn’t get sat on.

Oh! It’s Aisha! Is this the place she ran off to after Grue rejected her plan to go spy on the Slaughterhouse Nine?

She watched the dialogue between her mother, her mother’s boyfriend of the week and her mother’s new friend with a dispassionate expression.

...oh. Well...this sure is heavy. The middle-age woman is pregnant, and she’s Aisha’s mother. Aisha isn’t exactly happy about these developments.

The first place her mind went, before joy at the idea of having a brother or sister, before anger at her mom for letting it happen and not using protection, was hope.

...the idea of having a brother or sister? What about Brian? This wording seems to imply she doesn’t have one. Does that mean this is the past? Aisha is his younger sister, isn’t she? Hm. Maybe this interlude is about Aisha. This could be some time before Grue started the process to adopt her.

The thought of her mother having another kid isn’t pleasant, and Aisha hopes that doesn’t happen – because it’d be better for the kid. After all, Aisha herself didn’t exactly have a nice childhood, the kid should be spared from it.

How much of Aisha’s problems were because of her mom’s lack of self-control and how many others were because of this environment?  She’d grown up with a mom who’d never mentally or emotionally aged past fourteen or fifteen.  A new man in the house every week or two, with his own idea of how things should work, Celia generally content to let him run things however he wanted.

Pretty harsh environment to grow in. Especially since it sounds like the man never stays for long. The lack of stability and constant stream of different men coming around can’t have helped her at all, especially since some of them were abusive. One of them had broken her arm. Yikes, I knew Aisha’s life had been pretty rough, but reading it makes it more...hm...it’s the old show, don’t tell. It’s easier to imagine how it was like when you actually see it.

Being ignored by her teammates and told to go to her room and play along for everyone else’s sake was another.

I was wrong, this is the present. I suppose what I read earlier was just a bit of confusing wording. So this is where she ran to when her teammates rejected her plan.

While they all enjoy their drugs and don’t even say a word to her – not to offer her drugs, not to even be dismissive to her – because of her power. When she loses her concentration, people forget about her. Ah. So she has to actively make an effort to make everyone realize she’s there? I thought it’d be backwards, that she needed to focus in order for people not to see her. Something I like about these interludes is that they sometimes give a chance to see how the powers work, right from the parahuman’s understanding of it.

Not that it was invisibility, really.  It was memories.  People forgot her as soon as they saw her, to the point that they didn’t register her presence.  She could feel it, her power rolling over her skin, jabbing outward, invisible to sight, touch and anything else, making contact with the people around her and pushing those memories away.

See? It’s like some sort of miasma. Like a cloud of vapor that envelops people and make them forget about her. I suppose that’s why she has to focus to stop others from forgetting her. She has to keep her power bottled to some extent, or at least not be as effective as it could be.

The more they try to remember her, the more she slips away, but it’s not like by trying to ignore her they will remember her. In the end it seems she’s the one who has the most control over who can see her and who can’t – even if it’s not complete control, as seen in Skitter sometimes forgetting about her. She can’t even will herself to make it work harder, if she does that, it just doesn’t work.

Aisha thinks about how easy it’d be for her to take all these drugs and walk out, maybe Coil could decide what to sell, and her mother would have no more drugs, and would maybe get her life in order. Rather unlikely, unfortunately. Getting your life in order is much more difficult when there’s someone nearby who indulges in the habits you want to leave. She’d have to change a lot about her life, and that’s not easy at all.

No.  If she got rid of the drugs, it was more likely that someone would erupt in anger.  Sam or her mom, getting violent, verbally or otherwise.  It would do more harm than good.

Well, yeah, that’s a given. No matter how high they are right now, they’ll notice it’s gone, and since they’re the only people around...it wouldn’t end with a friendly ‘well, shucks, guess we gonna leave now’. It doesn’t stop Aisha from leaning forward and stomping away the weed her mother was smoking, and mom reacts with disbelief.

Aisha used her hand to cover the papers and whispered, “No.”

Again, the dazed blinking.  Her mother asked, “Sam?  Got any more papers?”

She can use her body to hide small objects from sight! And it’s like they’re not there anymore! That’s promising! I think it extends to objects she’s touching, since of course nobody sees floating trinkets she’s carrying. She would be perfect to deliver stuff and steal, as long as there are no cameras or anything like that.

What follows is rather poignant. Aisha tries to convince her mother to stop taking drugs, to have some consideration towards her future kid, and to get her life in order. Of course since she’s not perceived by anyone in this room, she’s talking to the air, this is the stuff she would like to say to her mom but doesn’t dare to.

Was it cowardice that kept her from confronting her mother, or the knowledge backed by years of experience that it wouldn’t make a difference?

The second one, most likely. It’s hard to care and try to convince other people if you know they wouldn’t listen to you. Why to waste breath when you know it’s going to be futile? Besides, they wouldn’t be in a state to listen to the teenage parahuman with the horned mask if she made herself known right now.

Maybe, if everything with the Nine worked out and Coil got control of the city, maybe she could get her mom some help, or report her to the police.

They aren’t exclusive, I think. Reporting her to the police could lead to she getting help, especially if Coil’s the one arranging it. It won’t be pretty, it won’t be pleasant, but maybe it’s for the best?

Aisha didn’t come here just to be away from the Undersiders for a bit, she’s also her to gather some of her stuff. She tried to be like a girl scout, it seems, and it didn’t go as expected. Her troublesome personality, most likely, may have gotten in the way. She picks up a few notebooks to take notes, her binoculars...she’s going to do her plan anyway. Brian better not find out or he’ll blow a gasket, and rightly so, I’d say. Since they killed the Merchants, they may still be over there. She’s following their trail of destruction. Take notes, Theo, this is a way to find them in like two years.

...

...hm. There won’t be time for that, anyway. Jack and the others won’t stay in Brockton Bay for two years, and if he gets out, everything is doomed. It’s a shame, Theo maybe won’t get his time to shine. Oh well.

Investigating that area doesn’t give many clues. There’s a lot of bodies, a lot of blood, and contrary to popular belief, cops won’t babble loudly about everything they find, for the convenience of anyone who turns out to be listening. She has to search whatever she can, and it takes a long while before she finds something that could be considered a trail. Fresher blood in higher amounts. It’ll be the moment of truth, if she really found them, she’ll finally find out if the Slaughterhouse Nine can feel her presence. It’s my opinion that Cherish definitely would, and maybe Mannequin and/or Crawler would because they both seem like they’d have a different way to sense stuff around themselves, compared to everyone else, so...yeah. I hope she’ll be okay. She may have behaved like quite the brat during that meeting, but that doesn’t mean I want something bad to happen to her.

Not all the slaughterhouse Nine members are here. There’s Crawler, there’s Shatterbird, there’s Burnscar, all of them relaxing as if they’re not a bunch of bloodthirsty murderers. Guess she’s not going to find out if Crawler can see her, since he’s asleep. True, some of the eyes all over his body are open, but...ah, I don’t know if that’s enough to keep tabs on everything around himself.

Bonesaw is here too, with some of her mechanical spiders.

Aisha moved quickly aside as a spider moved from the kitchen, past her and to the table. Whatever cameras or artificial intelligence it used, it didn’t seem to notice her.

Maybe they neither have cameras nor artificial intelligence. Maybe Bonesaw controls them with her brain, directing them and making them do what she wants. It’s plausible, isn’t it? So of course they wouldn’t react – she’s not aware Aisha is here, so the spiders don’t react to her.

Aisha had never killed anyone, but here she was, holding a lethal weapon.  She could slice Shatterbird’s throat and they wouldn’t even realize she was there.

They would realize something was wrong, of course. Suddenly someone has an ugly wound from side to side of her neck, and nobody would fail to notice that. Besides, there’s also the matter of Bonesaw being here. She could revive Shatterbird later, and it’d be like nothing happened, all it’d do is make them know someone managed to attack them while supposedly being invisible. Also, Aisha thinks for a moment it may be possible Shatterbird will see her in her last throes and use her power to kill her. There’s plenty of broken glass around, after all. Burnscar and Crawler could hit blindly around, and her odds of not dying aren’t high. So...this is high risk, high reward.

Slowly, she walked over to Bonesaw, navigating around the drones.  Could she kill the kid?

On the one hand, Bonesaw was the one who kept the other members going.  Removing her would take a lot of problems off the board. She could finish off Bonesaw and run for cover in the kitchen, out of Burnscar and Shatterbird’s line of fire. From there, it was only steps to the front door and safety.

On the other hand, it was still murder, and it was a kid.  A kid that had a hundred kills under her belt.

A lot of heroes and villains wouldn’t have qualms about this, Aisha. She may be a kid, but she has so much blood in her hands not many would pull any punches when dealing with her. In terms of morality, obviously it’s wrong. It’d be pretty messed up if you didn’t hesitate. It’s a life, you can’t do something like this and not have something wrong with you. In terms of how much people would blame you...well I don’t think anyone would care. The only thing that’s stopping Aisha here is the natural reticence everyone should have. I’m so glad about this.

She was still hesitating when it’s revealed the man Bonesaw was currently wrists-deep working on is still alive. Let it be known she currently has his torso all open because of course she does, what else did you expect, and he’s feeling every second of it. That makes all doubts Aisha had about attacking a kid vanish. There comes the attack!

She plunged the knife into Bonesaw’s bare throat.

Bonesaw screamed, shrill and loud, which caught Aisha off guard.  With a knife in her throat, the girl was screaming?

Of course. Of course it can’t be that easy. It’d have been anticlimactic to lose a Slaughterhouse Nine member so early, especially one as threatening as Bonesaw. Of course. I’m pretty sure a few of the members are going to die at some point during Worm – my personal predictions is that the Siberian and Crawler will die, because it’d be satisfying to read about the strongest members being defeated. Jack will die because...you know, that’s the point of the Slaughterhouse Nine arc. And...hm, other than these three it’s hard to know who will die. Maybe Burnscar, as the one with the least focus so far. Maybe Bonesaw, since she’s Jack’s friend.

Anyway, Bonesaw doesn’t die no matter how hard Aisha tries. She slits her throat and buries her knife into Bonesaw’s eye. It doesn’t kill her but it still hurts a lot. Her screams of pain get Shatterbird and Burnscar’s attention, who react immediately, making fire and glass fly around to hit invisible threats. Crawler wakes up too.

“Is it Jack?” Burnscar asked, looking around, then turning to the window, “What the hell?”

Given what happened, it’s not much of a stretch to think it was Jack. It’s a blade injury that seemingly happened out of nowhere. He also wouldn’t have any problems killing someone in the team if he had a reason to do that. Bonesaw argues it isn’t him, because he knows where to strike to kill someone with as many protections as she put on herself and on him. The logic...kind of holds, I guess.

Aisha backed toward the front door.  She stopped as Crawler appeared in the doorway that led from the kitchen to the front hall, looking through to see his teammates on the far end.  His voice was a mangled mess of sounds that only barely approximated anything like speech.  “I don’t smell anyone.”

Lucky Aisha, he can’t detect her smell. That’s kind of valuable information! It’s a pity it won’t be any good for her, since she has no way to hurt Crawler at all, unless somehow he’s very weak to tasers.

Burnscar proposes to torch down the place and run, the idea is rejected because Mannequin may not find them if they move too far from their current hideout. Besides, there are other things to be worried about:

“Quiet,” Shatterbird cut in.  “It’s less about you being hurt and more about the fact that someone had the audacity to attack us here.”

That can’t happen too often. Jack is going to be so interested when he hears somebody dared to attack them right while they’re in their hideout. Aisha may want to keep that to herself, though. Brian is going to have a conniption if he finds out Aisha tried to slit a Slaughterhouse Nine member’s throat. He was very upset when Skitter fought Mannequin, since there was only 50% chance of winning, he will be livid Aisha almost got in a confrontation she was likely to lose.

Although...I wonder...Dinah’s power isn’t affected by the likes of Aisha, right? If she’s asked about Aisha anything, will she be able to answer? I wonder...

Thanks to her power, she’s able to sneak back to the lobby of the building, where she finds out there are new victims from the usual activities of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Jack is here, and he’s making Cherish do the grunt job. May as well get something useful out of her before her impending doom, yeah? This is the time for the big test. Does Cherish sense Aisha?

She has options. She can go for Cherish and attack her, she can go for Jack and attack him, and although it isn’t mentioned, she could try running away. Attacking Jack would be useless, that’s clear. Bonesaw did say he has the same protections than her. Cherish is likely not to have such protections, because why to give them to someone who is bound to die and/or break in despair in the future?

Deciding to attack Cherish, she follows her into the room she’s hiding corpses in, and that goes exactly like I expected.

“Put the weapon away,” Cherish said, her voice quiet.

Yup, detected. It’s not perfect, of course, she can’t hear or see Aisha, all she knows is that there’s someone here, and gets ready to scream for Jack’s help unless Aisha cooperates.

“Put your weapon away,” Cherish said, her voice quiet and carefully measured, “We only have a few seconds before Jack gets suspicious.  Listen.  I want to strike a deal.”

Oh my goodness, she’s desperate! She doesn’t know who is here, right? So later when she finds out she made a deal with the Undersiders, Regent included, she’s not going to like that. If she already knows about Ausha then she’s really, really desperate. This will be interesting.

The interlude ends here, but I’ll go to the next chapter. I want to know how badly things are in Skitter’s territory before she gets there. Mannequin is ready for revenge!

Mannequin not only has the advantage of having left this random alleyway a minute or two before Skitter and the rest, he also has surprising speed, and isn’t trying to mask himself from Skitter’s bugs. He’s just running at full speed towards her territory. A couple paragraphs later, it’s shown they had another problem they had to take care of before parting towards her territory, so Mannequin has even more advantage.

We’d lost a couple of minutes as we helped Bitch retrieve Lucy’s real body.  It was eerie to see.  When the dogs grew, they really appeared to be adding mass, literally growing and stretching.  Somewhere in the transformation, after they weren’t recognizable as the animals they had once been, their real bodies were reformed inside a placenta-like sac. Mannequin’s gunshot had opened a hole in Lucy’s chest and penetrated that membrane to kill the real dog within. We’d used my knife and Grue’s raw strength to help pull the dog free in a grim sort of anti-childbirth.

Ah, so that’s why they can shrug off some bad injuries and appear as good as normal once it’s all over. I see! I like this explanation. It also explains why the dogs just shed all that flesh and bone, it’s not theirs, their real body always was inside the large monstrous dogs. Of course they’d shed that...shell. Also, gross.

Doing this may be what convinced Heckpuppy to cooperate, lending her dogs as vehicles. Not that it’s giving them any chances of catching up to Mannequin before he gets to the territory, he’s outrageously fast.

Everyone except Heckpuppy is...well, not in top shape, but they’re healthy enough to keep going. Heckpuppy has a bad wound on her stomach, it’s still bleeding. She better not overexert herself. That can be fatal. Skitter is worried, but it’s not like they can stop to give Heckpuppy first aid, not when there are a lot of civilians in danger.

He could apparently see my bugs and since our last confrontation he’d gained the ability to see the spider silk I was placing on him or in his vicinity.  It was remarkably high-resolution vision for someone who hadn’t been able to notice that I didn’t have a pool of blood spreading out beneath me during our last fight.  Or was his inability to see that because he was calibrated to see the small things?

Maybe he just can see them now. If he couldn’t see those before, and now he can, the simple explanation is that he made improvements to his seeing abilities. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that, I’d say. At least this does confirm it’s unlikely the same tricks than in the first fight will work again.

That doesn’t stop Skitter from trying to trip him with some spiderwebs, at least to know where he’s going. The problem is that, well, he’s moving through ways she didn’t expect, and faster, too. Out of her range.

Heckpuppy’s dogs are the only weapon they have, since Mannequin must have counters for the insects, and Grue’s darkness doesn’t seem to affect him. Well, no, they do have another option: Genesis. She’s still in the territory! And she’s highly versatile, she may have a way to fight Mannequin. The problem is that...well...it would be great to tell her some useful information to fight Mannequin, as otherwise, she’d go in there with whatever knowledge she already has, but there’s no time for that. They’ll have to trust her to fight well. Skitter also calls Sierra to get her to take everybody to a safe place.

Sierra sure took calmly the return of Mannequin. Good for her, staying level-headed despite the awful situation.

Skitter tries to think of a good plan to keep tabs on Mannequin, the one plan she thinks of will take too long.

Mannequin stood in the center of the road, his back to us.  Half a dozen of my people were lying on the road, unconscious or dead. I couldn’t see any blood.  There were a couple more people in nearby buildings that had fallen as well.  How had he reached them?  Why hadn’t Genesis and Sierra been able to get everyone out?

...welp. Skitter is going to give herself a psychological flogging for this later. It’s somewhat strange there’s no blood, though. Mannequin’s methods are not clean, they’re not harmless. He has a lot of blades, and a penchant for killing people in awful ways. I find it hard to believe he wouldn’t have taken the chance to gouge Skitter’s heart out by killing some of her new employees. These must be unconscious, not dead...maybe he wants to kill them right in front of Skitter, so she feels powerless.

They arrived just in time to see Genesis’ form dissolving, he had just defeated her. At least she managed to stall him enough for everyone else to arrive, that should count for something.

He turned our way, and his mouth opened like a ventriloquist dummy or a christmas nutcracker. It jiggled up and down, silently, mocking.  Laughter without sound.

...comparing a murderous villain to a ventriloquist dummy or a Christmas nutcracker is...kind of a bad choice of words. I’m trying to picture it in my head, and it looks silly every time. At least the heroes took offense to his mocking, Heckpuppy charged forward to attack. It was a trap, though. The bugs right on Mannequin die first, so...whatever he’s doing, it expands from him and outwards. While the dog and its rider manage to avoid the worst, they got close enough to be affected.

The dog collapses, and Heckpuppy has to crawl, gasping for breath. Needless to say, having a fresh wound on her abdomen won’t help that at all. Perhaps pushing Mannequin away will help? It may be some sort of...I don’t know, a gas or an electromagnetic field. Those are the two options I can think of. It’d have to be some sort of long-distance attack, though, something strong enough to push him away.

Gas. Colorless, scentless, swift to spread and it incapacitated in seconds.  If my bugs were any indication, it also killed its victims shortly after.

Ah, so that’s what it is. That’s new, Mannequin didn’t have that before. It’s both a protection against Skitter’s bugs – the spiders and all that wouldn’t be able to get close to him – and a way to keep everyone away from him. Not a bad move, and it’s a new challenge to overcome. Any big ideas, Skitter?

Her idea to save her teammate was to hope the wolf pup is well-trained and obeys when she tells him to fetch his owner. There was hesitation, but it worked. Good!

The puppy ran back to us.  There was nothing we could do for Bentley.

Heckpuppy is going to be so upset once she finds out another one of her dogs is dead. There’s really no way she’s going to consider for even a moment to join them.

Right, forgot Grue is injured. That’s going to make everything more difficult. In an attempt to gather and try to think of something that could be done against Mannequin, Skitter forces Bastard to come along, and talks to Grue. She suggests using his darkness to displace the gas. Hm...I don’t know if that would work, it doesn’t seem like the darkness displaces anything. If it did such thing, nobody would be able to breathe inside the darkness.

“We need a plan to win this,” he said.

“Priority one is surviving until we think of one,” I replied.  “Genesis will be back in action in a few minutes.”

“A few minutes is a long time.”

That’s correct, it’s a long time. I don’t think Mannequin would fool around for a few minutes, if he notices they’re trying to stall for time, he’ll attack and do everything he can to hurt them – or...well, to hurt Grue, because Skitter isn’t going to get the brunt of his revenge, physically.

Their current plan is to split up and look for clues run in different directions. Mannequin pursues Grue, like I thought he would. While it’s a reason to be worried about, this gives her some time to think, while she tries to keep tabs on them with her bugs. Looks like the gas comes from his ventriloquist puppet mouth. Great, just great. Mannequin’s got deadly halitosis.

Why was he here?  He wanted to hurt me.  He wanted to hit me where it hurt, and he’d done it.  He’d killed no less than ten of my followers.  Charlotte and Sierra could easily be among them.

Oh, right...now that it was shown he has killer gas, that explains why they weren’t moving. I fear this will get rid of the good will her workers had. People died while working for her. I’m sure they knew it could be dangerous, but they trusted Skitter and hoped she’d keep them safe. The amount of recruits will slow down considerably, I’d dare to say.

Now that he’s going to try to kill Grue, he’s shooting.

Okay.  So Mannequin was shooting now, when he hadn’t been before.

Were there other clues?  What had changed after he’d closed his mouth?

That you’re not around, perhaps? If he shot, he would risk hitting you? That’s what comes to mind, as unlikely as that could be.

Apparently that wasn’t it. It’s that before there was all that gas around him, and that’s why he couldn’t just shoot them. I had thought Heckpuppy was spared because...well...she hadn’t really failed his test, so he didn’t need to kill her yet, but looks like the reason she’s still alive is because shooting while in middle of his cloud of gas would have been a bad idea.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to blow himself up.

That...that seems like an extraordinarily huge oversight. There has to be ways for him to create microorganisms to make deadly gas that wouldn’t be flammable. Was he so confident nobody would figure out it’s flammable he didn’t care about that? I guess...maybe that’s it, but still, it’s a really big oversight. It’s a huge weakness, especially because the gas comes from within himself. I don’t doubt he’s resistant enough to endure an explosion – I hope so, because otherwise that’d be really disappointing – so...yeah, maybe he’s gotten reckless. Part of me would even dare to say stupidly reckless, but hey, maybe there’s something I don’t know about the correlation between a gas’ lethality and its flammability. Maybe it’s impossible to make a deadly gas that isn’t flammable. Can’t say I know anything at all about that topic.

Skitter isn’t sure if she’s right or not, but it’s a plan, a last-ditch plan because the force of the explosion can cause a lot of damage. That may be why he’s not worried about flammable gas, because setting fire to it would be dangerous for whoever does it, anyway. Especially if it’s a parahuman that has no power related to fire at all. She starts preparing herself for such option, just in case.

My bugs crossed paths with me, and the items made their way into my hands.  A cheap plastic lighter and a packet of matches. I stashed the matches between my belt and my hip and slid the lighter into a small pocket in my utility compartment.

I really hoped I wouldn’t have to use them.

Twenty bucks she’ll have to use them before the chapter ends.

When Skitter arrives to where Mannequin is, she finds he defeated Grue and the dog he was riding, he’s at their mercy. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s dead...yet. They’ll die unless Skitter does something because, you know, crazed madman on the loose. Mannequin is pouring more gas around, maybe trying to keep Skitter away while he kills them with poison. Skitter uses this chance to measure just how much space the gas occupies, it’s a radius of four or five feet. That’s not so much! It’s like a bubble all around Mannequin, it doesn’t sound like it’ll expand much. He’ll have to get really close to his victims for them to die.

Grue had surrounded himself in a thick cloud of darkness, to the point that I couldn’t make out his arms and legs in the midst of it.  From what I could gather, he was getting some benefit from it, and was pushing the gas away.  How long could he sustain that, though?  Was the darkness filtering it out, or was he holding his breath, slowly suffocating?

I remember Grue’s darkness feels like it’s emanating from him. Maybe it emanates with enough strength to have a layer of air around him. It may not keep him alive forever, but it should buy him a few seconds, perhaps?

The confrontation happens. Skitter tells him to back off, Mannequin seems to wonder ‘if not what will you do?’

I raised the matchbook and, after checking again that my bugs were gas-free, lit it. A handful of my bugs carried it into the air.

“Or I light you up,” I said.

Everyone reading this owes me twenty dollars.

Since she had nothing left to lose – well, other than the territory and the lives of everyone in it, but you get the point – she decides all she can do now is try to hurt Mannequin and stop him no matter what, since her chances of impressing Coil are ruined, people died, and her teammates are in peril. Setting him on fire should be a way to do that. The threat is effective enough, Mannequin steps away from Grue, and lets him limp towards Skitter. In the brief moment Skitter kind of lowers her guard to steady Grue, Mannequin acts, aiming with his gun arm. That was quick! So of course Skitter grabs Grue and shoves him onto the ground.

Nothing happens because Mannequin doesn’t shoot just to miss and risk an explosion. He simply aims at Grue again, so Skitter shields him with her body, hoping Mannequin’s intentions of hurting her by killing her teammates meant she would be spared for as long as possible

I stared at his blank, featureless face, praying my instincts were telling me the truth.

Then he shrugged, and my heart fell.

Welp. See you later, Skitter, thanks for being a good main character. Contrary to what some would have expected after such line, the chapter doesn’t end, it still continues. Although she’s shot right on her chest, she’s not dead, and there’s an explosion. Mannequin did blow himself up. He better not have died like a chump.

“Hey, hey,” Grue said, “You’re okay.  You’re in one piece.”

Somehow. She does have armor in her costume, that may be what saved her life, since I don’t think the spider silk would have protected that well against bullets with a lot of strength behind them. Everything around them is blazing from the fire of the explosion, and Mannequin is...

I looked for our opponent, and I saw Mannequin virtually unscathed, lying in the shallow water.  The blast had knocked him sprawling, but he’d disconnected his parts so only lengths of chain attached each.

Ah, so that’s why such ‘weakness’ was here! He knew exactly what to do to not be affected by the explosion, and if whoever’s fighting him does what Skitter did, they’d put themselves on danger, not Mannequin. He just lets himself be all loose like a ragdoll while his opponents receive the brunt of the explosion. Not bad! I like this now. Not that he seems to like making himself explode, anyway. He did try to avoid exploding.

They all had just recovered from the explosion and about to do their next move when Bastard pounced, Skitter nowhere nearby to keep holding him back. Mannequin doesn’t have time to react and start spreading gas, he’s whipped around for...a few seconds, it seems...before he uses some of his blades to stabilize and stab Bastard on his snout. Heckpuppy is going to carve that carapace of yours into bowls for her dogs once you’re done for, Mannequin.

Yeah, didn’t expect us to be that tough, did you?

Maybe he did not, maybe he did. It’s hard to know what Mannequin’s thinking.

Before Mannequin could kill Bastard, Skitter managed to stop him, something Bastard uses to throw them both onto the ground, where Mannequin again tries to give himself some space by using some of that gas. Thinking fast, Skitter arranges everything so she can light it on fire. Hm! Now that Mannequin is on the floor, against a hard surface and therefore with no place to be thrown at like a ragdoll, he’ll receive the blast of the explosion head-on. Maybe this could damage him!

It happens. Using bandages and dragonflies, she carries some fire to where Mannequin is, and lights the gas on fire while Grue’s darkness protects them from the shockwave and the light that’d ensue. When they see again, they find Bastard is biting onto him, having received a boost from her owner. She’s okay! She’s conscious, and is so furious!

He grew to half-again the size he’d been, roughly as large as a small car, and when he bit down on Mannequin’s arm this time, he broke the material.  He adjusted his grip until he had Mannequin’s lower body and legs in a hold, but the material there proved sturdier.

Two arms in two fights, I thought, with a grim satisfaction.

Jack is so going to take this as another loss. You lost twice in two days, Mannequin. That’s humiliating.

The wolf keeps shaking Mannequin, hitting and throwing him around until another dog comes by, who takes over by reminding Bastard what’s the pecking order here. Taking their chance, Grue makes sure Skitter is holding Heckpuppy up, and approaches with a heavy piece of rubble.

“Ignore the head,” I said, quiet.  “Nothing important in there.  I’m not joking.  It’s a decoy. Get him in the chest.”

Grue nodded and hefted the chunk of rubble until it was over his head, point facing forward.

Would it puncture?  Hard to say.

I don’t think it will. True, this rubble is pointy, but...I remember last time that guy who helped Skitter hit Mannequin’s head with a big rock a couple times. It was the head, which is a decoy for everything important, and therefore would have less protection than what truly matters. You’d want as much protection as possible in the parts where you keep what keeps you alive. If the head, which is a decoy, didn’t crack, then the chest – more protected and sturdier – won’t crack...I think. Worth a try, though.

Everyone agrees it should be done, especially Heckpuppy, who is angry about the deaths of her dogs. Before Grue can do it, a shockwave of fire blasts them away. Grue shouts to someone they can’t interfere.

No.  I fixed my eyes on the scene.  Much worse than the Protectorate

This is the last line before I have to scroll down more. Let me guess, is it the Slaughterhouse Nine? Some of them, maybe Jack too?

Burnscar tapped her finger to one side of her nose.  “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Oh, it’s only one. Not that it makes it any less bad. How did you get here so fast, Burnscar? Why aren’t you with everyone else?

Burnscar takes her time to go towards Mannequin, helps him stand up – he’s looking really bad, with a lot of cracks and slime leaking from inside his broken arm. Burnscar asks a couple questions,

He raised one hand, and Burnscar slapped it in a lazy high-five.

She turned towards us.  “There. He just tagged me in.  Forfeited his turn.”

...okay, this is bad. If the change is happening right now, then that means everyone who was going to be tested by Mannequin pretty much won his challenge, even if they do nothing. Well that was...oh well. A bit of a shame, I had hoped to see what everyone would do, but at the same time it’s satisfying Mannequin got so beaten up. It wasn’t an easy fight, and the result was good, at the cost of a lot of pain and the loss of two dogs.

The problem now is that another Slaughterhouse Nine member is taking a bite of the cake now. It’s Burnscar’s turn, and everybody is vulnerable and hurt. Just because of that she has the upper hand right now.

Not a moment of rest for the characters here, eh?

The chapter ends here, so Burnscar’s plans start next time.

Next time: in three updates

[creepynoodleheadcannons]

Please Darling-Part 3

Check tags//also, getting closer to figuring out shit.

Her hands were stuck grasping the pillow. That mask was…it was her dad’s. She didn’t want to believe it, but she knew what she saw. And that thing…that awful goddamn thing. It made everyone start coughing, just like her dad was that morning.

It had to be at least 6 o'clock that night. Where the hell was he? Was he with that guy jay? Or uncle Brian? Did he lie and was he in the woods? What the fuck was going on!

But she heard an unfamiliar knock on the door. One her father never used.

They had a knock. It was some weird quarter note pattern. It told the other it was them. But this one sounded too…frantic. Frustrated.

She was glad she decided to close every door and window, but couldn’t help but think.

Did somebody find her?

“Tim, we both know Alex is dead. So his freaky pet should have died with him-” “but what if it’s still out there? What if it gets her like it got Jessica? Huh? What will I do then? I’ve already lost her to that fucking thing. I can’t lose Sarah too.” He grasped the pocket knife in one hand, the other clenched into a tight fist. Brian had his keys in his hands, glancing at the door. “Okay, I know. This is really fucking bad. I’ve got a solution, but you won’t like it.” Tim stood up automatically, desperate at this point. “Tell me.”

“We need to get out of here. Before it finds us again. We will come back when it’s safe. I’ve got shit packed already.” “How did you-” “I started getting paranoid last week. I felt something was off, so I decided to go ahead and be ready to leave whenever. We’re throwing shit in your car, getting Sarah, and getting the hell out of here. Now.”

Should he really do this to her? Should he really just up and leave, scaring the shit out of her? But in that moment, he realized what the alternative was.

“Okay.”

She felt hot tears flowing freshly from her eyes. It hadn’t stopped. It started an hour ago, and it still hadn’t stopped. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She had called her dad ten times by now.

Then she heard the door slam open.

“Sarah? Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!” It got progressively louder, the voice sounding like Alex’s. He couldn’t be there. He couldn’t. But she heard it alright. Clear as day.

Then she felt someone shaking her. “Sarah Jessica Wright! Listen to me!”

It was her dad, yelling in her face.

She threw the pillow down, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Dad…what’s going on?” Her words were jumbled and messy. She could barely breathe.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’ll be okay. Right now, I need you to listen carefully. Pack whatever you can. Just throw some clothes and shit in a bag. Enough to last you a while. I’m doing the same.” His voice carried more concern than she had ever heard. Even more than when she had a horrific nightmare two weeks ago. God it felt real now.

Uncle Brian ran in, hands on the walls. “Brian is staying in here with you while you pack. Hurry. Just don’t freak out. It’ll be okay. We won’t let anything hurt you.”

She nodded, running to her closet. She slammed a bag down, throwing anything she could possibly need inside.

Tim ran to his room, stuffing a duffle bag full of clothes, pills, anything of a sort.

He dragged out the box, dumping its contents into the bag. Even that mask.

He intended to burn every fucking thing left. But it seemed like he was running out of time.

They headed down the road, Brian in the backseat with Sarah. She hadn’t left his side since they left. She knew what they had done, at least some of it, but she didn’t care anymore. She needed them. She had to be with them.

“Dad. Tell me what’s going on.”

Tim took a deep breath, sighing heavily. “This is why I didn’t want you looking anything up. I thought this would happen. How far have you gotten in the entries?”

“Maybe 50?”

“Okay. You haven’t seen everything. Basically, Alex is gone. He uh…got caught. By the operator. That’s what that thing is called.” He didn’t want to say it out loud.

“But Alex was at the door.”

“…what?”

“I heard him. Knocking. He hadn’t stopped for at least an hour or two. He was yelling my name too. He wouldn’t stop no matter how much I screamed. Then you got here.” He could hear it now. That rasp in her voice. The strain it took to talk.

Brian’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t find the words to explain. Sarah looked up at him, worried. “What?”

“Sarah…Alex is dead.” He said quickly, so Tim wouldn’t have to.

“He’s dead? But he didn’t die in those tapes. It had to be him. That’s the only logical explanation.” “It’s not that simple Sarah.” Tim’s hands gripped the steering wheel even tighter, trying so hard to shut up. “But it’s illogical-”

“None of this has ever made sense, so it’s best to stop questioning and just accept this shit.” He snapped. He didn’t intend to, but he snapped at her. For the first time in a while.

She went dead silent, holding onto Brian’s arm.

They finally made it to some random hotel, Tim checking them in for a night. He decided if they could stay longer, they would. But one night at a time seemed best. He kneeled down in front of Sarah, running a hand through her hair. “It’ll be okay darling, I promise. It will be okay.” She just nodded, holding onto his torso.

They walked upstairs, Brian trailing behind them. Once the door opened, Tim practically ran to the back, locking the window and drawing the curtains. He turned back to Sarah, who was practically shaking. “It’s okay darling. Please, just try and calm down. It’ll be okay. We just need to get out of the house for a while. It’ll be okay Sarah, I’ll make sure of it.”

She wrapped her arms around her father’s neck, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. He ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it out. “Sarah, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I won’t let anything hurt you. Ever. I promise, I’ll never let anything hurt you.” She attempted to speak, but all that came out was a hiccuping sob. She could barely breathe. This felt fucking awful. She just nodded, sitting down on the bed.

It didn’t take long before she fell asleep.

It was around three thirty two that she woke up. She could barely see the clock beside the bed. All she could see was the figure in the corner.

She screamed first. A deep, wretched scream. One you hear when someone is truly horrified.

Then she looked around.

Nobody heard her.

Her father was asleep next to her, her uncle Brian knocked out on the bed beside them. She tried to shake him awake, but nothing happened.

Then, she looked back at the thing.

It had no face.

It had no fucking face.

It looked like the figure from the entries. Same suit, same tie, same height, even same face. You know, the one that wasn’t fucking there.

Then, something spoke. This horrid noise came out. It sounded like a dying animal.

“S̶̨̝̬͔͎̝͍͓͔̪͓͔̝̭͙̖̩͎̪ͭ̊ͣ͛̏ͬͪ̉͌͑ͮͦ̇͊ͨͫ͂̿̔a̴̵̢̳̜͕̺ͬ̓͂̄̚͜͡ͅr̷̴̸̩̰͎̪̻͓ͬ̐ͮͮ͗͐͑ͭ́͂̓̾͗̄̿̋̉͂͢ͅa̸ͬ͊́̎͆̔͗͝͡͏̨̱̞͎̦̤̟̯͇̗̼̘͎̭̬ͅh̢͈̝̜̲͕͍̏̌̊ͩ̇͆͑̔ͫ̎͆̿̅͊̿̓ͩ̌́̚…”

She was too shocked to move. How did this goddamn thing know her name?

“Y̡͈̯̜̻̦͈̠͔̬̱̠̾̈̌̑̆̄͡ǫ̧̤̺͔̯̞͙͇̘͖̹̠̲̤̯͍̼̘̗ͪͧ͌̊͛̕͠u̴̴̹̙̞̯͓͖̟͕̙̖͓̰̯̫͈̯͗ͭ̉ͧ̀̀̚ ̨̧͉̟̜̙̱͕̬͈̫̼̐ͩͨ͋̓͊̎̍ͯ͋̔̃ͧ̚w̸̗͕̹̥̦̫͚͚̦ͯͩ̌̓ͫ͋ͅͅi̢̡̜͇̯̻͗̈́͋͒̓͊͆́̀l̠̺̺͔̯̟̭̼͙͇̼̜̮̫̥̞ͩ̒ͧ͂̃̒ͭ͝ͅl̷̵͍͙̳̠͍̣̰̭̘̤͆͌ͭ̐̄̒͌̊͆ͪ̾͒ͣ̈́̄ͤͬͥ͘͡ ̴̓ͨ̀̎ͪͯ̄͟͞҉͚̗̻͚̱̻̳̣̯̮̻̩̟ͅl̡͎̳̹̫̫̺̤͔̩͕̜ͬ̎̐̍̅̓͊ͧ̈̀e̵̎̊͛̍͋̏ͭͧ̚͏̺̗̞͈̙̺͓̬̭̠̗̝͇̤ą͉͙̩̮̪͈̞̤̰͉̦̠͋̔̽̂̀͆̉̽̀͘͝d̶̨͕͎̰͚̖̳̖̼̮̹̐ͧͫ͋͆ͭͫͫͦͯ̍͌ͤ̅̈̔ͨͥ̅ ̵̶̙̼̱͈͈̻͕͉̦̜̩̮͉̭͐ͩͤ͊ͦ̇͊ͤ́ͅu͆̈́͆ͨ̏̅̈́ͨ͒ͥ́́̚͏̩̣̬͔͎̝̕͘s̳͚̪̘̫͉̫ͣ̅͗̓̃̃̃ͫͬ͌͋̇̆͒̌̏́̚͟ ̵̴͎̙̼̭͎̯̩̱̠̲̹̋̎̄̿̚͟ͅͅt̶̵̳̜̬̞̹̫͓͙̱͍̗̭̟̰ͫ̿ͦ̒͊̿̇̌͑̊̽̀́͡ởͨͫ́ͬ͐́̎̓ͭ̉ͤ̂͏͞҉̘̪̥̮̦̫̼̫̬̜̟̥ ̷͇̺̫͖̏͊ͦͦ͛ͭͥ͂̏̾ͣ͂̏̾̒̈́͗̚͠ṫ̆̇͊̉͊ͩ̈͆̿ͨ͘͏̞͚̣͉̭̩͈͖ḩ̴̱̘͙͕̦̻͖̤̘͈̙̗̼̤͈̫̀̇̃ͪ͛͐͌̃̏ͭ̂ͬ̇ͨ̅́́͘ȩ̨̮̱̪̺̠̙̞̻̍̉ͤ̅ͧͭ̄̉̑̑͜͞ ̵̢̨͔̭̪̥͈̗̟̏͑͂̏̄̄ͦͯ͘͡a̠̗̭̘̫̥̙̬͚ͪ͆ͯ̄̒ͦ͂̑́̀̚r̶͙̝̳̜̗̫̩̯̙͎̩̘̼ͬ͋͛ͨͣ̊̌ͦ͒ͤ̽̀k̛̻̞̪̝͈͑ͥ̍̽̈̉͗͂ͩ͝͠͠͠…”

“What the fuck is the ark?!” She finally found the courage to speak. But it came out cracked.

“Ḩ̨ͩ̋̏͌̿̔͒ͭ͐ͯ͐͠҉̮͎͙̩͇̩͖̫̕ͅe̷̢̡̦̥͔̣̬̪̠̜ͮ̽̒̔̊̌̏̓͋̋̒͗̕ ̴͕͕̯̹̬̦̠̓̑̍̌̇̀̅ͫ͐̈ͭ͒̂̐̚̚̕ͅļ̵̹̝͍̮͉͇̱̰̮̲͕̹͖̫̣̥̮̄ͩ͆͋̃ͪ̑͆͗i̴̧̳͉͕͖͍̩͖̳ͬ͆ͮ̓̏̂̈́ͪ̀e̅̓͊ͨ̒͋ͤ҉̷̢̝̫̹̘̠͕͖͎̙̲͠͠s̴̶͕̦͈̫̬͔͓̩̰̦͉̹̞̹͖̜͐̿ͣͧ̊̍͌͞ͅ…̬̪̘̫̤͍͔̅ͬ͛̾͗́͋ͨ͂ͭͤ͌̓̋͝͞ͅH̴̶̨͙͕̩̯̹͍̟̗̒́͗ͪ̒̎́͞ę̥͚͓̘̻̯̭̥͙̹̘̬̹̤̭͉͙͐̅̂͊̒͒̈́̈́͗ͥ̎ͧ̒̿̽̐̕ ̵̧̺̩͔̂͆͆̋̑ͪh̡͈̮̭͓͍̳̮͚̩̟̟͔͙̲̮̱̩͖͑ͨͮͧ̑̾̋̊̓ͤ͒̋̌ͩ̋̍ͨ́̀͡ͅų̴̹̼̥̥̗̺̪̜̤̩̫̥̮͓͉̏̆̒̍ͨ̒ͬ̑͊̽̋̋ͬ̍͊͐̌ͮ̍͢ṛ̷̢̢̜̙͉̩̘͍̞̰̲̦͌ͤ͗ͬ̌̈̍̀̈́̓ͬt̶̡̼͈͍̬̏͊̉͡s̸̵̋ͤͫ͊ͪ̇̐͑́̋ͪ́͘҉̺̹͓̙̻̭̩̮͙͙̖̖͔͇̙…̨̤̠͔̫͙̹̟̫̣̲̹̖̈͗͒͂ͫ͟H͌ͮͧ͋ͯͬ͛͑͂ͩ́̀̚͜҉̥͕̯̬̣̣͍̳̮͓̻̣͎̦͔͚e̴͎̹̭̖̼͈̝̜͈̥͚͈͓̥̬͙̯̩̮͂͑ͤͤ͊ͨ̄ͦͦͫ͆̄͋̓͆ͣ̈̀ ͔̠̙͇̦͖̰̲̓̔̾̑̌́́͘͜͝b̸̡͎̜͔̞̪̻̞͚̠ͥ͂̎͛̍͊̾͗ͨ̑̀͐ͫ̿̈́͋̐̀͟͠͞r͔͕̤͔̭͖͎̩͚͔̯̲̲̥̼̫̹̬̥̃͒̂̀̔́̕͢e͓͕̭͔͖̽͒̈́͐̍̒̔͑͐ͪ͢͜͢͠a̶̛̻͕̠̥̱̹̠̠̖̲̹͊̽̇̈̿̄ͭ̄̓̈́ͮ̐̔͜͝k̢͋ͥ̅ͧ̀̒ͪ͐̂͑͆ͦ̽̉̚͟҉̬͓͉͔̤̲̹͇̟͖͚̘̜ͅs͕̜͍̩̩̫͇͍͈͓̳̘͎̥̙̼̫̣ͥ͊͛̔ͯ͘͡”

“What does that even mean?” She could make out words. It sounded like…that guy Alex…

“Y̷͙̮̟̰̩̰͚͚ͦ̄̄ͥ̓ͯ̿̋͞o̙͔̣͎͋̀͊͋́͞͝ų̮̜ͨͬ̉̂ͨ,̷̣̹͙͇̹̖͊̂̒ͬͅ ̱͚̭͖̓́ͅS̢͂̄͛̏́҉̙ȃ͖̥͚̫͟͝r̙̟̩̩̤͚̾̊ͩ̒͊͗ͪ͐́a̻̞̱̮ͣ̑́ͅͅh̺̪ͭ̓̄͋,ͤ̒҉̹͚̰́͝ ̤̘̀͛̀͂̑̃͘͜͠ͅw̴̰̩̌͡ì͂ͧ͋̍͏̢͇̼̭͙̳̤l͇̫̙̥͎̥̰ͧͬͦ́͞ḻ̹͓͕̗͉̳ͯͫ͞͡ ̘̙͚̱̣̙͔̐̽ͨ͠lͤͭͮ͗̌̊͋ͨ҉̸̗̭ę̲͔̞̙͙̝̟͔ͯ̓̃̔̽̄͞ͅa̸̡̬̰̩̭͙̜͖̿ͭ̂̚d̛̘͔̘̰͉̱͒͛̏̆́͞ ̭̻ͥ̓ͤ̉ͧͧͫ͌͟ͅǔͣ͋ͪͬͤ͗҉̵̨̙̫̝s̷̪̟̙̻̳̔͊̈́͑ͭͭ̌̾̕͞ ̬̟̩̱̬ͭ͐̔t̤̘̣͇̮̜̃̅͑̋ͪ̾̄̕͠ô̷͕̣̜͌͆̊̓͛̈̽̕ ̦̂ͨͣ́ͤ̀t̼͔̹̥͈̩͎̽ͦ͊̿̓͞ͅh̸̭̰̫́̄ͭ͆ͫ̈̓̃̀͠ḙ̞̼͇̞̞̇̑ͭͅ ̢̙̲̭̔ͬ̚ą̬͈̖̟̃̀͒ͣ͋ͦͩͬͫ͞r̴̶̷͇̭̳̺̣͖̃͌ͅk̺͓̠̰̮̼̬̉̈́ͪ.̴̛̟̟̹̫̰̲̼͇̑ͨͨ̈́ͅ ̨̄̓͐͆ͧ̾̒̿҉̗͝.”

She screamed again, met with a hand on her shoulder. “Sarah! What’s going on?” She glanced up to her dad’s face in front of hers, Brian sitting up. “Is everything okay? What happened?”

“I-I…I saw that-that thing. T-the one without a face!” She collapsed. She couldn’t manage to keep herself up. She fell into her dad’s arms, tears covering her warm cheeks. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, rubbing her back. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay, I promise. Just calm down, take a deep breath, and relax. It’s all gonna be okay.” He said with a soothing tone to his voice.

She nodded once again, finally regaining herself. “I saw that figure. That daddy-longlegs looking thing. It…talked. But it sounded like that Alex guy. It said something…about an ark? And it knew my name.”

“Ah shit.” Brian mumbled, standing up. “It’s started.”

“What’s started?”

“You’re in this now. It’s not just us. That thing wants you.” He said with a stern expression. He looked like he might scream any second.

“What does it want with me?”

“You’re close to us. If it gets to you…”

“It gets to us.” Tim sighed, kissing her forehead. “But I made a promise that day. That I would protect you with everything I had. And I don’t intend to break that promise.”

[artificialqueens]

A Cat's Intuition (Shalaska) 2/4 - Lunaska

A/N: So, here she is.This fic, like most things I write, is a slow-burn, so be patient with me. The waiter/bartender as described in this chapter is probably ridiculously inaccurate, but it’s how I need it to be. This chapter was fun to write and I hope you like it as much as I do. Please leave me some feedback!

Aaron’s ears were red.

And his neck.

And his face.

And probably everything else too.

In his haste to get rid of the small colony of underwear that had settled on his living room rug, he had made some poor decisions.

First of all, walmart shopping bags are good for many things: acting as small trash can liners, handy helpers when you have to pick up the shit your neighbor’s dog keeps leaving on your lawn, and the classic “i’m staying at a friend’s house and don’t want my dirty clothes to touch the rest of my clothes.”

One of the things walmart shopping bags were not known for is their stealth.

Being mildly transparent, flimsy, and noisy, they are not the best at keeping secrets.

Another important thing to take into account is that when you want to keep the contents of your grocery bags hidden, you should probably tie them shut.

Needless to say, Aaron’s decision making skills were proving subpar.

But, his lack of knowledge in the art of the covert didn’t stop there.

On his way to drop his bag of underwear off in the big trash in the parking lot, he made a crucial error: being a distracted son a bitch.

Aaron wasn’t sure the quarter he bent over to pick up was worth the embarrassment of having his bag full of underwear spill out all over the concrete.

Underwear that wasn’t even his.

To top all it off, it was in front of the new guy who lived right next door.

As he stared at the brunette sitting on the ground in front of him, he tried to think of any possible excuse he could use to justify what was happening.

He didn’t want to be the neighborhood weirdo.

“I’m really sorry, I was just, uhm, doing some spr-”

“Is that my fucking underwear?” The other man interrupted. Though, he didn’t seem as angry as he did shocked and confused.

Aaron tried to swallow the huge lump that had just formed in his throat, but it wasn’t going down.

He decided to stop trying.

Choking sounded pretty good right now.

xxxx

Justin was just trying to have a normal fucking day.

Instead, he was standing across from his new neighbor, who seemed to have a penchant for stranger’s undergarments. The man was sitting on the concrete with his scruffy blond hair in his hands. The bag that once contained the underwear was gone with the breeze, leaving only its previous contents to color the sidewalk.

Fucking walmart bags.

He really didn’t have enough time to process the scene before him. Even if he did have all the time in the world, he certainly didn’t have the patience to deal with whatever this shit show was going to entail.

The blond was now rubbing at his eyes, albeit a little too harshly.

It’s really a shame that all the cute ones at this apartment complex are absolute psychos.

But he had to admit that he would pick Brian, “Do you want to come over and watch Contact with me and my cat Trixie?” McCook over the weirdo stealing his underwear.

But, back to the situation at hand.

“All I want to know is if that’s my underwear?” Justin said, gesturing to the messy pile decorating the sidewalk. “And if it is mine, why do you have it?”

The blond looked up at Justin, looking absolutely hopeless.

“Uh…I don’t know.”

Justin walked over to the undergarments in question and knelt to get a closer look. It took him less than ten seconds to know that this was his missing underwear.

He looked up at the blond who was currently running his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends like he wanted to rip them out of his scalp.

He was starting to feel rather bad for embarrassing the guy. I mean, we all have our kinks, right?

He quickly looked away from the other man. He couldn’t show sympathy for someone who was actively stealing his underwear, doing God-knows-what with it, and then throwing it away.

“Look,” Justin said pointing his finger at the other man, “I don’t care what you get off to but just don’t take my shit anymore, okay?”

The blond nodded.

The guy was pretty cute, especially looking all guilty.

He steals underwear, Justin.

Focus.

He pushed off the ground with a groan and a final mildly angry look at the thief, then stalked off towards his car. With one last look over his shoulder, he yelled

“and I want my socks back too!”

xxx

Aaron couldn’t find any damn socks.

He’d spent both of his days off cleaning his entire house and looking everywhere for them and found nothing but $3.78 in change and an old beanie that Cerrone had clearly taken his claws to.

He was already pissed that he didn’t get a chance to explain himself and now the other man was going to think he was still stealing from him. He was hoping he’d find the socks along with the answer to why he was mysteriously receiving all of his neighbor’s underwear, and maybe a couple thousand dollars.

But, no dice.

Oh well.

He couldn’t afford to dwell on his odd relationship with his neighbor, or his lack of spending money.

He was scheduled to work tonight and he really needed to make some good tips or his car was gonna have to run on imagination instead of fuel. So, as he walked into his uncle’s dusty bar and grill that evening, he tried to gather some energy. The dark blue walls of the poorly lit restaurant were slowly becoming comforting, almost homey. Waiting tables wasn’t glamorous, but it kept Cerrone’s food bowl full and Aaron’s fridge stocked with PBR.

Sparing a final grateful thought towards whoever created his drink of choice, he tied his apron and got started.

A few hours in, Aaron felt right in his element as he settled into a practiced rhythm. With the kind of grace that can only be learned over time, he juggled his tables, feeling confident in the service he was providing. He had waited tables since he was sixteen, bouncing from restaurant to restaurant learning new things every time. And now at twenty four, he felt that he could do this job in his sleep and still make more money than his co-workers.

Extra napkins for table five.

Table eight needs refills.

He was about to go get one of his tables their check when he was flagged down by a customer who wanted a drink from the bar. He quickly made his way to the bar area, grumbling under his breath. The way this restaurant handled it’s drinks for tables was inconvenient, and that’s being generous. The waiters had to go all the way to the bar and order the drinks themselves.

As he grumpily made his way to the bar for the first time that evening, he took in the unfamiliar figure of the man behind the counter, who currently had his back to Aaron. They had hired a new bartender who he had yet to meet, but word around the kitchen was that he was funny. And something else his coworkers had mentioned? Was it ambidextrous?

Whatever it was, he just hoped it helped him make good drinks.

He leaned against the bar and patted the counter yelling a quick, “Hey, can I get a Long Island for my table, please?”

Aaron felt a little rude yelling at the back of the new guy’s head, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

As he waited for the bartender to acknowledge him, he took notice of all the people sitting at the bar. Most of them looking towards the new guy with amused expressions, others closer to him were laughing. He must be as funny as everyone said.

Putting a couple of drinks in front of his small audience, he grabbed a cocktail shaker from behind the counter and turned towards Aaron with a wide smile that melted as soon as the two made eye contact.

When Aaron met his eyes he wanted to evaporate on the spot. If he had a drink, he’d have done a spit take. And if he’d had more money to his name and a more conveniently placed exit door, he would’ve booked it out of the restaurant so fast, he would’ve broken the speed limit.

It was his neighbor.

You know, the one who thinks he’s a panty thief?

The one who probably thinks that Aaron has some sort of shrine dedicated to his briefs? The brunette probably assumed that Aaron had some sort of weird underwear fetish.

Aaron had always been both gay and weird, but he’d never been an underwear thief.

At this point, he chalked most of his problems up to bad karma, or maybe he’d accidentally been rude to a witch one day and now she was ruining his life. Either way, the amount of bad luck he was experiencing was ridiculous.

Aaron’s neighbor, whose name tag read “Justin,” was staring at him in shock. The shaker in his hands had stopped moving and the brunette stood stiff as a board in front of him.  The atmosphere had gone from lighthearted to tense in a matter of seconds and Aaron had no clue how to fix it.

So, he just looked back at the other man, waiting for him to to say something.

Anything.

But, the seconds passed, feeling like hours, and he knew he had to get back to his tables or his wallet would suffer. He took a quick, shaky breath and looked the other man in the eyes.

“So, uh, my name is Aaron,” He gestured to the name tag pinned onto his uniformed chest.

“It’s nice to, um, see you. So, yeah, a Long Island Ice Tea for table fifteen, please.” With that, he mustered up an unconvincing smile, turned on his heel and went back to his table. When he came back for the drink, his bartending neighbor was at the other end of the counter again with his back turned towards him. He quickly grabbed it off the counter and walked away with a sigh of relief.

Luckily, the rest of his shift was uneventful. He only had to make a couple more trips to the bar that night and all of them were less awkward than the first, and for that he was thankful.

As he rolled silverware with a couple of his co-workers later that night, he thought back on his previous encounter with Justin. Both times Aaron had been mostly silent, not even bothering to clear his name or give the other man an explanation. Everything had happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that all Aaron could do was just stand there.

He didn’t want to have an awkward relationship with someone he would obviously be seeing a lot of, so it was in his best interest to try to clear things up, and maybe even be friends with Justin.

He was determined to make things right.

Or at least make himself look less creepy.

His thoughts of redemption stayed on his mind till he clocked out that night. During the drive home, he considered what he would say and even planned a couple comebacks just in case an argument broke out, but the moment he turned the street corner that led to his apartment, all he could think of was getting home.

He sighed as he pulled into the familiar parking lot of his apartment complex.

It had been a long ass day.

All he wanted was to get home, take a shower, and watch a movie on his couch with Cerrone on his lap. He turned off his car almost giddy at the thought of having a relaxing night in.

But, the possibility of that scenario fizzled out as he got out of his car and saw Justin pull into the parking lot.

He knew that he would never get another opportunity to talk to him at work. He had already spent hours thinking about what to say and there was no time like the present, right?

Aaron pushed his door open and pulled himself out of his beat up toyota. He walked closer to where Justin was parking his car, hoping to catch him as he got out.

Justin got out of his car ungracefully and slammed the door behind him. Obviously not expecting aaron to be standing a couple feet from him in the middle of a dark parking lot.

Okay, not his best idea.

“Were you waiting for me here?” Justin said with wide eyes and a shaky voice. He had a hand over his heart and was obviously trying to catch his breath.

Aaron once again realized that this probably wasn’t the best scenario to try to convince someone that you aren’t insane or trying to stalk, kidnap, or murder them.

“Uhm, no. I just saw you pull in and i’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” he said, nervously combing through his hair with his fingers, “ So, I thought now would be a good time.”

Justin visibly relaxed a little, but still seemed nervous.

“I already said we’re cool, dude.” Justin said, “We all have weird kinks. I just can’t afford to keep losing shit; I’m sure Brian two doors down has some great pieces for your collection, though.”

Aaron sighed nervously, “No, let me explain. I didn’t take your underwear. It just…” he started pulling at his hair again, “Kind of appeared in my living room.”

“Oh, I see. It appeared in your living room?” said Justin, clearly unconvinced.

“Yes. I don’t know how it got there.” Aaron knew it was a terrible argument from the second it left his mouth, but it was the only one he had to work with.

“Have you considered magic? Maybe David Blaine is playing a very long, overly involved magic trick on you,” Justin said, bitingly sarcastic. “And maybe I’mDavid Blaine, after all! I’m in a mask filming this whole thing just to embarrass you, right?”

Justin took a deep, exasperated breath, clearly about to continue his list of impossible scenarios, but Aaron quickly put his hands up in surrender.

“I know it doesn’t sound very-” Aaron stopped suddenly, almost positive that he heard… meowing?

“Cerrone?” he called into the darkness of the empty parking lot.

Justin was obviously confused, but also looked around trying to find whatever the blond was searching for. Suddenly Aaron’s cat sauntered out from behind Justin’s car, going straight towards his favorite person.

“What are you doing outside?” asked Aaron as he gathered the kitty in his arms, “how did you even get out?”

He rubbed his cat between the ears and Cerrone purred. They were both wrapped up in their little love fest until a cough from Justin’s direction brought Aaron back to the situation at hand.

“Oh, sorry!” he looked down at the cat in his arms, “do you maybe want to talk about this at my place? I really need to get him inside.”

While he really did need to get Cerrone back home, he was also hoping that maybe showing Justin how normal his apartment was would help strengthen his argument. And after being at work for so long his feet were fucking killing him and he really wanted to sit down.

Justin shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, obviously apprehensive.

Aaron tried to muster a friendly smile, but quickly realized it probably just came off weird, so he slowly let his lips drop into their normal position.

Justin seemed to think it over for a few more seconds. With hands still in his pockets he kicked at some nonexistent rocks at his feet before uttering a quiet, “Okay.”

Okay, this was progress.

Aaron nodded, grinning excitedly before leading the way towards his apartment. The whole walk was awkward and as he struggled to unlock his front door with one arm, as the other was holding Cerrone, he could see the hesitance on Justin’s face.

As the key turned and he pushed the door open, he only hoped for one thing

Please don’t let there be a huge pile of this guy’s underwear sitting in my living room floor.

[brianjaeger]

2020 Academy Award Best Picture Nominees Guide For Those Who Haven’t Actually Watched Them

The 92nd Oscars are here and it’s time yet again for all of us to lord over one year’s worth of millions of people’s passions with the certainty of a judge at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show (which ironically takes places one day later) and say aloud, “This art is and forever shall be known as better than that other art!” 

Throw the notion that expression through the medium of film can exist simply to reflect a myriad of emotions and varied experiences right into the wind. We gotta know what that BEST art is, son!

So with mere hours left before Sunday’s spectacle, you’re probably asking yourself one question. “Brian, why do you keep doing this?” No, not that one. “Brian, Tumblr? Really? Does that still exist? Why don’t you spend the slightest amount of time to find a better medium for this?” No, not that one either. “But Brian, I haven’t actually watched any of these films. What am I going to do?!” Ah, now that’s the one. But fear not. I’ve got you covered. For the 6th time, I’m here to give you a rundown of what I think all of these movies are about without actually seeing them, along with some pithy little talking points to take into your Oscar parties to sound like a goddamn genius.

Ford V Ferrari

In this epic clash of man vs. nature set in the den of Harrison Ford’s summer home in Plano, Texas, the extremely hungry aging star has just had a large pie from Ferrari’s Pizzeria, located at 3949 Legacy Drive, delivered…and now it is time for battle. On the About Us section of their website, Ferrari’s Pizzeria makes a “promise to our customers to provide the best Italian food using recipes handed down from our Italian grandmothers.” Hold on to your Italian grandmothers, kids - that promise is about to be put to the test. (Yeah, it’s real.)

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

That cameo by Mater from Cars is really what pushed this film into Oscar contention.

Christian Bale's car in Ford V Ferrari is also an unwavering method actor and remained in character as a car for the entirety of production.

Who won? I'll give you a hint, in the long run, it was not the quality of life for the American working class!

The Irishman

In this gritty thriller, Lucky the Leprechaun’s father, Frank Leprechaun, an immigrant who worked as a farrier making horseshoes in Ireland before coming to America, wishes on a shooting star for a way to make a better life for his family. He finds that chance by doing hits for the mob and we see his first job take place under a pale moon, when he shoots a diamond store clerk in the heart, blood red ballooning out onto the green grass, like crimson and clover. Later, an aging Frank Leprechaun kills union leader Jimmy Hoffa and as he dies, he divulges the secret that Hoffa’s body is buried on a plantation in Lexington to Lucky. The young boy looks back and makes a firm promise to his dying father. “They’ll never get Kentucky farm.”

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

The de-aging technology used in The Irishman was so advanced that, while you can’t see it, De Niro's testicles are actually two inches higher in the first half of the movie.

The run time of the movie is 3 hours and 30 minutes which is also the average amount of time Netflix users scroll through options before deciding to just watch the same episode of The Office again.

In Ireland, this movie is known as The Man.

JoJo Rabbit

From M. Night Shyamalan comes the story of a scared young boy who claims to see Jewish people. While adults around him are trying very hard to see them too, it’s Adolf Hitler who helps the boy to overcome his fear and actually communicate with the Jews to understand them and realize that the reason that he can see them is because he can help them. And then at the end we realize that Hitler was actually a Jew himself THE WHOLE TIME!  

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

I thought it was just a bit on the nose that Taika Waititi chose to have JoJo sing her hit “Leave (Get Out)” at all the Nazis during the Allied occupation of Germany.

While juggling roles in Marriage Story and JoJo Rabbit, Scarlett Johansson would often get confused resulting in one day on set when she tried to cut Sam Rockwell’s hair in a bathtub.

Of all the nominated films, when it comes to winning Best Picture, this is…Nazi one! (Cough. Look around. Place your drink on the table. Slowly collect your coat, walk to the door, pause as if to turn, sigh, leave.)

Joker

It’s 1964 and Cesar Romero has established himself as a force in Hollywood. A multi-talented performer and veteran of WWII, Romero has amassed an impressive body of work playing roles as a versatile character actor, when he gets a call from his agent.

Agent: Cesar, I’ve got something that I think you’d be perfect for.

Cesar Romero: Is it a complex villain in a new Western? A dark turn as a gangster in a noir? A comedic foil in a Sinatra vehicle?

Agent: No. Better.

Cesar Romero: What is it?

Agent: Get this. An evil clown Batman nemesis…on TV!

(Silence.)

Cesar Romero: Um.

Agent: You’ll be kind of like a sidekick to Burgess Meredith! And guess what he is?

Cesar Romero: (Deep breath.) What is he?

Agent: Like a half-man, half-penguin sort of thing…I think. But he’s also evil! Oh, and you’ll also get to star alongside Julie Newmar!

Cesar Romero: Oh, well that may have legs. So, do we have a “will they, won’t they” dynamic?

Agent: Not at all! But she is evil too. And also part cat!

Cesar Romero: I do not understand any of what you are saying.

Agent: And it’s got Frank Gorshin!

Cesar Romero: And what is he? Let me guess. Like an evil frog person?

Agent: No, no! He’s The Riddler. It’s sort of the same exact deal as your character, only he doesn’t wear any makeup. Isn’t this wonderful?!

Cesar Romero: (Pause.) You have to be joking.

Agent: No, Cesar. YOU have…to be joking.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

We still have a little bit of time for Joaquin Phoenix to die and win a posthumous Oscar for this role and keep with tradition. Then in 11 more years, a woman will win Best Supporting Actress for playing the Joker role and then in another 11 years the actual Joker will direct Joe Kerr in a reboot co-starring the Impractical Jokers…and win an Oscar.

I found the end scene touching when Arthur’s wife delivers his child and asks, “Arthur, what do you want to name your son?” And he replies, “Béla.”

Todd Phillips only made this big flashy blockbuster for the studio so that they’d let him do his deeply personal, intimate art house project, The Hangover IV.

Little Women

In a fresh take on a movie that I think is about some nuns living in a cottage during, fuck, I dunno like 1845? 1912? Aught 5? but there’s like a mean one, and a smart-and-sort-of-pretty-but-not-too-pretty one, and they probably have a dog, oh and a horse, and they have fights about vying for the love of the same boy they grew up with who is now some hot stud with poofy hair and poofy shirts and a nasally British accent, oh and there’s 2-3 other sisters that really just serve to further the main sister’s plot, and there is like fucking grass everywhere and how is all that grass not staining the shit out of those long flowy dresses that they always wear on their farm – or is it a glen? can you live ON a glen? – but later the guy marries the right one and he’s a strong man but is totally cool with her writing about some bullshit about being like a female doctor pioneer or something – oh and she’s wearing a straw hat with like a ribbon that’s always flapping the fuck around behind her – I forgot also that they only have one parent, the other is definitely dead and that comes up a little too often, and my mom and two sisters have to have tissues near the goddamn couch while they watch this seemingly 14 hour fucking miniseries or movie or Hallmark marathon because even though each of them could goddamn recite the dialogue from memory they still cry every…single…time…and OH MY GOD, CAN THIS ANNE OF GREEN GABLES, SOUND OF MUSIC, LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE OR WHATEVER THIS GIRL STUFF IS PLEASE BE OVER SO I CAN HAVE THE LIVING ROOM TV BACK TO WATCH BOY STUFF!

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Not many people know this fact but on her death bed, Louisa May Alcott’s final request was that if a woman ever directed a film adaptation of Little Women they would absolutely under no circumstances be nominated for a Best Director Oscar. So, really, that’s on her.

To ants, these are very big women.

Alan Dershowitz and Prince Andrew's favorite film.

Marriage Story

Dr. Ellie Sattler has established her second career as a divorce attorney after years as a paleobotanist and now fights so that “woman inherits the earth”...or at least gets primary custody and more than half of the assets.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

The roommates of Noah Baumbach and Greta Gerwig have become increasingly annoyed listening to several minutes of the two repeating, “No I hope YOU are recognized by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences with the Academy Award for Best Picture…and hang up first,” before ending their long phone calls every night.

While juggling roles in Marriage Story and JoJo Rabbit, Scarlett Johansson would often get confused resulting in one day on set when she tried to hide Robert Smigel in the attic.

Variety reports that a remake of Marriage Story is now slated for fall of 2026 with Colin Jost in the role originated by Adam Driver in a version of the story that will be produced by real life.

1917

The seventh and final installment of the 1910's saga follows the previous successful box office hits 1911: The First One, 1912: Now There's Two, 1913: Why Not Three, 1914: Get It? Years Are Sequential. That’s Really All This Joke Is, 1915: This Is The Fifth One (But Fourth Sequel), and 1916: 19 Fast 16 Furious.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Originally, the movie was supposed to have a ton of cuts between scenes but after saying, “Action,” a producer whispered to Sam Mendes that they only had budget left for one single take after hiring every single recognizable British actor still alive – so Mendes started screaming, “Run! You there, start shooting at them. Keep rolling! Keep running! Jump down that waterfall! Let’s go, people, keep up! Hide in those trees now! Oh look, more bad guys! Pew pew! Duck! Run over that way! Do not…stop…shooting!”

If this movie was called 2017, Colin Firth would have just pulled out his Samsung Galaxy Note 8 and texted, “Call off attack,” with a GIF of Admiral Ackbar saying, “It’s A Trap!” Then, mere seconds later he would have received, “lol k thx”.

1917 earned Benedict Cumberbatch a nomination for “Most Distressingly Off-putting Mustache”.

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood harkens back to a time long, long, long ago in Hollywood's history when the majority of top actors were white, the majority of directors were old men and individual parts of women's bodies were oddly objectified and sexualized. We’ve come so far since then!

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Please don’t ruin the fun and let Brad Pitt know that a movie was actually being filmed around him from June to November 2018.

I didn’t think the film was particularly that great but every single person I know who lives in L.A. and is either in or adjacent to the entertainment industry corrected me that it actually is.

Oh, I’m sorry – I think you’re in the wrong place. This is the once upon a time where a man is burned alive with a blowtorch. If you’re looking for the once upon a time where a man’s eyes are drilled out of his face, well then, pal, you’re gonna want to go to Mexico.

Parasite

Oh. I’m sorry. I accidentally put a Best For'n Language Film here at the end of this list of the best ‘Murican films.

3 Things To Casually Inject Into Conversation To Prove You Saw The Movie And Sound Like An Expert:

Parasite was, by far, the best movie I read this year!

나는 기생충을 진심으로 감사 할 수 있도록 한국어를 배웠습니다.

Bong Joon-ho's Parasite might leave you asking who are the real bottom feeders in the black comedy about social structures. There's plenty of food for thought as this picture is deeper than than what it may seem like on the surface…is the word-for-word review from Rotten Tomatoes Super Reviewer Aldo G that I just read to you out loud after pulling it up on my phone here.

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds -- Ch. 1

     Setting for the original chapter is mid-90′s L.A.

TW: Language, alcohol. 

  I re-seated my headphones before turning the volume up to its maximum level. Ideally, I would be working in silence, I wasn't the type that usually kept a playlist going while I was writing, but Roger and his bimbo du jour were making too much racket for me to even hear myself think, let alone write.  I had given up and gone to bed initially, but the plot swirling in my head would not let me sleep and I had soon found myself back at my desk, pen in hand, desperately trying to get my thoughts down before they were gone altogether.  I tried to ignore the groaning and shouting that still bled through the blasting sounds of Brian Molko's trademark nasal vocals, but when something or someone bashed into the shared wall so forcefully that the cup full of pens on my desk turned over and sent its contents spilling I threw the headphones off in frustration.  I knew from volumes of experience that asking Roger to tone it down was a waste of breath so I changed out of my pajamas, threw my notebooks and supplies into a backpack and headed out to find somewhere quieter to work.  Like a construction site or busy train station.  On the way out the door I saw my favorite hat, a brightly colored Laplander with a ridge of yarn approximating a Mohawk down the center, and even though it wasn't really cold in enough in L.A. this time of year for that, I hadn't fixed my hair after getting back up so I pulled it on before heading out of the apartment door.

   I really didn't know where I was going.  It was 1 a.m., and though L.A. is full of late night spots I really didn't know many of them.  All of my time was spent working two jobs to try to keep a roof over my head and save up enough money to finish school and writing.  I was always writing.  Even while I walked and plotted my revenge on Roger, in the back of my mind characters were interacting, I was changing out words and sentences, questioning motivations and debating plot structure.  I was so lost in the zone I was actually sort of surprised when I stumbled on the nearly deserted diner.  I figured it would be the perfect place to continue working though.  

   I found the quietest booth I could, as far away from the potentially noisy counter as possible and spread my writing implements out.  The place was empty save for a few older men at the counter and a couple of teenagers in a corner booth who were feeding each other french fries and necking.  The waitress was with me quickly, a middle aged woman that looked so much the part of late night diner waitress that I wondered if she had been hired or cast.  Either one was possible I suppose, this was L.A. after all.  I looked at her name tag.  Maxine. Of course it was. I ordered some fries and a Coke, pulled my hat down as far as I could and tucked back into my work.  

   I don't remember Maxine coming back with my food.  By the time I noticed they were there, the fries were cold and my drink was warm. As I added ketchup to my plate I realized the diner was filling back up, presumably with the after-bar crowd.  I started on my fries and wondered if Roger and his date had finished their Olympic class shenanigans or if I should hang here a little while longer.  I looked at my watch.  2:44 am.  They were probably starting with round two (or three? I had to give the guy his props, he did have some stamina) by now.  Best to just stay.

   The door jingled open again and this time two young men came through. The shorter of the two stumbled drunkenly to the booth next to me, followed by his friend, who seemed to more or less sober but somewhat irritated.  Just as he was about to sit down, the drunk one noticed me and flashed a wide grin.  Instead of sliding into a seat in the adjoining booth he sidled in across from me.  

   “Hey! Great hat!” he said, leaning across the table so he was inches from my face.  “Jay!  Look at her hat!”  

   “Jesus Shannon, leave the girl alone,” the taller of the pair said.  “Come sit over here and behave yourself.”  He turned back towards the counter where Maxine was currently serving up plates of burgers. “Can we got a couple coffees please?”

   Shannon made no effort to move, however.  “Oh coffee, yes let's get coffee!” He turned to me and gave a lopsided blink that I think was supposed to be a wink.  “I like coffee.”  He looked down at my plate.  “French Fries!  Jay, get some french fries too!”  

   I looked up at his companion who gave the sigh of the long put-upon friend that I knew all too well from years of dealing with Roger.  He mouthed a “Sorry” at me.  I shrugged.  I figured I was done writing for the night anyways and I had some time to kill before the apartment would be quiet again.  Besides, the guys were extremely cute and it was a public, well-lit space and about as safe as anywhere.  I pushed my fries over to Shannon who immediately started eating them.  With a laugh, I gestured to the bench next to him.  “I think he's here to stay.  You might as well join us.  Jay is it?”

   He looked around for a second and then slid into the booth, scooting his french fry scarfing companion to the side as he did so.  “It's Jared actually.  This is Shannon.”

   “Hi, Jared.  I'm Jane.” He was even better looking close up, soft brown hair, bright blue eyes, and the cutest little upturned nose.  “I have a Shannon too.  His name is Roger. He always gets into trouble when we go out.”

   “Hey!” Shannon waved a french fry in my general direction. “I'll have you know I'm quite the gentleman!” Jared looked at him with a cocked eyebrow.  

   “Really?” I said.

   “No.” Shannon roared with laughter, the joke far funnier to him than us. “But I'm cute so I get away with a lot.”  He batted his eyes at me, long lashes framing warm hazel eyes, that wicked grin never leaving his face.  He probably got away with murder, that one.  

   “So Jane,” Jared tried to deflect the conversation, “What are you doing by yourself in a diner at almost three in the morning?”

   “Avoiding my roommate.” I told him.  “Or more to the point, avoiding my roommate and his very loud... date.”

   “Would that be the Roger you mentioned?”    

   “Yeah. I was trying to get some writing done.  It was a lot quieter here when I came in.”

   Maxine appeared beside us then with their two cups of coffee, setting them down on the table before handing menus to the guys.  “Can I get you two anything besides the coffee tonight?”

   Jared moved a cup over in front of Shannon.  “Can I get a couple orders of fries?”

   “And eggs!” Shannon added, blowing on his coffee.  “I want eggs! With runny yolks.”

   Jared grimaced.  “A couple of eggs too I guess.”  He looked at me. “You want anything else? My treat, since you're being such a good sport.”

   “Maybe just a fresh order of fries?”

   Jared gave the waitress a smile.  “You heard the pretty lady, Maxine. Fries all around.” He looked over at Shannon who was spinning the salt shaker around the table, sending grains scattering across the surface.  He snatched the dispenser away from him.  “And keep the coffee coming too please.”

   “I'll bring you a fresh Coke too, hon.” She said as she gathered the menus back up and was gone.  I started putting my notebooks and pens away, afraid Shannon was going to spill something on them any minute. He apparently was one of those happy but incorrigible drunks; it was a bit like having a toddler a the table.  He noticed what I was doing and started to help.  

   “So, Jane,” he said, drawing out my name and emphasizing it as he batted his eyelashes at me again, “Got a boyfriend?”

   “Oh my god,” I laughed.  

   Jared cringed. “I'm sorry. My brother thinks he has game when he's drunk.” He looked Shannon, shaking his head.  “He doesn't.”

   “Brothers huh?”    

   Shannon threw his arms around Jared and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Yup, this is my baby brother, Jared.” Jared smiled sheepishly.  

   “So what's in the notebooks?” Jared asked as I stowed the last one in my backpack.  

   I thought about lying and saying it was school work. I was very self-conscious about my writing.  “Oh, just some writing I was doing,” I ended up replying as nonchalantly as possible.  

   “Like for a class or something?”

   “No. It's a story I've been working on.” I concentrated on bunching up my straw wrapper which still lay on the table, trying not to look at those blazing blue eyes of his.  What was with these brothers and their completely different but completely mesmerizing eyes?

   “Oh, writing as in you're a writer!” Jared said brightly.  I looked up, expecting a condescending expression on his face, but there was no trace of it there.  “That's really cool.  Have you published anything yet? Have you been at it for long?”

   His enthusiasm threw me for a second.  “Uh, well, I had a couple short stories published in a periodical back home. I mean I didn't get paid or anything but I got some nice reviews.  I haven't actually sold anything yet but I'm still trying to finish college so we'll see.”

   Jared nodded.  “Well, you just have to keep working at it.  That's the best way to improve your art, always.  Lots of repetition.”

   “Oh, I agree,” I said.  “I write any time I get a spare minute.  I've wanted to be a writer since I was ten years old.”

   “What kind of things do you write?”

   I shrugged.  “Different things.  Mostly just short stories, just sort of general fiction things.  I've dabbled in writing horror, I really like horror but I'm not as good at writing it.”

   “Well, you have to keep at that too, if that's what you want to do.” He flashed me another smile, probably meant to dazzle me in the same way Shannon's had been.  It wasn't exactly not working.  “Maybe you'll let me read something some time?”

   I cringed internally. Why did everyone want to read something the minute you told them you write?  He was probably just saying it to be polite or charming but it made me squirm uncomfortably.  I decided to change the subject.  “How about you? What do you do? Are you chasing something too or did you already find it?”

   “Ha!” Shannon burst out, giving his brother a playful shove to the shoulder.  “She doesn't recognize you.”

   “Shut up Shannon,” Jared said quickly.

   Shit. I hoped this wasn't about to turn into a “Don't you know who I am?” thing.  The brothers had seemed so nice and down to earth.  If I was uncomfortable a minute ago I was downright mortified now.  

   “I'm sorry.  Should I know you?”

   “It's okay.  I'm an actor but I haven't really done that much.” I could swear at this point Jared kicked Shannon under the table.  “I don't know if I'm going to keep up with it though.  I got a call back for this movie which is kind of a big break but ….” he trailed off, starting to look as uncomfortable as I felt.  “Actually Shannon and I are working on a band”

   “Oh, you guys are musicians?” Jared nodded and gave me a soft smile.  He seemed more comfortable talking about that than about the acting so I went with it.  “That's great.  You should do what makes you happy if you can.”

   Shannon gave the table a few rhythmic smacks.  “I play drums,” he said with the simple enthusiasm of a six-year-old. I couldn't help but laugh.

   “Well, the next time you guys play you'll have to let me know so I can come,” I said, sincerely hoping I'd get to see these two around again. I was already taking a liking to them.

   “I'd like that,” Jared said.  “We'll have to meet up.” He smiled warmly and I felt my cheeks flush.  The longer he sat there across from me, the more I began to think he was possibly the best looking guy I had seen up close.  This was saying something as my best friend and roommate Roger was a model, who was constantly dragging other models home with him.  I was used to gorgeous.  It paraded through my home on a regular basis. This guy was more than that.

   Shannon chose that moment to snatch the hat off my head and put it on his own, revealing my riotous blonde curls.  I tried to smooth them out but gave up when neither guy seemed to take any notice of my bed head.  Instead, Shannon was playing with the hat and making goofy faces while Jared tried to get the hat away from him.  By the time my hat was returned to me we were all breathless with laughter.

   Maxine reappeared then with plates of fries and Shannon's eggs. The confiscated salt shaker was reproduced, ketchup was passed around and we sat there talking about music and dreams while Shannon dipped fries into his runny egg yolks and Jared and I wrinkled our noses at him. I liked them both, they were bright and funny and even though I sensed they were absolute terrors when they got going they were really very sweet through the whole meal.  As Shannon sobered up he got quieter and quieter, letting Jared and me carry most of the conversation.  We were discussing a trip I had taken to Brazil the summer after I graduated high school when I realized it had gotten light outside.  

   “Oh my god, what time is it?”  I checked my watch and saw it was nearing 6 am.  I had been at the diner for four hours now, two and a half of them talking with Jared and Shannon.  “Shit.  I have to book guys, I have to be at work in a couple hours.” As I grabbed my backpack, Shannon shoved a napkin at me.  

   “Hey, at least give me your number so I can invite you to come hear us play.   You offered after all,” he reminded me.

   I smiled and scrawled the digits on the flimsy diner napkin.  “I don't really get out much, but that would be great.  I would totally be there.”

   He gave me that lopsided blink/wink again and, just for a second, I felt that pleasant, familiar tingle in my stomach. Both of these brothers were definitely having an effect on me.  I decided to high-tail it out of there as quickly as possible before I got myself into real trouble.  Jared stood up as I did and waited until I had my backpack in place then gave me a big hug.  

   'It was nice to meet you, Jane.  I hope we see you again soon.”

   And just like that, I was heading out the door and the chance encounter was over.  If Roger hadn't been having ridiculously loud and acrobatic sex, if I hadn't grabbed that hat on my way out, if I hadn't ended up at that diner, if I had been in a bad mood and shooed away the drunk instead of sharing my fries with him.... thirty seconds total maybe of left turn/right turn, 'a’ or ‘b’ type decisions had led me there.  Thirty seconds.  

   I had not yet begun to appreciate the irony of that.

[sarahburness]

7 Misconceptions That Keep You from Achieving Peace of Mind

“There is no greater wealth in this world than peace of mind.” ~Unknown

Achieving (and keeping) peace of mind is high on my priority list, yet my choices didn’t always reflect this, particularly when it pertained to my work.

Over time, I realized that I needed to change to live a more peaceful life.

If you’re feeling stressed, overwhelmed, and frustrated, it may be time to bust a few misapprehensions. Here are a few of the main ones that compromised my peace of mind.

1. Money will make me happy.

I formerly considered money and material possessions to be the ultimate sources of happiness, and my life’s aim was to earn and acquire as much as I possibly could. Because of this, my professional commitments were constantly eating into my personal time with my loved ones, and vice versa.

There I was, trying to give my best at work while simultaneously catering to the needs of my family to the greatest extent possible. I was trying to excel at everything, but I wasn’t doing justice to either of my roles. And I wasn’t enjoying any aspect of my life.

There came a point when I realized my schedule was depleting me, and I could not serve from an empty vessel. Now, I’ve come to understand that money can buy you fancy things but not happiness.

There can be no happiness without peace of mind, and materialistic things can’t provide that. Indulging in a certain degree of hedonistic pleasure will do you good, but happiness comes from feeling at peace with who you are and how you spend your time.

Also, spending wisely can make a huge difference to your peace of mind. Today, investing in meaningful and memorable social interactions such as family vacations, sporting events with friends, and concerts with near and dear ones brings me more satisfaction than spending money on a pair of designer shoes ever did.

2. There’s no room for mistakes.

It’s hard to feel peaceful if you punish yourself for making mistakes. You may even end up avoiding risks and new experiences to escape the pain of your own self-judgment. Remember, trying new things not only opens up avenues for you, but also brings a sense of fulfillment in life.

The key is to perceive mistakes as lessons rather than failures. I could easily get down on myself for, consciously or unconsciously, choosing material gains over all-round prosperity. But, choosing to learn from experience worked wonders in speeding up my healing process.

Now, instead of focusing on my errors, I pay attention to the feedback received and the experience gained.

Instead of feeling bad for focusing too much on money and things, I focus on learning from my past, letting it go, and making my present better.

At the time, my near and dear ones told me that they missed my presence and attention. They also mentioned how they worried about me neglecting my needs while trying to double my earning capacity.

So, these things had to change for sure, and over time, I did find balance through conscious efforts. I feel so much more in control of my destiny now, which brings me inner peace. I didn’t think bouncing back from supposed failures would feel this empowering, but it does.

Think about it; if you learn from mistakes, you end up a much wiser and happier person, so really, mistakes are valuable.

3. Shunning negative emotions brings peace of mind.

When my mind was troubled, I often experienced bouts of anger, frustration, anxiety, and other negative emotions. And I tried hard to fight them.

There were times when I masked them under the guise of a fake smile, indulged in a lot of retail therapy, and even overate to make myself feel better. I wanted to get rid of my demons by any means possible.

After all, that’s what you’re expected to do, right—keep your real feelings to yourself and plaster a smile on your face to appear happy and successful? However, as Carl Jung said, “What you resist persists.”

Emotions don’t go away when we hide them. If anything, they control us even more; we just don’t realize it. Also, emotions are what make us human. Not feeling them means we’ve become robots.

Avoiding negative emotions can give you the feeling of being trapped in a prison, because when you can’t accept them, you can’t deal with them. You deny yourself the opportunity to resolve those feelings permanently and feel free.

I’ve found healthy ways to come to terms with my emotions with the help of mindfulness, meditation, and even by writing them down. Peace doesn’t come from suppressing your feelings; it comes from working through them.

4. Getting ahead in life is all that matters.

In our quest to stay ahead in the rat race, we forget that no amount of getting ahead will ever feel like enough. And more importantly, by pushing to get ahead in one part of our life, we “fall behind” in others.

When I was focusing on money and material pleasures, I missed family milestones and cancelled on friends’ get-togethers just so I could work more. This, in turn, made me stay late at office, even though I was well aware that my family awaited my return so we could spend some valuable time together.

I thought I’d make up for lost time later on. Little did I know that ignoring my needs would affect my relationships, physical health, and mental state. I’m glad I realized my true priorities sooner rather than later and that I made a conscious effort to create balance.

We often undermine the importance of balance. We cannot expect to find peace if we’re constantly chasing our dreams and neglecting ourselves and our relationships. A lot of people are under the impression that only achievement will bring them happiness and peace. However, this is far from the truth.

Sure, secure finances are crucial to our peace of mind, but we need to draw a line between what we need and what we want and focus more on the former. Only then will we know real peace.

5. I need to hold on to my past and think about the future.

No, you really don’t! We can experience peace of mind only in the here and in the now. I live in the present and this is where I find my peace. This is where the answers to all my pressing questions are.

If I keep going back to the choices I made in the past, I will never be able to move on. I believe that I made the kind of progress that I did because I chose to let go of my former decisions and lifestyle, and I stopped thinking about the money I was going to have in the future. I consciously became more concerned with what I was achieving in my present.

Holding on to your past will only allow it to control your present. Everyone has experienced a mix of happy and hard moments. While reminiscing about the good times once in a while is fine, you need to let go of memories and moments that hold you back or instill fear in you.

Thinking about the future, on the other hand, will lead you to daydream and imagine potential outcomes, which may be far worse than the reality. So pondering too much over what’s to come won’t help much either.

Life always happens in the present, and it’s only by truly experiencing it that we can find peace of mind.

6. To express my feelings is to be weak.

Being in the situation that I was in (and knowing that I’d brought it upon myself), I wanted to talk about how I was feeling and seek help for dealing with it. And it’s not like I didn’t have an audience. I knew I could always speak to my family and friends, and they’d offer me an ear and a kind shoulder to cry on. However, I was too afraid of being perceived as weak or vulnerable, which reinforced my silence. After all, I was supposed to be the pillar of strength to them, and not the other way around.

A lot of us feel uncomfortable expressing ourselves. This is especially true of people like me, who grew up in a family that didn’t encourage open expression of emotions.

I had a hard time opening up to my family about the hardships I was facing, but when I did, I experienced a catharsis of sorts. It was liberating to not have to carry the anxiety and frustration alone. You can experience this too.

We need to realize that expressing our emotions in a healthy manner is a sign of strength rather than weakness. It takes a brave person to be honest about his or her feelings. More often than not, the bravado is rewarded with peace of mind.

7. I need to be or feel a certain way.

There was a time when I thought I needed to be visibly successful to gain approval from those around me, but all that did was make me unhappy. I was always too preoccupied with trying to receive approval from those around me

The truth is, you really don’t need to be anyone other than yourself or do anything you don’t want to do. We all have this image of our “ideal” selves and we try to live up to that as best as possible. But, this can sometimes mean setting ourselves up to be someone we’re not. How can that bring peace?

Accepting ourselves, on the other hand, can be immeasurably liberating. When we accept ourselves and our values and build our lives around what’s actually important to us, peace inevitably follows.

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Achieving peace of mind is a gradual and a continuous process, and it’s not just about knowing what to do, but also understanding what not to do. Start with busting these misconceptions and you’ll be well on your way to peace, happiness, and contentment.

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About Brian Zeng

Brian Zeng is the owner of Ponbee.com. He is an entrepreneur by spirit. Through Ponbee, Brian would like to share his insights on an array of topics related to business, e-commerce, digital marketing, and entrepreneurship. His recent collection of motivation quotes will surely help you to see failure and success in a different perspective.

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The post 7 Misconceptions That Keep You from Achieving Peace of Mind appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/7-misconceptions-that-keep-you-from-achieving-peace-of-mind/