#quickly getting to it before my art style expires

[cythanadiel]

hades sketches from may that i forgor to post

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Dressed Up, Part 1 of 2 (An I Give Up Deleted Scene)

Genre: Fluff / Sexually Suggestive Situations(15+)

Characters : You x Baekhyun

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Warnings: a pretty woman makeover, nudity, an attempt at seduction via video call, Houston we have a sugar daddy.

[Part 2]

IGU Deleted scenes masterlist

This shop wasn’t your usual style. What was your usual style? The sale rack at that department store in the mall. This place was definitely not your style. The second you walked in you could feel it. There was a mild and pleasant fragrance wafting around your nose as you stepped through the double french doors and from the corner of your eye you saw a woman dressed smartly with a tasteful pencil skirt and heels that were not too high for a full shift of standing on her feet.

If she made any judgements about you upon entering the store, she kept them to herself. The fact that you didn’t quite fit the look of this boutique’s typical clientele wasn't lost on you and you nearly spun on your heels right on out that door before she was able to call out her welcoming greeting.

‘Something nice. This is going to be black-tie so go buy something nice. Ask the shop ladies for suggestions…’

You couldn’t leave. The company party was tonight and you’d be damned if you would be the only one wearing a five year old sale rack little black dress from the back of your closet. You didn’t even want to think about the complaining such a move would produce from Baekhyun. You’d surely never hear the end of it.

The woman in the tasteful heels immediately approached you with a stepford-wife smile on her face. You’d taken seven steps inside and weren’t circling around toward the exit despite glancing at the first tiny price-tag that hung from the sleeve of a plain white designer blouse. It wasn’t even that fancy of a blouse. It just had round pearled buttons going down the front and looked like it might even be a bit see through in the right lighting and -- sweet jesus, it was thousands of dollars. For a white shirt. Your eyes widened on their own and immediately you shook away the queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

‘...and please, just don't look at the prices. Please just ignore that...for me, huh? Like the way I ignored the six packages of sausages you accidentally threw away because the lighting was bad and you thought that they were expired when they totally weren’t and I just ignored it and cried silently in the bathroom because of all those delicious sausages that I had just bought and you threw them all — just….’

His heavy breathing echoed into your ear and you could practically feel the heat from his lungs coating your eardrum with his frustrating memory of that single week when you’d been on an obsessive cleaning kick since watching Marie Kondo saving counter space and saving lives in the process.

‘Just ignore the price. Like I ignored the second love of my life being wasted like...like some common garbage. Please...do this for me, as the first love of my life...’

Was this really the right place? You had checked the address for the boutique three times in your phone before you even exited the taxi cab and it all seemed to match. This was the honest to god place, Byun Baekhyun, your foolishly loveable husband, had sent you to buy your evening gown for tonight’s party. You had an appointment at a salon after this and you didn’t quite know how you would get through the evening in one piece after all the strangers and their fussing.

Baekhyun had asked you to come. Baekhyun wanted you there and it was an important evening to him. A social event with the influential, the powerful, the up-and-comings in his industry and with his friends and he wanted you, his (still secret) wife on his arm. You were certain he would be dressed impeccably with a tailored suit, shined shoes, full hair and makeup no doubt. If there was one irrefutable fact about the man, it was that he thrived when he looked good. And he was going to outshine all others. The least you could do was put forth a little effort.

“Welcome, Miss,” the woman spoke up at last and your smile felt entirely too tense to look natural on your face. “Mr. Byun called ahead. If you would follow me, we have a selection of pieces for you to try.”

Pieces. They called the dresses pieces which meant they surely would carry a price-tag that rivaled some of the art that hung on the wall of that exclusive art gallery you saw next door.

And he called them ahead for you?

Of course he did. That was probably going to be the least surprising thing about this entire evening. That Baekhyun was simply unable to contain his excitement about a fancy schmancy dress up party which the both of you were attending together; of course he couldn't resist getting in on the decision making. You wondered what sorts of dresses he’d instructed them to pick. You wondered if he paid any attention at all to keeping within some sort of a budget. That sort of thing didn’t really seem appropriate in a place like this though.

You found yourself seated in an armchair and beside you sat a crystal glass with cold ice water. You began to reach for it, but quickly pulled your hand back as images of knocking the whole thing over on yourself played through your mind.

There was but a pause to breathe before the parade began. Young women with matching uniforms all carrying evening gowns in different shades and styles all walked before you with their smiles pasted firmly to their faces and their eyes all fallen down just so. You’d been so caught off guard by the fact that not a single one of them would look you in the eyes that you forgot to look at the first five dresses that passed you by.

It wasn’t until the color red popped like a bubble in your field of vision and pulled your focus down to the gown that was making its way directly in front of you and you looked down at it and...and...

Oh.

Oh my, that was…

You sat up straighter -- a gut reaction -- and the woman carrying the red gown stopped her movement the moment you flinched.

“Can I just…” You hated to interrupt their little show, but this one felt different than the others somehow. Despite with the way it hung lifelessly in her arms like a deflated balloon you could see the quality of the sheer fabric that draped over the floral lace bodice below. The neckline below the tulle plunged deep and from the look of it, the skin-tone fabric bodice gave the illusion of showing a lot more skin than it actually did.

You couldn’t possibly pull this dress off, could you?

“Ahh, the Valentino. Excellent choice — bring that one. She will wear the Valentino.” A voice boomed from somewhere behind you and the once quiet sales woman that initially greeted you was clapping her hands as she directed her army of dress-cradling women to leave the room. Only a select few remained for the fitting.

As you threw away your reservations of disrobing in front of a room full of eerily quiet strangers, you placed your first tentative foot inside the open gown and as it was pulled up and closed up around you, one thing about this dress became abundantly clear.

You weren’t just wearing the Valentino.

Oh, no.

The Valentino was wearing you.

Your first spin to face the triple mirrors that lined the wall had you under a spell and the flow of fabric that swayed and followed your spin made you feel powerful. Perhaps it was the very real skin just above your navel that was made visible by the deep plunge of the neckline below the red tulle, or perhaps it was the way the contoured lace fabric hugged your breasts, leaving them covered while giving the illusion of leaving them bare -- and the curve around your hips that cinched around your waist and flattered the shape of you -- but, wow, this dress was incredible. This dress hugged your every curve as if it were created with only you in the designer‘s mind.

This dress was...yours. Marie might even say that it sparked joy in a way that no other garment that had been placed upon your skin in this lifetime had ever done before.

The bright overhead lights brought out a sparkle in your eyes that made you feel like a hundred carat engagement ring sitting inside a locked display case of the finest jewelry store in all of the world and as you ran your fingers down the curve of your hips, finding the spot where the under dress ended up high on your thighs and the sheer red continued as if it’s only job was to tease at the idea of a covering -- you visibly swooned.

“How much is this one?” Your voice sounded dreamy, heavily affected and almost drunk, and you caught a glimpse of humanity as you made a split second of eye contact with one of the women who had helped you into the dress. As quickly as it happened, she looked away from your face and into the face of the shop woman behind you, but her cheeks were pink -- her eyelids fluttered rapidly. It was a hairline crack in her composure. The slip of the woman made your cheeks feel flush and you remembered where you were and who you were and what kinds of questions the patrons of this shop didn’t usually ask outloud. You wondered if in another life, you and this young woman who steadied her gaze away from your prying eyes, might have been friends.

“It’s within the budget, Miss,” the shop woman said.

“There is a budget?” This time your question was genuine curiosity and you lifted your brows and spun to look into her amused face.

“There is a minimum budget, yes.”

Impossible. He was impossible.

“Just tell me how many zeroes.” It felt like bargaining with the enemy at this point and the stitched floral design in the lace bodice had some sparkle to it when you rocked your hips back and forth in this lighting. It was probably hand stitched by an expert seamstress. Someone had loved this fabric with their fingertips and a needle and sterling thread and you hoped their hard work had been handsomely rewarded.

She had gone quiet behind you and you figured her bonus was at stake if she spilled the beans your dear husband had insisted she keep a tight lid on so you lifted your chin and let out a sigh of defeat.

“I’ll pay with my own card.” It looked like defeat to the casual observer. Yes, you were using the card he gave you and yes, it was funded by his money. Yes, he would get a text message that the card was used with the purchase amount and location but the benefit of using your own card meant that you would also get the same text message.

If it was too much you could always just return it then and there, right?

Maybe you could go to the mall and find something there that looked just like this if you squinted and covered one eye as you looked at it.

Your card was already swiped and yet, the dress that had just been charged was nowhere in sight. There was a second where you paused and your eyes wandered over the faces of the shop attendants with just a hint of a question on the tip of your tongue. Your card was quietly returned by the sales woman and her smile preceded her answer to your unspoken question.

“We will have it delivered to your home within the hour.”

Oh, right. Rich people didn’t carry bags. Well, except for the designer ones hung over their limp wrists with the logo facing outward for all to see.

It was for the best anyway, you had two more stops to make before checking in with the dog sitter for the evening. She, a young girl named Sunny, had been highly recommended by one of Baekhyun’s bandmates for her reliability and patience with young puppies. In fact, she was going to be taking care of two poodles that belonged to another member tonight along with your and Baekhyun’s new puppy. You tried not to worry too much for the tiny ball of fluff. After listening in on Baekhyun’s phone call with Sunny, you were certain the poor girl had been given plenty of helicopter-parent instructions from him, she didn’t need your worried phone calls to add to the mix.

You were already on your way through the double french doors of the shoe shop when you felt the vibration of your cell phone through the layers of your leather bag against your hip.

That would be it; the text message alerting the card holder that their credit card had been used to purchase a, most likely, obscenely expensive garment that would be worn exactly one time. Did you dare look? Maybe looking was a bad idea. Maybe when you looked you would lose the nerve to make your way through the double french doors of the designer shoe store that was next on your itinerary.

Your fingers felt itchy. The back of the taxi was quiet enough to hear the sound of your cell phone calling out your name, telling you to check to see what the damage was so you could begin freaking out already.

You were powerless to stop yourself and as you pulled your cell phone out of your bag you felt it vibrating again, this time for a new text messages that had just arrived.

On your screen, just above the notification that read ‘A transaction has been made on your credit card in the amount of…’, sat a new text message notification from ‘Curry & Chocolate’ and you clicked there first. Would Baekhyun have something to say about how much the dress cost? Would he shake his head that you had squandered so much of his hard earned money on something so frivolous and wasteful?

‘Omgomgomgomgomg asdflakdfja;lkjfa … which one did you get?!!!’

This was followed immediately by a message that read ‘WAIT NO DON’T TELL ME!! I want to be surprised,’ that was succeeded by every single heart emoji he could find in his phone’s keyboard.

You hadn’t actually ever done this before. Gone shopping without him, spending vast amounts of money on yourself like this, and you could see the excitement in the messages that came one after another on your phone.

‘Is it too pretty? What if you look too pretty and i faint in public?’

‘It’s not like this is our wedding day -- you can send me a picture as you’re getting ready, so i can prepare myself, right?’

His enthusiasm was adorable and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from giggling all alone in the back seat of this taxi.  

‘No, don't send me a picture. I want to be surprised. I’ll just drop dead, it’s okay. I’ll die happy.’

Knowing Baekhyun as well as you did, you knew that his meandering mind would eventually settle itself on its own and you didn’t have to respond to these messages with anything except for a few heart emojis and a quick reminder that you were still not done shopping for tonight. You replied that you had just arrived at the shoe store and would be quite busy in the salon for hair and makeup shortly after.

You weren’t sure what you had been expecting. The fancy dress store had lead you into a false sense of security that made you forget that designer shoes were just as ridiculously overpriced as designer fashion was and you sighed right out loud as you handed over your card to pay for the strappy heels with the blood red lacquered soles whose designer’s name you couldn't even spell without the assistance of autocorrect and you swallowed down the guilt that you would be wearing something on your feet that, if sold, would feed a family of four for several months.

Your hands were shaking when you signed the receipt and when your phone vibrated again, alerting you of the charge to your card, you cursed at your ability to do mental math as you began to tally up the totals.

Of course he texted you again after the bank did and the diamond and heart emojis that he sent did not help ease any of the guilt, despite the weirdly obvious clues that he was somehow having a fun time watching you spend so much of his money. At this rate, you would be the most expensive thing on his arm tonight — blowing out of the water, the hefty price tags of any of the fancy watches he could choose from to adorn his wrist. Even if he wore them all at once, they would not compare.

Your nails were done; hands and feet to match the red of the Valentino (because everything else should fall in line when this dress was clearly the one in charge) -- your hair was halfway there and the makeup on your face was pristine and set with products that the beautician swore would not budge all night long and all you wanted to do was curl up and take a nap by the time you were done with all the card swiping and receipt signing.

You had a schedule to keep though, and once through the doors of your home you were called back to the ringing doorbell when the deliveries started. First it was the dress, shoes; a new clutch for tonight’s essentials and when the door rang again you glanced around at all of the crisp and expensive packages, taking a quick inventory and coming up with a new question mark. Everything you had purchases today had already been received, yet the young man in the classy suit who stood at your door was holding a package in his hands with the markings from a store you had not visited today.

You were friendly enough although hesitant to receive this latest delivery for fear that it had somehow been sent in error. The man in the suit smiled wider and urged your focus down, pushed the package closer to you and his eyes begged you to just take it already. When he confirmed your name and you admitted that, yes, you were the person he sought out you really had no other move but to finally accept what he was offering.

You felt downright funny about this. The package was small; not another evening gown or pair of shoes. You’d seen enough of high priced boutiques today to recognize that this item was of a similar source. Only as you reached inside and pulled out the heavy black clamshell case, you knew immediately that you were handling expensive jewelry and you definitely had not visited a jewelry store in your shopping today.

Inside, the clamshell was velvet lined and housed a set of jewelry — sparkling diamonds, lots and lots of them. You saw teardrop earrings that matched a diamond necklace and even a delicate bracelet with the sparkling stones going all the way around and you set the whole thing down onto your granite kitchen countertop to get a good look at the way the stones took ahold of the fluorescent lights above your head and shot them back at you from all directions. The sparkles were astounding. The cuts of each stone overwhelmed and you also had to get a good breath of air into your lungs because you honestly had been holding your breath as you stared at the gorgeous jewels before you.

It was too much...but at this point would such a statement even make any difference? It was already here in your hands.

You pulled your phone out and snapped a shot of the jewelry, slightly annoyed that your phone’s camera couldn't capture the full range of sparkle, and you sent the image to your husband.

‘Please tell me this is rented.’

He didn’t respond to your text message and the longer you looked down at the jewelry, the prettier the sparkle of those stones looked once you moved in the recessed lighting of your bedroom.

The more you touched them and handled them and held the necklace up against your neck or the earrings up to your ears, the more beautiful the image of those diamonds adorning your skin made you feel and when you stood in front of floor length mirror in your spacious bathroom you were wearing them all, and you wore absolutely nothing else to compete with the sparks of light shooting off of those precious stones that decorated your body -- and oh, you felt it.

The priceless and perfect, here and now.

You felt like possibly a million bucks even well before you put on the dress and everything else this man had already provided for you.

This was his mark. The strands of diamonds that completely encircled your wrist, throwing fire with each slight movement of your hand over the bare skin as you raked perfectly manicured nails over one bare breast. You watched the light travel over your skin and you felt the traces of him all over you.

The shine of the biggest stone, seated over the hollow of your neck, where his lips and teeth had tasted your skin countless times, that stone there beckoned to you with the sweet softness of his voice - mine, mine, mine, as he often called out in the warm pauses between breaths.

An urge was brewing inside of your chest. Below where the diamond sat, deeper inside where with each of your deepest inhales could not seem to satiate. Your slow exhale only quenched the superficial need for air, but this urge ran deeper.

This was not something you and he did.

You had never allowed it before — extravagant and expensive gifts. Sure he had tried in the past but you had put up enough of a fuss about the price of things he gifted you, and the unfairness of it. That you could never match the price tag with the things you bought him. You’d made it clear that this sort of disparity irked you and he had always followed along, choosing instead gifts with more sentimental value than monetary value and you and him both treasured the meaning behind these gestures above all else.

But this—

What would be his meaning behind the diamonds?

That tonight was such a special occasion and your ensemble required only the absolute finest embellishment. Ornate, gilded, and as beautiful as the love you felt when you looked into his eyes.

Was this how Baekhyun wanted to show off his love for you? Could his intentions be this obvious?

A single faint vibration sounded from the dresser of your bedroom and you pulled your eyes from the mirror for a moment.

‘What are you doing~’

He couldn’t have possibly been bored. He was supposed to be getting ready for tonight, and you knew he had less than an hour before he had to be at the venue and you had been scheduled to arrive within the following hour to keep the photographers, who likely camped outside, in the dark about the true nature of your relationship with your very successful and very important idol.

‘I am trying on the diamonds’

It wasn’t, ‘I am googling the price’ or ‘I am returning them to the store’, instead you were uncharacteristically and alarmingly honest about just how weak this particular set of jewelry had made you. Perhaps it had been the entire day of shopping and your sense of proper wifely behavior had been thrown off, but that urge that sat inside of your chest swelled up again, inflating your lungs and making the lights from the ceiling reflect beautifully off the enormous diamond that hung around your neck.

When you turned your head, the teardrops hanging from your ears swayed with the movement and you tucked an invisible strand of hair behind your ear to watch the delicate way your bracelet slid over your arm with the motion.

‘Oh?’

His response was tentative. It was the tip of a toe dipped into a swimming pool and pulled back out again. Only to check the temperature, of course. He wasn’t about to dive in just yet.

The deliberate silence that followed that single syllable word was an advanced tactic that you had been entirely unprepared for and you held your phone in one hand looking down at the screen, simply unable to believe that he had no follow up inquiry for you.

He wasn’t even typing.

He had gone completely silent after that gentle and soft nudge that had filled you with so much curiosity and tension that it sent your thumbs down hard on the screen of your phone. You hit a few random letters and deleted them, surely giving away your obvious unrest after his ploy.

Didn’t he have anything else to ask you? Didn’t he want to know if you liked them, or maybe give you some details about how he just happened to run across this particular set of jewelry that looked as if it were made specifically with your tastes in mind when you had been given less than three days notice about this entire event and the fact that you would be attending had been well up in the air until this very morning. Did he really have nothing more to say?

You were being baited.  You knew this.

‘They are very, very beautiful, Baek...’

It worked.

You had barely hit send when you saw the graphic on your screen that told you he was typing out a response.

He had been waiting it out.

‘Can I see?’

The air surrounding your bare skin had, prior to his simple question, felt quite warm and comfortable in temperature, yet the second you read his request you felt a chill run along your bare thighs; traveling quickly without a clear destination. It spread over your skin, pulling and puckering up your nipples and leaving the surface of your skin rough with goosebumps that reached well to the back of your neck.

As quick as the chill, came the heat and the surface of your cheeks felt warm to the touch as you typed out a three word response to the man who held more power over you than any other soul to walk this earth.

‘Are you alone?’

Baekhyun’s reply came without delay.

‘Mhmm’

Your fingertip stuttered for only a moment and you toyed with the decision.

You shouldn’t encourage this, the lavish spending you had always denied. You shouldn’t reward it.

And yet, a set of jewelry had never quite made you feel this way before. Sure, the tasteful diamond solitaire ring you wore on your finger was the symbol that brought all the warmth and love to the surface of your mind every time you looked down at it.

But this, it was Byun Baekhyun polished and sparkling bright and lovely around your neck. It was the years you had shared together dripping like liquid from the tips of your ear lobes and it was his long shimmering fingertips clasped around your wrist; holding on tight and promising to never let you go.

The video call was ringing and after a second of darkness the call was connected. You were rewarded with the view of his face; the top of his, already styled, light pink hair and dark eyes lined with the barest of eye makeup, applied by an expert’s hand, and his eyes focused on the view of you in front of him.

His eyes were moving and you knew from the way you held the phone and the image of yourself from the corner of your own screen, exactly what he would see. It would be the image of you, completely naked, except for the earrings, the necklace and the occasional spark of light from around your wrist.

Baekhyun’s eyes widened marginally, only enough to tell you that this was a surprise and you could hear the small puff of air exhaled through his parted lips as his eyes took in the sight of you.

He then closed his eyes and ran a hand with slender fingers over the length of his face, settling that hand over his mouth and his eyes pulled open again much too slowly. He hadn’t yet said a damn thing about what he thought about the diamonds.

Didn’t he think they complimented your skin tone perfectly? Didn’t the way that big stone pulled the delicate chain downward make your neck look pretty?

Did the sparkle of diamonds around your wrist make him want to hold your hand perhaps?

“Do you like them?” He finally spoke when he had removed his hand from over his lips and his voice was soft and low. Once the question was out he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and he bit down. His eyes darted up to touch yours once before they drifted down again and you wondered if he was looking at the diamonds anymore or…

“I love them,” you whispered and lifted a hand to show off the way sparkles caught the light.

Your declaration pulled his eyes back into yours and pulled his lips wide as he flashed the smallest smile of satisfaction. This look on his face was somewhat hard to read. Of course he was quite pleased with himself, but there was something else inside of his eyes as his smile slowly fell and evened out again and his lips parted and a tiny puff of air escaped through his mouth.

“You look so, so beautiful in them,” he inhaled through those parted lips and narrowed his eyes, looking almost intoxicated as he seemed to loosen his focus, “I knew you would, when I saw them...I just— I couldn’t help myself, baby.”

The excuse was the first bit of a clue he had given you of the incredible cost. As you had suspected when you first saw them, they had to cost a lot.

He could not help himself, he said. Their beauty was simply too great to resist when he thought of spoiling you in such a way with this incredible gift. The idea that this man loved you so much, he was powerless against such a temptation...perhaps it was you who was intoxicated.

“Were they very expensive, Baek?” The sound of your voice was soft and heavily affected now and you played with the necklace with your fingertips.

A sound betrayed him. A throaty whine, cut off quickly when he snapped his lips shut and he closed his eyes. He inhaled through his nose before you saw the up and down movement as he nodded his head. Yes. Yes they were.

“Do you always try on jewelry this way?” It came out almost as a complaint and you felt your lips pull into a smile. You enjoyed the thought that you could still have such a powerful effect on him.

“I want to buy you more,” you heard him say under a breath, his words trailing through the effort of their escape, “if this is how—”

“You did say you didn’t want to see the dress yet.” You lifted your shoulders with a little shrug as if you had merely been complying with his own request from earlier and not playing any dirty tricks involving expensive diamonds and gold and nipples and your navel and collar bones and the invitingly suggestive way you now leaned back onto your bed. The same bed that exactly four weeks prior he had pressed your back into as he pushed inside of you.

He had yet to return to you since then and you could feel the longing beginning to turn into desperation.

So that’s what the urge was. It was to be felt and touched and kissed and thoroughly had by your husband.

The same one who was staring now, cheeks flushed, so much more than the makeup he wore. He was positively pink, to match his hair and his lips.

“Do you miss me as much as I miss you?” You asked with the desperation sitting heavy on your tongue. You were certain he could hear it. You would do anything, you’d spend a million dollars just on yourself. You’d accept the luxury car he had been trying to sell you on. You’d even learn how to drive it. You’d do anything if it meant you could have just a little bit more of this man.

You laid a hand, the sparkly one, over your chest, between your bare breasts, where you could feel the steady thump of your heart.  Something had changed on the other side of the screen and you lost Baekhyun's eyes for a split second as he glanced at something behind him. A noise perhaps. Did someone knock?

He returned to you promptly and leaned in too close to the screen for you to make anything of his face.

“Baby, this...this is already too much. How am I supposed to put on my suit if I can’t zip up my pants?”

When he leaned away from the phone enough for you to actually read his expression again you could clearly see the struggle written all over that pretty face. But, God, was he pretty. His hair was styled up, a rare hairstyle for him, and one that always made your knees weak.

There was an alarm ringing somewhere inside his room. You felt downright victorious when you shifted and let your knees fall open slightly, just enough to show off the full body wax you’d subjected yourself to as a part of all inclusive spa treatment paid for by the one and only EXO’s Byun Baekhyun and he covered his lips again with a hand that was much less steady than at the start of the call.

“Oh,” you heard him whisper. “Oh god, I’ve...I have made a terrible mistake.” He said softly to himself and he was looking down from the phone. He was looking behind his shoulder. He was looking down at his lap and then away from the screen again, in the other direction. “I should not have asked to see a damn thing. I should’ve left it the hell alone—why...why did I ask to see?”

He was looking all over, but he was not looking at you.

He was not appreciating the way the line of sparks around your wrist traveled slowly down your stomach, lower and deliberate in direction. The occasional glance of his eyes when he was too weak to resist touched upon your movement and you smiled to yourself.

He had worked so hard. He had spent so much. The least he could do was watch you enjoy them.

“It’s—it’s time for me to go—baby,” he huffed through gritted teeth, “I — do you… do you like them this much? I have to put my suit on and go.”

You nodded your head — mouth agape as your legs parted further and you slipped your hand lower, the tips of your fingers finding the smooth skin between your legs, parted directly in front of your phone now propped on a pillow. You were already so wet, you just needed him.

“F-Fuck—Wh—what the fuck— what are you...doing with your hand?”

He was cursing now. The sound of it fueled your desperation.

“Fuck.fuck.fuck— my manager is texting me. You— fuck— I’m so fucking hard, how dare you. ”

“What are you going to do about it, Baekhyun?” You hadn’t expected your question to come out sounding quite so challenging but with your fingers running lazy circles within your wetness you were already feeling entirely too reckless to control your tone.

“I’ll...there’s no time. I don’t have time. I have to go. He’s already outside knocking and texting me, baby, I have to...do some squats or fuck it, I’ll tuck it in my waistband. I’m usually dressed right but I guess I’m dressed up tonight.”

“Are you really going to go?” The realization that he seemed to be quickly moving around his dressing room and the grunting you heard didn’t sound so much like sexy grunts and more like genuine effort made you sit up and look closely at the screen of your phone. He had sent it down and you could see movement as hasty arms were pulled through crisp white sleeves and his slim fingers fastened buttons and stuffed his stray shirt tails into his slacks.

You saw the evidence. Baekhyun had a full-on, sex-ready erection sending a bulge of black underwear through the open zipper of his pants and your arrousal/irritation that he would deny you so easily was temporarily halted by your genuine curiosity now.

You watched as he grabbed it. Just wrapped his right hand right around and his face twisted into one of pain as he seemed to squeeze down quite hard.

“Baek—don‘t...hurt yourself,” he looked like he was choking the life out of it and your voice took on a tone of genuine concern. You had seen one sex related injury come into your practicals at the hospital just this past week. The last thing this man (you) needed was to pull or strain something and be unable to fuck you later. You hadn’t seen him for a whole month. You did not want to wait even longer because he’d gone and broke his dick just because you had teased him too much.

His face ticked toward the phone and with all the ire and annoyance of a truly sexually denied man his words clipped back at you, “I’ve owned it longer than you have, darling. I know what I’m doing.” You held back the eye roll. You could write novels of all the ways you’d seen people hurt themselves when they had been positive they knew what they were doing.

Seemingly satisfied with his self aggression, Baekhyun pulled the thing up and with his other hand began zipping up slacks and shifting and pulling fabric around the offending appendage.

When he was all done, you had to admit it was hardly even noticeable unless you were you and you knew exactly the shape, length, width, and girth well enough to make out the exact outline of that dick inside of those pants. Of course you would easily find what was yours.

“I can still see it,” you said with a smug smile and his focus shot back at you with an equally smug grin.

“And I can still see what’s mine. All decorated so sparkly and pretty just for me. I might decide to add a pearl necklace too. If you love wearing my diamonds this much, perhaps you’d enjoy walking around with my cum on your tits all night.”

Your hand flew up to cover your mouth and you gasped. You actually scandalized-church-nun gasped right out loud and the action betrayed you entirely against your will.

Perhaps more shocking than the words themselves was the sudden realization that your own arousal seemed to be the one betraying you.

The image he had put into your mind...it sounded so filthy, and so damn tempting. To be marked as his so obviously. This man was so desired by so many, yet there was only one for him.

Only you.

Could this possibly be why you took to the jewels so strongly?

Your response came out sounding more like a dare than a denial.

“You wouldn’t.”

He leveled his eyes and that frustrated look on his face shifted into one of sudden understanding. A single eyebrow bobbed above his eye.

“Ohh,” he whispered inside of a breath and the corners of his lips pulled into a smile, “oh, you do want that, don't you?”

You felt unable to formulate a response. You doubted the question was rhetorical, yet you felt too stunned and too affected to reply.

“You know, it makes me so very excited to give you pretty things. Expensive things. Things that will show off your beauty. Things that show everyone that you are mine.

I would give you anything you wanted, my love. Anything.”

“Any—thing...” your words eked out slowly and softly in response to his, but there was little meaning in them. What you did feel deep inside your chest was a stronger sensation that had began to take root. Perhaps it had already been there; when you looked at him, through their eyes, the fans...when you saw the things they said about him, the yearnings and the longing they all expressed in elaborate and vivid ways.

And the feeling that grew inside of you as you watched them and all of their desperate wanting that was, again and again, denied.

When the cameras turned off and when the concert ended and the curtains closed and the staff went home and the acting ceased, Byun Baekhyun would pick up his phone and he would call you.

You would be at home or at school or in the subway or having lunch and your phone would ring and you would get his tired sighs or the subtle smiles and the pet names and when the stars aligned and his time off would coincide with your time off, your door would open and you would get his face and his lips and his smell and his skin and they...they had no idea.

This part was for you only.

And that feeling would surge again, just as it did when you unwrapped some gift he gave you, or opened your student loan statements to find that he had, again, made the last payment for you because the due date was coming up and you were going to be late due to your work payment schedule not quite aligning with the due date of the loan payment.

That feeling, it wasn’t quite the same as pride. It wasn’t smugness, or boasting that was fueling this, but it was an intense satisfaction that you were the lucky one. The one fortunate enough to receive his love. Baekhyun always found a way to make you feel like the absolute most important human in his world and even sitting here on the phone with him wearing the expensive diamonds he gave you, you could feel the profound gratitude that your life and his life had intertwined at such an important time as it had. That you had been given the chance to be loved and to love such a brilliantly beautiful man.

It made you feel the kind of special that did not happen to many people.

Baekhyun was dressed now. He was straightening a tie in a mirror and giving another rough tug at his waistband and he stood again in front of his phone, bending at the waist to place his pretty face into the frame of your video call.

You had given up on touching yourself by now. What was the point when he wouldn’t watch you do it.

“I’ll see you in an hour. You won't be late will you?” His voice still sounded huskier than usual but he was making the shift into business mode.  You could tell in the way he straightened out his face, blinking his eyes wide before squeezing them tight and shaking his head a little bit to rid himself of whatever leftover effects of you might still remain there.

He was magical sometimes, the strength of character this man had inside of him was astounding.

After a few throat clears he opened his eyes. Baekhyun lightly kissed his fingertips and blew the tiny kiss toward you and responded with a little nose scrunch when you caught the kiss in the air in front of you quickly, before it could vanish, you laid it over your heart, where you liked to keep all of his long distance kisses.

The call went black and he was gone for now and you pushed yourself to your feet to finish getting ready for tonight.

[ part 2]

IGU Deleted scenes masterlist

[quackspot]

i started thinking about that gay bastard oc of yours. platano. can u tell me about him

omg u wer thinkgin about platano..... mr banana man... mr 4011. i am obsessed with the banana code srry i just got back from work (it was good :-D)

any way. um. im going below the cut. he kidnaps people and he murders people and i hate him because he’s also a massive weeb so. hm

HISTORY OF PLATANO... yea his name is spanish for banana

his father, pablo, will probably get a name change someday but i literally never think of his father since the only thing he did in platano’s backstory was disappear 

since platano’s world has characters based off like. fruits and vegetables (there aren’t really any limit to what the characters are based off of. it was in my lazy google translate name phase so we have like... a gay character named arcenciel who becomes dadlike through my powerful canon-changing touch. also arcenciel wears the colors of the rainbow as often as he can i haven’t figured out a good design for him since i’m not used to using more than 5 colors. he also owns a hat factory)

i think arcenciel and platano are friends they met when platano was like. 17 probably and arcenciel would be around uhhhhh ummmmmmm 21??? idk man but in canon he’s probably around 30 . yes i m saying “in canon” because i wrote a really dumb and horrible story back in 2018 arcenciel used to have HUGE internalized homophobia and i turned that into a running joke and i dislike that so that’s a reason why i’m not sharing the fun little story i wrote for my friends

(the best part of that story is when arcenciel threw his light-up rainbow heelies at platano, thus starting the boss fight which the main cast LOST.)

ok back to the topic at hand. platano.

i have a whole doc named platano where i just wrote drabbles about him so i’m going to summarize them

the first one was his friend, percisi (my only cishet oc he’s very short and very aggressive while also dressing in a soft-colored turtleneck since he’s based off of peaches) using a misunderstood form of satanism to summon satan. guess what percisi and platano summoned satan for. it was a manga update! wow

i won’t say the mangas name it was an inside joke

so platano was like “hey satan can i have this manga now please please” and satan went “sure just kill people for me” 

that determined platanos job for the next 7 or so years <3 wonderful. 

(it was basically me writing a backstory for a scene to happen in the main writing i wrote for my friends. he killed someone because someone else in the building was trying to summon satan. very confusing but okay i guess.)

i think right after that i wrote about platano meeting his boyfriend, sage, for the first time. i have horribly mixed feelings about their relationship since it’s very. Hm.

so platano kidnaps people to watch anime with him because all his friends left him and his best friend, mangue, is too busy being a dictator over the Land of the Fruits. i shit you not fruits oppressed the vegetables. i wrote that dynamic between the two because i was learning about the revolutionary war in US History. something like that at least

(the Land of the Fruits is not the official name)

on the topic of kidnapping people. guess who his favorite person was. sage. it was sage. so he tried to take sage often but they probably discussed Proper boundaries since everyone else tried to run away. hmm i am now going to write a bit right now 

“Platano,” Sage started. “Why do you keep kidnapping me? It’s rude and I hate it.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” The yellow-haired fool leaned on his sword, digging the tip deeper into the ground. 

“ASK ME IF I WANT TO HANG OUT??” 

“I can do that?”

“You keep making my dads worried.” Sage looked around the area, fidgeting with his hands. 

“Oh. Okay. Want to hang out? Watch some anime?” Platano paused for a moment, but managed to say “Maybe kiss?” before Sage got to answer.

“I- KISS??? We can watch anime together. We can go now.” 

Sage ushered Platano through a portal as fast as he could. 

His dads were never worried.

hmmm maybe that’s alright idk i’m a little tired so it’s probably a little out of character. sage probably isn’t that loud but i think it was trying to be the dynamic of “oh, we’re not dating” when they kiss every sunday at 5 pm by a romantic river scene 

he’s a character who is, at his very core, horrible and bad. he is portrayed in a way i DESPISE but i’m too lazy to correct it. his interest in sage actually started with me going “hmm i think platano would draw sage like this” then sauce giving me fun facts about his oc, sage, yea sage is sauce’s oc <3 epic win . so sauce gave me fun facts about sage and i was like “time to doodle these in platanos ‘art style’” when in reality it’s just the mockery of people just getting into an anime art style, with the chin so pointy it could cut a cake 

i might reread my old writing from 2018. i gotta agree with the judges for that year i did not write very well

it mightve actually been made in 2017 which would be FUCKIN CRAZY im gonna check rn 

yea it was started in 2018. february 14th... huh . finished it completely in june of that year it was 41 pages total and it’s not even double spaced how did i write something without double spacing it

OH MY GOD BOB IS GOING TO HIJACK THIS RANT JUST FOR A LITTLE

so bob is a fluffy little anthro cloud with a grey top hat and bowtie. he is amazing. i love bob. bob is another one of sauce’s character and mangue (mentioned earlier) was made by my friend jamie 

(you can always ask for their tumblrs but i’d ask them if its okay to share their tumblrs. i might just look at them and reblog their stuff cuz i like their art!!! maybe jamie posted a drawing she made recently on her blog but tbh i don’t think she would she’s more of a twitter user)

ok so im skimming thru UMG which is the story it stands for “Universe of Magic Gardens” and it was originally made for a prank on ponytown so people would go “what’s UMG” and my friends and i would be like “ur mom gay xDDDDDD” or something like that . horrible but i’m glad i’ve changed from . that.

here’s a bit i actually like AKLJFISJFIO

“What the actual FUCK, Ilkie?!” Arcenciel cringed in fear. “Put it back- it’s too ugly.” He pointed at Platano, whose arms were crossed. 

why is it bolded. anyway.

i just saw a part where eau used y’all... water cowboy moments <333 i really need to make refs for all of those old characters. all of my umg-related characters have to be my oldest-living ocs. 

i cant believe this is making me genuinely reread my old writing just to go “WJHFSIDAJKSFIOJ WTF????” 

some of the lines on it sound like something you would hear on like. a school bus or somethin 

looking at umg like “wtf how did i add so much Meat to this writing” bc most of my writing now is mostly quotations to progress the story (like the quickie i wrote earlier. i could add meat to it but im  tired lol)

OK THIS IS MORE GENERAL BUT MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT THIS WAS WRITING HAIKUS FOR PORTALS. after you visit a place enough times it’s kind of just an instinct to open a portal there so you don’t have to recite a haiku 

uhh ok here’s another bit becuase im feeling like living la vida loca.  ur biggest regret should be “can you tell me about him” by this point bc i’ve written too much to go back now

He landed on his face once he was outside of the hat. Meko quickly walked over to the guest room, opened the Portals for Dummies book, and flipped to a page. It looked devious.

“Banana, mango,

Each tasting amazingly.

A taste of evil.” 

Meko did the dance on the page, it consisted of something that looks like it’s from an anime. A portal opened, the familiar scent of bananas and mangoes coming from it. With some hesitation, Meko stepped in. He quickly made it so only his head peeked in.

it wasnt bolded this time but i like it bolded. ok i understand how i added meat it was just shitty expired meat ALKFSJSHDAIUJKFEIODSJAK . it wasnt even that much meat DAMN. it just looked like more.

actually that’s all i will write. i could  do more w platano but yea at his base he is a blonde twink who kills people because he wanted a manga but now he’s friends with a dictator. woo! wow. amazing character writing. i cant wait to get motivation to rewrite everything and make platano a good villain (he will still be very interested in anime sadly. idk why around that time i liked making characters who were obsessed with anime i didn’t even watch it much myself. i think it was because i wanted to put capes on them)

[marsupials-of-mars]

Night Terrors

Part three of my Dreams/Nightmares series (Dreams came first, then Nightmares, now this much later), because once Remus was revealed it was clear he should have totally been nightmares instead of Virgil but I worked him in anyway!

Contrary to Roman and Virgils nights with Thomas, Remus generally didn't talk much. Suprising really, considering his personality, but the videos they watched together had some auditory stimulus that he didn't dare interrupt. So he just enjoyed himself, lending his presence. He loved his Thomas nights, a full night to be good and nasty and Remus it up, loosen up after a long day, for Thomas to tire himself out for a good nights rest. A night all to himself and Thomas, what could be more fun?

But as all good things must come to an end, so too did his contributions. Thomas was tired, and that meant off went the explicit content, onto it's charger, and under the pillow. Remus whined. Sleep. What was it good for anyway? Just to waste time. He sank back into Thomas's subconscious and sulked over to the basement door. He yanked it open and practically oozed down the staircase. He didn't want to sleep that night. Sleep was boring, he wasn't even tired! He wasn't...

His eyes lit up at the realization. When a side wasn't tired it meant... Remus scrambled back up the stairs on all fours, bursting out the stairwell and into the hallway. And now that he was facing the right direction, it was clear as day. A black and hot pink door. Remus squealed.

Aint no rest for the wicked.

He skipped down the hall, overwhelmed with excitement. He didn't care much for the guy really, but he sure loved the work. He popped his knuckles, dagger-like claws bursting from his fingertips. He would have toyed with his coworker a bit but he didn't feel like wasting any time that night. He gouged his claws into the wood of the door, dragging them down its length with a terrible, grating noise.

"UP AND AT EM BEAUTYSLEEP, WAKEY WAKEY!" He pressed his ear to the door. Silence... but he could smell the fear.

"Okay, rude, I was willing to be polite but here goes." He sent his tentacles about the doorframe, their boneless, mucus-soaked nature letting them slip through the cracks and around the door in its entirety, effortlessly ripping it off its hinges. "See!? See what I gotta do when you bully me?" He waved the door around above his head before chucking it aside and retracting his slimy extremities back into his person. He locked eyes with a face of absolute horror and disgust, apparent even through the sunglasses. "Well I won't hold it too much against you Remy... after all, we're still NAME TWINS!" He finished in a singsong voice and fell into his host's arms.

"EW!" Remy gasped. He dropped him and quickly retreated backward until he was pressed against a wall. "Bitch, you will not TOUCH me, you will not SPEAK to me! WHY do I still not get some warning when one of you are coming?!" He hovered his contaminated arms far away from the rest of his body.

"Hey, I warned you! Warned you not to piss me off!" Remus giggled from his spot on the floor. "Cmon, you love me!"

"I don't! I really don't, I'd appreciate if you jumped in a lake! It'd at least be some sort of bath, you heathen." He sneered and whipped out a portable hand sanitizer. He started slathering his forearms extremely thoroughly.

"Aww, 'heathen'? You flatter me..." Remus brought his hands to his face as he blushed a warm shade of puke green.

"Whatever. WHATEVER. Get the job done and get OUT." Remy massaged his temples. He seemed to be going out of his way not to look in Remus's direction. It filled Remus's stomach with delighted butterflies. Maybe moths... mosquitoes? Mosquitoes sounded right.

"But REM!" Remus whined. "Last time Virgil was in here he left all pretty with face paint and claws-"

"Makeup and acrylics. Because we had a bonding moment. Acrylics are EARNED." He took a sip of his coffee. With a second thought he mumbled around the straw: "And don't call me Rem."

"Pleeease? Please with something hairy on top? I'll make it worth your while..." He bit his lip and winked. Remy nearly spit up his coffee.

"You need to CHILL."

"But I CAN'T! The only thing that could ever quell my madness is claws and facepaint! But alas..." Remus sighed dramatically and brought the back of his hand to his forehead. "You couldn't possibly provide such things..." He opened one eye and grinned when Remy groaned.

"Fine. FINE. But we're watching what I want." He grudgingly dragged his feet over to a cabinet by the TV and pulled out a makeup bag and a bin of nail supplies. "Wasting my best stuff on you..." He mumbled to himself at a volume that made it difficult for Remus to believe that he wasn't supposed to hear. Remus squealed and leapt onto the couch, giddy to be included, even more giddy that it was a grudging inclusion.

He was suddenly hit in the face with a container of wet wipes.

"I'm not touching your hands until you get that grime off, I'm not catching any diseases tonight." Remy pulled out a binder from a bin under the coffee table. The wipes quickly turned various shades of brown as Remus scrubbed his hands, but his attention was elsewhere, peering over Remy's shoulder.

"Whatcha got?"

Remy placed the binder gingerly on his lap. "Ideas."

As soon as Remus got a good look at it, he recognized his brother's calligraphy. He scrunched his nose. "So you and the Quest for Camel-snot are real besties aren'tcha?"

He knew that Roman had work with Remy too, but in the moment it kinda stung. He got the lights, did he really need the extras too? But Remus didn't really want Sleep, not his type. So it was fine, right?

"My closest girlfriend, bitch numero uno. He's a genius, really. Full binders of inspiration for every one of you." He flipped through the binder, double tabs color coordinated to each side, nails and makeup. Profiles and front views of each side's face in Roman's swoopy, perfect art style, graphite with oil pastel for color. Remus craned his neck to see.

"You're at the back. He has a lot of ideas for you, he talks about them a lot. Never gets around to drawing them up though, pretty sure it's personal. Gets uncomfortable drawing your face."

Remus ignored that last piece of commentary.

"Don't care, show me what he DID put in there! Probably awful, I could do better..."

Remy flipped to the green-tabbed page. There were three pages in the Remus section, contrasted against the five or more for every other side. But Remus wasn't focused on that. He was focused on the drawing: The palette was dark but bold, dark greens, black, metalics and greys. The look was extremely busy with intense, full mascara, black lipstick dusted with metallic green, tentacles curling from the eye flaring in the direction of the lashes and writhing down the side of the face. He was even crazy enough to scatter black rhinestones and silver glitter about, seemingly at random but somehow in just the right places. Remus stared at the drawing in awe. It entirely fit his aesthetic, minus the grime. The drawing still didn't quite look like him, though, and it broke Remus out of his trance to laugh out loud as he realized why. Roman had deliberately refused to draw in the mustache.

"What?" Remy squinted at him.

"He's so petty!" Remus conjured a pencil and scratched on some glorious facial hair in some frustratingly wobbly lines compared to Roman's. "There! There's my guy!" Remy grabbed the binder and clapped it shut.

"Ugh, you ruined it!" He opened the page back up and pouted.

"It's better now! Whatever, just fuck me up!" He sat up and closed his eyes, ready for beautification. He felt a wet wipe instead, though it wasn't like he was caught of gaurd by a sudden cold dampness to the face. "What are you doing?"

"You're so oily, if I tried to apply anything it'd roll right off like water on duck feathers. You owe an apology to your pores hun... and a shower."

"Nah I'd rather you keep with the wiping. Feels nice and sensual." He felt the scrubbing grow more hesitant and heard a quiet but exasperated sigh.

"Tell you what, if you can keep your feral little mouth shut for the next ten minutes I'll let you at the expired wine. It's real vinegary."

"Ooh!" Remus mimed zipping his lips and flicking away the key. Remy seemed suprised that his deal worked.

They sat in relative silence for a while, save for Remy's instructions for Remus to tilt his head one way or another, and the scrapes and clinks of makeup containers on the coffee table.

"Aaand...done!" Remy sat back and surveyed his work. Remus blinked.

"Wait I can't... I can't see..." His eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to look at his own face. Remy rolled his eyes.

"Cut it out, I've got a mirro-" Before he could reach under the coffee table, Remus had already plunged his fingers into his own eye sockets and torn his eyes from their nerves.

"HOLY SHIT-" Remy threw up in his mouth but managed to hold it back. Remus turned his eyes to look back at his face.

"Ooo well done! Though the eyes are a little smudged."

"Because you just mutilated your mascara with your fat knuckles you ANIMAL!" Remy grabbed Remus's wrist and pushed it back toward his face. "Back! Back in!"

Remus groaned and popped his eyes back in. He blinked rapidly as they resituated their orientation in his skull.

"I didn't even bleed, cmon, I'm being respectful of your work."

"Whatever, just sit still..." Remy pinned his shoulder to the couch and kept his legs down with a knee. He blended out some smudged eye shadow and reapplied the mascara. "There." He fell back onto the couch and massaged his eyes. "Now grab us some wine so I can make it through the rest of the night. Right of the fridge, top shelf."

Remus hopped up from the couch and twirled over to the cabinet. He found the bottle that had clearly been re-corked among the vast array and popped it open with his teeth. He waved it under his nose. Vinegar. He called over his shoulder; "You said I could have all the expired stuff?!"

"What else would I do with it? Grab me something."

Remus re-corked the bottle. He grabbed another bottle of red and a single wine glass and ran back to the couch. He cannonballed into the cushions with enough force to make Remy yelp and send out his arms to stabilize himself.

"Claws now!" He clapped his hands. Remy held up a finger.

"Just a sec, hon." He opened the fresh bottle and filled his glass. And kept filling. And kept filling. He tipped the bottle back just as he reached the brim. He took the glass gracefully and downed it in a single tilt. He let out a sigh of relief. "Mkay. Claws."

The next two hours were occupied with messy, drunk acrylic construction, trash reality TV, and half coherent conversations about either the meaning of life or over which two patent moms would get in a fistfight first based on their initial introductions. Remus could half remember Remy crying at some point over how bad the nails looked and how he was losing his gift, and another point where he ranted about how the other nail techs of the world better "step the fuck up or drop dead" at his sheer talent.

Remus began to come to, though barely. He pawed at Remy's shoulder. "Rem, Remmington, up up up! Got night terrors to make!"

Remy rolled over. His lips were smudged with black and metallic green. Remus didn't say anything, though silently cursed himself for having blacked out through that part.

"Hm? Nah bitch, you're on your own. Scary shit, not my cup of tea."

"You've got the assets!" Remus snorted at the word. "Yknow, the characters and stuff."

Remy groaned for a long time. "Fiiine." He rolled off the couch and followed Remus to the recording room. Remus attempted a cartwheel but fell over halfway through. He made it into the room at least. Remy snorted.

"GIRL! You're WORTHLESS!" He pulled a giggling Remus to his feet.

"Yeah..." Remus bounced from foot to foot. "Gimme!"

"Hold on a sec!" Remy yanked open a file cabinet and pulled out a handful of folders. "First choice..." He hiccuped. "Classic spiders."

"Cmon Rem, what kind of creativity would I be to keep using spiders every time?"

Remy thought. "A bad one?"

"Correct!" He reached into the folder and pulled out a spider. With a tap of his fingers he multiplied them into the thousands. "Next!"

Remy pulled out the next. "Sharks."

"Nah, that's just a sharp fish. Something GROSS, something WEIRD. Next!"

"Ummm...Thomas saw a dead mouse the other day. Part of it's belly smushed open."

"ZOMBIE! RATS!" Remus grabbed the mouse and threw it on the ground, instantly multiplying it into a writhing pile of the living dead, which quickly dispersed through the blackness, some eating spiders and the others being eaten by spiders. It was quite the beautiful display of the circle of life, but Remus wasn't thinking about that as much as he was thinking about how awesomely disgusting it was.

"MORE! Characters!"

"Mom! Fitness trainer! Mark from Rent! Moana!" Remy read off folder titles.

"All of them! To be CONSUMED BY THE ZOMBIE RATS!!!" He dumped the folders into the swarm of arachnid and gorey fur. Remy began to squint and avert his eyes. No matter how drunk, there was only so much he could take. "Last part! Setting!"

"We've got... woods behind our old elementary school, the underworld from the first Percy Jackson movie, and the church basement!"

"When presented with some form of hell, hell it is!" Remus grabbed the underworld folder and opened it to surround them with sweet sweet fire and the wails of the damned.

"Okay! Let's go!" He grabbed Remy's shoulder. He rewound the terror and hit play from the beginning before pulling Remy out the door. He slammed it behind them. Remy, who was just coming to, winced.

"You know you could have made the whole thing while it was paused?"

"What's the fun in that?"

Remy huffed. "Well, we're done. You can finally get out of my room.

"Do you really WANT me to though...?" Remus wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Remy with his elbow.

"Yeah. I REALLY want you to."

Remus gasped in offense. "Fine. Be that way. I had fun."

Remy rolled his eyes. "Well once I got drunk you weren't as bad. Take that as you will."

"I'll internalize that as a confession of your deep sexual attraction to me."

"Please don't."

"Too late!"

Remy grabbed Remus's shoulder and spun him towards the door.

"Just get out."

Remus snorted and made his way to the door. He stopped and turned back. "You might want to get your door fixed by the way. I don't want to alarm you," He put his hand to the side of his mouth and whispered. "But I think some idiot broke it."

Remy gestured for him to shoo. "Yeah. I'll look into it."

Remus grinned. He looked down at his acrylics for nearly the first time. They were wobbly and awful and sharp, like twisted daggers. Not what the sketchbook recommended, but better than Roman could have come up with anyway. He looked back up at Remy.

"Great. Bye name twin!"

"Good riddance."

[darcyfarrow2005]

Coleslaw and Daggers for @rumbellebigbang.  Art by Mrs.-Stiltskin, story by DarcyFarrow

Pink. The mansion of the richest man in town, the fortress of the world’s most powerful sorcerer, the lair of the dark beast, is pink.

Only a trickster would paint his house pink.  The god Loki, the Trickiest of Tricksters, folds his arms across his chest as he stands, feet firmly planted on the concrete sidewalk traversing the edge of Mr. Gold’s lawn--Mr. Gold’s freshly manicured lawn, with a riding Lawnboy parked beside the garage and a swing set and a Little Tikes Rider visible in the backyard.  

The King of Chaos chuckles humorlessly.  Oh, a fine trickster this Dark One is, projecting the guise of ordinary family man. A deceiver extraordinaire.   A worthy adversary.  Under Loki’s arm is the latest issue of this hamlet’s news/gossip rag, The Storybrooke Mirror, upon the front page of which is a photo of local businessman/mage extraordinaire Mr. Gold, a. k. a. Rumplestiltskin, a. k. a. the Dark One.  In the photo he stands beside Mrs. Gold, a. k. a. the mortal Belle, a. k. a. the newly re-elected leader of Storybrooke (her inauguration is the article’s subject). Mr. Gold, in his three-piece Dolce & Gabbana, smiles proudly yet sternly in the photo; Mrs. Gold smiles tiredly.  

Scattered throughout the rest of the birdcage-bottom liner are more mentions of their names, Gold more frequently than his wife:  articles about Gold’s activities with the Chamber of Commerce, Gold’s plans to build a new apartment complex, Gold’s donation of a computer lab to the public library—then there’s the odd one, a second-page article about the Dark One’s easy defeat of a flying monkey attack on City Hall.  Second-page? From the placement Loki surmises that flying monkey attacks are no big deal in Storybrooke—or at least, the Dark One’s defeat of them. In the classifieds are advertisements for Mr. Gold Pawnbroker, Gold Real Estate and Gold Rentals. It’s through this newspaper that Loki has figured out who’s the Big Mage on Campus here.  It’s through some subtle questioning (and a bit of flirting with the wait staff) at the local watering hole that Loki has learned Gold’s whereabouts.  

And it’s through his own clever scheming that Loki of Asgard has come to this town after his somewhat embarrassing failure to bring New York City to its knees.  Licking his wounds (and wincing whenever the TV news mentions the Hulk, which occurs disturbingly often) in a Manhattan presidential suite, Loki reassessed his battle plans: where he’d gone wrong was taking a strong-arm approach. How he’d let Thanos talk him into charging in with an army, he’d never know (oh, he has his suspicions:  whenever Thanos is around, Loki’s mind tends to go blank).  A head-on Thorian attack isn’t the God of Skulduggery's style.  The needle, the pen, the fine point of a deal, that’s more his style. A puppeteer, that’s what he is, using his magic to pull the strings.

Re-strategizing has led the Rightful Future King of Asgard to the only magic-drenched community in Midgard, where witches, wizards, sorcerers, fairies and lesser magic folk abound, just waiting to be turned toward Loki’s glorious purpose, whether by deals or by force.  These folk, he’s learned from their lunchroom gossip, are exhausted from magic fights and nervous for when “the next Cora, Zelena, Pan, Hyde or Hades” will upend their town’s peace again.  They need real leadership, not this paper-pusher they just re-elected.  It won’t take much to bring them crawling to the God of Manipulation’s feet.  A quick, humiliating, public defeat of their most powerful mage will do the trick.

Loki snorts.  The Dark One, the most powerful magic user in all the realms, they think their Mr. Gold is.  The front-page photo says otherwise:  short, skinny, middle-aged.  Not even big enough for a god to wipe Main Street with.  And a pink house and a Lawnboy? The God of Disruption won’t even work up a good sweat.  Without blinking an eye, Loki changes from his Armani to his leather battle gear and transports himself to the top of the garage to study the battleground.

Loki’s mouth drops open in disappointment. He finds his opponent positioned beside a barbeque grill, a spatula in hand, a pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes, and a “Kiss the Cook” apron tied over his three-piece suit.  Mrs. Dark One is setting dinner places at an umbrella-protected picnic table while a toddler in a high chair is blowing and splatting spit bubbles with his grubby little hands.  With a hasty glance over his shoulder to assure himself that his wife isn’t looking, Gold tosses a magic fireball into the grill to light the coals, then proceeds to lay out the hamburgers.  Oh, so the Dark One keeps up this pretense of innocence for his wife, the God of Mischief thinks –as the aroma of grilling burgers tickles his nose and his stomach growls.  Gold’s either very very tricky or. . . he’s a nerd in sorcerer’s clothing.

Magically transporting himself atop the picnic table (disregarding the dish of Grey Poupon his boots land in) Loki declares himself.  “Dark One!  I am Loki, Savior and Rightful King of Asgard, and the God of Magic and Mayhem!”

The wife grabs a dishtowel from her waistband and swats at Loki’s boots.  “Look out, Mayhem.  You’ve ruined the mustard and you’re trailing wet grass all over my picnic table.”

Entertained—and not frightened in the least—by the new arrival’s magical appearance, the baby bounces and claps his hands.  Rumplestiltskin merely pushes the sunglasses up onto his head so he can examine the visitor more clearly.  “The new paperboy, I presume?”  Turning back to the grill, he salts the burgers as Loki announces his intentions, rather annoyed by the unfazed reception he’s received so far:  “Didn’t you hear me?  I said I’m Loki of Asgard, a God. Mayhem and mischief and magic.”  

The Dark Cook glances over his shoulder long enough to make a rolling motion with his free hand, urging the god to get to the point.  

Is this feigned boredom another of the Dark One’s tricks?  “I’ve come to conquer this realm,” Loki insists.  “I have powers beyond your wildest imaginings.”

Still intent on his grilling, the Dark One throws over his shoulder:  “I have coleslaw.”

“I will crush you, this very afternoon, and I will drag you, bloody and mewling, down the street that bears your nemesis’ name, and toss your quavering, broken body across the town square for all those who once feared you to laugh as you beg for my mercy.  And then when I’ve stolen every last scrap of magic from your shattered soul, I will finish you off with my daggers.”

The Dark One—Rumplestiltskin is his human name, and Loki will remind him of his puny natural state by using that name from now on—glances over his shoulder at his wife, who’s mopping up mustard and scowling.  “Talks a lot, doesn’t he?”

Belle sighs in aggravation as she swipes her cloth over Loki’s boots.   “Again? I'd hoped our villain-of-the-week subscription had expired.”

“It has been a while since the last attack, sweetheart. We’re overdue,” Rumplestiltskin points out.

Belle comes around to her husband’s side and pokes his ribs.  “Just as well.  You could use the workout.”

He kisses the top of her head.  “It's because you spoil me, my love.” Annoyed at being ignored, Loki clears his throat.  “Hello, danger over here or have you forgotten?” Belle reaches up to poke Loki’s ribs. “You, on the other hand, need to put on a few pounds. When was the last time you ate?”

Rumple waves his spatula at the grill.  “Look, Lucky–“

“Loki,” the god corrects.

“My family and I are hungry.  Can we do this magic-fight after lunch?”

The baby claps his hands.

“Now Ruuuumple,” Belle says in a warning tone, “you’re not being a nice host.  You know, I bet Lucky’s so crabby because he hasn’t had his lunch yet.”

Loki is flabbergasted by this mild-mannered spousal exchange.  “I appear before you threatening to destroy you and you offer me hamburgers?” Belle shrugs.  “My husband’s an excellent cook.  See?” She points at his apron.  “He has the apron to prove it.” 

Rumplestiltskin twirls his spatula.  “How do you want yours?” Loki sputters. “My—?” “Burger.  Rare, medium rare, medium well—” The god huffs.  “I am here to destroy you and take over your kingdom, you fool.”

Belle whacks at Loki’s boots with her salad tongs. “Get down from my table before you break something.”  When he’s grounded, she advises, more sympathetically, “You really shouldn't fight on an empty stomach.  Look, we've got plenty:  burgers, coleslaw, baked beans, salad, apple pie and homemade ice cream.  Here.”  She tosses a plastic ball at him.  “Play catch with Gid while I toss the salad.”

With a flick of his wrist, Rumple conjures a beach blanket and plants his giggling son and the intruder in the middle of it.  Befuddled (and just a little bit nervous that perhaps he’s underestimated his opponent’s power) Loki seats himself open-legged on the blanket and rolls the ball toward the baby, who claps his hands before rolling it back.  As the game begins, the god mumbles, “I am a sorcerer, you idiot.  I can move planets, crush stars, summon legions of demons with a single thought.” Rumple shrugs as he flips the burgers.  “Okay.”

“I am a prince.” With his spatula, Rumple points one by one to his neighbors’ houses.  “A queen lives there; she now sells shoes.  Over there’s a former king.  Three blocks down in a walk-up flat lives the Savior.  In a ranch house outside of town you’ll find Queen Snow White and Prince Charming.  She teaches elementary school; he raises sheep.  My wife's a princess.”

Belle clicks her tongue as she drizzles vinaigrette onto the salad.  “You can't turn around in this town without bumping into a blue blood.” Rumple continues,  “Frankly I'd have been more impressed if you'd said you're a podiatrist.  We need one of those.” “I’m a shape shifter.”  Without blinking, Loki changes himself into Bruce Banner (okay, a slight misfire there:  he meant to shift into the Hulk), then when Gideon yelps a protest, he quickly resumes his Asgardian form.  

Rumple snaps his fingers and suddenly Thor stands in his place, the spatula having converted into a miniature Mjolnir.  Looking on, Gid yawns and tosses the plastic ball.

“I always preferred you with long hair, darling, but not that long.  It looks unkempt,” Belle complains, and Rumple changes himself back.

“That’s what I keep telling Thor.”  Loki is growing red in the face, and it’s only partially because the baby has hit him on the nose with the ball.  He tries again to impress.  “I have daggers.” Rumple rolls his eyes, summons his dagger and slices a block of cheese with it.  

Loki persists, “I am immortal.”

“Boring, isn't it?”  Rumple scoops up a burger and slides it onto a platter.  “Hey, what do you do about the gray in your hair?  I notice you don’t have any.  Magic or Clairol?”

The baby, apparently regretting his misaimed throw, crawls across the blanket and plops himself into Loki’s lap, then reaches up to pat the injured nose.

Belle throws another cautionary “Ruuuumple” over her shoulder.  “That’s too personal a question. Besides,” she stage-whispers, “it’s obvious: he wears a wig.”

“I do no such thing!”  the god sputters.  But his insult cools as the baby leans up to kiss his nose and inquire, “Aw bedder?”

Belle ties a bib around the baby’s neck before kissing his plump cheek. “Good boy, Gid.”  She straightens, a fond smile spreading across her face.  “Say, Lucky—”

“Loki.”

“Would you mind if he sat on your lap while we eat?  He’s taken a shine to you.”

“I am the God of Chaos! I don’t hold babies!”

Belle pats his shoulder.  “There’s a first for everything.  Here.” She ties a bib around Loki’s neck.  “He’s likely to spill on you.”

Before the god can complain further, a cloud of purple magic has enveloped him, and when it clears he finds himself seated at the picnic table with the giggling Gideon securely perched on his knee.  “I’ll fix your plate for you.  Onions on your burger?  Ketchup?  We’re out of Grey Poupon.”  She tosses that last comment out with a blatant glare at Loki’s boots.

“I could conjure—”

“No, you don’t, Rumple.  You know how I feel about magicked food.” She spears up a pickle for Loki’s plate.  “Magicked food is all calories and no flavor, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”  Loki grabs the baby’s fist just in time to prevent him from slamming it into the potato salad.  As the baby blows a raspberry, the god pushes the potato salad bowl out of reach.  

“Now don’t be rude, Gideon.  I’ll make your plate next.”  She smiles at Loki.  “I have to cut his food into small bites.  Baked beans?  Jello?”  

The god’s stomach growls and he blushes as he relents.  “I wouldn’t mind a scoop of that potato salad, Mrs. Gold. The burgers smell delicious.”

“My own secret recipe.”  With a slight smirk, Rumplestiltskin seats himself across from the god, then cuts one of the burgers into tiny bits.  “I’ll fix Gid’s plate, sweetheart.  You sit down and eat.”

“Thanks, darling.  I am famished.” For such a petite mortal, Loki thinks as he watches her load her plate, she sure can pack it away.  

Suddenly she stands.  “I really do want some mustard.  We have a bottle of French’s in the fridge. I’ll be back in a minute.”  

Politely, the men pop up on their feet as she vacates the table for the house.  Once she’s inside, Rumplestiltskin passes his glowing hand over the pitcher of iced tea and it transforms into a reddish-brown liquid, of which he pours out two glasses.  “Grunhelian whiskey.  I understand it’s a favorite of you Asgardian gods.  Just don’t tell Belle.”

Loki raises an eyebrow (this Midgardian knows more than Loki thought he would).  He thinks about tattling to Belle:  a domestic spat between the Dark One and the Missus could be entertaining.  But after his first sip he decides the whiskey’s almost as delicious as the burger, so he’ll keep Rumplestiltskin’s secret.  As Belle jogs back to the picnic table with a mustard jar, Rumple hastily swipes his glowing hand over the pitcher again, then blinks innocently.  As she seats herself, he pours her a glass, for which she thanks him, then he forks up a bite of burger for his son.  The boy giggles as he clamps his tiny teeth on the fork to yank the meat off.  Loki almost forgets to eat as he stares, flabbergasted, at the incredible sight of this realm’s most powerful mage forking food into a baby’s mouth.  Belle nudges Loki, offering the yellow bottle. “Mustard?”

“No, thank you; I prefer my burgers free of condiments.”

“A purist, huh.  I take that as a compliment to my grilling,” Rumplestiltskin nods. He pushes the platter of burgers toward his guest.  “Have another.”

The meal is tasty and filling, Loki has to admit.  He’s beginning to feel replenished.   Maybe it was a good idea to eat before fighting.  He gulps down the last of his tea, then tilts his empty glass toward his host.  “May I have some more of that refreshing tea, Mr.—ah, Dark One?”

Belle being occupied with her mustard, Rumplestiltskin fills the glass, then passes his hand over it with a wink. When Belle glances up, biting into her burger, her husband blinks innocently again.  Belle smiles at him, a smear of mustard crossing her cheek. Rumplestiltskin reaches across the table and dabs it away with his napkin.

The baby on Loki’s lap grabs up a handful of Jello and pops it into his mouth.  He then reaches up to offer Loki a handful of the green goo.  The god accepts the offering with a weak smile—as a god, he’s quite used to receiving lame offerings.  He swallows, then introduces a topic of conversation.  “What is a dark one, anyway?” Rumple licks up a drop of ketchup before it can escape his bun.  “Kinda hard to explain.  What is a god?” “Kinda hard to explain.” “I suppose I could have ruled a realm or two.  It just seemed like too much trouble.  Hard enough being the town’s primary solver of magic problems.  You'd be surprised how much trouble a town of two thousand souls can get into.” “I was the king of Asgard for a while.  Sort of.  I enjoyed it immensely, except for the ‘help me, Your Highness’ part.  Yeah.  Too much trouble.”   “So why do you want to defeat Rumple and rule Storybrooke?” Belle asks. Loki shrugs.  “It's what I do.”  “Why?” “To have people kneel at my feet, of course.”

Rumple scowls.  “Sounds like something Cora would say.” “And look where that got her,” Belle points out.  “So Lucky, what else have you accomplished in life?” Loki tries to think, but Gideon’s now stuffing a handful of lettuce in the god’s mouth.  “I led an army.” “We don't have an army,” Rumple remarks. “I wrote and directed a critically acclaimed play.” Belle perks up.  “Oh, now that we could use.  Regina wants to start a community theater.  It would pay minimum wage but we could cut you in on the box office.” Having watched The Lion King on Broadway three times, Loki understands the concept of box office. “A theater director?” “We could upgrade the title:  King of Thespians or God of Stagecraft or something like that.”

It’s almost tempting.  He did have a lot of fun staging The Tragedy of Loki. But he shakes his head to clear it of the pleasant buzz that’s creeping in.  “Thank you, but no.  I came here to conquer and rule.”

“So unoriginal.”  Belle clicks her tongue.  Then she brightens.  “Rumple, I hate to send him away empty-handed though.  If he really wants to run things in Storybrooke, maybe we could give him a trial run, see how he does.” Rumplestiltskin considers.  “Sure,  why not?  Everybody else has had a turn at being mayor.”  Belle waves her fork in the air.  “I'm on my third term and frankly I'm bored with it.  I'd rather go back to shelving books.” The Dark One suggests,  “Suppose you appoint him Mayor for a Day.”

Loki gapes as his fate cavalierly ping-pongs between husband and wife. “That's a wonderful idea, Rumple. Then the three of us could spend a day at the beach.” “Fine for us,” Rumple agrees, “but let's see how he handles the garbage collectors strike, the collapse of the troll bridge, the graffiti sprayed on the sheriff's office and rising unemployment among displaced royals.”

“Maybe a fresh perspective is just what we need.”  Belle stands, removing a slobbered-on hamburger bun from Gideon.  “All right, young man, now you’re just playing.  Time for your bath.” She cradles her son against her chest, and the men rise again until she’s walked back into the pink house.

“More Grunhelian ‘tea’?” Rumplestiltskin offers.  Loki nods.  In silence they polish off their burgers and the pitcher.  

“Look, you folks have been quite hospitable, and I hate to be rude, but I’ve got a job to do and I mustn’t be dissuaded.”  Loki waves his hand over the pitcher, refilling it.  He pours glasses for his host and himself.  “I am, after all, burdened with glorious purpose.”

“Intent is meaningless, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin nods toward the house, where, from an open second-story window, a lullaby can be heard.  “That’s what means something.  You’ve never been married, have you?”

“Haven’t had time for it.”

“I get it.  Needed to get your career off the ground, make a little money first.”

“Glorious purpose, remember.”

“Remind me, what is that purpose, again?”

Loki’s feeling a little lightheaded and it’s hard to focus.  “I have to prove. . . something.  To my father.  That he was wrong about me.”  

“Daddy issues,” the Dark One drawls, his speech beginning to be slightly affected by the whiskey. “Let me tell you about daddy issues.”

“Oh no, let me tell you. You know what I found out, the day after I turned 1400?  The man I thought was my father actually stole me. Took me from my people, when I was a newborn.  My real father abandoned me because I was a runt.”

“Mine named me Rumplestiltskin as a way of getting back at me for being born.  And then he dragged me along to every con game, card game and pocket picking he got involved in.  He used me as a distraction, because I was a runt and people felt sorry for me.”

“Odin promised me I’d be king when he stepped down.  Instead he chose my brother—or, rather, the guy he’d claimed was my brother, before Odin told me the truth. But he really wasn’t, because, you know, the stealing thing.”  

“The big, blond muscle head,” Rumplestiltskin says sympathetically.  “I have one too.”  He pitches his voice in a mocking, nasal whine. “Charming!”

Loki helps himself to a refill.  “It was right after he announced that Thor would be king that he told me about that.  Odin lied to me all those years.  He never intended to make me king because I wasn’t his blood.”

“At least you got a childhood.  When I was seven, my father took me to Neverland, then abandoned me so he could magically de-age himself and become Peter Pan.”

“My foster father was ashamed of me, because I was a Frost Giant.”

“My father was ashamed of me because I existed. He said it was my fault that my mother ran off and became a fairy.”

Loki mumbles, “I did have a pretty good mother—foster mother.  That is, until I caused her death.”

“I killed my mother.  Because she kidnapped my son and made him her slave and would’ve killed my wife.”  Rumple shrugs.  “And a whole lot of other people, but who cares about them. Lay a finger on Gideon or Belle, though, and I’ll rip your heart out. Literally.”

“You’ll have to show me that trick sometime.  Assuming I let you live after I beat you to a pulp.”

“You mean, assuming I let you live after I turn you into a snail.  A signature piece of mine.”

“Snakes, that’s my signature piece.”

Rumple magically refills the pitcher, then pours out glasses for the two of them.  “Hey, did you ever try changing sides, becoming a hero?”

“Well. . . .”  Loki runs a finger through the condensation on his glass, making a little river of it.  “Those roles were already filled.  Besides, Thor made it look so boring, all those push-ups and power shakes and the weight-lifting.”

“You could join the Avengers.  That looks pretty exciting.”

“I thought about joining the Justice League, just to piss off my brother.”  

“I converted, for their sake.”  The Dark One nods toward his house. “Being a good guy is boring, but having a wife and baby who look up to you makes it worthwhile.  But damn it, sometimes it gets on my nerves, the way this town treats me.  They’re always running to me when they have a curse they need breaking.  You know what the last one was?  One of the nuns accidentally cast it:  the Curse of Ingrown Toenails. Everyone in town got ‘em.  Guess who they all came whining to.”  He points to his chest.  “And what thanks do I get for fixing their little problems?  Today’s a local holiday.  Take a guess who it’s in honor of.  It ain’t me, that’s for sure.  It’s Grumpy Day.  The dwarves’ version of Chicken Little.  A dwarf gets a day named after him, but do they ever think to thank the sorcerer who cured their ingrown toenails?”

“My brother gets fifty-two name days every year.  Thor’s Day.”

“They named a street Captain Hook Way.  When Hook married the Savior, three hundred people showed up for the wedding.”

“Would you really want three hundred people at your wedding?”

“No, but Charming could’ve sent a card.  I kinda thought we were bros, at one point.”

“Here.” Loki squints as he stares at his hand.  It takes some doing, and it’s not exactly what he intended—he was going to conjure a jack-in-box, but it comes out as a Jumbo Jack Cheeseburger.  “A belated baby shower gift.”

Rumple looks perplexed, but he accepts the present.  “Thanks.”

“Having a street named after me would be nice,” Loki considers.  “Loki Lane.”

“Same here.  In gratitude for the toenails.”

“Your name wouldn’t fit on a sign.”

“‘Rumple Road’ would work.  Not that I really care for the glory, but it would give my son playground bragging rights.  You know, ‘My dad’s the most powerful sorcerer in the realm so they named a street after him.’”

Loki almost reminds Rumplestiltskin that after their magic fight, there’ll be a new “most powerful in the realm.”  But he’s not so sure that he’s ready for that fight just now; he’s feeling a bit woozy. Besides, a more irritating thought nags at him. “They named a radioactive element after my brother.  What did they name after me? Woodlice.”

The Dark One sighs.  “I miss the old days, when being a sorcerer really meant something, you know.  When people would trade you their favorite cow for a spell to cure a toothache.”

“Yeah. Or when turning yourself into a snake could a rise out of your brother.”

A shout is carried across the summer breeze: “Lucky! Lucky!  Lucky!”

“That’s my wife,” Rumple informs his guest.  “She thinks if she calls a sorcerer’s name three times, your magic will make you appear to her.  An old superstition that I’ve never disavowed her of.  I’d be obliged if you’d go to her.”

“Sure.” Loki ambles, a bit unsteady, across the lawn to position himself beneath the second-story window.  “You summoned me, Mrs. Gold?”

She leans her elbows on the window sill.  Behind her, he can hear the baby crying.  “He won’t go to sleep.  He wants his Uncle Lucky to tuck him in.”

He tries to remember what he came here for, and how fierce he needs to be to pull off the threat.  “Me? I’m the God of Upheaval. I don’t do tuck-ins.”

“Please?” Belle urges.  “He won’t go to sleep without a kiss from Uncle Lucky.”

“A kiss?!”

“And a story.  Just a short one.  ‘Snow White and the Eight Dwarves,’ ‘Emma and the Beanstalk,’ ‘Rumplestiltskin and the Big Bad Bear,’ it doesn’t matter.  He loves them all.  Please, Lucky?”

With a huffed “My name is Loki,” the god swings open the screen door and plods, leaning against the walls, up the stairs to the nursery, where the baby suddenly hushes and begins bouncing on his crib mattress instead.  As Loki enters the room, slightly disoriented by the dancing pink elephants and the prancing white unicorns plastered on the walls, Gideon stretches out both arms, leaving the god no choice but to pick him up, cuddle him and brush away the quickly drying tears.  Belle ushers them to a rocking chair.  “Here, sit here.  You look a little unnerved. When was the last time you had a nap?”

The baby plops himself down hard on Uncle Lucky’s knee.  “Tory,” he demands, then remembers his manners and asks more sweetly, “Tory, peeeeese?”  When the lad reclines his head against Loki’s chest, the god relents. “All right.  This is one my mother used to tell me and my brother when we were small.  It’s called ‘Clever Loki and Crybaby Thor.’  Once upon a time in a land far, far away. . . .”

Before the story is finished, Gideon is fast asleep, drooling on Loki’s leather.  Not that the god minds—though he’d never admit that aloud.  He secretly smiles as Belle ports the baby to bed.  In unison they lean over the crib, watching the toddler’s tiny chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber.  “You ought to have one of these,” Belle whispers.  “Now that’s a glorious purpose.”  She wraps her hand around his arm and steers him back downstairs.  “Get a job, a place to live—Rumple has some vacant luxury apartments—and I’ll introduce you around.  We seem to have an unusually high population of unmarried young women in this town.”

They find Rumplestiltskin lovingly scrubbing down his grill.  He glances up at them.  “Did you get Gideon settled?”

Belle nods.  “Lucky would make a wonderful babysitter.”  She’s reaching for the pitcher and her husband’s eyes widen in alarm, for his secret is about to be exposed. Loki leaps to the rescue, transporting himself over to the rose bushes. “What kind of roses are you growing, Mrs. Gold?”  She forgets the tea to escort her guest through the garden.  With a sigh of relief, Rumplestiltskin converts the contents of the pitcher to Lipton’s. He mouths something at his rescuer, something that appears to be thanks, buddy.

Buddy. No one has ever called the God of Mischief buddy before.  As Belle stoops to sniff her roses, Loki ponders. “Who would I talk to about that mayor job?”  He’s feeling all soft and warm and hopeful inside.

Maybe it’s just the tea.

FIVE DAYS LATER

“And we haven’t had a raise in two years!  Do you know how much a quart of milk costs these days?  We need a COLA!”

“What about our fire truck?  We asked for a new truck a year ago.  The truck we have now, we have to push it downhill to get it started!”

“If Gold gets to build a 40-unit apartment complex on the west side, why can’t I build a moat around my house?”

“You think you got trouble now.  Just wait until the Sanitation Workers Union goes on strike!”

“These zoning laws are anti-business and draconian.  Keep up with the times, Mayor!”

“Your predecessor did a weekly story time for the first-grade class.  What are you going to do to support education in this town?”

Mayor for the Day Loki Laufeyson Odinson flips a switch on his desk intercom.  “Ariel!  Ask Granny to deliver a pitcher of Grunhelian tea, immediately!”  Then he lowers his head to his mahogany desk and slowly, deliberately bangs his forehead against the wood.

[soartfullydone]

"Puppy love is hard to ignore" for you and Shigure. "Are you still there?" you and Thrawn. "Just take my hand" you and Silver.

WEH

*

The blue smoke dissipated in the air almost as quickly as it appeared. A breeze wafted into the Sohma house through the open shoji door where, just inside, Melody sat at the kotatsu, though it wasn’t yet cold enough for blankets to be added to the table.

That was fine. The big, black dog she was now hugging was warm enough.

“Oops,” she simpered, her smile widening into a smirk at the end of the word.

The dog gave a very human sigh. His tale did not wag. His snout didn’t move, but he spoke anyway.

“I knew it’d be a bad idea, not having your memories suppressed.”

“What? You’re not having a good time?”

“This is the fifth time you’ve hugged me today alone, and it’s not even past noon.”

“I can’t help it,” Melody replied, snuggling into his fur. “I love puppies!”

Shigure craned his head to get a better look at her, but it was no use. She was latched on and not going anywhere. “I’m hardly a puppy,” he said, managing to make it threatening and playful all at once.

“All dogs are puppers, some are just bigger,” she argued. “You’re a cute breed I like, too. Maybe if you turned into a chihuahua, I wouldn’t feel the urge to hug you as much.”

“And here I thought it was my manly physique that did it for you,” he said dryly. 

“Eh.” She shrugged. “Maybe it would, if you wore anything but your pajamas all—”

“Kimono. It’s a kimono.” Shigure stressed the clothing, as if he hadn’t explained this to her a hundred times, and a hundred times she’d ignored him.

“Okay, yeah, but it’s all you wear. It’s practically a glorified bathrobe at this point.”

“You have no appreciation for culture,” he intoned mock-mournfully before asking in a slightly more serious tone, “Does this hug have an expiration date, by the way?”

“Listen. I’m making up for lost time.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not complaining. I’m well aware that a pretty girl is hugging me.”

Melody was glad that her face was turned away from Shigure’s so hers could go stupidly red in semi-privacy. 

“It’s just that,” Shigure was saying, “dear Mitchan will be cross with you if you keep me from finishing my manuscript.”

“I doubt it.” Was Melody scratching Shigure’s head now or giving him a noogie? Yes. “I’m not the one with a looming deadline. Which one is it, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” he said innocently. “My other thing.”

“Your filthy, filthy smut, you mean.”

“It’s cute when you pretend you’re not just as depraved.”

“That’s not it.” She poked him in the side but smoothed the fur afterward. “It’s not your take on sex that terrifies me about reading it. It’s your take on female characters.”

“What?” His tone was sharp with offense. “You don’t think I can write women?”

“Oh,” Melody drawled with a slow smile, “absolutely not.”

“I’m so hurt,” he responded, “and I will relish proving you wrong.”

“Don’t worry, Shigure. Sometimes, a paycheck and a fooled audience is enough.” She laughed as he nipped her arm.  

“Yes, well, if I don’t get the next volume out soon, that Hana girl might kill me before Mitchan does.”

As if speaking of her had summoned her, Shigure’s editor came pealing around the house, only to freeze at seeing Melody. Mitchan was professionally dressed in a suit jacket, pencil skirt, and heels, but she somehow looked all the more shabby for it, probably because the strain was so stark on her face. Melody felt a wave of pity for her.

“Where—is—he?” Mitchan wailed, close to crying once a sweep of the room revealed that Shigure was nowhere to be found.

“I think he went to the store,” Melody told her. One of Shigure’s ears twitched.

“Oh, kill me. Just kill me.” Mitchan buried her face in her hands. Then, she transformed, grimly determined as she searched her jacket. She pulled out a business card and extended it to Melody. “If he comes back, please call me.”

Melody lifted an arm only long enough to accept the card before returning to drape over Shigure. “Sure.”

Mitchan turned to leave but did a double-take. “Since when did Shigure get a dog?”

“Oh, he’s mine,” Melody replied. “The Sohmas just let Tohru dog-sit for me sometimes.”

Mitchan probably accepted that answer. By the way she was muttering to herself and running frantic hands through her hair, she might not have heard it at all. 

Neither of them spoke until they heard the echo of her car door slamming and the engine start. Then, Shigure’s cold nose pressed against her shoulder. “I’m yours, hm?” His voice, so close to her ear, was low and silky.

“Well, I couldn’t tell her the truth, could I?” Melody said a little more defensively than she’d meant to.     

Shigure was silent for a beat. “Definitely should’ve suppressed your memories. You’re nothing like Tohru.”

“Not true. She likes dogs, too.”

 “Aside from that, the two of you are like night and day.”

“How so?” Melody challenged in a “choose your words carefully” tone. Shigure utterly ignored it.

“Well, unlike you, Tohru is incredibly sweet—”

“I’m sweet!” Melody declared vehemently, snapping her head around to glare at him.  

Shigure practically doubled over laughing, his tail finally wagging behind him. “And for another thing,” he attempted, recovering, “Tohru doesn’t have a single devious bone in her body.”

“It’s an art, not a science, so I don’t hold it against her,” Melody said, ending the hug at last. “Especially since it means you and I get along so well.” 

*

Force-sensitive Chiss children. Almost always female. Naturally. 

Here was the secret to the Chiss and their seemingly-superior navigational enterprises. The answer was so deliciously ironic, the Sith part of her wanted to kick herself for not realizing it sooner. The rest of her marveled at the possibilities.

Just how advanced with the Force were these children? Thrawn had said the only ability they possessed was precognition, but she had enough experience with the Force to know that it was never that simple. Besides, he didn’t understand the Force—none of the Chiss seemed to—so what did they know, really? Perhaps their Force users were capable of more than they thought. 

How did their training differ, anyway, from what she’d received at the Jedi Temple so long ago, when she was just a Padawan and willing to give up her life for corrupt ideals? Were they even trained at all?

But the question truly burning a hole in her mind was this: what made these children lose their Force connection? What little she knew of their culture provided no answer, but she likely wouldn’t have a concrete idea unless she was immersed in it. 

If she could just talk to one of these kids, though… If she could just teach them and learn from them in turn…

if she could just take one apart and figure out how they tick—

“Are you still there?” Thrawn’s cultured voice cut through the dark thought that sounded so much like Plagueis in her head, she was shaken by it. Had it been him, reaching her through the Force—or was that the part of her he’d left behind in his wake?

“I’m here,” she responded over the comm. “So when do I get to meet them?”

“You don’t.”

She must have misheard. “What? Thrawn—you don’t dangle power like that in front of a Sith and then yank it back.”

“And when I’m confident that I’m not talking to Lady Inferna, I’ll reopen the issue,” he replied coolly.

Melody emitted a frustrated sigh, glaring at the starlines flying past her ship’s viewport. “Fine. But don’t you want to know why none of them remains a Force user into adulthood?”

“Of course. However, we have more pressing problems to address first, one in particular you could help solve.”

“Oh, I see.” She laughed without mirth. “So you think I’ll be your personal star chart into the Unknown Regions whenever you ask, hm?”

“I think,” Thrawn said smoothly, “you’ll want to challenge yourself.”

“And what? I’m just supposed to close my eyes and ask the Force for precognition powerful enough to compete with hyperspace travel and hope we don’t all die crashing into a star on the way?” She leaned back in her chair, stomping her foot on top of the console. “It doesn’t work that way, Thrawn.” 

Melody stewed in the silence, but she was confident that she had him. He couldn’t refute her claims, so the only way he was going to get what he wanted out of her was to give into her own demands.

She was going to meet those—

“Lord Vader could do it.”

Slowly, every move deliberate, Melody placed her foot back on the floor, leaned forward, and brought the comm as close to her mouth as she could.

Softly, she said, “You little bastard.”

He had her.

*

Growing up, Melody had always hated dresses. Not because she had anything against the article of clothing itself but because wearing one had never been on her own terms. When you were part of a family whose members were on fast-tracks toward political power and military advancement, you beat to the drum of maintaining public image and you didn’t complain about it. 

The scene currently happening on the deck of the R.L.S. Legacy was so far removed from the life she’d left behind, she had trouble believing it was real. Especially because it was familiar. 

Melody didn’t know how it had started. She’d come up from the galley to find that a couple kegs had been brought out and the beer was flowing. Someone—perhaps George Merry—had even brought out a fiddle, and most of the crew were engaged in various styles of dancing. Legs kicking out, arms flailing, but no swishing skirts to be found, even among the female crew members. 

Everything was loud and chaotic and messy, and she knew members of the gentry who would faint at seeing their beloved, traditional dances… refashioned like this.

Had there been a mutiny or something?

But no—Captain Amelia was watching the crew’s shenanigans from the quarterdeck, an amused smile softening her feline features. Mr. Arrow was next to her, frowning acutely in displeasure.

That frown was replaced with a hint of mild shock as the ship’s doctor approached, and Melody watched with fascination as Elizabeth talked him into dancing. But then the doctor, she’d noticed, was the type who was determined to include everyone and make sure they had a good time, or else.

“Don’t believe you’ll have much luck swabbin’ the deck through this lot, lad,” John Silver said, somehow appearing next to her without her noticing. “Doubt they’d appreciate you bein’ underfoot.”

“Ah… Yeah.” She shouldered the mop, bucket swinging against the handle like a cradle. “Guess I’ll just see what I can get into below deck.”

“You most certainly will not!” Silver declared. “It’s a party, lad.” 

She couldn’t quite keep the surprise off her face. “I thought you were supposed to keep us working until we couldn’t think.”

“Clearly, I’m doing a poor job of it, seeing the thoughts you’re still havin’,” Silver noted. “But I’d be considered poorer still if I let you and Jimbo carry on, miserable, while the rest of us get up to mischief. T’aint no way to inspire loyalty in a crew, you can be sure of that.”

Jim crossed her line of vision then. He wasn’t dancing, but he was smirking knowingly at a furiously-gesticulating Doctor Doppler, many of his violent hand gestures directed in Captain Amelia’s general direction.

Oh, no, Silver was right. She absolutely couldn’t sit this one out downstairs. 

“Sounds fair to me, sir,” she said brightly—then had a mild panic because that tone always made her voice go higher, and she always, always forgot that. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she slung the mop and broom in an out-of-the-way spot by the railing, intending to find it again later.

“Good of you to see reason, my boy.” Silver’s mechanical eye whirled as he took her in. “‘Sides, I have you pegged as a fine dancer, so fine I’ll practically be robbin’ poor George Merry blind tonight.”

“You took a bet on whether I could dance?” Her face turned hot.

“Well, sure, it panned out with the cards, didn’t it?” Silver said with a secret smile that told her all she needed to know about whether she’d gotten completely away with cheating or not. “On a voyage this long, you have to find innocent ways to amuse yourself or you’ll be looking for some not-so-innocent ways, make no mistake.”

“Sorry to tell you, then, that I can’t dance,” she lied, but she could not dance among this crew while she was still trying to hold her cover. She had no idea how to lead a dance like a man, for one thing, and their steps were always different because there were always fewer. Women, as usual, did all the work and flourishes. Plus, alcohol-induced states or not, if anyone got too close to her—

Silver clasped his mechanical hand to his heart. “Are you tryin’ to put this old man into an early grave, lad? Wreakin’ havoc on my constitution, you are.”

“It’s just dancing!” Melody felt like she had to be glowing in the dark, she was blushing so hard. “It’s not like it’s a useful skill.”

“But of course it is, lad! Good practice for footwork, for one thing. For another, how do you ever expect to woo a nice lass if you can’t even dance with her?”

“I told you, I’m becoming a hermit,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Not under my watch, no sir!” With mounting dread, Melody watched as Silver extended his good hand to her. “Take my hand, Mel. I’ll learn you some basic steps by t’under, or else I have no business callin’ myself your commanding officer.”

Melody was begging the stars to send someone to come save her. The Captain, Jim, hell, she’d even take Cutter or Scroop at this point. But none of those sorry bastards came around, and she couldn’t think of any other way out of this.

So she looked everywhere except at Silver because she did not want to know how much her hand was dwarfed by his, and even though there was still space between their bodies, it didn’t matter. Not when she could feel every inch of that mechanical hand against her waist and lower back. Somehow, this was even worse than his usual affectionate touches, probably because she’d learned to expect those.

This… made her light-headed just thinking about, so feeling it… She needed to get this over with, now.

“First, move your left foot—”

“Got it,” she said, already following Silver as he started the basic steps for a waltz. Her right foot was in position before Silver could say anything.

“Well, now!” Silver commended, his eyes twinkling. “A fast learner even in this, eh?”

“Mhmm,” Melody replied. “You can stop worrying about the nice lasses now. I got it.”

“I should say not! How is any lass going to feel comfortable, dancing with a lad who’s rigid as a board and won’t so much as look at her? Why, if I were in her shoes now, I’d be off, cryin’ into my skirts.” 

Melody was absolutely going to remember this, and she was absolutely going to pay Silver back for this ten-fold someday.

But right now, this was just like any role she’d played back home. That’s all she had to do, and this could end.

So she loosened the stiffness in her shoulders, practically melting against Silver’s touch. Her movements became smoother, polished. When she raised her head to meet his eyes, it was with a cool, appraising stare but a smile that said she liked what she saw—a deadly combination she’d seen used by the officers at her father’s functions. It had worked for her to see it then, and it would work for her to use now. 

“Well?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “How’s this, sir?”

“I think,” Silver said, his voice low, “you’re going to break hearts, lad.” A cheery smile crossed his face and he called louder, “And I think George Merry owes me twenty gold pieces!”

The fiddle screeched to a stop, replaced with George Merry’s loud cursing and the crew’s laughter.      

[letsperaltiago]

every second with you I want another |Jake x Amy|

I Love You-prompt request #24: Just because.

Requested by anonymous

I hope y’all enjoy fake dating because (SPOILER ALERT) it IS HAPPENING

Word count: 2.7k

Amy Santiago is a strong woman; an independent woman; a successful woman. After 5 years with the NYPD working as a detective, that is - she’s been in pretty much every worst case scenario imaginable. That is to say that there are very few situations that she can’t handle. But after riding a wave of success and triumphing around life for so long, a disaster was bound to come around at some point. Unbelievable - yet true - said disaster turned out to come from her own family; more specifically her sister in law aka. Tony’s wife Simona.

Of course Amy loved her family to the moon and back, and she was specially close with Tony, but Simona was a pill that she couldn’t quite swallow. Actually she choked on it on a weekly basis whenever her brother’s wife sent out weekly email-blasts about the perfect lille family she’d formed with the oldest Santiago-brother and their new twins Benjamin and Bella. This particular week in May was no exception.

“Ugh,” the raven-haired woman groaned as the dreaded name appeared in her inbox with fat, obnoxious letters. “I shouldn’t even click on this,” a click of the mouse soon followed, since she needed a weekly reason to hate Simona. The mumbled words were directed at no-one in particular, but of course caught her desk-neighbour’s attention.

“Pay check?” An empathetic pout grew on his face, guessing that he could relate to whatever she was moaning about. Though all it earned him was a frown, as her eyes shot up over her screen to look at him.

“What? No.” She dropped the judgemental attitude and sighed. "It’s my brother’s annoying wife. Every week she sends out an email telling everyone in the family about how great her life is and how perfect her new twins are…” She shook her head, scrolling further down the brag-mail. “I mean, the twins are cute but-“

Her sentence was cut short by no other than herself, telling Jake that she’d seen something on her screen that apparently was worth not finishing a sentence properly. Within seconds her face had gone from just plain out annoyed to a state of the art shock and perhaps about to have a stroke. Now it was Jake’s turn to frown. “Amy?”

“No no no no! I can’t believe I forgot!”

Upon hearing his partner’s mistake, though he didn’t know exactly what kind, her partner’s face shifted from the confused frown to a straight up excited, ready-to-tease smile. “Amy Santiago! Did you finally forget something?”

“Shut up,” she groaned, frustratingly rubbing her flexed temples.

“No, tell me! What inconsequential thing did you forget?”

There was no questioning the fact that the childish man wouldn’t let this slip by without an answer, so after and pulling her face out of her hands and quickly collecting herself she proceeded to unveil her blunder.

“It’s my birthday this Sunday…”

Anti-climatic would be playing down what Jake was feeling upon hearing about a mistake that was so bad that it simply didn’t make any sense to him. Not only did even he know - and God knows he sucks at remembering anything that is of importance - but he also couldn’t quite see how it was a problem to her. Having barely just left, his frown was back. “What? You forgot your own birthday? That makes minus sense. You’re throwing yourself a bash and everything.”

“It’s not a bash, Jake,” her deadpan told him that she was displeased with his perception of her upcoming birthday dinner. “ And I didn’t exactly forget that it’s my birthday. I’d just… willingly suppressed that Simona is going to be there and that I have to face her.”

Once in a blue moon Jake Peralta felt concern and worry. Today he even acted like it, when he saw Amy’s genuine and uncharacteristic discouraged demeanour He’d been to several of Amy Santiago’s social arrangements (Thanksgiving, Christmas get-togethers, movie and game nights), but he’d never her seen her not actually enjoying. “What’s so wrong with Simona? Isn’t she your brother’s wife?”

“Exactly. She’s happily married to my perfect brother,” the words came out in what Jake could only guess was a mocking mimic of Simona’s voice. “And because of that, she won’t let go of the fact that I’m still single. She’s such a demon but I’m the only one who sees it.” With a click of a button, her computer screen was turned off with a sigh. “Maybe I should just cancel the entire thing.”

“Your entire birthday? No way. There’s always your mother’s amazing tiramisu and I would be lying if I said that the entire squad hasn’t been looking forward to it,” he had actually finished his sentence but quickly realised that there were probably better ways to do it. More empathetic ways. “… And celebrating you. Happy birthday, Ames.” Perhaps a cheeky smile would save him.

Amy didn’t look any more impressed than before as she pushed back her office chair and picked up her blazer from where it’d hung on the chair’s back. “Whatever… I’ll just have a shitty birthday. Anyways…” Quick as a flash, she picked up her purse. and gave the now silenced partner one last, slightly bummed smile. “I’ll see you guys Sunday. Don’t be late!”

Jake broke and had to smile at the last few words. They were truly Santiago-style and for a second it lightened the mood. That was until she turned away, clocking out for the weekend and left the building. Amy Santiago was feeling miserable and Jake Peralta didn’t like it one bit.

Whether Amy wanted it to or not, Sunday came around; She was going to have to face her sister-in-law’s taunts and teases. If Amy was lucky enough, Bella and Benjamin would make a fuss all day and allow their aunt to breathe; maybe even enjoy her own birthday for once. But who was she trying to fool? Bella and Benjamin were exemplary babies - even considering the fact that they were barely 2 months old.

A knock on her door immediately ripped her out of her thoughts, leading her to quickly check her reflection in the mirror. For someone who’d been running around all morning, making sure that everything was in place and ready, she couldn’t help but feel quite put together. Pretty even. Even in the midst of the morning rush she’d taken the time to curl her hair, apply a decent makeup and picking out a dress that she fancied. It was a wrap-around model made of a fiery red fabric - complimenting her black hair - and enhanced both her hips and chest without being too vulgar. All in all, Amy Santiago felt beautiful.

“Oh Amy, honey… What did I tell you about wearing the same colour all the time? Just like milk, it will expire.”

So much for feeling good about herself. Amy’s blood immediately boiled upon hearing the way too recognisable and dreaded voice. On the other hand she’d been raised well and knew better than to be rude back. So she bit her lip and slowly spun around to see face the devil herself.

“Simona,” she said through a forced smile. “So lovely that you could make it. Where’s Tony and the twins?”

It was clear that the other woman was inspecting her furnishing, every little detail of Amy’s home, while she calmly slowly strode around the room as she took off her jacket. Judgement, the worst kind, shaped her smile and even her eyes. There’s was no way that a compliment was burning to escape her. “Tony is just parking the car and the twins are with my parents for the day.”

Dammit, Amy thought. So much for fussing babies and an excellent distraction. She’d have to face the fight on her own without her niece and nephew.

Luckily, allowing her to breathe for just a while at least, Tony arrived only seconds after and the rest of the guests followed behind - including the 99-family. Though he more than often brought her so much irritation, Amy had to smile back when a nice, slacks and blazer-clad Jake appeared behind Terry and sent her a smile. “Wow, Peralta. I’m impressed.” She also couldn’t help but notice the bouquet of purple roses in his right hand.

He lightly spread his arms out to the side while quickly making a 360 turn to give her a better look at the full shebang. “I figured I’d actually follow your instructions for once. But only because it’s your birthday.” He teased back as he reached out his hand to offer her the flowers.

“I’ll take it and thank you. They’re beautiful,” the smile, having only grown wide, was still plastered across her face with eyes glistening though she didn’t even notice it herself. But it must’ve shown, because Amy had barely closed the door behind her colleagues before the devil was back at work. Right by Amy’s side, Jake had just hardly had the time to take off his blazer - maybe unspoken but impressing Amy with a neat, white and ironed dress-shirt that hugged his arms and torso nicely - before Simona’s walked up to him and put a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, Amy. You hadn’t told me that you’d gotten yourself a boyfriend?” She gave Jake an analysing elevator look before shifting it back to her sister-in-law, slightly dumfounded but not entirely convinced.

Jake - and Amy for that matter - frowned, immediately shooting confused glances at each other. It took a beat, or maybe a couple more, before before Simona’s work sunk in. Amy looked down at the flowers in her hands, “Oh… You mean Jake? He’s just-“

Before she could reveal the entire truth and give Simona the satisfaction, Jake had swung an arm around Amy’s waist and gently pulled her into his side. “Just simply the best?” He shot her his widest, most convincing smile, all while desperately sending her a glance that told her to seize the opportunity and play along.

“Right. You sure are, babe,” the last word came out hesitantly, but apparently not enough to unveil their game. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” A peck to the cheek came next, secretly making Amy’s heart quake with uneasiness but also… affection? That last one was definitely new to her. Since when did Jake Peralta make her heart flutter in such way?

“Only the most beautiful flowers for the most beautiful girl.”

As she pulled back from the affectionate action, Amy couldn’t help but notice the slight pink tint that had suddenly spread across his cheek. What was going on? Fluttering hearts, pink cheeks, glistening eyes? This was so unlike them. Nevertheless she didn’t have time to question it further, because suddenly their entire family was swarming around them, all wondering what was going on. If only they knew that Jake and Amy themselves were thinking the exact same thing.

After a couple of hours of eating cake, celebrating, acting and also quickly catching onto the flow of how that worked, Amy quickly tugged on Jake’s hand. “A minute alone, please?” She kept up the big smile for the sake of the show, before pulling Jake with her into the kitchen. And like the good fake-boyfriend he was, he didn’t question it and simply strode along. Brewing coffee would be their cover and allow them to turn their backs to the living room while they talked. No questions were asked, but Jake couldn’t help but notice how his friend’s hands trembled as she opened a brand new packet of coffee.

“Hey, are you okay?” He looked at her as she anxiously spooned coffee into the machine. “I’m sorry I just sprung that whole dating-thing on you, but I figured it’d get Simona to shut up. I know how much she bothers you and I just don’t think it’s fair that you feel bad just because you aren’t seeing someone-”

“Jake,” she snapped her head in his directions, shuffling in closer so that their shoulders were touching and by this also shutting him up. “I-it’s okay. It’s just the adrenaline. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Her look finally softened. “Thank you.” Her voice was just as soft as her smile, putting his heart at ease as he recognised her true colours. There was no force in this world that could keep him from smiling back. For a moment the world around them - aka. the Santiago-family and 99-squad mingling behind them in the living room - disappeared. It was no secret to anyone in the 99-squad and Jake himself that he had a lot of love for the woman by his side, but to Amy the matter had just been kicked around slightly. There was no doubt that she appreciated his care and what he was currently doing for her, but she still didn’t know how to categorise her friend. Did she go along with this because she had to in front of Simona? Or because she wanted to and Simona was an excellent excuse?

“So this will be a 20 dollars pr. hour kind of gig, excluding tips-“

Before he could continue, she elbowed his side and let a giggle dance off her lips. His heart soared at the sound and for a moment, just a brief, he felt bad for putting himself and her in this situation. Him because he knew it wasn’t just acting; her because she had no idea that he wasn’t exactly acting.

“You know… Considering that really took me of guard, we’ve kinda nailed this whole dating-thing.” She spoke up again, eyes still focused on what her hands were doing. She was in the midst of adding water to the machine, not doing anything special yet looking so stupidly beautiful and Jake could feel his heart sting.

“Yeah, I think your family and especially Simona is buying it. Lucky for us that the 99 is used to our spontaneous undercover roles and don’t question it.”

“We make a great team, don’t we?” Amy nodded, closing the lid and dusting off her hands. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she finally allowed herself to look at him. Her trembling hands had finally calmed down, and Jake could feel his heart doing the exact opposite; it was beating with a thousand miles pr. hour. On her part, just like blood rushing to cheeks, Amy’s gut feeling suddenly reached her brain. From one split second to the next her face suddenly showed a whole new range of emotion. Affection, lust, need, care. Jake had seen it all before, but never together at the same time and surely never directed at him like now. This, apparently, was a recipe for what happened next. Without even overanalysing and feeling anxious about it, Amy Santiago gently placed her hands on her partners firm chest before standing on the tip of her toes to press her lips to his. Even though it was brand new, having never happened before, Jake knew exactly what to do; what he wanted to do.

His hands instinctually cupped her rosy cheeks in advance to sliding back into her dark, raven curls and gently pulling her closer - if possible. The coffee machine besides them rumbled as the coffee reached its destined temperature, but Jake couldn’t tell if that was it or if it was his brain on the verge of exploding. He was kissing Amy. Amy was kissing him. Mind blowing.

After a few moments of dragging out the sweet kiss, she tipped back down from the balls of her feet. There was no way around giggling for her when she felt his head desperately following hers even as she pulled back, desperately wanting to keep their lips attached. An extra peck or two followed suit, letting her know that this simply couldn’t be the last, before he pulled back. Dazed and confused, he allowed himself to glance over at the living room before quickly turning his attention back to her. Maybe if he looked away for too long she’d disappear and he’d wake up from this surreal dream he was currently in.

“W-what was that for? Simona wasn’t looking.”

She could feel his voice and chest shake beneath her hands.

“Just because. I don’t care about Simona anymore.”

[putschki1969]

Yuki Kajiura Interview Translation

~The Culmination of my Dreams~ Yuki Kajiura holds Kalafina in high esteem: “They are really amazing”

Original article: https://www.oricon.co.jp/news/2114546/full/

Notes: Thanks so much to @kuroiyuki88 and Erinn for helping me with this. Would have taken much longer without the two of you. And some parts definitely wouldn’t have sounded as good.

This February, Yuki Kajiura (52) became independent from the agency she had belonged to for more than 20 years. She has composed the background music for popular anime like “Puella Magi Madoka Magica” and “Sword Art Online”, served as Kalafina’s producer for 10 years ever since their debut, and captured the hearts of many fans both in Japan as well as overseas. Taking the chance to become independent, she has currently resigned from her position as Kalafina’s producer. What are Ms. Kajiura’s thoughts towards the girls? In the first interview since her independence, we talk about the mutual connection between “composer and singer”, and the respect which is born from the earnest clashing of professional spirits.

Kalafina is a unit that was established as a project to perform the theme songs to the theatrical anime “Kara no Kyōkai”. Kajiura has worked on all musical compositions, lyrics and direction, since the group’s debut in 2008. At the end of March, Keiko, who was in charge of lower registers, left the agency due to contract expiration.

――You had the position of Kalafina’s “producer”, is there any distinct difference to your previous works as composer or your solo activities? [Kajiura] I don’t do the so-called “producer” things. I just write the tunes that I like. That’s why if I refer to myself as a producer, I would feel sorry for the real producers out there since I started out by utilizing the girls’ voices for songs instead of writing songs for the girls. However, to make the best and the most beautiful version of each song, the three of them in their role as singers have to focus on making the melody and lyrics shine ever so brightly. Therefore, thinking about how the girls will shine in the final product, I thought each song through thoroughly: if, when singing, it didn’t come together, I withdrew it instantly, no matter how good it was. It’s difficult to understand, even if I were called a “producer”, I don’t think I should be called a producer since I consistently based my lyrics, compositions and arrangements on the song itself and not on the girls. 

――Kajiura-san takes on solo projects, including activities using the name of FictionJunction. You also viewed Kalafina as a derivation of those activities, right? [Kajiura] (Regarding Kalafina) I think that “walking alongside each other” is closer to the feeling I have. Although it’s true that things may possibly have been different if it ended with “Kara no Kyōkai”,  the group quickly became more acknowledged, and, after that, myself and the members worried about how Kalafina should exist going forward.Thus, I was at last also brought on as Kalafina’s producer for the past 10 years – I’d say I may have a feeling like that.

――When composing Kalafina’s songs, what types of things do you typically fixate on? [Kajiura] I’m the type of person who can’t write a song until I know which singers will feature, so to write a song and say “please, sing this” won’t work, especially not with Kalafina. Although it sounds obvious to say, but because those three have such greatly alluring voices, I have to be able to reliably hear that allure in a song. I want to make appealing voices! (laughs) As the voices of three people are glittering, if there’s no feeling of, “when you sing, it’ll sound something like “thi~s”!”, then I can’t stand it. Even though the song already exists, when I think about the end product, I come to feel like we made it together. Since all three people have unique voices in this world, is it not interesting to listen to the person flourishing the most?

● Creator and Singer　Respect Born from A “Battle”

――Were you doing much to share your music production process with the members? [Kajiura] To tell you the truth, I’ve never asked for the Kalafina members’ opinions when writing songs, and the three of them have never requested input, either. Because of that, I had this vector (method of thinking) in which, from my direction towards the girls, I greedily decided how they’d express themselves through their vocals. Then, in a cyclical way, I’d find inspiration in the way their expressions manifested, and a new song would be born. Through this neat synergy, I accomplished what I did in the past 10 years.I suppose, after all, relationships like that can’t be built up without a long time to allow for it.

――As the creator, you're on a different level to the three singers; however, it feels like you stand eye to eye with each other, there’s a strong sense of equality. [Kajiura] That’s right. It’s because the things the girls are capable of have steadily increased, and, with that, the horizon of Kalafina’s music has naturally extended. In the beginning, the range of things they could do was comparatively small, so at that time I think I was writing songs that all felt more or less the same no matter who was singing them and regardless of which genre or which kind of sound they were meant for. But, gradually, the three of them each developed a unique voice and trademark singing style. “This part won’t sound good unless Wakana is singing it.” “I can’t write this song unless Keiko and Hikaru are singing it.” It’s things like that which progressively changed; everything ended up being completely different. In later years, the number of songs that could never have come to life if someone else had sung them increased considerably. That’s proof of their growth: the more progress they made, the more my song writing process changed - it happened naturally. It’s like a battle. A battle between myself and the girls.

―― Up until now, you have had various projects going on side-by-side: band work, solo work, composer work, etc. Among all of this, what does Kalafina mean to you? [Kajiura] Kalafina is the culmination of my dreams. I have always loved opera and chorus work, even when I was still an amateur, I would often write a capella songs for a group of six girls; I just really loved female voices being layered over each other. But, back in the day, I wasn’t really able to write music in that genre no matter how much I wanted to; I also wasn’t able to do any arrangements. I dare say that, at the time of my debut, I definitely wouldn’t have thought myself capable of doing something like that even if I had gotten the chance to do a project like Kalafina. When “Kara no Kyōkai” came along, it ended up being the perfect timing. It was all about female voices but it wasn’t just chorus work; I wondered what would happen if those three strong, unique and seemingly opposing voices came together - in many ways it was the result of fortunate circumstances; it was perfect timing: I finally got the chance to do what I had been dreaming of for about 20 years. I was also at a point in my career where I was given free rein - I was able to do what I wanted. I can’t do this kind of major soundtrack unless everyone involved trusts me completely with it. I really was blessed with various fortunate circumstances.

――After becoming independent from your agency, you have distanced yourself in your role as Kalafina’s producer. What do you think of your ten years working together? [Kajiura]I feel nothing but gratitude towards them for continuing to sing so well for me up until now. Being stuck as part of the same unit, not being able to express a single wish (regarding songs), not able to do anything except sing the songs they are given with all their strength. Under conditions that are extremely inconvenient for a singer, they have been singing for ten years, not once getting the chance to sing the songs they wanted to sing. They are so easy to work with…” “They are really amazing…”For ten years straight, they have always taken their work seriously and their singing has become progressively better. I am sure it was difficult for them to sing genres they had never listened to before. On top of that, I have treated the three of them mercilessly with all my demands; I think my demanding nature caused quite the internal struggle for them. Even now, I feel it was almost like a miracle, with all odds in my favour, meeting these amazing singers, deciding to do this together with all of our strength.

[studentsofshield]

A Rambling Chronicle of Marvel’s Western Comics

By Vincent Faust - November 27, 2018

Marvel Comics is the most prolific comic book publisher of the Western genre. Despite their near ubiquity in today’s culture with billion dollar box office receipts, even their diehard fans may not know this part of their past.

I may be missing a few scattered things, but by my count Marvel has published 1,192 issues of Western comics through their history. Marvel had published Western stories from their very beginnings with the Masked Raider in 1939′s Marvel (Mystery) Comics 1-12. Though the genre didn't explode until the late 1940s following the war, while superheroes were declining. Timely (Marvel’s name at the time) launched 7 western titles in 1948. 

The "Big Three" of Marvel westerns are Kid Colt Outlaw, Rawhide Kid, and Two-Gun Kid. Each lasting an impressive 229, 151, and 136 issues respectively. 

The star artist of Kid Colt was Jack Keller. Who drew most of the character's stories from 1953-1967. An impressive run. Some have argued he has the honor of drawing the most individual stories for one specific Marvel character. Many of these books had 3-5 short stories per issue, so I wouldn't argue against that. If we only count full issue stories, I'm not sure who would take that title. Probably Mark Bagley for Spider-Man, combining his lengthy 1990s run on Amazing and his history making 2000s run with Bendis on Ultimate.

In 1960, right before the Fantastic Four, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby reinvented Rawhide Kid. After a publishing hiatus the title was brought back with issue 17. The character was now Jonathan Clay and his costume changed. Over two and a half years, their run was revered as the cream of the crop in a waning genre as their own superheroes began to explode. 

As Kirby was needed more and more on the superhero titles selling like hotcakes, a tiny run by Jack Davis followed. Davis was an EC Comics legend who took a pit stop at Marvel before becoming even more of a legend at Mad Magazine. Unfortunately, practically the only classic Marvel Westerns to be reprinted in collections is this span of Rawhide Kid. With issues 17-35 reprinted across two hardcover Marvel Masterworks.

Here is Stan Lee talking to Jack Davis and fellow EC/Mad/minor Marvel contributor Harvey Kurtzman. For Marvel, the legendary Kurtzman did 150 episodes of a one-page filler strip titled Hey Look! from 1946 to 1949. 

Especially as Marvel was finally able to publish more titles, Stan Lee's efforts were being stretched too thin as well. So, Rawhide Kid was handed over to his younger brother Larry Lieber to write and draw. Which he did for almost a decade, to minor acclaim from genre fans. Sounds very reminiscent of the hidden gem Gary Friedrich/Dick Ayers/John Severin run on Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos.

"I don't remember why I wanted to do it, particularly. I think I wanted a little more freedom. I didn't do enough of the superheroes to know whether I'd like them. What I didn't prefer was the style that was developing. It didn't appeal to me. Maybe there was just too much humor in it, or too much something. I remember, at the time, I wanted to make everything serious. I didn't want to give a light tone to it. When I did Rawhide Kid, I wanted people to cry as if they were watching High Noon or something." - Larry Lieber

Lee and Kirby also reinvented Two-Gun Kid for the early 60s, but didn't stick around as long on that one.

Other artists who made a mark on Marvel's western titles include Fred Kida, a notable Golden Age Japanese-American artist known primarily for Airboy. Also Russ Heath, who passed away only recently, and the frequent collaborators John Severin and Dick Ayers. Most of these artists were also prolific in the war genre. The genre is also to thank for the introduction of Herb Trimpe, who would go on to become the definitive Hulk artist.

The true star of the show though was one Joe Maneely. Who Stan considered his best artist before Jack Kirby returned in 1958. The Philadelphia native was skilled and fast, pumping out tons of westerns as well as the Black Knight and Yellow Claw titles, which retroactively tie his work to Marvel continuity. Unlike Kirby, Keller, and Lieber he was not particularly linked to one western title, but his most consistent would be Ringo Kid.

Meanwhile, outside of the genre one of Stan Lee's other top artists was Matt Baker. Considered to be the first African American professional in the field. Also there are reliable reports from friends and family that Baker may have been a gay man. He was one of the primary innovators of the "good girl" art style on Fox Feature Syndicate’s Phantom Lady and countless romance titles. Another milestone was drawing arguably the first graphic novel - It Rhymes with Lust.

Due to some business factors in and out of publisher Martin Goodman’s control, Marvel (at this point known as Atlas Comics) nearly imploded in 1957. The bullpen was completely disbanded, leaving Stan Lee in an empty office. They went from regularly publishing almost 70 titles to only 16. Many of which were filled with inventory stories and reprints as long as Stan could manage not paying freelancers. This situation was further complicated by their new distributor having way too close of a relationship with market share leader National (now DC Comics).

Joe Maneely stepped in front of a train in 1958 at only the age of 32. It may have been a suicide. Matt Baker died of a heart attack in 1959 at 37. As stated above, Jack Kirby comes back to Marvel right around that time and Steve Ditko was quickly growing as an artist. It's tragic how close these two masters were to being on the ground floor of the Marvel Universe as we know it today. What heroes could Maneely and Baker have drawn or created?

The 1970s sees lots of reprints of classic genre comics. An exception is the original title Gunhawks (though an unrelated The Gunhawk title predated it). Though only lasting seven issues, Gunhawks has an interesting distinction. Originally starring Kid Cassidy and Reno Jones, a good ol’ plantation boy and his buddy slave. Who fought willingly for the Confederacy because some Yankees kidnapped his girlfriend. That makes sense... In the sixth issue, Cassidy is shot and killed. The finale was technically retitled to Reno Jones, Gunhawk. Making that 1973 comic book only the second at Marvel to be named after a Black protagonist, following Luke Cage. Black Panther had ongoing adventures, but had taken over the anthology title Jungle Action and wouldn’t get his own series until later. DC lagged behind Marvel in this regard.

In 1979 the western genre at Marvel was basically declared dead, with Rawhide Kid and Kid Colt finally canceled. The latter after over 30 years of continuous publication. Two Gun Kid had been canceled two years earlier. Though for a few years already, almost all of Marvel's westerns (and war books) had been turned into reprint titles.

Of those aforementioned 1,192 issues, 1,146 of them are from 1979 or earlier. Leaving less than 50 across the last 40 years.

A 1980 tryout issue with a new character (and a Frank Miller cover) goes nowhere.

A 1985 miniseries by genre veterans Trimpe and Severin depicts the Rawhide Kid now as a middle aged man, as the West is in its final days. It is kind of depressing.

Backpedaling a bit. As the Marvel superheroes dominate, the western heroes occasionally make crazy guest appearances through the means of time travel. Most notably the Two-Gun Kid becomes an all-but-official member of the Avengers and a close friend of Hawkeye. He gets tied up with time travel generally for years to follow. Later becoming a She-Hulk supporting character and Avengers Initiative leader circa Civil War

With that cover, let's now take another aside to untangle Ghost Rider. Ghost Rider is not originally a Marvel property. The vigilante was created by Gardner Fox (Justice League of America) and Dick Ayers for Magazine Enterprises in 1949 as a horror themed western character. The feature spent time as a backup in Tim Holt and eventually broke out into its own short lived title.

Magazine Enterprises went kapoof alongside the slump in the industry around the implementation of the Comics Code Authority in 1954. The regulation agency set up by industry leaders to avoid government intrusion following moral panic. The over-cautious guidelines severely neutered the crime and horror genres, while superheroes were already dormant, gutting many publishers. The Ghost Rider trademark expired. Marvel picked it up in 1967 for a series drawn by original creator Dick Ayers. Motivated in equal toxic parts by Martin Goodman's obsession with securing trademarks (practically every character Stan Lee created can be traced to an earlier one) and then rising writer Roy Thomas's history nerd leanings.

Obviously the name would be repurposed for the more recognizable Johnny Blaze in 1972. Marvel retroactively renamed Carter Slade as the Phantom Rider. The modern demonic versions of Ghost Rider do rarely touch on western themes. Johnny spent some time as a nomad and Garth Ennis brought in some western connections to expand the GR lore.

The western genre is basically passed over through the whole 1990s.

In 2000, John Ostrander and Leonardo Manco come around for a miniseries integrating all the Marvel western heroes together. Followed by a 2002 sequel. With revelations and deaths. The kind of lore retconning series that tickles the fancy of comic history nerds like yours truly. Ostrander also did Justice League: Incarnations around this time, tracing through the history of the JLA.

2003 comes around and it all that heavy lifting revitalization goes in the toilet. Ron Zimmerman writes a Marvel Max Rawhide Kid series. Zimmerman is some kind of comedy writer and Howard Stern regular. Well, within comics he wrote this and the god awful Ultimate Adventures - the only wholly original Ultimate Universe book, a Batman and Robin parody that was part of the U-Decide bet with Marville and PAD's Captain Marvel.

Marvel Max was a new imprint established in the early 2000s to break away from the aforementioned Comics Code and tell more daring, mature stories. Occasionally this resulted in gold like Jessica Jones. However, most of the time it was cringe inducing dreck.

So what's so bad about Rawhide Kid Max? He's now gay. Umm...OK, as long as it's handled well, maybe? Nope, constant cringey sexual innuendos which border on the protagonist coming off as a sexual predator. Some idiot gave it a sequel years later too.

Since then, we've gotten a bunch of one-shots in 2006, a weird Andy Diggle miniseries in 2012, and then the surprisingly great Marvel 1872 from Gerry Duggan during the patchwork reality crossover event Secret Wars. Which set up the Red Wolf series which was doomed by bad optics surrounding the writer and Marvel's spaghetti on the wall strategy of the time.

One of those 2006 one-shots ended up being legend Marshall Rogers's final published work. He and longtime collaborator Steve Englehart did it while waiting for DC to greenlight Dark Detective III, the second spiritual sequel to their influential 1970s run on Batman.

Here’s hoping we get to see some of these legendary heroes on the trail once more. At the very least we will get another tiny snippet in 2019 with a Gunhawks one-shot being brought back in celebration of Marvel’s 80th anniversary. Written by crime comics duo David and Maria Lapham.

This concludes a rambling chronicle of Marvel's history with the western genre and considerable tangents touching more generally on the history of Marvel and the comic book industry.

[freezingwintah]

Beer and Chocolate

Chapter 1: Different, but in a good way 

It has been a few rough weeks. College was kicking his butt, assignments made it impossible to hang out with his friends. Instead, he buried himself in work, work and even more work.

His only time of solace was when he visited a café not far from his shitty apartment. They made incredible coffee there, not to mention all waitresses (and waiters) were eye candy. Especially one guy stood out. He had bleached fluffy wavy hair to his shoulders, he wore fashionable clothes, his shoes were stylish and trendy, not the regular employees shoes his colleagues wore. And for some reason, he was painting his nails, also let’s not forget the amount of rings he wore. It was a wonder to Smitty how the man used his hands with such elegance and grace.

In words of his nosey friend Craig, he was ‘smitten’ by that man and it wasn’t simple quiet artist’s appreciation, but something more. Smitty wasn’t sure he liked what Craig was implying. That guy just stood out so much. He was different, but in a good way, like he didn’t give a shit about what other people might think of him. In a sense, he was what Smitty wished to be one day – able to express himself without caring what others might say about it.

Smitty wanted to talk to him; he would lie if he told himself he didn’t have hidden ulterior motives, but he had the urge to draw him whenever he saw him, just walking around the café or delivering the orders to customers. He knew his name. John. So simple, he liked it. Smitty saw his name tag when they first met approximately three months ago. It was shameful to admit, but in that moment when their eyes met – greenish blue stared into chocolate brown; he felt a deep connection. Everything on John stood out, even that beauty mark above his lip.

After first month of silently ogling John from distance, on one stormy afternoon after classes he brought out his sharpie and notebook and began sketching him. Smitty made sure no one from staff (and especially not John) saw him and after several such ‘secret drawing sessions’ he got five sketches properly redrawn on a tablet and shaded. He did them between classes and when he was sleepy, but couldn’t sleep due to insomnia. Drawing John was a challenge he welcomed with an open mind, since he never really drew men before in art or design classes.

More than ever, he wanted to just sit and talk with John, about anything really. He was his inspiration (his muse even) and he looked forward to going to that café every Thursday, knowing John will be there, with that stoic, strangely professional expression.

On a windy Wednesday on his day off, Smitty wandered into the café, taking a look behind the counter. The man was there, currently as cashier. Becoming self conscious when he felt those eyes upon him, he picked a vacant booth and sat down. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he had shifts mostly on Thursdays and Saturdays. The fact he knew when John was working and when he wasn’t made it out to be like he was quite a stalker, but in truth he passed by the café every day and simply stared across the glass to the interior.

Seeing as he was already there, he could order a nice cup of coffee or perhaps latte to warm him up. He glanced over at the counter, where John was making a conversation with another guy, his only features standing out were those baby blue eyes and slight scruffy beard. From what he gathered, he and John were close friends, not just co-workers. Their casual banter was out -shadowed by the jazzy bass drop, drowning out their last words, but Smitty saw the look and head gesture directed at him. He quickly looked at his phone, pretending he was busy.

Long steps shortened the distance and with peripheral vision, he saw the man with baby blue eyes standing next to him, bearing somewhat of a cheeky smile. Smitty noticed his name tag. Scotty, huh. “Hello and good afternoon. What can I get you?”

Before Scotty could give him the overhaul of their drinks, Smitty who had it memorized spat out his order without thinking. “A latte please.”

“Alright. It’ll be done in a jiffy.” He said, walking away. Relieved that it wasn’t John who came up to him, he let out a sigh. He wanted to talk with him, but at the same time he didn’t want to ruin it. Behind their waiter/customer relation they had nothing. If John knew he used him as his model for drawing, he’d be most likely be disgusted. And he wouldn’t be able to visit this café any longer. But then again, they never talked.

His train of thought was interrupted by soles tapping on the floor near him. Thinking it was Scotty who brought him the latte, he looked up with a faint smile, that froze in a semi – worried frown. John raised a brow at him. “Your latte, sir.” He set it down, all the time his greenish blue eyes were darted on him. Smitty shifted on the cushioned seat under John’s gaze.

After setting down his cup, he didn’t go back. John glimpsed at the counter where Scotty winked and pretended to polish some glasses. John knew he was spying on him, that ‘polish & shine’ move won’t fool him. Diverting his attention back to the man sitting in front of him. He looked awfully stressed out, to some extent also... hopeful? That spark of hope in those brown eyes as he silently waited was alluring. “Can I see them?”

“S-See what?” He stuttered, thinking that maybe his drawing technique wasn’t so sneaky at all. “I mean the drawings. I know you were drawing me. You weren’t exactly subtle dude.”

Now for sure he was sweating, being caught wasn’t on his To Do List today. His eyes dropped onto his lap. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Let’s not dwell on that, okay? I just wanna see those pictures before Scotty gets yelled at by the manager for stalling. So, do you have them with you?” John asked again and Smitty nodded, his hands went inside his bag, where he fished for his graphic tablet. He pulled up the pictures and an unfamiliar heat pooled into his face. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with the way how close they were, head to head as John silently evaluated his works.

After gruesome twenty or so seconds (but it seemed so much longer to him), John chuckled. “Your style is flattering, I like how everything is so pastel. Also...,” he paused, turning head directly to his Smitty’s ear. “I absolutely like bold and cute guys like you. Do you want to go on a date? I’m free this Friday.”

John said he was bold, but he just asked him on a date, didn’t he? Smitty stashed away his tablet and drank some of the delicious latte to calm his nerves. Meanwhile, John waited for a reply, seemingly collected and calm on the outside, but he was itching for a positive reply. He found him interesting, just like he was interesting enough to be drawn.

He downed half the cup in two gulps and set it back down on the table. “I’m free on that day, too. By the way, my name’s Smitty.” He acted it out cool, like he wasn’t emotionally overwhelmed by the moment. “And my name is John, but you already knew that.”

Smitty might have fooled a lesser man, but John was anything but ordinary. He widely grinned, showing off his smile. “Alright, then it’s a date. Now gimme quickly your phone, Scotty is reliable, but I have to go back to work.”

Oh. John can’t stay and chat. He handed him his phone and the man simply typed in his phone number and saved it under name John ;)

With one last wink, he strut back to the counter, back to preparing beverages, leaving rather flustered Smitty behind.

He still couldn’t believe this was happening. A date with John. He had a date. The imminent truth of it began to seep in. From the corner of eye he caught a glimpse of John’s bleached mane floating in air as he served other customers.

Maybe he shouldn’t linger. Smitty realized his presence in café might mess up John’s concentration. He chugged down the remnants of his latte and paid the bill (this time a middle aged woman came up to his table) and he stood up, gathering his things.

Before he left they shared a look and he left the café, the bell above chimed and he was outside on the street. Like in a haze, he walked back to his shitty apartment.

                                                  ~♦~

When he got back, he went immediately to studying, leaving his phone to charge. Sometime around 10 pm he got a text. He suspected it to be from a teacher or classmate. Smitty’s eyes hovered above the name. He must be tired, why is he messaging at this late hour?

John ;) – ‘sup babe, I’m tired and about to expire. Idk where I’m going with this message, I just hope my direct approach didn’t scare you off. I’m not one to dance around the fire. You like me, I like you so why not give it – give us a chance.

Smitty – Damb. I’m at loss of words. I can’t say I dislike direct people like you. Saves us both time if one party is assertive. I’m glad you asked me out on a date. I hope to learn more about you.

John ;) –  And I’m glad you agreed. Fuck I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. Sorry to cut this short.

Smitty – It’s alright. We can talk more tomorrow, rest up. Also John?

John ;) – Yeah?

Smitty – Goodnight ♥

John ;) – omg so gay, jk xD nighty night Smitty <3

With a chuckle, he locked his phone screen and placed it on the bedside table, laying down. Splayed on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, smiling to himself.

He was looking forward to this Friday.

Chapter 2:  If you’ll have me

Telling Craig was a bad idea. His friend nearly spat all of the soda he was drinking on Smitty’s face. He missed the fruity water fountain sprout by ducking.

Lucky they weren’t inside, but out in the open. It was after classes.

“What the fuck, Smit. You’ve been swooning and day dreaming for three months and he just waltzes up to you and asks you on a date. Am I getting this right?”

He sighed, internally wishing this topic was over and done with. “You heard me, you cucklord. I’m still in awe because of tomorrow. I’ve got a date. That’s a first in... a while. God, I’m beginning to get anxious just thinking about tomorrow.”

Craig rolled eyes. “Boo – hoo. Poor you going on a date with a hot guy that you’ve been ogling. Chin up, it’ll be alright.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re the school fuckboy, you have no problems with relationships. I on the other hand...”

His friend patted him a few times, winking. “Well, if that’s what’s troubling you, let me help you. As the infamous school playboy, I can relay my wisdom and pass it on.” He said ceremonially to which Smitty grunted, but didn’t turn down the offer. At this point he’d take any tips. For a reason unknown to him, Smitty really wanted this thing with John to work out.

Seeing as he didn’t outright decline, Craig smirked and threw away the empty can in the trash bin, then threw his arm around Smitty’s shoulder, dragging him away. “Well then, let’s get started.”

In that moment as he was being abducted to his own apartment, he realized how much he cared about John. And how crazy it all was.

                                                 ~♦~

“I don’t know. This hoodie is so plain.” Smitty commented, standing before mirror in his room. Craig’s voice boomed from the phone on his nightstand, he had him on speaker. “Did you really call me for that? I am about to fu--- have a dinner with that upperclassman Tyler.”

Caught up by in his own little world, he missed on the hint his friend dropped, too occupied with spinning and doing poses. “Hm... yeah... Craig I need your opinion. The plain grey hoodie together with the skinny ass black pants or dark navy skinny tight pants with pink, flashy hoodie?”

“Seriously, go for the flashy pink gay hoodie and black pants. Trust me on this. Also, don’t drink too much, it’s better to remember furious makeout on the couch than to wake up the next day naked with a hangover. Speaking from personal experience.”

“I swear to god, if you tell me to ---“ Smitty got cut off, his cheeky friend couldn’t resist poking fun at him. “Don’t forget to use a condom! Practice safe sex!”

He rolled eyes, his mirror reflection expressed how absurd it was. Getting sex advice from a well known playboy. “Yes, mom.”

Craig chuckled, albeit his voice sounded strained as if he was holding back from laughing. “If that’s how you perceive me as, then I await you home by midnight, young man. And your date better be a gentleman. Now if you'll excuse me, I got something to do.” He chuckled some more on the side, while Smitty quickly changed clothes, as per suggestion he donned the pink and black. It was a good combination, it also brought out some other assets.

Satisfied with his attire after gruesome twelve minutes of matching up different outfits, he smiled to himself. Oddly enough, suspicious small moans filled the room and he had to double check his TV and computer screens if he didn’t leave them on. His only logical conclusion was the sounds came from his phone.

...He didn’t need to know this about his friend, who supposedly hung up, but didn’t. But first, he’ll teach him a lesson for teasing him so much. “Hello there, mysterious upperclassman Tyler! Be sure to practice safe sex! Byee!”  Before he hung up, he heard exasperated gasps, ‘oh shit, I left it on!’ and ‘fuck!’.

Alright, that’s that. Now onto the matter at hand... He dialled up John’s number for the first time, sitting down on his bed to calm his anxiety. He picked up soon, as if he was waiting for a call. “Hey, good thing you called. I was worried you changed your mind.”

“And miss on a date with such a handsome man?” John softly chuckled.

“If your aim is to flatter me all day, then please by all means, continue. Anyhow, I am not one for traditional dates in some fancy restaurant, you’ll be crashing by my place if that’s okay with you.”

Smitty knew John could be forward, but they skipped date one all the way to date four, where they hang out at home. This was risky. Too dumbstruck to reply, he stayed quiet revaluating his next words. “Smit? Did I go overboard, I know it’s our first date and –“

“No, no. John, it’s a wonderful idea. We’re hardly conventional. I’d like to come over to your place. If you’ll have me.” He didn’t want to make it sound too eager ( like a desperate teenage girl for instance who just wanted to get laid), meanwhile from the other side he heard barely audible little cute snicker. “We can meet up by the café. I don’t live so far away, it’s within walking distance of twenty minutes. Are you ready? No need to dress up fancily for my sake dude, but I won’t lie; you’re good on eyes Smitty.”

“I’m supposed to be flattering you John, you’re undermining my scheme to make you flustered.”

“Aw, my bad.”

His lips curled up in a smile. “Are you heading out?” Distant doors closing made Smitty stand up and head towards the front entrance, where he left his keys and wallet. “Yep, I’m en route. See you there.”

“Can’t wait.” He replied with mirth and John hung up. The Canadian jovially put on shoes and left his apartment, locking it up. Smitty took a deep breath. “You can do this, it’s just a date.” He psyched himself up, bravely walking forward.

                                                    ~♦~

John was already there, skulking in front of the café he worked at, casually strolling back and forth, checking his phone every two minutes. He was a bit antsy. It’s been some time from the last time he went out with someone.

In a way, his work fulfilled him. Until a few months back, when he noticed a cute guy staring at him, even went ahead to draw him. Gradually, the guy came in almost every day, looking like he wanted to say something to him badly, but just couldn’t. Of course, his colleagues caught on. Scotty was the first and teased him about the ‘cute guy who comes to see him’ and how they totally would make a good looking couple.

He gave it some thought. Maybe he should try going out with him. One bad experience can’t deter him from trying dating again. He asked Scotty for little help (his friend wore that smug, knowing grin as he agreed to step in and set his bro up) and now, here they were. About to meet up and have their first date.

John pulled out his phone for the twelfth time, when he saw Smitty ran up to him. He stopped to catch his breath and then he grinned. “Running late is my specialty, I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”

“I’m usually the one arriving late, it’s refreshing to see someone else be late for a change. But I digress, you’re here. Ready to head out?”

“I was born ready.” Smitty replied, while John turned and waited for him so they could walk side by side. They passed by crowds of people, but neither paid attention to the stream of faces around them.

They walked past two streets and finally reached the resident area of tall buildings. The younger man eyed the complex before them as John strut towards the stairs. “We’re here. My apartment is on the far left side, over there.” He pointed and Smitty’s mind only came up with ‘nice place’ as he walked up behind John who was pulling out his keys.

He stiffly walked after John, trying to clear his head of dirty thoughts. No, he wouldn’t. As straightforward as John was towards him, he didn’t seem the type to have sex so soon. Not to mention Smitty wasn’t mentally prepared for that yet.

Becoming aware of their impending closeness, Smitty saw John turn the key and opened the door for him. He traipsed in, his heart was caught up somewhere in his throat. Standing at the entrance mat, he quickly took off his shoes, waiting on John.

“We can go to living room if you’d like.” John propositioned, taking off his shoes. Stiffly, Smitty’s body moved on its own, he shuffled to the living room, his eyes taking in everything. The shelves full of games and DVD’s that lined up against the end of one wall, the couch placed in the center of room, alongside with a decent sized TV. He even spotted some old school consoles.

“Alright...”  John said, standing beside him all of sudden. His heart picked the pace considerably, feeling the blood rush to his face.

This was a bit too soon, he wasn’t ready for anything beyond a kiss... and it was just them in one room. Unknowing of the thoughts racing through Smitty’s mind, John approached him and the younger man instinctively took a few steps back, now blushing furiously, ducking from his reach.

A bit confused, John looked down at him, pressing the light switch. “What? Is something on my face?”

Snapping his head, the Canadian gaped at the hand still on the light switch. “Oh...”

John knelt down, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you so nervous?”

Smitty put a hand up in his hair and laughed anxiously to hide his transparent embarrassment. “This is your first time, isn’t it?”

Flabbergasted by the words that left John’s lips, he was rendered speechless. “Don’t worry! I’ll lead. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Flushed and still very much flustered, he just gaped at John like a gold fish. His other hand was slowly reaching, and he himself was coming closer, closer, closer... Smitty’s eyes were fixed on his lips. He closed his eyes, ready to surrender to whatever John wanted.

But then John made him stand up again. He walked to the couch and turned on the TV, along with an old Playstation One console.

Smitty was none wiser what just transpired, approaching the couch. John plopped down, palpating a spot next to him.

Oh. So he meant to play an old school game together...

“You meant gaming...”

“Huh, yeah what else? We talked yesterday about games, figured you’d enjoy playing something together. Was it a bad idea?”

The Canadian shook head, a huge smile crept on his face. “Quite the opposite.”

“Good, now sit down and join me. First up we’ll play good ‘ol Gran Turismo, then Crash Team Racing and then maybe Tekken 3.”

Smitty shook off the embarrassment and sat down, taking the second controller.

The game booted up and their long gaming session began.

                                                     ~♦~

Spent after playing for over four hours, they only stopped because they were getting hungry. John ordered some pizza for them and while they waited, he brought out beer from the fridge.

Smitty was somewhat relaxed now, but still he couldn’t shake off the previous awkward moment from his mind. He stood up and paced along the carpet, stretching his legs.

From the kitchen John’s voice called out to him. “Smit, you want some chocolate? Scotty gave me some expensive brand, said he's got lots more. He got it from a... very close friend.”

Frowning, Smitty glanced at the beers on the coffee table. Beer and chocolate? That’s a rather odd combination.

Now that he thought about it more, the beer and chocolate were like them. An odd combination.

“Sure, why not.”

John came back, sat down ridiculously close to him as Smitty held back from scooting a bit away. No need to be shy around John, he’ll be his boyfriend soon. Or maybe is already. This inner chitchat was hurting his brain, so he stopped fretting and tried to appear relaxed.

He got a huge chunk of dark chocolate from the blond. “Thanks.” Smitty said.

The older man tentatively bit into the chocolate and then took a sip from the beer bottle. His face immediately scrunched up in a semi – disgusted grimace.

“Oh my god, this wasn’t probably a good idea. Don’t try what I just did.”

But he already biting into the chocolate, appreciating the taste on his tongue as he bathed his taste buds in beer. It was... an experience to say the least. “Oh my god.” He gasped, putting down the beer bottle. John followed suit shortly after, but his gaze lingered on the bottles, pondering.

Smitty felt the mood shift considerably. “Sweet and bitter.” He murmured, locking gaze with the Canadian. “I haven’t dated since I started my job. It’s not the lack of time, but I had no interest to invest time into a person. There was simply no one of substance... until you. This will sound so fucking cheesy, but you’re the chocolate to my beer.”

He couldn’t stop it, he laughed out loud, eventually tears came out at some point. Smitty smacked his knees, wiping the tears away. John waited until he stopped laughing, a bit red in the face. “Oh, I don’t know if you’ll laugh after this...” His voice trailed off as he slanted, placing both his hands on his waist.

Smitty was mesmerized, he was waiting for this...

His own hands snaked on John’s back, wrapping around him. Their lips touched, the bitterness was drowned out in the sweetness.

It was nothing like they ever experienced. Smitty withdrew as first, his cheeks were positively burning up from blushing so madly. “That was...hot.”

John’s fingers ruffled his hair, which brought new sensations to him as his stomach did flips. “I knew if I kept on searching, I’d find you. My sweet half.”

Smitty cackled. “This is too gay even for me, just say you love me and kiss me some more.”

John’s smirk could rival that of Cheshire Cat. The blond held his hands, looking him in the eyes. “I love you, Smitty.”

“Damb, I love you, too John.”

Both men laughed, as John was pushed down and Smitty kissed him.

Suffice to say, the pizza delivery guy had his fill for today after he saw John and Smitty looking as if they battled a long, merciless war against each other. Which they did and they called it a tie.

[nightly-noivern]

daily/occasionally/weekly/etc blog tips!

Not all of these tips are necessary/required, and I certainly don’t mean to sound pompous by it (I don’t know all). These are only things that I personally recommend. Feel free to add on!

I: SETTING UP YOUR BLOG:

Sideblog

DON’T make your blog a sideblog. Please. Just make it a main, so you can send asks and follow people with it. 

Theme Every blog needs a nice theme! You should make it easy on the eyes, good with images, and readable. Weird fonts and clashing colors are a no-no. Also, don’t make it infinitely scrolling, as this is hard on weaker devices. I prefer to use Rue, but if you go to any ol’ blog and decide you like the theme, you can always access it some way, or even dm the mod! 

Direction What do you want to do with this blog? What’s the point of this blog? Etc. A perfect thing to use a daily/occasionally/weekly/etc blog for is art improvement, and ask blogs are good for conducting story. Make sure to name your blog appropriately, too! You might first get a flood of followers if you call your ask blog a daily blog, however the daily crowd does not really read plots and catch up on posts, thus leaving you sorely lacking in the ask department. A simple guide-- ask blogs are primarily story based, whereas daily/occasionally/weekly/etc tend to be more drawing based. A character/interaction blog would go either way, and text based blogs usually slot firmly into the “ask” category. This guide is mostly for daily blogs, but can be used for these blogs too!

Purpose Make this blog for you. If you are making this blog to get popularity, fanart, etc… it won’t work out and you’ll burn out quickly. On that note, make sure it’s an idea that won’t be burned out-- as fun as they are, I often see memey based blogs expire quickly as the meme becomes unfunny/boring/not fun to draw and the mod feels it’s a waste of time. Before you start, try drawing concept art to find what you like. My blog was almost a Kommo-o blog before I did this! Things can really change. Make sure this blog is a thing that you can and want to stick to for a while, not just a passing fancy. 

Characters Try to make the designs/style of your characters/drawings fit the mood of what you are doing. Don’t make them too complicated if you want them drawn in other’s asks, either-- heck, make sure that you yourself are alright drawing a complicated design. Alternately, overly simplistic designs can be fated to doom as well. If your pokemon of choice has no arms/feet and-or is generally rather simple, consider how many times you can draw this pokemon before you lose your mind.

II: GAINING FOLLOWERS

OOC

Don’t clog your blog up with OOC, and when you do, use proper tags-- typically #munday and #ooc. This leads us right into… 

Tags Tagging! Tag the heck out of your art. Tag the pokemon starring in the post, and then tag it as some combination of the following: #pkmnart, #pokemon art, #pkmn art, #pkmn, #pokemon Remember, only the first 5 tags show up when it comes to tag following and searching. Past that, you don’t need to tag it anything unless you want inter-blog organization-- for example, I tag all my dailies #nocturnal so they can easily be found again. Make sure to tag plot on an ask blogs this way! 

Promos Tag your first post as something like #promo, #promo me, or #boost, as well as the other things mentioned-- with any luck, people will boost your blog! 

Discord Many daily blogs have established a discord server! Find a handful that are your speed and that you like, and advertise yourself there. 

Follow people! Even by simply following people of the pokemon daily/ask or even just the general pokemon community, you show up on their radar. They often follow back. A good place to start is the pokeblog reclamation project, which follows most pokeblogs (both active and not). If you hit me up, I will also open my followers, which is 99% pokeblogs.  

Pandering OBVIOUSLY this one is not required… but.  If you’re desperate for asks/attention, you can start pandering. The most obvious target would be the furries, but you can easily appeal to meme culture as well. Consider how much you want to do this-- I’ve seen many a blog bend over backwards to get attention via pandering, only to shut down because it felt like a chore to do that pandering rather than doing what the mod truly wants to do. 

Interaction The most important part of gaining followers is sending out asks to people. Send out spontaneous asks to random ask blogs you see, and put out “reblog/reply if you want an ask” posts! BUT! Try to make your asks actually somewhat interesting in some way. Sending a simple “hello” or something like that isn’t very interesting-- make it good!

III: SIDE LINKS

References

References are very important for sending out asks if you want people to draw your characters. Be sure to update them frequently.

It’s also useful to put a small summation of the character with the image, thus giving askers something interesting to work with. 

Plot If you’re a plot blog, keep a condensed version of your plot on the side so new askers don’t have to go through your whole blog to get the story. This is needed especially if it’s lengthy. This isn’t required, but ask blogs without a lot of followers will find it very useful as most people want to help but aren’t willing to read through the entire blog due to time constraints. 

Rules/Tags Lay down some rules-- common ones are “no nsfw” and “don’t harass the mod” though some are more complex, ie if a certain character keeps getting an ask that’s virtually the same, you can mention that you won’t answer those sorts of asks. Write a list of your blog-organized tags, too, if you have any. 

Mod Info   Write any other blogs and commission info in this part! This is mostly helpful to you, as this brings attention to your other content.

IV: RUNNING THE BLOG

Post frequently

If you post frequently, people will keep interest. The more frequent the better.

This is not me saying “become daily” but more me saying that the more people see you, the more they think about you-- so take that into account. Use timezone reblogs to your advantage, and reblog a post a couple times. Also, don’t clutter posts then go silent-- instead of posting 4 things at once, then going dead for a month, post those things once a week using the schedule. 

Be consistent Try to keep your art and story consistent! Don’t go way off model with the characters and have people struggling to recognize them. With stories, this is especially important. Ask blogs cannot just be done “on the wing” for the most part-- have some general skeleton of a plot so that you don’t need to reboot it a gajillion times. 

Be friendly Abrasive mods very rarely draw in asks-- be kind to others, and keep your nose out of drama.

[nerdsonearthblog]

If you’re paying any attention at all to my posts or my Twitter feed or my phone background, you know that I think Laura Kinney and Honey Badger are the best things going in the comics world right now.  In my mind, there isn’t even a contest.

Laura’s stint as Wolverine (in All New Wolverine) was excellent, but you knew it had an expiration date on it beginning with issue #1 because there was no way Logan was going to stay dead.  Le sigh…

But All New Wolverine did bring us Gabby aka Honey Badger and she is an absolute delight and I’ll fight anyone who thinks otherwise.  Where Laura goes and whatever moniker she might be operating under, so too goes Gabby.  This has been true since Gabby’s introduction within the pages of All New Wolverine, and it continues to be the case in both X-Men Red and now the new X-23 series.

This X-23 comic just wrapped on its first arc, “Two Birthdays and Three Funerals,” and there’s much to talk about.  I mean, besides the fact that is stars both Laura and Gabby.  For me, that is enough!  But the writer and art team deliver that delightful package with excellence.

Clones vs Clones

Clones are no novelty in the Marvel Comics world; not even remotely.  The Stepford Cuckoos are clones of Emma Frost and have very similar power sets (telepathy and a diamond form).  Since their introduction back in 2001, this blonde bombshell hive mind has seen quite the fluctuation in numbers.  They were once the Five-in-One, then the Four-in-One, then the Thousand in One – before settling into being the Three-in-One after the deaths of Sophie and Esme, respectfully.

Only “settling” isn’t the right word, as this first arc of X-23 has the Three-in-One (Mindee, Celeste, and Phoebe) trying to find suitable hosts for the consciousnesses of their departed sisters.  As it turns out, the host bodies are quickly depleted by the psychic connection amongst the sisters…but a scientist the sisters mind-jack assures them that X-23 or one of her clones would be a workable host given their extreme healing factors.

That brings the two sets of clones into conflict, of course, when the Cuckoos abduct Gabby and attempt to transfer Esme’s mind into her body.

But all of this clone craziness isn’t just plot and pictures in X-23.  The writer, Mariko Tamaki, devotes a lot of letters to exploring the very idea of clones.  On the “Did Adam have a bellybutton?” kinda front, she asks “Do clones have birthdays?”  But more significantly, she plays with the word “sister.”  Both Laura and Gabby and the Cuckoos use the term.  In some ways, the relationship that that term refers to is showcased similarly between the two sets of clones; for instance in the ways each makes sacrifices for those they call sister.  But they also diverge meaningfully as well…I can’t say too much more without spoiling elements of the plot, but suffice to say that family – another concept interesting to ponder with regards to clones – is portrayed very differently between the two sets of clones featured.

I’m still unsure how Sophie ends up in Laura’s mind…I mean, I can make an educated guess, but I combed the issues over two or three times trying to find a straight answer and didn’t find one.  And the final battle was a bit less climactic than I’d hoped.  But overall, the story was intriguing.

The Art Is Killer

Juan Cabal (who is joined by Marcio Fiortio in issue 5) and Nolan Woodard deliver some delicious eye candy through the first five issues of this series.

The emblems on each of the Cuckoos’ shawls COMBINE to form the iconic X. Just a small, cool detail!

Neat depiction of what a battle with the Cuckoos – or any telepath – must feel like. Chaos and confusion and overwhelming.

I don’t have a deep reason for liking this particular image besides that its pretty.

Laura done got duped by the Cuckoos. Neat use of space and parallels.

I love it most when I can enjoy both the writing and the art style of any given book.  That doesn’t happen all the time, unfortunately…but it also doesn’t happen with disturbing frequency thankfully!  The team helming X-23 are a good match and bring something noteworthy to the title in each of their areas.

Laura and Gabby Continue to Be the Best

This Cuckoo arc was an interesting opening salvo for what I hope will continue to prove to be a comic worthy of subscription.  They’re putting Laura and Gabby into a mentor/mentee relationship that I 100% dig and that is augmented by their shared DNA.  There is a lot of good story left for these two across both titles (this and X-Men Red), and I couldn’t be happier.

PS: If Honey Badger ever gets killed…I will break something so that I can have the satisfaction of knowing that something in the world will share the condition of my heart.  Team Honey Badger 4 lyfe ❤

Luara Kinney Still Kicks A#% as X-23: A Review If you're paying any attention at all to my posts or my Twitter feed or my…

[cinkyara16]

[Driving to France] Episode 9: Moscow meets St. Petersburg, just like the capital meets the capital

Below I will share with you in chronological order, what kind of beauty and magic we have experienced during the 152-day journey, and how we drove from China to France every day. Mileage in this episode: Moscow-Saint Petersburg-Vyborg

Moscow-Saint Petersburg

Our destination city today, Saint Petersburg, is located in northwestern Russia, on the coast of the Baltic Sea, on the Neva River, the central municipality of Russia, the capital of Leningrad Oblast, the central city of Northwestern Russia, and an important water and land transportation hub in Russia. The second largest city, the northernmost city in the world with a population of more than one million, is also known as the northern capital of Russia.

There are 700 kilometers from Moscow to St. Petersburg, of which there is a long section of the express highway, which is one of the few express highways in Russia. The road conditions are good and the street lights are also strong, and the gas station is too big. I couldn't see one in a few hundred kilometers. I recorded two sections of charges: one section costs 450 rubles for 40 kilometers, and another section costs 660 rubles for 345 kilometers.

The service area of the express highway between Moscow and Saint Petersburg is much simpler than our domestic service area. The most important thing is that there is no gas station, which is equivalent to a parking area in the country. Configuration.

There was no gas station even after passing several parking areas. I started to be a little alert. At that time, only half a tank of gas was left. I started to consciously turn off the speaker, lightly step on the accelerator, and glide as much as possible to save fuel. The atmosphere in the car started to change and became a little nervous, and my parents also began to show some anxiety. Everyone was worried about what to do if there was no gas!

In fact, I was also worried. I was even more worried than my parents. It was getting dark at the time. This highway even had an emergency parking zone. When the oil burned out, I was forced to drop anchor at the speed. On the side of the highway, it's dark again, it's really dangerous...but I can't show it, because it will aggravate my parents' anxiety. I can only step on the accelerator quietly and slide as much as possible.

In this way, we glide for 100 kilometers. When the indicator of the fuel gauge has reached the end, another parking area appeared on the side of the road. There was still no gas station, but there were two elderly people smoking and chatting over there. Yu  open  in the past I plan to ask them. It’s maddening. There is no signal in this place. I don’t need a translation app. I don’t speak Russian. I can only rely on gestures.... I pointed to my car’s fuel tank cap and flushed 2 The old man danced and danced, and finally made them understand that I was looking for a gas station. The old man tapped the number 15 on my mobile phone calculator, and pointed his finger in the direction of St. Petersburg. I understand what they mean. There is a gas station 15 kilometers ahead, but they are not sure if I see them. , Due to communication difficulties, I cannot further confirm this information with them.

There is a dilemma in front of me-there may be a gas station if you keep going 15 kilometers, but if you don’t have it, it’s bad. The remaining fuel cap is only enough to support a few kilometers, and it may break down at any time; if Do not move forward, waiting for the passing vehicles to give me some fuel, although there is a safe parking area, but when it gets dark, the variables will be more variable. Thinking about it again, I decided to move on!

This is really suffocating 15 kilometers. When we saw the off-ramp of the express highway, our whole family sighed loosely-until we came out of the fully enclosed express highway, I would ask for gas. Stations and calling for rescue are easy to handle, and mobile phones also have signals. Thank goodness, there is a big gas station on the side of the road just off the ramp. This is nothing short of charcoal! Filled up with oil, we drove to St. Petersburg calmly, recalling the experience in the afternoon, and feeling lingering. I would like to remind all riders: When walking the road from Moscow to St. Petersburg, you must fill up the fuel before going up. When I was going up, I was negligent because I felt that there was still more than half a tank of fuel. , almost made a big mistake. Since this incident, my parents have always reminded me to refuel, even if there is half a tank of oil left, they will feel it, and sometimes I can’t laugh or cry.

It was late when we arrived in the city of St. Petersburg. We quickly found a hotel to stay through Booking and opened 2 standard rooms for 4000 rubles. Because there is no human room and the shop owner refused to let us 3 people share. A standard room, which is common in Europe.

Saint Petersburg-Viborg

Our Russian tourist visa expires at 24:00 on August 23, so we plan to spend most of the day in the retro-style St. Petersburg city today, and then rush to the border between Russia and Finland. City of Vyborg, leaving Russia on the 23rd from Vyborg.

Why is St. Petersburg retro? In fact, relative to Moscow, in addition to the Red Square, the Kremlin, there are also many European contemporary art in Moscow; St. Petersburg is traditional, the Winter Palace, the Summer Palace, the Church on Spilled Blood, etc., the whole city They are full of Russian retro romance. St. Petersburg is most proud of it. Unlike Moscow, it is a "window to Europe". The city embodies the collision and integration of Russian and European cultures, which is similar to the Champs Elysees in France. The wonderful Nevsky Prospekt is a romantic travel destination for couples, and the retro-style European-style buildings winding along both sides of the Neva River seem to take people to Venice and experience the beauty of the city of water.

Therefore, the two cities, Moscow and St. Petersburg, are more modern and more retro. The former has a sea-like feel, while the latter has the thick feeling of the old Beijing city!

The architectural style of St. Petersburg is like this, but rather retro.

St. Petersburg was founded in 1703, and the name of the city comes from Saint Peter, a disciple of Jesus. In 1712, Peter the Great moved his capital to Peterborough, and it was the center of Russian culture, politics, and economy for the 200 years until 1918. In 1924, it was renamed Leningrad to commemorate Lenin. In 1991, the original name was restored to St. Petersburg.

There is a Chinese restaurant called Tan Zhen on this street. I found it with TripAdvisor. The face looks like this. I came in and found Chinese tourists. It is estimated that most of the tourist groups came to eat the group meal. I wanted to explain that I was looking for the right place.

When I stand on the bridge and feel the breeze blowing across my face, it really feels like the past is like smoke.

The Neva River has a total length of 74 kilometers, of which 28 kilometers are located within the range of St. Petersburg, and the rest are within the territory of Leningrad Oblast. She flows southwest from Lake Lahga to its southernmost point-where it meets the Tosna River, and then turns northwest to the Gulf of Finland. It is an important navigation channel of the White Sea-Baltic Sea and the Volga-Baltic Sea. If calculated by the river flow alone, the Neva River is the largest river in Europe (after the Volga and the Nau)

Next, we are going to see the Spilled Blood Cathedral in St. Petersburg. After arriving at the cathedral, we first found a large wall outside the cathedral, and the surface can still feel the residual temperature left by the Russian World Cup not long after:

The official Russian name of the Cathedral of the Spilled Blood is the Church of the Resurrection of Christ. It is called the Cathedral of the Spilled Blood because of the attempted assassination of Tsar Alexander II in 1881. The Cathedral of Spilled Blood itself is an architectural boutique, typical Russian Orthodox style, with 7000 square meters of mosaic decoration inside. The designers include Rovanetsov, Matthew Nesterov, Andrei Liabushkin And so on, it took 24 years to build the entire building.

When we were about to leave the church, an interesting incident happened: there were some street performers dressed up in bronze statues in the church square. Among them was a girl with a cute look. So I used the camera to shoot her, but just when I was preparing When I left, the girl chased me and opened her mouth for 200 rubles, and I realized that I had encountered a paid shooter. But looking at the booths of other artists, they all set up obvious signs telling visitors to pay for the filming, but this girl did not set up a sign, so I refused to pay. She also said that I would give 100 rubles. I told her through the translation app: This is not a money issue. I was not prompted to pay when I took the photo. Now I feel that I have been cheated.

She tried to insist on asking for money, but I insisted on not giving it, and did not leave. I was just arguing with her, and finally she gave up. In fact, looking at her pitiful appearance, I also want to give money, but as I said to her, this is not a question of money, only the relevant rules, and the money of Chinese tourists is not so easy to cheat. .

Next, we will go to the Winter Palace, the most famous Winter Palace in St. Petersburg.

The Hermitage Museum, the main part of which is known as the "Hermitage", is a well-deserved cultural and artistic treasure of Russia, comparable to Britain and the Louvre. In addition to the works of great Russian masters of art, the Winter Palace also houses paintings by Rembrandt, Leonardo da Vinci, and Caravaggio that also take the elegant route. In the Golden House of the Treasure Museum, travelers can also See gold and silver jewelry made by ancient Greek and Eastern craftsmen. The most precious exhibit in the museum is the "Peacock Clock", which was a gift received by King Catherine II in the 18th century. The most amazing thing about the peacock clock is that every hour on the hour, the peacock will automatically "turn on". Screen" tells the time.

Some people say that my dad doesn’t look like a 70-year-old, maybe because he has a better mentality in his life, plus the trendy look I created for him this time.

The summer residence faces the Gulf of Finland and consists of beautiful fountains, parks, and palaces. The victory of the Great Northern War that year greatly satisfied the ambitions of Emperor Peter, and in order to demonstrate Russia’s status as a veritable “great power”, Emperor Peter needed to build a palace to match it—this is it. The Summer Palace, later experienced by the czars, carved and polished it step by step, making it more beautiful and charming. In World War II, it was destroyed by the German army and was later restored, and it was listed as the "World Heritage List" by UNESCO.

Okay, this update will write this first. On the night after visiting St. Petersburg, we drove 100 kilometers to the city of Vyborg on the border between Russia and Finland. In the next episode, we will leave Russia and enter Finland. Officially enter the European Schengen area! Just think about it, I’m excited, but at the same time, I’ve also felt uneasy and worried. I’ve never entered the Schengen area before. This is my first time and I’m driving by myself. I don’t know if all the procedures I prepared in advance are complete or not. Finnish customs and border inspection will let us know what kind of customs clearance process.

[orbemnews]

Travel Quarantines: Enduring the Mundane, One Day at a Time May Samali knew she’d reached her limit when she saw a tentacle emerging from her hotel dinner in Sydney, Australia. “I called downstairs and said, ‘I’m a vegan now, thank you!’” she said. “It was just so much fish. I’d gotten to the point where even thinking about it made me gag.” Ms. Samali swore off the seemingly unlimited seafood while in the middle of a required quarantine in the Hotel Sofitel in Sydney this December and early January. An executive coach, she was repatriating back to Australia after her U.S. work visa expired. In addition to an excess of fish, Ms. Samali was confined to her room all day, forbidden from stepping outside, for two weeks. Air travelers around the world are finding themselves in similar situations, enduring mandatory government quarantines in hotels as they travel to countries that are very serious about containing the coronavirus. Their quarantine is not the cushy experience of shorter-term quarantines or “resort bubbles” found in some destinations like Kauai and the British Virgin Islands, where you are able to roam relatively freely on a resort’s expansive grounds while waiting for a negative coronavirus test. This is the more extreme, yet typical experience of quarantine life. These mandatory quarantines involve confinement to your room, 24 hours a day, for up to two weeks (assuming you test negative, that is). And with some exceptions, you are footing the bill — quarantine in New South Wales, Australia, for example, costs about $2,300, or 3,000 Australian dollars for a two-week quarantine for one adult, and up to 5,000 Australian dollars for a family of four to quarantine for two weeks (in January, Britain announced a mandatory 10-day quarantine from high-risk areas with a similar cost of about $2,500 for one adult). Travelers now journeying to countries with mandatory hotel quarantines, which also include New Zealand, mainland China and Tunisia, generally must have compelling reasons to do so — visiting ailing family members, “essential” business travel or permanent relocation. Most accept the inconvenience and inevitable claustrophobia of the quarantine as the price of traveling. But while there can be comfort in establishing some kind of routine resembling normal life, travelers find themselves craving human connection, fresh air and, well, different food (the staff at the Sofitel happily accommodated Ms. Samali’s request; she is still off fish). Travel quarantine might seem manageable, even familiar, for those who have been living in places with shelter-in-place orders and working from home. Pete Lee, a San Francisco-based filmmaker, wasn’t concerned about the quarantine when he flew to Taiwan for work and to visit family. “I was a little bit cocky when I first heard about the requirement,” said Mr. Lee, during his eighth day at the Roaders Hotel in Taipei, Taiwan. “I was inside my San Francisco apartment for 22 out of 24 hours a day! But it’s a surprisingly intense experience. Those two hours make a big difference.” Destination: unknown Much of quarantine life is determined by your hotel. And depending on where you are traveling, you may get to choose your quarantine hotel, or you may be assigned upon arrival. Mr. Lee, in Taiwan, was able to choose and book his quarantine hotel from a list compiled by the Taiwanese government, complete with information about location, cost, room size and the presence (or lack thereof) of windows. He also footed the bill. Similarly, Ouiem Chettaoui, a public policy specialist who splits her time between Washington, D.C., and Tunisia, was able to choose a hotel for her weeklong quarantine when returning to Tunis with her husband in September; she based her selection, the Medina Belisaire & Thalasso on price and proximity to the Mediterranean Sea (“We couldn’t see it, but we could hear it … at least, we told ourselves we could!” she said). Brett Barna, an investment manager who relocated to Shanghai with his fiancée in November, could select a district in the city, but not the hotel itself. In an attempt to improve their odds, Mr. Barna chose the upscale Huangpu district where, he hoped, the hotels would be higher quality. “There were four possible hotels in the district, three of which were nice enough. And then there was the budget option, the Home Inn,” he said. Mr. Barna and his fiancée, to their dismay, ended up paying for quarantine in that option, which had peeling wallpaper and bleach stains on the floor thanks to aggressive cleaning protocols. In Australia and New Zealand, there’s no choice in the matter — upon landing, your entire flight is bused to a quarantine hotel with capacity. In most instances, travelers do not know where they are going until the bus pulls up at the hotel itself. Joy Jones, a coach and educator who is based in San Francisco, traveled to New Zealand with her husband, a New Zealand citizen, and two young daughters in January. She learned before their departure that they would have no say where in the country they would be quarantined. “That was probably the hardest part,” she said. “I could put together a bag of activities for my older daughter, and plan on doing laundry in the sink. But not having an answer to where we’d be — after more than 21 hours of flying, with masks — would we have to get another flight? A three-hour bus ride?” They didn’t. Ms. Jones and her family were taken to Stamford Plaza in Auckland, just 25 minutes from the airport. Pim Techamuanvivit and her New Zealander husband, however, were not so lucky. After arriving in Auckland from San Francisco, they were promptly directed to board another flight to Christchurch, and to the Novotel Christchurch Airport hotel. “At that point, we just really, really wanted to get to the hotel!” said Ms. Techamuanvivit, the chef-owner of Nari and Kin Khao restaurants in San Francisco and the executive chef of Nahm in Bangkok. Relief at arriving — finally — might be the initial reaction, but it doesn’t take long for reality to set in. The hotel room is all that you’ll see for a not insignificant period of time. As Adrian Wallace, a technology project manager who was quarantined at the Sydney Hilton in August after visiting his ailing father in Britain, put it: “That moment when the door slams … it’s reminiscent of the opening scene of ‘The Shawshank Redemption’!” Mr. Wallace said, referring to the 1994 prison movie with Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman. Passing the time The challenge is managing the tedium. Working remotely helped pass the time for a number of the travelers, including Tait Sye, a senior director at the Planned Parenthood Federation of America, who traveled to Taipei, Taiwan, from Washington, D.C. in November. Mr. Sye attempted to maintain East Coast hours for the majority of his quarantine at the Hanns House Hotel, working from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. Mr. Wallace ran a half marathon around his Sydney hotel room (he was unable to adjust the in-room air-conditioner and got very sweaty). Mr. Barna and his fiancée in Shanghai had date nights on Zoom, since official policy required them to quarantine in separate rooms. A major highlight of their days came when a hotel employee, clad in full, hazmat-style P.P.E., knocked on the door and pointed an infrared thermometer at their heads. They were not allowed outside. In New Zealand, travelers who test negative for the virus are allowed on the hotel grounds for supervised constitutionals after checking in with guards at multiple checkpoints (masks and distancing are still required, and the rules can quickly change if there is any threat of an outbreak in the country). The ability to get fresh air and walk was crucial for Ms. Jones, and a key part of the routine she created for her family. Other aspects included morning yoga, remote school, nap times, playtime and art projects (her husband worked remotely from the bathroom). “We decorated a paper horse that we hung in our window — every day, a different part of it — that was a favorite activity. We’d have dance parties. And we’d watch a movie every night. We did what we could to bring some fun into it,” Ms. Jones said. Three meals a day Meals become very important in quarantine life, to mark the passing of the time and as regular occurrences to break up the monotony of the day. Food quality, though, varies widely, as Mr. Sye learned in Taipei, where meals were ordered from nearby restaurants. He recounted the highs of a Michelin-starred meal from Kam’s Roast Goose and the thoughtfulness of a Thanksgiving dinner decorated with a paper turkey to the low of an absolutely terrible pizza (at least it was accompanied by a beer). For Ms. Techamuanvivit who documented her quarantine in Christchurch on Twitter, ordering food and grocery delivery was a life-saver. “I’m a chef. I suppose I am, shall we say, a snob!” she said. “As a restaurateur, I don’t have much love for UberEats. But ordering Indian takeaway proved to be important.” (Others who had delivery options available similarly cited them as game-changing). Ms. Techamuanvivit spiced up hotel meals with leftover Indian pickles and found that Greek tzatziki sauce ordered from the grocery store worked well as a salad dressing. She and her husband also treated themselves to nice bottles of wine from the hotel restaurant’s wine list (In Australia and New Zealand, quarantined guests were limited to a delivery of six beers or one bottle of wine per person per day, perhaps to ward off belligerence. In Shanghai, alcohol was not allowed). Seeking connection on social media There are Facebook groups dedicated to hotel quarantine, by region and even by specific hotel, where members share tips for boiling eggs using in-room kettles and “cooking” with an iron. They were also a source of community; Mr. Wallace, who learned of the Sydney Hilton’s Facebook group while on the bus from the airport, participated in a daily Zoom call with members of the group (the meals of the day were a constant topic of conversation). Mr. Lee moderated filmmaking conversations on Clubhouse, an invitation-only social media app, and spent time on Tinder while in quarantine; he connected with a woman who was nearing the end of her confinement in another hotel across town. Ms. Jones documented her family’s quarantine experience on her private Instagram account, showing forts made of blankets, paper airplane competitions and “bowling” with water bottles and a crumpled ball made of paper. She was touched that friends and family, both in New Zealand and in the United States, sent her family meals, treats and toys for her daughters in response to her posts. “It was a really cool way to feel love, and connection, from such an isolated space,” she said. Follow New York Times Travel on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook. And sign up for our weekly Travel Dispatch newsletter to receive expert tips on traveling smarter and inspiration for your next vacation. Source link Orbem News #Day #Enduring #Mundane #quarantines #Time #Travel

[qualitytacolover]

Hair dye for men: everything you need to know

New Post has been published on https://www.easypromhairstyles.com/hair-dye-for-men-everything-you-need-to-know.html

Hair dye for men: everything you need to know

Hair, unlike a suit, watch, or pair of trainers, is the one-style statement that you can't just slip off. That said, it's worth making sure you're sending the right signals, whether brown, salty, peppered, or blonde.

In an age of “bread box” and forehead sculptors for boys, the vanity of people who dye their hair is old news. So why if we love doing it so much, are we still wrong?

To help you get the best dye job possible, we consulted cognoscenti for advice on everything from hiding gray to a complete overhaul. Color informed itself.

Should I dye my hair?

skin tone

The right hair color can make a big difference in how you look, which makes finding the right shade for your skin tone so important. You usually want a hair color that is the opposite of the undertones of your skin. To find out which camp you fall into, check the bottom of your arm. Those with cool skin tones have blue or purple veins and go with warmer colors, while warm skin tones have greenish veins and cooler colors.

Hair type & color

Unfortunately, switching on the hair is not a flat coloring field. In general, the darker, thicker, or looser your hair, the harder it will be to bleach. This does not mean that a new “Do is off the table. However, it can take several treatments to get the desired effect that can damage your hair. If you are not the owner of fine, light natural hair, leave this to the experts.

Age

For most men, the telltale signs of aging are what make them reach for the dye donor. But even if you want to make the change earlier in life, the number of candles on your cake is still important. Far from us to set a limit on what boys should do, some looks are better left to the youth. After your late 30s, Sidestep neon pink in favor of something a little more classic.

Personal style

You can take any "what color should I dye my hair" quiz that the internet can bring up, but no matter what your zodiac sign / liquor / favorite Disney princess leads you to an answer, it won't be the right one if it doesn't fit your personal style. Consider factors such as your job (and the dress code it needs) and everything that's already in your closet before you even pick up a color sample.

maintenance

As with all parts of your care routine, the greatest barrier to effectiveness is complication. If it adds too long to your morning routine, you just won't. When it comes to grooming colored hair, this can be seriously bad news for your barnet. The chemicals used in bleach remove essential natural oils, which means your hair can become extremely dry and brittle without a little TLC. If you are not committed to maintenance, step away from the bottle.

Hair dye for men

Gray hair dye

Gray hair is a completely natural part of the aging process, and while a few more bits of salt in your pepper doesn't necessarily mean that you should spark your will, silver hair, like male pattern baldness, can zap your trust.

If you're not ready to hug the gray, make it go away. Using dye to hide grays is a fairly simple process, so while salon treatment is the safest bet, one can be made easily at home by following a few simple steps.

Assuming you have short hair and your top priority is to cover up patches of gray, then look for a colorant that is two shades lighter than the depth of your natural color and with an shade of ash, e.g. B. light ash brown. "This will counteract any warmth (the richness of color) that can develop while the color is being processed," said Scott Cornwall, painting expert and founder of the Scott Cornwall series.

Tempting what it's like to do this as quickly as possible, refrain from tipping the entire contents of the bottle onto your head in one leap. "If you have shorter hair, you may only need a third of the mixed bottle to cover it," says Cornwall. "Using too much colorant can cause it to overlay, making the hair look too dark and saturated."

Instead, press small amounts of the colorant onto the teeth of a small brush and apply to gray areas with gentle, circular movements. Not only does this method mix gray hair, it also maintains the overall cool tone and natural variation of shades, which means you won't appear like Tom Hanks.

Above all, follow the instructions on the packaging. If that fails, give your wallet a hit and get a professional to tackle your hair.

Bleached hair dye

If you're still sprightly enough to get away with bleaching your hair, pull a Lucky Blue (like in phenomenally successful platinum-haired male model Lucky Blue Smith) to turn your head others.

You just have to scroll through the hair trends of the past few seasons to see that platinum hair is certainly a "thing". But be careful, because a) it doesn't suit every skin tone (sorry, redhead), and b) it's anything but a Friday afternoon job.

"Pre-lightening or bleaching is not an easy process because you are actually pulling the hair off its pigment," said Joe Mills, founder of London barbers Joe & Co.

In fact, if your hair is particularly dark, the process may require two lightening treatments. "It's a real art, and getting the right blonde shade isn't as easy as they make it look on the pack."

For best results – and to avoid how a canary just died on your head – contact the experts. "There are so many things to consider, like your skin tone, your lifestyle, and your desired end tone – all of this is pretty difficult without holding on to a hairdresser's guide," says Mills.

Colored hair dye

Do you want to step your hair coloring game in a notch? Try a bolder color like pink, green, or blue. (Don't quote us if your boss gives you your marching orders to try the “Merman”.)

With current supporters like Jared Leto, Zayn Malik, and Jaden Smith, turning the color wheel is a sure-fire way to get some attention, but you don't need a degree in color theory to know that this is a risky move.

Light colors work best with pre-lightened hair, so another job is best left to professionals if you're not interested in channeling Krusty the Clown.

"The easiest and most effective way to do this is to use water-based toner that gets lighter the longer you leave it on," says Mills. "Because it is water-based and has no harmful chemicals, it will not damage the condition of your hair."

Finally, unless you have an impressive range of hats (or a side gig as a child entertainer), this is a look that's best done with semi-permanent dyes.

Hair Dye

While men with shorter curly hair who are still growing don't have to worry much about color maintenance (your gray will show up again in a few weeks), boys with long hair and regular swimmers can take steps to slow down the fading.

"Use a color-preserving conditioner after every wash," says Cornwall. "And if you've bleached platinum hair or a light 'fashionable' color like artificial silver, gray, or pastel, try a blue or purple shampoo." Without this, the hair can very quickly start to turn yellow or green get as keratin (the fibrous protein that forms the hair structure) starts to show.

If you see some yellowing, break out some anti-yellow toner and continue washing with a blue shampoo daily to restore that icy white hue.

Joe Mills also recommends some weekly TLC. “Use a deep conditioning mask once a week to replenish the moisture in your hair. Dyeing is a chemical process, so you have to keep the hair in top condition to make it look fresh, ”he says.

Hair dye Q&A

What color should I dye my hair?

You wouldn't eat the same for breakfast every day, so why should you settle for having the same hair color every day? Of course, pouring hot sauce on your cornflakes could be "different", but that doesn't mean it's better. This is a lengthy way of saying which color you choose should still be right for you, and that includes considering all of the above variables, including skin tone, age, and hair type.

How often should I dye my hair?

Whether you choose professional treatment or a bottle job at home, there's a fine line between maintaining your roots and exaggerating the dye. How often you can dye your hair depends on factors such as your hair type, the natural color and the shade you switch to. However, you are still chemicals on your "do", so most professionals recommend leaving at least two weeks between treatments to minimize damage.

What should I do before coloring my hair?

If you are reading this, it is likely that you are a hair coloring virgin, or the last time went terribly wrong. To avoid the latter from happening again, there are several things to wake up to before you open a bottle: especially styling products like hair gel, flat irons and hair dryers and chemical relaxers. All of these either contribute to the damage caused by bleaching chemicals or slow the rate at which the bleach acts on the hair.

How to get hair dye from skin and hands

Hair dyes have come a long way since the Elizabethan era when women used urine to give their curls a yellowish (gross) shade of yellow. In fact, today's bottle orders are so effective that the skin on your face, neck, and hands can have the same consequences as your strands. To avoid this, always wear gloves and try to put a thin layer of petroleum jelly or baby oil along your hairline before dyeing. To remove stains, apply a small amount of detergent, dish soap or olive oil to a damp washcloth and gently rub the skin until it is gone.

Can you dye wet hair?

When it comes to hair dye, whether you should apply it to wet or dry hair depends on a number of different factors, such as hair type, and there is a lot of conflicting information floating around. While some say that wet locks are better protected from damage, others believe that it could prevent the dye from working. If in doubt, stick to what is recommended in the instruction list – the advice is usually there for a reason.

Does the hair dye expire?

Before you think, "What's the worst thing that could happen?" And Sklther on a bottle that's been on the back of the closet for six months – stop. Unopened dye doesn't always have a set expiration date (if it does, it will be printed on the bottle), but if the consistency is off or the product looks separate, put it in the container and buy a new one.

How long does hair dye last?

It's worth sticking with semi-permanent or semi-permanent dyes unless you're 100 percent sure you know what you're doing. These usually take around 28 shampoos, but to prevent your scalp from drying out, it is advisable to skip a wash from time to time, so this can take between four and six weeks.

How to dye your hair with Kool-Aid?

Wait, people do that? No. Just no. What's next, Cheeto Dust Fake Tan?

[easynaturalhairstyle]

Hair dye for men: everything you need to know

Hair, unlike a suit, watch, or pair of trainers, is the one-style statement that you can't just slip off. That said, it's worth making sure you're sending the right signals, whether brown, salty, peppered, or blonde.

In an age of “bread box” and forehead sculptors for boys, the vanity of people who dye their hair is old news. So why if we love doing it so much, are we still wrong?

To help you get the best dye job possible, we consulted cognoscenti for advice on everything from hiding gray to a complete overhaul. Color informed itself.

Should I dye my hair?

skin tone

The right hair color can make a big difference in how you look, which makes finding the right shade for your skin tone so important. You usually want a hair color that is the opposite of the undertones of your skin. To find out which camp you fall into, check the bottom of your arm. Those with cool skin tones have blue or purple veins and go with warmer colors, while warm skin tones have greenish veins and cooler colors.

Hair type & color

Unfortunately, switching on the hair is not a flat coloring field. In general, the darker, thicker, or looser your hair, the harder it will be to bleach. This does not mean that a new “Do is off the table. However, it can take several treatments to get the desired effect that can damage your hair. If you are not the owner of fine, light natural hair, leave this to the experts.

Age

For most men, the telltale signs of aging are what make them reach for the dye donor. But even if you want to make the change earlier in life, the number of candles on your cake is still important. Far from us to set a limit on what boys should do, some looks are better left to the youth. After your late 30s, Sidestep neon pink in favor of something a little more classic.

Personal style

You can take any "what color should I dye my hair" quiz that the internet can bring up, but no matter what your zodiac sign / liquor / favorite Disney princess leads you to an answer, it won't be the right one if it doesn't fit your personal style. Consider factors such as your job (and the dress code it needs) and everything that's already in your closet before you even pick up a color sample.

maintenance

As with all parts of your care routine, the greatest barrier to effectiveness is complication. If it adds too long to your morning routine, you just won't. When it comes to grooming colored hair, this can be seriously bad news for your barnet. The chemicals used in bleach remove essential natural oils, which means your hair can become extremely dry and brittle without a little TLC. If you are not committed to maintenance, step away from the bottle.

Hair dye for men

Gray hair dye

Gray hair is a completely natural part of the aging process, and while a few more bits of salt in your pepper doesn't necessarily mean that you should spark your will, silver hair, like male pattern baldness, can zap your trust.

If you're not ready to hug the gray, make it go away. Using dye to hide grays is a fairly simple process, so while salon treatment is the safest bet, one can be made easily at home by following a few simple steps.

Assuming you have short hair and your top priority is to cover up patches of gray, then look for a colorant that is two shades lighter than the depth of your natural color and with an shade of ash, e.g. B. light ash brown. "This will counteract any warmth (the richness of color) that can develop while the color is being processed," said Scott Cornwall, painting expert and founder of the Scott Cornwall series.

Tempting what it's like to do this as quickly as possible, refrain from tipping the entire contents of the bottle onto your head in one leap. "If you have shorter hair, you may only need a third of the mixed bottle to cover it," says Cornwall. "Using too much colorant can cause it to overlay, making the hair look too dark and saturated."

Instead, press small amounts of the colorant onto the teeth of a small brush and apply to gray areas with gentle, circular movements. Not only does this method mix gray hair, it also maintains the overall cool tone and natural variation of shades, which means you won't appear like Tom Hanks.

Above all, follow the instructions on the packaging. If that fails, give your wallet a hit and get a professional to tackle your hair.

Bleached hair dye

If you're still sprightly enough to get away with bleaching your hair, pull a Lucky Blue (like in phenomenally successful platinum-haired male model Lucky Blue Smith) to turn your head others.

You just have to scroll through the hair trends of the past few seasons to see that platinum hair is certainly a "thing". But be careful, because a) it doesn't suit every skin tone (sorry, redhead), and b) it's anything but a Friday afternoon job.

"Pre-lightening or bleaching is not an easy process because you are actually pulling the hair off its pigment," said Joe Mills, founder of London barbers Joe & Co.

In fact, if your hair is particularly dark, the process may require two lightening treatments. "It's a real art, and getting the right blonde shade isn't as easy as they make it look on the pack."

For best results – and to avoid how a canary just died on your head – contact the experts. "There are so many things to consider, like your skin tone, your lifestyle, and your desired end tone – all of this is pretty difficult without holding on to a hairdresser's guide," says Mills.

Colored hair dye

Do you want to step your hair coloring game in a notch? Try a bolder color like pink, green, or blue. (Don't quote us if your boss gives you your marching orders to try the “Merman”.)

With current supporters like Jared Leto, Zayn Malik, and Jaden Smith, turning the color wheel is a sure-fire way to get some attention, but you don't need a degree in color theory to know that this is a risky move.

Light colors work best with pre-lightened hair, so another job is best left to professionals if you're not interested in channeling Krusty the Clown.

"The easiest and most effective way to do this is to use water-based toner that gets lighter the longer you leave it on," says Mills. "Because it is water-based and has no harmful chemicals, it will not damage the condition of your hair."

Finally, unless you have an impressive range of hats (or a side gig as a child entertainer), this is a look that's best done with semi-permanent dyes.

Hair Dye

While men with shorter curly hair who are still growing don't have to worry much about color maintenance (your gray will show up again in a few weeks), boys with long hair and regular swimmers can take steps to slow down the fading.

"Use a color-preserving conditioner after every wash," says Cornwall. "And if you've bleached platinum hair or a light 'fashionable' color like artificial silver, gray, or pastel, try a blue or purple shampoo." Without this, the hair can very quickly start to turn yellow or green get as keratin (the fibrous protein that forms the hair structure) starts to show.

If you see some yellowing, break out some anti-yellow toner and continue washing with a blue shampoo daily to restore that icy white hue.

Joe Mills also recommends some weekly TLC. “Use a deep conditioning mask once a week to replenish the moisture in your hair. Dyeing is a chemical process, so you have to keep the hair in top condition to make it look fresh, ”he says.

Hair dye Q&A

What color should I dye my hair?

You wouldn't eat the same for breakfast every day, so why should you settle for having the same hair color every day? Of course, pouring hot sauce on your cornflakes could be "different", but that doesn't mean it's better. This is a lengthy way of saying which color you choose should still be right for you, and that includes considering all of the above variables, including skin tone, age, and hair type.

How often should I dye my hair?

Whether you choose professional treatment or a bottle job at home, there's a fine line between maintaining your roots and exaggerating the dye. How often you can dye your hair depends on factors such as your hair type, the natural color and the shade you switch to. However, you are still chemicals on your "do", so most professionals recommend leaving at least two weeks between treatments to minimize damage.

What should I do before coloring my hair?

If you are reading this, it is likely that you are a hair coloring virgin, or the last time went terribly wrong. To avoid the latter from happening again, there are several things to wake up to before you open a bottle: especially styling products like hair gel, flat irons and hair dryers and chemical relaxers. All of these either contribute to the damage caused by bleaching chemicals or slow the rate at which the bleach acts on the hair.

How to get hair dye from skin and hands

Hair dyes have come a long way since the Elizabethan era when women used urine to give their curls a yellowish (gross) shade of yellow. In fact, today's bottle orders are so effective that the skin on your face, neck, and hands can have the same consequences as your strands. To avoid this, always wear gloves and try to put a thin layer of petroleum jelly or baby oil along your hairline before dyeing. To remove stains, apply a small amount of detergent, dish soap or olive oil to a damp washcloth and gently rub the skin until it is gone.

Can you dye wet hair?

When it comes to hair dye, whether you should apply it to wet or dry hair depends on a number of different factors, such as hair type, and there is a lot of conflicting information floating around. While some say that wet locks are better protected from damage, others believe that it could prevent the dye from working. If in doubt, stick to what is recommended in the instruction list – the advice is usually there for a reason.

Does the hair dye expire?

Before you think, "What's the worst thing that could happen?" And Sklther on a bottle that's been on the back of the closet for six months – stop. Unopened dye doesn't always have a set expiration date (if it does, it will be printed on the bottle), but if the consistency is off or the product looks separate, put it in the container and buy a new one.

How long does hair dye last?

It's worth sticking with semi-permanent or semi-permanent dyes unless you're 100 percent sure you know what you're doing. These usually take around 28 shampoos, but to prevent your scalp from drying out, it is advisable to skip a wash from time to time, so this can take between four and six weeks.

How to dye your hair with Kool-Aid?

Wait, people do that? No. Just no. What's next, Cheeto Dust Fake Tan?

Hair dye for men: everything you need to know