#taking a shot of pure commercialism

[wildhannimal]

you know, it's not "quiet luxury" if you're all shouting about it to sell cheap products...

[thecapricunt1616]

Sunflower 🌻

Syd x Carmy one-shot

♡ Summary: A/U where after graduating from the CIA at the top of her class, Syd goes on a food tour in NYC & ends up hooking up with the most talented CDC, at the best restaurant in the world.

♡ W/C: 3,434

♡ Posted Date: 04/12/2024

♡ A/N: This is pure filth I tried adding some plot- I hope it turned out the way I saw it in my head. As always requests are open - for SydCarmy, CarmyxReader as usual! I hope you enjoy :)

♡ Warnings for BTC: Smutsmutsmut nsfw 18+ - Oral (m receiving) , Barely edited bc we die like men.

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Sydney Adamu had just graduated top of her class at the Culinary Institute of America. She’d been hunkering down with her dad, for a long four years, she was desperate to get out of there. She already had a plan all set up. 

She’d take the last bit of money her grandfather had given her for college, and make a catering business of her very own. It would be dedicated to her parents, (of course) Syd’s hopeless romanticism was thanks to their perfect, beautiful love story of course. She’d known since sophomore year of culinary school - Sheridan Road would be her baby. 

She’d settled on this idea - with any possible odd’s and ends money she’d made during her CIA training - she’d go out for as long as it would last her. She’d learn, study, and observe, then- create her catering business, with the confidence she’d gotten a taste of the very goal she had, a star. Well - three would be absolutely fucking insanity to her- but one? One she felt like if she had it? Her father would believe she was in a real line of work, instead of just happy she was perusing her own happiness. 

It was the perfect plan in her mind. She’d already set aside the amount of money, with extra safety net, for all of the licensures, and documentation she’d need- as well as her commercial kitchen rental she’d make the food out of. Then - with the extra 5k she had left over, she booked a full food tour of the most prestigious, luxurious restaurants in NYC. 

She’d planned the tour 6 months before she graduated, since the 3 restaurants wouldn’t even accept a reservation if it wasn’t made out any later then that, and when she walked the stage, 3 days later she was on the train into the city. 

She’d be staying at a decent hotel for 12 days. Each day, she’d be having one large meal including an app, two main courses, 2 cocktails, and 1 dessert from a Michelin starred restaurant. She would be staying 4 days for 1 star, 4 for 2 stars, and 4 for 3 stars. 

The schedule was as followed; 

Monday - Hirohisa *

Tuesday - Dirt Candy *

Wednesday - The Musket Room *

Thursday - The Red Paper Clip *

Friday - Atera **

Saturday - Jungsik **

Monday - Saga **

Tuesday - Daniel **

Wednesday - Per Se ***

Thursday - Le Bernadin ***

Friday - Masa ***

Saturday - 11 Madison Park ***

When she’d got off at Penn station- she was nearly vibrating with excitement - she quickly brushed passed people grabbing their obnoxious suitcases in the overhead compartments. 

“Sorry! ‘Scuse me! Fuck- shit sorry- exscuse me!!!- whoops! Sorry- scuse me- aah! Ugh- I Didn’t mean to- oop- oh- Jesus!! Excuse me!!” She rambled, frustration building in her chest. Getting off The L wasn’t this hard- why did Amtrak feel worse?!

She took a deep breath, her nose scrunching. 

Mm. So instead of cow shit - smog, I feel at home already. 

She’d thought to herself as she briskly walks with the crowd towards the exit she meant to take onto fifth. 

She slipped her wired headphones into her ears, texting her father 

‘made it!! Love you daddy!!’

Before opening her Spotify, hitting one of her comfort albums, Broken Clocks, as she walked briskly outside - the crisp city air hitting her like a ton of bricks. 

She leaned against the brick of the McDonald’s next door, avoiding the streams of people going down and up the sidewalk, taking a deep breath. She’d not been to New York before, she’d grown up in Chicago- been to the city more times then she can count, but the suburbs were her home. Being in the city- and let alone- a city like Manhattan versus Chicago- she was looking around, trying to gather her wits - and quickly.  She clicked the maps application on her iPhone 7, tugging her umbrella out of the water bottle pocket of her backpack and tucking it under her arm as she typed the address to her hotel and clicking for the walking directions.

It honestly kind of pissed her off that each day’s food was better than the last. She’d wanted to not give a shit about stars and just focus on giving people an experience to remember - but it was cut & dry that now that she’d tasted this kind of food - she was going to do whatever she could to become as talented as the chefs that made it. 

But - she hadn’t even tried the best yet. 

The best, the best, THE best. 

She honestly couldn’t believe she was going to be trying the food from Eleven Madison Park - but she couldn’t help but be so nervous. Every other Michelin starred restaurant she’d been to - the dress code was Formal attire. But this one? THE best restaurant in the fucking world? Oh- they just say on their website ‘many of our guests dress up for the occasion, but we do not have a dress code’  

Her entire trip, She’d been cycling through 2 very different floor length gowns. One of which she wore to her graduation, and the other she’d found at Windsor on sale but it did the job. She didn’t wear luxury attire often, okay? She was too busy being Culinary school for Christ sakes! And tonight she couldn’t for the life of her choose which one she’d wear. 

This being because she was attending a main dining room tasting, which was ten courses. Easy, luxury dining courses were stupidly small. But- she was also trying their bar tasting menu which was an extra four courses. Sitting at a bar in that stupid fluffy dress for two hours would not be comfortable. But- again- best. restaurant. in. the. WORLD!!! 

She knew for a fact that she would be mad at herself if she got there and everyone around was dressed to the nines, but - for comfortability sake she went with the simple silken red gown. 

The front of house service was literally perfect. She was glad she’d brought a new notebook, because she’d never have had enough space to take all the notes she was taking tonight in the one she’d been using the majority of the trip. Their staff was very casually mannered, and they made it very easy to order. Everything was very calm and comfortable, the furniture felt very luxurious in the sense of comfortability. 

After she just had the best meal of her entire life, she knew she had to speak with the person who made it. Her mind was blown for lack of a better word. The food was fucking incredible. She had a rule to keep herself able to taste as much as possible: she was only allowed one bite of each dish, but here- she couldn’t just limit herself to one. Each dish she was taking 2 even 3 bites- but when she got to the sunflower dish? It was brilliant. She finished every bite, she couldn’t not. It would be sinful to waste it. And the only thing on her mind was that she had to talk to the chef who’d made it.

Her waiter comes back to her table, giving her back her card and receipt. 

“Thank you for dining with us this evening, have a wonderful night” he told her 

“Thank you- Um- may I speak with the chef who made the sunflower plate please? I’d like to pay my compliments in person if possible.” She asked hopefully. 

“Of course, that would be Chef Carmen- give me just a moment I’ll go get him for you” he nodded and headed back to the kitchen. She looked over her notes, remembering the questions she’d wanted to ask about the dish. 

Carmen, she wondered if he’d been named after the saint. His talent was surely straight from the hands of the Mother of Christ. 

Shes interrupted from writing in her notebook by a husky, silvery voice 

“Excuse me- I was told you’d like to speak to me, I’m Chef Carmen, I made your sunflower dish this evening.” 

“Hey- I’m Sydney - that dish was- ” she stood up to face him- and when she realized who was in front of her, her heart began to race. Of course, she’d thought, of course - only a JBA contestant could come up with a dish so ingenious.

 “Oh- um…Hi.. Hello- you’re like -” she blinked a few times, in utter shock. “You’re Carmen Berzatto“ She swallowed thickly. 

Sydney was obsessed with this industry- she stalked the JBA website every year to see who would be nominated, dreaming that some day she’d be on that list. Being even nominated would allow her to die happily feeling as if she’d won a fucking Nobel Prize. That was how much she respected those damn awards. 

“I am” he said and cleared his throat nervously. 

“Well- firstly congratulations on your nomination- you like- if it was up to me you’d win because that sunflower dish was-” they’re interrupted by one of the food runners coming over 

“Chef Carmen- Chef Daemon requests you in back of house now.” she said urgently, the girl looked like she was on the brink of tears as she continued taking the tray of food over to the table it was meant for. 

“So sorry, i’d love to hear what you have to say but uh…” he trailed off. 

“Yeah- yeah- sorry, sorry I wont keep you-” she said and he shook his head a bit 

“No- no- um… I mean -” he wouldnt usually be so bold, but his ass was going to literally be kicked if he didnt get back there in the next 5 seconds. “I’m gonna go out for a smoke at 11:15. If you wanted to keep talkin’ ill be there” he said before heading back to the kitchen.

Sydney was nearly shaking - there were so so many things she wanted to ask him. She also realized he was much - infinitely hotter in person - how that was even possible? She remained unsure. She had reapplied her lipgloss and her perfume, nervously pacing back and forth along the sidewalk. 

She hears the back door open and she looked over, out emerging the greek god incarnate she somehow got so lucky as to run in to tonight. “Hey!” she said with her famous warm smile. 

He didnt return it, actually- he looked pissed. She swallowed thickly, rubbing her lips together nervously “Hey - sorry again I uh- fuckin’ boss” he muttered, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket. 

“No- don’t apologize please, I totally get it. I mean, you're the CDC at literally the best restaurant in the world. I wouldn’t have bugged you if I knew, I mean- my table, like- I’m not a critic..I guess I should have clarified cause of the notebook thing but they usually are more…low key? I thought? Do they usually just come and whip out a notebook? That would make it easier I think… But nonetheless I’m so so grateful to have been able to eat a meal that-“ she rambled on anxiously but he stops her.

“You talk when y’nervous” he said with a small smirk, lighting the cigarette between his lips and inhaling, leaning against the brick.

“Uh-” she stuttered, her face feeling hot suddenly. “Sorry- I’ve uh… i’ve been told” she chuckled a bit, taking a few steps towards him and leaning on the brick only 2 feet or so between them.

“It’s charming, y’smoke?” he offered her the pack with a red top, she looked down at it.

“I don’t- not- not yet anyways” she joked, crossing a slim arm over her waist. He couldn't help but realize how the action made her breasts more prominent. 

“You’re a chef?” he asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Yes! Yes- well.. Just graduated, not working anywhere yet- I’m going home soon to try and start my own catering thing…” she explained and he nodded.

“Where’d y’graduate from?” he asked, exhaling the smoke away from her direction.

“CIA - 2 weeks ago, Valedictorian actually, y’not the only chef around here with street cred” she joked and he chuckled.

“Really? Word. Thats sick, good job. Y’said y’re headed home? Where’s that?” he asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Chicago! Can’t wait to get back, Hudson life is… not for me- I forgot how convenient public transportation was” she said. 

He raised his brows in surprise, “Chicago huh? Thats my old home base.” he said 

“I know! You’re actually… really famous did you know that? Like- they talk all about you during lectures, you’re the new golden child of the culinary world” she teased and he rolled his eyes playfully.

They’d been inching closer and closer without realizing throughout the whole conversation, she was now so close that she could see the barely there scar on his cheek, her focus locked on it. His gaze was locked on her plump lips and he was imagining how they’d feel around his cock.

“I do unfortunately - you’ll learn soon enough that praise means being a target in this industry.” He said 

She bit her lip, meeting his striking blue eyes once again. “I really meant to tell you earlier was that sunflower dish was the best meal i’ve ever had. And i’m not just…sucking your dick because you’re you - I knew that before I knew you made it” she laughed a bit.

He followed suit, “Well if you want to- i’m not gonna say no.” he said and her eyes widened a bit, feeling her core pooling with heat at the idea. Of course he was half joking. It was so sudden and out there he would have never expected her to indulge him. 

“I mean- here? What if your boss comes out?” she asked, a bit quieter as if she was trying to assure they’d not be caught.

He nodded towards the row of 12-wheeler trucks parked 50 or so feet away. “Haven’t moved in 6 weeks” he shrugged casually  “Lead the way Chef”  she motioned with her hand, a frisky smirk on her lips.

“Holy fuuuck” Carmy groaned, pushing his cock deeper into her tight hot mouth. “Y’like takin cock like this mmm? Y’like bein’ my little fuckin slut?” he muttered, thumbing away the warm tear that was gathering in the corner of her right eye. “So fuckin’ good f’me-” he growled, moaning at the wet gurgling noises emitting from her.

She swallowed around him, looking up at him with tear-filled dark lustful brown eyes, widening her jaw further and tonguing over the pulsing vein on the underside of his length, gently squeezing his thighs to urge him further. 

“Y’want me t’fuck y’throat? Mmm? Dirty fuckin girl” he gathered her braids into his fist, wrapping them around his palm and roughly tugging her off. 

She whined hotly, the sensation of his rough hand sending waves of pleasure through her being. “Please” she said wantingly, tonguing over his slit before wrapping her lips around the tip of his head in a sensual kiss.

He took his thumb, pulling her jaw open wide and thrusting into her mouth with a satisfied grunt. “Y’know-shhhit y’know what? I think this is the only way t’shut y’ass up? Mmm?” he inhales sharply as she pushed his foreskin back and spit on his exposed sensitive tip.

“Jesus fuckin-” he sharply inhaled through his teeth as she gently grazed her teeth over the sensitive head, his abs clenching in pleasure and hips quivering from the overstimulation “fuckin-h-aaaa-ahhh-mm-shhhhit-jesus fuckin christ” he whimpered, his head falling back against the metal with a sharp bang as she took the flesh into her mouth, flicking her tongue sharply over the weeping tip before smoothly sucking over the buzzing stimulation. He knew if she kept up the act he’d be filling her mouth with his seed within seconds.

“S-sooo fuckin filthy - y’want my cum in y’throat? Mmm? Little fuckin whore- h-holy-oh god- i-” he nearly suffocated her as he buried his cock further down her throat. He reached down, his fingers rubbing along his thick length buried in her warm tight throat. 

“F-fuuuuuck- ah- oh shhh- mmm- thats it- thaaaaaat’s it- good fuckin girl” he grumbled, roughly and sloppily guiding her head in such a way that the noises being made if it weren’t her he would think theyre overdramatic and disgusting. He also didn’t know where the hell all of this talking was coming from. 

Normally in the bedroom, he was quiet. Very quiet. The only way the women he was with knew he’d enjoyed himself was if he even came at all. Sex usually wasn’t about his own pleasure since in the presence of another he found it so hard to get off - it was more about giving him imagery that would help him later in regards to finishing. 

“You are so fuckin good at that huh? You take my cock so well such a good fuckin girl” his jaw goes slack as she put her hands on his hips to steady him and slowly sinks her mouth all the way down to the hilt, her eyes shut in focus. 

She gently rubbed her thumbs over his hips, swallowing around his length in a way that made whimpers fall past his lips he didn’t know he could make himself. “Holy shit y’fuckin- oh- ohhh fuck” he grunts as she takes one of her hands and begins massaging his balls and looking directly into his eyes, pulling off his length to breathe and gently pushing the foreskin back, kissing over the sensitive flesh with her plump lips. 

“You can fuck my face- but deepthroating after a meal like that is pretty hard, id love if I can keep it down” she said, even with spit running down her chin, teary eyes, and swollen lips - she still looked adorable to him. 

“Sorry- sorry” he muttered, loosening his grip on her hair “keep doin’ that fuck yesss” he breathed out as she swirled her tongue around his head. He thrust in and out of her mouth, gradually moving faster but being careful as to not slam into the back of her throat. 

She stroked the bottom half of his length with her other hand, eyes closing and doing her best to swallow around him all the excess saliva that was dripping down her throat. She hollowed out her cheeks, looking up at him as she slowly and carefully sunk down once again, keeping her eyes locked on his. 

“Mmm-shhhit-I’m fuckin-“ he groaned, his knees nearly going weak and head falling back with a thud. Blood roared in his ears, his hands shook slightly from the tension rolling off him in waves. 

She nearly choked at the amount rolling down her throat. She pulled off slightly, swallowing - more like gulping, assuring to hollow her cheeks and swirl her tongue as she pulled off with a pop as to not waste any of the sweet salty mess. 

“You- you- you are fuckin crazy” he breathed, looking down at her. 

She wiped off her mouth, chin, and neck with a tissue she’d kept in her purse before saying “I’d say you’re crazy, “ she got off her knees, picking up the chefs coat he had thrown down for her to kneel on, to which she insided it out before she did so it wouldn’t show any dirt. “If I had that coat? It would never touch the floor” she shook it off carefully. 

He quickly fixed his pants “he’s a friend it doesn’t matter I can always get a new one” he countered, putting the coat back on and buttoning it. 

Her eyes widened “friends?! How the hell did you run into him?!” She asked. 

“You- y’re into fashion ‘n shit?” He asked and she nodded enthusiastically 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Thom Browne is insane all his shit Is absolute fire. I wish I could afford one of his jackets like- it’s totally a dream wishlist kinda thing” she took some gum out of her purse. 

“When do you uh…go back?” He asked. 

“Tomorrow. Headed to Chicago on Wednesday” she said and he nods. 

“Oh- yeah okay..It was uh…it was nice t’meet you” he said awkwardly “I should probably um..” he trailed off, clearing his throat nervously.

“Totally- yeah great to um…great to meet you too chef.” She nodded 

“Could I um…” he rubs the back of his neck anxiously “could I maybe get y’r…” he trails off, cheeks pink with embarrassment. 

“My number?” She asked, grabbing her phone out of her purse. 

He nodded, cheeks bright red with embarrassment “yeah sorry-“ he mumbled

“Yeah- if I can get yours” she teased, clicking open the blank contact screen

[laterosal]

♤ My Dear Seraph | Yukimiya Kenyu x Reader

▽ featuring: yukimiya kenyu x fem reader … no repost on any platforms © laterosal 2024 … a stylist for yukimiya kenyu? ooh boy~ … word count: 3.1k

📌 AO3 | one-shot

“You’re the model?” You gaped at him in shock as you dropped the cup of coffee onto the ground. Monochrome loose top, gingham collar, cargo pants… It hadn’t been just moments ago you crashed into him and snapped at him; you, too, were almost late to another editorial shoot to be the stylist for the client—Yukimiya Kenyu. Him?

“Oh, it’s you—” Yukimiya Kenyu, the client, removed his mask and smiled warmly at you. “How are you?”

“You aren’t even going to ask why I—”

“There’s really no need, since I’m sure you have your own reasons.” He winked at me, the bells from closing the door jingled slightly. Hm.

“Y/N, this is Yuki-kun. I hope you two can get along well…” Yuki’s agent, Tomiko, clapped her hands. “Ah. This is Y/N, and she will be your stylist for this editorial shoot.” Tomiko’s hair was tied into a bun, a clipboard in her hands with her free hand adjusting her glasses.

You silently groaned to yourself as you realized you were rude to your client, this model and student who looked too pure in your eyes. You quickly cleaned up the coffee mess on the ground, before striking up another conversation with Yukimiya Kenyu’s agent.

“Yes, yes. Can I check his portfolio real quick?” You cocked your head to the right, forcing a smile on your face as you stared at Yukimiya Kenyu.

“Ah, here.” You gave a quick glance on the agent’s electronic device through Yukimiya Kenyu’s previous shoots and swiped past each photo. Well, he sure does look stunning. You grinned at yourself as you zoomed into some photos—then exited as quickly as you glanced. His smile, posted on some photos, had some type of warmth in it.

“He’s never once done candid photoshoots, huh?” You clicked your tongue and shook your head as you remembered the purpose of this editorial shoot: candid photos, rather than another commercial shoot. “Interesting. I kinda get the vibes. Oh, and the measurements, Tomiko-san.” You frowned as she quickly handed you the clipboard with the measurements as you hummed to yourself the numbers as a quick scan. You felt a pair of eyes staring at you closely, the eyes of Yukimiya Kenyu, who wondered what clothing you would bring to the table.

“Half-turtleneck top… no, how about a lapel deconstructed flight jacket? And some accessories��� a pair of sweatpants? Hm…” You murmured to yourself as you reached the bottom of the measurements page. “Ah! Balloon sweatpants… The ongoing trend for now…”

“Is there anything wrong, Y/N?” Tomiko asked nervously as you murmured even more.

“Hm?” You snapped your head up. “Oh, no. Sorry, take a seat—please. I didn’t mean to take up too much of your time.” You gestured for them to sit on the high stools near your working space at the counter—in this small-space area of where your creations take place. Sewing, knitting, and the zippers and buttons and the needle that threaded every one of the clothing for the famous actors and models. That was you. And they—models and agents—sometimes fear you, since you tend to want things done as quickly as possible. Your need to rush things made your temper flare at times—but for this client, for Yukimiya Kenyu, you wanted to take your time. He seemed to have this certain charm for you to slow down your life, the time with him seemingly longer.

“Okay. Oh, will the photographer only be here tomorrow—the day of the photoshoot?” You asked as you set the clipboard aside, digging into boxes full of materials.

“Oh, yes. Just tomorrow. Uh-thank you so much for having us today, L/N Y/N. I wasn’t quite sure whether you would be willing to work with us for Yuki’s photoshoot.” Tomiko nervously responded. “You are a busy person, after all.”

“Sure. No problem.” You shrugged as you gave them both a smile. A college student and a feared stylist… You giggled as that thought wandered into your mind. Yukimiya Kenyu, hearing a giggle from you, raised his eyebrows when your back was turned to him. “Were the measurements taken recently?”

“Oh, yes. We didn’t want to bother you with such trivial things, after all.” You suppressed a snort. Trivial things? These “things” were what stylists often did themselves to perfect the best clothing choices for the client. Oh well. “Would you like anything to drink while you prepare some clothing ideas for Yukimiya Kenyu?”

“Sure. Any place is fine. Caramel macchiato, with milk foam and oat milk and steamed hot. Light caramel drizzle, and two shots of espresso, please.” Your eyes still trailed Yukimiya Kenyu’s photos that were still brightly displayed on Tomiko’s screen on your counter. You sketched out some designs on blank sheets of papers, tapping the butt of the pen against the counter.

“Then, a flat white for me.” You raised your eyebrows as your eyes were focused on the design as you heard Yukimiya Kenyu’s order.

“Alright. I’ll be back soon, you two.” Tomiko rushed out, with both orders scribbled onto a small notebook.

“Specific in ordering too?” Yukimiya Kenyu grinned at you as he drummed his fingers against the counter.

“Yep. Just a part of me, I guess. Specific and precise.” You locked eyes when you lifted your head up at his bright, orange eyes. “And you?”

“That’s just my go-to. I don’t try anything new—I just stick with whatever I like.” He shrugged in a carefree manner. “I’m not too picky with my orders.”

“And are you implying I am?” You smirked at him as he widened his eyes in shock.

“Oh, no, no, sorry—I didn’t mean it in that way.” He responded flustered. His cheeks were heated, and his ears had a pink tint.

You giggled as you slapped your pen down onto the counter.

“Yuki-san, I meant that as a joke.” You laughed even more as he opened his mouth to say some words, before closing it again. “Sorry.” You wiped a tear from your eye.

“Well, I suppose your order does make up for the spilled coffee from earlier.” You nodded at Yukimiya Kenyu’s words.

“Yeah. I was just… a little surprised to see you here. I didn’t realize—Oh, let me apologize for earlier… for being really rushed and rude.”

“No worries. Again, you do have your own reasons, yeah?” He murmured as he stared intently at you, his rounded glasses reflecting the light from your lamp on the counter.

“Do you wear glasses during photoshoots?”

“I don’t have to.” He mumbled uncomfortably, taking off his glasses and setting them on the table. He looked… stunning. His orange eyes gently gazed at you as your mouth dropped slightly, before you swallowed slowly.

“Oh, you can wear them if you’d like. It wouldn’t be a bother, I think…” You scratched your head nervously. He looked like an angel, from the Heavens they sent him. “Pulchritudinous star—” You slapped at your babbling mouth, eyes widening. “Sorry—” You burst into laughter again. “Your beauty throws me off, really.”

“I can see.” He looked at you innocently as a grin formed on his face. “I shouldn’t be distracting you too much from your work, right?”

“You already have, my dear client Seraph.”

The sound of the shutters and clicks from the camera made you feel at ease as you looked at Yukimiya Kenyu, the holy Seraph model— Too blinding for your eyes. You suppressed another giggle as you made eye contact with him, his small wink at you that made your cheeks feel flushed. Although you pulled an all-nighter to sew the clothing for him to wear, you thought that it was worth the end product. If he were really to have descended from the Heavens with his captivating beauty, you wanted him. He had a different aura from the rest of the boys who often flaunted you, and his signature smile that made you feel the wings of the butterflies fluttering.

“That’s it for today.” The photographer released a sigh and glanced through the photos from his camera. “Y/N-kun, as always, what an interesting outfit choice. I mean, your design for Yukimiya Kenyu—” He added when you raised your eyebrows. “Come take a look at the photos.” The agent Tomiko inched near the photographer as she nodded at each photo.

“Isn’t this cafe a beautiful shot though?” You sighed dreamily as you stared out the windows of the busy streets and cars driving by, the cityscape all displayed from this cafe window. A yawn escaped your mouth as you stretched out your arms.

“It really is.” Yukimiya Kenyu remarked as he glanced at you from head-to-toe. You turned to face him, grinning at him. Did he say that the cityscape was beautiful—or did he mean you? You noticed him pulling his pair of glasses out of his pocket, slowly adjusting his glasses. He sure did look alluring with or without his glasses. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

You shrugged and sighed.

“It’s what gets the work done.”

He looked at you guiltily and nodded his head.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing, Yuki-san. Really—”  You added as he scrunched his eyebrows together. Your phone vibrated in your pocket as you read the messages.

[M, REO]

Are you free today?

[YOU]

i’m with yuki-san right now

uh but yeah, i guess so

[M, REO]

Bring him over to my place.

I’ll send you the address in a second.

Business calls.

[YOU]

oh okay

ohhhh are you treating us for dinner?

[M, REO]

Yukimiya Kenyu, right?

He was my teammate in football before.

[YOU]

at the blue lock project thing?

[M, REO]

Yeah. Bring him over in thirty.

No, head to the park. I’ll have someone drive us over.

[YOU]

yes sir, rich kid

You paused as you responded, frowning as you scrolled up at the text messages. How did he know Yuki-san as Yukimiya Kenyu..? And THE Yukimiya Kenyu also played football?

“You are a famed stylist, after all.” You jumped as you realized Yukimiya Kenyu hovering behind you. “And I am somewhat of a well-known model. Sorry, I didn’t mean to glance at your text. I was going to ask you something, but I’ll tell you later.”

“Ah. Okay!” You gave him a fistbump before waving at his agent and the photographer. “See you two later!” They murmured their farewells before heading straight back to the photos.

“You know Reo?” Yukimiya Kenyu asked as you both hopped onto a public bus to head to the park. “Actually, I’m not surprised.”

“Mhm. He was my client a few times—” You rolled your eyes as you remembered him teasing you about taking his measurements. “And a long-time friend of mine since high school.”

“I see.” Yukimiya Kenyu murmured as he gripped your arm so you wouldn’t topple over in the bus as it screeched to a stop.

“Thank you, Seraph.” You giggle at him again. “You’re super adorable, huh?”

He smirked at you as he eyed you cautiously.

“Sure. You’re super cute, then.” He hesitated to add on: “Like a kitten.”

“So I am a kitten!” You squealed in delight as his face flushed again, shaking his head.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You know I’m just teasing you, right?” You gave him a grin again. “You don’t have to worry about that. I just make everything a joke—”

“Sure, then.” He patted your head like a kitten as he chuckled when your face was a pink tint.

“Oh… Um… were you going to say something before? Uh…” You stumbled over the words, still flustered from his head pat.

“Right. Do you want to get coffee someday?” He murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah! Are you waiting to have my order memorized and said to the barista who stares at you like a maniac?” You cracked a smile.

“Yeah. Caramel macchiato, steamed hot, with milk foam and oat milk. Light caramel drizzle, and a shot of espresso.”

“Two shots.” You corrected, still impressed with him memorizing your order.

He stared at you amusingly.

“And two shots of espresso.”

“There you go!” You playfully punched his shoulder. “Were you ever this good at memorizing things?”

“I don’t know, actually.” He scratched his head, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Maybe it’s just for you.” For you.

“Is my charm that strong?” You flashed him a smile as he examined your outfit: baby blue shoulder crop sweater with gray drawstrings and wide sleeves, laced beige cami top, midnight blue with golden patterns on the palazzo pants, and over-the-ankle leather flats.

“To attract people like me? Yeah.” He ruffled your hair as you stared at him in disbelief. Most of your voluminous hair, with the help of a hair clip, was tied into a bun, with a few deliberate curly strands that fell to your neck. Having pulled an all-nighter, you only lightly tapped some makeup to conceal any possible dark circles, as well as adding on lip gloss. Your silver earrings were dangling just below your neck, its shine reflected from the sunlight through the bus windows.

“Out-out-out,” You murmured as the bus screeched to another stop at the city’s park. “Come on, Yuki-san!” Your face was flushed as you fidgeted with your clothing, hopping off at the bus stop. He trailed behind you, admiring your figure as you skipped down the sidewalk of the park. His steps matched yours, soon quickening his pace to catch up to yours. His hand brushed against yours, before he grasped it gently.

You swiveled around, and gasped aloud, seeing Yukimiya Kenyu bring your hand locked with his hand near his lips, carefully planting a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Eh?” You put the back of your free hand near your face, trying to cover your tinted cheeks and surprised expression. “What—” So dignified.

“Oh look who’s here today!” A familiar energetic voice shouted as both you and Yukimiya Kenyu swiveled around, seeing the chin-length dark purple hair and his silly grin. “I didn’t realize you guys were all lovey-dovey, yeah? Are you guys dating?”

“No!” You shouted back and puffed out your cheeks, your face reddening. At the same time, Yukimiya Kenyu only shrugged and responded: “I wish.”

You twisted your body to face him with a startled look.

“Yep, it’s confirmed. They really are meant for each other,” Mikage Reo teased. “Isn’t that right, Yuki?”

“If Y/N-kun wants to.” Yukimiya Kenyu shrugged again, pointing at you. Switching the topic, he turned to you and added: “Do you want to go to the same cafe after lunch?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, uh—sure!” You, flustered, stammered to respond, before nodding along.

“Okay. So, Mr. Mikage, where to?”

“Drop the formalities already…” Reo groaned. “‘Reo’ will do.”

You giggled as Yukimiya Kenyu shooed him away. Yukimiya Kenyu then stared at you, at the sound of your laughs brightening his day.

“You do have the most interesting ways to get out of Reo’s grasp.” Yukimiya Kenyu chuckled as you didn’t dare meet his eyes, the heat rising up your face.

“Well… I mean…” You puffed out your cheeks as if a child pouted. “I… Just treat this like a date, then.” You two had escaped Reo’s pestering about your relationship with a simple response tumbling out of your mouth: We’re going on a date to the cafe. Without any other words, you rushed out of the restaurant after eating lunch and waited at the bus stop for Yukimiya Kenyu.

“Yeah, I will. I’m surprised they cleaned up the photoshoot equipment really quickly, though.” You two now sat at the seats near the window with a picturesque painting of the skyscrapers and cherry-tinted sky. The very place Yukimiya Kenyu had his photoshoot earlier this morning. Having slowly finished your drinks, you fiddled with the cup sleeve on the drink. The coffee aroma was an endless scent of tranquility, although paired with the constant clinking of coffee machines and mugs that clunked together in the sink… It was a chaotic pair, so to speak.

“We did come here, like, three hours later. And it’s nice talking to you, Yuki-san.” You gave him a grin, admiring his bright orange eyes that gently gazed upon you. “Oh, I do have a question—and I hope it’s not too uncomfortable.”

“I can probably guess what you’re going to ask.” He released a sigh, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “I have optic neuropathy.” You widen your eyes, sitting up straighter.

“Oh… I’m… sorry.” You didn’t know what to say in such a suffocating, awkward moment. You did bring this up, after all. “Is… uh, that's why Reo said you used to play football, then?”

He nodded slowly.

“I didn’t want to, but it couldn’t be helped.” He forced a smile as you bit your lip.

“Oh. You can talk to me whenever you need to, okay?” You gently squeezed his arm on the table, reminding him he wouldn’t be alone to face these problems.

“At least I have you.” He ruffled your hair gently, his eyes slightly droopy. You leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, wrapping your arms around him. He jolted, his face reddening before he pushed you back and stood up. The slight curls of his dark hair covered his eyes, and you giggled at the sight. Such a beautiful, shy person…

“I did say to treat this like a date. So there’s a kiss, mm?” You grinned at him as he laughed—but still embarrassed, he seemed to want to get out of the cafe quickly. You suppressed another giggle before noticing his eyes full of surprise—again, seemingly wanting to ask you a question.

“Are you taken?” He coughed, before adding, “Relationship-wise.”

You grinned at him, dodging his question.

“How about you?”

“No. Although, a lot do think I’m eye-catching.” Yukimiya Kenyu winked at you as you giggled. Who wouldn’t think he isn’t?

“Hm…” You thought to yourself of how to phrase your response. “Well then, yeah.” Yukimiya Kenyu’s heart sank as he clenched his fist on the counter. You tapped his puffed out cheek gently, whispering: “Look at me, Yuki.”

Startled, he widened his eyes and stared at you, his eyes filled with desperation and sadness. He was going to accept that you were someone else’s already. He turned to look at the outside view, drumming his fingers lightly against the wooden counter of the cafe.

He held his breath when he listened to the five words tumbling out of your mouth, making his heart flutter and his gaze much more gentle as it reached your eyes.

“By you, my dear Seraph. ”

[pedrostylez]

The Gray: Chapter 1

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count: 2.3k

chapter warnings etc: NOT CANON JOEL MILLER, Violence, questioning, swearing, flirting (I’m scandalized), pet names including Eminem references and nicknames but not to be associated with the appearance of reader. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: Only 7 days into July and it is already kicking my ass! I should be back on track soon, but who even knows lol. This series will eventually have smut, but probably not for a few chapters. I love respectful comments and questions, so feel free to ask those or to comment it on this post! Thank you <3

Joel shot you purely because he missed AJ. Anger coursed through him at how quickly he escaped, you in front of him, protecting AJ.  But now a puddle of sweat is starting to form in your collarbone, your skin turning a shade of gray he’s never quite seen before, and you’re still trying to be smart with him. If he was younger he would have thought you were flirting, but he’s too experienced now to know that it’s just a game to save your life. 

His eyes flicked down to where he injured you, a slight improvement noticeable, but he didn’t think it was this slow. His mind reels back to the television from last night, and those Organization commercials trilling in his head. What did they all say about you? Healed in just 30 seconds! She can save anyone!

What a load of shit that was. 

You are shifting in and out of consciousness, slung over Joel’s shoulder with carelessness that makes your chest ache. You want to lift your head, to let the blood rush out of your skull, and to give some relief, but it’s too much effort to even try.  Every time you rouse enough to remember, you can feel your leg stitching itself together, the pain causing you to clench your fingers around his shirt before falling back over the depths of unconsciousness. 

When you wake fully, you find yourself staring at rusted beams and swinging lights. A light breeze passes over your face, cold and slightly damp as you attempt to lift your head. Your neck is stiff as you tilt your head to the right and left, trying to take in your surroundings before taking note of the black boots planted on the ground by the wall. 

You let your eyes glance up and over at Joel, his posture relaxed as he faces mostly away from you. He stares at monitors along one whole wall, clicking away and shifting his head back and forth over what looks to be an empty alleyway, an abandoned building, Main Street and Hero Road crossways. The couch you were laying on is soft below you, a blanket folded neatly on the arm of it by your feet. Your head swivels to a dining table just behind Joel, the chairs all faintly facing the same way he is, a kitchenette to the right with an open door that leads to a bathroom, and another two doors to the left. 

No windows or easily accessible doors that were in plain sight. Your heart rate increases uncontrollably as you frantically look around to see if you missed an exit. You’re in the midst of convincing yourself that everything is fine, there of course is a way out of here, when Joel turns to face you.

Joel is rubbing at his neck before giving a flash of a smirk. “Ah, you’re awake.” 

“H-How…” You stumble through the word, moving your eyes down to the floor and looking around again. You’re still laying down, completely paralyzed in fear that you hope is hidden, clearing your throat to try and snap yourself out of it. You lean up, sitting straight and facing him fully on the couch to feign relaxation, but you aren’t convinced you could do it well enough to trick Joel. 

He watches you fidget, his own fingers tapping against the desk he sat at before his eyes snap to you. “Don’t worry, Marianne won’t know you failed on the job.”

Your eyes shoot up to his, frozen in place. You had seen his photo from when he worked for the organization under Marianne. Most of him hadn’t changed-graying of the hair, maybe, but his eyes that bore into yours looked the same as they did in his photo. His history with the Organization in the archives was limited to him leaving it, but you didn’t know much else. “I-I…I wasn’t thinking about Marianne.” You stumble, wincing at your own voice.

Joel chuckles, looking back toward his screens. “I’m going to ask you some questions in exchange for keeping your little mistake on the low. And I won’t kill you–how does that sound?”

“I didn’t make a mistake!” Your voice catches, standing up and glancing at the door to the left. Fuck this guy, you don’t need him telling you about failure when all you did was get in the way. You shuffle slightly, watching as Joel seems to not care. You miss how his legs slowly move under the desk to better situate himself to stand. 

He scoffs. “Oh what, you fainted straight into my arms then? You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes, Slim.” A smile creeps onto his face again, waiting for your reaction.

It was your turn to scoff, watching him stand to face you fully, the smile now spread across his face as if he’s won a prize. “You hauled me here, I didn’t faint.” 

“You were just pretending so I would hold you longer? Bold move. Especially since I could just…” He takes a bounding step toward you, his breath felt on your face as his hand comes up to his neck and makes a slow slicing motion. “Slit your throat right now for faking it.” He practically purrs, stepping closer to you and watching you tense up. “Just a couple questions, little hero.”

You swallow roughly, back pressed against the door behind you, praying that maybe it would open into the fresh air and you could sprint away. When it doesn’t, you rake your eyes up, his black cargo pants fitted to him, shirt untucked now without the armor he’s known for. His arms tan and freckled, biceps bulging out of the sleeves–

Joel clears his throat, heat spreading through your cheeks as he catches you looking at him. “One thing at a time. You work with AJ, right?” 

You nod, swallowing harshly and grinding your teeth to stop your jaw from wobbling uncontrollably. You had never been interrogated like this before, not in training with The Organization or otherwise.

“And how long has that been, sweetie?” He asks gruffly, leaning one hand next to your head to cage one side of you. 

Your breath picks up, attempting to shove at his arm before he brackets you back in. Your cage is getting smaller and smaller. “Why?”

“Just answer the question.” He growls back, hand twitching at his side. You keep your eyes on him, daring him to reach for you. Anger flares in his eyes when you don’t immediately answer, pupils blown wide as a hand comes up around your neck and squeezes. Thankfully, you still don’t flinch. “I don’t like AJ. He plays for the crowd and has dirty secrets.” He spits out.

You furrow your brow, shaking your head with the little room he’s given you. You strain your voice to speak through his tightening hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about–”

A brief release of his hand to come back more firmly, a dull thud of the back of your head against the door. “Yes, you do. If you are partnered with AJ then you’ve seen what he does. Did Marianne partner you together to teach you a lesson? To help him? What?” His hand tightens around your windpipe, anger boiling to the surface of his skin and painting him a deep red. He’s ready to tear you to shreds in the flip of a switch, and you close your eyes to prepare yourself for what you assume is inevitable. 

He will choke you until you pass out and die, he will kill you, he will–

Joel’s hand releases almost fully around your neck, still loosely touching you to keep you in place. When you open your eyes he is staring back at you waiting patiently. 

A deep breath in. “Less than 6 months I have worked with AJ.”

He continues to stare at you, tilting his head and grinding his teeth a bit more until finally  his fingers uncurl from your neck, smirking with a brief chuckle.  “So quick to give in, huh?”

You’re stunned, shaking your head to snap out of whatever downward spiral you were thinking yourself into and refocus. “Shut the fuck up.”

Another small laugh leaves his lips as he pops one hip out, leaning on his arm that rests by your head again. “How many times has AJ left you to the wolves like he did when I took you?”

Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, a flash of blood coating your tongue from how hard you’re trying to keep it together. He’s testing you. “Why do you want to know?”

His hand is quick to come back up, pushing the hair that has fallen out of place over your shoulder, twirling a strand around his finger. It’s tempting to lean into it, subconsciously wanting to feel someone touching you, but you keep still. “Sounds like to me he does it a lot.”

You don’t respond, knowing you’ll only give yourself away. His eyes flick up to yours, another smirk gracing his face. His gaze flicks down to the ripped super suit you’ve designed, fingers drifting away from your hair and to the bare skin visible there. “I thought this was supposed to repair itself?”

When Joel looks back up to you expectantly, his question still unanswered, you cough. “It…can.”

He squints, examining you. “It can? Why hasn’t it, then?”

Silence. 

His finger, dirty and bruised makes you gasp as he touches the exposed skin. Still tender from the shot he took at you earlier, you wince uncontrollably. “I thought it was supposed to regenerate your health too.”

You swat his hand away, taking the opportunity to push at his bum shoulder you know you’ve hurt before and step away from his grasp. “It does, you asshole. I’m working out the kinks.”

“You are?” He questions, not angry or eager to get you back in his grasp. “I thought they put you in that thing.”

“No, it’s my suit.” You can’t help but defend yourself, your design, the hard work you’ve put in. 

“Then why isn’t it working?” He asks casually, stepping back over to his desk and sitting down with a grunt. He eyes you expectantly, rubbing at his shoulder before leaning back with a sigh. 

“I don’t know!” You yell, immediately regretting it. You weren’t supposed to show emotion. You sigh heavily, looking at him for another moment and then deciding to just say-he was likely going to kill you anyways. “The Organization has better resources while I try to figure out why it’s not doing what it’s supposed to do, and I think I’m getting somewhere with it but if I keep going how I am with people shooting me,” You glare at him, his gaze on you unfazed. “Then I won’t have a chance to fix this issue.” 

He lifts his chin in understanding, mulling over the information. “And that issue is?”

“That it regenerates slower each time I have a fatal injury. There’s something wrong with the wires, or how it is done and I don’t know why yet.” You spit out, feeling exhausted suddenly. You lean against the door again, it cool against your back. 

 “What are you going to do then?” He asks, leaning back in his chair further than before and raising his hands over his head. 

You look around, standing straight with your hands on your hips and shake your head. “Well, it looks like an interrogation until death, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

He blows air out of his mouth quickly, a soft scoff in your direction. “Just answer my other questions and I’ll let you go.”

You wait patiently, staring at him as he taps his fingers against his desk again. He pauses for only a moment before continuing. “Has AJ ever done anything that has concerned you?”

“No.” You immediately answer, relaxing the muscles of your face to not react further. 

“Has he ever made a pass at you?” Joel questions again, waiting. 

“No.” Again, immediate answer. You cringe inwardly at what you think he is going to ask.

“Has Marianne ever asked you to watch after him?” He sighs, picking up a pencil and beginning to scribble on to a pad of paper by his keyboard. He now seems uninterested, not convinced. 

You pause long enough that he glances at you again, his eyebrows raised in question. “I…no I don’t think so.”

“What has she said, exactly, in regards of him?” He pushes, turning back to his pad of paper. 

You think for a moment, looking back on to your first few days with The Organization. A tour, the glitz and glam of the behind the scenes and how you could improve your work on your supersuit. Smiles from other superheroes, AJ shaking your hand and saying he looks forward to working with you. 

A shuffling into Marianne’s office and sitting in front of her desk, eager to be of service. Marianne’s stern face gave way to a soft smile before saying, “Keep him in check, show him your good attitude but stay firm. Be a good hero for me, alright?”

You repeat as such to Joel, shutting your eyes at the memory. You know you’ve been missing something, and you thought you were doing a good job at keeping AJ “in check”, whatever that meant. He didn’t like working with others, that much was obvious based on how he would leave scenes of crimes and not tell you the details afterwards. But things were getting better–

Joel stands, taking a couple steps over to where you are and looking down upon you. Frozen for a few moments, eyes flicking back and forth between yours before taking a deep breath and nodding. “That’s all I needed. I hope to never see you again, Slim.”

Defiant, you cross your arms and frown at him. “What is that supposed to me–” Your sentence was cut short, Joel’s hand coming up and impacting your face in such a way that all you see is stars and a slow tunnel into full black. The only thing you remember are those damned boots he’s wearing, and that smile growing on his face again. 

[geralts-yenn]

Believe in me

Modern Vampire AU Melot (Tristan&Isolde) x OFC Aurora (third-person pov)

summary: Aurora desperately needs a job and her friend suggests something she wouldn't have thought of: working as a blood donor in the nightclub of the vampire king. Meeting the vampire Melot on the same day helped Aurora to make up her decision.

But things are getting complicated soon. Melot and Aurora have to deal with hateful humans, power-hungry vampires and even gods.

series warnings: 18+ Adult content! parental violence and abuse, blood and other vampire stuff, violence, sex in all kinds of forms. Probably need to add more as the series continues

chapter warnings: parental violence and abuse

word count: 1,8k

A/N: The first series I am starting on tumblr and to say that I am nervous would be an understatement. I am terrified. This is all very new to me, so please be gentle. Although every kind of interaction is highly appreciated as always. I'm taking nice words, gifs, keyboard smashes or supportive advice. Just reblog and add your thoughts to it to make me happy, please!

Part 1

Series Masterlist

Carefully, Aurora tiptoed down the stairs. She knew her father was already drunk and if he heard her, a new fight was inevitable. But she wasn’t careful enough, she didn’t even manage to get into the living room before she heard him yelling:

“Aurora, get your ass into the kitchen and make me dinner!” Aurora silently cursed and turned to the kitchen.

“Hey Dad! I was on my way to the library. I need to catch up on my classes. Would you mind some microwaved leftovers?” She didn’t dare to look at him so she just stared at her feet. 

“Yes, I do mind!” he shouted at her. “You know exactly that your mum isn’t here anymore to take care of me. And you know it’s your fault. She was driving your stupid ass to your soccer training. And yet, you stand here in front of me and your mum is gone. Two years! It’s been two years without her. And you still act like it isn’t all your fault, ungrateful bitch! You should have died, not her!”

So, it’s one of the days when he didn’t even try to hold back the hate. Aurora tried to blink the tears away that started gathering in the corner of her eyes. Without saying a word, she started to prepare a meal for her father. If she chopped some onions, maybe she could blame her tears on that.  

Her father watched her silently, but his eyes still gave away the pure hate that he felt for his daughter. He was never a loving dad like the ones Aurora knew from TV shows or commercials. He was always cold towards her, ignoring her as much as possible. Even when her mum was still alive. Back then, he didn’t make a difference in the way he treated Aurora and her sister Tara. 

But after the car accident that killed her mum and miraculously left Aurora without even a scratch, he changed. He was still ignoring Tara. But he transformed all his frustration and despair into hate and disdain towards his youngest daughter. 

After Aurora had finally finished cooking, she served a portion to her dad. He took one bite, grimaced and smashed the whole plate against the wall. "How are you not even able to be useful for something that simple as making me dinner? This tastes like shit!" he hollered. He shot up, knocking over his chair, and thrust towards Aurora. 

She took a sharp breath and held up her arms, trying to protect her face. Her dad quickly changed directions and his fists slammed hard into her rib cage. Aurora cried in pain and fled through the kitchen door. At least he was slow when he was drunk enough to beat her. 

Biting her lips to drown the pain in her chest, she grabbed her backpack, keys and shoes and ran out of the front door. She didn’t stop until she was a few blocks away. She needed to get as much distance as possible from her father. When she finally decided that she was at a safe distance, Aurora sat down on the sidewalk and brushed some gravel from her bare feet before she slipped into her sneakers. 

Sitting down was not a good idea. As she tried to get up again, the pain in her chest got so bad, Aurora couldn’t fight back new tears. So she decided to just stay there, sitting in the dirt. She didn’t have anywhere to go anyway. Slowly, she tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths and pressing her palms on her closed eyelids.

People were passing by, but Aurora didn’t care if they saw her like that. They probably didn’t even notice. But when she opened her eyes again, she was startled as there was a guy sitting right next to her. Aurora flinched with her eyes wide. 

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry! I didn’t want to scare you.” The voice of the stranger was deep and somehow soothing. “I saw you crying and was about to ask you if you needed help.”

Aurora carefully lifted her gaze to the man. He was breathtakingly handsome. His dark curls fell into his face, his sharp jawline was covered in stubble and his pale skin was flawless. And his eyes were glowing in a dark crimson.

“You… You’re a vampire!” Aurora stated the obvious. A smile swept over the face of the young man, revealing his perfectly white teeth, his fangs brushing over his lower lip.

“That I am.” he said, in a very friendly and casual way. He held out his hand. “Melot it is. I would say nice to meet you, but in the state you’re in, I think that wouldn’t be fitting.” Aurora took his hand, noticing that it was surprisingly soft and warm. But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. So Melot kept talking: 

“Is there anything I can do for you, dear? I can’t just ignore you sitting here crying.” His hand brushed over her back to sooth her, so carefully, Aurora hardly felt it. She felt stupid, but she just couldn’t bring herself to speak. His beauty was stunning, and yet he scared Aurora all the same. She had never seen a vampire that close to her. Although they were legalized ten years ago, most of them kept living among their own kind.

“Did someone hurt you?” Melot tried again. A small sob escaped Aurora, but then she shook her head. Finally, she replied to him:

“I’m fine! Thank you for checking in on me, but there’s no need to.” Melot frowned, obviously not convinced by Aurora’s words.

“Can you call someone to pick you up? Your parents, a friend? I don’t want to leave you here like that. You’re definitely not okay.” he insisted.

Aurora thought about what he said. She couldn’t call her parents, of course. But she probably should call Tara. She could be crashing her sister’s couch until she knew if she wanted to go back to her dad or what else she could do. 

“I’ll call my sister,” she told Melot. “I’m Aurora, by the way.” She offered him a small smile that he returned with a wide one that once again revealed his fangs.

Aurora took out her phone and called Tara. Her sister wasn’t quite happy that she had to get her, but in the end she told Aurora that she would be there within the next 20 minutes. Aurora brushed her tears away with the sleeve of her shirt and blinked curiously at Melot.

“You haven’t seen one of us yet, have you?” he asked. Aurora shook her head.

“No, I don’t go out a lot and my dad is not really fond of the idea of vampires living among us, to be honest.” To Aurora’s surprise, Melot didn’t seem to be offended. He chuckled softly.

“He’s not alone with that, and I understand. It must be a scary thought for humans. But I swear we’re not creeps. At least most of us.”

Now it was on Aurora to chuckle. “That’s exactly what every creep tells you, you know?” Both laughed at that. 

Melot thought about asking once again what had happened, but he was glad that Aurora had stopped crying so he decided to leave it to that. Though, he felt strangely upset to see her like this.

Instead, they talked about lighter topics. Aurora spoke about her classes and Melot told her that he was working for his uncle.  He wasn’t exactly Melot’s uncle but it was easier to call him that, considering that they lived like a family the last 500 years.

When her sister's car stopped next to them, Aurora had almost forgotten how upset she was when she left her home. And she also had forgotten about her broken ribs. She got up and cursed immediately at the pain that shot through her body. Melot was next to her out of thin air, steadying her steps. His arm was wrapped around her waist and he took the weight of her body onto his shoulders. 

Tara didn’t even get out of the car. She just opened the passenger door. 

“What happened this time?” she asked, though she didn’t seem to be honestly interested. Aurora got angry at the heartless reaction of her sister. Even a stranger, a vampire to be precise, was more invested in her than her family. 

“He broke my ribs. After he smashed his dinner against the wall. I can’t go back to him tonight.” Her sister just rolled her eyes. 

“So you want to come home with me? Fine, canceling my date then.” She couldn’t sound any more annoyed. Melot clenched his jaw. There was this sweet girl and someone had hurt her. And not even her sister did anything to help. He decided that he would keep an eye on Aurora. 

When she was finally seated in Tara’s car, Aurora turned to Melot. “Thank you! It was really nice to meet you!” Melot chuckled, remembering his own words at the beginning of their conversation. 

“Goodbye Aurora, take good care of yourself!” He looked down at her, a soft expression on his face, despite his extraordinary red eyes.

Tara drove off before she had to witness any more of that stupid conversation. 

“What was that, so you’re dating a vampire now, or what?” She spat the words into Aurora’s face. Aurora cowered back into the seat.

“No, he just stopped and asked me if I was alright. No human did that, by the way. I don’t know him and I won’t ever see him again, I guess. So you can stop hating me for another reason.”

Melot watched the car driving off, not without remembering the driver's plate. When he turned, Charlie was standing beside him.

“Melot, what are you up to again?” He was smiling deviously. Melot shook his head. “Don’t bother, cousin. It’s nothing of your interest.” Charles raised an eyebrow but didn’t press any further.

“August wants to see you. He’s pissed, I have to warn you, though I don’t have a clue why. So good luck!”

Melot gritted his teeth in frustration. He wanted to investigate what happened to Aurora. He needed to see her again. There was a bond he felt towards her that he just couldn’t explain. He didn’t have time for the stupid intrigues of his uncle. August was the fucking vampire king, he should be able to deal with his shit on his own. Or at least, if he needed Melot’s help, he should finally acknowledge Melot’s skills and give him more recognition.

Part 2

[celestialfantasiess]

Demon brothers: *calls out for sheep!MC* MC!

Sheep!MC: *happy sheep noises with happy smile on their face as they move towards the brothers, hopping towards the brothers with boing boing noises* (that's how sheep!MC normally walks)

How do the demon brothers react?

Requests: open <3

。lucifer 。

‣ Think it's cute and doesn't care if you do it around the house but does ask you to walk in a normal way whenever you are at school or in the presence of lord Diavolo.

‣ Looks up whenever he hears the boing sound of you walking around the house. Hoped you would always walk around the house that way even when you and Mammon were up to some probably illegal plans but sadly for him you are smarter than that.

‣ Knows you usually adjust the way you walk so others like Satan can read in quiet and so that he himself can get his paperwork done. He appreciates your thoughtfulness.

。mammon 。

‣ Think you are adorable but does try to find a way to make money off of how adorable you are but that is to be expected.

‣ Tries to teach you trick so you can perform those for money, spoiler alert it doesn't work.

‣ He does however have a popular public channel with cute videos of you this alone with the commercials earns him quite a bit of money.

。leviathan 。

‣ Will compare the way you came over with the hopping and boing noises to something another sheep did in one of his anime's.

‣ Asks you to cosplay said anime sheep, if you agree expect to be walking around in cosplay the same day and if you say no expect a moping Levi to follow you around asking if you won't change your mind.

‣ Does force you to watch said anime with him and in return he gets you your favorite snacks to eat.

。satan 。

‣ You are now considered to be at the same level of cuteness as a kitten in his mind.

‣ Probably questions if all human world sheep's walk this way or if it is just you that does this.

‣ Now has multiple books about farm animals in the human world to see if any of them also walk in such a cute way.

。asmodeus 。

‣ Thinks it's adorable will ask you to do it again so that he can record it and post it on his devil gram.

‣ The post blows up so he now takes selfies with you whenever he can to post them.

‣ His new motto demons love me, but they love me even more with something cute next to me to enhance how beautiful I am.

‣ Also takes candid shots of you and has created a fan account purely just for you filled with pictures he took of you that you didn't even knew he took.

。beelzebub 。

‣ Has to remind himself for a second that he can't eat you no matter how cute you look doing that.

‣ You have discovered that whenever you do walk this way around Beelzebub that he seems to give you more snack so now you do it whenever you can as to get more delicious snacks.

‣ Sometimes worries about if there is something that sheep shouldn't eat since you seem to eat everything you can but haven't gotten sick yet.

。belphegor 。

‣ Adorable mc, you are adorable but he is really tired and just want to cuddle you now so he can fall asleep with you.

‣ Calls you over more often to cuddle with just to see you walk that way and to listen to the boing sounds.

‣ Doesn't count normal sheep's in his dreams anymore no he counts mc's.

[nicely-done]

hey all! this is probably a long shot, but i can't afford gas among other things, so I'd like to offer commissions- I've mostly avoided sharing my art on here because of personal reasons, so if extra proof of it being my work is needed, feel free to dm me and ask!

prices/examples:

Sketches (and purely lined drawings) are 30 USD!

Any framing (bust, waist up, full body) is allowed. Simple backgrounds (far right) cost an extra 5 USD.

Fully lined/colored busts/waist up are 35 USD- and cost 40 with shading!

Full body pieces are 70 USD, with an extra 10 USD for shading!

Simple backgrounds (i.e., not transparent or single color/shapes in the background) are an additional 20 USD.

What you can expect:

I generally will take a couple weeks at the most for a commission- should it take longer, I will discuss it with you.

I will give you updates for major milestones (i.e., basic sketch, final sketch, lines, flats... etc. et.c)

I will allow 3 major changes at most. Anything further adds 5 USD per change (Minor changes include adjusting a color and fixing features/design errors during the sketch phase, and I am perfectly happy doing those!. Major would be, for example, changing the pose after the sketch was okayed by you already.).

quick TOS:

These are only for private use, you may not use them for commercial works such as selling prints or as stream assets. (If you want stream assets, we can discuss pricing!)

You cannot use them to train AI models, or use them for NFTs.

I reserve the right to decline a commission for any reason.

I will not refund unless it is discussed prior.

I only use PayPal invoices.

You can contact me here or via email (supershinycakes@gmail.com). Thank you for taking the time to read, have a lovely day!

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 2

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 2: Blotter Acid Reflux Syndrome

Chapter Summary: You go to a party with your BFF and see a familiar face.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.8k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, car accident mention, drug use & addiction, flashbacks, alcohol use, grief, a dick named Glenn, blow job, LSD trip narrated, paparazzi

Notes: Chapter title from "Blotter Acid Reflux Syndrome" by Atmosphere. I can't possibly explain how fun this chapter was to write, or how excited I am to share it with you. I would apologize for how many times the word "WOW" is in here, but I feel like it holds true to the acid trip experience lmfaoooo.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

You finally did it. You cried today.

After sanitizing your essentially commercial-grade kitchen, you sat down on the couch and turned the TV on. You weren’t sure what to watch, but had a hankering for some trashy ass trash TV. So you turn to your favorite reality TV show: Jersey Shore.  

But while you were trying to sink into a state of pure escapism, all you could do was stare at the ugly giant black stain in your carpet.

The blackest ink in the city. Ethan went on and on about it one night. 

As should be obvious, “blackest ink in the city” means it’s really fucking saturated with pigment. Pigment that has spent the last few weeks settling deep into the fibers of your white carpet. The stain mocks you constantly, jeering, “He’s gone and I’ll be here forever. Isn’t that just the damndest thing?” 

With a huff, you decided to do something about it. You watched Jersey Shore with your legs splayed on either side of the blackhole and scrubbed. The soapy water started to foam black under the bristles of your scrub brush. 

You were looking up at the TV, watching the rowdy group of roommates fist bump and take shots, and all of a sudden you started thinking about the night you and Ethan met. 

Your coworker, Miranda, brought you to a party at her friend’s apartment. Some dude named T-Bone or something equally ridiculous sold you some molly. When it took effect, you planted yourself down on a couch and marveled at the colorful light show being projected onto the ceiling. You’re not sure if the gradient-shifting laser beams were actually moving to the music, or if the MDMA just made you feel like they were, but you were fucking entranced. 

The couch shifted as a stranger plopped down next to you and followed your lead, staring up at the lights, then gaped, “Wow, ok, I get it.” 

“Get what?” your head rolled on your shoulders to put a face to the voice. He had a hooked nose, only made more distinct by a receding chin. The corners of his full lips turned up in a smile. Your intense attention was completely shifted, and now you were marveling at him. 

“Why you’re sitting here like this,” he answered, then turned to you. Your eyes locked. His pupils were so dilated, you couldn’t even tell what color they were. All the air whooshed from his lungs as he breathed, “Holy shit, will you marry me?” 

You started giggling and your fingers twitched towards him as you asked, “Can… Can I touch your face?” 

He nodded, gaze flitting between your eyes and extended fingertips. You pressed the pad of your index finger flush to his hairline, then ran it down the middle of his face, smiling from ear-to-ear, gasping, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

“Can I kiss you?” he tucked your hair behind your ear. The touch made you shiver. His eyes, total eclipse irises, drifted to your parted lips. You nodded, and his hand slid to your chin. He reeled you in, and when he kissed you, his barbs were embedded in your heart. 

Totally and completely fucking hooked. 

You’re not sure how the two of you got back to his apartment, since you don’t recall your lips departing his, but eventually you were there. He was buried inside you within 10 seconds of entering the residence. 

Still leaning against the door, chests heaving, fuzzy from MDMA and post-orgasm bliss, he kissed you with his soft, alluring lips and then smiled against you, “My name is Ethan.” 

You couldn’t help but start laughing again at the absurdity of it all, because you were certain that you had fallen in love with this man without even knowing his name. 

He would tell you later that he did, too. It was like all those stupid songs and movies and romance novels describe: love at first sight. Your fingers raked through his short, prematurely gray hair, “Nice to meet you, Ethan. My name is Louella.” 

Ethan dug out some comfy clothes for you to wear, then the two of you alternated between getting to know each other, watching Jersey Shore, doing lines of coke, and having mind-blowing sex for the next 8 hours. 

Now, it’s true that you’ve been accused of being pretentious. And, whatever, maybe you are pretentious. So, as one could expect, you couldn’t stop your face from folding up into a sneer at some of the things the people on this reality TV show said and did. When you criticized one particular instance of ridiculous party monster antics, he called you on your bullshit. 

“What, are we so much better?” he asked you with a quirked brow, eyes searching your face, honey brown iris barely visible behind the blown-out pupils. You looked up into the mirror hanging opposite the bed and saw yourself, naked, coked up, rolling on ecstasy, cuddled up against this man who brought you home and fucked you before you even knew his name. 

“Shit, you’re right,” you laughed, “What the fuck do I know?” 

And then today, you were sitting there on your living room floor, thinking about him and his blown out pupils, and Jersey Shore, scrubbing the fucking stupid stain from the ink he went on and on about when he was coked out of his fucking skull two weeks before his birthday. 

Each time the black foam rose above the bristles and overflowed onto your knuckles, you dipped the scrub brush into a bucket of warm, soapy water at your side, and you began again. But the stain wasn’t lifting.

Those fucking blown out pupils as he narrowed his eyes at you after unwrapping your gift. The blackest ink in the city. He tilted his head and pursed his lips, “How did you know about the ink?” 

“You told me about it two weeks ago,” you told him. Chest caving in on itself. He was rigid, gripping the box with white knuckles. 

“I didn’t tell anyone about the ink, Lou.”

Fucking black eyes. Unblinking. Boring into you as if you had revealed yourself as an informant. Like he didn’t trust a fucking thing you’ve ever told him. 

And this fucking stain, it wasn’t lifting. Not even a little. Just foaming black until it touched your skin and you’d rinse and start again and again and again and your hands eventually stained black, too. Blackest ink in the city.

Anger flared in your chest and overrode your actions. A gravely scream rose in your throat, scraping it raw. You chucked the brush across the room, splattering a foamy, black ink mess across the wall as it hit. Fucking stain. Fucking ink. Goddamn motherfucking Jersey Shore.

You were enraged. It’s so unfair that here all these goddamn things were, existing, but he’s gone. A suppressed shriek burned your vocal chords and you yanked on your hair just to make it hurt, screeching in a broken voice, “Why did you fucking leave me here?” 

The agony circulated through your body, pumping thick and wet from the valves of your heart. Your black stained fingertips pressed against your face as you curled up into a ball and fell sideways. A lump surfaced in your throat. Tears pricked your eyes, just a few at first, and then a steady stream as a howl escaped your throat. 

Once it started, it was difficult to stop. Weeks worth of backlogged tears fighting their way from your aching chest, up your throat, out your eyes. 

A broken dam of grief. 

You cried so loud and hard and long, it’s any wonder none of your neighbors came knocking at your door. 

They were probably listening, telling their roommate or spouse or kid or whoever in hushed tones about the poor wretch whose husband lost it and drove them both into a telephone pole at 60 MPH. 

The poor wretch, who was writhing around on the stained living room carpet, finally releasing the pressure from her inflamed soul. 

Before you knew it, the sun had set. The tears were waning. The once hot, soapy water was cold and cloudy black. You picked yourself up and trudged your meatbag over to the bathroom mirror to survey the damage on your face. It was about what you expected. Swollen, wet, and hard to look at. 

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket. You sniffled as you pulled it out and unlocked the screen. As if he had sensed your distress, it was a message from your best friend. 

> PARKER:  > Need to get out of the house? Party in LES, I’m bringing Lucy. 

“What’s this chick’s name again?” Glenn asks when the elevator door slides open and he starts walking in-step with Dieter. At the end of the hallway, the indisputable bumpbumpbumpbump of a party sounds from behind the door of apartment 4B. 

“Katie,” Dieter answers, then turns to his companion, “She’s cool. Don’t be a dick.” 

Glenn scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air defensively, “Fuck you, I’m not a fuckin’ dick.” 

“I didn’t say you are a dick, I told you not to be a dick,” Dieter looks Glenn up and down as they come to a stop in front of 4B. 

Objectively, Glenn looks like a total dick. His signature pompadour, made possible thanks to brunette hair plugs, sticks an inch off his scalp. His body is spray tanned a bronzy orange two shades too deep. He used to obtain this freshly-vacationed “glow” from a tanning bed. It shows in the deep folds of his skin, no matter how many chemical peels or laser treatments he gets. 

If it wasn’t the douchebag hair, or the fake bake, or the way his teeth are the color of bleached white toilet bowl porcelain, or the way his face is always dripping in smugness, even in his goddamn sleep, Glenn would still look like a dick, because he dresses like a dick. Showing up to a fucking house party wearing an Armani suit, for fuck’s sake. 

And if it wasn’t all of the above? Even if Glenn wasn't the poster child for washed-up 90's sitcom actors? He would still probably look a dick, because that's what he is. 

A fucking dick. 

Dieter raises a hand and raps the thick, golden band of the ring on his index finger against the door that reads 4B. 

It swings open almost immediately, and they’re greeted by the hostess. Her curly ginger hair bounces as she jumps up and down, clapping, “Oh, you made it!” 

Dieter gives a quick nod of acknowledgment, pulling her in for a one-armed hug as he scans the room over her shoulder, “You look fucking stunning, sweetheart.”

Katie’s loft apartment looks like it was once a warehouse, but converted into overpriced housing. Industrial lighting dangles from the ceiling, casting a golden glow onto the party and its guests. From his vantage point at the door, Dieter can see the kitchen where people are huddled around, railing lines off the granite countertop, talking over each other. A brown leather couch, which looks like it’s normally a staple in Katie’s living room, is now only an awkward centerpiece on the crowded dance floor. 

“Aww, thank you, love,” as she pulls away, her lily pad eyes land on Glenn and a charming smile plays on her plump lips, brought to you in part by JUVÉDERM® Ultra XC, “Who did you bring?” 

“Glenn Evans,” Glenn brings his hand up to meet Katie’s, pairing a brief shake with his too-perfect, too-practiced, too-white smile.

“Katie Wainwright,” Katie looks between the two men, gaze settling on Dieter when she says, “Want me to show you around?” 

“If you don’t mind,” Dieter winks. Her freckled face flushes pink as she tucks hair behind her ear and starts off towards the kitchen. Dieter follows, watching the hem of her unseasonably short black dress sway just below her ass as she walks. 

Katie parades Dieter and Glenn around the loft, introducing them to everyone that crosses their path. Each new cluster of humans seems to include an aspiring actor, a waiter, and some kind of a niche content creator that Dieter can hardly comprehend. Many of them are familiar with Dieter, some of them are familiar with Glenn. 

As if mind-altering substances are the price of admission for a conversation, several people offer up tokes, drinks, and lines to Dieter and Glenn as they meet and make small talk. 

While Glenn is off talking to a captive audience about his defining role as Arnie Walker, a stranger, who introduces himself as Parker, approaches Dieter and gives him two tabs of acid.

He’s skinny and tall, wearing black, tight, ripped up jeans, a nondescript black t-shirt, and a pair of all-black chuck taylors. His coiled dark brown hair is buzzed close to his scalp in a fade, and his ears stick out wide from the sides of his head, proudly displaying a pair of large silver hooped earrings. 

The man’s dark sepia skin is littered with a series of small black tattoos that seem unrelated but are so similar in style that they work together cohesively. They’re all stylized like illustrations found in classic storybooks. Some of the art is pulled directly from the inspiration, like the mad hatter from Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland on his left forearm, carved in between tattoos of a head of broccoli and a disco ball. Fucking fascinating. 

“Those were the last I have, so don’t go telling everyone,” Parker explains with the wink of an amber brown eye, “And, no obligation to hang or anything, but my friend and I just took a few doses, too.” 

“Right on,” Dieter grins, then opens his mouth to press the two paper squares under his tongue. He bids Parker adieu when he spots Katie, alone, leaning back against the kitchen counter. She’s bobbing her head along to the music absentmindedly while supervising the partygoers dancing around her couch. 

As he approaches, she meets his gaze and smiles wide, “Hey! Having fun?” 

He sips bourbon from the glass in his hand, nodding, then inquires, “Did you hear anything back from the screen test yet?” 

With a heavy sigh, she glances down her glass of white wine, “Not yet, have you?” 

“Nothing,” his eyes dart around the room, then return to Katie with a suggestive quirk of his brow, “You know, if we both get the parts, we would be spending a lot of time together.” 

She bites her bottom lip and smirks, looking from his lips to his eyes, “I don’t think I would be too upset with that.”

The little flit of her gaze sends all the blood in Dieter’s body to his cock. He licks his lips and takes a step towards her, “Can’t say I would be, either.” 

“Is that right?” her eyelashes bat as she tilts her head. 

He takes another step forward, leaning in close enough to smell the notes of sweet pea and jasmine on her perfume when he breathes against her cheek, “So is there anywhere private in this apartment?” 

Katie bites her lip and nods, “Follow me.”

She pushes off the kitchen counter and leads him up the stairs to her loft bedroom, passing an empty bed, instead making a beeline up to what looks like a floor-to-ceiling mirror. She slides it open, revealing a walk-in closet. Stepping through the threshold is like being enclosed in a vacuum, only intensified when Katie slides the pocket door shut. The echoing noise of the loft apartment is almost completely silenced, and the colorful garments lining the walls make the space feel warm and insulated. 

Dieter turns around to face Katie, who’s only inches away now. She reaches up with an expertly manicured hand and drags her index finger along his jawline. A shudder rolls down his back. He aches for the touch of another against his skin. 

Enclosing her hand in his, he presses his lips to her wrist, then brings her warm palm to lay flush against his cheek. He holds it there, drinking in the heat of her skin that seems to only whet the thirst inside him. She pulls back from his grasp and, to his surprise, drops to her knees and starts to unbuckle his belt. 

“We don’t have to go right to-“ he starts, but by then, his jeans and boxer briefs are at his ankles, and Katie is holding his semi-hard cock in her palm, looking up at him through thick, black eyelashes. His mouth forms an o when she sticks out her tongue and flattens it against his frenulum. It slides back and forth, electrifying him from deep within. His cock jumps and he throws his head back. 

“That’s so good, sweetheart,” he groans when her mouth closes around his width and she swirls that sweet tongue around his head, “What a perfect fucking mouth. Lick me so fucking good.”

She hums enthusiastically at the praise, drawing her eyebrows together. Her green eyes are dark with lust, fluttering up to meet his gaze, bubblegum pink tongue sliding around the sensitive skin. He’s rock hard now, waves of pleasure climbing from his cock, to his core, up his spine, spreading through his body like the most delicious venom. He bites his fist to resist grabbing her hair. 

Her lips slide further down his shaft. She starts sucking him off, taking more of his length with each bob up and down. Her puffy pink lips are gaining more color, stretched thin and red around him, shiny with saliva. The weight of ecstasy mounting intensifies when he hits her gag reflex and her throat muscles twitch at his head. Her mouth produces hot, wet saliva that squelches around him when she recovers and takes his cock in her mouth again, and again, and again. It is fucking divine. 

His mouth agape, he stares down at her and hesitantly rubs his thumb against her freckled, rosy, hollowed out cheek, asking, “Can you take all of me, baby?” 

She hums around him and nods, pulling a moan from his throat, then adjusts her position and holy fuck, does she prove herself. When she drives her mouth onto him, his thick, swollen cock glides past her gag reflex, and the ridges of her throat squeeze him. Those lilypad eyes flutter up at him once he’s fully engulfed, as if to say “told ya so.” 

“Oh my- fuck, sweetheart, oh that’s fucking amazing, you take me so fucking good-“ 

She moans wantonly, vocal chords reverberating around him, and it almost knocks him on his ass. Her reddened lips slide up and and down his slick cock, slurping noises emitting from her pretty fucking drooling mouth. Dieter’s heart is pounding, and the sweet, dizzying tingle of ecstasy is intensifying. She halts with his cock buried deep in her throat and bobs with quick, short movements. 

They moan in unison as he closes his fist in her ginger locks. He’s breaking out into a sweat, meeting her watery eyes, groaning, “That pretty fucking mouth, holy fuck, Katie- so good- gonna make me fucking cum-“ 

She responds positively to this, moaning as she picks up her pace. This is when he notices that she has one hand between her legs. Flimsy teal underwear pushed to the side, exposing her sparse, wispy, red bush. Her pussy is glistening and she’s working her clit in tight, precise circles. 

“You’re so fucking hot, sweetheart, look at you- touching yourself while you suck my cock-“ he growls, grip on her hair tightening, “You gonna make yourself cum like that? Hmmm?”

A frantic whimper vibrates around him and pools hot in his belly, but he keeps his resolve, husking, “I want you to cum with my cock in your throat, baby, you can do it.” 

Her whimpers grow into moans, louder and more frequent, and her fingers work faster. She’s so fucking close. Dieter pushes her further, “Such a fucking good girl, taking care of both of us-“ 

Her eyelids flutter shut. He keeps going, holding back his own mounting pleasure, gritting his teeth, “Fuck, Katie, you can do it, let me see you cum, sweetheart.” 

With this, her high-pitched whines reach a fever pitch, and her whole body starts to shudder. She drips a wet spot onto the carpet of her closet and her watery eyes roll back. She’s gargling on his cock through her orgasm, drool running down her face. He coos, “Good girl, so good- fuck,” then his hips take over fucking the wet heat of her mouth, working at a needy pace. His eyes close and his head falls back as he chases the holy sensation of his hot, gooey center expanding. 

It grows and grows until it swallows him whole. His hips snap forward as he cums down her throat. She swallows around him, taking it straight to her belly, and he moans as her muscles contract around his sensitive cock. He pulls out and stumbles back, leaning against an unstable fabric wall made of her clothing. Some of the garments fall of the hangers onto the floor as he the waves of ecstasy start to peter out. 

He releases his death grip on Katie's hair and looks down at her, mouth gaping and chest heaving. She wipes her mouth innocently and smiles. His thumb rubs into a pool of spit still stagnant on the corner of her lips, and he mumbles, “You’re fucking amazing.” 

They find their way back downstairs after Katie cleans herself up in the en-suite bathroom connected to her closet. While she resumes hosting duties, bullshitting and such, Dieter starts to notice the world twisting around the edges. 

He takes a look around and sees Glenn mixing in with the kitchen folks, still rallied around a powdery granite countertop as he rambles out the stories on his “impress new people” rolodex. Dieter has heard them all to an exhaustive degree just within the past week, so he ambles around in a content haze, swaying gently to the suggestion of “Them Changes” by Thundercat blasting over the speakers planted around the apartment.  

Giggles and murmurs lilt down from Katie’s loft bedroom. The noises seem to take up a physical presence, floating from the source through the waves of music, settling on him like confetti. 

He didn’t realize he was following the beacon until he's standing at the foot of the staircase. Hushed laughter kisses his face and shoulders, growing louder with each step he takes. When he arrives at the top of the stairs, he finds the guy that gave him the acid, Parker, laying next to another person on Katie’s bed. All fuzzy and crystallized, both dressed in all black, starkly contrasting the cloud of white blankets and pillows they're floating atop. 

“Hey man,” Parker waves a fluid hand, “Wanna come lay with us?” 

“Who is… us?” Dieter giggles when the comic book word bubble appears over his head. 

Sixteenth notes from all over the chromatic scale erupt from the other figure's throat in a giggle. Dieter gasps softly at the familiar tune, trying to pinpoint the melody he knows has been stuck in his head for weeks. He blinks, then squints and steps closer, unable to believe his eyes.

The woman laying on the floating cloud extends her hands towards the ceiling, black short sleeved t-shirt exposing the crawling skin of her arms, one covered with tattoos and scar tissue. 

Orange Sunny D words spill from Parker’s lips. The pool spreads across the room, flooding their way into Dieter’s ears with a citrus tang, telling him, “Parker and Louella.” 

“Louella?” he whispers in italics. The name tastes like flaky puff pastry and warm apple filling. It beckons him the way a curl of steam wafts off a pie cooling in the windowsill entices a passing cartoon character. Apple pie. Apple Danish. Dieter licks his lips and swallows wet and he can taste the sweetness with a tart bite, folded in with warm hints of nutmeg and cinnamon. 

A wide smile spreads across his face as he floats onto the white, puffy, cumulus bed, sandwiching you between himself and Parker. His body sinks down. He sighs with relief when he feels surrounded by comfort. Inextricably, he feels connected to the cloud and it’s occupants. 

He looks up, breathing in time with the rippling ceiling, “Wow, this is fucking amazing.” 

“It is,” you agree, unable to take your eyes off the ceiling as the golden illumination from angular light fixtures shifts into exquisite patterns, wriggling to the beat of the music. The man next to you turns his head and you feel his eyes fixed on you, so you turn to face him. 

You each examine the other’s pulsing, blurry face as the freight train of recognition comes out of nowhere and hits you. The dimmer switch controlling his face lights all the way up at the same time yours does. 

“I know you!” you gasp, “Dieter?” 

Dieter nods with his mouth agape, eyes getting impossibly wide as a dimpled smile stretches across his features, “Of course it’s you.”

The way he says this occupies space in your body as Valentine’s Day clichés. You’re all red foil, heart-shaped Mylar balloons and Hallmark cards and bouquets of red roses.  

“Have you guys ever heard of the mycorrhizal networks?” Parker asks in a shiny, golden haze, pulling your attention away from Dieter. Parker's hands, a million little glowing organisms spinning and working together, leave ghost trails as his fingers dance in time with the waves of EDM undulating from the sound system, leaving you slack-jawed. 

Laughter flitters from your mouth in shiny iridescent bubbles. Your fingers and toes are buzzing with delight. 

Dieter’s words come out in a thick, chartreuse, polyester yarn, spooling into a ball, “The mushroom phones, right?” 

“Mushroom phones,” you whisper, then start giggling as you imagine cartoon mushrooms calling each other from their homes on the dewy forest floor.

“Yeah,” Parker exhales, “They like, um, they’re connected underground and tell each other things.” 

“Whaaaat? Really?” you raise your hands, still tinged black from the blackest ink the city, above your face now, watching in awe as the skin twists and turns, radiating euphoria down into your bones., “What do you think they talk about?” 

Dieter’s chartreuse ball of yarn starts to spin again, “They tell each other what’s going on in the forest, and what they need, like if they’re low on,” he pauses and holds his breath when a bass-heavy indie rap song starts vibrating through the air. You realize that you’re holding your breath, too. The music reverberates down your spine and your vision explodes fireworks when the beat drops. 

You both start breathing again with a gasp, “Wow.” 

The three of you lose all words, staring at the ceiling as you watch it dance in a rainbow kaleidoscope to the rhythm. When the song fades into another, Dieter starts giggling, “Holy shit, what was I just saying?” 

“Um, let’s see…” Parker sighs. His brainstorm rolls across the cloud, through you. 

“Mushroom phones!” you burst out, one hand reaching over to grab Dieter’s in excitement at your excellent memory in action. It feels soft and warm and fucking amazing. You marvel, “Oh my god, hold my hand, please.” 

He nods and a low, content hum rumbles from his throat when his fingers interlace with yours, locking in place with a squeeze that radiates across your body, dripping hot and wet down the middle of you, and a gasp floats from your lips, “That feels so good.” 

Your other hand finds Parker’s and you squeeze it, looking over at him with a wide grin. 

“Wow,” Parker giggles at the sensation, tightening his grip on your hand, then gasps a shimmering golden fog, “We’re like… we’re like a mycorrhizal network right now.”

The fog rolls into a haze that hovers over the three of you. It settles onto your bodies with weight, dew clinging to your skin as you sink into a bed of moss on the forest floor, pulling a collective wow from your lips. The synchronization makes you all start giggling an exhaust of sunshine and lemonade, glowing, twirling, bundling you in a warm summer embrace. 

As the laughter subsides, you theorize out loud, “If you think about it, our souls are like… connected like that. Like the um….” 

You roll your head towards Parker, looking at him for assistance with the world that rolled off his tongue so perfectly. He offers it up on a silver platter, “Mycorrhizal network.” 

You swallow big and nuzzle into the comforting heat of your best friend, “Yeah. That. When I died, I felt it. Like… We’re all from this big pool of humanity. But when we’re born we’re just like, in our own special containers.” 

That sense of belonging larger than yourself that you felt upon your death returns, and you picture the iridescent vessel you were hurled down moments after you floated from your body. Moments after you were hurled from the windshield of Ethan's car. For some reason, it feels like the vessel spit you back out right here on this cloud tonight. Like this is the first day of your new life. It takes your breath away. 

Dieter’s hand squeezes yours and you melt into putty, but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind how gooey and pliable you are in his grasp. You close your eyes and revel in the bliss that shivers across your skin. You feel his gaze on you, so you open your eyes and turn to him, and now he’s in the vessel, too. 

His big tootsie pop eyes meet yours and you smile as wide as your face can allow, then probably even wider. He whispers, “I died, too.” 

Your mouth gapes open in disbelief, but all that comes out is a sharp giggle. 

“Hang on-“ Dieter rolls on his side to face you, tucking your clasped hands under one of his cheeks, “I have to tell you something.”

Your fingers twitch and you feel compelled to let go of Parker so you can touch Dieter’s face. The heat from his grip and his cheek surrounds your hand, electromagnetic energy radiating from your fingertips to your heart. 

“Lua,” Dieter starts, chartreuse yarn rolling in the space between you, “Can I call you Lua?” 

“Yes absolutely,” you nod seriously, “Can I call you Dee?” 

“Yeah,” his face melds into a pleased smile, then he lays back and looks at the ceiling, “I died. And I felt that, too. Like, um, like uh, we’re all connected. All from the same. We don’t even know it. Then we return someday to the… what did you call it? Big pool?” 

“Like a sea?” Parker asks. 

“A sea, yeah,” you confirm, rolling onto your back. You let go of your partner's hands and wave your arms across your field of vision to create liquid trails of your patched up skin,  “A sea of love.”

“Sea of love,” Dieter repeats in awe as his gaze fixes on your hands, “Wow.”

The ceiling above starts to move in crests and troughs, wavelengths syncing to the music blasting from another world. Water. You try to swallow but it’s an arid desert. 

“I’m thirsty,” you declare. This is not good news. Thirsty means you need water, which means you have to get water, which means having to move from this safe space. 

“Oh no,” Parker giggles out nervous little vibrations that settle uncomfortably in your belly, “One of us has to go get water.” 

You sit up abruptly to survey the party below. Humans mull about in the open space, blending together in nondescript blobs, dancing, hollering, drinking booze, snorting lines. 

They don’t know about the mycorrhizal networks, or the cloud, or the sea of love. They don’t get it. A shudder rolls across your body and dissatisfaction tinges the world around you a stormy gray. You fall back into the warm embrace of the cloud and inform your friends breathlessly, “Don’t go up there, guys, it’s not the same.” 

Parker giggles nervously, the notes twisting at your guts when he chirps, “Oh no.” 

“Maybe Glenn is on the mushroom phone hang on,” Dieter appears to be thinking hard for a minute as he exerts psychic power downstairs. All movement on the cloud ceases except the magnified brain waves Dieter exerts downstairs. Nobody even breathes.  

After what feels like forever, Dieter exhales an opaque violet sigh, “He won’t pick up.” 

“Oh no,” you press your fingertips to your lips. The pressure shimmers down to your core with gravity like a rain stick flipped upside down. You begin to trace your lips, slowly. Beads clatter softly against your bones and organs and muscles as they fall from one end of you to the other, defying gravity. Your shoulders relax and you sink deeper into the cloud. What were you even fretting about? 

“WAIT!” Dieter gasps, sitting upright at a speed that makes his body lag behind a few frames. He looks from you to Parker with a brilliant smile, then stands up out of the bed, “I know a place. Perfect place. Follow me.”

You and Parker sit up and watch him. The new elevation makes your head spin. 

When Dieter starts towards the wall opposite Katie’s bed, a black terror claws its way through your gut. A mirror stretches from the carpeted floor up to the ceiling. You’re consumed by the gnawing desire to hide from its view. 

But you can’t look away. 

The mirror reflects an image of you and Parker on the cloud, but it appears dark and sinister. Your head tilts as the geometric patterns seem to bend and twist, outlining something behind your shoulder. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. A face. Ethan’s face. Hovering over your shoulder. He’s trying to trap all of you. 

Your hands fly over your mouth, and as Dieter steps closer to it, you yelp, “Don’t! Please don’t, Dee, don’t go by the mirror.” 

Dieter turns around and holds out a fluid hand to you, exerting a sky blue sureness that makes your hands fall from your face as he coos, “It’s ok, I promise, Lua.” 

Your hand finds Parker’s, and you lace your fingers together, watching Dieter with wide eyes as he floats across the room. Parker squeezes your hand, surrounding you with serene blue waters, assuring you, “I’m here, Lou. It’s ok.” 

Dieter pushes the mirror to the side, revealing a secret passage. 

This blows your fucking minds. It’s a whole new world. He flips the light on and reveals a tunnel lined with stripes of fabric in a rainbow of colors and textures. 

“Holy fuck, dude,” Parker laughs, letting go of your hand to throw both hands over his mouth in disbelief, “No fucking way, is that Narnia?” 

“Come on,” he waves the two of you to follow as he passes through the threshold into another world, a brave explorer, “There’s a bathroom in here with a sink. Water!” 

You cautiously stand up, but you can’t take your eyes off the mirror. It’s still watching you. Inky black terror coats your body. Ethan’s face swirls in the geometric patterns, and your head whips back and forth in a refusal to approach. You retreat to the bed, hugging your knees to your chest as you whimper, “I can’t. I can’t go by the mirror. He’s in there, guys. He’s stuck in there.” 

You clamp your eyes shut. Prisms in a spectrum of brilliant colors bounce around behind your eyelids, exploding into fireworks, twisting into swirling diamonds. The bed shifts and someone touches your face, brushing their thumb against your cheek. 

The muscles of your throat strain to swallow nothingness into the dried up well, then you crack one eye open cautiously, expecting to see Ethan coming back to take you to the next life. But instead, you see Dieter, and his soft touch against your cheek pulls you from the darkness. Parker puts his hand on your back from beside you and rubs it, warmth of his affection soothing the monster tearing up your insides. 

“We can do this, sweetheart, it'll be ok,” Dieter promises. His chartreuse spool of yarn swirls around your body and hugs you tight. 

You look to Parker, who nods in reassurance, “We’ll all go through together. It’ll be better in there. You can do it.” 

Their confidence and camaraderie uplifts your spirit. You close your eyes for a moment to take a deep breath in, then you slowly exhale the black ink stain. Blackest ink in the city. 

Then when you open your eyes again, you nod. They pry your white-knuckle grip from your knees and each hold one of your hands and pull you up to your feet. The grip is warm and comforting and your chest swells with fluttering pink butterflies and golden glitter. In this moment, you swear you love these two people more than you’ve ever loved before. 

It is everything. 

When you take a step towards the gateway and feel the mirror’s gaze, you shrink back. 

“I have an idea,” Dieter announces, then turns to you, commanding all of your attention. Your eyes lock on his and gasp. They’re warm, cocooning you in love. He asks, “Do you trust me?” 

You nod without thinking twice. 

“Ok, here we go, close your eyes.” 

Your eyes snap shut and it’s all rainbow fireworks and patterned prisms of light you follow behind closed eyelids. Dieter places one hand on your back, then the other sweeps you up by your knees into his arms. You link your arms around his neck and bury your face in his sweater, pressing your cheek against the feathery soft plumage of the angel. 

You feel like you’re flying as he takes a few steps forward, then calls back, “Come on, I need you to turn this one around,” then he directs his chartreuse yarn at you. It crawls into your ear and weaves a blanket inside you, “I’m gonna set you down, but don’t open your eyes until I say so.” 

“Ok,” you breathe. He lowers you down and your feet touch the ground, then take root. You leave your eyes closed, face pressed against Dieter’s angel wing sweater, hands linked behind his neck, watching the light show behind your eyelids. An intermission. Halftime show. 

“In the bathroom, too, put a, umm… a towel over it,” Dieter directs Parker. There’s a rummaging noise and you try to imagine what Parker is doing, but you keep getting distracted by millions of twisting and turning patterns that seem to occupy your consciousness as a whole. 

“Ok open your eyes,” Dieter instructs, his voice cutting through the thick film of geometric shapes. You follow his instruction slowly, cracking one eye open, then the other, then you look up at him. His dark chocolate eyes melt into you and you know that it will, in fact, be ok. 

The closet door slides open and Katie halts mid-stride to find you, Parker, and Dieter laying side-by-side, packed together like sardines on the floor of her walk-in closet, giggling. Instead of being in their rightful place hanging up, several of her clothes are draped across your friendship cluster. Your mycorrhizal network. Your little sea of love. 

The hallucinogenic side-effects of the LSD are wearing off, mostly just leaving you euphoric. You’re holding a sequin dress above your head, moving it to the beat of the music emitting from Parker’s phone. The brilliant gems reflect the light in a hazy kaleidoscope. 

“Um, hi…?” Katie tilts her head at the scene before her, “What’re you guys doing?” 

“Katie!” Dieter exclaims, a smile stretching across his face as he explains, “We’re exploring.” 

“You… turned my mirror around?” she frowns at the huge floor length mirror that’s now facing the wall. 

“Mm yeah, it was not good in there, had to close the portal,” you explain without looking away from the sparkling dress. 

Parker starts giggling and reaches out to touch the dress, informing her, “Bathroom mirror is covered, too.” 

“Oh,” her big green eyes search the closet, then the bathroom. She frowns and blinks in annoyance at the intrusion, “Well, party is over now. It’s time to go.” 

“Aw man,” Parker whines, then sits up and turns to you and Dieter, “You wanna go get breakfast? There’s a diner around the corner. They make the best pancakes.” 

“Is it cold outside?” Dieter asks, eyes widening as he looks from Parker to Katie. 

“Yeah,” Katie scoffs, rubbing her eyes with her palms as she yawns, “It’s February, of course it’s cold.” 

“How cold?” Parker asks Katie now.

She throws up her hands, “I don’t know, 10°?” 

You toss the sequin dress aside, shrugging as you look between Parker and Dieter, “That’s not so bad. We can walk."  

A smile extends across Dieter’s face, “Awesome." 

The streetlights are still on, reflecting shimmering rainbows off snow piles lining the sidewalk and the layer of frost that has accumulated overnight. You bury your hands deep in the pockets of your puffy, black winter coat. Brisk winter air licks the exposed skin of your face. You breathe it in and exhale a thick vapor. 

Parker and Dieter follow you outside, and both start giggling at the change of scenery and temperature, then simultaneously notice the shimmering layer of frost coating everything your eyes can see. A white plume of, “Woooooow,” emits from their mouths at the same time. The visual synchronicity of their brains pulls champagne bubbles of laughter from your throat. 

“Hang on, I got just the thing,” Dieter announces, then digs in the pockets of his tawny fleece jacket, pulling out a joint. He plugs it between his pillowy lips and lifts a lighter to the end. The glowing orange cherry flashes bright with each inhale as he puffs the intoxicating smoke. It produces an unmistakable skunky odor. He holds it out to Parker and says, “Lead the way.”

Parker plucks it from his comrade’s extended hand, and mutters, “Off we go,” before marching past you. He is the engine of your three person choo-choo train. You take turns leaving an exhaust trail of cannabis smoke as he moves full steam ahead. It feels like an Olympic event. All three contestants are silent in concentration as you navigate the iridescent, glittering sidewalks, passing a joint back and forth like it’s the torch that holds the Olympic flame. 

You’re following Parker’s wide strides with intensity, when all of a sudden he comes to a standstill. Unable to react to the cease movement fast enough, you run headfirst into his back, then Dieter slams into you, creating a pileup. All three of you curse and start giggling at the clumsy incident, then Parker turns and opens the door to an unassuming diner, chiming a bell inside.

You wipe the soles of your shoes on the black utility rug at the entry before stepping onto the black and white checkered linoleum, peering around the establishment as the feeling of another decade sinks into your bones. 

Chrome swivel stools with crimson seats are spaced equidistant apart on the receiving end of the long lunch counter. Crimson booths line the outer walls. The large picture windows faintly mirror the brightly lit scene inside. There’s a fucking jukebox playing “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by The Everly Brothers next to the restroom door. 

A memory surfaces from one night back in your childhood home. You were restless and unable to find sleep, then you heard one of your parents put a record on in the kitchen. Following the sound, you tiptoed out of your dark bedroom and peaked around the corner to see your mom and dad dancing in the middle of the kitchen. Your mom’s head was laid on her dancing partner’s chest as they swayed to the gentle doo-wop. Her face was wet with tears, and you didn’t understand why she was crying. 

That fucking song. 

A waitress whose black hair is done up in a beehive, because of course it is, approaches the three of you with plastic menus and shows you to a booth. 

“You were right,” Dieter declares as his fork cuts through the stack of maple-syrup soaked buttermilk flapjacks, “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had in my fucking life.” 

The waves of LSD are weak and spaced far apart now, and you’re floating back to reality like a leaf falling from a tree in an autumn breeze. The sun is rising outside and melting the frost in increments. 

“Parker knows his shit when it comes to food,” you inform Dieter, “Did you know that he’s the head Pastry Chef at Antoinette’s?” 

“No shit?” Dieter raises his eyebrows at the unassuming adult goth sitting across from him. 

Parker nods as he swallows his mouthful, then looks at you for confirmation, “I’ve worked there since we graduated from CIA, what, fifteen years ago?” 

“Just about,” you grin, then look to Dieter, “I worked there for a while, too, ‘til Ethan and I started up our business.” 

“Do you guys ever have bake-offs?” Dieter wonders out loud, then tips his head to look over his sunglasses between you and Parker, “Because I would be happy to be the judge of that contest.” 

“I fucking bet,” you chuckle, “You have a sweet tooth, huh?”

Dieter nods and grins. 

“I was shocked when you ordered so much from me last month, but it’s starting to make sense now,” you wink. 

When you glance around the diner, you notice a red-headed man at the lunch counter holding his phone up at your table, obviously taking pictures. Your brow furrows and you nudge Parker, “Is that guy taking pictures of us?”

“Mm,” Dieter sounds as he swallows a mouthful of pancakes, then nods to the stranger, “Paparazzi.” 

“But… why?” 

“They’re on me like flies on shit lately,” Dieter explains, “With the divorce and all.” 

This perplexes you. What the fuck is he talking about? Paparazzi? The divorce? It dawns on you that, despite bonding with Dieter throughout the night, you have no idea who he is really. Your face scrunches up in confusion, “Are… are you famous or something?” 

Both Dieter and Parker lower their forks and stare at you with an equal amount of confusion. 

“I uh… yeah, yeah I am,” Dieter chuckles softly, looking from the paparazzi to you with a smirk, “You didn’t know that?”

You shake your head, “No.”

“Really, Lou?” Parker laughs, throwing his head back as he howls, “He like, he won an Oscar and everything.” 

Your mouth falls open and you gasp, “No fucking way!” 

“It’s true,” Dieter points his fork at Parker. The concept makes your head spin. It’s not like you thought he was a stockbroker or something, but you never would have guessed he’s a famous actor. 

“I don’t believe you guys,” you raise your eyebrows and poke at your food.

Parker laughs even harder and starts slapping his hands together. 

“Here,” Dieter tells you, then turns to the not-so-discreet man taking pictures of your table, “Hey, who am I?”

Void of shame, the plump, middle-aged man doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not immortalizing the moment on film, and thus, answers without moving the phone from its place, “Dieter Bravo.” 

Dieter’s eyebrows raise and a grin breaks out across his face as he points to the man and swivels his gaze back to yours. He shifts in his seat and pulls out his phone, tapping the screen a bit before he turns it around to face you. The top of the screen displays a tabloid headline: 

BRAVO V BRAVO: DIVORCE TURNS NASTY!

It’s a picture of Dieter, obviously taken by paparazzi. He’s walking down a sidewalk in what you guess is LA, wearing a loose gray t-shirt and sweatpants, face shielded by sunglasses, hair flying every which way, mouth clamped in a thin line. 

“What the fuck,” you blink, brow furrowed as you look from the phone screen to the man holding it, then sigh and shake your head, “I can’t deal with this. I’m gonna pretend you’re not.” 

“Fine by me,” Dieter mutters, then takes his phone back and tucks it into his jacket pocket. He runs his hands through his wild hair as he sighs, “What a way to find out my life is a fucking circus, huh?” 

“Mmm, well, my husband died in front of me like a month and a half ago if that makes you feel better,” you shrug, then nod to Parker, “Parker is dating a married guy. We all have our shit shows. Ours just aren’t published.” 

They’re both stunned by your frankness. 

“Wow, Lou, spill my secrets for me,” Parker scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“What?! It’s only fair, we’re all on neutral ground now,” you snort to yourself, “Pobody’s nerfect.” 

“Can’t believe you just skimmed over your husband dying again,” Dieter gapes. 

“Can’t believe you just said pobody’s nerfect,” Parker shakes his head, then starts giggling. All three of you turn your attention back to your food. You wiggle happily in your seat as you chew a fluffy, buttery, maple-syrup soaked mouthful of flapjacks. 

“So, uhh, Parker,” Dieter starts as he wipes his face with a napkin. His big, pretty brown eyes peer over the top of his sunglasses, “Married men?” 

Parker’s cheeks deepen in color and he groans, “Yeah.”

Dieter raises an eyebrow as a mischievous grin plays across his face. Parker clocks it immediately and chuckles, “Sorry, you’re not my type, love.” 

“Is it the pending divorce?” you joke at both of their expense, and you all break out in laughter. When it dies down, you shift in your seat and look down at your plate as you ask Dieter, “So are you gay, then?” 

He shakes his head, “Bi.” 

It’s irritating how relieved you are to hear this, but your face lights up and you exclaim, “Me too!” 

Dieter picks up the sweaty glass of ice water next to his plate, “Cheers, queers.” 

You and Parker hold your glasses up and they all clink together in celebration. 

“Holy fuck,” Parker groans as he lowers his cup to the table, then throws his fork down on his plate, “I’m so full. I can’t. Take me home, mommy,” he lays his head on your shoulder and closes his eyes, “I need a nap.” 

The words curl up inside you and your body slumps at the recognition of exhaustion. You rest your head on his and pout, “I don’t wanna take the subway again, though.” 

“Let me call a car,” Dieter digs his phone out of his pocket. Neither you, nor Parker deny the offer. It sounds infinitely better than the alternative. Dieter hovers above the phone, tapping the screen lazily as he yawns. 

Parker yawns next. Your nostrils flutter and mouth opens wide to take a sharp breath. The yawn expands your lungs and makes your eyes teary, “That shit is contagious.” 

"Hey, wake up. We're here," the timbre of Dieter's voice cuts through the REM sleep, yanking you from the passenger's seat of Ethan's car, where you were scrambling to connect the seatbelt before he runs another red light. 

Your eyes blink open and you take a sharp breath in as you stretch your hands and feet as far away from you as you can manage, warming the thinned out muscles into wakefulness. You whip your head around and are relieved to see it's daylight, and you're in the backseat of an SUV, seatbelt firmly holding you in place. 

Dieter is sitting right next to you in the middle seat, despite the empty seat next to the window. His brown eyes are peaking over the top of his sunglasses as he watches you regain your bearings. You swing your glance out the window at the entrance to your apartment building, then back to Dieter and croak, "Thank you for bringing me home." 

"Don't mention it," he smirks. The way his body is still lining yours, and the sad sort of look in his eyes like he doesn't really want you to go, it reeks of loneliness. 

“So are we really friends or is this going to be a one-night-stand kind of friendship?” you tilt your head to the side, meeting his gaze, not moving to get out of the vehicle quite yet. 

His tongue clicks on his teeth, then he frowns, “You wanna be friends with me?” 

“Obviously,” you scoff, then heat spreads across your cheeks as you stammer, “If you wanna be friends with me, too, that is.” 

“Obviously,” he mimics your scoff, "You have my number, yeah?" 

"Mmm, yeah, but you don't have mine," you chuckle, "Do you want it? The not-a-burner-phone number?" 

His face lights up and he nods. You give it to him and say goodbye, then go upstairs to your apartment and promptly collapse on your bed, sleeping until the sun goes down. When you wake, you have a text from Dieter. 

> DEE:  > Lovely Lua. Let's hang out again when I'm in town next?

[ Next Chapter ]

[liamhaydn-blog]

Eminem Albums Ranked & Rated:

11. Revival (2017) Rating: D- 3/10

Best Song: Arose

Worst Song: Untouchable

Song that most reflects the album: Walk On Water

Revival is the worst Eminem album. It's something virtually everyone can agree on. There's no real argument you can make for it not being the worst, no way to start this list off in a controversial, contrarian manner by putting something else.

Hiphop fans were suspicious of this album from the moment the tracklist was released, showing a significant number of featured pop artists. The surprising thing was the pop choruses were far from the worst thing about this album. Beyonce delivered a wonderful one, Alicia Keys and Ed Sheeran provided decent ones, the worst part of the album was actually when Eminem was left to his own devices.

A lot of the time, Eminem sounds bored and devoid of subject matters he really cares about. He sounds like he's rapping purely because it's been 4 years since his last album and it's time to make another, rather than really having something meaningful to say and share. When he does find a subject matter he cares about such as Police Brutality against the Black Community in America, he falls way wide of the mark in tone & delivery on 'Untouchable'. 'Like Home' an anti-Trump song during the days of Trump's America is better, but mostly due to a strong chorus from Alicia Keys, and it still falls a million miles short of the standard Eminem had previously set in political songs like "Square Dance" and "Mosh".

The middle songs feature Eminem's worst album run since Encore, and his corniest material yet. The hooks and choruses he himself provides are mostly utterly dreadful, the samples he chooses don't fit an Eminem project, his flow is by the worst it's ever been. It's pretty unlistenable & his tone and lyrics suggest he is bitter but it's not clear exactly what about.

Only the last two songs "Castle" and "Arose" save the album from being completely garbage. They are touching songs, "Castle" another dedication to Hailie, taking us back to the time before she was born, with Eminem bracing for the birth of his first child and "Arose" a great piece of storytelling from the perspective of Eminem as he lay close to death in hospital during the worst times of his addiction. These two songs and "Walk on Water" give the album atleast something redeemable but with the exception of these three songs, this project should've been shelved until Em refound his passion and creative spark.

Revival was a case of Eminem massively overthinking the direction of the project, and trying to be all things to all people, and ending up pleasing nobody. He tried to be political, he tried to produce huge commercial hits alongside huge Pop stars, he tried to be funny, he tried to show off his lyricism (ending up explaining his bars to make sure they weren't missed) and it just fell flat in every regard. He didn't seem to have a clear vision for what he wanted the project to be and instead let himself be guided by what he thought people wanted and it massively backfired.

10. Kamikaze (2018) Rating: D+ 5/10

Best Song: Stepping Stone

Worst Song: Nice Guy

Song that most reflects the album: The Ringer

With Revival mercilessly slaughtered by fans & critics alike, Eminem released Kamikaze 8 months later, an angry response to the backlash he and the album had got. With this album Eminem fired back at the critics, feeling it was now their turn to hear what he thought of them instead of always the other way round. Rappers were also beginning to see Eminem as a bit of an easy target, someone to kick while he was seemingly down with MGK, Tyler The Creator & Joe Budden all taking shots, and being fired back at here.

Eminem also took aim at the state of hip-hop in 2018, namedropping several Gen Z rappers and "their choppy flow everyone copies". Eminem would use this album to showcase how easily he can adopt that flow, regarded as technically basic by true MCs, and not only do it but do it better.

And he did, but it still wasn't particularly fun to listen to and not my favourite way to hear him rap. The album was evidence he still had much more to offer than he showcased on Revival, but it felt like more of an album for the moment, relevant in the context of that time in the immediate aftermath of the Revival backlash. But now that time has past, it doesn't have lots of replay value for me. It's possible Eminem could have got his message across by just releasing 'The Ringer' and 'Not Alike' without needing to put out a full album about it. But it was still somewhat satisfying to hear him fire back at people on other songs such as "Fall" because the level of disrespect Em was getting would make it seem like he was the first big name rapper to ever put out a bad album.

Outside of the horrible "Nice Guy" chorus, the album had fewer low points than the previous two albums but also didn't really add much in the way of true greatness. But it served the purpose of allowing him and everyone else to move on from Revival, and aswell allowed him to move past alot of the anger and bitterness that had been building up in his music over the years. He said what he needed to say and with this was beginning to draw a line under it, to move on to the next phase of his career.

9. The Marshall Mathers LP 2 (2013) Rating: C- 5.5/10

Best Song: Survival

Worst Song: Stronger Than I Was

Song that most reflects the album: Evil Twin

The Marshall Mathers LP 2 possessed plenty of warning signs for Revival. That follow-up album being so bad wasn't a massive shock given the course Eminem seemed to be taking with this record. Plenty of things wrong with Revival are also apparent on the Marshall Mathers LP 2. There are plenty of cringy lyrics & voices, his sample choices for the first time are proving to be very hit and miss. The 'Rap Rock' all over this record is one of my least favourite styles from Eminem.

Alot of the songs on this album aren't necessarily really bad, but they're not particularly good either. One example would be 'Love Game' featuring Kendrick Lamar. The songs fine. But a song with these two on it should be a lot more than just fine. There are a few exceptions to the album's mediocrity such as 'Survival' which is like a 'Till I Collapse' follow-up, in its suitability for Gym workouts & its lyrical strength in all 3 verses. 'Rap God' is a memorably impressive technical feat & 'Headlights' a touching closer to his often volatile relationship with his Mother. There are some great moments on the album, but Eminem doesn't knit it all consistently together.

8. Relapse (2009) Rating: C 6/10

Best Song: Deja Vu

Worst Song: Same Song & Dance

Song that most reflects the album: 3AM

"Fuck my last CD that shits in my trash"- Eminem rapping on Cinderella Man about Relapse.

Relapse is probably the most "love it or hate it" album in Eminem's discography. The rapper himself hates it, but the album has a cult following, plenty of Eminem fans love it and place it amongst his best records. The 5 years between his 4th and 5th record had been a tumultuous time in Eminem's life, he had gone through a 2nd divorce with his childhood sweetheart, a battle with addiction to prescription pills which had almost cost him his life & the premature death of his life-long best friend Proof after an altercation outside a nightclub which pushed Em into a deep depression.

Eminem recorded Relapse after fighting through the worst of his demons, but they were still lingering not too far away as Em released by far the darkest and most disturbing album of his career. The album's theme was heavily centred around Eminem as a deranged serial killer & sexual deviant. It's also remembered for the number of strange accents Eminem put on, rarely recording a song with his typical voice.

Some loved the accents and the extreme nature of the album's content, whereas others quickly found the accent tiresome and aswell tired of the content of gruesome descriptions of murders and sexual violence. I am more in the second category, Eminem's best song in this theme was "3AM" and that was the first song on the record. After that the theme began to get repetitive and simply not as good as "3AM".

Like Encore, Relapse was weakest in the middle before finishing strong, with "Deja Vu" my favourite song on the album, detailing Eminem's battle with addiction, just brilliant storytelling and the accent somehow really works for that song. Also coming at the end were the singles 'Beautiful' and 'Crack A Bottle', two songs which really showed Em's versatility. 'Beautiful' covered Eminem's battle with depression in a powerful but measured way. 'Crack A Bottle' was just fun, in a way Eminem wanted Encore to be, but just wasn't.

And also like with Encore, Eminem included songs on the Deluxe Edition which were better than a lot of the songs that made the album. "Careful What You Wish For" is an excellent song which would have made the album better and "My Darling" was much more interesting lyrically than the endless talk of murder.

Relapse is Eminem's least favourite album of his, and while it's far from his worst with a fair few really good songs which boosted his catalog, its far from my favourite.

7. Encore (2004) Rating: C+ 6.5/10

Best Song: Mockingbird

Worst Song: My 1st single

Song that most reflects the album: Evil Deeds

"It became a misstep and I struggled to get over the fact that I didn't do my best. My best would've been good enough if the leaks hadn't happened. But I released what I had at that point in time, and I feel that put a kind of a mark on my catalog. Encore did some decent numbers, but I was never that concerned with numbers. I was more so worried about what people think about the album. Critics and fans were important to me, and they were always at me about that project." - Eminem on Encore (2022)

This is the most frustrating and "what if?" album of Eminem's discography as it should and easily could have been so much better. It ended Eminem's 3-album run of rap classics and it didn't need to, this could easily have been Em's fourth consecutive masterpiece with a better selection of tracks, because all the material was there.

Encore was originally intended by Eminem to be his last album, his farewell to the game. The original tracklisting would have looked something like bowing out on top, still very much at the peak of his powers as 'We As Americans', 'Love You More' & 'Bully' were originally on the album, with the former two ending up on the Deluxe Edition along with 'Ricky Ticky Tok'. 'When I'm Gone' was also recorded earlier that year and was the next single he released after the album, so there's no reason it couldn't have been on the record, and it would have been the perfect closing track given the context of Em planning to walk away. With these tracks on the record, Encore would have been another strong addition to Eminem's legacy.

Instead, shortly before the Album's release the songs leaked online. A furious Eminem reacted by rushing back into the booth and recording new songs. Eminem was in the thralls of his drug addictions at the time and when reflecting on the album years later said: "Around the tail end of Encore, the songs started getting really goofy. 'Rain Man' 'Big Weenie' 'Ass Like That' – that’s when the wheels were coming off. Every day I had a pocketful of pills, and I would just go into the studio and goof off."

Encore features what was until Revival surely the worst six-track run of Eminem's career. And it comes when you'd least expect it, after a more than decent opening to the album which included a very solid 4-track run, concluding with the excellent 'Like Toy Soldiers' and 'Mosh'. The stage is then set for the Album to take a nosedive with 'Puke' and for the next half an hour you're left wondering what the fuck has just happened. 'Ass Like That' and 'Just Lose It' are two of the big singles off the album and whilst having 2 silly songs rather than just the 1 is perhaps overkill, these songs could have been passable as just comedic commercial songs to get some easy radioplay with memorable videos, IF they were atleast by far the lyrically weakest and worst songs on the album. But they weren't. 'Puke' 'My 1st Single', 'Rain Man' and 'Big Weenie' were all just as bad if not worse.

6 incredibly silly songs one after another, taking up half an hour of the albums runtime. By all means throw in 1 or 2 for some light comedic value but 6?! from the same guy who made The Eminem Show just 2 years earlier. The album's last third wasn't too bad and includes 'Mockingbird' which showed Eminem was still the brilliant, thoughtful song crafter, who could still make beautiful music with an emotional message. But it was too late to save the album, the damage had already been done.

Encore was a huge missed opportunity, with heavy drug use causing Eminem to take his eye off the ball, convincing him that putting throwaway songs that he'd recorded in mere minutes on the album was somehow a better idea than just sticking with great songs such as "We As Americans" that a relatively small number in the scheme of things had already heard due to the leak. It's hard to believe a clear-thinking Eminem would have come to such a decision and sadly this was a case of Em probably having too much power over his Album.

As the biggest Artist in the world at the time, noone had the authority to tell him that maybe putting utterly terrible songs on the album ahead of fantastic ones wasn't a good idea. The record company knew the album would still sell like crazy even if it had Eminem belching and farting all over it, which isn't an exaggeration as that was actually the case on "My 1st Single".

"They call the Slim Shady LP the greatest, the Marshall Mathers was a classic, The Eminem Show was fantastic, but Encore just didn't have the caliber to match it" Eminem raps on 'Careful What You Wish For' but the sad thing is it probably did, with a few simple changes to the track selection.

6. Music To Be Murdered By (2020)- Rating: B- 7/10

Best Song: Yah Yah

Worst Song: Little Engine

Song that most reflects the album: Godzilla

Music To Be Murdered By is Eminem's most slept on album. I don't know if after the last 3 albums people had just given up hope of Em making a good album again and just assumed he no longer could but this record deserved more credit. This album was one of Eminem's most interesting projects, full of features with both fellow old heads and aswell rappers from the new school and he meshed together perfectly with both.

The 3 songs Royce Da 5'9 features on are all highlights of the record, with 'Yah Yah' the pick of the bunch. Black Thought provides one of my favourite ever verses from a guest rapper on an Eminem album, but honestly pretty much every rapper on this album delivers. I think with this record, Eminem finally rediscovered a formula that works for him in producing a good album. The competition of other elite lyricists forced him to up his pen game, with that friendly competition he's always had with Royce and other guys from Slaughterhouse. And songs with the newer generation gave the album a feeling of freshness, keeping it modern sounding.

The beats, flows and the lyrics were on a different level to his recent work. The choruses aswell were a lot better than on recent albums, with the only exception being "Little Engine" which stepped the wrong side of the corny line. A few other songs also went close to that line at points, but for the most part he stayed on the right side of it. Though this album doesn't quite crack the top 5, it comes close as it's a genuinely enjoyable listen. At this time I was grateful for an Eminem album that wasn't a chore to get through. This album was just what Em needed at this stage in his career, a return to form. He sounded like he was having some fun again, back rapping with a pure love for the craft of hiphop again, rather than just to prove some point about how good he is.

5. The Death Of Slim Shady (2024) Rating: B 7.5/10

Best Song: Guilty Conscience 2

Worst Song: Road Rage

Song that most reflects the album: Trouble

Coming a quarter of a century after the Slim Shady LP, Eminem announces the Death of Slim Shady in this concept album. The album was a bold creative decision, which could have fell flat and risked tarnishing the Shady name. Being over 50 now, a record like this could've led to an absolute slaughtering from fans and critics if anything was lacking in the delivery or the lyrics.

But Eminem pulled it off. The confidence was apparent right from the beginning with 'Renaissance' and from start to finish, he fully dove in to the concept holding nothing back, free of any self-doubt. Eminem takes some of the best aspects of his previous work and finds a place for it on this record. There is ofcourse Slim Shady and the old voice and flow which made him so well loved. He keeps what worked on Music To Be Murdered By, again featuring new generation rappers such as JID & Ez Mil. There is the back-and-forth storytelling of Guilty Conscience 2 which is so well done & as usual the sentimental closing song, "Somebody Save Me" one of the best songs on the record.

Like Music To Be Murdered By, this is an entertaining listen that never drags. The album concept though allows Eminem to focus his songwriting more and the more consistent theme throughout is a big part of why this one ranks higher and takes a spot in the top 5. The three-track run of 'Evil' 'Lucifer' and 'Antichrist' is one of the best parts of the album with the 'Lucifer' beat being one of the best Em beats in years.

Eminem couldn't really have done much more with this record, it was as good as could be realistically hoped for. For him to be 25 years into his mainstream career and to still be making an album that deservedly takes a spot in his top 5 is testament to his longevity. Which does exist, despite significant dips along the way. But this album, following on from Music To Be Murdered By has got Eminem's career right back on track, as he has rediscovered what works for him musically.

4. Recovery (2010) Rating: B+ 8/10

Best Song : You're Never Over

Worst Song: Love The Way You Lie

Song that most reflects the album: Talkin' 2 Myself

Just a year after the release of Relapse came Recovery and it couldn't have been a more contrasting album. In truth it was very different to every Eminem album that had come before. The sound was more radio-friendly, in some respects more pop-y. Especially the enormous hits from the album "Not Afraid" and "Love The Way You Lie". At the time of its release, as a teenager I had a hard time accepting this new sounding Eminem & those singles prejudiced me against the album for a long time.

However on reflection this album can be considered Eminem's most serious and mature work. There's no skits, no Slim Shady. Coming so soon after the release of Relapse, you can hear in the precision of the lyrics the intense focus Eminem must have put into this record. It's extremely effective in putting you in Eminem's shoes, in his headspace as he struggles through attempting to piece his life back together after addiction had almost taken everything from him.

You feel his confidence returning, his sense of control over his music and his life starting to come back together. This comes out in anthemic hooks & choruses, up with some of his best ever. The album is very consistent, without a really bad song or significant dip at any point.

3. The Slim Shady LP (1999) Rating: A* 10/10

Best Song: Rock Bottom

Worst Song: I'm Shady

Song that most reflects the album: Just Don't Give A Fuck

The Slim Shady LP was the first of Eminem's 3 classic albums and in honesty a strong case could be made that you could have those 3 records in any order and you wouldn't be wrong. The SSLP is arguably Eminem's most consistent record, there's no dip at any point even for a single song, it just remains at an extremely high level throughout.

"My Name Is" followed by "Guilty Conscience" is an incredible start to an album and then comes "If I had" which is an interesting listen, given you hear the Infinite album voice of Eminem, the only song that sounds like it pre-dates the existence of Slim Shady. The reason for putting this album 3rd and not top 2 is that maybe there's slightly fewer 10/10 songs than the two albums that followed, and by slightly less I mean literally 1 or 2, but that's all it takes when the margins are this incredibly thin.

2. The Eminem Show (2002) Rating: A* 10/10

Best Song: Square Dance

Worst Song: Superman

Song that most reflects the album: White America

The Eminem Show established Eminem firmly amongst the all-time greats. His 3rd classic album in 4 years, in some ways this was Em at his very peak. With this album he proved he didn't need "shock rap", he didn't need Slim Shady. He could just rap as Eminem and at that exact time he was the best in the world. And that self-confidence flows through every lyric.

On songs like "Square Dance" Eminem showed he could do more than just poke fun at politicians through the use of a satirical alter ego, he could intelligently dissect and expose them in a direct manner. "Sing For The Moment" and "Till I Collapse" are other standouts, as is "Say What You Say" one of his best collaborations with Dr Dre, with the two flowing hypnotically off each other.

In terms of delivery in the flow and voice, this is Eminem at his best and the three-track run of 'Square Dance', 'Soldier' and 'Say Goodbye Hollywood' is one of the strongest from his entire discography.

1. The Marshall Mathers LP (2000) Rating: A* 10/10

Best Song: Stan

Worst Song: Remember Me

Song that most reflects the album: The Way I Am

Only Eminem could open his Greatest Hits album 'Curtain Call' with 'Fack' and only Eminem could put a 1-minute skit of gay fellatio in the middle of an album that sold 1.78 million copies in its first week. He could do it because the rest of the content just had to be listened to.

'Stan' for me will always be Eminem's best song, to call it genius storytelling would not be going overboard. 'The Way I Am' is also high up on the list of Eminem's greatest ever and 'Kim' remains one of if not the most shocking songs I've ever heard, still impactful over 20 years later, the rage still demanding to be listened to. It may be twisted, but the vivid cinematic picture he conjures with his words on this song are the work of a master creator. "Who Knew", "I'm Back" and "Marshall Mathers" are other highs on an album of so many.

[heckyeahponyscans]

In my search for info about the Oldsmobile ad campaign, I came across this blog post:

----

The story of “not your father’s Oldsmobile.” Or how some really bad advertising changed the culture forever!

October 14, 2008

Time for a story boys and girls. It’s a tale that requires we go back 20 years, before copywriters had Macs, before email, before I lost my hair. This story harkens back to a day when Oldsmobiles roamed the earth. And their commercials filled the airwaves. I should know; I made some of them. Including the campaign that served as Olds’ final and famous (infamous?) death gasp: “Not Your Father’s Oldsmobile.”

 Dad’s was better.

The line has become a pop culture catch phrase, in the same ilk –albeit attached to worse advertising-as “Got Milk?”  Both slogans have been co-opted literally hundreds of times, far outlasting their original intent. Try reading your morning paper and not finding a variation on either line. For example, about a candidate: “This is not your father’s Democrat.”  About a technological innovation: “This is not your mother’s sewing machine.” And so on. Sadly enough, more Americans are familiar with the Olds’ slogan than of Shakespeare’s finest sonnets. Way more.

A soft-spoken creative director by the name of Joel Machak wrote that famous line. I actually came up with the campaign’s tag: “The New Generation of Olds.” Both pieces were intended as lyrics. That’s right, a jingle! As a matter of fact, I was brought in to help Joel come up with the refrain. The piece went together as follows (sing along):

       This is not your father’s Oldsmobile…This is the new generation of Olds.

Pretty spiffy, eh? The word “generation” was key. If you recall, each commercial featured a celebrity and one of his or her offspring. This is why the campaign is so damn silly. Outside of a morbid fascination with ogling Ringo Starr’s purple-haired daughter or Dave Brubeck’s motley looking brothers, placing the kin of “B” and “C” celebrities on camera was pure folly. Though I will concede we anticipated Reality TV by 10 years! If you do nothing else today, go to the above link. Trust me.

Where’s my Cutlass Supreme?

The very first spot was for the “totally redesigned Cutlass Supreme.” The protagonist for this commercial was none other than William Shatner, appearing as; you guessed it, Captain Kirk! Riding shotgun was his lovely college-aged daughter, Melanie Shatner. A middling actress, she was pretty darn cute. She also was well endowed. And this became problematic given her wardrobe and where we were shooting. It gets damn cold in the Palm Desert at night. The diaphanous gown provided Melanie was meant to be futuristic a la Star Trek, but it did nothing to warm her up. Subsequently, her nipples went completely rigid, sticking up like Spock’s ears.

beam me up, Scotty!

While this may sound lurid and comical now, at the time (3 AM) it was a “situation.” Imagine the middle-aged suit from GM, replete in a satin Oldsmobile Racing Team jacket, making his way over to the director. “Excuse me, but we can see her nipples!”  Given we’d already shot scenes of Melanie in the gown, a wardrobe change was not possible. The solution? Duct tape. And thus her cleavage had a silver lining.

The other moment I’ll never forget was a captured piece of dialogue (unscripted) between William and his daughter. Between takes, they were side by side in the white Cutlass. Unbeknown to either, the mic was still on. Listening to Captain Kirk school his daughter about the virtues of pep and sleeping pills as a key to nighttime shooting was priceless. What a Dad. What a cad. In a way, it preceded his Emmy-winning turn as Danny Crane by some 20 years.

I know this is trifling gossip, and long past its vintage. But like everyone else, I’m beaten down from our grim economy and an evermore-depressing election. Not to mention the woes of Chicago’s sports franchises… When I was new I used to love listening to the old-timers tell bawdy stories from their shoots. Now that I have a few under my belt, I figured we could all use a respite.

----

As a post-script: in 2021 the writer returned to his blog after fifteen years away. He explained that he had dropped out of the advertising biz and become a substance abuse counselor. He began work just as Covid broke out. Wow! I find that inspiring! He also has a Youtube channel devoted to his aquarium hobby, check it out here!

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Baby Boomer Classics: Rockin' Seventies 1990 Hard Rock / Blues-Rock / Rock & Roll / Progressive Rock / Glam Rock

Feel like I just listened to a Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack with this one 😂. Good selection and variety of early-to-mid 70s stuff that's pretty perfect for a road trip when you're in one of those easygoing classic rock kinda moods. Almost like you've tuned in to the most generic classic rock station in the US without having to be interrupted by commercials, traffic reports, and station IDs 😎. Basically tailgate or barbecue music for white people who lived through 'Nam.

Most interesting story behind any of these tunes is probably the one for Bachman-Turner Overdrive's "You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet," which at this point feels like a song that's just going to continue to be used indefinitely in order to keep selling outdoorsy brands of jeans to touch-of-grey guys who go fishing with their golden labs. But do you have any idea how dangerously close we actually came to never hearing this thing?! "YASNY" was originally intended to be recorded in a single take as a joke for lead-singer-and-guitarist Randy Bachman's brother, Gary, and it also served as a 'work track' for the band in order for them to get their setups sounding right too. It wasn't supposed to ever be made public, but when their guy at Mercury Records proved unenthused with the output for the band's third album, Not Fragile, it was then suggested as a possible option, and immediately became the lead single as a result, and now it's fondly remembered as one of classic rock's most quintessential hits. So, if you think about all of this in a somewhat paradoxical kind of way, by recording an album that was believed to be lackluster, we actually ended up getting one of the two songs that went on to define BTO's entire career; and had they recorded something only slightly better at first, the only song that most of us probably would've ever ended up remembering them by instead would've been the far cheesier "Takin' Care of Business." So, go figure, huh?

And another song that deserves some space here is David Essex's extremely quiet and glammy classic, "Rock On," which became a #5 hit on the Billboard Hot 100 in the winter of 1974. This is a tune in which Essex posits that rock & roll has reached a crossroads. He cycles through the genre's history by making reference to some of its big early hits, like Eddie Cochran's "Summertime Blues" and Carl Perkins' "Blue Suede Shoes," but then he asks the question, "and where do we go from here?" And that would appear to be answered by this very song in and of itself, which daringly decides to not even incorporate any guitar, suggesting that maybe a next possible phase for rock could be one that actually strips it of its own signature instrument? 🤷‍♂️ Pretty cunning and clever, I think. Guy sounds a little like Anthony Kiedis too, and I wonder if that's pure coincidence or if Kiedis actually drew any inspiration from him 🤔.

Exemplary piece of power pop brilliance in The Raspberries' "Go All the Way," UK band The Hollies doing their own swamp rock impersonation of Credence Clearwater Revival in "Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress," and the warm and lovely Rhodes piano-filled "Ride Captain Ride" by Blues Image too. Sweet crop of 70s tunes, overall, even if a lot of it's been way overplayed at this point. Pretty fundamental for those who wanna get to know some big rock hits from the front half of this decade.

Highlights:

The Raspberries - "Go All the Way" Argent - "Hold Your Head Up" Golden Earring - "Radar Love" The Hollies - 'Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress" Elton John - "Crocodile Rock" Eric Clapton - "I Shot the Sheriff" Foghat - "Slow Ride" Blues Image - "Ride Captain Ride" Bachman-Turner Overdrive - "You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet" David Essex - "Rock On"

[chloecherrysip]

WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE MARIO MOVIE so here's one last wishlist/theory-fest from me! I already wrote a more robust one of these that was Mario and Luigi-specific that you can find on my blog. This one is still fairly specific to them but does feature a couple of other things. :)

(Just to be clear, these are all just theories! If I touch on something that really happens, it is pure luck, I swear.)

Someone else recently said this but just gotta reiterate because it is incredibly important: SOME KIND OF REPRESENTATION OF MARIO AND LUIGI AS KIDS, PLEASE. A full-fledged flashback would be INCREDIBLE but even just a meaningful photo would be truly delightful. I would also love to see where they live even briefly! I want character details, items strewn about, family photos, just a sense of really strong, lived-in comfort between them, etc very badly, even if it's just a few blink-and-you'll-miss-it shots.

(Also, this is specific but: if there IS a flashback at some point and it is ~*~thematically relevant~*~ AKA Mario taking care of Luigi in some way or Mario being told by a parent to "look after your brother" or something similar, i WILL cry right then and there)

Quality Luigi & Peach interaction, even just a tiny bit! I'm sure there will be some passing moments of this at the very end, but I've also been thinking a lot about the possibility of them meeting up in the airship before Mario finds them??? I do think the writing is on the wall that Peach will be taken prisoner in the third act (although I would honestly REALLY respect it if the movie just never goes there at all with her). Maybe she frees herself or is saved by Luigi & company and joins their jailbreak in progress. It's cute to think of some of Mario rubbing off on Peach during their trip and her being instinctively protective of Luigi right away. He tries to step in front of her when danger strikes at first because he is a gentleman but it quickly becomes crystal-clear that she's got combat training and he has exactly none. She is very nice but also insistent that he should stay behind her instead, haha. (and then Bowser recaptures both of them just as Mario shows up I'M SORRY I WANT THE ANGST)

(Also, I don't think this is likely to happen at all but just a potentially angsty thought: if Mario IS missing in action around this time like many people suspect after Rainbow Road (considering Peach and Toad seem to drive back alone in the commercials) and Peach assumes the worst, it's sweet and sad to think of her encountering Luigi in the airship and taking full responsibility for him right then and there because she promised Mario they would save his brother and she intends to fulfill that promise no matter what, even if he's gone)

Another kinda specific thing but I could see it happening and if it does, my soul might leave my body for a second: there being a moment in the final confrontation with Bowser where Mario seems completely down for the count, but then he hears Luigi call his name or cry out in general and that's the spark that gets him back up!!!

In general, I really hope there gets to be a TINY, TINY BIT of time at the end of the movie where Luigi is shown happy and having fun after his ordeal, please. He deserves it!!! Even if it's just some art/snapshots over the end credits or something. I want him and Mario to get to go to some of the places we throughout the movie together and actually enjoy them (maybe they have a picnic with Peach and Toad in the fire flower fields, maybe they race karts for fun with the Kongs, etc) or even if they're shown exploring Toad Town, that would be enough (And for the record, even if they don't show this, I'm going to believe it happens IN MY HEART)

Also it would be funny to see Luigi trying out Peach's training course and/or experimenting with powerups if he never gets to use one in the course of the movie and struggling (but Mario cheers him on and is there for support!) (or maybe he's even GREAT at the training course - in a chaotic way - because guess what, he lived it already!!!)

I'm not holding out much hope for this at all, but man...I just really want Daisy to exist in this universe. Even just MENTION her. Even just have her in a crowd or party scene at the end for the briefest second! I am begging u for the slightest little scrap, movie.

[tricornonthecob]

Untitled Title

LK 106: Hit me with your best shot heard round the world

(pt1)(pt2)(pt3)(pt4)

too good for this world. too pure. Ensign Baker Lieutenant (Captain?) Phillips just did not deserve it.

ohhhh my heart. I love them, your honor.

I just feel like "perfectly" is a relative word, here.

Girl just legs it up the wall. Was there no way around it?

Sarah rn.

Girl neither was the way you hoofed it over the wall, keep up.

Her motto.

Well that wasn't exactly what he had in mind...

Oh fine, make a liar out of me, PBS Kids.

Who would win? 1,000 soldiers, or 1 journalism intern.

To be fair it does kind of seem a bit overkill to send that many soldiers if you're just seizing some guns, i get the sense the British Empire never really learned what the term de-escalation means.

There they are, England's finest Stock Foote-age.

Famous last words.

650 budget-saving soldiers

"...through this gaping hole in my cover"

I love their dynamic goddammit just watch now I'm gonna write fanfic of these two except not get past the planning, Pinterest moodboard, and Spotify playlist phase.

I know we're never going to know but I am so damn curious which twitchy-ass person fumbled their flintlock.

Bruhh check out Cousin Tom taking command of the situation.

He's got his game face on. I bet underneath that loving cinnamon roll is a ferocious and capable Leader of Men.

You know I just don't think Lieutenant Johnson is nearly the soldier that Cousin Tom thought he was.

This is absolute prime bedrock for a hurt/comfort drabble.

Does anybody else feel like these commercial break cutaways have egregious Ken Burns Documentary energy to them.

[the-unspeakable-tsar]

X-Manson Chapter 3 by Doctor Benway - Annotated by Tsar

We now get into the portion of the story that discusses the raid and its immediate fallout. Tw for depictions of assault, gore, and child abuse.

[Shot of Douglas and Marie-Ange Ramsey]

DR: The raid. Oh, boy.

Int: Why did you not bring in the authorities?

DR: I think there was too much going on. I was freaking out over Ariel ending up there, then Elizabeth Braddock disappeared and there was that big manhunt and there were reporters all over the place, and then Professor Lehnsherr showed up and he was in a worse state than I was.

[Shot of Gabrielle Lehnsherr]

GL: He can't talk about it, can't even think about it. I only know parts, from what he cries out in the night and from the reports on the investigation.

Int: He went to Emma Frost for help?

GL: It seemed the logical place to start, since she knew about the School and was a psi. Also, at the time Erich was not welcome in the US at all. Besides the Cape Citadel incident, his interference in the deployment of nuclear weapons in Europe and his resolution of the Korean conflict had made him a great many enemies in Washington, especially in the State and Defence Departments. It was part of why we lived in Vienna. When we tried to live in Germany, the Americans had them revoke his visa. The French and the British were no help, since Erich kept messing with their missile programs also.

Int: So he entered the US illegally?

GL: Yes. He flew to Montreal on a commercial flight, then flew to the Academy on his own power. His original plan was to convince Emma Frost to engage the authorities in an assault on Xavier's school.

Int: But that's not what happened.

GL: No.

[Shot of Emma Frost]

EF: Ultimately, the responsibility for the raid on Xavier's school is mine alone. If I could go back and change anything in my life, it would have been my decision to attack without support.

Int: Just you and Erich Lehnsherr?

EF: Yes. I found that my resistance was not what I had hoped that it was. With Erich's panic and Doug's fear and my own guilt for not going myself to pick up Ms Braddock from the airport, I allowed myself to act precipitously. Xavier was going to New York to debate a fundamentalist preacher over mutant rights issues. Doug hacked into the computers at the Stryker Crusade and found that Xavier was to be accompanied by Summers, Grey and Logan. Worthington was supposed to be at some big pro-mutant fundraiser in Los Angeles, and McCoy was still in Princeton. From what Douglas and Angelica and Vance had said, that left the Russian and the Irishman in charge of the School. We thought that we had a chance. It was hubris, pure hubris.

*Takes place somewhere around God Loves Man Kills. Scott being there raises questions; maybe the raid takes place roughly after his liaison with Maddie.

[Shot of Doug and Marie-Ange Ramsey]

DR: I had a feeling that they were going to try something on their own. Vance and I talked about calling the FBI and then he told me about what happened with the cops again, so we decided that we'd have to call a whole lot of different places at once so that there'd be too many for Xavier to get his claws into. Vance was into calling the Avengers. Angie ran in and said she saw Emma and Erich heading for the chopper. Vance and Angie took off after them, but she sent them back.

Int: Manipulating them?

*at this point, the Interviewer has made a lot of suggestions that psychics are always manipulating people. perhaps rightly so.

DR: No, no. Just sending very forcefully. She told us not to follow. We had a big argument. I said we should follow, Vance and Angie wanted to do what Emma said.

Int: But you ended up there.

DR: I said goodnight to them then took a taxi and the train to Boston followed by a train to Rye. Then I took a taxi to Salem Centre. I got there at 10:30.

Int: Why did you disobey Frost?

DR: I just had this terrible feeling that something was going to go wrong. Kind of like what Marie-Ange gets when she deals the cards, but not so focused. I had this feeling that we'd overlooked something.

Int: Did you have a plan?

DR: Kind of. It was so insane in retrospect that I still can't get over the fact that I'm still alive. I had this crazy idea of sneaking around the outside and checking to make sure everything was OK, that they'd all gotten out. Then I would call for help, if anything looked wrong. I couldn't see anything from the road, so I got into the grounds by going over the wall and into the woods. I didn't even think that they had any security equipment in place. I found what was left of the helicopter under a tarp by the lake, but neither of them were in it. I was going to go and phone Vance and all the agencies when I saw the car drive up.

Int: Their car?

DR: The Rolls-Royce. I saw Xavier get out and go into the house with Logan and Summers and Grey.

Int: They had no idea that you were there?

DR: I'm resistant enough that he couldn't pick me up unless he knew where I was. If there hadn't been a storm blowing in, or if it had been blowing in from behind me, Logan would have picked me out. If I'd known how lucky I was, I would have just taken off and made the calls.

*ororo reference?

Int: But you didn't.

DR: No. They weren't racing in, so I knew, just knew, that Ariel and Ms Frost were still in there. I watched Xavier go into a side entrance to the house, kind of into a basement. I waited five minutes, then went to the door. It was open and it was dark inside, so I went in.

Int: What did you find?

DR: Guns. Lots of guns and grenades and something that looked like a missile. There was another door, kind of half open. I went over to it, and looked in. It opened onto a kind of balcony over this indoor pool. It was all tiles, and it really stank. There were people down around the pool chanting, and one of them was walking back and forth over the surface of the water. The water was, it was, it was-

*The x-men do have an armory.

MAR: Blood.

DR: It was like he was walking on a pool of blood, but it couldn't have been blood. Not that much..

*they had to store it somewhere, douglas.

Int: Did you see Emma Frost and Erich Lehnsherr there?

DR: I saw them, I saw Xavier, but not much else. From what I did see, Emma was being held by some kind of force and Professor Lehnsherr was floating in the air, moaning. I didn't know it at the time, but it was Cable walking on the water, holding them there.

*in an earlier post, i referened Xuan and Dani as being the second or third Psi Mentioned by Brian Braddock. I forgot about Cable. He could take either place, but it's likely Xuan's place.

Int: So what did you do?

DR: I thought of running, but I just knew that they'd be killed before help would come. Then it struck me. They might have all that power, but I was in a room full of grenades. I thought that if I could distract them like they did in all those World War 2 movies, then they might be able to escape. I found some grenades that said they were concussion grenades and some that were smoke. I laid out three of each and then I pulled all the pins really quick, then threw them through the door all at once.

Int: What happened?

DR: They always counted to ten in the movies, but these things had twenty second fuses. I counted onetwothreefour as I pulled the pins fivesix as I picked them up, seven as I stepped up to the doorway, eight as I threw them, nine as I turned and ran, then ten and nothing. I mean, I had it all thought out, and it didn't work, so I stopped dead, turned around, went back, and looked. They were all staring at me.

Int: Oh shit.

DR: Oh yeah. Emma sent to me: RUN. I ran, and I kept thinking of the car and I just got outside when all the grenades starting going off. I heard the roar and the glass breaking and I thought, I killed them all. I got to the car and the keys were still in it. I started it just like I'd seen my Dad do, and Emma sent to me and told me to drive it around the side. If it hadn't been an automatic, we'd have been fucked. So I drove this car, which was about the size of a bus, down across the lawn just as she's dragging Professor Lehnsherr out the door. There's people all over the place, crawling out the windows, throwing up everywhere from the gas, but they don't see us. She wrenches open the door and throws Erich in and sends DRIVE so hard I had a nosebleed. So I drove.

Int: Did any of them try to stop you?

SR: Logan was the only one in any shape to stop us. He tried to charge the car.

*fuck.

Int: So you drove away from him?

DR: Ran right over him.

MAR: That's enough. Stop the tape.

*Point to Tarot for stopping it before Doug has a war flashback

[Shot of Gabrielle Lehnsherr]

GL: Erich regressed. What he saw took him back to the War. He had a very bad War, as well you know. He didn't utter a single word for five years after that. It took a decade for him to make a full recovery. He did all he could, but he couldn't save my son.

*Xavier or Cable hit him with all his repressed trauma, i think.

[Shot of Douglas & Marie-Ange Ramsey]

DR: Sorry about that. I'm OK.

MAR: If you're certain.

*tension in the marriage?

DR: I am.

Int: How did you get back to the Academy?

DR: I had to get out of the grounds first, and I was panicking. I mean, I could barely reach the pedals and see over the dash at the same time. I remember driving across the patio twice and almost hitting people both times, then I somehow found the gate and drove out of it. I pulled over about half a mile down the road and looked in the back. The Professor was unconscious, and Emma was just sort of collapsed on top of him. I looked at her and said I can't drive or something like that and she just stared back at me, like she was some other person.

Int: She was possessed?

DR: Not in the classical sense. You know those old comics where someone sees a ghost and their hair turns white overnight? It was exactly like that, except that her hair was already white, it was just like her face matched or something. I could see people in the road, so I took off. I drove for like three hours until I found this phone booth by the side of the road. I called the school emergency number and got Mr. Fitzroy, and said that he had to come out and get us.

Int: How did he find you?

DR: I gave him the number, and I think he had some connection in the phone company. He was out with half a dozen masters in a van within 15 minutes. It turned out I was only ten miles from the Academy.

Int: Did you go to the authorities?

DR: When I got back, they sedated me. They didn't know that would break down my natural resistance to telepathy. I was almost asleep when they came to see me.

Int: Who?

DR: Xavier and Cable and Ariel. They were standing at the foot of my bed. They weren't physically there, of course, but they were there for me. To give me a message.

Int: Did you know it was her?

DR: Not until they told me. She was very pretty. She had long brown hair and these big brown eyes. She looked so scared.

-----

She sits up, upending the half-fill tub of chip dip onto the shag carpet. The chips follow, but she doesn't notice. She goes down on her knees before the set and touches the image of his face on the warm unyielding glass.

[lovesick-yanderes]

Sabrael Character Bio

TWs: general yandere behavior, mild gore

“Doctor, did he make it?”

“No, Ma’am… I’m afraid he didn’t.”

The woman on the TV screen bursts into tears, falling to the ground and sobbing. The doctor leans down to her and presents a white box. “He wanted you to have this.”

Confused, the woman opens it. The view changes to a low budget shot of the inside of the box, which holds a poorly made replica of a human heart. The woman who received the box screams before it cuts back to the doctor.

“You don’t have to give her your heart this Valentine’s Day… a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates from Maggie’s Market will do perfectly!” The woman on the TV announces, ripping off the white coat she was wearing to reveal a supermarket uniform. You roll your eyes and sigh. Low budget, poorly made commercials had always had a grip on your local broadcast area, but they were starting to get ridiculous. Sabrael, perched next to you on the couch, cocks their head to the side and hums in thought.

“What?” You ask them, clicking the TV off with the remote. 

“Humans give each other their hearts?”

You roll your eyes again. “It’s more of a metaphorical thing…but yeah. Giving someone your heart is a way to tell them you love them. It’s just a cheesy Valentine’s day commercial. Don’t think too hard about it.”

This explanation seems to satisfy them, because they ask no more questions. You continue on with your day, walking away from the TV. You slowly work through a list of household chores while Sabrael watches your every move, studying you like a lab rat while you clean. At the end of the day, Sabrael tells you goodnight and you retire to your bedroom, your only place of solace within your own home. You toss and turn all night, getting minimal sleep as you spiral over your thoughts. You’re still hellbent on trying to find a way out of your predicament; while you aren’t successful in creating an escape plan tonight, you know you’ll ethink of something soon.

After a long night of tossing and turning, you give up on sleep and head to the kitchen for breakfast at 6 AM. Sabrael sits at the table as they usually do, waiting for your period of rest to be over so they can “play” with you for the rest of the day. 

“Good morning, ______,” they say, greeting you with a big smile. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes again. “You too, Sabrael,” you mumble, walking towards the cabinet you keep breakfast foods in. After preparing yourself a large bowl of your favorite cereal, you turn around to see Sabrael standing before you, holding a white box.

“I got you a gift.”

You resist the urge to knock the box out of their hands and stomp it into the floor. You know better by now. “Thank you,” you spit, taking the box in your open hand. You walk to the table, where you set down both your cereal and the gift. Sabrael watches you intently. Your stomach growls and you reach for your spoon; you see their expression shift ever so slightly and, not wanting to piss them off this early in the morning, you pick up the box instead. You see them smile out of the corner of your eye. Good choice, you think.

You pull the red ribbon off the top of the box, and then the lid. Inside the box is a dark, foul smelling piece of meat you very quickly realize to be a heart. You feel your world start to shake as the sight makes you lightheaded and queasy. Your hunger is replaced by nausea. You swallow hard before looking up at Sabrael, who beams down at you with pure joy.

“I don’t have a human heart to give you… but I hope this makes up for it.”

[thosedaysthatwill]

For the violence ask : 7, 8, 18, 19

I love when you give me an opportunity to rant about things!

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

Sidney Crosby. Is there any other answer? It's bad now, sure, but I mean you had to be there during the heyday of Sidney is /all/ everyone talked about, posted about, wrote, all the time. Like every other fic, seriously, was Sidney (back then usually with Colby or Jack, or honestly anyone and everyone, even Mario, but then it was Evgeni all the time) and he was everyone's favorite player, the commentators were up his rear end, everyone thought he was the greatest thing since the sharpening machine, and that commercial about how the rink was his prom and all that. It was a while ago, and people that are newer and are annoyed with him /now/ don't know what it was like when he was /THE/ player, like the NHL revolved around him. It's different now, it's weaker, but it's still there, it lurks in the parts of the fandom that I don't dare venture into. 

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

That the so-called 'miracle' in 1980 is something to celebrate. I've gone on this rant, I will pull it up again, I will go on the rant again if I can't find my previous rant and anyone hasn't heard it that wants to. But it was NO FUCKING MIRACLE and it was not something to celebrate and it was a bunch of anti-Soviet, anti-communist, pro-Reagan-era-America BULLSHIT. It was propaganda, pure and simple. It was McCarthyism on skates! The poor underdog corn-fed American boys (not!) beat the huge professional Russian juggernaut machine (not!) because of Capitalism, Christianity, and Mom's Apple Pie, or something like that. It's gross. (They didn't even win gold by beating Russia. They won it by beating Finland, but that wouldn't make a good anti-communist propaganda movie.) And there is nothing I hate more in all of hockey. 

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

All defensive defensemen ever. I shouldn't dive right from that into ranting about how people don't appreciate Esa Lindell enough (though they don't!), because he's not a /perfectly/ defensive defenseman (especially since John left and Jani is REALLY stay-at-home, it gives him more freedom to wander, but at least he does it responsibly!) but he at least plays DEFENSE which is more than I can say for some of the most recent Norris winners. Fandom seems to think that defensemen should score, and thus seem to celebrate those that do. But THAT IS NOT THEIR JOB! (this is getting to be another answer to number 8) So those defensemen that don't score, and actually do their damn job get overlooked by fandom, and the announcers, and it's a crime. The only GOOD DEFENSEMEN are the ones that DEFEND. So if they say "well he puts up a lot of points but his defense is his weakest area" and he has a D next to his name, he's BAD AT HIS JOB! Back to the answer, fandom is sleeping on Esa Lindell because he knows that his job is to defend. My favorite thing about him is that he's /very/ good at knowing where to be, he takes his spot and he guards the line. That's like 80% of what a defenseman needs to do (and NOT be down by the opposing net). It's kind of sad that I get super excited when he's perfectly positional because it means that SO MANY defensemen are not, that it stands out that he is. He also skates well, which is a requirement for a defenseman, and he doesn't try to score that much. This was a stronger rant when he was more defensive. I can hope he goes back to that.

19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

Back in the day this would have been 'anyone wearing a Habs jersey'. I was /in love/ with Sheldon Souray back in the day and that was a secret because he was a Hab (but /oh/ what a defensive defenseman, and what a shot! I taped my stick like his because I was cool) and my friend from Montreal sent me an autographed poster (which I did frame and hang up, and I sent her a Patrice shirt). But the Habs rivalry has really become weak over the years, it's not even fun to hate them anymore. There are other teams I hate so much more, so I wouldn't even be ashamed of liking a Habs player, if I did. So I can't think of anyone or anything I'm /ashamed/ of liking. I mean I like some kinda weird stuff but I'm kinda weird, and I'm not ashamed of that. I'm kinda at the age where I don't really /get/ ashamed of what I like because fuck it I've been around too long to care. I wish I had a better answer for this one. 

THANK YOU FOR ASKING! 💜