#that was not my experience owing like 5 volumes as a kid and I am grateful for it

[flightybuttlass]

when I was a kid I bought volumes of Sailor Moon at random based on cover art, not knowing anything about linear story, and now that I'm finally reading my completed collection, I can say concretely that I was right to do that bc the Sailor Moon manga is ass. Somehow as a kid, I'd randomly selected the volumes with the best content, aka the side stories about the Sailor Scouts, aka the only ways you get to connect with them at all bc they might as well not be part of the main story for how little they affect anything. Thank god for the anime bc this shit is so shallow. I love and honor it still, but it is so shallow.

[ettawritesnstudies]

Thank You

If you’ll permit me a minute to be cliche: this photo would not have been possible without you. When I started university in August 2019, the sum of all my author-y potential measured up to:

No finished manuscripts

A pipe dream of ever publishing my work

A scatterbrained outline of The Laoche Chronicles

Forty-four phone notes full of half-witted ideas

A grand total of 3 followers on my brand-new tumblr account

At the time, I had no grand plans of marketing my work, though I knew it would be necessary if I ever wanted an audience. I chose a degree in chemical engineering because I knew my baby platform and half finished stories weren’t going to cut it as a career in their current state as an 18-year-old, and I needed to have a day job if I wanted to pursue my end dream of self publishing. I was just hoping to survive my first year of engineering school, pass my weed-out classes, and hopefully make some new friends. That fall semester passed with sporadic progress on my book, and halfhearted attempts at breaking into the writeblr community, until I decided to try my hand at Inktober and made my first few acquaintances: @siarven and @abalonetea, who have both featured on this blog since then. It was also at this point, sometime during a Calculus III lecture, that I invented my pen name:

All was going well, and I was pleased with my incremental progress until the world ended.

The less said about the pandemic, the better. Writeblr truly kept me sane through working full-time jobs and taking 18 credit hours during the semester. When I was truly close to dropping out of school, I kept going, knowing I had these online friends to cheer me up after brutal exams and long nights of studying. The tag games and community filled the dearth of interaction left by quarantine and an insane schedule. During my summer internship in 2020, I finally had the time to finish the first draft of Storge and the confidence in myself to start a website. Rereading my first post is a surreal experience, in part because I still see myself as a little kid as hiding under the blankets with a flashlight, notebook, and pen, thinking “I wanna write a book!”

I woke up the next day crying to the sheer volume of kind messages congratulating me on meeting this milestone. Instead of feeling burnt out after reaching such a lofty goal, this gave me all the more energy to keep working. Since then, I’ve been so blessed to grow this community and this website. It’s incredible to see how far I’ve come, now being able to claim:

A finished manuscript of Storge

A 3rd draft of Runaways after going through 2 rounds of Beta Readers

8 short stories and an audio drama

An active mailing list

Over 1000 followers on tumblr, but more importantly, a thriving community of writers who support each other’s releases through ARCs, leaving reviews, enthusiastic questions, and a welcoming space for new writers to share their craft.

140 posts on my website and regular readers who care about my ramblings ❤

Now I’m on my way to my new job – I’ll be doing research and development in my chosen field with a team I really like, and the freedom to listen to books while I’m in the lab. This next month will still be a hiatus for blog posts and new writing as I pack up my life for a cross-states move, but I’m beyond excited to enter change. My hope is that I can start saving for editing costs and devote more time to my craft thanks to a 9-5 schedule and NO!!! HOMEWORK!!!!!!!!! Really, I cannot say enough how thrilled I am to never have to take another exam ever again, thank GOD. With a bit of luck and no small amount of grace, I hope I can publish and share my stories with you sooner rather than later.

Thank you for all the support and camaraderie these past years. In a way, I owe this diploma to you as much as to my classmates and professors. The night before graduation, I said to my friends, “I’ve been waiting for tomorrow for eight years.” Now I’m living in the future, and I can’t wait to write the next chapter.

[saltybaltic]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader - SPILLED MILK

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow x FemReader Fanfic

Prompt: A misstep causes one to spill something all over the other

Warnings: Language

Words: 1950

For @barnesrogersvstheworld 3k writing challenge. I know this is HELLA late but I tried and it’s here and I’m sorry I suck! I can only apologise for the poor and shameful quality of this story, it would appear I’m a little rusty and if I’m totally honest, endgame ruined me. I have seen that movie 5 times so far and let me tell you this for free - it hurts just as much each time! Anyway, enjoy this jumble of words I threw together ✌️

The morning had been a disaster from the word go and no amount of preparation or intervention was changing that. You had been positive the whole thing was planned to the very last detail but now as you dashed down the busy streets of New York clutching your portfolio to your chest and frantically pushing people to one side, all you could do was wonder how it had all gone so sideways.

A power cut at your apartment, losing your keys, a traffic jam downtown and an unexpected wrong turn had all lead to this moment; running desperately late for the job interview of your life. Your legs ached and your lungs burned as you checked your watch again and huffed out a breath before picking up the pace. You were now able to see the building just up the street, rushing out an apology to the man you nearly knocked flying as you approached the entrance to the foyer and attempted to straighten out your hair and clothing.

As you pushed open the doors to Stark Tower, you allowed yourself a quick calming breath and a glance at your reflection in the glass before continuing inside and starting your hunt for the reception. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you were relieved to see that you had made it, just. A sense of calm descended on you finally, spotting the receptionist sat behind the desk and making your way over. Unfortunately your positive mood was only allowed to last a moment as no sooner had you taken a step forward you felt the weight of another person slamming into you, quickly followed by a hot liquid splashing down your front.

For just a second you were stunned, jaw slack and mouth slightly agape as you stared down at your white shirt that was now very much not white and instead covered in what appeared to be coffee. You almost couldn’t believe that something like this had happened to you, arms thrown out to the side as your brow furrowed and you looked up at the person stood in front of you holding a rather crumpled looking coffee cup.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!’ You snapped, one brow arching in question as you glared at the other woman.

To your surprise, she breathed out a laugh, lips turning up slightly at the corner of her mouth as she looked back at you seemingly unfazed by your outrage, “Well ... shit.”

“Excuse me?” You almost couldn’t believe her calm reaction to having near enough covered you in her drink. “You just walked into me with your coffee!”

Tilting her head to one side, she didn’t flinch even slightly at your tone, “Well I think an arguement could be made that it was you who walked into me.”

“Is this funny to you?! I have a ridiculously important meeting in like 3 minutes and you’ve covered half my shirt in coffee. How am I supposed to go in there now?”

Your voice had increased in volume and your anger was blatant to anyone close by but her demeanour didn’t falter for even a second, “Look I’m sorry but you weren’t exactly looking where you were going and I couldn’t move out of the way in time.”

Shaking your head furiously from side to side, you pointlessly wiped at the front of your shirt with a napkin from your pocket and muttered under your breath, “Great, so you’re a bitch as well as clumsy.”

This time it was the man stood beside the woman that laughed as he nudged her playfully, “Wow she’s got your number.”

“Shut up Clint.” She warned, the amused twinkle in her eyes betraying her tone as she turned her attention back to you, “Look, do you need some help? There are toilets just down he-“

“I think you’ve done enough thanks.” You cut in, giving her a final glare for good measure before hastily buttoning up your jacket and side stepping around her to continue your journey to the reception.

The pair watched you go, arms folded across their chests and a slight curve to their lips as you muttered a few more profanities quietly with the first couple of steps you took. Clint released a small chuckle, “I thought she was gonna kill you Nat.”

“Me too.” She agreed, turning to Clint with a grin, “I like her.”

His laughter only increased, slinging an arm around her shoulder and turning her away from you, “One track mind as always. Come on we’re already late.”

Somehow you had found yourself sat at a desk, waiting nervously for whoever would be conducting your interview. You couldn’t help but readjust your suit jacket every few seconds in a fruitless bid to hide the large stain on your shirt. Anger still resonated in the back of your mind towards the woman who had put you in such a position but the anxiety that was now creeping in was the only thing you were able to focus on. Your heart stopped and you held your breath as the door behind you clicked open and then abruptly closed, the sound of a heels clattering on the wood floor as someone made their way into the room and settled into the chair in front of you.

“So who do we have here ...” the woman glanced down at the file in front of her as she flattened down the front of her skirt.

In a shocked daze, you couldn’t stop the words as they slipped out, “You have got to be shitting me.”

Slowly she raised her head from her papers, with an arched brow and the faintest trace of a grin teasing the corners of her lips, “Would you like to start again?”

“You ... but ... you.”

“Agent Natasha Romanoff.” She cut off your rambling, looking back down at her papers briefly, “And I assume you’re (Y/N).”

Swallowing down your surprise, you nodded your head slowly as you gave a quiet reply, “Safe assumption.”

“And you’re interviewing for... our opening in A&T.”

Feeling more out of your depth by the second under Natasha’s gaze, you managed another dumb nod, “Correct.”

With a hum of a reply, Natasha looked back down at her files, tapping her pen gently against the edge of the papers as she tucked a curl of red hair behind her ear, “How did you hear about the position?”

“Through an old friend.” You paused to clear your throat in a bid to make your voice come out stronger, “He works in the same department.”

She asked a few more questions, her eyes remaining on the forms and papers as she jotted down the occasional note. It wasn’t until you were finally starting to ease into the situation that she actually looked up and scanned over you with an amused smile, “Rough morning?”

“I...” her question took you aback for a moment, having not expected her to acknowledge what had happened earlier in the lobby, never mind with such a teasing tone, “Guess you could say that.”

“In a hurry or something?”

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as you considered whether she was simply trying to wind you up, “I was running a little late ... yeah.”

“So not great with time management?”

You opened your mouth to respond but abruptly snapped it shut as you realised you had absolutely no comeback for her remark.

“I’m joking.” She stated matter of factly, as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world before her grin broadened and she picked up her pen again, “Not great with social cues.”

“Hang on a minute.” You muttered hurriedly, sitting up further in your chair and placing your palms down on the desk, “I ... that’s not ... I ...”

You trailed off as she simply smiled back at you, a glint in her eye as she settled back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. There was a few seconds of silence as you simply looked back at one another before you blew out a breath, “And you’re joking again.”

“Relax, okay? You’re more than qualified for this position.” Natasha threw her pen down onto the desk, raking a hand through her hair before folding her hands across her stomach, “Tell me why I should recommend you for the job.”

“Because it’s the perfect position for me? I have years of experience in the field? I’ve proven myself time and time again that I can do this job and I can do it well?”

“Are these questions or statements?” Cut in Natasha, “Tell me why we should hire you.”

Taking a breath, you tried your best to come across confident with a small smile and a shrug, “Because I’m the best at what I do. And you need me.”

Natasha returned your smile as she reached across the desk and grabbed your portfolio, tipping it open and flipping through a few pages, “Well ... you’re not wrong.”

“I have more files at home if you needed them, it was just a lot to cram int-“

“This is more than enough don’t worry.” Interrupted Natasha, pushing the folded closed again and sliding it back over to you, “When can you start?”

“Well ... now.”

She laughed, rubbing at the underside of her chin as she thought for a minute, “How about Monday?”

“Are you serious?!” You blurted out, unable to quite believe you were lucky enough to have actually landed the job you so desperately wanted after such a disaster of a morning.

“I’m serious.” She chuckled, “Besides, I kind of think I owe you one.”

She gestured to your ruined shirt and you dismissed her with a bat of your hand, “Honestly, Agent Romanoff if it means getting this job then you can spill coffee on me every morning.”

Standing from her seat, she gestured to the door, “Come on, you’re gonna love the paperwork. And please just call me Natasha.”

A few days later when you arrived at the tower block for your first day of work, you made sure you had more than enough time for your 9am start. However it did nothing to settle your nerves, unable to shake the feeling that you were incredibly out of your depth surrounded by the bustle of agents. You looked around uncomfortably, not really sure if it was a terrible faux pas to arrive nearly forty minutes early for your new job and you were fairly certain you were beginning to attract attention.

A tap on your shoulder startled you, sure that you about to be questioned by security for your prolonged lingering but it seemed you needn’t have bothered as you turned on the spot and were greeted with a warm smile and an outstretched hand offering a coffee.

“Hopefully you won’t end up wearing this one.” Teased Natasha, pushing the drink into your hand before flitting her head in the direction of the elevator, “Come on I’ll show you around.”

And so began your new ritual without even realising it. You eased into life at your new job with the boost of confidence and comfort that a morning coffee with Natasha could bring you. On your second morning she had introduced you to a few other people from different departments. On your third she had taken you out into the grounds to show you all of the best quiet spots for lunch. On the fourth day you simply sat in her office and were joined by the man you had met on your first visit. You learned that Clint was an agent like Natasha. It struck you how close the pair of them seemed, laughing together and occasionally exchanging a private glance that you could just tell said more than words ever could.

It went on like this for a while, not every morning but often enough that you were no longer surprised when Natasha flopped into the chair opposite your desk and pushed a coffee over to your side. Even when you had been at the tower a little longer and were more comfortable so you didn’t necessarily need the support, you couldn’t help craving the company of the other woman on a morning.

It had been five weeks since you had been hired when your attention drifted from the computer screen in front of you to the woman now slouched in a chair at your desk.

“It’s half eight nerd, why are you working already?” Asked Natasha, sliding a drink over to you.

You shook your head and laughed quietly, “I have a lot of work to do this week.”

“You know you’re not the new girl anymore? You don’t have to work so hard to impress now.”

“I know that.” You muttered, eyes still focused on the screen as you tapped away on the keyboard.

“Need help with anything?”

Glancing across from the screen, you couldn’t ignore the warm sensation in your stomach that the wide smile on the face of the other woman brought you. If you were totally honest this had been happening more and more recently and you were doing your best to pretend it wasn’t. You found yourself thinking about Natasha more, missing her company when she wasn’t around, looking at her more carefully when you were together and noticing all the little things about her. She made you laugh without even trying, something that seemed insane to some of your colleagues who apparently found the red head nothing short of terrifying. Time with Natasha had started normal and boring enough; she had made you comfortable in your new surroundings and most of your coffee meetings had involved talking shop or the red head answering any questions you had. You had half expected her to start leaving you to your own devices after a while, sure that she would start to get bored of your company and leave you to it. You were positive it shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did that she stuck around.

A sharp click of her fingers brought you back to reality, looking over and seeing the other woman smirking at you over the top of her coffee cup, “Penny for your thoughts.”

Cleaning your throat, you tapped at the keyboard a few times to close what you were working on and turned in your chair so you were facing her properly, “Just thinking it’s been nice ... starting here and you looking out for me and stuff. I’m really grateful for your help.”

She placed her coffee down, a curious smile gracing her features, “Well ... I know we didn’t get off to the best start but, I like having you around. You’re not a pain my ass like most of the people here.”

You laughed, “Seriously Nat, you’ve made this whole thing so much easier.”

“Good.” She adjusted herself in the chair, sitting up a little straighter and folding her arms across her chest, “Your six week review is coming up.”

You didn’t fail to notice her slight shift in demeanour, “Okay ...”

“And it would normally be me doing it but ...”

As she trailed off you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy at the sight of Natasha exhibiting signs of nervousness and discomfort for the first time since you had met her.

“I think ... I well I-“

“Are they firing me?”

Until now she had been staring down at the desk as she tried to mumble out a intelligible sentence but your words caused her head to snap up so she could look at you, “No! God, no! Of course not, you’re great don’t worry.”

“What’s wrong then?”

She chewed on her lip nervously as she looked back at you in a way that you couldn’t help but feel she was trying to read your mind, “I was going to ask you something this morning ... and depending on your answer, I’m not sure it would be ... appropriate for me to be monitoring you anymore.”

Rubbing at your eyes in thought, you shook your head from side to side, “Please start making sense soon, it’s still early and you’re giving me a headache.”

“Do you want to go out with me?” She had spat the words out before she had a chance to stop herself, “You know, for coffee or something. Instead of me hand delivering it.”

Gripping the edge of the desk, you rolled your chair a little closer so that you could lean on top of the wooden surface, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“If you want it to be.” She answered truthfully, mirroring your position and sitting forward in her chair so that she could fold her hands on top of the desk, “Doesn’t have to be a date. Doesn’t have to be coffee.”

“I ... are you serious?”

She breathed out a nervous laugh, “We’ve been through this, just assume I’m always serious.”

“But ... look at you!”

She shook her head gently, an amused smile on her face as she leaned a little further forward. One of her hands crept just far enough across the desk that she was able to ghost her fingertips over yours, a touch so light that you couldn’t believe how much it had made your body tingle, “Are you going to say yes or not?”

You were sure you couldn’t have looked more stunned if you tried at the idea that this gorgeous woman in front of you had any kind of trepidation about asking someone out on a date. “Of course I’m going to say yes.”

“Say it then.” Her fingers moved again slightly, this time brushing over the back of your hand, but her eyes never left yours.

You smiled, turning your hand over on the desk so that you could squeeze her fingers reassuringly, “Yes, obviously, no brainier.”

The pair of you sat like that for a minute, her hand atop yours and eyes focused on one another, both sporting what could only be described as a cheesy grin before she cleared her throat and rose to her feet, “Right I need to go, but I’ll see you at lunch?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully, “Is that where you’re taking me? The canteen?”

Natasha snorted, “You’re an idiot. We can talk about it at lunch yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

Turning on the spot, Natasha picked up her cup and made her way over to the door, pausing for a second to look back at you and smile, “Super glad I spilled coffee on you a few weeks ago.”

“Get out.” You joked, chuckling quietly, “I’m still mad no matter how cute you are.”

She quirked an eyebrow and smirked, “You couldn’t be mad at me if you tried.”

As you watched her leave and basked in the feeling only spending time with Natasha could give, you had to agree she was probably right.

[rkwendy]

It’s The Endgame.

Coaching Solo for the Final Episode of MGA Season 5

Featuring: @rkmiya, @rksxngyeol, @rkkenta, @rkxbin, @yewonxrk, @jacksxnrk Special appearance: @rkchaeyoung @hyunark

Wendy’s lips couldn’t help but set into a firm line as she watched the results of the MGAs on TV. This wasn’t any good. The kids were going to have to redeem themselves if they wanted to prove that they truly belonged on that stage. The other companies’ performances may have outshined their teams. Part of her feels responsible for not doing enough as a coach. She shakes her head as she reads the notes the producers have handed her. The kids were going to have to think bigger and be a little more creative and daring as a one-last ditch attempt. It was go big or go home at this point of the competition. 

She doesn’t have much time to spend with them this week because of her own commitments as a member of AND*ROMA and all the preparation that comes with it. However, she’s still trying her best to be a good coach and wants to be there for them as much as she can. 

She’s also aware of the comments they had gotten in contrast to the other coaches. Perhaps some image reversal was in order? Especially now that the kids have shown improvement with last week’s military training.

Despite Sunmi unni’s best intentions and advice, Team Polaris seemed to have a mindset similar to hers in a more extreme fashion. Wendy had suggested to go bigger, bolder, and to think out of the box, but she wasn’t expecting them to go completely crazy. She had tried her best to retain some semblance of control, but her creative and ambitious side had been piqued as the rest of the team threw in more suggestions. As she imagines how everything will sound in her head, Wendy nods as she takes notes. She doesn’t want to dampen these contestants’ fire, now that it’s sparking back to life after a last-place finish. Sungyeol oppa is completely onboard as he even fuels their passion by suggesting special effects. Wendy only shudders as she thinks to herself as she starts sending Sunmi unni messages via Kakaotalk. Sunmi unni definitely wasn’t going to be pleased. She almost chuckles as she thinks of how she’ll have to finish mixing everything as soon as she finishes her own training for the day. 

The concepts they had come up with were going to be impressive to watch if executed properly. Then again, that is what they’re there for: to make sure the contestants can pull this off. This is a high-risk, high-reward kind of thing, in Wendy’s opinion. She’s more realistic about things, but she also believes in what their team is capable of. Wendy then spends the rest of the night at the studio that she has come to call hers as cuts the songs according to the contestants’ requests. She also throws in the special effects that they asked for as she searches for royalty-free sounds on the Internet. The sooner she finishes this, the sooner the team can practice. In the meantime, she hopes they still do the exercises she taught them the week before. 

With one singer less, Wendy then takes it upon herself to hit two birds with one stone: improve everyone’s singing and hopefully change the public’s perception of them as coaches. 

“I trust that you’re still doing the planks and running in laps, yes?” She asks as greeting after presenting them with the final audio they’ll use for their performance. “Some of you have an issue with voice projection. I’ll give you some tips on that,” Wendy says to them as she settles on the chair assigned to her. 

“You have to know how to open and close your vocal chords. The thing is, a lot of people want to look good while singing, so they don’t open their mouths properly. You need to lower your jaw and really open your mouth.” Wendy demonstrates it by opening her mouth wide enough to lower her jaw. “If you open your mouth like that, your vocal chords open up naturally. Let’s give it a shot, everyone.” 

Once she’s satisfied, she continues talking. “I have another tip and this time, it’s for doing high notes. As scary and risky as they are, there’s only two things to keep in mind,” she says. “There are sounds that go inward and sounds that go outward. It has something to do with how you breathe when making those sounds. For example, I’ll be singing ‘그녀를 지켜라 날 잊지 못하게.’” She almost chuckles at how the song to come to the top of her head is a MYNAME song. She thinks of how the tune goes before taking in a breath and keeping that breath in as she sings the line and leans backward, pointing to herself. Her voice sounds like it’s being held back, and she hopes the kids notice it. “That’s an example of a sound that goes in. Meanwhile… 그녀를 지켜라 날 잊지 못하게~ It sounds way better, doesn’t it? ” She opens her arms like she’s doing the Baby Shark dance as she sings the line properly. She hopes Insoo sunbaenim doesn’t think she butchered his line if he ever hears this. 

“When practicing high notes, remember to use sounds that go outward. Ah!” She demonstrates as she gestures for them to repeat after her. She keeps repeating the same syllable as she breathes outward, raising the pitch and volume as she goes. When they pull it off, she gently claps. “Great job! In fact, the sound you make when you’re angry is the best one to make for high notes. DAD, WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!” She yells as a demonstration before laughing. After calming down, she adds, “You may laugh, but that’s actually a good sound to make.” She smiles at each of them. “You can practice by being angry with me. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” She senses some hesitation from some of them. “Think of this as your chance to get even for all you’ve been through last week.”

Wendy decides to pay extra attention to Kenta, who suddenly has more singing responsibilities now. She can trust Jackson to sing even in his sleep, so she’s not too worried about him. Kenta on the other hand has been promoted from sub-vocal to lead vocal. She is going to make sure Kenta can at least pull off what he has to by show time.

“Ah~” Wendy sings as she opens her mouth. She watches Kenta as he repeats after her. She nods. 

“Just move your jaw downward, Kenta,” she instructs and points at her own jaw. She sings the note again. As he repeats after her, Wendy notices an improvement in his voice. “Just a little more, Kenta. Repeat after me.” This time she sings a higher note than the previous one. She gives him a thumbs up. Wendy decides to push Kenta to his limits by singing a really high note. She has to applaud his effort for trying, and that’s what she does. It may not have been perfect, but it’s a step up. 

Meanwhile, Changbin comes to consult her for feedback on rap lyrics. She had liked what he had come up with, but she feels like rap is completely out of her depth. She tries not to show her internal panic as she turns to the nearest PD. “Am I allowed to phone a friend? Or two? I need backup!” At the PD’s nod, she then turns to Changbin. “I know a thing or two about lyrics, but I want to get you the best help I can, as rap isn’t my field of expertise. Let’s just hope they both take the call,” she admits with a laugh as she goes through her contact lists to look for two specific numbers. 

She had actually wanted to ask Hugo oppa, who Changbin seriously reminded her of, but he’s busy with preparations for PER_SE’s debut. However, it will benefit Changbin to get help from two very different, but incredibly talented female rappers — assuming both people she calls pick up their phones.

“Chaeyoungie~ Are you busy?” Wendy asks as soon as the first of two people picks up. As she explains why she called, she puts her phone on speaker mode for Changbin to hear. “Hang on, I’ll send you the lyrics so you can read them as Changbin performs them.” 

Wendy listens and takes notes as she listens to Chaeyoung give her feedback on the rappers. Her feedback is a mix of things Wendy had thought of, but there were some things Wendy sure how to do or correct as well. Phoning a friend had definitely been one of her better ideas. It was less risky than kidnapping Chaeyoung in the practice room and dragging her here. 

When Chaeyoung’s done (or was forced to go back to practice, Wendy’s not sure), Wendy gently sings “Thanks, Chaeyoungie~ I owe you food later! See you when I get back~” 

That’s not the only person she thinks of calling. She’s more sure of Chaeyoung’s schedule, as they literally live together. However, the second person she’s calling is probably not as free to take calls. Wendy decides to risk it all the same. She blinks at the cameras for comedic effect as the phone rings for the second time today. 

“Hyuna unni~ Are you busy?” Wendy asks as soon as a familiar voice that’s not voicemail (thank God) answers. She doesn’t bother holding back a snort as she realizes that she may have called Hyuna unni while the older girl was resting from training. Her suspicions are confirmed when Hyuna unni says “You want my help? Okay cool uhm — let me get a coffee.” 

Having Hyuna unni onboard is always a great help to Wendy. After all, when it comes to making music, the two of them are almost always on a similar wavelength. It’s one of the secrets to their teamwork. She knows this isn’t any exception. She’s desperate and is glad her friends pulled through. 

When Hyuna unni is done (or wanted to go back to bed — again, Wendy’s not sure), Wendy sings “Thanks, Hyuna unni~ I owe you cookies! Love you!” before ending the call. 

Turning to Changbin, she says, “I hope they were able to help. I definitely wouldn’t have thought of some of the things they said.” She hides her face in her hands as she laughs. 

At some point, one of them brings up the question of the coaches’ own MGA experiences. Wendy’s genuinely surprised at this turn of events. This is the first time any of them had asked her about it. She chuckles as she thinks back to three years ago. She tells them about the things Team Nova did, as well as Ricky oppa’s high standards. “What I did to you guys is chill compared to the dance boot camp we went through with Ricky oppa!” she says with a laugh. “He was very hands-on and helpful with my team back then…” 

On the night before the live performance, Wendy makes it a point to drop by the practice room. After all, she won’t be allowed to watch them live due to her own schedules. Once Sunmi unni is done with her pep talk, Wendy decides to give it a go. “I know Sunmi unni covered most of it, but I thought I should try this pep talk thing too. My figure skating coach used to tell me ‘You are the one thing in life you can control.’ Sure, you can’t control what the CEOs and the audiences will think of you, but you can control what you do up there tomorrow. What matters is that you have fun and give everything you have on that stage. No one can take that away from you. And if people see you love what you do, then it will be easier to win them over. After all, isn’t that what performing is? Despite what happens, I want you all to know I’m proud of you. Win or lose, you’re the best to me.” 

Wendy takes turns holding onto their individually as she looks at each of them in the eye. “My coach used to do this right before I took the ice,” she says with a gentle smile as she shakes their hands as her coach used to do to her. “I believe in you. You’ll kill it up there,” she says before hugging each of them. “It’s been an honor coaching you guys.” 

[lettersfromn0where]

Endgame Thoughts (SPOILERS)

So, I’ve collected my thoughts after seeing Endgame yesterday. Some of my observations:

1. On the whole, I loved it, but it seemed to be stretched very thin. The OG Avengers (and the few others who didn’t get snapped) got enough screen time to actually have arcs, but most of the snapped characters who came back had so little purpose in the narrative that their appearances, however brief, felt perfunctory. The only huge exception I can think of was probably Peter Parker, who obviously had a lot of emotional weight in the story due to the Iron Man connection; there were other appearances that I liked, but most of them served little purpose. That was inevitable in a movie of this scope, but a bit disappointing.

2. On the same topic, I was very happy with how they handled Wanda. She was one of the few resurrected characters besides Peter P. who I thought reacted as an actual person in her shoes would (I, too, would want to kill Thanos on sight if I were her), and that scene with Wanda and Clint at the end was a) emotionally resonant (at least to me) and b) a wonderful callback to their mentor-ish relationship in CACW.

3. Nebula and Rocket were fantastic in Endgame. Both of their characters were fleshed out more than I would have expected and they had important roles to play, which I appreciated in light of the relatively small roles of the other Guardians.

4. Agree with the people who said Thor’s arc was a little bit unsatisfying. It’s just...??? Although I did like that he joined the Guardians, since that implies that he could be in Volume 3. If that’s the case, I am SO DOWN. That would be great.

5. I didn’t cry. I know. I’m a monster.

6. Even so, Tony’s death scene was a massive gut punch. Akso, anecdote: the walls of the theater I was in briefly started shaking right after that scene ended, and it was probably because the AC was coming on (it was super hot in there), but it was still creepily fitting.

7. Seeing this movie in a theater full of people who all started cheering at key moments was about the most gratifying thing ever.

8. During the flashbacks, when the “Come and Get Your Love” scene from the first Guardians movie started, I was FLAILING. My friend had to stop me from dancing because I was shaking all the seats around me. What a god-tier nostalgia trip.

9. I never knew that I needed to see Captain America fight himself (or check himself out...that running gag was friggin priceless) until I did.

10. As emotional as it was, Endgame was FUN, and I really loved that. It was funny and fan service-y and geeky and nostalgic and I can’t help but remember, when I think about last night, how awed I was by it all. I felt like a little kid again; many times I felt this incredible, almost giddy feeling of pure wonder that I hope everyone gets a chance to experience at least a few times.

11. Speaking of fangirl moments...CAP WITH MJOLNIR. I ALMOST SCREAMED. That was friggin incredible. The whole theater started cheering and my friends (there were four of us) just started chanting “yes. Yes. Yes.” and it was honestly the most wonderful thing. I was quite surprised by this, as controversial as it is, but Cap’s arc was my favorite part of this movie. By a lot.

12. I’ve never appreciated Clintasha as much as I did watching this movie. Speaking of which: Nat’s death was heartbreaking.

13. As I touched on earlier, Wanda straight-up attacking Thanos (and actually managing to make a dent!) was GLORIOUS. I want more of Wanda in future MCU movies.

14. Endgame had a much better musical score than IW. As a film score snob, I usually don’t expect superhero movies to have great music bc that’s not really the point, but parts of the Endgame score were really pretty. Also, anyone notice that the music playing when Clint and Nat were on Vormir was the same as the music playing when Gamora was on Vormir in IW?

15. The funeral scene was HQIFIEOROT OW. OWWWWW.

16. Lastly, I know a lot of people hated it, but I loved the ending. LOVED. I’ve always loved Steggy (mostly because Peggy is my queen, my mother, and my life goals) but this movie took that to a whole new level. Their dance scene was the closest I came to crying during Endgame.

[tanyaryanmusic]

Go L*ve Yourself.

Have you weighed in on the debate? The one that says you can’t love someone else unless you love yourself first. It’s a conversation that can get pretty heated on peoples’ different opinions on the matter. 

I am totally ‘that guy’ because I will be the first to say I understand what both sides of the fence are saying… not sure if I can fully commit to either side just yet. 

On the one hand, I think you can absolutely love someone else regardless about your feelings toward yourself. And on the other, I think the reason people will argue the contrasting point is because loving yourself offers you a much different loving experience with others that is arguably deeper and more connected. 

Here’s the thing though. The reason that this debate becomes so heated is because A) SO MANY people struggle with loving themselves and B) no one wants to feel that they are incapable of love. Therefore, this would leave a greater sum of the population believing that they aren’t showing up for the people in their lives that they obviously cherish greatly. And that sucks, right? 

In my regularly and weirdly keen observation of humans… I’ve noticed the love parents have for their children. This fascinates me so greatly because it’s such a unique experience and you can’t have it until you have it. So I do my best to collect whatever data I can through observation - and leave room in my imagination to fill in some of the gaps that I know are missing by my lack of personal experience. 

From what I can assess so far there are few, if any, forms of love that are as deep as a parent’s love for their children. What’s even more interesting is that the love is constant. It doesn’t matter how old the parent or the child become. The love is unchanged. Perhaps the expression of that love changes. But the volume of love itself is the same. 

I was talking to a friend a while ago, he was expressing that he had more concern for others’ well being than his own. I believe this to be a relatively common way of thinking. Likely most people would volunteer their own lives for someone they cared about. He proceeded to tell me that when he would go skiing alone, he would venture into very risky territory. Potentially life threatening trails. Not because he’s suicidal (or maybe he is - no judgement. Been there!) but for the experience and the rush. However, if he’s ever in the company of friends, he won’t even consider taking these types of trails.

It’s a slight paradox though, if you think about it. 

Because, if you were to claim that you were truly more concerned for others’ wellbeing… then wouldn’t you be even more intentionally cautious with your life and safety? Hear me out on this one. 

Depending on your belief system, if you die you either (this list is probably longer, but for the sake of time) land in heaven (which is way better than earth from what I’ve heard), you’re enlightened and omni-understanding, and/or you turn to dirt and have no awareness of your death or anything else. So essentially - it might be the only linking consensus of all belief systems - we conclude: if you’re dead, you’re probably pretty okay with it.

The only people suffering are the people you love. They’re going to be devastated to lose you. So if you truly are someone that claims to place others’ wellbeing before your own, wouldn’t this be something you’ve considered? That caring for yourself is exactly that, an expression of caring for others.

When we grow up, we turn 18 (or 25, 31, 53 whatever) and without much thought we venture into the amazing world of adulting. We move out of the familiar comfort of our family home and being to focus on our new responsibilities, paying bills, surviving, getting through that first job or those University papers. The actual responsibility of truly ‘taking care’ of ourselves is far from our minds… if it even crosses it at all. 

In that same transition, our parents had an entirely different experience. Those people that love us SO much, literally handed over to us the responsibility of ensuring the wellbeing of the thing that they love and cherish the most in the world. There is literally nothing that could replace you to them. So by that measure, you would be doing a service to them by taking care of yourself, right? 

If you have kids, don’t you want them to one day take care of themselves like you take care of them? To love themselves like you love them; understand their abilities, potential, and gifts like you do? You forgive them when they make a mistake, don’t you want them to forgive themselves? You do right? YOU are somebody’s kid. Someone loves you so much, they want that for you. 

  Even if you were someone that grew up with shit parents. Say they really dropped the ball on the whole loving, supporting and appreciation thing; or maybe they were abusive, critical or neglectful. If you see that, and you know that. Then you are acknowledging that you deserved more. Which means you deserve more now. You owe it to yourself to love you. You’re due. You are entitled to love. 

In my opinion, the only other form of love that has the potential to be as deep, connected and meaningful as parental love is self-love. I think it’s simply that most of us just haven’t found a way to tap into it. And if we did… can you imagine? 

All those little holes, flaws, and self-perceived deficits would soften. Fear would be replaced by trust. Trust that you have and that you are everything you need. Guilt, shame… nope. No room for that. You love yourself. You forgive yourself. Therefore, guilt and shame would become obsolete. This doesn’t mean ignoring your flaws; it’s not ignorance or arrogance. It’s not turning a blind eye to the parts of you that you’re working on. It’s simply acknowledging those qualities, forgiving them and having patience with yourself while you sort through it. 

Parental love isn’t blind either. Your parents know you’re a butthole sometimes. They know all of your character flaws. Probably better than you do. But isn’t it cool how they love you through that? They aren’t ignorant to your bullshit. They just keep loving you. Deeply and endlessly. For no justified reason except for that they just DO. 

I can’t remember when I came to realize it… but one day I did. I thought - my parents aren’t here to take care of me anymore. I’m all grown up. So now it’s my job to take care of me. I need to make sure I eat my vegetables and I go to sleep when I’m tired. I need to make sure I don’t watch too much TV and that I get my work done on time. I have to clean my room, do my laundry, and make sure I have a shower everyday so I don’t smell bad. 

I parent myself. I truly do. 

Sometimes I’m a super lax parent…

Me: “Can I have popcorn for supper?”

Parent me: “You know what, why the hell not. Fibre. Sure!” 

And other times I’m a bit more mindful parent. 

Me: “Can I have another cookie??” 

Parent me: “You’ve already had 2 (or 5). I think that’s enough. If you’re hungry you can have a cucumber - or I’ll make you lunch. No more cookies though.” 

[Yes. Most of my self-parenting skills are tested at meal times.]

But what about the times when you’re tired, you’re sad, you’re angry or broken… What do you do with yourself? Are you kind? Do you let yourself cry it out, give yourself a metaphorical hug and take it easy? Maybe you’re someone that has grown so accustomed to your own abuse, you don’t even recognize it as abuse anymore. Maybe you’ve become so used to not loving yourself, that simply the absence of abuse feels like love. You need to know there’s more. And that you have the capacity to create it. 

Sometimes it’s too hard or too much to move from abusive inner-statements to positive mantras and self-affirmations. It was for me. It felt so false and gross coming out of my mouth. 

“I am beautiful and radiant” would be followed by this cruel sarcastic mental dialogue in a mocking tone repeating I am beautiful and radiant followed by a mental eye roll and taunting laugh. (I still think affirmations are stupid but hey if that’s jam, you go rock that shit.) 

Start small. And in ways that feel real to you. 

I think sometimes when people talk about self-love they say it like it’s just going to happen. Like it’s something that just ‘IS’ … like ‘Go love yourself.’ is the same as ‘Go make a sandwich.’

Like it’s this thing you just do and then you have it. But it’s not like that at all. Maybe it started that way… when we were really little… but we forgot, and that’s okay. So now, we accept that it’s a process. 

Few lasting relationships had a first date that began with “I love you so much, I want to spend my life with you. You are my everything.” There’s a natural evolution of getting to know each other and slowing showing small forms of affection. Establishing trust, commitment and eventually love. 

Go date yourself. Get to know you. Build a friendship, show yourself small acts of kindness and let those grow in to more meaningful acts of love. 

I don’t conclusively know if you can or can’t love someone without loving yourself. But I feel confident in saying that even the intention - just the effort of trying to love yourself can make some huge, unparalleled shifts in your body, your relationships and your quality of life.  

So go on now, go fall in love with you. ‘Cause you’re awesome. 

[avialaeandapidae]

Got my days wrong and ended up alone in a room with my boss and the President of Ireland while I was on ketamine.

Thread by @shockproofbeats

Right, this was when I was eighteen so don't judge me too harshly. Or if you think drugs are cool and I'm a legend, fill your boots. Anyway, at the time I was working through college in Dublin with bar shifts at [redacted] music venue.

One day I get a call on my day off. Way the gig worked, you'd either get Fri or Sat off. This week it was Fri, happy days. My manager, let's call her Dympna, pipes up on the phone: "So, when you come in this evening, just a few things to remember". I'm like, hold on Dympz, I'm off this eve, jog on. She corrects me. "Remember I said you could get all of Saturday off if you just worked 2 hours tonight?".

And of course THEN, I did suddenly remember, she'd said it to me as I was leaving the building and my conscious work brain was doing somersaults to get out of the place. She could have told me I was to have my foreskin tattooed with a harpoon and I would have given her a smile, thumbs up, and a flurry of yeps to get out of the place. I was eighteen. On minimum wage, and - bear in mind this is really saying something - my absolute minimum effort. So, I'm bang to rights and I say "yeaaah, of course, sorry just got my days mixed up, I'll be there no problem" and she says, "this evening will be fine, just the head of the [redacted] and some VIPs, few hours then you can take off".

All good. Except for the one thing. At that very moment, I was in a mate's house on Dame St, relaxing with (I thought) nothing to do for the evening.

Now you have to remember that, before dabbing and fortnite, kids used "drugs" to get high and I was, occasionally, adjacent to them. I was a fairly sheltered kid before college, and didn't even drink til I was well into my late teens, never smoked even. I was very green.

So too, coincidentally, was the homebrew ketamine that said pal was making IN HIS OVEN when I arrived. My pal had gotten it in liquid form and, for some reason, it had been dyed green - he has subsequently told me he thought it was a St Patrick's Day promotion, and I've always thought it a charming entrepreneurial flourish on the part of his enterprising ketamine wholesaler. (Ketamine wholesalers are often vets, and the stuff originally for cats. People always say horse tranquiliser, either to make it sound more sordid or more badass, but ketamine is used on many animals, and vets have more use for cat tranqs than horses. Not quite as sexy is it?)

Anyway, for want of a better idea, I took him up on his offer of a line of this thick, vaguely slightly clumpy bright green powder, knowing I had nothing else to do for the evening. Felt nothing. Had a tiny further bump 10 mins later. It was at this point that my phone rang.

FLASHBACK ENDS, WE'RE BACK IN THE ROOM. So I'm definitely sweating after the call, not like instant come-up, more worried ABOUT the come-up. Never done this in my life, I've no idea how it's going to feel. But, absent any other idea, I get my stuff together and head to work.

On way to work, starts kicking in. You know when the roof of your mouth starts politely folding your brain in half, and your chest flutters like a cathedral filled with bees? I was holding it together but knew if I stopped concentrating for one second, I would become time itself.

By the time I reach work (twenty mins later) I am sweating like microwaved bread, eyes on hinges, convinced my fingernails owe me money. I have an overwelming urge to yawn, just to get the memories out WHEN in comes Dympna with the rota for the evening.

D: Thanks again, know it's short- oh, you look a bit hot and bothered, did you run here ha?"

Me: Hmnnnnnyes, I did - the dids is"

D: OK, just you tonight and the top man, he's showing the President what's going on for the next while"

[one beat]

Me: Sorr din you sez de presddyen?" D: Yes, Mary McAleese is in to see this season's programme of events.

Me: Hmmnggg

D: All you need to do is stand in the corner and offer them drinks every fifteen minutes.

Me: Ahhh yesssshnshh

D: Maybe have a wash beforehand So the gig is this: Mary McAleese (the *original* MMA) was to go round this room upstairs which had upcoming acts for the season illustrated with photographs and programme notes. The director of [redacted] would walk her around and say "fricken great, Madge innit?" or whatever.

My role is pretty weird, I have to stand in the corner and then every 15 mins, INTERRUPT this live-wire pair to offer them drinks, which protocol dictates they must refuse. I have barely processed any of this before I'm grabbing a tray and heading upstairs.

The tray, btw, contains a white wine, a red wine, a G&T, a whiskey, a rum and coke and some mineral waters. Always found that mix weird. Imagine the President of Ireland seeing the rum and coke and going "oooooh nice one, ta - now tell me about this Latvian choir again".

Right now I can hold it together when stimulated, when the adrenaline and fear is keeping me just ticking over - I'm weird but with it.

Problem is, my job is now to stand silent and motionless in a room on my own until the President of Ireland arrives. Time passes on my own. Empires crumble and glaciers dissolve, stars die and oceans melt, out on the dusty planes of mother earth, hot bursts of young love gift the miracle of life; children are born, raised, stricken infirm and die of old age.

And then Mary McAleese walks in. By now, having been alone with my thoughts for the entire Cretaceous period, I am no longer mildly weird but deeply, extravagantly deranged. As the President of Ireland walks in, with my boss's boss's boss's boss, my first impulse is to greet them like I own the place. It would be rude, surely, to not acknowledge their presence? Out of order even. Best thing to do would obviously be to say "hello guys" like it's my home and I live there, in this big white room, where I stand in the corner, alone, holding a tray of drinks, like you do, at home.

Me: hello guys HELLO GUYS

Anyway, by the divine grace of the infant Christ, they somehow do not hear me say this, and begin their itinerary round the room. I clench my entire head and focus on not shouting across the room to let them know that they should always feel at home here in this room of ours.

I become extremely aware of my hands, and how I haven't felt them in a very long time. They're detuned to static , which would be worrying even if they weren't holding a tray of drinks filled with noise and judgement. I hold no faith or creed other than "do not drop these plz".

Just when dropping everything seems to become less urgent, I realise it's time to go over and offer these motherfuckers some fucken drinks, let's get this party started wooooooo I begin walking over to them and I move so abruptly that the glasses clink and they turn to look at me.

I did this too fast.

Now I'm thinking wooooah slow down there martina hingis, so I self-correct to a much slower speed. Watching my breath, nice and casual, you got this buddy. Guys. GUYS. Now, I'm moving far too slow. I started at this speed and I'm to embarassed to change and now it's gonna take me like 5 mins to cross the room. They are watching me, frowning and sweaty, traversing the 5 foot between us like it's a wooden plank on the Crystal Maze. I'm moving so slow my legs are cramping. I think they're wondering why it's taking me so long. It's way harder than walking at normal speed. I'm shaking so the drinks are making noise again. For what feels like minutes.

Anyway, I offer them the drinks and they say no. Do this another two times - how long was this presentation anyway, is this what the President does all day? Give her a brochure and a carryout ffs - and they say no.

By the end, I've calmed down a bit in physical side (sweating, shaking) but I still feel completely batshit. At one point I clearly remember believing that my mind had escaped my body and was watching me hold the tray of drinks from the wallspace behind my head. Only out-of-body experience I've ever had.

At the very end, they do accept a drink. It was at this point she spoke to me. Just some inane pleasantries, to which I reply with some off-the-hook pablum about work and college, at which point she says;

"Oh, is that a Northern accent I detect?"

Dawgs, you know I'm down for the Nordie solidarity vibe, but this is the last thing I need right now. "Yeeerrrsh" I say, with a goalkeeper's glove in my mouth. She starts talking about her experience coming down to study here, how it can be a real scenic change, but the making of you if you keep your eyes open to new experiences.

I can tell she definitely means green ketamine. She's a lovely woman, and very open and generous with her time, giving me ample space to answer her questions which I mostly do with sheepish, one-or-two-word answers. Finally, she asks me if Dublin is everything I thought it wou-

Me: YES I LIKE IT I THINK IT'S GOOD

I'd been paying such fierce attention, I'd mis-timed my reply AND badly modulated my volume. She actually recoiled a little. I think the head of the venue actually stepped back and said "jesus!". Mary McAleese flinched for what seemed like half a second, then flashed her best your-mum's-sound-mate smile and replaced her white wine on my tray.

The boss man nodded at me, they walked out of the room and I waited a few seconds before making my way downstairs to the kitchen. So at this point I'm thinking, wellll, I'm definitely fired but this will one day make a great story on an Nazi-riddled microblogging platform.

I make my way to the staff area, wipe my sopping face and check my phone. I had only been in the room for 35 minutes. Dympna pads in all smiles, thanking me for my help at short notice. She sees that I'm a bit freaked and says, almost with a wink, "you could have told me you'd be like this, by the way" I'm thinking, of course, Dympna gets what's up, it's the service industry, people mistime their vibes, I bet this isn't the first time she's seen some-

"I had no idea you were such a huge fan of Mary McAleese"

I'm sorry what again was that did you mean The boss man had indeed related the events upstairs to Dympna, but rather than a frightened waif hepped up on cat tranqs, he'd seen a political nerd deeply, irretrievably starstruck by contact with the 8th President of the Irish Republic, Mary McAleese. Presumably a political nerd with a gland problem, and low-grade artritis in both legs, and a tendency to welcome people into their workspaces, but a political nerd all the same.

Me: Oh, yeah well, you know, it's embarassing. She's, just amazing.

And you know what, she kinda is. She was always very nice to me each of the subsequent times we met - me doling out the drinks, her asking me how Dublin was getting on, all the while the other staff eyeing me to see how I was dealing with such close contact with my hero. I'd gurn and fret, play up to it when she'd be coming in, "oh what am I like". I'd bat away suggestions I fancied her from the more ribald members of the changing room, and laugh along with the usual jibes, safe in the knowledge my nerdy affect had saved my bacon.

So take ketamine at work, it's great.

END.

[chromemuffin]

Shoukoku no Altair Liveblog (Chapter 11)

The highlighting is a nice touch. I think the glow on Mahmut’s pants is supposed to be from the jewels? Suleyman’s weapon is quite interesting as well. What is it even supposed to be?

Chapter 11: The Falcon’s Joint Struggle

“Your friends will soon be here to pick you clean.”

What a lovely mental image.

AGAIN, VERY SCARY. Don’t just stand there! I know, logically, he survives this just fine, but it’s still scary.

...at least he knows to protect his face. D:

O-ow...THOSE BIRDS ARE SO BIG. Poor kid. I mean, it fits narrative-wise, but. USUALLY it’s the protagonists who use the enemy’s strengths/moves against them, but this is the complete opposite here.

That beak is dangerously close to his eye. >.<

But ah, the water shrine! They did make a big deal out of it last chapter. It’s also where the town’s well is.

The composition of this shot is wonderful and heart-wrenching at the same time. Obviously, the lighting differs from the previous panels drastically. Everything was dark and pitch black, and as soon as the birds fly away in this panel, the whole scene is bathed in (metaphorical) light - hope.

At the same time, Mahmut is portrayed in such a lonesome manner. He’s tiny, hunched over, almost pitiful. It goes a long way in displaying his current station in life.

Yeeesss Suleyman to the rescue!

He definitely has this sort of roguish charm.

I love how his whistle (flute?) is different from Mahmut’s. Mahmut’s is that oval/cylindrical shape, and his is a series of three square blocks. The shape/number of slots probably affect the sound that comes out?

(笛 is probably the word used, it can mean flute or whistle)

Meanwhile, Mahmut books it over to the well shrine to wash the blood off...though realistically, what the heck kind of water is in the well that it can wash blood out of white clothes.

Very nicely drawn, though please get out of here and leave everyone alone, lady. You and your weird sword (is it supposed to be rusted or covered in blood or rusted AND covered in blood? I suppose I could just watch the anime to see, but...).

Ah, I wondered a few panels back if Mahmut was able to make different signals or even knew about them, since they brought up the fact that he might not have received the full training in falconry due to the war. You can only learn so much at 5 years old, after all.

One of those is a weapon, most likely, the one wrapped in bandages. The other one is a pipe, I think? It’s huge.

While it’s a good thing to learn to rely on others in these situations, it seems quite frustrating for Mahmut at the moment. You can see the frustration clearly on his face - frustration, embarrassment that he was caught off guard like that, that he had his own techniques turned against him no less.

I’m dying heeeereee. (also, note on the next few panels how Mahmut’s clothes are torn a bit, especially those billowy sleeves.

“Their skill in wielding steel weapons is unparalleled.” So. Um, was that one guy Mahmut defeated in Hisar just an outlier? Because all he did was use his club of a sword to break Mahmut’s in half and then he bludgeoned him and stabbed him in the shoulder. Not much skill there.

Again, not buying the whole skilled thing, but nice to have confirmation that the club sword is indeed intended to be used to bludgeon people to death.

Guilt seems to be something that nags at Mahmut’s conscious for one reason or another quite often...It always goes back to that event in his childhood, which he dreams about to this day - his inability to act or do anything to affect change.

But, like, maybe you shouldn’t go charging ahead like that. It didn’t work out well the last two times you did it...I wouldn’t count getting beat up and stabbed in the shoulder with a blunt object a success, nor nearly getting eaten by eagles.

SEE??

On one hand, great determinator face there. On the other hand, look at the panicked expression Suleyman has on his face when he’s normally quite smirky.

MAHMUT.

wtf is this accordion-like “sword”. THAT’S NOT A SWORD ANYMORE.

O-ouch, in a whole different manner...I guess that guy he fought in Hisar wasn’t that good of a fighter? Or wasn’t suited to that sort of combat. He didn’t have an accordion-sword.

But, yeah, I really like this shot, the movement of his sleeve, hair, and the jewels. There’s motion there, but each part is sort of moving in its own direction.

Seems like someone has experience fighting the cult, and it’s not Mahmut...

BWAHAHA. “Let’s run.” Gotta love pragmatic characters.

I sort of feared/expected this to happen...This is the first time in the present timeline that someone has actually gotten hurt to save Mahmut, the last time we know of was when his mother died. And for another person, especially someone from the same clan as him, to get hurt for his mistake must be absolutely terrible. This time, it isn’t even a circumstance he couldn’t control. He has some culpability here, and that makes this so, so painful.

Kato draws anguish, and the interplay of anguish and frustration and guilt on his face so well, but. D:

I wish the anime would have kept the scene of Mahmut hugging Halil Pasha, back in chapter 1, because he’s a protagonist whose emotions do get the better of him in situations like these. Especially when it concerns his past. It’s natural, and I prefer they show him on the verge of tears rather than stoicism. It feels so much more human.

I love this shift and transition from guilt and frustration to this totally misguided determination to not cause Suleyman any further trouble. It plays into that human aspect of him. And once again, he has the attitude and the drive to do something, but not the means to do it.

He really needed that punch, because it’s dangerous to keep thinking like the teenager he really is.

It’s almost funny, in a way. When protagonists of shounen series show determination, you are generally convinced of their competency. If you take that one panel of Mahmut declaring he will take care of matters, you can almost believe he has the power to do so. It’s the vulnerability beforehand that makes it hollow, inconsiderate of how Suleyman feels, and incredibly stupid.

You go, Suleyman, you go.

Being a pasha that young really did him no favors. It made him think he has to shoulder the burden of these things alone.

(Suleyman punched him on the side where he has a cut too, ouch.) 

Suleyman: Heey, you.

Mahmut: sulking

Iskander: O>O

But, YES. COOPERATION TIME IS NOW HERE. Thank you for pulling this sinking boat back into working order, Suleyman.

The fight scene flows nicely, one side of the page for Mahmut, the other for Suleyman. Considering two of my favorite anime/manga have the most awkward fight scenes, I am very pleased that these are good.

Aaww, his uncertain “b-but...” face. I’ll need to remember it for future reference. I don’t know what to label some of his expressions sometimes, so...

Niiice. Everyone pulls their weight in this fight.

Very nice movement, and sequence of actions here.

Though. Did he just. Run up that column to get to the roof. It seems their aim was to get the snake-sword stuck in the latticework.

WAIT. DID.

DID THEIR BEAKS JUST. CUT THROUGH THAT SWORD. MADE OF STEEL.

Are you ok, lady? Apparently Katerina’s beak can cut through steel.

OH. That’s not good-

Nope, never mind. He’s got it.

This is interesting. Suleyman mentioned last chapter that Zaganos pretty much gave him a purpose, gave him this title so he could make a difference and help people he could not hope to save in the last war. Mahmut became a pasha for the very same reason, but he seeks peace. Suleyman sees the maintaining of peace as a constant war with their enemies.

They are so very alike, and subtly different too.

Aw. He looks so young here again. Much less guarded shock here.

(Iskander you look like a chicken)

This is such an adorable panel??

It’s subtle, but Mahmut looks up to him now. He still has that wide-eyed, open expression, and he’s not looking directly up but is still waiting expectantly for Suleyman to finish. It’s mirrored more clearly in their birds.

Are you breaking the fourth wall, Iskander.

Not as good as Shara’s deadpan, empty soul look, but cute nonetheless.

Yeess. That determination is back on his face, but it’s not as hostile as before.

(why you so pretty mahmut)

Anyways, looks like we are onto the next arc, and the next phase of Mahmut’s journey (which is an actual journey this time).

I have been negligent in my admiration of the architecture and detailing the past few chapters. This is an awesome boat, though. And nice cliffs.

And that looks like the end of volume 2! I really like the credit pages. The illustrations here are top-notch.

← back・onward →

[metavanaj]

What the hey, AJ? | First Assault [Volume: January 2019]

YES, THE TITLE IS COMPLICATED.

Hi - if you’re reading this, you know the drill. My name’s MetaVanAJ, insert quirky catchphrase and/or ‘your mum’ joke here. Welcome to the first volume of ‘What the hey is AJ play...ing?’ Yeah, the title isn't the greatest but hey it rhymes...mostly. I just thought I’d use this as quick way of communicating what I’m playing (or going to play) at the moment, & hopefully give some quick recommendations, to pique your interests in some really good stuff. As much as I would love to do a video version of this, I feel I would lose the spontaneity behind the idea; once I get my shit together I’ll do one of these in video form, someday. The only reason I’m writing this now is because January 2019 is so jammed packed with excellent NEW titles (despite most of this article being about ports & remakes), that I literally won’t be able to keep up. And I can’t even keep up in an off-season so this is just exponentially worse. So, ‘what the hey is AJ playing’ in January 2019?

Travis Strikes Again: No More Heroes

(Platform(s): Switch | Release Date: Jan 18th)

Travis Strikes Again: No More Heroes is taking another core title hostage so please buy this game. Joke aside, I am still looking forward to this title. Like everyone else, I’m a bit iffy and uncertain about how the gameplay is shaping up but I’ll be picking this up day one. Why? For one reason only, of course: Suda51. You see Goicha Suda is a brand - he is a different, ‘special snowflake’ and he makes different ‘special snowflake’ games. His name has been slapped on various works the past decade, and then some, but he actually hasn’t directed a game since 2007’s No More Heroes, on the Nintendo Wii. Travis Strikes Again marks his return to the directorial seat, albeit an odd-way to do so. But hey, this means pure unadulterated Suda-vision, the same vision that gave us Killer7 and No More Heroes; meaning narrative-wise we’re up for, what the kids call, some wacky shit. That and being able to blast through this with a bud, in co-op, will ease any of the pain, if the gameplay isn’t to mechanically engaging. Pain divided...is worse - why would you subject your friend to that?

Tales of Vesperia: Definitive Edition

(Platform(s): PS4, Xbox One, Switch, PC | Release Date: Jan 11th)

I saw someone call the ‘Tale of’ series the McDonalds of JRPGS - I don’t think that’s an accurate metaphor but hey it’s an interesting way to open up a paragraph, no? Tales games tend to be a bit ‘same-y’ but it’s a bloody excellent formula and the fact they’ve released so many of these over the years just goes to show the formula works. Don’t like the characters, story & setting of one Tales game? Play the next one - gameplay remains the same, fundamentally. I won’t dive into the gameplay deep here but let's just say the ‘action’ is pretty decent in this ‘action-RPG’. Personally, you can’t go wrong with any Tales after Tales of the Abyss (Symphonia didn’t click with me, my bad). Apparently, Vesperia is one of the best in the series, so if it’s half as good as Abyss, and what I’ve seen of Xillia, then this is definitely worth a buy - especially on Switch, so you can take this bad boy on the go. Don’t worry, high-frame lovers: it was 60fps on the 360 in 2008, it’ll a good time, trust me. And this is one also has a dog with an eye patch in it...and a pirate midget. The definitive edition also adds all the extra goodies from the japan exclusive PS3 port, which is all the more reason to pick up a copy now. LIKE RIGHT NOW.

New Super Mario Brothers U Deluxe

(Platform: Switch | Out now!)

Eh, I’m not super excited about this game in particular but moreso the idea of the game itself. Shocking fact: New Super Mario Bros. games have been decent this entire time. The games have no spunk, in terms of story and presentation, but boy is the level design tight & fun. If you’re looking for a good 2D platformer on Switch, get Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze, or hey even Shantae ½ Genie Hero. The other big 4-player party-style offerings however, have been kinda meagre offerings. Super Mario Party looks boring and soulless, Kirby: Star Allies is patronisingly easy to a point of being ‘unfun’ (and that’s for a Kirby game), and I forgot how to casually play Smash without crushing people’s dreams. Super Mario Bros. U is a great platformer and even greater with a few buddies but I’m not clamouring to get it at full price. I still strongly recommend it though if you’re just looking for some 4-player platform ‘em up fun. Comes with Luigi U too, that’s nice - surprised they didn’t charge us for it, all over again. That’d be almost as bad as charging a full 80 Australian dollars for it...oh wait.

Resident Evil 2 [2019 remake]

(Platform(s): PS4, Xbox One, PC | Release Date: 25th Jan)

Legitimately thought, I don’t need to sell you this one. You saw the trailer, you’re probably already hyped that Resi is ‘returning to its roots’; whatever that means. Personally, I haven’t touched Resident Evil up until recently, as I am a big baby when it comes to jump-scares. I know their coming but I still go through the physical shock of getting scared by set jumps. The titles I have been delving into (and loving) of late, have been Resi 4, 5 & 6...all at once - and I wonder why I can’t tame the backlog? Anywho, that’s why I am excited for the Resi 2 remake. Why should YOU be excited? The Resi 2 remake takes from all the best components of the series, and smooshs them together to create something extraordinarily beautiful -  the actual horror elements and sense of claustrophobia through environmental design from the first three classic games, the tight gameplay formula from the modern Resi formula (4, 5, 6) and the beautiful new engine from Resi 7. Resident Evil 2 (2019_ is like a best hits album of everything the series has achieved so far. Play it, yeah - you owe it to yourself.

Kingdom Hearts freaking III

(Platform(s): PS4, Xbox One | Release Date: 29th Jan)

At this point, you are either on the Kingdom Hearts hype train, or you live in beautiful bliss of the Kingdom Hearts hype train. I got in an abusive relationship where whenever I thought about Kingdom Hearts 3, I would angrily playthrough the entirety of Kingdom Hearts II: Final Mix again. I’m better now - I spend my days now complaining about Dream Drop Distance like a good boy now. That being said: I’m a fan like everyone, I’m getting this Day 1, and I payed an extra 20 Australian dollars, on top of full price, for the deluxe edition. If you’re wondering why you should buy Kingdom Hearts 3, all I’m going to say is it’s going to be epic. It’ll have a rippling behemoth impact on anyone who’s touched a game from the Eastern shores, like Final Fantasy XV did, at its release. If you’re a newcomer, obviously start with Kingdom Hearts 1 & 2, as they are the finest action-RPGs I’ve ever played, in my short time on this earth. But if you’re even remotely invested in the series, you’re already drooling - that fabled release of KH3 is so close I can practically taste it. It tastes so good. I SWEAR TO GOD THOUGH IF I SEE ‘FLOATY COMBAT’, I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’ll DO. I’ll see you at the end of it all...

Senran Kagura Burst Re:Newal

(Platform(s): PS4, PC | Release Date: 18th Jan)

Woah, that last one got a little emotional there. Anyways, this one’s an easy sell: BOOBS, BUTTS, ANIME BABES, & BODACIOUS BLADES. Senran Kagura Estival Versus was a interesting musou that showcased some promising gameplay elements; I actually had to activate more than two brain cells at once, during my playthrough. Shocking, I know. Senran Kagura Burst Re:Newal is a remake of a 3DS game (Senran Kagura Burst), which consists of gameplay more akin to a 3D-Beat-’em-up. It simply looks like a bit of a meatier Estival Versus so I’m keen to check it out & see how deep the game mechanics well is. If you’re looking for a fun light action romp too, you should as well. The presentation, which I won’t delve into here, is often what is a bit of a turn off for newcomers - I personally have never been swayed by it either way it. Sure, it’s a bit saucy but it doesn’t detract from the fact that whatever the Senran Kagura series tries its hand at, is often a pretty fun & polished experience, albeit a slightly shallow one. This one isn’t necessarily a ‘must get’ but they’re not charging full price so it is definitely worth an investigative playthrough, if you can get past the ‘fan-service-y’ presentation.

Well, that’s it for the first volume of ‘What the hey, AJ?’ Next time, I hope to adapt this into video form & hopefully spin in a few funnies, as well as just tighten up the structure. Next time, probably won’t be all new releases either - I’ll probably end up doing another just if I find that everything I’m playing, at any given time, is amazing. I have, and always will be, MetaVanAJ - stay cool, fools. Actually, that was mean calling my audience fools. Stay cool, individuals.

[comicalcats]

Volume 1: Dale and Alice

CHAPTER 5

I woke the next morning not quite sure where I was.

The room I woke up in was messy, newspapers were strewn all around the room; piled in corners, on top of the dresser, and littered in the middle of the room. I found it rather odd. How many newspapers did a person need? I swung my legs out of bed to investigate, but before I could I heard I heard a soft knock at the door.

Last night’s events came rushing back. DonDo Village, the crying boy by the river, the chase through the woods. I recalled that he had offered his bedroom as shelter as opposed to making me camp outside. That was kind of him, I thought to myself as I approached the door. I wonder why he did it.

I opened the door, and there he stood, staring at the floor. I smiled. Something about his nervous demeanor was strangely calming. Perhaps the fact that he was so anxious made me feel a little more in control of my own life. It was also oddly adorable to watch him shuffle his feet around awkwardly. “Good morning…,” the realization that I didn’t know his name yet hit me like morning sickness as I stopped in the middle of my sentence.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice my stunning revelation. “Um, good morni-”

He stopped suddenly. I couldn’t figure out why until I looked down at what I was wearing. I was still in my nightgown.  

It was a bit embarrassing, really. The gown had thin straps holding it up, and the skirt stopped just above my knees. I hadn’t even realized I was in my nightgown when I had gotten up to open the door. A harrowing moment passed. Then he grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door shut with a bang. I was surprised to say the least. My bed head isn’t that bad, is it?

“I am so sorry, I didn’t realize- I mean, I should’ve asked first to check that you were dressed- oh my gosh I can’t believe I was so stupid…,” he trailed off in embarrassment. He sounded so ashamed, like he had committed a crime punishable only by death.

“It’s okay. Hey, you didn’t know. It’s not a big deal, okay,” I comforted him through the door. That last bit was a lie. I took my decency very seriously, and if anyone else had seen me like that, I would have knocked them flat on their asses. But for him, I made an exception. There was no use in beating up my ticket out of this dumb forest. Besides, he was so small and pale, and it was painfully obvious that he didn’t have very many friends, if any. I would feel terrible if I decked someone so small and helpless. “I’m gonna get dressed really quick and then I’ll be right down. You still owe me a ‘good morning’,” I added. I heard soft footsteps walking down the creaky staircase.

The house was so rundown and broken. It was easily older than him by a good decade. As I rummaged through my bags in search of clothing for the day, I heard a distant crash as well as a startled screech. His house was also falling apart, which I assume was the crash I had just heard. As I pulled on my clothes from yesterday(shush, they were still clean), I couldn’t help but think that I was doing him a favor by rescuing him from this dump. After brushing my hair in the cracked mirror leaning against the wall, I headed downstairs, narrowly avoiding the bottom step, the boards of which had splintered in half. So that’s what I heard from upstairs.

The pale boy was nowhere to be seen. I searched the entire bottom floor and didn’t find him. Just as I was considering exploring the basement in the hopes of finding him, I heard the front door open with a hair-raising shriek. I poked my head into the hallway and saw him standing with his back to me, holding the bucket he had hit his head on yesterday. I had almost forgotten that I had picked it up when I chased him through the woods. I didn’t know where to put it, so I had just left it on the porch. He turned around, freezing when he saw me standing in the doorway to the living room. He looked down at his feet and tugged at his shirt collar. I could’ve sworn he was blushing. This kid must have issues of some sort.

I pushed the thought out of my head. Specifically the word ‘kid’, since I didn’t know how old he was. But he was so tiny; five foot nothing at best. I spoke in an attempt to break the awkward silence. “Hey, don’t sweat it. It was nothing, just an honest accident. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

I saw his tense muscles relax a bit at my words. Despite this, he continued to avoid eye contact as he shuffled into the kitchen. “So….”

He glanced up nervously. “Oh, uh, good- good morning.” Not what I wanted to hear, but it did make me glad that he had kept his word.

“So when do we leave,” I inquired. I wanted to leave as soon as possible. He looked a bit startled at how eager I was to leave. I didn’t blame him. He had probably never gotten much experience of the world outside of the forest.

“We… um, well-”

“Apologies in advance if I come off as rude, but I’m already a day behind in my voyage, and if we don’t hurry, then all the time I spent trying to get to the Kingdom for my wish will have been for nothing.” I didn’t want to be pushy of course, but we needed to get moving if we were to make it to the Kingdom in time.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, “We’ll leave as soon as I pack.” I noticed that he didn’t stutter that time.

  ONE HOUR LATER

  We had been walking for a good forty five minutes, and the atmosphere wasn’t any less awkward.

At some point, the pale boy had begun walking ahead of me, which made the silence a bit more bearable. But I had a feeling that even though it was awkward for me, it was worse for him. After all, it seemed like he didn’t get company. Like, ever.

The silence became too much for me. I tried to make conversation. “So, um, I was wondering: why do you live in such a, uh… quaint house? It doesn’t seem like the safest place to me. There’s a village really close by, but I guess you wouldn’t want to live there judging by the fact that the people there don’t seem terribly fond of you. There was even a kid in town who sounded like he had a bone to pick with you or something. I guess I just don’t understand why you stick around. Why, if it were me, I’d-”

My rambling was cut short as I noticed a couple things. First, we were almost out of the forest. The foliage above and around us had grown thinner since we had left the shack, and sunlight was streaming through. I almost jumped in the air and started celebrating right then and there. Then I noticed something else.

It had been too dark to see it before, but it was easy to spot now that there was sunlight. There, on the back of his head. It looked like he had hit his head on something. The bruise looked recent. If I had to guess, I’d say he had gotten the bruise about a day ago. As I stared at it, I couldn’t help but think: did he do that to himself? After a moment’s consideration, I decided that the answer to that was probably no. That was a weird spot for self-harm. So it had to be something else. But what? Only one way to find out.

“What’s that on the back of your head,” I asked. For once, the concern in my voice was genuine and not exaggerated. I surprised myself, if that was even possible.

He hunched his shoulders more in a fruitless attempt to hide the mark. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he murmured.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s obviously not nothing if you’re trying to hide it. So for the love of the Kingdom, please don’t act like it’s nothing,” I retorted. I winced internally at how harsh that had come off. I hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, but the fact that he had tried to pass it off as ‘nothing’ irked me. Someone had done something to this kid, and I was going to find out what it was and who had done it if I had to interrogate him for twelve hours straight.

He trembled slightly in response. He looked afraid that I was going to hit him or something…. Oh.

Oh no.

I spoke again, softer this time. “Does it hurt?”

He didn’t answer. He just pointed forward. I looked in that direction and gasped. We were at a clearing, and the path was right there. Visions of the future danced across my mind’s eye. Finally, my wish was within reach. Just a bit further and happiness was mine for the taking.

I ran towards the path, excitement filling my entire body- and then I remembered that I wasn’t traveling alone anymore. I stopped in my tracks and looked back. The pale boy was still standing at the edge of the forest. He hadn’t moved. I snapped my fingers to get his attention. “Come on, we gotta go! The path is right there!”

He looked me in the eyes for the first time that day. I noticed that they were a startling shade of blue, as if angels had cried and deposited their tears into his irises. He spoke in a trembling voice, like he was about to start crying along with the angels. “I live in a broken home because it’s the only home I have and I don’t have the money to move out. The villagers hate me because I’m a freak. To them I’m some sort of alien or monster. I don’t have family in the village or anywhere else that I’m aware of. As for the bruise on my head, well…,” he took a deep breath before speaking again. “Some kid in the village threw a rock at me yesterday. To prove that I was nothing but a weirdo. I think it was the same kid you mentioned who spoke ill of me. His name is Tim, and he seems to have the biggest grudge against me out of everyone in the village.” Tears were coming thick and fast now, streaming down his face in rivers.

While sadness overtook the pale boy’s body, anger flooded mine. I couldn’t believe that someone would do something so cruel to another person, especially someone who was obviously weaker than them. I felt the urge to race back to the village and snap the pencil-necked boy in half, this time for much more than possibly giving me the wrong directions. I took a moment to collect my thought. Something told me that the poor boy standing in front of me wouldn’t react well if I went on a murder spree in the village.

I approached him slowly, trying my best not to make any sudden moves. When I was right in front of him, I put my arms around him and squeezed him gently, closing the gap. “Forget them. You have me now. I’ll help you get your wish, I promise. I’ll help you if it’s the last thing I do.”

I wasn’t sure where the sudden sentiment came from. But I felt for this kid. He had no one, no one at all. I genuinely wanted to help him get away from that crappy village and the disgusting excuses for human beings that inhabited it. He deserved a life far better than the one he led, and it seemed that I was the only one who could help him achieve it. So there was no way I could leave him behind. The guilt would have crushed me. I pulled away and looked at him. “Does that sound good,” I asked.

He sniffled and nodded, smiling slightly.

“Great,” I said cheerfully. “Hey, I have an idea!” He tilted his head to the side questioningly. “How about this: from now on, you and I will be best friends. No objections,” I added jokingly. He seemed taken aback at my sudden declaration. But after a second’s thought, he nodded, confirming our friendship. “Awesome! Now come on, let’s go,” I shouted, jogging towards the path. He caught up quicker than I expected, and began walking alongside me.  

“Dale,” he whispered. “Dale. T-That’s my name.”

I hadn’t expected such a sudden introduction, especially since he didn’t seem like the time to introduce himself first. But I was glad nonetheless. “Alice. Pleasure to be traveling with you, Dale. Cool name, by the way.”

He nodded his thanks and we continued walking. The Adventures of Dale and Alice, I thought. That has a nice ring to it.

[tanmath3-blog]

Kenneth W. Cain first got the itch for storytelling during his formative years in the suburbs of Chicago, where he got to listen to his grandfather spin tales by the glow of a barrel fire. But it was a reading of Baba Yaga that grew his desire for dark fiction. Shows like The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, and One Step Beyond furthered that sense of wonder for the unknown, and he’s been writing ever since.

Cain is the author of The Saga of I trilogy, United States of the Dead, the short story collections These Old Tales and Fresh Cut Tales, and his latest Embers: A Collection of Dark Fiction. Writing, reading, fine art, graphic design, and Cardinals baseball are but a few of his passions. Cain now resides in Chester County, Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.

  1. How old were you when you wrote your first story?

Five or six, I believe. It was an awful rendition of the whole Baba Yaga thing.

  2. How many books have you written?

Written or published? Written, I would say, so far: 6 novels, 5 novellas, 4 collections of short stories, and maybe a hundred stories that aren’t in those books that will likely end up in other collections. As well as a bunch of poetry, a lot of which is in a themed collection, most of which is still unpublished. The most recent releases will be a novella titled A Season in Hell (due out September 7th) and my next collection, Darker Days (due out December 7th).

  3. Anything you won’t write about?

No, I don’t believe in taboos. There are stories in every taboo. They say not to kill the dog, but there’s a story there as well. It’s been done, too. I have to tell the story I have to tell. If it’s in me, it’s going to get out, like it or not.

  4. Tell me about you. Age (if you don’t mind answering), married, kids, do you have another job etc…

I’m 48, married to a wonderful woman with two kids. I write pretty much full-time, other than keeping up chores around the house and coaching my son’s baseball teams.

  5. What’s your favorite book you have written?

It has to be A Season in Hell. This short book tackles many modern issues, things that matter to me. It’s hard-hitting, and a love story for the game of baseball.

  6. Who or what inspired you to write?

If I had to put he onus on just one person, it would have to be my mom. She loved horror, and growing up, I saw several movies (The Omen, Psycho, etc). They fueled my passion, but so did discovering the stories in the various Writer’s Digest books my parents kept on their shelves. It’s there I discovered Poe. Or perhaps it was hearing that Baby Yaga story for the first time.

  7. What do you like to do for fun?

Read. That’s fun for me. I also like to check out an original series now and then. Nothing that’s been rehashed or rebooted but something really original. Like Dark on Netflix. I also like gardening, fishing, coaching baseball, trying to play my guitars, drawing and painting, hanging with my family, and enjoying the beauty of this world.

  8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book?​

Wine! A bottle of Merlot, something like Smoking Loon.

  9. Where do you write? Quiet or music?

I have an office…now, with a desk and all, though it’s more like a dungeon to me. As for music, it varies. Sometimes it’s music, which can be anything from Pink Floyd to Metallica to Sinatra. Other times, I listen to baseball games or baseball chat. Then there are the podcasts I listen to, sometimes chat about the craft and other times stories. My brain is usually able to separate the two, so I can write a story and still hear what I’m listening and process it. Kind of weird. But there’s also times I need silence.

  10. Anything you would change about your writing?

Well, I would have started much earlier for one. I don’t know why I started so late, but it often feels like it’s too late. And I’d be far more patient, not taking the first offer, honing my craft before I rushed out there. I likely wouldn’t have hurried to get so much out there.

  11. What is your dream? Famous writer?

I’m living my dream. At least I think I am. I get to write a lot, read a lot, do all the things I enjoy. I married an awesome woman who is SO supportive of all my endeavors and two really bright children who are blossoming into great adults. And sometimes, once in a very great while, someone will leave a kind review or contact me or make a post about something I wrote, and it will touch my heart deeply. Who could ask for more?

  12. Where do you live?

Chester County, Pennsylvania.

  13. Pets?

I recently got rid of all my reef tanks, but I’ve had several over the years, as well as many, many birds. Right now, though, I have two dogs, a Catahoula leopard mix named Iggy and a Labradoodle named Kady. They’re both sweet, loving dogs.

  14. What’s your favorite thing about writing?

Getting it all out of my head. It’s cathartic; helps me sort my thoughts and feelings in a way I can deal with them. I’m putting myself out there for my readers, getting naked with my feelings. Hopefully they get something from my stories that elicits a similar feeling.

  15. What is coming next for you?

A young adult novella entitled Shadows in the Storm where Nita faces off with Shade, leader of the Shadow People. Though I still have to work on finding a publisher for the book.

  16. Where do you get your ideas?

My inspiration typically starts with a seed from something I know quite well. For instance, with A Season in Hell (due out September 7th from Crystal Lake Publishing) I drew from my long career playing baseball, as well as coaching. The story is about a woman playing baseball in the minor leagues back in the nineties and what she must endure just to play the game she loves. For that story I took from my own personal experience, even down to the smallest details like taping up a torn muscle with duct tape just so I could play the next game.

  There’s another element to the process, what I call the “what if” moment. You’ll see a lot of that in my shorter work. For instance, there’s this story in my collection Fresh Cut Tales entitled “Split Ends.” I was sitting at a pool while on vacation watching a mother furiously brush the knots out of her daughter’s hair and thinking about the “what if.” In this case, what came to mind was a disease, one the mother and daughter thought was very real, and it was but only mentally in this case. So that story is about the struggle of a mother not to succumb to that mental disease.

  Additional info:

  I have three books coming out this year (all three through Crystal Lake Publishing). Details for all three books follow

  The first is a novella entitled A Season in Hell. Due out September 7th.


  “Kenneth W. Cain takes timely social topics and explores them against the backdrop of America’s pastime. What begins as a baseball story quickly delves into something rich, deep, and dark.” – Mercedes M. Yardley, author of Pretty Little Dead Girls

  Synopsis:

When Dillon Peterson is honored for his baseball career, he must face a ghost that has long haunted him. He is transported back through his memories to a single season in the nineties that broke his heart. That was the season he met Keisha Green, the first and only woman to play baseball in the minor leagues. He sees what she goes through, what she must endure just to play the game both of them love, and this struggle leads to their friendship. As matters escalate, Dillon finds himself regretting his role in it all, as well as his career in baseball.

  “A Season in Hell is a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking story. You won’t soon forget Dillon or Keisha. Her struggle is as timely today as ever. A Season in Hell is also a love letter to baseball and how, despite everything, the game can still heal and bring people together who seemed impossibly far apart, and can do so through intimidating odds. A timeless story of true humanity.” —John Palisano, Vice President of the Horror Writers Association and Bram Stoker Award-Winning Author of Night of 1,000 Beasts

  The second is Tales From The Lake Volume 5. Due out November 2nd.

  Poetry:

“From the Mouths of Plague-Mongers” – Stephanie M. Wytovich

“Malign and Chronic Recreation” – Bruce Boston

“Final Passage” – Bruce Boston

  Short stories:


TBD – Gemma Files


“In the Family” – Lucy A. Snyder


“Voices Like Barbed Wire” – Tim Waggoner


“The Flutter of Silent Wings” – Gene O’Neill


“Guardian” – Paul Michael Anderson


“Farewell Valencia” – Craig Wallwork


“A Dream Most Ancient and Alone” – Allison Pang


“The Monster Told Me To” – Stephanie M. Wytovich


“Dead Bodies Don’t Scream” – Michelle Ann King


“The Boy” – Cory Cone


“Starve a Fever” – Jonah Buck


“Umbilicus” – Lucy Taylor


“Nonpareil” – Laura Blackwell


“The Midland Hotel” – Marge Simon


“The Weeds and the Wildness Yet” – Robert Stahl


“The Color of Loss and Money” – Jason Sizemore


“The Loudest Silence” – Meghan Arcuri


“The Followers” – Peter Mark May


“A Bathtub at the End of the World” – Lane Waldman


“Twelve by Noon” – Joanna Parypinski


“Hollow Skulls” – Samuel Marzioli


“Maggie” – Andi Rawson

  The third is my fourth collection, Darker Days. Due out December 7th.


  “Darker Days, the latest collection of short stories by Kenneth W. Cain, delivers on its title’s promise. From the very first story readers are dragged into seemingly ordinary situations that serve as cover for dark secrets. Ranging from subtle horror to downright terror, from science fiction to weird fantasy, Cain demonstrates a breadth of styles that keeps you off-balance as you move from one story to the next. There is something for everyone in this collection–as long as you don’t want to sleep at night!” – JG Faherty, author of The Cure, Carnival of Fear, and The Burning Time.

  Now that you’ve warmed by the embers, submerge in darker days.

  The author of the short story collections These Old Tales, Fresh Cut Tales, and Embers presents Darker Days: A Collection of Dark Fiction. In his youth Cain developed a sense of wonderment owed in part to TV shows like The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, One Step Beyond andAlfred Hitchcock Presents. Now Cain seeks the same dark overtones in his writing.

  There’s a little something for every reader within this collection. These 26 short speculative stories arise from a void, escaping shadows that ebb and weave through minds like worms, planting the larvae that live just under the skin, thriving upon fear. These are Cain’s darker days.

  In this collection, Cain features stories from the Old West, of past lives and future days, the living and the dead, new and unique monsters as well as fresh takes on those of lore. Once more he tackles themes of loss and grief, and the afterlife, always exploring the greater unknown. In “The Sanguine Wars,” Cain takes us to a future where soldiers are made to endure the horrors of war. He explores the complexities of global warming and what lengths men and women alike sink to in “The Reassignment Project.” And, as often is the case, he ends on a lighter note, with “Lenny’s New Eyes” and “A Very Different Sort of Apocalypse.”

  When the darkness comes, embrace it. Let it wrap you up in cold. Don’t worry, it’s not your time…yet.

  INCLUDES THE FOLLOWING STORIES:

​▪​“A Ring For His Own”

​▪​“Heirloom”

​▪​“Rust Colored Rain”

​▪​“Prey”

​▪​“Passing Time”

​▪​“What Mama Needs”

​▪​“My Brother Bit Your Honor Roll Student”

​▪​“Outcasts: The Sick and Dying 1 – Henry Wentworth”

​▪​“The Sanguine Wars”

​▪​“The Hunted”

​▪​“Her Living Corals”

​▪​“Puppet Strings”

​▪​“The Trying of Master William”

​▪​“By The Crescent Moon”

​▪​“Mantid”

​▪​“The Underside of Time and Space”

​▪​“Outcasts: The Sick and Dying 2 – Gemma Nyle”

​▪​“The Griffon”

​▪​“Adaptable”

​▪​“When They Come”

​▪​“The Reassignment Project”

​▪​“Presage”

​▪​“One Hopeless Night by a Clan Fire”

​▪​“Lenny’s New Eyes”

​▪​“Outcasts: The Sick and Dying 3 – Anna Kilpatrick”

​▪​“A Very Different Sort of Apocalypse”

    You can connect with Kenneth W. Cain here:

  Website: https://kennethwcain.com

  Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKennethWCain/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/KennethWCain

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kennethwcain/

  Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Kenneth-W.-Cain/e/B004HHALF6/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

    Some of Kenneth W. Cain’s books:

      Getting personal with Kenneth W. Cain Kenneth W. Cain first got the itch for storytelling during his formative years in the suburbs of Chicago, where he got to listen to his grandfather spin tales by the glow of a barrel fire.

[embodee]

4/24/18 drunk woke work

So all the above is still true. Kids – kids are amazing because they are so willfull, dynamic, and unpredictable on contrast to adults. Adults, more like robots (which is how they view us) predictable and following prescripted courses of action. I do find something about that very confining and I want to break free from it occasionally, while that said, I obviously get a rush out of being highly controlled and smoothly completing actions too.

I’m so lucky I can bike and that my job has so much flexibility and thought to it. Shit I am lucky if I get to make this my career – even if I don’t, I’m lucky to have had 5 years of my 20s be like this. So yes, I should be happy, out of sheer appreciation for how much freedom I presently have. I’ll try to actively say I’m happy until I…am?

While I was biking a cute chick holla’d at me to say I looked good pushing hard and fast. Yaknowit homegirl

I also guess it’s cool (guess because I didn’t choose it) that I got to fully develop my self. All this – the drugs, the drinking, the intellectual development in this trippy, weird, loopy way – would probably not have happened if I had someone by my side because I gravitate towards others so much, adopt their values and mirroring them so much it unquestionably inhibits my self-development. I should try to avoid doing those things with the person I choose as a partner, because I think I will contribute uniquely to society and mindfuckery if I stay true to my own developmental trajectory.

I like the way my adviser doesn’t write our papers for us until he has, he guides us to our own development and nudges us with prompts to get us to write what he’s thinking. It’s true Vgotsky scaffolding – like teachers suggesting and encouraging but not showing/doing for kids. I suspect I won’t be good at this – in my eagerness to be useful and helpful I typically just do it myself, out of pursuit of the worst, lowest, ickiest value – to do things right.

Righteousness is truly an awful value. I cant get behind it much at all honestly. If truth is relative = and the last few years of political upheaval have certainly shown as that it is – then how the fawk can someone so strongly, fully believe they are right? I mean, yes, there are things we as a public and esp. using science/math can concur are true to most peoples experience, would be good for most people’s experience, etc. – I am no believer in moral relativism in its extremes, that’s just giving up on actualizing ideals – but to let your own personal sense of right be your ultimate moral obligation? That’s fucking bonkers and bankrupt.

That said…I would be kidding myself if I didn’t acknowledge how good it feels to be right. But chasing that feeling, esp. it in the presence of other’s wrongness…that’s unkind, it’s selfish and it’s self-fulfillment above all else. Ick. Of course I am unlikely to actually implement this by backing down, being less intense, pursuing peace instead of making arguments I don’t care about. As a jew, I’m on the defensive all the time –we’ve got it bred in us that someone’s always after us, so we use our words as our fists, fighting using mental hijinx & jedi mind tricks to persuade and crumble facades. That’s pretty cool actually, now that I think of it. AND THAT’S WHY JEWS MAKE GOOD LAWYAS.

NEW YORK - CONCRETE JUNGLE THERE’S NOTHIN’ YOU CAN DO

 the world is truly callous nowadays, enforced by the tightly-margined, profit-driven, soul-sucking values/whims of the market economy. Poor keith. Poor me. Poor, pitiful all of us and most especially the New Yorkers who have convinced themselves – or been brainwashed – that their shitty quality of life is worth it for the glamour, glory & daily indignity of living in new York. They make compromises they are not even aware of in order to assure themselves they’ve made it in an the elite, hypercompetitive city, making them truly ‘one of the best’ – isn’t that an onamonapea? No I think it’s a big shrimp. You shouldn’t have to be the best or prove your limitless potential every day just to survive with a bit of dignity and acknowledgement but for too many people (not all) in New York, that is their jobs. Employment is so tenuous, employers so fickle, you are always at risk of being disposed if you don’t remind them constantly how indispensable you are to the company, the bottom line, the customers, the clients. How to make yourself indispensable? Sell your soul, your self, make it mirror their empty corporate values.

So what if you live in 300 square feet. So what if just to make enough $ to afford your 300 square feet you commute 40-60 minutes each way. So what if the soundtrack to your commute is honking horns and shrieking steel snakes and singing homeless people, all that beauty and humanity you share intimate space with is drowned out by your Spotify daily mix, made just for you by a robot. So what if your fancy cocktail has a smoky aftertaste from the sheer volume of pollution and waste resulting from mass

human cohabitation on an island. Look I get that this is where the work is, that this is the way the modern world works for many many people, that it’s normalized and you’re probably desensitized. But that doesn’t mean it’s fucking necessary or the only way to live or that its good for you personally. And of course, it’s bigger than you – you perpetuate what we see on TV, and thus the whole damn world buys into it, and is that best for most of the world’s people? It almost certainly is not, given that a decade ago your neighbors got caught gathering (everyone not living in NY’s) mortgages in the hopes that no one would pay them. Fucking cynical, sinister, motherfuckers - the consequences of their actions are still spinning out and effecting people’s daily lives.

Moral of my current altered mental state: There's nothing you can do about it but life in New York is so so hard, I would not make it there, I'm proud of you for trying, and I'm sorry but that goshforsaken city owes you nothing and you need to work yourself into the ground until they bury you there to make it.

[handsingsweapon]

9. For the October challenge with Phichit and anyone else you'd like to scare a bit 😂

9: A fun, creepy night of urban exploration gets the character(s) into trouble.

1. This is a college/frat AU because why the heck not2. credit: https://detroit.curbed.com/maps/thirteen-haunted-creepy-or-spooky-detroit-places3. putting all of these below cuts just in case

“Yuuri.” Phichit has a specific tone of voice he uses when he’s whining, which Yuuri now knows is his cue not to look at the Thai skater. Looking, he learned, back in Phichit’s first semester in Detroit, when they were both still living with Celestino, was always a fatal mistake. Phichit has better puppy-dog eyes than an actual puppy-dog, and Yuuri would know, he’s got experience. “Yuuri,” he repeats, forlornly, and finally Phichit Chulanont forces himself to endure the indignity of standing between Yuuri and the television screen. Normally he’s got the other playstation controller, but not tonight; tonight he’s trying to talk Yuuri into going along to the Halloween party that Sigma Theta Upsilon has put together this year. “It’s called a ghost float.”

“Phichit, nothing about walking through old Detroit until midnight at the end of October sounds even remotely reasonable,” Yuuri grumbles.

Phichit tries a series of enticements:

“Drinks are going to be half off at every pub along the way.”

“No.”

“We can wear a couple’s costume so nobody hits on you.”

“No.”

“Victor Nikiforov’s the one giving the haunted tour talks.”

This, at least, makes Yuuri die on-screen, and he tosses the controller aside, and looks up with a scowl. “Liar. Christophe Giacometti’s giving the haunted tour talks.”

Phichit has a sinister grin whenever Yuuri’s walked into a trap. “Oh,” he hums, innocently. “So at least you looked, huh.”

“No.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit repeats. “Ghost float.”

Yuuri grumbles something about Phichit, Christophe Giacometti, and the phrase notice-me-senpai, but he eventually agrees. “This has nothing to do with Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri says, in a tone of voice that Phichit imagines Yuuri likes to think means something like let’s be clear or I want to be understood.

It actually means: I am lying through my teeth. 

“Right,” he chirps, ignoring Yuuri Katsuki’s no-good, mega-crush on Sigma Theta President Victor Nikiforov for the millionth time. Their first-ever discussion on the topic ended with this: He’s probably not even gay, Phichit. Phichit thinks Yuuri’s out of his goddamn mind and his gaydar is broken: nobody dresses like Victor Nikiforov does and is straight. Not that Phichit’s interested. He’s seen Victor and Christophe both in a swimming pool: one of them turns a strange shade of red with exposure to just forty-five minutes of sunlight; the other one turns into bronze Adonis. “I’ll take care of costumes.”

“I get veto rights if you do anything ridiculous,” Yuuri mutters.

“I’m offended,” says Phichit, who is only offended because his top three ideas are now entirely off the menu.

The party starts at 9 PM at Belle Isle. In spite of a significant amount of honking, there’s no sign of a white deer, or a woman’s ghost.

Phichit has done Yuuri a favor: together, they’re the dynamic duo of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Yuuri is the curmudgeon in a Red Wings jersey; Phichit thinks he’s in-character already. Phichit is Ferris Bueller, of course; he found the awful jacket and the leopard vest at Goodwill and counted his lucky stars. Currently, he’s counting them again, because Sigma Theta’s Vice President has shown up as Hansel from Zoolander, which means … Ah, yes. Phichit only has to look over his shoulder at Yuuri to witness his reaction to Victor Nikiforov in red leather pants. “He dyed his hair,” Yuuri whispers, with a choked, cut-off whisper towards Victor-masquerading-as-Derek. “Why did he dye his hair?”

“Gonna wash it out for him, sweetheart?” Phichit offers, batting his eyelashes. Yuuri hits him. “Ow!” 

The Ghost Float turns out to be mostly large-group pub crawl, with a few of Detroit’s landmark stops along the way. A few people peel off with Georgi Popovich at the Leland Hotel, evidently intending to brave the Industrial club in the basement. At the Alhambra Apartments, Christophe tells a story about a scorned chef who once poisoned the residents after her demotion. Apparently two people died. 

Victor Nikiforov’s eyes sparkle like he might actually cry, and he wraps his arms around himself and looks like a very distraught Derek Zoolander. 

Yuuri looks at Victor like someone’s kicked his puppy. Blue steel, indeed.

By 11PM, Phichit’s officially daunted: he’s able to walk in a straight line because Yuuri is able to walk in a straight line. Even though Yuuri’s face is already flushed from drinking and the cold, he’s got legendary endurance when it comes to this sort of event, the kind of reputation that got solidified last year at a New Year’s Eve party where he wound up running across the snow-covered quad with a tie wrapped around his head and his pants missing. They are nowhere near pants-missing territory yet. At least not in Yuuri’s case. Phichit makes no promises for himself because Christophe’s been the one telling all of the ghost stories.

Christophe tells the story of an Italian immigrant who set up shop as a mystic and would-be cultist. “Evangelist prescribed all kinds of strange medicine,” Giacomtti intones as they stand on the grass lot that was once the Evangelist home on St. Aubin Street. “He did expensive psychic readings, gave out herbal remedies, wrote a four-volume Occultist bible.” 

“Love potions,” says Victor Nikiforov, who has been uncharacteristically quiet for a great deal of the trip. It’s unusual for Christophe to do all of the talking. He smiles, tight and quick, when the assembled crowd whistles and hoots; Phichit elbows Yuuri; Yuuri stomps on his toe. “He made love potions.” 

Phichit thinks he might be looking at Yuuri. Yuuri is trying to look anywhere except Victor Nikiforov’s ass in those pants. It’s not working. Phichit is working off of two hypotheses currently: one, he is beginning to suspect that Victor Nikiforov might have a no-good, mega-crush on Yuuri Katsuki; two, he’s starting to think that Victor hates ghost stories.

What he needs is the right environment to stage a test of these two theories, but he keeps getting distracted by Christophe, gorgeous Christophe, Christophe who could read Phichit the dictionary and leave him hanging on every word. It’s not fair that someone in the universe has a body constructed for sex and gets to possess that voice. “Had a lot of enemies, too,” Christophe is explaining. “People who thought they’d been ripped off.” Phichit’s not sure where Christophe manages to pull pictures of Benny Evangelist’s creepy, paper-mache God-dolls from, but he’s got them, and they’re being passed around. He shivers. It’s not because of the beer, and it’s not because of Christophe’s voice. 

“He cut a business deal involving some lumber, promised to pay the delivery man in cash the following morning,” Christophe intones. “Morning came and went. So did a neighbor, who found all six bodies: Benny, 43, his wife, Santina, 36, their four children, Angeline, 8, Matilda, 5, Jay, 3 and their 18-month-old son, Morrio. According to the police report, good old Benny’s head was sitting on a chair next to the bed he and his wife died in.”

“Yuuri,” whispers Phichit, who quickly passes off the handout, and who tells himself he’s getting two drinks at their next bar, “that’s messed up.”

“You want a real ghost story?” Yuuri raises his eyebrows. Apparently he’s just getting started. “You ought to hear about some of the shit from back home –”

“Hard pass,” squeaks Phichit. 

They make it to Elmwood Cemetery at midnight. It’s supposed to be the last stop of the tour, so to speak, largely because the gates are closed at this hour, and Victor and Christophe have some responsibility, when it comes to university rules. The problem with this is simple:

Yuuri Katsuki is drunk. “What,” he complains, after Christophe tells another round of stories. “That’s it? We’re just going to stand here?”

“You have a better idea?”

Phichit hooks his fingers into Yuuri’s Red Wings jersey, uselessly: Yuuri’s an athlete, and he’s over the fence like a shot, waving his arms from the other side. “C’mon,” he taunts. “You scared?”

Phichit looks at Yuuri.

Victor looks at Yuuri, and then Victor looks at Christophe. Phichit does not understand the reason for Christophe’s smirk; he only knows it’s unfairly attractive. “You just gonna let the ghosts get him, then?” Christophe asks.

This is how about six or so of the party-goers wind up climbing over the fence, and how Phichit Chulanont gets lost by himself in the cold of a cemetery, wondering how it is that Yuuri Katsuki could ruin something called a Ghost Float, put on by Christophe Giacometti. Everywhere he turns he hears distant voices; probably his friends, looking for him, but who can be sure? It’s dark, and his phone has already protested the use of its flashlight once with a low battery warning, consequence of his overuse of Instagram earlier in the night. 

Leaves rustle behind him. 

Phichit thinks he hears footsteps.

When he turns around, nobody’s there.

Yuuri, I love you, and I’m going to kill you.

There’s breath on his neck, a whisper against his ear. “Boo.”

Later, there will be conflicting stories about this incident. Christophe Giacometti will insist that Phichit Chulanont screamed; Phichit Chulanont will tilt his chin up, dark eyes flashing, and insist that he roared like a lion.

He shrieks, he nearly falls over, he finds himself in Christophe’s arms.

“Have you seen Yuuri?” Phichit asks, far too rapidly, trying to play it cool. He’s Ferris Bueller. He’s the coolest kid.

“He’s with Victor.”

“With Victor or With Victor?”

Christophe’s eyes sparkle in the dark. His innocent face somehow betrays both nothing and everything. The story will come out by Christmas, by the time Yuuri and Victor make it official: Nikiforov hates ghost stories, and horror movies, and junk food, and a lot of other things Yuuri loves, and somehow they’re still disgustingly perfect for each other. “We’ve got everyone,” Christophe says instead. “Came to get you. Were you really that scared?”

“No,” Phichit lies, putting on a brave face.

“Oh.” Christophe looks thoughtful. “Cold?”

Now Phichit’s not sure where this is going. “… No?”

“That’s a pity,” Christophe murmurs, making sure Phichit’s righted on his feet before letting go and taking a few steps back towards the path he must’ve come through on. He tut-tuts underneath his ridiculous blonde wig. “Now what am I supposed to offer, huh?”

Phichit catches on quick. “Oh,” he says, falling in step behind Christophe, and trying to tell himself it’s not because he’s looking at Giacometti’s ass. 

“In that case, I was fucking terrified, and I’m freezing, too.”