#the fact that all these are on youtube O: even the most obscure ones

[mooralltach]

🎸 jazz for the ask game? 👀

FUNKY STUFF COMIN UP!

1.Autumn in Ganymede - Seatbelts ((chanting) COWBOY BEBOP OST COWBOY BEBOP OST)

2. Giselle - Paolo Fresu, Richard Galliano, Jan Lundgren (Paolo Fresu's music bro... bro. Giving me lots of French café vibes and I am extremely Weak for that.. catch me sippin some grand café au lait listening to this)

3. In Origine - SaffronKeira, Paolo Fresu

4. Rush - Seatbelts (This is such a car chase song to me)

5. Mother of Thousand - Artvark Saxophone Quartet (I actually saw this live a few months ago in a special concert in a hay barn(!) organised by people my parents know, which was INSANE. They're Dutch and so fucking good)

6. Chat Pitre - Paolo Fresu, Richard Galliano, Jan Lundgren (added this to my silly panther thief OC playlist bc it sounds like something for him AND it means 'silly/clown cat')

7. Jazz Along Alone - John Barry (Yes that's the same guy that made all the James Bond music! also I still really need to see The Ipcress File)

8. Treasures of Time - Yuji Ohno & Lupintic five (A specific slow jazz version! I was waiting for there to be a Lupin song in here, god knows I listen to that OST an ungodly amount)

-

( for every 🎸 i receive, i’ll make a playlist of 5+ songs from my music on shuffle! )

[t-w-i-l-l-e-r]

ok so this is probably the only non-reblog tumblr post i’ll ever make in the entirety of my natural life but if the world goes on w/o knowing anything about mirai komachi I will BURST.

Mirai Komachi is this vocaloid (see below) made for the VOCALOID4 engine by Bandai Namco Studios, a Japanese video game development company that is a subsidiary of Bandai Namco Entertainment which ITSELF is a subsidiary of Bandai Namco Holdings ANYWAY

from what i can gather she was kind of an accident? the vocaloid wiki describes her as an “experimental female vocal not originally meant for commercial release” which to me implies “accident”. either way they made this vocaloid n then just. released her. No announcement, no advertising, nothing. “come get y’all orange juice”, Bandai Namco said. And, unsurprisingly, very few people did. mirai komachi is a relatively obscure vocaloid, even (from what i can tell PLZ correct me if i’m wrong) in the jp community and ESPECIALLY in the english community. Minnemi’s “Every VOCALOID Described In One Word” video give mirai komachi the word “who?”. She’s not even mentioned on her parent company’s wikipedia page. only the most completionist of the completionist vocaloid nerds (me) even rly know of her existence, much less her lore. 

yeah thats right her lore. this girlie has lore!!! her origin is that this doctor guy named Hakase (yeah they have names n everything) was doing some kind of experiment that got fucked up so explosion BOOM mirai komachi appears (BTW "mirai komachi” is her name. Like, the whole thing. komachi is written in kanji while mirai is written in katakana which implies mirai is the given name and it’s just written in the western order but her website refers to her explicitly as Mirai Komachi and in an email Bandai Namco stated that mirai is neither her given or family name. Technically in most official english source material they refer to her as MiraiKomachi. weird). after she appeared in the explosion she became a researcher at Bandai Namco studios women in stem girlboss. anyway Hakase n these little robots he made r considered her sidekicks n they have a whole lil comic series of their misadventures that I CANNOT find any english translations of and it kills me. 

but either way my point is considering her lack of popularity its kind of wild how much content there is of her???? she has a youtube page w/ a bunch of original songs, almost all of which have official english subtitles and are on spotify (which is pretty rare for lesser known vocaloids n if they r there they r certainly hard 2 find). the official MiraiKomachi website is super well made and has a bunch of illustrations, an official mirai komachi 3d model, and the comics i mentioned earlier. she’s been on a bunch of japanese public transport stuff (which isnt that uncommon 4 jp vocaloids) n has this absurd but cute video collaboration with Jammu like. shes there!! shes got stuff!!!

(this whole post is rly just a manifestation of the fact that vocaloid is a very international multilingual community n the nature of very international multilingual communities is every once in a while u will stumble across an aspect of this community that u r theoretically “part of” that is completely in a language that u dont speak or in a physical location that u cannot access n ur just like “huh. there are entire aspects of this thing i care about that i will never fully understand and subcommunities that i will rarely ever interact with even if i spend actual years obsessing over that thing.” this has been existential fandom hour brought to you by staring too long at the vocaloid wikis)

uhhh anyway tl;dr mirai komachi is cute n i wish i could read japanese

[d34d-r0s3]

In the spirit of Halloween, it's favorite horror/spooky/Halloween special movie headcanons for the MadCom + Mandela funkers (Including some OCs because I feel the need to)

Starting with MadCom:

2BDamned/Doc !!

I feel like his favorite movie would be something like Frankenweenie or TNBC, his favorite characters being Victor and Finklestein of course. Silly Frankenstein makers y'know.

Hank J. Wimbleton !!

Probably a slasher film like Friday the 13th, he'd root for the villains though, obviously. They wouldn't even flinch at any of the jump scares, it'd just be a happy lil' film for them. But don't let that fool you, he would definitely snuggle up close to Doc on the couch with a nice blanket n' get comfy.

Deimos !! + Tricky (?)

I'm going to be blunt here. The SpongeBob SquarePants Halloween specials. They would fucking love those. I'd like to think it's one of the one things they'd get along with. They'd sit down on Doc's carpet shoveling candy in their mouths with Sanford, watching the screen quite intently. Tricky would probably lay on its stomach on the carpet and kick his feet like a child, but everyone would be happy watching that silly little cartoon together. Even if it was a bit boring for everyone but Dei n' Trickster.

Sanford (mentioning Deimos again for this one)

I think Sanford would enjoy subtle horror much more. So, he and Deimos would stay up after everyone goes to sleep, quietly looking through obscure horror videos on YouTube on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a few sodas, mostly Dr. Peppers and cherry colas. Just enjoying their quiet time together, cuddling in the dim living room, (a probably stolen) dimmed tablet being some of the only light keeping them awake. I don't think Dei would handle jump scares very well, so he'd end up snuggling up close to Sanford and falling asleep not too much later.

Sheriff

No. Horror is a big, fat "No" from him.

Stygian, Conductor, Deliberator, and the Auditor.

They all love watching low budget horror films and laughing at the cheap scares the creators tried to pull. All in all, there's not much that'll scare them in those, but they still have fun watching them anyways, especially since it serves as a nice break for all of them.

Church + Jorge

They don't quite *understand* horror media. In fact, it's like showing The Conjuring to a toddler. They'd be paranoid for a while, which is quite hilarious for G0L3Ms like them.

Burger Gil + Dr. Skinner

They watched Night of the Living Dead on a small projector in the break room on Gil's break probably, so now it's a comfort movie for both of them, now that Nevada is practically its own form of hell. They probably crack jokes at the fact that they're both "the living dead" in their own right, along with most of Nevada's population.

Phobos + Dr. C. (for reference, his name is Corvis in my AU !! c: )

Phobos was never quite a fan of horror, actually he found it boring and cheesy. But the director never really was a fan of much o' anything in reality, he was too interested in achieving his godhood or whatever his twisted mind was set on with Project Nexus at his disposal. But when Corvis showed him some of chirp's favorite movies, he couldn't help but adore them. The simplicity that seemed to make his little love bird so happy. Something that ViVi was so infatuated with that it was almost as high on feather's list of things he held dear as the director himself was, that his room was full of movie posters and memorabilia. It was such an insignificant thing in Nevada's vast ruins and dusty plains, but it made Cor' happy. So, it made that demented man just a bit happier himself.

Jebus/Jebediah

He loves all of the classics, honestly. (Because he's old.) They make him feel more comforted and nostalgic, which puts him in a nicer mood when he needs a pick-me-up.

R0S3W00D

They fucking love Halloween specials and horror of any kind. They probably watched a lot of low budget movies with the Auditor, trying to stay on his good side after many misdemeanors against its agency. But they definitely have more fond memories of watching movies with their work partner.

PROJECT: H0_N3Y_C0_MB/H0N3Y

They barely remember their real name. However, they have faint memories of Dr. Skinner and their main caretaker at the asylum showing them different movies. Of course, they barely registered those, so it'd be a lost cause for them to try and pick a favorite unfortunately.

Jester

Anything with clowns in it, so IT is a no-brainer.

Gooey Hank

Surprisingly not much of a horror fan, but he's starting to give horror a try :]

Webcore Hank

All the movies he tries to watch are too corrupted for glitch to enjoy, unfortunately.

Desperador/Bandit !

He's not a horror fan, he much prefers thing that lean into romance.

Mandela Catalogue !!!

Cesar Torres + his alt - for some reason ??

I feel like Cesar would've been a fan of The Nightmare Before Christmas or Corpse Bride if he'd lived to see them. Out of actual horror movies, I could see him being a big fan of Pet Cemetary. Alternate Cesar however, Honestly, I doubt it has many opinions on horror movies. They just think it's pathetic that humans are scared by those things and their cheap scare tactics.

Mark Heathcliff

Horror movies...yeesh...he doesn't handle those well. Even if they aren't made that well, they tend to make his paranoia run wild so he'd rather avoid them. Cesar definitely tried to stay up to watch horror movies with him at a sleepover when they were kids, only for him to hide under his blankets and, honestly - probably cry about it. He is, in fact, not a horror fan.

The Intruder

Horror movies? HA! He IS the horror movie. I'm serious.

Gabriel + Toonbriel !

"N0W WH4T !N H3LL'S N4M3 !S 4 H0RR0R M0V!3??" Toonbriel does not enjoy horror movies, but rather that one really odd movie about the squareass pumpkin. You know the one.

Cat alt ... It's a cat.

Adam Murray + Jonah Marshall

I bet Adam would like A Nightmare on Elm Street. No reasoning for why, he just seems like he would. So, he and Jonah would've watched it together in the van, which would turn into them going down a classic horror movie rabbit hole that ends with them falling asleep halfway through one and someone waking up in the middle of one'a the loudest scenes possible like "WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING-"

Jack O. Spice

He was literally born for Halloween - or well, on Halloween. Show him any horror media, he's bound to enjoy it. In the real world he was quite the horror enthusiast.

Tarrant Thistle

Silver Bullet. That's his favorite, because the priest just happened to be the villain. He found it quite amusing.

[bajablastwrites]

Saiki with a s/o with ADHD

Saiki x reader

Reader’s gender isn’t specified

Authors Note: The title is self explanatory. But I’m using both my personal experiences and some generalized knowledge as a reference. So it might be all over the place.

———————————————————————

Saiki kinda doesn’t care?? I mean he understands that it can be debilitating at times, but he doesn’t feel the need to try and baby you about your condition since you either have medication for it or found your own way with dealing with the symptoms. You function relatively well so he’s not going to help you with something you don’t really need help on.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t look after you like he does with the rest of his friend group. Maybe a little bit more since you’re his s/o, but that just comes naturally.

He’s not gonna lie, he did find your thoughts annoying since they were like 5 open YouTube tabs playing a different video at the same time. But when he realized that it’s just the way your brain is set up then he doesn’t fault you or get angry about it since he’s aware it’s something you can’t change or control.

He does a bit more research about it to understand ADHD in more detail, and with him being a psychic that knows all about you, he can make the connections with what symptoms you display and keep it in mind— since it’s not the same for everyone.

Your current and past fixations are so interesting to him because he doesn’t understand how you even got there. But they’ve now peaked his interest, so please tell him all about the history of concrete and the value of different organs in the black market, you have his full undivided attention.

Kusuo loves how you know the most obscure facts in the world either ranging from random and efficient to dark and educational. His s/o is so smart! He’s still working on having you properly memorize your address or new email tho— but that’s ok you’re getting there!

He loves listening to your ramblings and info dumping because not only do your eyes light up and you genuinely look happy that he asked but he loves listening to you stumble and skip over words because your mind is moving faster than your mouth— but he knows what you’re trying to say since he can read your mind.

Even in a normal setting if you stumble over words or sound like you’re having a stroke at some point, he’ll just translate the sentence to others if you’re with a group of people. If you’re just with him he tells you to just keep going since it doesn’t matter to him. He knows what you’re trying to saying.

Sometimes you tend to space out a bit too hard and just completely forget about your surroundings so Kusuo likes to hold your hand in public, that way he can keep track of you while also making sure you’re safe (and also because he just likes to hold your hand) If it happens at his house then he’ll wait it out and maybe watch you a little bit. Until you come back to reality, to where he’ll say something like “Where’d you go, y/n?” Or “There you are, I’ve missed you.” and it has such a sweet tone to it that you can’t help but get a bit warm inside. It’s one of the rare moments where Kusuo smiles If it’s in public then he’ll try to get your attention back to him by starting a conversation with you.

There are days when it’s damn near impossible for you to focus and get any work done, which can obviously cause you to become distressed and it might even lead to you thinking less of yourself at times. But that’s ok because Kusuo’s gonna be there the minute he realizes your brain just isn’t cooperating on that day and will use his powers to get the work done for you. He’ll also be there to comfort you (in his own kusuo way) so that you don’t spiral into your pessimistic thoughts.

He loves how vivid your imagination is too, it’s like a little show going on in your head. Which means you’re also pretty creative and he isn’t surprised that you excel the most in either writing or art. He wants to see you be happy as express yourself so he’ll support you and provide critique if you ask for it.

If you tell him about any mistreatment or bullying you went through in the past because of your ADHD, he’ll get angry and think about hunting down the people who punished or ostracized you over something you have no control over. Especially if you start becoming visually upset the more you continue to talk about it. He understands if you want to talk about something else, after you calm down and go home for the day he’s hunting them down and putting a curse on them. Past or present no one hurts his partner and gets away with it without facing the consequences.

Sometimes he likes to hand you random objects just to watch you fidget or wave them around as you talk to him. He knows it helps you focus better having something in your hands that you can fidget or mess with. Sometimes he’ll just let you play with his hands, he never realized how small they are compared to his. It’s very interesting, maybe he should let you play with his hands more often. You’re also very warm.

[ageofevermore]

The Autocomplete Interview

Summary → your favorite thing about interviews is how cuddly tom gets afterwards, almost like he’s a life size teddy bear.

Warning(s) → literally nothing but fluff and tom getting teased by the reader and zendaya 

Word Count → 1.5k

add yourself to my taglist 

Tom has his arms wrapped around your waist, rocking your bodies while the makeup team touches up your eyes and hair. He’s in a conversation with Harry and Zendaya, occasionally humming as if he thinks you’ve said something, before he goes back to them. It’s heartwarming. 

Buzzfeed is your last interview of the afternoon, and then you’re free until nightfall when you’re expected at the Hilton across town for another round of press. It’s days like these that remind you of elementary school field trips, only instead of an ugly yellow school bus that was kept together by duct tape, you’re riding coach. 

When both you and Zendaya are cleared for camera, you bring Tom towards the chairs, shoving him back, and forcing him down on the one furthest left. A few laughs go around, watching your boyfriend get shoved around in his expensive slacks and neon yellow turtleneck. You’d teased him earlier about the denim jacket he wore, asking if he took it straight from your closet back home. He grinned as if you we’re the funniest thing he’d come across, placing wet kisses into your skin until you begged him to stop, laughing nonsensically and promising he looked ‘hella hot’. 

After a sound check, and a screen test to make sure none of you we’re washed out, cameras counted down from three. You squeezed Tom’s hand twice before you dropped it, eyes directly down the barrel of the camera. 

“Hey, it’s Zendaya here.” 

“Y/N” 

“Tom Holland.” 

Your boyfriend sounds entirely british as he pushes his fingertips together in his lap. He's tired, the long day wearing him thin. You can’t wait to strip your skin of makeup, let your dress fall in a pool around your ankles, and take a much deserved nap in his arms. As much as you love press, and being with your friends, you need your boyfriend's skin against yours. You need to decompress before you start all over again at sundown. 

“And we’re uh, about to do our,” Zendaya looks to you, grin on her face. She’s tired, you all are, but unlike you she’s miles away from anyone to cuddle with. Maybe you’ll ditch Tom, fall asleep with Zendaya instead. 

“Wired,”

“Autocomplete,” 

“Interview.” 

Zendaya’s handed the cardstock first, questions for Tom beneath strips of paper. You shudder, the same as Tom, when she scratches her fingers along the board and peels the paper away. You’re hardly as dramatic as your boyfriend, who coils into himself and raises his hands to his ears. You laugh, but your spine is still cold from the hideous noise. Your hand reaches out, and you tenderly pat him on the thigh. 

A joke about your wedding comes into mind, but you pocket it for later, not willing to risk your intimacy making it into the final cut of the interview. You may be open about your relationship, and the fact that yes, you are banging Tom, but you’re still reserved with most things in your life-- including the engagement ring that’s tucked away back at your London apartment. Maybe one day, after the wedding, you’ll be open to sharing the ring, but for now, it’s your perfect little secret. 

“Alright, first question. Does Tom Holland do his own stunts?” 

“I do actually, I do my own stunts, but there are some stunts that I can’t do,” Tom’s eyes shift to you when you mumble beneath your breath, entirely displeased with the many times he’s come home hurt after he insisted that he could do his own stunts. He had too much faith and pride in his limited gymnastics background, “and then I have my stunt double Greg and Luke, who are incredibly talented, and have made some of the action sequences in this film, I would say, some of the most incredible sequences ever. Um, yeah, so I do do my own stunts, but I can’t take full credit.” 

You smile softly, proud of all the work your boyfriend puts into not only his projects, but keeping himself in shape so the filming process isn’t so grueling. He’s missed out on a lot of sleep, but he takes his wins with his losses. He’s somebody you look up to. 

“Does Tom Holland play video games?” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. You look towards your partner expectantly, lips coiled into an unimpressed pout. He’s the worst. No matter the hour, if he has a console with him, he’s chatting to Harrison until you either unplug the system, or crawl into his lap and beg with him to come to bed-- usually it’s the latter, but Harrison’s heard quite a few squabbles take place in your flat. 

“You know, every now and then.” He shrugs, and your jaw drops. You raise your eyebrows, eyes locked with his. His cheeks flush, but nothing needs to be said. Your expression give away that his habit of video games is definitely more than a ‘once and a while’ occurrence. 

Zendaya laughs, shaking her head at the pair of you before she pulls another sticker off of the board, looking down at the next question, “Does Tom Holland have a spidey sense?” 

“If he did, he wouldn’t have answered the last question lying through his teeth.” You say before Tom has a chance to respond. Your boyfriend, ever the bashful boy, ducks his head down into his hands as he laughs, shoulders shaking. 

You bear a smile at Zendaya, subtly winking. You’ve seen the compilation videos of YouTube and Instagram. You know that the fans have caught onto your relationship with the former disney star. You’d be lying if you said friendship wasn’t built on the foundations of picking on Tom, but your boyfriend could handle the heat. If he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be in the kitchen. 

Somehow, you make it through the first round of questions for each of you. Zendaya’s cracked jokes, but your social timer is running low. Tom can tell. You’ve stopped laughing at the little things, only offering small smiles and giggles. His hand wants to hold yours, rub circles into your skin as a promise that it’ll be over soon, but he can’t. He won’t let the world in on such a private moment. You already share so much of yourselves. 

“How did Y/N become famous?” Zendaya read off a question, eyes lightning up as she nudged you with her elbow. 

“Uh, Disney Channel.” You responded, a cheeky twitch in your lips as you tilted your head towards Zendaya. You hadn’t actually had a history with the company, but for whatever reason a rumor had spread that you and Zendaya went up for the same role back in 2009. You hadn’t, but you poked fun at the obscure lie as often as you could. 

“Who is Y/N dating?” 

“Tom Holland. Somebody’s gotta do his wash, and I don’t think Harry wants the job again.” You taunt, your boyfriend scoffing as he crosses his arms over his chest and sends you a sweet pout. You grin, tapping your thigh with your finger twice, a silent saying of I Love You. 

“What is Y/N’s favorite color?” 

You laugh, reminded of a question Zendaya got earlier about what she’s been up to. Sometimes, people's intense interest in your lives was confusing. You didn’t think yourself to be entertaining, but the millions of follows and fans who dedicated hours to edits and draws said otherwise. “Purple.” 

“Who is Y/N’s favorite Holland?” 

The three of you burst out laughing, your forearms resting on your thighs as you came back to yourself. The questions towards you were random, but the ones directed towards you provoked the most laughs. “I-- Besides Tom? I think it’s quite obvious who my favorite is, if we’re including him. Sam. Sam’s my favorite.” 

You smile when the cameras cut, concluding your interviews for the afternoon. Tom pulls you back into his arms, whispering in your ear about how he can't wait to cuddle, curl up in your bed and sleep for a few uninterrupted hours before you’re sent back through the grueling process. You wouldn’t change your job for the world. Especially not when the constant conversation tires Tom out, and makes your already sweet boyfriend a life size teddy bear.

When you finally make it back to your hotel room, your eyes are barely open. You took your makeup off in the bus, and before Tom had even closed the hotel door you were kicking your high heels off and pleading with him to unzip your dress. He laughed, pulling his jacket off before he stepped up behind you. Letting it fall to the floor in a pool around your ankles, his arms wrap around you and tug you back into his chest. 

“I love you, you goof.” You mumble against his lips, turning your head to the side so you can kiss him just as sweetly as he holds you. His sweater is soft beneath your bear skin, but you shiver anyways with the new lack of clothing. 

“I love you more, Princess.”

☆ taglist (urls with a strike through won’t let my tag) →

@deionswannabegirl @killingbxys @mauvesdior @mischiefandi @dmonchld @waddlenut @tanakaslastbraincell @hollandsxheart @quacksonhehe @tothemoonandbackx3000 @stiles-o-dylan24 @tikapollak @tomthetease @spookybooisa @geminiparkers @teen--marvel @rogersparkerbarnes @sarcasticallywitty15 @anapocalypseinmymind

[scuffle-with-spirals]

Underrated Vocaloid Events: Real Dreams 2015 and that Time Ko Shibasaki and her Vocaloid, Galaco Sung Together

Actually, in a response to this last post I made talking about more obscure vocal synth musical events, I'm in the mood to share that one time where I found clips of a Galaco holographic event and then went full Inspector Gadget Sherlock Holmes complete なネギ誠 for like an hour GHGHGHGHGH—

Disclaimer: Looong deep dive post under the cut! :O 

https://youtu.be/cEc6B-r2wr8

It all started with me just looking for Galaco covers out of boredom on Youtube, when I came across this particular video which, up until this point, I hadn't heard a single person mention. Knowing the community's general opinions on Galaco and just how hard her popularity fell once people stopped talking about the whole limited edition aspect and "bland" cadence to her voice, my interest was piqued. This was a Vocaloid not only having a holographic concert (a big rarity for Vocaloids that aren't Crypton) but one of seemignly professional quailty too as it appeared to feature a human singer alongside her.

What also got me raising brows was the fact the video, at the time, was uploaded just last year with the uploader stating they thought "no one else posted this yet". With the old LAT model (which honestly has a super cute and flowy animation in the video as a side note LMAO) and the fact this concert didn't appear to have been posted anywhere else on Youtube despite it being years got me scrambling at this point.

I decided to dig some more. Soon, I found another concert video. I initially assumed to be from the same concert, since I thought something like this would be a one-and-done-thing considering Galaco's reception, at least in the West. But then I noticed something apparent in that the second video had an entirely different model. There was more than one.

undefined

Dude, you may as well could've called me a new FNAF fan because I was boutta go deep with researching what's going on.

I think I started with the second video, as it makes sense starting with the video that actually had a concert title in English one would be a lot easier in narrowing down the search.

Upon Googling the name, I stumbled upon a Japanese blog that appeared to document the event. According to the blog post, [Real Dreams 2015] was a concert both in collaboration and sponsored by the Nihon Kogakuin College, an integrated vocational school in Tokyo's special wards. Students from both the Music and Manga/Animation department worked to create the live performance and song, titled Prologue.

I honestly think this is really well-made! Especially considering the live performance timing; it's impressive what these people were able to do so cohesively together on something many argue is probably incredibly difficult and stressful even for people who clearly have done it for years now. The song and animation is just really nice, too. It just has this super chill, melancholic vibe. ;v; Honestly, it's a bop.

With one answer to the question solved, I returned to the first video that started the whole search. I decided to evoke some advanced detective skills by mollywhoppin the song name from the video, "トリノアイウタ（galaco ver )" straight into Google like I just gave it the most reality TV bitch-slap of the century before Sonic speed-dashing over to VocaDB to run it through there. I eventually came across a page which lists this song as the first track of an album, galaco SUPER BEST (2013). In the comments, someone by the name of STERN mentions a live performance, which, in translating some of the Japanese, reveals the name Ko Shibasaki (柴咲ｺｳ). She is Galaco’s voice provider, which gave some confirmation that the woman may have been Shibasaki herself.

My next step was me deciding to Google both their Japanese names together. This led me to another website in Japanese that details the event.

Turns out, the event wasn't for Galaco, but more so to celebrate Shikasaki's 10th anniversary of her musical career and release of her sixth original album, Lyrical*Wonder. I'm assuming Galaco was featured as another landmark to acknowledge for the celebration. Either way, I translated the entire name of the performance into English, which came out as Ko Shibasaki Live Tour 2013 ~neko's live Neko Ko Ongakukai~.

Zoo wee mama!!! That’s a fuckin’ name drop!!! I did one last search with the concert name, and soon, finally, found a bilibili link showing the entire performance! You can watch the show here. For anyone curious, Galaco shows up 36:55 minutes in. :> The whole shows looks great, though! 

Honestly though, it's super wholesome to see Galaco acknowledged somewhere, especially by her own voice provider with something as intimate as a 10th anniversary and a duet. ;v; With how many VOCALOIDs we got from the V3 lineup whose voice providers seem to just not mention them anymore (although please correct me if I'm wrong; I know some do but it seems the majority doesn't), this is a heartwarming exception. ;v; Especially since Galaco seems to have shouldered a lot of mixed to downright negative opinions from some people. And while they obviously have all the right to not like her voice for any reason, the fact that she seems to have been so dearly given some attention somewhere is cute, lol. 3v3

And, all Galaco rambling aside, Shibasaki herself is a good singer. She has a unique cadence that can carry both powerful and soft, souful tones while still retaining all those good qualities of her voice. If you want, I'd definitely suggesting checking into some of her songs. :0c

Man. My search was over. Holy shit. We did it boys. Smooth brain is no more. I have slaughtered Jimmy Neutron, Megamind, and Eggman with my sheer IQ alone.

I know this is the most niche thing and took me like 500 paragraphs to explain it, but I just love talking about these sorts of things, lmao. If anyone wants to see me talk about more things like that, I'll definitely keep that in the back of my noggin so I don't like, get embarrassed and back out by some chance in the future, lol.

Thank you so so so much for reading this huge explanation post! I really appreciate your time to read all this!!! \3v3/ It means a lot, haha.

[descentivity]

Depression, Trauma, (and Most Importantly,) My Thoughts on Hello Charlotte EP1 & 2

Eating has been difficult for me for as long as I remember. It started off as an aversion to food, in favour of spending my time more efficiently on what my dumb little mind viewed as more important: Homework, video games.

Over time, it turned into anorexia. I had already gotten used to eating just under 500 calories a day, and my depression took my poor habits and twisted them into a cowardly and slow attempt at suicide.

On my road to recovery, I’ve found that years of poor eating choices have lead to my body struggling to process food. I have to eat at a painstakingly slow pace lest my stomach turns against me, and the smell of food is sometimes enough to diminish my appetite altogether. My bowel movements are, for lack of a better word, a shitshow.

This brings me to today, the 10th of August, 2021. 6 or so years of barely eating enough to survive later, I’m setting the world record for the slowest consumption of a fillet o’ fish in the history of mankind. 

In my absolute boredom and unfathomable stomach pain, ManlyBadassHero’s playthrough of some random horror game (I can’t remember the name) appears in my YouTube recommended, and I’m reminded of a horror game I bought on sale on Steam, the last of a trilogy. In all honesty, I only bought the game because it was dirt cheap and one of my sisters’ names is Charlotte. I was too horrified at the time to process the story nor play the previous two games, so I did a quick achievement run and left it at that. I was certainly very confused as I had no idea who any of the characters or what any of the concepts were, but the gore had me too mortified to go and find out myself. 

A year later, I’m looking the trilogy up on ManlyBadassHero’s YouTube channel, and decide to start from the beginning of his Hello Charlotte journey, in 2016.

Hello Charlotte EP1

I’m going to be completely honest with you, the first game really didn’t resonate with me too well. It was a cute, quirky, RPG Maker horror game, with two loveable main characters and an interesting world. However, with context from the third game, the events felt too self-isolated and inconsequential. Felix and Charlotte are in a little self-contained TV world created by a fictional race called Pythia - creatures with 3 or 4 eyes that can create miniature dimensions, once brought into a hivemind by an “Oracle,” which seems to be some sort of god. They all seem to be falling apart and have taken a horrific turn as most of the Pythia have been “executed,” and those who haven’t have either gone mad or into hiding in their own bubbles of (albeit temporary) safety.

The ending of the game is somewhat misleading, too. Once Charlotte and Felix escape the TV world by having Charlotte merge with the Oracle itself, the game almost plays off the previous events like they were all a story made up by a young and imaginative Charlotte. Did they happen at all? Is she a reliable narrator or point of view to begin with? (Spoiler alert, she is not.) The explanation for it all seems to be that Charlotte herself is a schizophrenic, though the legitimacy of this is brought into question in the third game, which I will talk about later. Altogether, the game didn’t bring out many strong emotions in me, and I was starting to zone out as I moved on to the second game’s playthrough.

Hello Charlotte EP2

What struck me as odd in the second game is that while the first game seemed to bring Charlotte out of her own strange, black-and-white world and back into reality, we’ve found out that she’s right back where we started last game. A black-and-white world, inhabited by her imaginary friends. Aliens, gods, and the like. However, Charlotte’s seemingly made-up world feels more alive this time. I’m not sure if this is the consequence of the game developer improving their skills or an intentional detail, but even more characters are introduced, and previously shallow tenants of Charlotte’s home are given more depth. The hazmat-suit wearing aliens have faces, personalities and whole backstories attached to them, now. Charlotte has a best friend at school named Anri, who has a obsessive crush on her. She’s friends with a bullying victim named C with horrible germaphobia, who has almost identical struggles to her (more on those struggles later.)

What also surprised me is the continuity between the first and second game. For some reason, I thought that this Charlotte would be starting from scratch, completely oblivious to the fate of the first game’s iteration. However, this concept only seems to be used in the third game, so I guess I was simply mislead. This game, in fact, takes place 3 years after the first, and the Oracle still lives on within Charlotte’s conscious. However, it’s a dying god, on its last leg. It had already been dying during the time of the last few Pythia, but it had used the last of its strength to free Felix and Charlotte from their world. As the Oracle’s health declines, so does Charlotte’s mortal body.

Unlike the first game, most of the themes in this game hit way too close to home. The feeling of second-hand helplessness when someone you barely knew ends their own life. Anri’s obsessive and outright manipulative lesbian crush on Charlotte, bordering on bullying. The schooltime harrassment and trauma Charlotte underwent. The fear and dangers of social interaction. Feeling unlawfully punished by your school teachers for seemingly nothing at all. Depression, self harm, and the primal urge to escape from it. Getting roped into others’ mental health, until both of your issues converge into a disgusting amalgamation of the need but severe lack of therapy and a break from it all. Delusions of what could’ve been and the possible, yet near impossible future ahead. Looking back on everything you’ve ever done and regretting every second of it.

While I ticked off the trauma presented to me on a silver platter in the form of a fucking RPG Maker game like a twisted bucket list, I found myself relating more and more to not only Charlotte, but the students around her. Scarlett, whose life was so perfect that nobody had even thought about her possible mental issues until it was far too late. Anri, who would lay down her life for a girl who simply doesn’t feel the same way. C, who desperately wanted to escape from reality by any means possible.

An interesting fact about Hello Charlotte is that there are numerous omnipotent beings amongst its cast. They aren’t shy about providing very in-depth character analysis to Charlotte, and in turn, to the puppeteer (I suppose now is a good time to inform those who are unfamiliar with the series that the puppeteer refers to a species, character, and the player, all at once. Charlotte has a puppeteer controlling her by the name of Seth. You are/are controlling Seth as the player. Capiche? Capiche.)

What this meant for me watching Manly’s playthrough was the feeling of two gods (in this game, at least) peering right into my soul, analysing characters that reflected my exact experiences and even my personality during my school days. I learned and realised things about myself that I simply hadn’t known before. Just like Charlotte, I’m simply looking for direction in life, and I’m too afraid to act without instructions. I found myself bullied, manipulated and abandoned by someone who simply wanted my affections, and only learned to miss them when they were gone. Like Anri, my desperation for love and approval from an individual in turn lead to anger and resentment for them. Like both Charlotte and C, I eventually turned to hurting myself to make all the pain go away, refusing help from others and developing a shell of false optimism and naivety to forget about the damage I had dealt to my body, personality and relationships.

As much as I hate to admit it on my little obscure Tumblr blog with 0 followers and 0 traction, I still struggle with these things. I have no direction in life, and wander aimlessly, hoping for one of my offshot attempts at content creation to take off. I find myself missing the girl who emotionally abused me to hell and back every day. I resent another girl for never feeling the same way I felt about her. I still don’t take care of myself, and spend every day in a state of denial about my physical decline and sickliness. I’m so incompetent emotionally that I spend days ignoring my own boyfriend, starving him of the proper relationship that he deserves all because of how broken, fragmented and distant my own mind is.

Hello Charlotte EP2 has four endings. All four of them, in my eyes, are bad.

In the first, C and Charlotte overdose together, leaving their mortal realm to become gods. They choose to ignore and forget the pains of their mortal lives, and live the rest of their godly lives in ignorant bliss. Do I want to forget about my depression and trauma? Learn nothing, and forget about everything that made me who I am today? Or worse even, do I dare take the plunge into “godhood,” and leave this mortal plane to end my suffering altogether?

In the second, Charlotte discovers that C isn’t who she thinks he is, and she finds him without a soul. Alive, but empty. Charlotte could not save him. Consumed by grief, she ascends and becomes a god, consuming the entire world around her. After all is said and done, she realizes her mistake. All of her friends are gone, C is still empty and unresponsive, and now she is alone. Sometimes, I feel as though I’ve already gone through this ending, many times over. Countless times I’ve let my depression become all-consuming and take over my life. I’ve pushed so many people away and hurt so many more, and for what? I have nothing to gain from every fit of depression, and the consequences make it seem nothing more but a selfish attempt to make myself feel better.

In the third, Charlotte is the only one who dies. In her last moments, the Oracle comforts her, like a mother cradling her child. They embrace, and say goodbye to each other, as Charlotte’s own life was the only thing keeping the dying god alive. At this point, I’ve started to draw parallels between the Oracle and depression. Depression isn’t always a horrible thing that beats you down and keeps you from being truly happy. Sometimes, wallowing in my own sadness and depression would be the only thing that keeps you sane, stable, and calm. The feeling of hopelessness really is bittersweet, and in desperate times, goes hand-in-hand with acceptance of one’s circumstance. Oftentimes, I find that this is the most realistic way I’ll go out. One day, I may just accept depression, and succomb to it. There may not be a struggle at all. Rather, a quiet, submissive hum, which will fade away into silence.

In the fourth and final ending, Charlotte and C die alongside each other. After her death, Charlotte confronts the Oracle, and wishes to save everyone, and for everyone to be unhappy. Of course, this is where the classic saying: “Be careful what you wish for” comes in. Because of her wish, everyone’s soul, what makes them individual and unique, is erased. After all, no one can suffer if they cannot think at all. In some ways, emptiness is pure bliss. This once again goes back to the bittersweetness of depression. The sheer emptiness it may bring on, at times, is bliss. Feeling nothing isn’t always a bad thing. It’s a way to cope with the horrors of the world. To remember nothing at all is such a tempting yet unattainable solution that I can’t say I haven’t longed for in the near or distant past. Charlotte, of course, is distraught that her friends are all gone, their identities and souls lost forever. Following this, she has one request to make of another god, the observer. She wishes to be killed, as all of her actions have lead to nothing but pain for others and herself. The observer, however, refuses this offer. Instead, he comforts her and takes her hand. They go on a journey together. He suggests that one day, she’ll learn to control her power, and she can recreate the world and her friends. As they leave, Charlotte reflects on her hopes and dreams for the journey. She hopes to learn to be kind, and not hurt others. She wants to change her ways, and become an honest, good person. Charlotte, slowly but surely, is on the road to recovery.

Putting the unsettling sequel to this game aside, maybe I could learn a little bit from Charlotte.

[starf]

StarF’s Top Ten Albums of 2020

Another year, another list. Let’s not even bother with the preamble this time around, you get what it is.

10. I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME - RAZZMATAZZ

Let me tell you right now, I struggled with this tenth spot. There were about four albums that were pretty much tied once I narrowed it down this far because it was a jam-packed year. Ultimately though I had to give it to iDKHOW for their smooth brand of piano rock-pop. This is their debut album and it brought the heat. While it didn't dazzle me immediately, with every subsequent listen I feel a little more of that promised razzmatazz from the title. I also absolutely love the ballad "Nobody Likes The Opening Band," which will certainly be a fun song to hear them perform some day whether they're the opener or not.

9. The Front Bottoms - In Sickness & In Flames

The last offering from The Front Bottoms, Going Gray, left me feeling a little lukewarm. In Sickness & In Flames, however, is a much stronger return to form for the band in my opinion. Some people say all of The Front Bottoms' albums sound the same, and maybe that's a little bit true. But maybe 2020 is the year that we needed to hear some new Front Bottoms material. It was a strange time for all of us, and in these times this kind of album just hits different. From the optimistic opening of "everyone blooms" to the infectious singalong moments of "Fairbanks, Alaska," this album is a good time all around.

8. The Used - Heartwork

Did you know The Used is still around? Not only still around, but apaprently they never went away! When I saw that they had released a new album early in the year I assumed it was a comeback, but I was wrong! For me there was a 12 year gap since I had personally listened to a new Used album, and this one blew me away in a big way. They're still going big, going hard, and rocking their signature sound - but updated for the modern age. This is a band that has managed to hold on to their roots while successfully adapting and progressing into the future.

7. Oliver Tree - Ugly Is Beautiful

Where do you even start with an artist like Oliver Tree? An absolute master of internet marketing, the release of this album was a tortured and dragged out experience, like a person chasing a 20 dollar bill on a string and having it constantly pulled away over and over again. By the time it came out it was a little disheartening that an entire half of the album had already been released via single, but overall it is undeniably a powerhouse of a pop album and a strong showing from Oliver Tree. A strange character, but an impossibly catchy album with earworm after earworm.

6. The World/Inferno Friendship Society - All Borders Are Porous To Cats

I pretty much always enjoy any offering from this band, but to varying degrees. Their last few albums have certainly been good to my ears, but for whatever reason just didn't resonate enough with me to earn a spot in my top ten. This album is clearly different though, and keeps me enthralled the entire way. With their unique brand of punk-jazz-cabaret, All Borders Are Porous To Cats tells the story of one Mr. Cat In The Hat, and it's a wild ride that you're going to want to hear.

5. Run The Jewels - RTJ4

One of the most biting and necessary releases of the year, RTJ4 dropped right when we needed to hear it most, and for free no less. It's my personal opinion that Run The Jewels continue to get better with every release they put out, and their fourth showing is easily my favorite so far. El-P and Killer Mike come through with some of their sharpest bars and heaviest beats yet. It's just a shame that for how much history repeats we as society still haven't learned some of the lessons that an album like this continues to attempt to teach us.

4. Aesop Rock - Spirit World Field Guide

Spirit World Field Guide is not a typical Aesop Rock album, but then again what is? Back in 2016 I fell in love with the album The Impossible Kid, an accessible (by Aes standards) album that hooked me in immediately. Spirit World is a different beast that took me off guard the first time I heard it, and left me a little bit lost - but that almost seems to be the intent. An absolute monster of an album coming in at 21 tracks and over an hour, this thing wasn't necessarily meant to be ingested all at once, or even in the order presented. The more I revisit it the more I put the pieces together and enjoy it more and more.

3. Poppy - I Disagree

Let's take a journey all the way back to January before the world entirely fell apart. I discovered Poppy for the first time through this album and was quickly intrigued. Going back through her older music, and then her YouTube, and slowly unraveling the mystery that is Poppy was perhaps some of the most fun I've had experiencing an artist's work in years - all topped off with seeing her perform live that month, the last large live music show I've been to. I Disagree is an eclectic blend of pop, metal, and strange curiosity. It starts off right away with the oddball banger Concrete and promises to weed out those who aren't prepared to take the mental trip through this album right away. It's not for everyone, but it's definitely for me.

2. Jeff Rosenstock - N O  D R E A M

Well here we are! The number one spot! You guessed it, it's Jeff Rose- what? This isn't number one? Well that can't be right, hold on. Nope, I guess that's correct. The new Jeff Rosenstock album, N O  D R E A M comes in at number two this year, a fact that will probably shock and confuse anyone who knows me. This is the proof that Jeff doesn't automatically get my number one spot if he releases an album, but with all of that out of the way, let's talk about the album.

In a Post-Post- world we see Jeff returning to a more traditional take on putting together an album, rather than simply rushing through it to get the feelings out of his head (both perfectly valid approaches). N O  D R E A M continues to explore themes of being lost and confused in such a soul-crushing and increasingly overwhelming world - all while attempting to find the silver linings and be optimistic about where we're headed. Whether it's the world at large or a personal journey, this album is an anthem to a year that saw most people holding their head in their hands and saying "please, just, let's all get through this, okay?"

1. Will Wood - The Normal Album

Wow. Just wow. Okay, where to begin? I was listening to a random Spotify radio when it started playing a song by Will Wood & The Tapeworms called "Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In!" Intrigued by the style of the song, as well as the title, I clicked through and listened to their most recent album which was 2016's "Self-Ish." I thought it was really good! I enjoyed it a lot and continued to listen to it for about a week. At that point when I started digging further into the band I learned that there was actually an even newer album entitled The Normal Album, categorized on Spotify under just Will Wood, which is why I hadn't previously found it.

I enjoyed Self-Ish, but hearing The Normal Album took it to an entirely new album and blew me away in a way that I haven't experienced in years. This wasn't just a great album, this was one of those musical discoveries where you think "oh wow, this is something I can't live without going forward." Will Wood is exactly what I needed in the back half of 2020 to keep my sanity, and even now I still listen to this album usually at least once a day. It's perfectly crafted in every sense of the world. Not a single second is wasted or out of place. The technical skill is in full display without muddling the pure enjoyment of the melodies or taking away from the overall vibe of the songs. The writing is some of the sharpest and dense I've ever seen, without being undecipherable or inaccessible. This is an album that truly does it all.

The feeling I have when I listen to this album and attempt to get people to listen to it is identical to how I felt about Jeff Rosenstock in the late 2000's, back before he had sort of blown up. Will Wood certainly has a following, but his music is definitely niche at the moment and somewhat obscure. Much in the same way that eventually people listened to me about Jeff, I hope they will find out about Will. Everyone should hear this album. It's breath-takingly perfect.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #328

okay i’m going the fuck to bed now. @_@

Have you ever worn fake eyelashes? No; the only time I ever will will possibly be my wedding, if even then. Could you possibly write a successful novel? I think I'm capable, but I don't believe it will happen. Who’s the last person you video-chatted with? My therapy group via Zoom. Do ski lifts make you nervous or do you like them? Never been in one, but they seem cool. Have you ever had dandruff? I have dandruff AND a dry scalp. Nice combo. Do you think sleeve tattoos look trashy? Please explain to me how ANY tattoo inherently equates to being "trashy." I actually love sleeve tats. Have you ever gone through a phase of crushing on EVERYONE? No. I experienced a few crushes my freshman year of high school, but they weren't just anybody. If you had to get a portrait tattoo, who would it be of? I may or may not get a tattoo of Darkiplier doing his i c o n i c debut smile somewhere, but idk. I already have one tattoo related to Mark and would kill for another with his handwriting, so having three would be a bit... wild, haha. Do you have any stickers on any of your electronic devices? No. Do you like the smell of men’s colognes better than woman’s perfumes? Usually. Can you remember what you last clapped for? Yes; everyone in group clapped for one of the women taking a big step against her agoraphobia. Is your hair damaged? No, it's actually super healthy. Are you in charge of cleaning anything in your household? The litterbox and my room in general. Ever carved/written anything on a park bench? No. Most interesting place you’ve ever visited? Chicago was a big shock to me. I am FAR from used to cities that incredible and stocked. Do you keep your eyebrows more thick or thin? I don't groom them, so they're on the thicker end. Do you always wear a bra? Not at home and if there's no company. Do your shoulder blades protrude? No. Have you ever won on one of those grabber machine things? Yeah, a few times. Are you gonna French kiss your hubby at your wedding? Who says I'm marrying a man? But whatever, no. Keep that behind closed doors. How many bananas have you ever eaten in a row? No more than two. I usually don't even have two. Have you ever had sex outside? No. Have you ever been outside naked? No. Have you ever been in a shrubbery maze? No. You ever like someone who liked you back, but didn’t want a relationship?: That's pretty much where I'm at now. Have you ever fallen for someone who didn’t feel the same? No. Are you financially stable? No. Mom can barely afford rent right now; I had to pay it last month with gifted money. Are you emotionally stable? hunny Do you think kids these days are growing up too quickly? I kinda think so, yeah. It's funny how different kids are now compared to when I was whatever age they are. I try to be open-minded about it, though; times change, and I don't expect my generation to be the only "right" way to have grown up. I just think kids are chasing the power of "maturity" with much more vigor. Are you a rebel? Not really. Do you like when people use proper grammar on the Internet? Yeah. I like conversing with people who type just how they talk, like me. Have you ever driven or been a passenger on a motorcycle? Neither. I don't want to ride one. Do you use standard time, or 24 hour time? Standard time. Do you enjoy NASCAR? "HE'S MAKIN ANOTHER LEFT TURRRRRRN!" Lol no, I really don't. Who is the most fascinating person you’ve met? Probably Sara, honestly. What amazing adventures have you been on? What's this "adventure" you speak of? What would you do if had enough money to not need a job? Lots of traveling with my camera, still selling art anyway. What TV series do you keep coming back to and re-watching? None. What would your perfect vacation look like? Y'know, one of those glass dome ceiling cabin... things in the mountains with Sara would be so, SO cool. So much nature for us to explore. What are some obscure things that you are or were really into? Most of my interests honestly, haha. The strangest is probably "vulture culture," in which the remains (typically the bones) of a naturally deceased wild animal are basically recycled for some sort of artistic purpose. You could consider my roadkill photography an example. What are some things everyone should try at least once? I dunno, man. Depends on what you're into. What would your perfect morning be like? Cuddles with an s/o watching some funny videos or something like that to get in some morning laughter. What are you always game for? Video games, haha. What do you do to unwind? Watch YouTube. What’s your favorite piece of furniture you’ve ever owned? I don't have a fave. What would be the best city to live in? I don't want to live in a city. What would you like to know more about, but haven’t had the time to look into it? Time isn't an issue; I just haven't. There's lots of stuff. I'm a very curious person. How have you changed from when you were in high school? I'm less depressed, but more confused, scared, and much less motivated. Imagine a chicken wandering around with its head chopped off. Where is the most fun place around where you live? Nothing, really... Where would your friends or family be most surprised to find you? Like, a strip club or something. What’s expensive but totally worth it? This depends on what's important to you. For me, a quality DSLR camera. When do you feel most out of place? Whenever I'm some place fancy. What’s the most recent thing you’ve done for the first time? No idea. What small seemingly insignificant decision had a massive impact on your life? Accepting Jason's friend request on Facebook because I thought it was a different Jason I actually knew. What did you do last summer? Nothing, just stayed indoors trying not to melt into a sizzling puddle. What are you most grateful for? My mom. What’s the most essential part of a friendship? Trust, maybe. When was the last time you walked for more than an hour? Many, many years ago when I used to walk outside for hours with my iPod. All modesty aside, what are you better at than 90% of people? It doesn’t have to be useful or serious, it can be something ridiculous. 90% is a lot, man. Maybe bonding with animals? What’s the strangest phone conversation you’ve ever had? I don’t know. What do you like but are kind of embarrassed to admit? If I'm embarrassed by it, I have no interest in sharing it. What skill or ability have you always wanted to learn? Even just a smidge of social skills. What’s the best meal you’ve ever had? Probably the spicy shrimp fritas at Olive Garden. I adore those sooooooooo so much. Where was your favorite place to go when you were a kid? The zoo. We didn't go often at all, but I would frequently nag Mom about going. What’s something that most people haven’t done, but you have? Fed a freshly severed rat to a vulture. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I wanna go back to that bird rescue... What says the most about a person? How they treat others. What machine or appliance in your house aggravates you the most? The dryer. It can take a few rounds to fully dry something. What places have you visited that exceeded your expectations? Chicago, that I actually remember. Disney World probably did, but I was just a little kid and only have faint memories of the trip. What’s the worst advice someone has given you? I don't know. Besides your home and your work, where do you spend most of your time? People leave their houses? What are your top 3 favorite things to talk about? Mark, meerkats, and video games. When you were a kid, what seemed like the best thing about being a grown up? No one could tell me no for "stupid" reasons. What’s the strangest way you’ve become friends with someone? Strange way? I haven't got a clue. What’s your favorite band NAME (not necessarily your favorite band)? Maybe Cradle of Filth. Badass metal name. There are a lot of good ones, though. What’s your favorite thing to do outdoors? Take pictures of flowers or animals. How often do you dance? Silly/ironic dancing counts. Essentially never. Who besides your parents taught you the most about life? Jason, I guess. What’s been the most significant plot twist in your own life? The breakup that I thought was physically impossible, entirely unfathomable. Where did you take family vacations to when you were younger? We didn't really go on vacations. If you could instantly receive a Ph.D. in any discipline including all the knowledge and experience that goes along with it, what would your Ph.D. be in? Biology. What are the top three social situations you try to avoid most? Anywhere where I have to speak publicly; parties/get-togethers involving people I don't know; anywhere that is extremely crowded. Just social situations in general, really... What friendship you’ve had has impacted you the most? My friendship with Sara. What’s something you’re interested in that most people wouldn’t expect? Uhhh I don't know, really. What’s the hardest you’ve worked for something? My recovery from the breakup. What took you way too long to figure out? The only person who had any right to control my happiness and will to live was myself. What nicknames have you had throughout your life? If you include online ones as well, there's Britt, Britt-Britt, Twinkie, Bee, Flower, Ruby, Mozart2, Ozz(y), Alessa, and uhhh... I wanna say that's it? What do you do differently than most people? I deconstruct my breakfast biscuits to eat one part at a time... haha. Where’s the last place you’d ever go? Prison. What fact floored you when you heard it? That my dad did some hard drugs before us kids were born. I was entirely speechless. Have you ever watched a needle go into your own skin? Yeah, it doesn't bother me. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? No. Does weed smell good? Or no? Ugh, no. It smells awful. Do you blow dry your hair or do you let it air out? Air dry. Do you catch lizards? No; I don't like the idea of catching wild animals just to pick up and check out. That poor critter is terrified. I'd rather just take pictures of it and let it go about its day. Would you rather get a big tattoo or small tattoo? I want my next tattoo to be a big'n. How many pills do you take every morning? I absolutely do not want to count. A whole lot. What was the last parade you went to? /shrug What theme would you choose for a baby’s nursery? If I was hypothetically having kids, let's see. A son, absolutely dinosaurs. A daughter, maybe meadowy with baby animals. My baby blanket was full of baby animals, so it'd be kinda cute, that connection. What color would you paint a baby girl’s nursery? Not because of gender norms, but by personal choice, pastel pink. Does your first crush know that he/she was your first crush? No. What is the last thing you missed out on that you wanted to go to? Hm. Who do you wish were your best friend? I am perfectly happy with who already is my best friend. Who do you wish you could go on another date with? She knows. Who was the last friend of yours to have a baby, and what’s the baby’s name? I'm not sure, but my high school friend Megan is due to have her daughter Persephone soon! She won the naming game. Like damn, how badass would it feel for your name to be Persephone. Do you have a favorite M&M? Just the classic ones. Is it easy to make you cry? OHHHHH YES IT IS. Have you ever snuck out? Nah. Who was the last person to comment you? On Facebook? My friend Lyndsey commented on a photo I shared. What song reminds you of being in middle school? "All Signs Point to Lauderdale" by A Day To Remember is the anthem for going through puberty in school and trying to figure yourself out. What was the first thing you learned how to cook? Scrambled eggs. What’s something really basic that you’re terrible at? Cooking. Are you pale or tan? I'm very pale. When’s the last time you were kissed? On the lips, like two or so years ago. Do you like the movie Grease? Never seen it, actually. What’s your favorite Jim Carrey movie? The Mask, probably. What was the last baby animal you saw in the wild? I think a fawn. Have you been binge-watching any shows lately? If so, what? No. What’s the best physical feeling in the entire universe? I meeeaaan... Do you have bad anxiety? If so, do you take any kind of medication for it? Yes and yes. If you could, would you work from home? Do you think that would make you more or less productive? Well, it's complicated. I don't, but I also want to be a freelance photographer, so I kinda would. I like the idea of having an office in my house purely for productive activities to prevent becoming lazy because I'd be at home. Would you ever be an organ donor? I am one.

[banashee]

 Second Time is the charm

 "Oh God, who's dead or dying?"

 Tony turns around, spatula in his hand and a confused look on his face.

 "Huh? No one is dead or in the process of getting there. I'm just cooking."

 "Yes you are. Which is why I'm asking."

 "Rude, Pepper." he gestures with the hand holding the spatula, accidentally flicking sauce in her general direction. "Oops, sorry 'bout that."

 Pepper looks at him, unimpressed. She does that a lot. Then, she dips a finger into the drop of sauce on the counter top, and in an spontaneous boost of bravery, tastes it. To her credit, she manages to keep a mostly straight face, even when her insides shrivel up at the sensation - there is a whole lot of salt and little else. Probably a bit of an burned aftertaste, too.

 Tony, however, is well practiced is reading her micro expressions - they've been friends for too long.

 "That bad?" he asks, and Pepper just looks at him, very very flatly and then nods.

 "Who are you planning to feed this to, and what horrible thing did they do to deserve this?" she asks, getting a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water from the fridge dispenser.

 Tony sighs, waving the spatula around as he talks, splattering sauce around the kitchen once again - Pepper tries to side steps the mess.

 “This was supposed to be a test run. You know the wedding anniversary is coming up and I was gonna surprise Clint with a nice dinner at home. He cooks all the time and I wanted to return the favor, but, well.” he waves at the half burned and over salted mess on the stove. Then, Tony dips a spoon into the pan to taste it - his face scrunches up in disgust and he drops the spoon into the sink and nearly dumps the pan after it, making a gagging noise and glares in the general direction of the ruined dinner.

 “Maybe not. Unless giving your partner food poisoning is considered romantic these days. Even then… Okay so this was a shit idea.” he grumbles, clearly annoyed and more than a little disappointed.

 Pepper has been typing on her phone ever since she learned the reason for the cooking attempt, making thoughtful noises. Now, she quickly walks over to stop Tony from making any harsh decisions right now. Gently, she grabs him by the shoulders, stirring him away from the stove. He lets her, and her next words are firm but reassuring.

 “Stop. Don’t move. Help is on the way.”

 As if on cue, footsteps come closer to the kitchen. A familiar voice says,

 “Please tell me nothing caught on fire.”

 And another sighs, “Oh dear.”

 In the doorway stand Bruce and Steve, clearly expecting the worst and prepared for everything. Tony would be offended but as it is, they’re his best hope right now. Pepper may be a good moral support, but she hates cooking, so he is actually happy to see those two.

 “Not yet but I’m working on it.” he quips back, grinning brightly for a few seconds with one of his million dollar showman fake smiles. Then his face falls.

 “Please help, I’m about to throw this whole thing out the window.”

 Pepper leaves them to it, with a small smile and a kiss to his cheek she turns to the door.

 “You got this. Just don’t attempt doing this alone on the day and you’ll be fine.”

 Meanwhile, Bruce inspects the concoction on the stove with a mildly curious expression that he’s often wearing in the lab, mainly when something unexpected and slightly concerning happens and he wants to see how it’ll work out. Steve, in good foresight, pulls out more ingredients from the refrigerator.  

 Both of them taste the sauce, despite Tony’s warning protests. They taste it very, very carefully and it’s a testament to their friendship that they do so - neither of them spits it back out but the cringe is enough.

 “Okay, let’s start neutralizing the salt for one.” Bruce decides, and who would have known that heavy cream and honey help with that - so does the stretching of the liquid. In the end, the three of them manage to salvage the meal, and even more so, are able to enjoy it despite the burned bits they need to pick from their plates.

 A little while later, when they clear the table and get to washing up, Steve says,

 “Let us help on the big day, alright? Just to be safe.”

 “Please do.” says Bruce, and Tony huffs a laugh as he stands in between them.

 “I hate you both.” he claims, but the fact that he’s got one arm wrapped around each of them and the happy smile on his face betray him. Pulling his friends close, he adds, “Really tho, thank you. I would totally screw this up otherwise.”

 “We know, that’s why we’re here.”

 “Oh, fuck you!” he scoffs, but they’re all laughing.

 *+~

 On the morning of the second wedding anniversary, Tony wakes up to a text message from Clint.

     ‘On the way back rn, debrief on base after. Might even make it home on time! :) I Love you’  

 It brings a happy smile to his face, even early in the morning before he’s had coffee. This mission had come up last minute as always, and the possibility of them having to spend this day apart had been quite high. As it looks now, they might at least have a nice and quiet evening together, and it’s more than they could have hoped for.

 Tony types a reply,

     ‘Good morning beloved, that’s great news - you better get your ass over here asap, I miss you ;)’  

 Then he opens up another chat, his ongoing conversation with Natasha which for about 60%, consists of memes and links to obscure YouTube videos.

     ‘Hey-o, can you please let me know when you guys are wrapping up at HQ? Possibly distract Clint if you finish early? Gotta prepare a surprise. Should be done around 7-ish.’  

 Her reply comes almost instantly.

     ‘Sure thing. Happy anniversary :)’  

     ‘Thanks, Itsy-bitsy. You’re the best :)’  

     ‘I know.’  

 The day passes surprisingly fast, then. One moment, Tony is relaxing on the couch, drinking coffee while Lucky sprawls happily over his legs as he scratches the good spot behind his ears and then, his phone alarm goes off that tells him he’s got a cooking date with Steve and Bruce. And because these guys are amazing friends, they show up on the door to the penthouse just in time for the three of them to start preparing a nice three course dinner.

 It’s fun, and with the “adult supervision” Tony finds himself perfectly capable of doing this.

 Once upon a time, this would have been impossible.

 “Tony, you’re one of the smartest people alive and you have many talents - but cooking isn’t one of them.” he’s been told on more than one occasion, and it’s been true for most of his life. But things are different now - he wants to learn. He wants this small part of everyday life.

 Those last few years, he finds himself happier than he can remember being, possibly ever, and it feels simply amazing to have this - this life, this love. This      family    .

 Just as he’s put the main course into a low oven to keep warm, the door opens just in time for him to enter the hallway, and then Tony gets pulled into a embrace and lifted off his feet for a moment.  He holds on tight, then he pulls Clint down for a proper kiss to welcome him home.

 “Hey there.”

 “Hey yourself.”

 The two of them take their time in greeting each other, and despite being apart for only about a week, it feels like they haven’t seen each other in forever. And it’s their anniversary, for fuck’s sake. They’re allowed to be as sappy as they damn well please - at least until Lucky interrupts them because he’s tired of waiting and jumps up on Clint until he’s slobbered all over his face and happily demands cuddles right then and there.

 Dropping his duffle bag to the floor, Clint asks Tony what he would like to eat and it causes him to smile knowingly.

 “Can I cook for you?” he asks, and Clint looks at him, blinking.

 “Right now? I mean… Don’t take this the wrong way Babe but is that… Safe? We can just order something in if you want.”

 “Trick question, I already did. Well, I had help. So it won’t send us into the hospital if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

 “Wait, you-” Clint steps closer to him, gently placing his hands on Tony’s upper arms as he smiles at him. There is something soft in his eyes, and Tony falls in love all over again.

 “You made an effort to cook something for today even though you almost never do?”

 “Yeah, I- I wanted to do something nice for today, and I didn’t know when you’d be home so I didn’t book anything. Besides, you cook and bake all the time for us, for      me    , and well. I appreciate that a lot and I just wanted to do this for you. I had help, but yes. Come on!” He pulls him into the dining room, which he’d actually decorated. Nothing big, just a few candles and a bouquet of flowers but it does look nice.

 On the table, there is a large bottle of Asgardian mead, a gift for them that Thor left before he went to spend the weekend with Jane in New Mexico.  It’s strong, and more than even the two of them can finish in one evening. But it’s good, and they know it.

 The dinner is relaxed as always, and they enjoy each others company and the conversations - anything and everything they can talk about, and while Clint fills him in on the latest SHIELD gossip and rumors, some of which leave Tony laughing hard enough that he almost chokes on his mead, he tells him what has been going on back home, including the first dinner mishap and how their friends had saved his ass.

 In the meantime, Lucky has made himself comfortable under the table, chewing on one of his giant treats.

 They’re just starting on the main course - steaks with garlic potato casserole and roasted asparagus, when Clint says,

 “This is really good, Tony. Thank you. For the effort and for doing this.” He smiles, and reaches over with one hand, which he happily takes and squeezes back.

 “I’m glad you like it. And it makes me think that I should do this more often, since, well, you do it all the time. Seems fair to do my part, you know.”

 “You do other things all the time. It’s just… Both of us do different things, and that’s okay with me. I like to cook, you build and fix stuff.” He shrugs. “Love languages and all that.”

 A while ago, they’d talked about that for a bit, and it’s true. They show their love and affection in different ways sometimes, and that’s okay - they know and recognize these things by now, and it only helps them understand each other better.

 “Well, cooking is kinda fun.” Tony says then, and a big smile spreads all over Clint’s face.

 “We could do that together if you like. I could teach you and we could try new recipes!” He’s clearly excited about that, in this familiar and almost childlike way of his, and it’s all Tony can do to agree. God, he loves this man so much.

 By the time dessert is on the table, they share that and a pot of coffee and have moved their seats even closer together, ankles hooked around each other.

 “Oh hey, I’ve got a surprise for you, too.” Clint says then, as if he just remembered but he pulls and envelope from somewhere on his person which makes it clear he’s been waiting. The envelope is thick and slightly off-white - clearly good quality paper. Curiously, Tony opens it up.

 There is a card, and it looks handmade. Sturdy, structured paper, and two birds on the front - parrots on a tropical island.

 On the inside, there are just a few words written, in Clint’s familiar large scrawl, but it makes him smile widely.

     ‘Voucher for two weeks vacation on Bora Bora. All responsibilities back home are covered’     it says, followed by a time frame,       ‘Happy anniversary. I love you’    and a lopsidedly drawn heart.

 “Aw, that’s great! Thank you. How did you manage that all is covered?” Tony asks, beaming at Clint - it’s been too long since they actually had any time off without being interrupted via The End Of The World. And they’re in desperate need of a break and some alone time.

 Clint just grins. “Magic and good friends.” he says ominously, and leans close to Tony, pulling him into a soft kiss as he runs one hand through his dark hair.

 Once they break apart, Tony takes both of Clint’s hands in this, and despite being happy and content he looks a little bit nervous - there is no need to, he knows, but still. Clint seems to catch on to it, looking at him with his head crooked slightly to the side.

 “So, uh, dinner wasn’t the only surprise I had for tonight.” Tony says, and takes a deep breath.

 “This is kinda ridiculous, given for how long we’ve been together already and especially how that happened, but. I was wondering, would you like to marry me agan? Sober and properly this time?”

 The answer comes almost instantly, in the form of another long kiss and an enthusiastic “Yes, of course!”

 It takes them a while to let go of each other again. But they happily continue drinking coffee and eating chocolate mousse, simply enjoying the time together.

 “Same day?” Clint asks, pragmatic as always - neither of them is great at remembering important dates - two different wedding anniversaries would be too much for people like them who were to forget their own birthdays if it wasn’t for JARVIS and teammates who know them too well.

 “Yes, please. Everything else would just call for a disaster.”

 “It would. And hey, we can avoid Fake Elvis this time!”

 Tony laughs out loud. “I’m sure he will be heartbroken.”

 “Oh well.” Clint shrugs, grinning. “He’ll live.”

 *+~

     Prompt No. 54: “Can I cook for you?”  

[ofelvie]

joe keery. cis male. he/him.  ／  elvie croft just pulled up blasting spooky boy by danny gonzalez  — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - four year old youtuber, i’ve heard they’re really scatterbrained, but that they make up for it by being so loyal. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say 80s horror, buckets of halloween candy, and blurry photographs of mysterious figures in the woods. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( sam, 23, est, she/her )

hey there demons! *ba dum tss* my name is sam and i’ll be writing elvie, a brilliant harvard law graduate who threw away any shred of credibility he ever had in order to make silly videos on the internet. more info under the cut. feel free to message me if you would like to plot!

i. stats

𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖑 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊: elvin tupelo croft

𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘: el, elvie, the ghost guy

𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖔𝖜𝖓: salem, massachusetts 

𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖍: october 31, 1995

𝖟𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖈: scorpio

𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: demisexual

𝖔𝖈𝖈𝖚𝖕𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: lawyer youtuber

𝖕𝖔𝖘. 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: loyal, open - minded, exuberant.

𝖓𝖊𝖌. 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: scatterbrained, obstreperous, impulsive.

𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞: shawn spencer, psych ; fox mulder, the x files ; stiles stilinski, teen wolf.

ii. history

elvin tupelo “elvie” croft was born in salem, massachusetts ( yes, really ) on halloween day ( yes, really ). an only child, his father is the district attorney for essex county, massachusetts while his mother owns a store in town that sells witchcraft supplies such as crystals, herbs, grimiores, etc. fun fact: she’s the descendant of an accused witch, meaning that elvie is as well.

as it turns out, beneath of the surface of the few tourist attractions that it has to offer, salem has a small town, stuck in the past vibe. it’s the sort of place where everyone knows everyone all their lives because no one ever leaves and no one ever moves in. he grew up in this...eccentric...environment, living in the same house all his life and only ever leaving to visit his grandparents in boston. 

he was five years old when he saw his first horror movie ( an apathetic teenage babysitter let him stay up long past his bedtime to watch nightmare on elm street ) and from that moment on he was HOOKED.

when he started school, two things about him became apparent: 1) he was highly intelligent and 2) he struggled greatly with tasks such as sitting still and staying focused. he was tested, and it turns out that he has a through the roof genius level iq and he also has adhd, which he was put on a few different medications for until something finally seemed to work for him.

he could have been one of those child prodigies who finished high school at the age of ten and then college at the age of fourteen, BUT his parents decided that they didn’t want him to miss out on the experience of going through school with people his own age.

as the smartest kid in class with glasses and braces and an insatiable obsession with all things horror and halloween, he…was picked on. mercilessly.

so, he didn’t really have any friends...............................at all.................................but he didn’t mind. he was perfectly content to go right home after school and spend the rest of the day reading comic books or watching horror movies or researching local urban legends and paranormal stories.

he started his youtube channel when he was a teenager and it was…trash honestly. it was basically buzzfeed unsolved if buzzfeed unsolved consisted of one ( 1 ) dorky teenager yelling at the air in the middle of abandoned house at 3am, but it turned out that people found it entertaining. his first few videos were flops, but he would soon start amassing subscribers in the hundreds, then thousands, then hundreds of thousands.

so, when he got to his senior year of high school, he was a shoe - in to be named class valedictorian ( he was ) and he was even getting ivy league offers. at the same time, his youtube channel was starting to gain momentum. his parents mainly his father were really pushing him to attend college and elvie, genius level iq and all…didn’t want to go. he wanted to focus on his youtube channel, but his dad was absolutely not having it.

he attended harvard for both his pre law and law school studies, breezed through classes, graduated with honors at the top of his class and once he passed the bar exam there were countless job offers waiting for him. elvie ignored them all and moved to los angeles so that he could finally focus on his youtube channel.

it’s been almost two years since he moved and he likes it in california!

iii. extras

his name is elvin but basically no one ever calls him that. his own parents don’t even particularly like the name. long story. most people call him elvie and some who are super close to him just call him el.

while he is the “ryan” aka the believer of his youtube series, he’s definitely NOT a scaredy cat like ryan the poor guy. in fact, all his life there’s been this running joke that HE DOESN’T SEEM TO BE SCARED OF ANYTHING, and who knows? maybe he isn’t.

has the most cartoonishly exaggerated boston accent that one could ever hope to hear, except he doesn’t seem to realize it at all. 

10/31 blaze it he’s a HUGE stoner.

he’s got jokes. stay vigilant.

he’s OBSESSED with all things horror, halloween, and 80s. he makes a lot of film references that are often so obscure that most people don’t even catch them.

he is legally permitted to practice law in the states of massachusetts and california, so basically: he’s a lawyer! however, this is not at all common knowledge because...

most people don’t know how smart he actually is because he intentionally plays dumb and he’s really good at it. being high all the time and his natural chaotic energy is quite helpful in hiding his intelligence. he just doesn’t like to be seen as smart, so the whole once - brilliant law student thing? not common knowledge whatsoever. he tries not to mention the college he attended by name at all, but if he has to then he lies and says that he went to salem state.

and yes, he has SO MUCH chaotic energy. he’s the kind of person who will stick a fork in his microwave just to see what would happen out of sheer boredom. he has two pet mexican redknee tarantulas that probably aren’t even allowed on campus named freddy and jason who he just…fucking loses track of every other day. his favorite drink is literally black coffee mixed together with a can of monster energy and 5 ( f i v e ) teaspoons of sugar. he is c h a o s. he has absolutely NO IMPULSE CONTROL whatsoever. 

he has slight Daddy Issues™. slight. when he was born, his dad was hoping that he would get a star athlete kid who would go on to follow in his footsteps and one day become a successful, respectable lawyer but instead he got…elvie. he’s never outright said that he’s disappointed but he didn’t need to. elvie’s a really difficult person to rattle but every time, without fail, he ends a phone call with his dad and he’s in a bad mood for the rest of the day. 

his car is this PIECE OF JUNK giant turquoise van that he painted to look like the mystery machine. her name is laurie strode.

even though he makes constant pop culture references about horror movies and the 80s, but outside of those areas he’s completely clueless about pop culture. like, he can recite the entire scripts of the shining and empire strikes back and ferris bueller’s day off word for word, but if someone tried to talk to him about the new post malone song or the latest marvel movie he would just stare blankly.

he has a HUGE sweet tooth. his favorite food is halloween candy and his favorite candy is black licorice disgusting i know.

he takes adderall for his adhd and he’s usually good about keeping up with it. started keeping them on his person in college because he realized that his meds were getting stolen and it’s a habit he's held onto that doesn’t really keep his shit from getting stolen.

.he’s good at…A LOT of things because he’s a really fast learner. he can play the guitar, he can draw, he did drama in high school. he just has to watch someone do something once and then he can usually immediately do it himself. this skill doesn’t extend to physical activities such as sports, however. he’s terrible at those.

he’s basically a cartoon character

iv. wanted connections

friends

cousin  ( their grandparents would probably be from boston but otherwise anything really goes for this )

his weed dealer lmao

smoking buddies

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

has stolen his adderall

maybe someone who knows how smart he really is

exes and flings

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with these, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[ofcrofts]

『JOE KEERY ❙ CIS MALE』 ⟿ looks like ELVIE CROFT is here for HIS FIRST GRAD year as a LAW student. HE is 23 years old & known to be LOYAL, OPEN-MINDED, SCATTERBRAINED & OBSTREPEROUS. they’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ SAM. 23. EST. SHE/HER.

hey there demons! *ba dum tss* i’m sam and elvie is one of my favorite muses, so i hope you like him too and please feel free to message me if you would like to plot!

i. stats   

𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖑 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊: elvin tupelo croft

𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘: el, elvie, the ghost guy

𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖔𝖜𝖓: salem, massachusetts yes, really

𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖍: october 31, 1996 yes, really

𝖟𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖈: scorpio

𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: demisexual

𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖞: law

𝖕𝖔𝖘. 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: loyal, open - minded, exuberant.

𝖓𝖊𝖌. 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: scatterbrained, obstreperous, impulsive.

ii. history

elvin tupelo “elvie” croft was born in salem massachusetts ( yes, really ) on halloween day ( yes, really ). he’s an only child and his dad is the county district attorney while his mom owns a small local business that sells witchcraft supplies such as crystals, herbs, grimiores, etc. fun fact: she’s the descendant of an accused witch, meaning that elvie is as well.

he was five years old when he saw his first horror movie ( an apathetic teenage babysitter let him stay up long past his bedtime to watch nightmare on elm street ) and from that moment on he was hooked.

when he started school, two things about him became apparent: 1) he was highly intelligent and 2) he struggled greatly with tasks such as sitting still and staying focused. he was tested, and it turns out that he has a through the roof genius level iq and he also has adhd, which he was put on a few different medications for until something finally seemed to work for him.

he could have been one of those child prodigies who finished high school at the age of ten and then college at the age of fourteen, but his parents decided that they didn’t want him to miss out on the experience of going through school with people his own age.

as the smartest kid in class with glasses and braces and a strong obsession with all things horror and halloween, he…was picked on. mercilessly.

he didn’t really have friends, but he also didn’t mind. he was perfectly content to go right home after school and spend the rest of the day reading comic books or watching horror movies or researching local urban legends and paranormal stories.

he started his youtube channel when he was a teenager and it was…trash honestly. it was basically buzzfeed unsolved if buzzfeed unsolved consisted of one ( 1 ) dorky teenager yelling at the air in the middle of abandoned house at 3am could be two if his wc gets picked up wink wink, but it turned out that people found it entertaining. his first few videos were flops, but he would soon start amassing subscribers in the hundreds, then thousands, then hundreds of thousands.

so, when he got to his senior year of high school, he was a shoe - in to become the class valedictorian and he was even getting ivy league offers. at the same time, his youtube channel was starting to gain momentum. his parents mainly his father were really pushing him to attend college and elvie, genius level iq and all…didn’t want to go at all. he wanted to focus on his youtube channel, but his dad was absolutely not having it.

he was pre law at harvard while he was an undergrad but when it came time to start law school, he’d had enough of simply doing what his dad wanted and decided to go to radcliffe and he chose to do so solely because he heard it was haunted. he’s even living in noland because he figures that the oldest building = highest likelihood of ghosts.

this is his first year and second semester at radcliffe. he can usually be found not studying, smoking weed, and probably trying to get the campus witch to go out with him.

iii. extras

his name is elvin but basically no one ever calls him that. his own parents don’t even particularly like the name. long story. most people call him elvie and some who are super close to him just call him el.

while he is the “ryan” aka the believer of his youtube series, he’s definitely NOT a scaredy cat like ryan the poor guy. in fact, all his life there’s been this running joke that he doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything, and who knows? maybe he isn’t.

he’s kinda...acing all of his classes without even trying because he’s honestly just that smart but i cannot stress enough that he absolutely does not give a fuck about his classes. he HATES law school. he probably ditches as often as he can, but he doesn’t really push it because y’know attendance points.

he’s literally embarrassed of the fact that he went to harvard so he straight up lies and says that he went to salem state

he has slight Daddy Issues™. slight. when he was born, his dad was hoping that he would get a star athlete kid who would go on to follow in his footsteps and one day become a successful, respectable lawyer but instead he got…elvie. he’s never outright said that he’s disappointed but he didn’t need to. elvie’s a really difficult person to rattle but every time, without fail, he ends a phone call with his dad and he’s in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

he smokes A LOT of weed. like, A LOT OF WEED. like…A LOT of weed. he started off doing it every once in a while as a teenager, and now he’s always high. 99% of people he knows have most likely never seen or interacted with him when he wasn’t high.

he’s obsessed with all things horror, halloween, and 80s. he makes a lot of film references that are often so obscure that most people don’t even catch them.

he’s got jokes. lots of jokes. lots of self - deprecating jokes.

has a really thick boston accent that he doesn’t seem to realize he has.

most people don’t know how smart he really is because he intentionally plays dumb and he’s really good at it. being high all the time and his natural chaotic energy is quite helpful in hiding his intelligence. he just doesn’t like to be seen as smart, so the whole brilliant law student thing? not common knowledge whatsoever.

and yes, he has SO MUCH chaotic energy. he’s the kind of person who will stick a fork in his microwave just to see what would happen out of sheer boredom. he has two pet mexican redknee tarantulas that probably aren’t even allowed on campus named freddy and jason who he just…fucking loses track of every other day. his favorite drink is literally black coffee mixed together with a can of monster energy and 5 ( f i v e ) teaspoons of sugar. he is c h a o s. he has absolutely no impulse control whatsoever.

his car is this PIECE OF JUNK giant turquoise van that he painted to look like the mystery machine

he suffers from chronic nosebleeds that are usually triggered by stress, but he doesn’t get them that often.

he has a HUGE sweet tooth. his favorite food is halloween candy and his favorite candy is black licorice disgusting i know

he takes adderall for his adhd and it’s basically the only thing he’s really consistent and responsible about.

he’s good at…a lot of things because he’s a really fast learner. he can play the guitar, he can draw, he did drama in high school. he just has to watch someone do something once and then he can usually immediately do it himself. this skill doesn’t extend to physical activities such as sports, however. he’s terrible at those.

iv. wanted connections

best friend

friends

cousin ( their grandparents would probably be from boston but otherwise anything really goes for this )

smoking buddies lmao

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

peers he tutors for some extra money

maybe someone who knows how smart he really is

exes, etc.

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with these, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[dirtyhaikyuuconfessions]

Any cpop recommendations? :o

bRUH DO I HAVE CPOP RECS

I don’t really know how much exposure you’ve had to cpop so I’m just going to list a bunch of people/groups I’m into and hopefully you’ll find your shtick?

Hua Chenyu 华晨宇 A god among men. Literally has the most amazing voice ever. He became popular after appearing on and winning 2013′s Super Boy and actually became a mentor for other wannabe singers on another singing competition show. (That’s how I discovered him, lol.) I would buy all three of his albums if iTunes wasn’t rude and didn’t have them available on my iTunes Store.

Jolin Tsai 蔡依林 A queen. She’s actually pretty well-known in c-ent, so if you’ve been into cpop for even just a little, you’ve probably heard of her name. I’ve only really listened to her more recent stuff since I just got into her music, but it slaps. She also openly supports LGBT+ people, so fuck yeah. We stan a woke queen.

Wu Jiacheng 伍嘉成 A more obscure artist on the list, Wu Jiacheng is a member from XNINE who recently released an EP. His style is more funk so it might not be your cup of tea, but I absolutely love it. He also adores cats. The title of one of his songs literally translates to A Docile Cat. Please check him out and the rest of XNINE (if Wajijiwa would stop splitting them up) on 玉儿 YUER’s YouTube.

Li Ronghao 李荣浩 A sweet, sweet man. There’s not one evil bone in his body. His music’s pretty soothing and soulful. I need to listen to more of his music, tbh. He recently got engaged though!! Congrats, my dude!

If you’re into kpop, try checking out: Zhang Yixing 张艺兴 and Kris Wu 吴亦凡.

Fun mentions: G.E.M., Eric Chou 周兴哲, Chris Lee 李宇春, JJ Lin 林俊杰.

I’m just gonna plug XNINE because I remember watching the show they were created from four years ago. Not a lot of people know who they are, sadly. Some of the members are becoming more popular now, like Wu Jiacheng when CYZJ aired and Xiao Zhan now as the Untamed is airing, but Wajijiwa still loves to keep Guo Zifan locked up in the fucking basement. They don’t have that much music so you don’t have a lot of catching up to do.

Disclaimer: Fun fact about the cpop industry, idol cpop groups have seriously flopped until last year with iQiyi’s rendition of Mnet’s Produce 101 show! So basically any cpop group you plan to stan will likely not have many songs out or their members won’t even be singing but will be acting instead. It’s a fun time. Keep that in mind as you check out any of the following cpop groups below.

NINE PERCENT The group that was formed out of Idol Producer (iQiyi’s Produce 101). They’re all very lovable boys and each one has at least one single out that you can listen to! They only have one EP out though because their company hates them and can’t align their schedules to do activities together. All of cpop stan twitter has heard about them. Their music is pretty good. Their leader Cai Xukun 蔡徐坤 has come out with many songs and three of the members are also part of the group NEX7. 

UNINE The group that formed out of Idol Producer Season 2! (Technically it’s called Qing Chun You NI because iQiyi got slammed with copyright violations from Mnet, ha.) iQiyi is doing a WAY better job of keeping them together as a group so definitely check them out! They just debuted this past May and already have an EP out. 

Other groups from produce-like shows: R1SE, Rocket Girls, BlackACE, New Storm.

TFBoys I don’t listen to their music but they’re like the og boy group. They debuted when the members were super young and now they’re all grown up and going to college! So cute. They’re like the only idol-ish cpop group that’s managed to survive all these years and get some international recognition, so that’s why I included them on the list.

WayV 威神V Technically just NCT China, but I’m still gonna promote them as if they’re cpop (when I kind of just consider them Chinese kpop. There’s a slight variation in my book. Just trust me). I really like their EP and all of the boys are super cute. They’re still not too popular IN CHINA in comparison to the other groups above, but they’re well-known abroad. So, you get to deal with their international fans (and all their nonsense) a lot but not with their c-fans.

UNIQ Half-Korean, half-Chinese group, UNIQ was formed back in 2014 but due to China banning hallyu, they couldn’t do many promotions in Korea and their careers never took off. They released one album and countless other songs. All five of the members are decently ranging to very popular in their respective native countries (Seungyoun with PDX101, Yixuan with AFO, Wenhan with QCYN, Yibo with the Untamed and other dramas, Sungjoo with his dramas), they just haven’t really been ~together~ as a group. Hopefully they’ll be together again, but even so, it’s worth it just to follow the members individually because they’re all so sweet and talented and crackheads.

I hope this list is helpful! Sorry it’s so long. ;-; I don’t really get to talk about cpop outside of our baby cpop community on twitter. Let me know if you like any of the artists/groups!!

[ellvie]

ELVIE CROFT, twenty four years old. youtuber and ghost with the most on beloved emmy award winning netflix series ghost gallery. interests include horror movies, the 80s, halloween, and the absolute abomination that is black licorice. the smartest dipshit you’ll ever meet.

elvin tupelo croft. prefers elvie, but el is okay if you’re a close friend or family member. is extremely sensitive about the fact that he was almost named elvis after the famous musician because his dad is OBSESSED.

born in the salem, massachusetts on halloween day. descendant of an accused witch, son of an actual witch, and practices himself albeit casually. his dad is the county district attorney while his mom owns a small shop in town, so they were...lower middle class i guess. they always had enough to meet their needs, but couldn’t afford any extra spending or splurging. as he got older he’d go on to work small jobs around town, most notably as a janitor in the local movie theater. so no silver spoon or high horse here.

margo massey has been his best friend since birth. her maternal grandparents disowned her mom when she fell pregnant with margo, so elvie’s dad gave them some legal help and the rest is history. they’ve been best friends for longer than either of them can even remember, true ride or dies for life. if you don’t like margo then elvie doesn’t like you and that’s that on that. the antics of elvie croft and margo massey were famous in salem long before they were famous on netflix.

so he tried lots of different activities as a kid. he was a boy scout, he took music lessons, he was absolutely awful at tee ball, but nothing really stuck. he’s always had a lot of energy and a short attention span, so he gets bored of stuff pretty easily. 

something his parents and teachers would often notice about him was that he’s very smart. he’s a fast learner, one of those annoying types who seems to just do well in school and get perfect grades without even trying? that’s him. some people have even thrown around words like brilliant and genius. tbh they probably aren’t far off, but elvie hates being called smart to the point where he?? intentionally dumbs himself down 24/7 and passes it off as a joke

ofc that didn’t stop from being mercilessly bullied all throughout school. he had braces and glasses and chronic nosebleeds and didn’t play any sports and only had one friend who was picked on just as badly so he was definitely a favorite target of his peers.

fortunately elvie has much thicker skin than most people seem to realize. he doesn’t...really care what people think about him. at all. oh so what you don’t like him. he’ll have a good long cry about it while his emmy award is getting polished. not that he’s arrogant bc he honestly isn’t. it’s just that he knows his worth and your opinion of him isn’t going to change that.

he was fifteen when the rich & snobby abernathy family bought a huge summer home in salem and he met their daughter, astrea...it was love at first sight and to this day he’s never loved anybody else or even dated anybody else. their summer romance turned long distance when she went home in the fall. they were insistent upon not letting anything break them apart and aside from about a year where they weren’t together, nothing ever did. elvie croft has been dating the same girl since he was fifteen and just keeps falling more and more in love with her.

it should be noted that astrea’s parents absolutely hate him and they always have. he didn’t do anything except come from a poor no name family, which was more than enough for them, so elvie was resorting to climbing through her window and helping her sneak out in the middle of the night so they could see each other for even five minutes. it’s a regular romeo juliet story. how disgustingly lovesick and On Brand™ for them.

a year later he started his youtube channel at the age of sixteen with margo & the camera that he got for his birthday. it’s basically buzzfeed unsolved supernatural. he’s the believer, she’s the skeptic, and they go looking for ghosts! it was an instant hit. with every video posted they were gaining subscribers in the dozens, then the hundreds, then the thousands. they weren’t even in college yet and they were already two of the most popular & beloved names in youtuber fandom.

attended nyu once they did get to college. tbh elvie didn’t really wanna go?? he doesn’t like school, so he technically studied business and was top of his class as per usual, but he was mostly just there to party and hang out with margo and finally get to be with astrea all the time. he loves her so much like i can’t stress this enough.

too bad for him bc he got DUMPED in their last year of college. astrea broke up with him and then immediately went to saudi arabia for a year. he didn’t take it well at all, but fortunately he’d be distracted soon enough.

elvie and margo were approached by netflix producers who basically wanted to turn their youtube channel into a tv show which turned out to be a really smart move because ghost gallery is a HUGE HIT. everyone’s seen it. everyone loves it. no one can seem to shut up about it. basically think of the hype around stranger things and you’ll understand how much everyone loves ghost gallery.

they’ve put out two seasons so far & are just about to start filming for season three which is scheduled for a late october 2019 release and elvie absolutely loves his show so he couldn’t be happier about it!

and now for a few other fast facts bc i SOMEHOW feel like i haven’t covered everything yet!

loves horror movies, halloween, and scaring people. by the age of twelve he was getting full grown adults to scream and run away from him in terror while he just laughed and laughed bc it was the best thing ever to him.

it’s been a running joke all his life that he doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything and who knows? maybe he isn’t.

his other major interest? everything 80s. tbh at least 90% of everything he’s ever said is an 80s movie reference, often too obscure for most people to even catch. 

he’s extremely rich bc he spends almost none of the money he earns from youtube and netflix. he grew up poor enough to have the mentality that he can’t just go around wasting money on whatever he wants even though he very well could without even making a serious dent in his bank account. at worst he might impulse buy some extra candy or smth but nothing more expensive than that

they type of eccentric genius who will solve a whole rubik’s cube in .0000000001 seconds like it’s nothing and act like it isn’t even a big deal bc he’s already distracted by something else entirely. it probs gives people a little whiplash tbh

PERSONALITY: elvie is nice, but he’s not for everyone. eccentric is probably the best word to describe him. he doesn’t do things the way everyone else does. he’s extremely hyperactive and very ~out there~ which is a combination that’s just Too Much for some people. he tends to come across as either witty and endearingly charming or loud and flat out annoying. so he’s kinda terrible at making friends but it doesn’t stop him from trying. in general he’s well liked if only bc almost everyone loves ghost gallery, but ofc there are outliers so pls feel free to hate him. tl;dr he’s completely harmless but maybe a little annoying, will just ramble at you for hours about ghosts and horror movies and the 80s and assume that you’re friends because of it.

CONNECTIONS

family

maternal cousin - willow sparks and alexandra blakely (distant)

paternal cousin, constant bickering - river espinoza

romantic

wife - astrea croft

unrequited crush - open

platonic

best friend, might bicker sometimes but ride or die 5ever - margo massey

acquaintances - torrance keynes, saywer duncan, open to more.

close friends - open to several.

family friends - rosalind cox, open to more.

friends -  jordan parkes, wren daily, reign monroe, sahar santini, genesis iver, ingrid larson, marialena goldstein.

online → irl friends - ginny baker

unlikely friends - eden o’ connor, open to more,

frenemies - beckley bovér, open to more.

negative

enemies - angel almeida, open to more.

bad terms - carson king, open to more.

ex friends - luna reyes, anastasia sangster.

he doesn’t tend to have a lot of enemies but whew he absolutely despises angel so if you like him then elvie probably doesn’t like you. 

[storytellingape]

london calling

NOTTING HILL AU

MCSACKLER

13,000 words (unfinished)

There are two things Thomas loves most in the world: London and a good book.

To a lesser extent he loves other things: a perfectly pressed shirt, the smell of fresh paint, and not the least finding good homes for all books in his possession. He has multitudes stowed away, books hidden in cupboards and wedged between shoeboxes, tucked away in tight nooks and corners while a dozen more spill forth from the depths of his dresser drawers.

Of course, it wasn’t always like this. There’d been a time when things were not in such a state of chaos, when books didn’t materialize at every turn like uninvited guests popping round for tea. Around that time, Thomas worked for Harrods where he kept a tight ship. He was terrific at his job, excelling in detail work; he knew where everything was even with his eyes closed and had a mental grid of every floor stamped into his mind. Then he lost out on a promotion: ten years of hard work crawling his way up from the till and Nigel Bannerman had sent it all tumbling down with a smirk but that’s a story for another time and almost futile to discuss.

The story is set in Windermere which is approximately 400 kilometers away from London. In a bookshop at the end of street with a hunter-green awning, Thomas McGregor flips the sign at the door from closed to open.

The shop, like his violent aversion to dairy and small animals, has been in his family for decades and Thomas has been  its sole proprietor ever since his uncle had legged it to Sussex to try his hand at beekeeping. It’s a dying business when most people prefer digital over print, the commercial familiarity of a big name brand over a shabby little bookshop that hasn’t had a facelift since Margaret Thatcher first became PM. The shop is a fire hazard waiting to happen, crowded and small, poorly lit.

Thomas’ uncle’s only condition before allowing Thomas to take over was that he leave everything as is, undisturbed and untouched. A man of nostalgia and tradition. Thomas has taken that to mean quite literally, electing to keep the unfortunate wallpaper, the brass deer bust, the rotary phone, the paisley sofa. On a regular day, the shop gets about half a dozen customers, rarely more. Most of them are repeat customers, regulars, or tourists asking for directions after mistaking the shop for an entirely different establishment altogether.

This is how Thomas meets his assistant Stensland, who’d wandered in one day and simply never left. That’s an exaggeration: he leaves after business hours and after getting into rows with customers who question his literary tastes. Thomas can’t even remember why he’d hired him, or when, or how; one morning Stensland was just sort of there, making coffee and eating scones, telling Thomas about the new Murakami novel and offering to clean the windows. He’s helpful. Most of the time.

McGregor’s sells all kinds of books: secondhand and brand new, academic and fiction, self-help and the Bible though really the pièce de résistance are the rare and obscure pulp novels sitting in a neat row on an isolated shelf. Mostly people ask for the latest young adult novel anyway or Stephen King, which Thomas stocks on occasion.

It’s easy to accumulate books this way: sometimes Thomas goes on day trips to Marylebone in London to check out what the other shops are selling, or he walks into Foyles or Hatchards to admire the sleek shelving. He always leaves with a book or two tucked under one arm, which he sells for half price back at home in Windermere after peeling off the tags. During these excursions into the city, he feels a kind of triumph but also a certain blankness that’s harder to define these days.

*

Home. Home wasn’t always Windermere. Home was London once upon a time, in a nice little neighborhood near Kensington where the exorbitant rent guaranteed the best views.

There’s nothing to see in the country: just farmland and small houses, and so much green. It’s beautiful, yes, but only to those who don’t have to suffer through it everyday. People see Windermere and imagine that life is easy, and that’s true to an extent but what they don’t know is that it is also slow and dismal; the monotony breaks you down in tiny increments. It’s not the kind of place where it’s easy to disappear. In London you can constantly make and remake yourself.

People know your business here; they know your last name, they know your family tree. Generations of McGregors have lived and died in Windermere but Thomas is the first one to set up shop out of necessity rather than choice. Harrods had spurned him by denying him that promotion. Not just any but the one he’d been eyeing since first setting foot in lower management, several years ago. He was still reeling from the betrayal, a year after the fact. His uncle’s offer of a job couldn’t have come at a better time though Thomas only meant to do it for a few months until he found his motivation to do anything again.

But time is a funny thing and filial obligations even funnier and this, this is his life now: shelving and re-shelving books, selling used James Patterson novels for 50p. He’s losing money faster than he can make it. And on top of everything else, he keeps amassing books and running out of places to put them. Thomas wonders how his uncle kept the shop afloat for over thirty years with his terrible bedside manner and aversion to teenagers who make up the bulk of their customer base. Thomas is a stark contrast; he breathes customer service and can chat up a complete stranger.

Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays see the shop’s peak in foot traffic. On weekends, there’ll often be a few tourists. Business fluctuates depending on the weather and season though that’s only true half the time. A typical day in the shop is punctuated by stretches of silence, interrupted from time to time by Stensland commentating on whatever it is he happens to be watching on YouTube. When the bell at the door tinkles, Thomas shuffles out of his little office in the back to assist the potential customer. That’s his favourite part of the day, when he gets to talk to people about their favourite novels and make recommendations based on the genres that interest them.

He has made it his mission to sell all the ‘hurt’ books sitting outside in a dusty box, books that have been dogeared to death and roughly handled because even books with shabby appearances have their worth and deserve a home. He hasn’t succeeded so far, the box is only a third empty, but one day they’ll all be gone and not because someone has stolen them. It’s this kind of sentiment that his uncle often berated him for; books don’t have feelings, he’d say. Stop anthropomorphizing them Thomas! They were made to be consumed.

“I’m going out for a walk,” Thomas says to Stensland on a day like all others as he massages a crick in his neck.

It’s a slow day and they’ve only sold two books and it’s already half past two. When he doesn’t get a reply, Thomas checks the counter where Stensland is planted throughout most of his shift and sees that Stensland is fast asleep, his arms folded across his chest, his head twitching forward intermittently. Not surprising as the only reason Thomas has hired him, he suspects, is for the company and occasional entertainment he provides, not his work ethic. He takes far too many froyo breaks and is late half the time. He reads sci-fi and trashy romance novels.

Thomas decides not to wake him. He’s gone for only an hour, walking around aimlessly. He goes for a coffee, and buys Stensland a buttered roll and his favourite blended drink, topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. When he returns to the shop, Stensland is nowhere to be found and there’s a man in a leather jacket hovering by the shelf of pulp novels. He already has three books in his grip: two on photography, the other self-help.

The man shoots Thomas a brief look when the bell at the door tinkles to announce his arrival. Thomas sets the drink and pastry down before offering the man his assistance. “Can I help you?” he says, remembering to keep a respectful distance. He folds his hands in front of himself and affects a bland, pleasant smile.

The man looks up. His smile shows a hint of dimple but it’s brief and he turns away again. Thomas has  a feeling he’s seen him before, though he can’t place when or where: not in town certainly, where he knows everybody. But somewhere. The man has a very distinct face.

“Do you work here?” Ah, and he’s American. Therein lies the rub. A tourist most likely. The man picks up The Case of the Seven Sneezes and rifles through the pages with a thumb. His eyes move along the text, never stopping.

“Well, it’s my name on the sign outside,” Thomas says.

“McGregor?” Abruptly, the man stops reading to give Thomas an appraising look that has Thomas feeling mildly self-conscious.

“Ah, not the McGregor,” Thomas says, clearing his throat. “That’s my great great grandfather but a McGregor. It’s a family business, you see.”

The man hums. He lifts a book to eye-level. You’re Lonely When You’re Dead, the cover worn from mishandling. His entire hand encompasses it spine to edge. He has massive hands. Everything about him is — massive. His presence fills the room. And still Thomas struggles put a name to his face.

“Are these any good?” He means the pulp novels. They’ve always been quite a conversation-starter; the lurid covers and outlandish titles attract everyone’s attention as does the sexual imagery.

“I haven’t read them yet,” Thomas confesses. He tried a few times but the writing could never sustain his interest. He prefers his literature maudlin, written before the turn of the century, peopled with solemn characters hellbent on murder, revenge, or rising above their station. “It’s an acquired taste like marmite or black pudding,” he continues. “They were popular in the 1930s a little bit before the first world war. They’re absolutely ridiculous but they have a kind of charm, I suppose, if you look hard enough. Some people collect them and sell them fifty times their worth on eBay. My uncle bought them as a young man; I imagine he’s read all of them.”

The man raises his eyebrows. “There are about a hundred of these that you’re selling. He’s read them all?”

“He had a lot of free time.” Thomas shrugs. “And he was a professor. Of literature.”

The man laughs, not meanly like a schoolyard bully, but in amusement, his dimples making another appearance. He’s handsome, and Thomas has only just started noticing this, hit by the sudden realization like a lighting bolt when the man grabs a handful of random pulp novels and flashes him a soft grin showing a hint of teeth.

“I haven’t read a book in a long time, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

“Are you visiting?” Thomas asks, as he rings up the man’s purchases. It’s an innocuous line of inquiry and there’s a moment of silence before he receives a reply.

“Kind of. I’m here for work.”

“You’re in Windermere. For work?” If Thomas sounds incredulous it’s because he’s never heard that one before. “This is often where people go to retire or hide from their mistresses,” he explains. “No one goes to Windermere for work.” Least of all men like this one who seem better suited to the whims of London. What does he do for a living, Thomas begins to wonder. He doesn’t seem like a businessman, or a corporate executive, or a banker though his clothes fit him very well and seem mortifyingly expensive. It’s the shoes that give him away. Thomas knows the look and style of high end brand; he worked for Harrods after all for ten thankless years. This man looks like he could afford shopping there.

“Are you, then?” The man prompts, and when Thomas gives him a confused look, he adds, “Hiding from a mistress?”

Thomas flushes, not meeting his eyes. Often when he makes small talk with customers, he’s met with either apprehension or polite letdown, never encouragement. It throws him off his game. “Ah, I’ve got no mistresses to speak of. That’s not really my area of expertise,” he says, “Women, I mean. And mistresses. Do you want a pastry to go with that? I seem to be babbling.” He holds up the buttered roll between them, which has sweated through the flimsy paper.

“Thanks,” the man laughs, accepting it.

Thomas hands him his change afterwards, a crisp one-pound note. “You saved this business by buying more books than the average patron. Thank you,” he jokes.

“I’ll be sure to come back then,” the man says with a smile. “I was going to steal them but now I’ve changed my mind.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing,” Thomas says. “As stealing is bad for business.”

The man laughs, then he mimes tipping a hat. When he’s left, Thomas slumps against the wall like a deflated balloon, feeling oddly winded.

The bell at the door chimes again shortly thereafter but it’s only Stensland, his assistant, panting and wearing a different pair of trousers.

“Sorry I left, it was an emergency,” Stensland says, wiping his hands across his bright-orange shirt, same as his hair. “I had to go number two and you know how bad the plumbing is here.”

His expression brightens when he sees that Thomas has bought him a drink. “Ooh, is that for me?” he says.

*

The weather in Windermere, for the most part, is pleasant and temperate. The rain is terrible. It stops for nothing and no one and goes on and on throughout the day, sometimes lasting deep into the night. It rains on a Wednesday, when Stensland is on his day off and Thomas has stepped out for lunch. There’s a deli across town with quaint seating and better Wifi than anywhere else, that makes the best quinoa and mango salad Thomas has ever had. He’s halfway into his lunch when there’s a sudden downpour. Thomas looks up at the sound of rain hitting the sidewalk and remembers where he’d left his umbrella. It didn’t rain in London as frequently as people who didn’t live there liked to believe but in Windermere the rain came often without warning. It could be sunny in the morning, then a torrent well into the afternoon.

An hour later when the rain shows no signs of letting up, Thomas braves the deluge and makes a run for it. It’s only a five minute walk if he hurries. He darts under awnings and bus stop roofs for cover, skidding and slipping in his brown leather shoes. Then he hears his name being called from across the street and he stops abruptly to whip around and face his interloper.

“McGregor!” the man says, and Thomas squints through the rain dripping into his eyes, trying to remember how he knows him. He meets a variety of people everyday, old and new customers, people who come back to the shop and people who don’t. “It’s you! What are you doing out here without an umbrella?”

The man jogs briskly towards him, tipping his bright black umbrella towards Thomas to shelter him from the rain. He stands close enough for Thomas to feel the warmth of him. Thomas notices for the first time the whiskery beginnings of a mustache and goatee. He smells nice, like expensive cologne, nothing too overwhelming or citrusy.

“Sackler,” the man says when Thomas continues to look at him blankly and noiselessly. “Adam. Though I don’t think I introduced myself last time. I saved your business? Bought a dozen books last week and you thanked me for my patronage.”

Thomas nods slowly. “Right,” he says as he remembers. The American. And now he has a name: Adam. They walk the rest of the way, avoiding wayward cyclists and other pedestrians with no trouble, Thomas wet as a drowned rat and just as pitiful while Adam tries his best to keep pace. Their shoulders bump a few times; they exchange smiles.

Thomas drips rainwater all over the carpet. He excuses himself for a moment, thudding up the stairs to the loft to change out of his clothes. He catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror just as he’s pulling a shirt over his head: the blindingly pale back that hasn’t seen a proper sun since 1998 and the narrow but soft waist. Still: nothing to be done about that and he’s made peace with his over all appearance in his thirty-four years of living. He emerges a fair bit later with a towel round his neck and his hair standing in static tufts, skin feeling clammy but otherwise dry.

Adam hasn’t left. Thomas catches him poking at the shelves and picking up books.

“Hi,” Thomas says, announcing his presence.

Adam tears his gaze away from a hardback edition of Jules Verne’s The Mysterious Island. He has shaggy dark hair framing his jaw and it softens the jut of his nose. “Hi,” he says.

“Thank you for the er —” Thomas gestures vaguely at the whole of Adam, trailing off. Handsome men don’t render him speechless all that often, but there’s something about Adam that makes his reflexes sputter a bit before he can find his footing. Maybe it’s to do with the fact he hasn’t had a handsome man walk into his shop, ever, barring that one night a detective in a red flannel shirt asked if he knew someone named O’Malley.

“Sure. Don’t mention it. I mean…” Adam shrugs, trailing off as well, but he does it in a charming way that isn’t as awkward.

“Would you like some tea?” Thomas asks, his usual tactic whenever a conversation hits a low point, which when you’re him is often. He finds that tea always fixes everything more so than a glass of scotch. Tea is warmth and home, a reliable source of comfort however brief; scotch is fist fight in a seedy back alley in Glasgow, leaving you concussed and missing a pair of pants in the aftermath.

“I’m more of a coffee man,” Adam says. Ah, Thomas thinks. A true American.

“I can make you coffee. If you like.”

Adam gives him a look of mild appraisal. He has eyes a shade lighter than his hair but they’re difficult to read and Thomas shouldn’t be looking into the eyes of strange men anyway so he breaks his gaze abruptly. “If you don’t mind,” Adam says.

Thomas excuses himself a second time to disappear into the kitchen upstairs.

Thomas lives in the loft above the bookshop, a cliché to end all clichés. His uncle has a house in the outskirts of town, with a lush garden and several spare rooms, but it always terrified him, the thought of living alone in such a seemingly infinite space as if he were a country governess in a gothic novel haunted by the unrestful spirits of his ancestors. Mostly, he hates being alone and living in cramped quarters lends the feeling of not-quite aloneness. Living in town means living with the noise of people and foot traffic which although pales in comparison to the city’s, reminds him enough of his days in London.

It’s not the same living conditions as he’s accustomed to: a sagging double bed tucked under the eaves and dingy yellowing wallpaper shadowed with the ghosts of posters past. There’s a kitchenette, a bath, a profusion of unhelpfully shaped cupboards which he uses to store new books. Six months ago he brought a reading chair upstairs and parked it next to the window so he could watch his patch of street outside and the comings and goings of everyone that passed his shop. He saw it all.

The kettle whistles and he finishes pouring the coffee. “Up here,” he calls, leaning over the banister to peer down at Adam who’s sat on the countertop and invested in twirling a complimentary Windermere postcard in his hands. He follows Thomas up the stairs, stopping abruptly to survey the room. The loft isn’t made to fit more than two people. Adam can cross it in several strides but it’s clean enough and cozy, outfitted with soft rugs.

“Fuck, wow,” he says. “Nice little setup you have here.”

Thomas doesn’t know if he’s being sarcastic but he accepts the compliment anyway.

“Sorry about the… smell. And the books.” Thomas clears a spot at the breakfast nook and invites Adam to sit. He realizes he hasn’t had anyone up here since he started running the shop. Well, except maybe for Stensland, but he mostly comes up to raid the fridge and nap during his shift.

“No it’s, it’s really cool,” Adam says. He glances around: the flypaper on the wall, the window fringed with succulents, the bed in the corner with mismatched quilts, and then back to Thomas again, his gaze lingering a beat too long.

Thomas flushes. His fair colouring makes him red down to his throat.

They sit at the table, knees bumping. There’s hardly any room but the same could be said for the loft itself. Thomas has laid out a plate of scones which he reheated in the microwave but they’re still as good as they had been this morning. The bakery that sells them makes them fresh every day.

Adam starts stuffing one in his mouth and eating with his mouth half-open. Thomas supposes no one can be perfect and discreetly flicks crumbs off his lap.

“How are the books?” Thomas ventures.

“I have a confession to make,” Adam interrupts him.

“Please don’t tell me you’re a serial killer and I’ve made the mistake of inviting you to my home,” Thomas says in a rush. Perhaps he’s been alone too long because Adam just stares at him for a long time before blinking.

“What?” he says, sounding mystified. “No, what? Do I look like a serial killer to you? I was gonna say I was a comp lit major in college but I didn’t do anything with it and I haven’t finished a book ever since I flunked out. No book ever resonated with me, but movies. I love movies. I’m more…into visual arts, you know what I mean? What’s the last movie you’ve seen?”

Thomas shrugs. “Forrest Gump?”

“Seriously?”

“It was on telly the other day.”

“Fuckin’ Forrest Gump?” Adam lets out a guffaw though he sobers up just as quickly when he sees that Thomas is not impressed. “I’m an actor,” he settles on.

Which explains why he looks so familiar, Thomas thinks. “Have you been in anything I’ve seen?”

“You know you’re the first one to ever ask me that in a while but to answer your question, no, probably not. I mean I’m not exactly Tom Hanks. I don’t make those kinds of movies.”

“What do you mean those kinds of movies?” Thomas says, genuinely curious. “The kind that gets awards?”

Adam gives him a wry smile. “Sure.”

“Well, at least you’re not in pornography,” Thomas says. “Or are you? Not that there’s anything wrong is that.”

Adam laughs again, giving Thomas a look that seems to vacillate somewhere between open amusement and utter disbelief. His smile could thaw snow drifts and cut glass at the same. It makes him seem dangerous but also like the kind of person who would help you change your tires in the middle of a deserted highway. “You think I could do porn?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested in Thomas’ answer.

“Well, you’re a strapping young man,” Thomas replies. And it’s true: underneath those clothes he’s probably a specimen. He works out; that much is clear to any impartial observer. Which Thomas happen to be. Completely impartial, in fact.

“You sound like an old person. ‘Strapping young man’? We’re the same fucking age, I bet.”

“I’m thirty-four,” Thomas sighs.

“Two years older then,” Adam hums. Then he picks up a book sitting on the kitchen counter. It’s the new one from Nora Roberts, rather dry and depressing, set in Turkey. “You’ve read this? All these books?” He gestures to the room at large, all the corners bursting with books. Thomas shakes his head and launches into a very long and involving story of how he’d ended up with more books than he knows what to do with, starting from the very first day he’d set up shop two years ago. It began with that first book which he’d purchased on the way to Windermere and read on the train there. There are brighter points in the story, emphasized by Thomas’ wild gesticulation, but mostly he rattles off the titles of all the books he’s bought since, like it’s a spelling contest where speed actually counts.

When he finishes, the rain outside has thinned to a drizzle and Adam has eaten all the scones, drunk all the coffee. The atmosphere is slow and settled. Adam’s half smile shows a hint of front teeth when he helps Thomas clear the table.

As Thomas is ushering him out, Adam’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He checks his messages and darts Thomas an apologetic look.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he says, sounding sheepish. It’s already late, judging by the grey haze outside softening the murk on the windows. “Thank you for the coffee, and the scones. And the uh life story I guess. I feel like I’ve gotten to know you really well.”

Thomas groans. “Oh  god. I talk too much don’t I?”

“A bit,” Adam admits. “Okay, you talk so fucking much but the accent makes it bearable, makes it kind of sweet.”

“Right,” Thomas says, trying to remember the last time he’d been called sweet. He has a memory of his mother back in primary school, sending him to class wearing a red bowtie and matching jacket. She died when he was eleven. Car accident, the usual story. Afterwards, he lived with various relatives, first in Cardiff, then in Berkshire where he spent most of his young life before moving to London at age twenty-one to try his luck. He got a job at Harrods after working six months as a telemarketer.  

Adam shrugs into his jacket, the same one from a week ago when he’d bought all those books. Thomas hands him his umbrella which he’d left drying by the door, a puddle now seeping into the soft rot of the floor.

Adam nods once he’s all sorted. “I guess I’ll see you.”

“I suppose,” Thomas says, though these words mean nothing and he keeps twisting his fingers into nervous pretzels.

Neither of them moves.

Finally, Adam blinks. “Do you have a business card? With your number on it and your address? Not your personal number or address, I’m not a freak, but the shop’s. It’s my last day in Windermere. I’m flying back to New York tomorrow and in case I find myself in your neck of the woods again, I want to make sure I have the right place. I have zero sense of direction. I’ll need a map to get anywhere. You’d think being a New Yorker I’d have better geographic sense but I spent most of my adult life drunk on booze so my memory is kind of fucked up.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you getting lost now do we,” Thomas says, as he hastily scribbles his number and address on the back of a receipt of a kebab place. His hand shakes. Business and personal information are practically interchangeable; after all he lives above the shop and his name hangs on a sign right outside it.

“We can’t afford a business card but I suppose that will have to do. Unless you want me to write you a map as well. In which case I wonder if I might interest you in a little travel pamphlet written by a lifelong local…”

“You wrote your name,” Adam points out, perusing the bottom of the receipt where Thomas had signed it. “Thomas. Thomas McGregor.”

“Force of habit,” Thomas says, forcing out a laugh. “Sorry. Anyway, do drop by whenever and don’t be a stranger.”

“Of course not. We shared such intimate life stories, how can I ever forget you?” He grins at the embarrassed look on Thomas’ face. “I’ll see you, Thomas,” he says, no less cryptic, then he’s off, and the door closes behind him with the jingle of a bell.

*

Stensland is quite the character. It’s difficult to fathom how he ever made it to his late twenties without being shivved in an alley or chased by a wild pack of dogs. He’s the worst employee Thomas has ever had the misfortune of hiring, but he’s useful in less discernible ways, more worldly. For example, he can name all the top 100 hits from the summer of 2013 backwards and forwards. He knows the names of all members of the pop band SClub 7, and he consumes more American media than is strictly healthy. Also he makes a great cup of Earl Grey and can haggle anyone including the baker.

One morning he bursts through the door armed with discount pastries and a pilfered copy of The Sun. “Thomas!” he cries, dropping everything onto the counter before shoving The Sun into Thomas’s chest, opened to a grainy photo of a familiar shopfront. “Thomas! I can’t believe you! You met Adam Sackler and you didn’t tell me? How could you?”

Thomas is confused. “Do you two know each other?”

“Well not as intimately as I like! But of course I know who he is! I don’t live under a rock! He’s only the star of every vivid sex dream I’ve ever had in the last five years, but also Detective Yorick, Captain Cobalt, and The Steely Eye.”

Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose. Sometimes Stensland speaks with no pauses or punctuation, making basic information hard to parse. Thomas suspects he learned how to communicate by watching wildlife documentaries as a child or making random noises with his mouth. “None of what you’re saying is making any sense to me. Slow down, Stensland, you’re giving me a headache.”

Stensland shakes his head at Thomas as if to say you poor pathetic sod, who knows nothing of the world and then points at the page again with a sugar-dusted finger. “You’ve made the shop famous. Look! People saw him coming here a few times and then leaving hours later. I’ve always thought you were a bit prudish but I guess you showed Adam Sackler a good time because he’s apparently talked about the shop on Graham Norton.”

Thomas finds all the blood draining from his face. “What?” he says, feeling faint. But there it is, on page 3 of The Sun under the heading ADAM SACKLER AND HIS BOOKSHOP ROMANCE? Several photos from that afternoon: of Adam walking him home in the rain, an umbrella over both their heads, of the two of them disappearing through the door of the shop, of Adam leaving hours later at sundown, alone. He knows what it looks like. But it can’t be farther from the truth.

“He mentioned the shop on Graham Norton?”

Stensland nods. “Says so in the article. Also apparently they think you’re some sort of witch, selling incense and pot along with all the books.”

A quick hop on Google pulls up a video clip of Adam on Graham Norton. It’s three minutes and forty-two seconds long, and he talks about his new movie where he’s playing an AI who mostly has his shirt off. Graham Norton asks if Adam has plans of ever coming back to the UK and Adam smiles in a calculated way before answering.

“Sure,” he says, and he’s more handsome in real life than he is under harsh studio lighting, “There’s this bookstore I’m fond of in Windermere called McGregor’s. I met the owner one time; he made me coffee and fed me like, fu[beep] scones fresh from the oven or some shit. It was all very charming and British. Very sweet. You should check it out if you haven’t.”

“This is in Windermere?” Graham Norton repeats, raising both greying eyebrows. The audience laughs while Adam looks mildly uncomfortable. “People go to die in Windermere, Adam. It’s the American equivalent of Arkansas, only posher.”

“Maybe someone with less imagination would think that,” Adam says mildly. “But I think it’s a really great place.”

The clip ends there. Stensland clicks out of the window and faces Thomas with his hands pressed to his hips.

“He should work for the local tourism board,” Thomas opines, still reeling from everything that’s happening: the realization that he’s met a famous actor and it slipped past his notice, the fact that there are photos of his family’s bookshop splashed across a tabloid read by thousands. That despite all this, he’s still sort of hoping Adam would walk through the door like he’d promised, asking for the latest Franzen.

“Tea and scones? Very British? It all sounds like a very euphemistic way of saying you gave him a blowjob then let him bend you over a desk! Three times!”

“Stensland,” Thomas says, horrified. “I didn’t have sex with him! I didn’t even know who he was, quite frankly, until today. I thought he was just an American, a tourist wanting to buy some trashy books! Is he really as famous as you say he is?”

Stensland’s expression softens, like ice cream melting in the shade. Thomas has only seen this expression once, when Stensland’s favourite couple broke up during season three of Dawson’s Creek after which he had to take a week off to recuperate even when he’d seen the episode five times.

“Oh no. You weren’t lying. You really don’t know who Adam Sackler is, do you? Poor thing.”

Stensland grabs the keyboard off the desk, typing Adam’s name into the Google search field. A dozen images and links pinwheel across the page. Stensland shows Thomas pictures, stills from movies Adam has been in. He’s worked with Liam, the lesser Hemsworth, Tom Hardy and Daniel Craig. He won an MTV award for Best Onscreen Kiss alongside a male costar whose name eludes Thomas, and he’s apparently openly bisexual.

But the real question is: “Why is his shirt always off?” And shiny with oils, Thomas doesn’t say.

“It’s a character choice.”

“He’s playing an alien in space. And in the last photo wasn’t he supposed to be playing an eccentric doctor?”

“Thomas,” Stensland sighs, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. “It’s part of his charm. He’s contractually obligated to have his shirt off in every movie.”

Thomas wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know. That seems a bit exploitative to me.”

“Hush,” Stensland says, holding up a finger, and the rest of Thomas’ afternoon is swallowed up watching clips of Adam on Youtube in between ringing up customers and re-shelving books. The experience leaves him feeling a bit strangely detached. He sees Adam in various scenarios: swimming in the ocean, locked in a sword fight, romancing a beautiful Parisian woman along the Champs-Élysées. In some of these clips he has his shirt off, in others, he’s grunting and soot-covered, wielding some sort of weapon.

Later in the day as he’s flipping the sign at the door closed, a camera flashes in front of Thomas’ face, leaving him blinking and blinking.

Sunspots dance in his vision and when he comes to seconds later, there’s a woman with very red nails standing just outside, holding a tape recorder. “Hi, I work for The Daily Mail, do you have a minute?”

*

To say that Thomas’ life changes after that is understatement. Reporters don’t arrive at his doorsteps in droves but a few drop by to visit and occasionally buy a few books in exchange for a sound bite. He says pretty much the same thing to all of them: that he sold Adam a few books, that he didn’t know who he was at the time, and that the scones Adam kept raving about had been bought from The Little Windermere Bakery which is right across town.

A few of his photos end up on The Daily Mail and Metro, all of them unflattering but one.

Stensland eats it all up.

Just as Thomas is fielding another reporter, his phone goes off in his pocket. Thomas has made it a point not to pick up calls from unknown numbers but it’s been a long day and his guard is down. He just had to explain to a journalist — six times — that he didn’t sell Adam Sackler anything illegal or dubious. But people will spin stories out of anything, it seems, especially if it’ll rake in money.

He excuses himself to a corner, leaving Stensland to answer questions. He’s more than happy to be the center of attention. Now that they have customers daily, he’s even started ironing his clothes and wearing proper footwear, not the socks and flip-flop combination he often prefers.

“Is this Thomas?”

Thomas narrows his eyes at the wall. “Who is this?” he asks, instantly suspicious. Only a few people know his personal number;  two are dead. It’s not information he gives away freely.

“It’s Adam.” A pause. “Sackler.”

“Ah,” Thomas says, and then he leaves the statement hanging because he doesn’t know what else to say. Little things leave him tongue-tied: dogs in appropriate swimwear, very hot soup, his uncle patting him on the shoulder and calling him son after Thomas had come to him confessing all his failures. He doesn’t know how this became one of them. It’s just Adam, a man he met a while ago. Then again he also happens to be one of Hollywood’s hottest rising actors, at least according to People Magazine and GQ. How is Thomas to conduct himself as if the fact doesn’t impress him in some base bourgeois way?

“Is it as bad as I keep imagining it is?” Adam asks, going right to the heart of it. “I saw the pictures on The Sun,” he explains. “My assistant showed me. Sorry I dragged you into my shit. You must hate me. Fuck, I’d hate me too. I mean I already do, I have to live with myself everyday, but fuck. Thomas?” He waits for a response.

“Yesterday, a gaggle of fans came by and waited for you, as if I was somehow hiding you under the counter,” Thomas says. This is true: Thomas ignored them for the most part and then caved and made them tea, the only polite thing to do in whatever social situation requiring the least possible interaction.

“Shit.” Adam winces but then he laughs. Laughter is always strange on the phone, because it sounds longer than it should be. But Adam’s laughter is deep and sonorous, like good whiskey, or the vibrations of a string instrument. And it cuts through Thomas like a knife, catching him off guard. These are strange times indeed.  

“I sent them away, each with a copy of The Hobbit under one arm,” Thomas tells him. “Really, you’ve brought me nothing but business.”

“Well, I guess that’s a good thing, if you’re telling the truth,” Adam says after a moment, “And Tolkien always makes for good reading though I really hated the last movie.”

“I’m surprised you know who Tolkien is,” Thomas jokes.

“Hey, I’m not as much of a Philistine as you probably think I am. I have taste; I have class. My interests are many and varied. Listen,” Adam says, and Thomas leans forward as if Adam were actually there, standing next to him and not oceans away. “I’ll be in town next week for a reshoot and I was wondering if I could. Come see you. I wanna make it up to you. It’s only a matter of time before TMZ gets a hold of you.” His voice drops to a whisper; Thomas suspects he’s hiding in a broom closet.

“You’re always welcome in my bookshop, you know,” Thomas says, confused by Adam’s sudden shyness. “And I don’t know who TMZ is, is that supposed to be rap group? Am I going to be the subject of a very explicit mildly derogatory song?” Thomas doesn’t think he can handle it, if he were. He likes his peace and quiet; he doesn’t want to be dragged out of hiding, immortalized in song.

“No,” Adam says, “What? Listen, so I can’t be seen anywhere near Windermere or my publicist will kill me but I’ll be in London staying at the Four Seasons at Park Lane under the name Evelyn Waugh. And before you’re impressed, no, I don’t know who the fuck that is but my assistant is the intellectual type; she thinks it’s really clever. We could have drinks or whatever the hell you want. Tea, I don’t know. Go on a boat ride on the Thames. You could show me around; I don’t know anyone in London who isn’t working for me in some capacity.”

“Well,” Thomas says, afterwards, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. That seems like a big commitment and he finds himself saying, “We’ll see,” which sounds breezy, promising and dismissive all at once. Safe. “If I’ve got nothing planned then I suppose maybe I can have my assistant run the shop on my behalf, take a day off…”

“Great! Perfect!” Adam says, “I’ll see you then!” he adds, and the line disconnects abruptly. That’s apparently that.

Thomas stares at his phone as if it might grow teeth any second. Then he pockets it and checks on Stensland, making sure he doesn’t show a complete stranger the tattoo on his left arsecheek.

*

London, London. It’s been two years but Thomas has yet to work up the courage to see his old neighbourhood. He goes on day trips to visit friends (Bea, just Bea) but he leaves old haunts well alone. He avoids them like the plague, prefers not to run into anyone he used to know: his manager at Harrods, the employees that used to be in his purview, Mrs Dalloway, his old neighbour with the fat cat and giant glasses like periscopes.

He tells himself it’s because he resents all of them, including London for spitting him out. But the truth is he’s ashamed of what he’s become in such a short span of time, a country bumpkin who startles easily in the midst of heavy crowds. Two years and he’d become complacent, changing shape to fit his surroundings. He’s gone soft in the interim, in more ways than one. He hates traffic with a passion, and prefers comfortable shoes over leather.

Stensland tells him he’s being ridiculous. “You’re being ridiculous,” Stensland says, pulling his jacket tighter around himself and furtively glancing around the street. He’s lived in the country for years, after a decade of living like a Nomad: Dublin, Seattle, West Virginia. He’s more well-traveled than Thomas but a lot less savvy, free of any chips on the shoulder. It’s why Thomas brought him along despite initial misgivings; he needs an anchor. Also he doesn’t trust Stensland not to burn the shop to the ground in his absence, and he’s due a trip outside Windermere anyway. And a paid vacation.

“I can’t believe he’d asked to see you,” Stensland muses as they walk down Oxford Street.

“He didn’t ask to see me, Stensland,” Thomas reminds him, because really, Adam didn’t. He just bandied the suggestion about, leaving it hovering for Thomas to snatch up. Who knew Thomas was a greedy bastard. Frankly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all. This seems like a terrible idea whichever way you look at it, and Thomas hates that he’s having this epiphany days after he’s paid for a twin room at a modest hotel and made plans to see Bea for dinner. He’ll only be in London for a few days but it’s unlike him to visit without having planned the trip months in advance.

Then again maybe he needs spontaneity which he finds he’s been sorely lacking ever since he changed locales and settled in the country. He steels himself for certain disappointment, however. Better safe than sorry.

“You need to calm down,” Stensland admonishes him for the third time that day after Thomas complains about a phantom stomachache, an effect of self-induced stress and overthinking. “You’re looking a bit peaky.” When Stensland rubs the pad of his thumb along the tip of his tongue and starts dabbing it across Thomas’ cheek in careless swipes, Thomas jerks violently out of reach.

“Sorry,” Stensland mutters, looking embarrassed, “My mother used to do that to me whenever I was feeling restless. Got your attention though, didn’t it? Now come on, I’m hungry for some fish and chips…”

“But we just ate!” Thomas states, staring at him, completely mystified. “I’m not made of money, you know. That last meal is coming out of your paycheck, I can’t afford another seafood buffet. Stensland, what on earth, where are you going — wait for me!”

But Stensland pays his warnings no heed. He drags Thomas around all of London until they’re too tired to walk anymore and have eaten their weight in all the artisan shops selling anything fried and remotely Mediterranean. In the afternoon, they take the tube, and fall into step with crowds that flow and converge like a wave. Thomas feels vaguely ill, clutching at his belly afterwards.

He gets the call shortly before dinner when his poor feet have been comfortably elevated and he’s halfway into a doze. Stensland is in the shower, singing something off-key, the bathroom door left ajar because he’s a paranoid bastard. The telly is a pleasant fuzz in the background, a wash of ambient noise that tugs heavily at Thomas’ eyelids. He almost doesn’t hear his phone buzz on the nightstand until Stensland points it out to him, having ambled out of the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around his skinny waist. He’s as pale as a washboard, and narrow as a pole. Good heavens.  

“Would you please put some clothes on?” Thomas begs, shielding his eyes as he cups his phone with a free hand while he presses the other over his eyes. He answers the call without thinking. “Thomas McGregor,” he bites out with perhaps more venom than necessary.

“It’s me,” says Adam. “Adam. Sackler.”

As if Thomas doesn’t know who it is just from the timbre of voice. He hasn’t been driving himself mad wondering if he’s simply making a colossal fool of himself by agreeing to have dinner with  none other than Adam Sackler, no, not at all. But it’s just dinner anyhow: a meal between two people, nothing more, nothing less. Maybe some alcohol. He’s probably getting worked up over nothing. As usual.

“My schedule cleared up for the rest of the night. Are you busy?” Adam asks, and it feels like a long time before Thomas finally gathers the courage to speak. He clears his throat, and his response is an eloquent, “Um.”

*

There are two truths Thomas knows about himself: one is that he hates surprises, another is that he hates being kept waiting. The lobby of the Four Seasons is sleek and modern, marble flooring and glass chandeliers. Thomas could afford a room here if he were a Russian oligarch, or if he were a famous actor that made a lot of money like, say, Adam Sackler.

Adam’s assistant meets Thomas behind a row of potted ferns. A short woman, on the side of stocky, in smart heels and a crisp shirt. In comparison, Thomas feels underdressed in a comfortable jumper and a pair of pleated slacks that make him look like a professor of philosophy more than anything else, or like old pictures of his dad. Thomas has seen a few of them growing up, in photo albums and his mother’s wallet, though he can’t remember him being present for most of his childhood.

“Mr McGregor?”

Adam’s assistant has a handshake that doesn’t bely her appearance; it’s firm and purposeful and she grips Thomas’ hand hard. Her name is Sang Hee. She stares Thomas up and down and then presses a keycard discreetly onto Thomas’ palm. Apparently, it’s all very hush hush.

“He’ll be ready for you in fifteen minutes,” she says, nodding at him before striding off.

Ready for what? Thomas doesn’t know. And he doesn’t get to ask because Sang Hee leaves without explaining anything. He waits, then takes the lifts at the prescribed time, wandering down a carpeted hallway and counting the gilded numbers on all the doors until he reaches the right one. He hesitates a few times before rapping his knuckles against the wood.

The door opens with a click, and it’s Adam, barefoot and wearing only jeans. He’s painfully attractive and it makes Thomas ashamed to be standing in the same room as him, breathing the same air. But the ogling ends as soon as it begins because Adam frowns at him when he sees him standing in the hall.  

“Shit, shit, shit. It’s you.”

“Hi,” Thomas says, noting the lack of enthusiasm in Adam’s expression, his voice. He’s standing with his arms braced against the sides of the open door but Thomas can see the room behind him, in violent disarray. He seems to have company. Thomas can hear the heavy stomp of feet, someone’s voice shouting.

“Thomas,” Adam says, already sounding repentant, “I’m sorry but you came at a bad time.”

“What?”

“It’s my ex,” Adam says, minimizing the berth of the door as he steps outside. “She found out I was doing this movie, and she’s saying I lack artistic integrity, and I don’t know why she cares so fucking much when we’ve been broken up for months. And it’s… fuck, it’s complicated. You don’t need to hear this.”

“Well,” Thomas says, when the smile has all but frozen on his face. “I’m sorry to hear that. It does sound a bit…much.”

Adam shrugs. Thomas tries not to stare at his collarbones. It’s different seeing them up close, in real life, nice, a little surreal, though the effect is marred by the bad timing. Thomas feels himself stumble, blinking stupidly at the sudden draining of energy.

Adam says, “It is what it is but I’ll call you, okay?” Then he starts walking backwards into the room behind him. With one hand on the door he promises one last time, “I’ll call.” And shuts the door in Thomas’ face though he probably doesn’t mean to be so rude. The number on the door is gold plated, distorting Thomas’ reflection.

Thomas stands there in the hall for a full minute before sliding the keycard under the door. Then he leaves and goes on his way.

*

Stensland is eating a bowl of Shepherd’s pie and getting crumbs all over the bed when Thomas returns an hour later. He perks up and flashes Thomas a crazed grin as soon Thomas barrels through the doorway, sitting up quickly and revealing the fact he’s only wearing a flimsy pair of boxers along with his pyjama top. “How’d it go? And why are you back so early?”

At the dour look Thomas throws him, Stensland’s smile abruptly fades. “He was busy,” Thomas proclaims, voice muffled against the pile of pillows he’s thrown himself on top of. His feet hang off the edges of the bed and he feels immediately silly, like a child, having a pout, not a full grown adult whose secret hopes were suddenly and irreversibly dashed. Then again what was he expecting? A private invitation to Adam’s hotel room should have been suspect, his first tip off that something was amiss. Thomas is not that kind of guy.

“What do you mean busy?”says Stensland, peering over Thomas’ shoulder and poking it.

Thomas spits out a wad of fabric. “He told me he’d call me, that I came at a bad time.”

“Uh-oh.” Stensland rubs Thomas’ arm in commiseration, or he would if Thomas let him and didn’t flinch away as soon as he reached out. It’s nothing personal; any unsolicited touching just made him feel uncomfortable, threw him out of his element. Something to do with how he was raised; his family didn’t do hugs.

Stensland continues tsking. “Bullshit! He made you go through all this trouble only to bail on you. He sounds like an utter dick.”

“He’s probably just really busy,” Thomas disagrees, and feels another hot flash of disappointment that quickly morphs into dark self-satisfaction of having successfully avoided a catastrophe before it could happen. He rolls onto his back, hands folded over his stomach, drumming his fingers listlessly. “What are you watching?” He cranes his neck at the telly.

Stensland hands him a spare fork before answering. “Top Gear.” He grins as he shimmies down next to Thomas, sitting with his legs folded on the bed. In another life, they would have been the best of friends, but probably not in school where they would have hated each other. He would have hated Adam then, too: too handsome for his own good, and obnoxiously athletic.

“Shepherd’s pie?” Stensland offers, cutting him off from his ruminations. “It’s all gooey and warm.” The pie smells heavenly, flaky on the outside, still fresh.

“Where on earth did you get that?” Thomas wonders aloud, but he knows he shouldn’t be asking; Stensland is always full of surprises, sometimes delightful, other times outrageous. This time, Thomas accepts his cryptic shrug as a veritable response and helps him decimate the rest of the pie until there’s nothing but crumbs and scrapes of filling left.

They call it a night just after ten pm. Stensland is already fast asleep by the time Thomas finishes brushing his teeth and changing into his pyjamas, snoring with his mouth open on the pillow. Thomas checks his phone before he goes to bed. No messages at all, not that he’s surprised, though a part of him can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment more self-directed than anything. He shuts off the desk lamp before he can truly feel sorry for himself and lets Stensland’s waxing and waning snores lull him to sleep.

*

If there’s one thing Thomas knows about Beatrice is that she loves a good pint. She can drink anyone under the table but still be clearheaded enough afterwards to find her way back to Covent Garden with one eye closed. She swears by The Curtains Up on Comeragh Road in Hammersmith, a little too close to Thomas’ old neighbourhood but the pub is notoriously difficult to book: comfortable, elegant, with a white and red awning, quiz nights on Tuesdays and Fridays. He can’t refuse.

Thomas drags Stensland along because this is what they both have in common: a self-destructive nature and tendency to drink their problems away. Their problems may not have disappeared in the morning, but alcohol is an excellent inducer of temporary amnesia and sometimes that’s as good as it gets.

All three of them squeeze into a booth, Thomas sandwiched between.

“Thomas,” Bea is saying, disbelief writ in the lines of her mouth, “I can’t believe you’ve actually met him, and that he invited you up to his—” her voice drops to a whisper as she ducks her head, “—hotel. I think the only famous person I’ve ever met was that bloke from Big Brother and even then I wasn’t sure if it was really him in the end.”

Stensland snorts. “He’s a dick. An utter dick! And it’s been a day and he hasn’t called Thomas at all even though he promised!” He slams his drink down on the table, sloshing Aspall Cyder everywhere.

“He said he was busy!” Thomas argues though he doesn’t know why he’s defending Adam the same time he’s complaining about him. A part of him is glad to have nipped whatever that had been in the bud well before it could begin; a week before he was followed around by paparazzi on his way to the grocer’s and the post office. Days later, there were more pictures of him on The Sun, as if his daily chores were somehow of interest to the reading public. He’s thankful his uncle doesn’t read the drivel, more inclined to The Economist and The Daily Telegraph. Otherwise he’d probably have a few questions. Thomas doesn’t need that kind of complication in his life. He’s happy, in some ways, with his new life, left alone to brood in peace.

“Forget about him, Thomas,” Bea tells him, raising her glass. “There’s plenty of other fish in the sea!”

Thomas’ upper lip twitches, a valiant effort not to pout or frown or do something with his mouth that may bely his true sentiment on the matter. “What’s there to forget?” he says, “I barely even knew the man. Good riddance, I say! I’m better off!”

“I guess I’ll delete those pictures of him now from my computer,” Stensland muses, “You know, in fealty of my employer/friend. An entire hard drive’s worth.”

Bea raises her eyebrows. “What.”

“I’m joking. But he’s a really good actor. Until he made those movies.” Stensland sighs, his expression turning from disgusted to dreamy in a heartbeat. “The ones with his shirt off.”

“Can we please, please talk about something else?” Thomas begs, fighting the urge to grab at his hair, or throw himself in front of a passing car. “Are we not here to catch up?”

“You two are here to catch up, I never even met Bea before today, and I’m only here for free drinks,” Stensland points out unhelpfully.

Thomas ignores him, then glances up when Bea pats the back of his hand, his responses slowed down by alcohol that he fails to shrug off her grasp until too late. More quietly, she says, “Are you all right though? I mean barring that incident with He Who Shall Not Be Named—”

“You can call him by the name, you know. He’s not Voldemort.” Thomas rolls his eyes. He’s starting to hate how Stensland and Bea seem to be under the assumption that he’s just got his heart broken when nothing of the sort happened, and he didn’t even like Adam all that much anyway. What truly bothers him is the fact he’d made a trip out of seeing him: that’s money spent that could very well have been saved and all that effort gone to waste. But at least he got to see Bea again. They haven’t seen each other in six months.

“All right,” Bea nods, giving Thomas her best sad-eyed baby doe look. “How’s the shop, then? How’s your uncle? You know I’ve been meaning to visit but with right now I’m swamped with — work. But we’re still on for dinner tomorrow night, aren’t we? You can bring Stensland along.”

Sometimes, Thomas marvels over how lucky he is to have a friend like Bea in his life. Admittedly, he’s not the most pleasant person to deal with, with a list of neuroses longer than his arm, but for some reason or another she’d stuck around ever since that day they had bumped into each other at the Farmers’ Market in Marylborne and fought over the last of the gouda cheese.

If he liked women as much as he liked men, Thomas would have probably dated her, married her, began a life with her. But just like him, Bea has awful taste in men and is never in a relationship long enough to develop any true romantic feelings, another thing they have in common. She prized her art above all. Some of it, the ones of anthropomorphized rabbits, is actually good.

“You know I won’t miss it for the world,” Thomas says, giving Bea a genuine smile that she returns with a clink of their glasses.

They get drunk on vodka and horrible whiskey before the night is over, and stumble out in single file before Stensland has them thrown out of the pub with all the racket he’s making. Apparently he has a tendency to cry when he’s three sheets to the wind. Thomas, meanwhile, is a blank slate, completely silent. He feels like he’s watching everything from a distance, far removed from it all like an impartial observer. Which is why when his phone rings in his pocket, he lets Bea pick up the call for him, frowning and shaking her head when she see who it’s from.

“Hello?” she says, losing all volume control, finger plugged into one ear. “No, this isn’t Thomas. And no, you can’t speak to him right now. I know who you are, yes, yes, I’m not an idiot! He’s busy. He’s a busy man! I can’t tell you what he’s busy with, that’s an invasion of privacy. No, you’re being difficult. Sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong number. You’re cutting in and out. What? I can’t hear you. Oops!” She hangs up the call.

Thomas blinks at her, looking up from where he’s watching Stensland hug a streetlamp.

“Who was that?” Thomas asks, a bland smile on his face as Bea slips his phone back into the pocket of his coat. She smiles and pats him good-naturedly on the cheek, and he allows the touch because he’s otherwise too tired and drunk to protest.

“Oh, just your plumber,” Bea says, laughing. She takes a taxi home. Thomas watches the taxi put onto the street before flagging one for himself and Stensland. It’s been quite the day. Miraculously, they make it back to the hotel with time to spare before midnight, kicking their shoes and clothes off before flopping down onto the covers, belly-first. Stensland is the first one out, but that’s hardly a surprise.

The next day finds Thomas groaning awake, telling himself he has to make better life choices. It takes him ten minutes to drag himself out of bed and realize that he’d fallen asleep last night with his pants tugged halfway down his knees, causing him to stumble and knock his chin on the floor. Perfect. On the bed next to his own, Stensland sleeps soundly, in a more chaotic state, with one hole-ridden sock still on and his arse cheek hanging out of boxers.

Thomas sighs and throws a blanket over him, then spends nearly half an hour in the shower until his skin is pink from the hot water and he feels halfway alive. He takes two aspirin for his hangover and is folding his laundry to pack in his carry-on when his phone slips out the pocket of his coat. He picks it up and checks his messages: twenty-two missed calls and at least a dozen texts — all from Adam, one from Adam’s assistant,  Sang Hee. He reads them in chronological order:

-HEY DID U LOSE YOUR PHONE? SOME1 ELSE PICKED UP

-THOMAS

-R U STILL IN LONDN? HOPING TO CATCH U

BEFORE I LEAVE FOR NY ON FRIDAY

-THOMAS

- SORRY ABOUT THE OTHER DAY, REALLY WANTED TO SEE U  

BUT MY CRAZY EX FOUND OUT WHERE I WAS STAYING & GAVE ME SHIT FOR

DOING A MOVIE FOR “MONEY” U SHOULDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT

-thomas

Thomas wonders if he should respond, but less than a second later the choice is taken out of his hands when the screen starts flashing. An incoming call from Adam, as if summoned by the static waves of Thomas’ uncertainty. In a fit of mild panic, he ends up answering the call.

“Thomas?” Adam sounds relieved. “I thought — never mind what I thought. Are you pissed at me?”

Always cutting straight to the chase, this one. Thomas presses the heel of his hand between his eyes. The aspirin has yet to kick in, and he needs caffeine badly. “I’m not angry at you,” he replies evenly.“Why would I be?”

“Well, for starters if it wasn’t for me your pictures wouldn’t be all over the British tabloids,” Adam says, “And I kicked you out the other day when I invited you to my hotel. I’d be pissed at me too; I’d be livid. So: sorry. I’m sorry.”

As far as apologies go it seems genuine though that could also mean he’s just one hell of a good actor. Still, it’s too early for Thomas to pick up apart the nuances in his tone, so he settles for a simple, “Apology accepted.”

Adam sputters. “What?”

“What do you mean what?”

“That’s it? ‘Apology accepted’?” Adam sounds incredulous, and maybe he has the right to be: Thomas’ acceptance of his apology may as well have sounded far too much like a dismissal.

“It’s really quite all right,” Thomas assures him, only half-lying, feeling awkward trying to quell Adam’s doubts. “You had… business to iron out. And I was just visiting. Bad timing can’t be helped. Perhaps another time, when we’re both less caught up in other commitments. We can make plans then.”

The way he says it sounds so abstract, like the opportunity is never going to materialize, which is just the effect he wants. He’ll leave things open; there’s less disappointment that way. Less involvement.

“At least let me make it up to you,” Adam says, and he sounds like he’s pacing the room, his voice warping with static as Thomas listens to him breathe, stomp, and move around vaguely over the phone while Thomas  himself remains seated and completely rooted to one spot. He’s never met someone so alive, someone with so much vim and verve it’s any wonder how Adam’s personality doesn’t burst through his skin.

“I’m not a complete asshole. Or at least, I’m not anymore,” Adam tries. “I’d like to think I’m not anymore. I’ve reformed. I’m a reformed asshole.”

“You really think you could charm everyone don’t you? With your — your words,” Thomas says haltingly.

“Is it working?” Thomas can almost hear the smirk distorting Adam’s voice. He’s a cocky bastard, a trait that would be a character flaw in anyone else except him. It should be infuriating and yet. Thomas sighs, giving up. It’s too early for this. He’s not awake or caffeinated enough.

“There’s this cafe on Shepherd’s Bush that makes the best fry-ups,” Thomas begins, in lieu of answering Adam’s question. “I’ll meet you there at half-past nine.”

“Bossy,” Adam notes with a short laugh, “I like that. Are you sure you don’t want me to send a car for you?”

Thomas refuses to be any more of a cliché than he currently is and says as much. “I can take the tube from my hotel, thank you,” he replies curtly.

“Where are you staying anyway?” Adam asks, trying his best to be subtle and failing like an elephant on roller skates. “I could put you up somewhere better, somewhere with an actual view instead of—”

“Good day, Mr Sackler,” Thomas says pleasantly and hangs up the phone.

The Liz Café doesn’t make the best fry-ups in all of West London, that is a complete and utter lie, but it’s home to Thomas in a way that the posh restaurants in Kensington have never been; nothing in Chelsea or Bloomsbury could ever compare. The menu at St. Luke’s Kitchen is a close second but only because Thomas can’t resist a good croissant.

The outdoor seating at the Liz Café is always overrun with smokers but inside it’s beautiful lit and cozy, with just enough room to elbow the next guest. Everything on the breakfast menu is below £7. The toast is plentiful, the coffee strong enough to knock out a horse, the grease flowing. The servers are friendly which is more than what Thomas can say for some of the more upscale establishments in Soho.

Thomas looks up from a copy of Horse & Hound that someone had left on a nearby table when a shadow looms over him. He lifts both eyebrows, though before he can say Adam’s name, Adam presses a finger to his own lips and shushes him. Then he plants himself on the squeaky chair across from Thomas, shrugging out of his coat.

Thomas stares at him. The intent is to probably look innocuous but it succeeds in doing the exact opposite. Adam’s in an all-black ensemble, a black coat and turtleneck, a black beanie, designer sunglasses, also black. Thomas resists the urge to check under the table though he has a nagging suspicion Adam’s footwear is not exempt from this rule. He looks like he’s about to rob a bank.

“I had my driver drop me off three blocks from here and then take two detours, in case anyone followed me,” Adam says by way of greeting. He picks up the menu card and starts perusing his options, flipping it back to front and then back again. Thomas can feel his knee bob under the table; he’ll make a note of this later but for now he’s still staring.

Adam looks ridiculous. He looks good, he’ll probably look good wearing nothing but a sack, but he looks ridiculous nonetheless. Thomas shakes his head.

“Well, better late than never, I suppose,” Thomas says, after a moment. “On the bright side, you didn’t get lost which should count as a win.”

“I hope you didn’t have to wait very long,” Adam says, even though it’s half past ten already, an hour after they’d agreed to meet, and Thomas’ Earl Grey has gone very cold. “I’ll pay for breakfast. I’ll even pay for your Uber. God, you must be sick of me by now. I don’t think I ever run out of excuses. Anyway. Hi.” He leans back in his seat, making it creak on its hind legs, then glances around to check if anyone is watching them.

They’re in the furthest corner of the room; Thomas had picked the spot specifically so nobody would bother them. It’s not within direct eyeline of the door, hidden from view by an open-display fridge. Adam hunches forward, propping his arms on the table and lowering his head. He glances up at Thomas through a curtain of hair, unfairly emotive with his eyes.

Thomas has to look away before he does something embarrassing like wax poetic about the depth of his eyes shining like black moonless pools. He fiddles with the hem of his cardigan instead. He’s worn jeans today and looks a little less like a fussy librarian.

“I like it here,” he finds himself saying, beginning a story that spirals out of him without his permission, “I lived in the area years ago and I would come here every other day or when I was hungover and had a hankering for haggis. And the smell of bread takes me back.”

“You were a baker?”

“Don’t be daft,” Thomas cuts him with a look. “There are just smells I associate with my youth, bread being one of them.”

“You talk like you’re sixty or something,” Adam observes. “Like you’re this old fucking soul who’s lived a rich past life.”

“I like to think I’m just highly evolved,” Thomas says.

“Likely,” Adam agrees. “It’s what makes you so intimidating.”

Before Thomas can press him about that Adam barrels on, “Is it true what you said in that article in The Sun? That you had no fucking idea who I was when you met me? I thought it was pretty weird, you know, when you didn’t seem all that impressed when I told you who I was. Most people are.” He says that with such a straight face Thomas wonders if he’s joking.

“It’s nothing personal,” Thomas says. “I’m just, ah, rather difficult to impress.”

Adam’s smile is wide, but this time it creases his eyes, shows his teeth. “I’m starting to see that,” he says. He lifts the menu card. “Should we order?”

“Yes please,” Thomas says. “I’m starving.”

Adam laughs.

*

Brunch is not as terrible as Thomas had been anticipating. Adam doesn’t go easy on the charm, keeps trying to make him laugh by astute observations of their surroundings, keeps bumping his knee against Thomas’ under the table or at least keeps attempting to if not for Thomas’ smooth deflections. It all feels very strange and surreal all due to the fact it feels deceptively normal. Thomas isn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Paparazzi maybe or being hounded by Adam’s fans. But no one bothers them all throughout their meal or takes their picture and when it’s time to pay the bill, Adam offers to cover it and leaves a hefty check that has Thomas’ eyes growing wide as saucers.

“Oh,” Thomas says, a little more than winded.

“I was a server once in a shitty Italian restaurant in Brooklyn,” Adam tells him, a glitter of amusement in his eye. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always rolling in money.” Then he winks and climbs to his feet. They fall into step with each other outside where the weather is clear and crisp for the first time in days, with a sky absent of the promise of rain. Pedestrians pass them by headed opposite directions; none give them a second glance. Maybe Adam’s little disguise is effective after all. Thomas should give him a little credit.

“Well,” Adam grins, hands folded behind his head. The action pulls his shirt up a little, revealing a patch of toned stomach. Thomas swallows.

“I had a great old time,” Adam begins.

“Lovely,” Thomas echoes and pivots his gaze back to Adam’s face. It seems like he’s caught Thomas staring because his grin doesn’t falter in the least.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?” Adam asks abruptly.

“What?”

“I’d like to have you for dinner if that’s okay,” Adam says. “I mean, with you. With you. Dinner with you.”

Thomas stares at him. And stares and stares. Brunch he can understand but now Adam wants to have dinner too? Will wonders never cease?

“Normally that constitutes a meal, some conversation. Maybe drinks afterwards except I’m banned from drinks now as I’m a recovering alcoholic…” Adam trails off.

“No, no, I know what you mean.” Thomas rolls his eyes. Then his train of thought is derailed once he’s hit with the sudden realization that Bea’s dinner is tonight. She makes the best Yorkshire pudding. “I can’t tonight. I promised my friend I’d come over for dinner.”

Adam nods though it’s clear from his expression that he’s trying to quell his disappointment. Thomas will have to examine why but that’s for a later time.

“Right, yeah, no problem,” Adam says. “Maybe some other time then.”

“Yes, well, some other time,” Thomas nods back.

Adam turns to go. He’s halfway down the street when Thomas jogs after him, propelled into action by some unseen impulse, the same impulse perhaps that once encouraged him to thrash a ten foot teddy bear and decimate an entire room’s worth of toys. “Adam,” he calls, “Adam!” He knows he’s going to regret this.

Adam turns, stares at Thomas in confusion, Thomas who is huffing and in the midst of what can very well be considered an asthma attack from what is simply light exercise. “You all right?” He looks concerned.

“Yes, just a little short of breath, I think. Do give me a moment.” Thomas straightens and smooths out his hair once his breath has settled. He’s worked up a sweat too but that’s to be expected of a sedentary lifestyle. The most exercise he gets these days is the short walk from the bookshop to the deli or the bakery, and then back. Sometimes he likes to spice it up and walks all the way to the pharmacy but that’s hardly here nor there. “You can come to dinner if you like. If you don’t mind burnt roast beef but the best Yorkshire pudding you’ve ever tasted in your life.”

Adam looks at him thoughtfully. “Burn roast beef? You drive a hard bargain Thomas McGregor,” he says. Then he  grins.

Thomas keeps an eye on the roast beef while Bea regales him with stories of her many aborted attempts to quit her copyediting job to focus on her art full time. She’s getting progressively tipsy on rosé, she’s started to gesticulate wildly, but the pies are looking lovely sitting on the counter cooling and Thomas knows how to hide the alcohol should she reach for it one more time. The doorbell cuts Bea off mid-rant, halting her from knocking Stensland in the face with a wayward arm.

The chime goes off three times before Stensland puts the potato peeler down and promises to get it, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Hold on! I’m coming, I’m coming! Keep your trousers on,” he grumbles. “Are we expecting anyone?”

Bea shrugs, lobbing Thomas a worried look. “I don’t know. Are we?”

“Thomas it’s for you!” Stensland calls from the door.

It’s Sang Hee, Adam’s assistant.

“I hope you like cake,” she says, handing Thomas a box emblazoned with the famous Cutter & Squidge logo. “Mr Sackler can’t come tonight, I’m afraid. But he does sends his apologies. He’s a very busy man.”

“I’m sure,” Thomas says.

[veryangryhedgehog]

“Time to Form the Scooby Gang,” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

As soon as Cindy hung up the phone, Tommy started grabbing his stuff. He knew from experience that he wasn’t going to have to seek out Cowell to get out of work, and sure enough, there he was a split second later, sitting calmly at the bar.

“Going to save your brother already?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Going to try. And not going to ask how you know that.”

“Best not,” he made a funny face, then stood. “Well, it looks like we’re closing up shop early today…”

~~ o ~~

Aurum was studying the runes on the hilt of a thousand-year-old sword when Servus scrambled in, pantomiming a telephone next to his ear.

“Lucius?” she asked after picking up the old rotary phone she kept just outside the office. “You’re calling awfully late.”

“Something big’s happening, Aurum. We’re assembling a posse. Can we meet at the East Branch?”

“Of course,” she blinked. “You’re on your way already, I take it?”

“You know me too well. Thanks, Aurum.”

She hung up the line, and put on a pot of coffee. It was going to be a long night.

~~ o ~~

The air was tense as Marcell and Cindy sped through the darkened streets in the Ford Falcon. Marcell kept stealing glances away from the road to look at Cindy. Her face was hard, nearly angry, but her hands shook.

“You’re planning on breaking him out, aren’t you?” he sighed.

“Of course,” she said simply.

He shook his head. “Well, if we’re going to do this, we’ll need all the help we can get. I don’t suppose you know anyone who’d be helpful in a rescue mission?”

Cindy only had to think for a split second. “Well,” she began. “There is someone…”

~~ o ~~

Lila was failing to fall asleep when she got the call.

The old flip phone on the ground next to her head began vibrating violently, and the small screen lit up the room with a harsh, white light. Who the hell would call her this late at night? Figuring it was some robot telemarketer, she hit the button without looking at the name and held the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she mumbled, blinking.

“Lila?” It was Cindy. Lila couldn’t help hearing the slight hitch of panic in her voice. “You know that favor you and Niko owe me?”

“What do you need me to do?” She threw the blankets aside and stood, already fully dressed. Even after several months of hiding without incident, she still couldn’t get out of the habit.

On the other end, Cindy sighed. “My brother’s in trouble. We’re assembling a party and meeting at the East Branch of the library.”

“The library?” she asked. “Why there?”

“You’ll… see when you get there,” was the only explanation given.

“Alright,” Lila nodded, before realizing that Cindy couldn’t see her. “Count us in.”

“Thank you,” Cindy whispered, before hanging up.

The room went dark again as the screen flicked off, but Lila didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her katana which she had laid against the wall next to her and placed it carefully in its case.

She remembered seeing this sword hanging on display at the dojo back in the city. She remembered watching it all those years she had trained there, needing to get better faster, needing to be stronger, more. So she could protect Niko. So she could be worthy to do so. Amada-Sensei, the master of the dojo, had known that she was going to put the things he taught her to much more practical use than his other students, even though she had never told him so.

“Take the sword,” he commanded, as she left the dojo for the last time. “I’ve seen you watching it.”

She blinked, taken aback. “But why?” she asked. “You said that sword has been in your family for centuries. I couldn’t possibly.”

“I have a feeling you’ll get more use out of it than I am,” he smiled wryly, wrinkles deepening. “And this way, you’ll have all of my ancestors to watch over you.”

Lila crossed the quiet hallway to Niko’s room, and knocked gently. No answer. Niko was a heavy sleeper. She opened the door a crack merely by pushing on it lightly and peered inside. He was hopelessly tanged in the bedsheets on the futon.

He looked young when he was sleeping, even though he would be eighteen in a matter of days. His face was free from creases, and he lacked the hard look that often characterized his golden eyes. When she saw him like this, she couldn’t help seeing the young boy in the alleyway, betrayed and about to be offed by his bodyguard. That is, until she, a street rat with everything to prove, swooped in and pulled him out of there.

But that had been a long time ago, and so many things had changed. And she couldn’t let him sleep forever. “Niko,” she hissed. “Niko!”

He bolted upwards. “Wha…?”

“It’s Cindy,” she said. “She’s calling in her favor.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It sounded like an emergency,” she explained. “Something about her brother.”

He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Shit. Alright. Gimme a minute.”

After closing the door, Lila flicked on the bathroom light to pull up her hair. She apologized to the poor, strained hair tie that had the job of keeping the tangled mess of carrottop mane out of her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her own face in the mirror. For some reason, she was struck at just that moment by how old she looked. Her face was thinner than she remembered, harder. It had been a long time since she’d really looked at herself.

Niko’s door opened again, and through the mirror Lila saw him slipping his guns under his jacket.

“Alright,” he said, “where are we going?”

“The East Branch of the library.”

“Uh… why?”

“That’s all she said. She was a little panicked so I didn’t press. Apparently we’re meeting a group there.”

“Okay then. Let’s ride.”

That authoritative tone was so reminiscent of Mikhail, the senior Borozov, that she nearly stopped in her tracks.

Of all the crazy, dangerous things that had occurred throughout her life, the one she was sure she would never forget was the day that she was called into the office of Mikhail Borozov, the day she became Niko’s bodyguard.

He had stared at her over the stately desk, his large office chair and the man himself dwarfing her in comparison. But she would not shrink back, regardless of how much she wanted to. To gain his respect she must meet his eye.

“So, you intend to guard the life of my son?” He had a heavy accent, yet his grammar was perfect.

She simply nodded.

“And you understand that you hold the future of the Borozov line, my legacy, in your hands?”

“With all due respect sir,” she closed her heart, made her eyes cold as ice. He could smell fear, she was sure of it. “With all due respect,” she repeated. “I don’t care about preserving your legacy. Sir.”

Mikhail froze. People didn’t talk to him like that, and if they did, they were likely to end up dead in an alleyway in a matter of hours. “What did you say?” He was giving her a chance to redeem herself, to take it back.

But he hadn’t heard everything yet. “But to protect your son, I would lay down my life in an instant.”

He paused, considering this.

“I just thought you should know where my priorities lie.”

For a moment, there was silence. Lila held her breath. And then he started laughing. “I see, little firecracker. Thank you for enlightening me. I believe Nikolai will be safe in your hands.”

She was a lot of him in Niko sometimes, every once in a while when he wasn’t consciously obscuring it behind a layer of bravado. It was this look in his eyes, that hard one that demanded respect.

Williams street was quiet at night. Too quiet. Lila didn’t like it. You couldn’t blend into an empty street. But they persevered, and a half-an-hour later they were staring up at the East Branch, the large, domed building looming over them.

It felt strange to be here, at a library of all places. Most operation meetings Lila had attended had been in smoky back offices, or in a few last minute cases, alleyways. But she knew for a fact that nothing Cindy was involved in was ever normal. So they pushed open the large doors and hurried inside.

The East Branch was more like a collection than a public library, she noticed, as she peaked through the doors. A glass case contained an old, tattered tome while a lot of other books were simply inaccessible due to the height they were placed at on the rounded shelves. It was also rather dark. She assumed that during the day the skylight above would flood the room with natural light, but now there were only a few lamps struggling to hold back the gloom of midnight.

Across the room, huddled around a cluttered desk was Cindy, and three people that Lila didn’t recognize. She hadn’t been sure what state she would find Cindy in, but apart from her wildly tangled hair she looked surprisingly composed.

Niko coughed, and the four looked up. The pale man with his arm around Cindy’s shoulder tensed, but she put her hand on his before running over to them. She wrapped her arms around Lila’s middle and squeezed. Lila looked over at Niko, who shrugged. How did one ‘hug’ again? It took her a moment to remember how to position her arms, but then she hugged back.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Cindy whispered.

Niko smirked, attempting to get a smile out of her. “Hey, I’m a man of my word,” he cut in. “I said I owe you one, so here we are, even if it is the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry I had to disturb your beauty rest,” the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. She led them over to the rest of the group. “This is Lucius,” she gestured to the thin, pale man. Ah, so this was the Marcell Lila had heard so much about. He was good-looking, she’d give him that, in a tired sort of way, but much too tall for her taste. She nodded at him, attempting to convey that for now he had her approval, but she would not hesitate to hurt him very badly if anything happened to Cindy.

“And this is Aurum,” the middle-aged woman with shockingly sharp fingernails, “And Servus,” the kid with the eccentric fashion sense. “She’s actually a dragon who runs the library, and he’s her automaton assistant.”

“And that was a sentence I never thought I’d hear,” Niko blinked rapidly.

“That’s a sentence I never thought I’d say,” Cindy replied. “And this is Niko Borozov and Lila Finn.”

“Borozov?” Aurum’s eyes somehow managed to grow even wider. “Of the Borozovs?”

Niko sighed. “Yes. Those Borozovs.”

“More than that,” said a new voice from the door behind them. “He’s the heir of the whole operation.”

They turned, only to see Cowell slink through the door, followed sheepishly by Tommy. “What are you doing here?” Cindy asked, pointing at the grinning daemon.

“Sorry, Cindy.” Tommy ducked his head. “He insisted on coming.”

Cindy just shook her head. “Tommy, you useless bisexual.”

But before Tommy could defend himself, Cowell stepped properly into the room. “Aurum!” his grin widened until it was rather Cheshire-like. “It’s been a long time, my dear. How is that knowledge treating you?”

The librarian bristled. “Not so well, considering I can’t really use it. You don’t make fair deals.”

“My deals are perfectly reasonable,” he said. “It’s not my fault that no one asks the right questions.”

“Oh please,” Marcell took a step forward. “’Perspective’ and ‘Permanence’ are bullshit words and you know it.”

Lila knew about Cindy’s deal, of course, but the mention of ‘permanence’ was new to her. It seemed as if Cindy wasn’t the only one here who had dealt with Cowell.

“Irrelevant,” Cowell chuckled. “But I haven’t come here to fight with you all. I simply want to help/”

“How could you help?” Cindy spoke up.

He approached the desk cautiously, and the rest grudgingly let him. “Information,” he grinned. “I know that you lot are going to spend the new few hours planning for every possibility come the morning. What if young Mike comes out of that school? What if he doesn’t? What if those precocious young revolutionaries are hostile, etc, etc. Except that I know exactly what’s going to happen there in front of that school, and since it would be so dreadfully boring to listen to you all squabble back and forth for hours on end I might as well just tell you.”

There was silence for a second.

“But I’ve been rude, haven’t I? Most of you don’t even know what’s happening yet and here I am blabbing off about having all the spoilers. I leave the floor to you, miss.” He bowed to Cindy, and all eyes turned to her.

She took a deep breath, and told them about Mike, and about St. Adelaide’s.

“And you haven’t heard from him in two weeks?” Lila asked. Though she didn’t say, she looked to Niko and could tell that he was thinking the same thing: that kid might be beyond saving.

Cindy just shook her head.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy said, ruffling her hair. “We’re gonna get him back.”

“Alright, Cowell,” Cindy nearly growled at him. “What do you know?”

“And it had better be good,” Marcell added, before Cindy put a hand on his shoulder.

“Now,” Cowell clapped his hands together. “My precognizance is somewhat limited. I can’t give you a plan, nor can I tell you what will happen once you’re inside. That is all up to you, I’m afraid.”

“Whoa whoa,” Marcell interrupted him. “Who said anything about going inside?”

Cowell shook his head, clicking his tongue condescendingly. “Did you really expect any less? That would certainly make for a disappointing climax. So before I continue, does anyone else have any questions, comments? Snide remarks?” He paused, but was met with only silence. “Alright then. In the morning, all the rich parents and press will be gathered outside the gates of the school. Said gates will open, the children will come out, but young Mike, of course, will not be among them.”

‘Do you know why?” Cindy asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Not a solitary clue.” For the life of her, Lila couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. “All I know is you’ll have to barter your way in.”

“Barter?” Tommy scoffed. “We can’t force our way in? They’re just kids, right?”

Aurum shook her head. “The most brilliant, insane bunch of children in the world.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate them if I were you,” Cowell corroborated. “Unfortunately, they won’t let any adults inside.”

Both Tommy and Marcell bristled at this. “They’re not gonna let me in to see my own brother?”

“It appears that in their eyes, adults are the ones who have caused all their problems.”

“So which of us are still underage?” Aurum glanced back and forth rapidly between them.

“Niko and Lila are both seventeen,” Cindy supplied, “and I could easily pass for that as well.”

“I’m coming too,” Tommy pointed to himself, but Cowell shook his head.

“They’ll never let you in. You look far too old.”

Marcell grimaced. “But there’s no way we can let the three of them go alone without some way of communicating with them…”

Slowly, the group’s eyes all turned to Servus the automaton, who hadn’t said a word this whole time. Lila and Niko turned to each other, confused.

“They’ll never let him take the digital camera in,” Aurum began.

“Sorry,” Niko interrupted. “But I’m sorta lost. How could a camera help? I don’t see any livestreaming equipment around here.”

“I can see through the camera!” Aurum beamed.

“What?” Lila asked, blinking.

Cindy shook her head. “Don’t ask. Even she doesn’t know.”

“Now like a said, a camera won’t work this time around, but he’s a machine as well. It’ll be taxing, but I believe that if I focus hard enough, I should be able to see through him directly.”

“Alright then, so what happens once they get inside?” Tommy leaned down over the desk.

“Well, that depends,” Aurum shrugged. “We have no idea if they’re keeping Michael against his will, or if he has chosen to stay of his own accord, or any other possible scenario.”

Even before he stepped forward, Lila knew he was going to put his hat in the ring. This was Niko’s time to shine. “You leave that to me and Lila,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of experience with uh… variable situations.”

Marcell and Aurum examined the two for a moment, sizing them up. It was Marcell who nodded first.

“Alright,” he said. “We’re putting Cindy and Mike’s lives into your hands.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Cindy grumbled.

Marcell grabbed her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. “I know,” he muttered into her hair, “But I will always worry regardless.”

“Well,” she pulled away after a moment. “The best thing to do is prepare. There’s a couple of charms I can cast in the next few hours.”

“Use the back room,” Aurum instructed. “Servus will help you. He knows where everything is. Servus!” she said, and the automaton immediately faced her with attention. “Follow Cindy, do what she says.”

He nodded once, and the two wandered off to wherever “the back room” was.

The others broke off slowly, to prepare in their own way or sleep for a few hours. Niko and Lila slunk into a corner of the room.

“I think there’s something they’re not telling us,” Lila confessed, after glancing around to see that no one else was watching.

“You think?” Niko’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “There’s definitely something else at play here. Why would they want to keep such a close eye on us just to grab Cindy’s brother?”

Lila took a deep breath, considering. “So, what do we do?” she asked finally.

“For now, we play along. I dunno about Cindy’s boytoy or the dragon lady, but at the very least I trust Cindy. I don’t think they mean us harm.”

Deep down, Lila couldn’t help feeling a twinge of excitement. It had been dull being cooped up in the abandoned house, now maybe Lila could stretch her muscles a little. She could tell that Niko felt the same.

“Are you ready?”

He scoffed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”