#the main reason for this is me doing construction work today

[thevalkyriesshadow]

@lplusl As per your request! A mini gwynriel fic when Gwyn asked Az for dagger handling lessons and constructing the ribbon beam (because I think we can all agree, Az definitely helped her construct it)

Enjoy!

“Shadowsinger! Hey -” Gwyn’s heart was pounding. She couldn’t believe she was about to pull the shadowsinger to the side and ask him, “- Are you free later today?”

Azriel’s brows rose, “I have to take Cassian and Nesta somewhere. Why do you ask?” He carefully placed a sword back on the rack. His fingers delicately handled the blade like it was the most precious item he’s ever touched.

Gwyn fidgeted with a strap on her leathers, “I find that I quite like the feel of a dagger -” Azriel stilled, his shadows swirling around his wings, “- and I want to be able to handle it with the same care and consideration in which you handle them.”

He swallowed hard, “You - want to practice dagger handling?” 

She smiled, “Yes! See I’ve gotten really good at pulling it out from its sheath and -” she drew her dagger, thrusting it quickly forward. The tip of the blade inches from Az’s stomach. He didn’t flinch a muscle, aside from the twitch in the corner of his mouth. “But then I don’t really know what to do with it beyond that…”

Azriel - who was usually so very contained - curled his fingers into fists. 

“I can show you,” he said, the words running together, “How to handle a dagger that is.”

Then Azriel fidgeted - the stoic spy master of the Night Court seemed to suddenly be in a rush, not to leave her, but to do whatever it was he needed to do with Nesta and Cassian.

“I’ll return shortly. Maybe…wait here? Or if you need to freshen up -” One of his shadows twirled around her disheveled braid. Caressed her cheek where a drop of sweat dripped down her temple.

“I can wait. I have my book with me so -”

“Oh? What are you reading?” He started making his way to the archway back to the House. Gwyn fell in step next to him, her face heating. 

“Uh- just an adventure novel with a little bit of…other stuff, but the political intrigue and fighting scenes are really the main event.”

Azriel searched her face, like he knew it was actually a romance novel she was reading. He stopped at the archway, turning to her, “Well I hope you enjoy your reading until I get back.”

With that, the shadowsinger was off, leaving Gwyn alone in the ring, well almost alone as one of Azriel’s shadows stayed behind, wrapping itself around her ankle, curling up like a cat in the sun.

—

Sweat poured from every inch of Azriel’s skin as he twisted around, grabbing Gwyn’s wrist and disarming her again. She huffed and growled in frustration. The sound had become Azriel’s favorite noise while they sparred in the ring.

He had returned from dropping Cassian and Nesta off in the human lands to find Gwyn perched on the wall around the ring, book in hand. He thought he had caught a slight whiff of a headier scent on the wind, but it was gone before he could assess further. 

Azriel knew Gwyn was reading a romance even before he saw the cover. He’d have to work on training her to control her tells if she wanted to be sneaky.

Now, Azriel and Gwyn stood chest to chest, her slender wrist trapped in his large hands. She glared up at him, as if he was the reason she couldn’t hold onto her dagger.

“That’s time, Berdara.” He smirked as her eyes narrowed and she ripped her hand from his and stalked to the water table. The sudden emptiness of her presence weighing on him. He followed her, “You did well for your first lesson -”

“No…I dropped the dagger every time -”

“Well, I’ve had years of practice -”

“Well, I’ve had years of practice -” She mocked him before adding, “- I have a goal shadowsinger. I want to be the first Valkyrie after centuries of the world missing them.” Azriel couldn’t help but watch her throat bob as she chugged her glass of water. He also couldn’t help the excitable pouncing predator inside him as she mocked him.

He leaned against the wall, glancing at the pole he had helped her construct. Gwyn wrapped her fingers tighter around her glass as if she too were remembering that moment he’d found her after training one day trying to put in the pole herself…

“Gwyn. What are you doing?”

Gwyn spun around, shovel in hand, dirt smeared across her face. She smiled, “Putting in a ribbon cutting pole.” She held the shovel higher and gestured to the wood laying on the ground.

“I see. And did you plan to be out here until tomorrow morning digging in the dirt? Because that’s going to take you all day and then some.”

She lowered her shovel, leaning on it as her other hand perched on her hip, “Generally, when you want to upright a beam, this is how you do it.”

Azriel glanced at the ground, then back at her, “You do realize under this dirt is solid stone, right?”

Gwyn’s cheeks reddened, “Obviously…” She tapped the dirt with the shovel, “How deep does the dirt go?”

He joined her by the side of the ring, “Not deep enough to hold up the beam.”

The look she gave him. If she had the power of death in her eyes, he’d be long gone. “So then what do you propose? I bet next you’re going to say that you and your shiny, Illyrian muscles can cut through the stone no problem?”

He chuckled. That’s exactly what he was going to suggest, “Well, I won’t be flexing my physical muscles. I could probably cut into the stone with my magic.”

She took a step back, her arm sweeping in front of her, “Be my guest. I got it started for you.” 

He quirked a brow. Gwyn was being rather cheeky today.

Turns out, Azriel had to do a lot more hard labor than he thought. His magic only cut through so much before he’d have to dig out the debris and hack at it again. He was sweating, bruised, and bleeding - thanks to a sharp rock - by the time he’d gotten the hole deep enough. Then of course the beam wasn’t actually constructed yet, but Gwyn had obtained all the right materials so at least they didn’t have to waste time finding them.

After fretting over the cut on his palm, and wrapping it in unnecessary medical wrap, Gwyn called for a break to eat and rehydrate before constructing the pole itself.

“Where did you get these materials?” He asked as Gwyn held the smaller support beams in place while Azriel screwed in the heavy lead bolts.

“Clotho knows a few people,” she said matter-of-factly. Azriel chuckled softly at that. The copper-haired priestess was resourceful, smart.

After assembling the pole and rooting it in the ground, Gwyn reached up and tied the long white ribbon onto the post. Gwyn crossed her arms and nodded her head in satisfaction as the ribbon billowed in the wind.

She turned to Azriel, “Thank you, shadowsinger - for assisting me.”

“Anytime -” his words were cut off as suddenly the ground beneath them trembled slightly and a hole, sized perfectly for the pole they’d just constructed, opened up a foot away from them. The wind blew in the trees like a tinkling laughter, the House creaked next to them.

Azriel and Gwyn shared an exasperated glance. Seems the House was also feeling cheeky today.

“I have no doubt you’ll reach your goal of becoming the first Valkyrie in five centuries, but perfection takes time and practice. We’ll meet after training twice a week -”

“Three times,” she interjected.

He held back his smile of amusement, “Three times,” he confirmed, his voice lowering. “Would that be all, priestess?”

She scrunched her lips to the side in contemplation. “Yes, that’ll do…for now.” She sauntered past him, “Have a good night, shadowsinger,” she threw over her shoulder, before disappearing into the darkness of the archway and down into the Library below.

[brossession-collection]

Dad's Pits (Male Possession)

"Charlie! Get your fucking ass down here!"

Charlie's eyes shot open as he heard the muffled yells of his dad's piercing through his bedroom door. He flinched, pulling his hands out of his musky briefs and hitting his head on the bedframe.

"Fuck that hurt."

Charlie is a 23 year old washed out jock who just barely graduated from college. Exhausted from the years of studying and the lack of any job leads, he came back home tired and defeated. It didn't help that he was a kinky fucker, masturbating his days away to the smell of his ripe sweaty pits.

In fact, Charlie's main reason for playing club lacrosse in college was so that he could rummage through the open lockers and dirty laundry hampers, claiming any soiled jerseys to take a dirty sniff. He got caught once, with the strength coach's yellowed jockstrap over his face.

Dude got put on probation and his single dad found out immediately.

Charlie's dad, Jeff, although stern and strict, is a pretty loving dad through and through. He's a construction manager at one of the biggest firms in the city, leading huge projects and coming home day after day fatigued, pissy, and, most importantly, musky.

And today wasn't any different.

"You hear me!? You better not be whacking your d*ck!"

Charlie groaned as he got up, not bothering to slip anything on. He opened the door and yelled back, slightly embarrassed.

"I'm not dad! What do you need!?"

"How about you get your ass down here like I said and get some dinner on the table. Least you can do to help out around here"

Charlie tucked his boner into his briefs, put on some shorts and a loose tank top jersey, and trotted down the stairs regrettably. He made eye contact with Jeff, who was taking off his plaid button down, leaving behind a tight white tank top and belted wrangler jeans.

"There you are" Jeff said more softly than just a second ago. "Listen Charlie I don't wanna be yelling at ya. You're a grown ass adult and you're still living here. Could be proactive and help out around here more."

Charlie rubbed his eyes, yawned, then nodded, his bushy pits wafting out a dry musk that made his dad wince.

"Jesus christ boy. Go take a fucking shower. Don't know how you can handle yourself smelling like that. I can barely deal with my own stink right after work."

Charlie muttered a "well I can" under his breath as he rummaged through the fridge. He glanced at his dad who seemed to not notice.

"Speaking of, I'm gonna take a shower. Gotta get this fucking stench off me. Have dinner on the table when I get back alright?"

"Yeah yeah yeah. Will do daddio."

Charlie looked back as his dad jogged up the stairs, his tatted built arms swinging side to side with every step. While Charlie had more of an athletic lanky build, Jeff was a bit more bulky, carrying a muscular dad bod. They were the same height, and had similar characteristics, but his dad looked more mature with his bushy beard and uncontrollable chest hair. Charlie was jealous of those features. "I could be waaay more musky if I had dad's hairiness" he constantly thought.

Charlie felt an air of dizziness as he dropped some produce on the kitchen counter. He tried to steady himself, but for some reason couldn't keep his heavy eyelids open. "Shit... Must be the blue balls..." he slurred as he drunkenly stumbled to the dinner table. He slumped onto a chair and zonked out.

...

When Charlie came to, he felt strange. More airy, like he was floating. He felt cold, but for some reason couldn't feel his skin when he tried to grab it. He yelled when he looked down.

"The fuck is happening?"

"Why's my skin all green?"

Charlie poked and prodded at his translucent abs, which responded with a gooey jello-ey jiggle. "No fucking way man what the hell is this shit!?" he yelled.

Suddenly musky green gas started to emit from his armpits and ass, as if he was a walking stink cloud. Charlie curiously raised one of his arms up to take a sniff, only to smell one of the most rancid, ripe, and gloriously delicious stenches he's ever inhaled.

"Wheeeeewwww. Fuck... I smell so fucking BAD! I mean... GOOD". Charlie couldn't stop whiffing his own pits, hypnotized by the incredible musk that his ghostly form was now exuding.

Charlie looked around. He could see musky stink lines coming from objects all over the house, as if he had stink-o-vision. He strutted over to his dad's hung-up button down, which was apparently excessively musky.

"Damn... smells so goooood" he moaned as he brought his nose and hand up to the fabric. Suddenly, his fingers, then hand, then forearms got sucked into the fabric. With every finger twitch he tried to do, he watched as the shirt jostled around, as if he had partial control over it.

Charlie was chuckling, experimenting with his new powers for atleast 2 minutes straight before he heard a familiar voice call from up stairs.

"I'll be out in 15!" his dad yelled. Charlie heard the shower turn as his dad stomped around on the floor above, waiting for the water to heat up.

Charlie, looking down at his green ghostly body, grinned and thought of something mischievous to try. He got up and started tip-toeing up the stairs, the green stench still floating off his body.

He opened his dad's bedroom door and saw him turned around, taking off his socks. Jeff only cocked his head back, not yet noticing the new form his son had taken.

"You need something bud?" he said, before turning his head further and seeing the green apparition that his Charlie had become.

"Wh-what the hell? Y-you okay son?" Jeff's mouth was agape, unsure of how to react. He felt his nose crinkle as a more intense version of Charlie's ripe musk wafted into his nostrils unwelcomed.

"Don't know what happened daddio. Dozed off and woke up like this."

"Ch-Charlie! The fuck happened!? Go take a fucking shower son this ain't normal!"

Charlie flinched at that idea. "Why dad? I smell fucking great. And you do too..." He noticed the green stink lines emanating from his dad's pits, feet and below his waistband.

"The fuck are you talking about Charlie?" Jeff said, taking a step back as his jock son inched forward.

"Mind if I try something dad?" In a split second, Charlie pounced at Jeff, completely covering him in his green gas and slimey body.

Jeff struggled to breathe as he felt his nose and mouth getting caked in his son's ripe musk, forcibly pushing itself down his throat and up his nostrils. He lifted his arms up beyond his control as Charlie's gaseous slimey form started to ooze into his armpits.

Charlie could only laugh as he felt his ghostly body enter and take control of his dad through every single entrance he could find. Jeff didn't even notice his son slipping down his pants and pumping into his c*ck and sweaty asshole.

"CH-CHAR-guhhh" Jeff managed to moan out as the ectoplasmic form of his son's head gurgled down into his throat. At this point, Jeff could only see green in his vision.

"Gonna have so much fun stinking up your body dad!" Charlie yelled from inside Jeff's head.

The father and son, now sharing a body, stumbled to the ground, wet and slimey. Jeff let out a moan as he felt the last of the goo sink into his dirty asshole with a "POP". The man slumped over for a second before...

...

Jeff opened his eyes and cracked his neck with a smirk. He lifted up his arm and took a deep whiff of his day-old pit scent, unnatural green gas wafting out and musking the entire room.

"Mmmmmm smells even better with his nose" he cooed. He scratches at his pits then took a curious sniff before letting out an uncharacteristic moan of pleasure. "Fuck yeah that's the stuff."

Jeff got up and stuck a hand into his wranglers, rummaging around his fabric-covered balls and taint before rubbing the same hand all over his beard.

"Shiiit daaaad. You smell better than me!" Charlie chuckled with his dad's voice.

He walked up to the shower in his dad's en suite bathroom, reaching inside and turning off the water.

Once again, Charlie lifted up his dad's beefy arms and spoke:

Fin

[callmearcturus]

ITP my job finds a new even more horrific way to lowkey torture employees (and that's not an exaggerated usage of "torture" funnily enough)

"hey arc what's up, you been quiet"

funny story

so the casually cruel fuckheads at my job sent IT around to every desk to do something with the phones.

they set every ringer to maximum volume and disabled the ability to lower the volume or mute the ringer. so every desk phone, regardless of department, is connected to the main queue and whether you are meant to be answering calls or not, your phone rings at 90 to 100 dB.

I have very well-controlled anxiety. i've been to therapy, I take medication, I know recovery techniques. I've been living with this my entire life. but: my primary anxiety trigger is sudden loud sounds, to the point that I always make sure to take my lunch when they are testing the fire alarms and I once turned down a nice secretarial gig bc it was for a construction company.

so for the past few days, I've been subjected to constant, inconsistent loud noises.

I've already burst into tears twice and had to take 4 emergency breaks in the stairwell to get control of my breathing to avert a panic attack.

I talked to my boss (my direct boss, who is a wonderful man who has my eternal loyalty, not the vicious thoughtless fuckhead who runs the company) and he literally directed me to "put your earbuds in and turn on the sound canceling. if anyone notices, I'll cover for you." like, it's that fucking bad.

(and i'm not alone! there's a guy in another department who is a former army guy or former cop, and he's shaken bc it's just loud sudden noises surrounding him, it's horrible.)

so, i flat out took today off bc I needed a mental health day and to talk to my doctor. my doctor, who I think might literally want to fistfight the CEO of my company at this point bc this is cruelty for no fucking reason, is writing me a strongly worded accomodation request and getting me some extra drugs to help me not freak out

but its a fucking nightmare and it's affecting everything. i got all the classic warning signs of depression: i don't want to do my normal hobbies, i don't want to talk to friends (i'm forcing myself to do it, I'm old hat at this), I don't want to eat, and i want to lay down int he dark a lot.

SO. IT'S BAD. But we're working on it.

My boss and I have a pact, that I'm sticking around until he throws in the towel and leaves, but I had to tell him "this needs to stop or I need to look for another job, no matter how much I love this stupid goddamn job, i can't physically do this"

so that's what's up.

[sapphicrow]

His Better.

(A lil Lady D drabble looking at her past)

———————————

Dear Diary,

Today is the anniversary of his death. Of his complete and total departure from my world. Those who remember him perhaps view this day as a day of mourning, though I must confess I feel no such grief. A buzz of vibrant elation hums in my chest. His portrait sits in the main hall once more for today, but if not for Mother Miranda’s command for it to be in such an honorable place it would be fueling the hearth that warms my feet as I indulge in sapphic erotica, plentiful goblets of wine, maybe even a maiden or four on their knees begging for an opportunity to breathe the same air as I. He would call me a heathen and a whore. I shall call him, with phony tears in my eyes, a victim of times of political unrest. Patricide may be the more precise term, but alas, I shan’t spoil my lovely day with scandal. Mother does not wish for the truth to be spoken. I suppose it is a fair wish. I may not speak it, but I find myself needing to release this memory from my head, lest it rot in there and I begin to feel sorry for the bitch.

My father was not a good man. He was barely a man. He was a nincompoop who took advantage of his station, and his staff, and his abundant liquor collection. He was not kind. It is not for this reason I resent him, for I can hardly claim to be kind either. I resent him for his failure as a count, and his confidence in his incompetence. I remember watching his fat, clumsy fingers struggle to button his lavishly crafted waist coat with contempt. I knew from a young age that I was a far better leader than he. That my own hands, nimble and steady from years of the pointless needlework noble girls were expected to do, were suited for the control he fumbled about with so terribly. For holding the throne. I remember being fifteen years of age, watching him bumble about his office in a suit lined with silk he did not deserve the softness of. The war had threatened to touch his territory. Even then I knew that securing assets would be a vital defense for the empire he wished to construct. He did no such thing. He simply ran around like a chicken with its head severed and defiled more maids in his stress. The only measure he took was of how many drinks he could fit in his bulbous stomach. I couldn’t fathom being so irresponsible. If his land in the Carpathian Mountains was threatened, was it not clear as day that he should be worried about finding other means to protect his legacy? I recall creeping into his office in the dead of night to look over the correspondences surrounding the war and his rule and the financials that were spread carelessly about the big oak desk, my heist backed by the erratic growl of his snores. I felt as if I had forged his signature hundreds of times, even if it was my very first act of blatant treachery. It still felt so natural to use his name for my own game. It wasn’t as if he was using it for anything useful. That night he wrote a very fine letter to the duchies nearby asking for an alliance through these trying times, though the recipients would question the flair to his cursive, as well as the fact that there seemed to be a scribbled out A before his signature. I would not let this incompetent fool ruin my holdings. I would have the power that was my birthright.

For years, I would conduct similar such maneuvers. It became a performance of sorts. The key ring would leap from his belt loop to my gloved hand, landing with a graceful turn into the lock of his office. My slippered feet would dance through the slimmest crack of the door so as not to let light from the open curtains spill into the other room. My night gown would sway with me, it became synonymous with the robes of a queen in my mind. I’d Chassé from the doorway to his desk, all too eager to begin my work. The moon and I became partners in this secretive dance, for she was the subtle light I remained loyal to, granting me sight of the papers I now held under my midnight authority. And so began the unofficial, unnoticed rule of the new Dimitrescu, though the old one was oblivious to how he’d been replaced. Thankfully the old fool was a drunkard and simply believed he had managed to make all of these lucrative decisions in his intoxicated stupor.

As if.

Looking back, I cannot help but laugh heartily at how bold I was. I am much too good. But a large amount of my amusement is pointed at the pure egocentrism of the man who named himself my father. How humorous the thought of a drunk man taking the time to send out the decrees I painstakingly assembler was. There was a time when this did not entertain me, however. It was no laughing matter when my father took all the credit for my success. I had heard so much praise on the account of his wise conduct of the county. Barons and dukes and alike bowed to him, preening in his presence as if he exuded some holy power.

I grew bitter.

I was the one making these decisions! I was the one keeping him together! I had created this man’s legacy in the dead of night and neither he nor his adoring fans knew this. It infuriated me. Dear Diary, I am ashamed to admit that even now I’ve cracked the stem of my glass reminiscing upon it. For lack of a more eloquent response to this situation, it just wasn’t fair! Surely if they knew the raven haired girl with his nose and ten times his wit trailing behind him was the one truly in charge, they wouldn’t grovel to him the same way. He would be forgotten like the sorry bastard he was while everyone kissed the ground I walked upon. But they didn’t know. And so I was just his daughter. A material object he constantly strove to rid himself of. It was infuriating, I tell you, infuriating! I could only feed off of second hand acknowledgement for so long.

And so, a plot came to be. Or rather, a hastily conceived idea. I did not spend fortnights planning his death. I did not weave a technical tale of coverups and falsehoods. There was no subtlety. I was sick of hiding. You call it a risk, I called it a need. A need for his blood coating my hands as soon as possible. It was the eve of a grand event- which one it was escapes my memory for there was simply no end to the monotonous parties I was dragged along to - but all I knew was that I couldn’t stand to see him grin so smugly with the acclaim he hadn’t truly earned even one more time.

This night was not a ballet. I did not dance on light feet through the halls. I near slammed the door of my chambers as I tore through the corridors. The moon could not illumine me tonight. She would take no pleasure in seeing him torn to pieces, though I certainly would. I was near frothing at the mouth. One could paint my likeness as the lycans that now hunger in the shadows of the village.

I opened his door and closed it behind me without an ounce of gentleness. Let them hear. My nightgown billowed around me like the dark cloaks death was usually depicted wearing. The old man could not hear me over his snores. I clutched the previously ornamental dagger in my hand and snarled at the sight of his peaceful sleep. I was not going to allow him to slumber through this. In my rage I punched through the glass of his window (I dimly acknowledged it would be a good alibi for the later accusation of assassins, but mostly I just yearned for his terror) to the sound of which he shot up. He looked around frantically and saw the face of his daughter as the blade plunged into him without the courtesy of a warning. It was a wet, nasty slide of flesh around the metal of my blade. It was the sickest form of penetration. It was my finest act of political assistance to his county. I grin now at the memory of his shock. His greedy mouth parted in disbelief. He croaked my name into the night and I twisted the blade deeper. I only remember the sound from me being something between a growl and a triumphant laugh. He tried to cry out and I pulled the dagger from his side and forced it down his throat the same way I knew he had forced his foul chode down the throats of unwilling maidens. His lips curved around it and I looked down at him as his fat body flailed in agony. He deserved this, I had thought as I shoved my hand past his teeth and drug the blade along the walls of his esophagus, he deserves to die. I am greater at thirty than he ever was at fifty. I am not his daughter, I am his better. That was my mantra as I pulled horrific noises from this man. It was the most pleasurable thing I’d ever done. I had expected at least some remorse, but seeing him bloodied and dying brought me nothing but glee. I watched death tear him from his hideous form and I did not relent. I stabbed again and again until I felt calm. I had three decades of pent up anger to get out, so he was long dead before then. He looked like an oversized meatball when I was done, limp in the bed he spent most of his lazy fucking life in.

My white slip was dyed red with vengeance. This was my coronation long before I ever received the crown. I still keep that gown as a momento, though it is now far too small.

Today I contemplate that garment with all its dried blood and crusted on innards. Perhaps I have a wardrobe filled with fine dresses, but none is as fine as that one.

Can a normal dress be stained with the moment you gained independence? Can it tell the story of the rise of House Dimitrescu? Since that day we have done nothing but prosper. Even a century later I do not regret it.

Dear Diary, I am Alcina Dimitrescu. I am a cruel woman. I am power. I am not his daughter. I am forever his better.

[waitmyturtles]

Turtles Catches Up With Old GMMTV: The Bad Buddy Rewatch Edition, Part 3a -- BBS and Asian Cultural Touchpoints

[What’s going on here? After joining Tumblr and discovering Thai BLs through KinnPorsche in 2022, I began watching GMMTV’s new offerings -- and realized that I had a lot of history to catch up on, to appreciate the more recent works that I was delving into. From tropes to BL frameworks, what we’re watching now hails from somewhere, and I’m learning about Thai BL's history through what I’m calling the Old GMMTV Challenge (OGMMTVC). Starting with recommendations from @absolutebl on their post regarding how GMMTV is correcting for its mistakes with its shows today, I’ve made an expansive list to get me through a condensed history of essential/classic/significant Thai BLs produced by GMMTV and many other BL studios. My watchlist, pasted below, lists what I’ve watched and what’s upcoming, along with the reviews I’ve written so far. Today, I offer the first half of the third (ha!) of five posts on Bad Buddy. I'll look today at themes that myself and fellow Asian fans of Bad Buddy have caught and related to in this wonderful show.]

Links to the BBS OGMMTVC Meta Series are here: part 1, part 2, part 3a, part 3b, and part 4

As a lifelong viewer of Asian dramas, and as an Asian-American myself, I know why I'm drawn to Asian dramas. We all have our reasons for belonging to this widespread fandom, whether you're watching queer or het Asian dramas, consuming Asian music, all of it.

What are my reasons? The first and foremost one is relatability. Especially in Asian dramas, I relate to the spoken and unspoken communication of the dramatic characters as they navigate life's highs and lows. I relate to the way Asian dramatic characters engage with their families, their partners, their children, their colleagues, the world and societies around them. I relate to the ways in which societies are drawn and constructed, to the economic and emotional pressures that characters face. As an American -- I don't fully relate to the majority of experiences that white American characters face dramatically, because I'm not a part of the majority. As an Asian? I get almost all of what Asians are going through in dramatic art (save for, say, Korean or Japanese historicals, ha — but I do indeed get Asian patriarchy and sexism).

I'm not queer -- I am a cishet Asian woman -- but what I appreciate about queer Asian media is, very often, the media's tendency to not be shy about the various and intricate ways that discrimination, sexism, trauma (intergenerational, emotional, etc.), and many more social and emotional phenomena interplay in an individual's life.

When I first watched Bad Buddy, I had the strong sense that what I was watching was incredibly relatable to much of my upbringing and life as a young adult, working out issues vis à vis my family and my eventual partner. Bad Buddy, thematically, captured a tremendous amount of the realities of everyday Asian life for young people.

Bad Buddy exists in the GMMTV bubble of No Homophobia (cc @bengiyo and @lurkingshan, as we have spoken about the GMMTV bubble). However, what Bad Buddy didn't shy away from were explorations of many other social/emotional/cultural themes and frameworks of everyday life, from sexism, to youth bias, to boundaries and enmeshment, and many, many more.

I wrote in my first-ever Bad Buddy thesis that the framework of intergenerational trauma was the main theme I identified -- and identified with -- in the show. But, as I was contemplating writing this series of Bad Buddy meta posts, I wanted to know: what did my fellow Asians pick up in this show that they saw, and that they related to? In other words: what makes Bad Buddy particularly special to Asian fans of the show?

So, I did a thing. I gathered together a few BBS Asian stans, like myself, for a lengthy (and still ongoing!) discussion about what we related to in Bad Buddy. I want to thank, from the bottom of my heart, @telomeke, @grapejuicegay, @recentadultburnout, @neuroticbookworm, and @lurkingshan (who's not Asian, but has Asian relatives, and gets us!) for being up for creating a spontaneous mini-village together to talk Bad Buddy and its inherent Asianness.

It sounds redundant to identify Bad Buddy, a show made by Thais and set in Thailand, as an "Asian" or "Thai" show. It's definitely not a show that steps back to take a look at itself and say, "oh hey, this is really 'Thai,' what we're doing here." When I asked @recentadultburnout directly about what they might have identified as uniquely Thai about Bad Buddy, RAB thought about it and said -- maybe Pat's ranak ek (Thai xylophone). Other shows of Aof Noppharnach's, including He's Coming To Me, Moonlight Chicken, and even the start of Last Twilight, highlight many facets of Thai life, from the spiritual to the everyday-cultural (even Gay OK Bangkok does this a bit, too). But Bad Buddy doesn't really go there by way of overt symbolism and/or specifically Thai spiritual/cultural practice.

The Asianness of Bad Buddy is far more inherent. It is rooted and coded in the way people interact with each other.

An overt example occurs in episode 10, when Dissaya confronts Ming in the Jindapat home, and announces that she will reveal Ming's secret, dropping the effort she has made her entire life to "save face" -- her reputation AND Ming's reputation.

During my first Bad Buddy rewatch, I was so moved in fury by this scene that I had to blog about it as if I had never seen it before. There's so much encapsulated in this moment: the pressure that Dissaya has put on herself to keep the embarrassing secret that she lost a scholarship; the effort she made to keep Ming's theft of the scholarship a secret, to save his face, and the secrets she kept from Pran to save her face, and to keep up the façade of rivalry between the Jindapats and the Siridechawats. She was letting a whole hell of a lot loose in this moment, because the eternal pressure of saving face in Asian societies is, frankly, never-ending.

"Saving face" is an incredibly important notion in many Asian collectivist cultures. Saving face is about an individual or a family projecting an image of calm, cool collectedness and success, in order to not make waves within a collectivist society for any reason. If you are not working to seem like you are going with the flow of life, if you're not keeping up with the Joneses, the Kardashians, whoever -- you are not saving face. If you are in poverty, and are projecting an image of poverty, instead of pretending to be more wealthy than you are -- you are not saving your face or your family's face. If you allow yourself to get publicly defeated -- you are not saving face. Dissaya gave up a lot of her hard-earned reputation in the moment she confessed the truth in front of Pat and Pat's mother.

My Asian friends and I can click wordlessly into understanding the pressure of saving face; say that I didn't get good grades in school? I wouldn't be saving my parents' face. This kind of pressure to keep up with particular social dynamics within and external to family, within Asian societies, is a neverending drumbeat of pressure.

Besides saving face, there are many other Asian cultural touchpoints that were contained within Bad Buddy that my fellow Asian BBS stans and I noted. They include:

1) intergenerational/inherited trauma, 2) the unique nature of secret-keeping in Asian cultures/societies, 3) enmeshed family boundaries, 4) setting up children to compete against each other for the sake of familial pride, 5) patriarchy, sexism, and the reversal of sexism among next generations, 6) the inset/assumed roles of family members based on patriarchy and elder respect, 7) Assumed community within and external to one's family, usually based on where you live and where you go to school, 8) How one's identity is defined based on patriarchy and individualist vs. collectivist cultures, 9) How various cultures within an Asian nation live peacefully (or not) together (for example, what makes Pat and Pran different by way of Pat's Thai-Chinese heritage vs. Pran's ethnic Thai heritage),

and many, many more.

It'll be impossible, even over two posts, to analyze all of these cultural touchpoints, but a few of them engendered quite a bit of conversation among the BBS mini-village that I want to highlight. In this post, I'll focus on the continuation of my first BBS thesis on intergenerational/inherited trauma, the nature of secret-keeping in Asian societies, and will return briefly to the touchpoint of saving face.

One of the most devastating scenes for me in Bad Buddy is in my favorite episode, episode 10, when Pat (after he's learned, throughout the episode, of the extent of the lies that his and Pran's family have shared with their children) confronts his father about his father's demands to literally control Pat's emotions, the way in which Pat related to other people -- specifically Pran. Pat sums up a lifetime's worth of control in one sentence.

@telomeke noted in our ongoing group conversation that this notion of inherited trauma vis à vis Ming is particularly present in Asian societies, not just by way of familial expectation that we, as Asians, embody it and "take it" throughout our generations, as Pat realized up above -- but that ALL family members present are responsible for playing their roles within the framework of the inherited trauma. @telomeke noted in particular that exactly what Pat was doing to hate Pran, FOR his father? That was what Ming HAD to do for MING'S dad, when Ming schemed to get the scholarship from Dissaya. AND, Pat's mother, in consoling Pat, had to play the role of explainer -- which, as we know now, Pat ran away from to meet his beloved Pran on the rooftop before running away to the eco-village.

Pat running away from that moment? That was a huge symbol of the breaking of the inherited trauma that was given unto him by his parents both.

(@telomeke has actually written about their theory about how the Jindapats and Siridechawats ended up living next door to each other -- which seems SO STRANGE on the surface, consider Ming's and Dissaya's boiling hatred for each other -- and the theory links nicely within the framework of inherited trauma. Tel theorizes that Ming's father or grandfather may have actually gifted the house to Dissaya's family as a means of apologizing for Ming's deceit. In which case: the presence of the Siridechawats is a reminder, on an everyday basis, of Ming's folly to steal from Dissaya, which may explain why Ming in particular went so hard on Pat to triumph daily over Pran.)

We as a group unwound quite a bit on the nature of secret-keeping in Asian cultures. We know Bad Buddy relies on this cultural touchpoint at the end of the series: Pran and Pat have a full-fledged and committed relationship as a transparent secret, under the noses of Pat's and Pran's parents.

Secret-keeping....oh, man. I could not have lived a fully authentic life in America if I didn't keep a million secrets from my family while I was living out my own independent choices. I actually, literally, could not have gotten married, because the rule of my household was that I wouldn't date. I would just... get engaged. So I'd get engaged through, what, magic? Match-making? No: I'd have to find my partner through my own battle of social and familial conventions, literally against my family, to get to where I wanted to be in life, which was (gasp) married.

@neuroticbookworm illuminated more on this particularly from our shared Indian lens. She wrote,

Keeping your relationship secret from parents is sooooo ridiculously common in India (and I'm sure we can extrapolate to other Asian countries like Thailand). And the justification the children give themselves is always rooted in how they have a "duty" towards their parents, and that they will reveal their relationship after they have fulfilled their duties.

God, I LOVED that NBW brought up "duty" in this conversation. Because! Assumed within the coded language from Asian parents to children, and vice versa, is a sense that children MUST follow the dictates of their parents. 100%, full-stop.

The duties that NBW clarified in this particular conversation specified life demarcations such as "[w]hen I graduate, I'll tell my parents about my partner," and "[w]hen I graduate and get a job and can financially support myself in life, I'll tell my parents about my partner."

What's coded in these statements is a fear that the children will have to reveal to their parents that they were disobedient in the rules their parents set, that no dating shall occur until the time at which the parents rule it's okay. And at least within Indian frameworks, that period of it being "okay" is, more often than not, the period in which arranged matches are examined. Because, yes, that's still the rule in the high majority of Indian culture.

The revelation of that disobedience? That's bad-news bears. It indicates... everything: a lack of loyalty to the family; a lack of understanding the meaning of a child's role to listen to the parents as the parents are elders and therefore are the moral authority of the household; a lack of self-control (which is a huge deal -- that relates to saving face on behalf of the family); a lack of understanding the morals and ethics of saving oneself, in love and sex, before marriage, etc. Even if a family seems fully progressive on the outside, as an Asian, I'm conditioned to question that progressiveness -- as parents may hold different standards of acceptance for their children vs. other young people.

@telomeke expanded on disobedience for us -- connecting it back to the very important notion of "saving face."

I think there's something quite related to secret-keeping, but it's also to do with the ability of Asians, but also human beings in general, of being able to live with duality in life... and secret-keeping is part of it. This also ties in to the East and Southeast Asian preoccupation with the concept of "saving face" [as noted above]. A lot of families are able to live with the knowledge of dirty secrets, unsavory truths, as long as it's not brought into the light and confronted. I'm constantly reminded of this whenever I rewatch BBS Ep. 12 because it's clear both Ming and Dissaya KNOW their sons are in a relationship but it's not overtly admitted. In that way they (and more Ming I suppose) get to "save face" and not have to deal with the truth that their sons are being disobedient, consorting with the enemy, and because it's not in the open -- there is no dishonor brought to the family and to the elders.

God, I love the way Tel put this. That disobedience on the part of Pran and Pat would actually bring dishonor to their families -- because their families have put SO MUCH EFFORT into building their public AND private enmity their entire lives! It affected Chai's relationship with the families as an employee of both families. EVERYONE AT PAT'S AND PRAN'S SCHOOLS knew the guys were the "legendary rivals." And, of course, by being in rival faculties at the same university, the boys could continue this public enmity as well -- keeping up with the roles that were literally assigned to them by their parents.

If the boys disobeyed, they would bring dishonor to their families. Think about that -- and connect that with the heaviness that Pran walked away with after the rooftop kiss in episode 5, AND the weight of Pran's breakdown at the end of episode 10, when Pat assured him that they would run away together.

No matter what a Western viewer (and maybe even Asian viewers, wanting to see a dismantling of these paradigms) would want Pat and Pran to have by way of full openness of their relationships with everyone in their lives (because, in individualistic cultures, that self-driven openness is a given), Pran and Pat themselves knew that that couldn't be their reality vis à vis the social worlds they belonged to. So they kept their relationship a secret, in the end.

The secret that Pran and Pat keep about their relationship is strategic. It's certainly also a stress point: an older Pat asks an older Pran, at the end of episode 12, if he'll ever be able to walk through the front door of the Siridechawat house.

But this is the compromise -- within the larger-scale culture of secret-keeping in Asian societies, AND the private frameworks of the enmity that Dissaya and Ming established between themselves and their families years and years prior -- that will work best for Pat and Pran to preserve the sanctity of their relationship, which I talked about in part 2 of this meta series.

Pran and Pat do not have to publicly appear disobedient to the demands and pressures of their families. They do not have to make their families engage with each other. They do not have to make their families confront the mistakes that their parents made earlier in their lives. They can protect their families from their private and public follies. They can help their families keep and save face. And by doing all that? They can prevent their relationship from being threatened.

I feel this very deeply in my heart as an Asian-American. For the sake of my American spouse, I wanted to protect him from a lot of these pressures, and so I insisted on keeping a lot of our relationship secret from my folks. If I demanded full-blown, public acceptance from my parents? If I brought my "boyfriend" to parties, and introduced him as such with aunties and uncles -- especially if it wasn't indicated that we'd be permanent one day? Damn. No. I'd be embarrassing my folks, with the aunties and uncles saying to my folks, "dang, you can't control your daughter, huh? You let her do what she wants." That would mean my parents would lose face over their ability to control the lives of their children, and that's no bueno in our cultural terms. It would be on ME, as THEIR child, to uphold THEIR ability to save face, as much as its their own work.

Dissaya refers DIRECTLY to Pran doing this FOR HER when, in episode 10, she asks him, "did you forget to save my reputation?" It's brutal, daily work. And Pran goes BACK to keeping secrets in the end, because it would have been impossible, ultimately, for Dissaya to save face, AND for Pran to save Dissaya's reputation/face, if Pran were out with his relationship with Pat, thus proving his disobedience. It would be -- JUST -- better to keep the secret for all those involved.

As this post has gotten long, I'm going to continue talking more about these touchpoints in a second post. I'm driven to talk about this because I think much of the Western fandom might miss what us Asians are reading into shows like Bad Buddy through this coded language and engagement. I very much posit that Bad Buddy -- while it is first and foremost a queer show, made by queer Asians, about queer young men -- is so relatable to so many of us because we've faced similar struggles of survival, and we've faced threats to the sanctity of the love we have for other people by way of needed to fit into the roles set before us by previous generations.

So! With that, thank you for reading, and see you tomorrow, when I focus on competition, enmeshed family boundaries, patriarchy and sexism in Bad Buddy, and more if I can fit it in!

(Tagging @dribs-and-drabbles, @solitaryandwandering, and @wen-kexing-apologist by request! If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know!)

[Alright! Stay tuned for more, many more ruminations from the BBS Asian station tomorrow!

Here's the status of the Old GMMTV Challenge watchlist. Tumblr's web editor loves to jack with this list, so mosey on over to this link for the very latest version!

1) The Love of Siam (2007) (movie) (review here) 2) My Bromance (2014) (movie) (review here) 3) Love Sick and Love Sick 2 (2014 and 2015) (review here) 4) Gay OK Bangkok Season 1 (2016) (a non-BL queer series directed by Jojo Tichakorn and written by Aof Noppharnach) (review here) 5) Make It Right (2016) (review here) 6) SOTUS (2016-2017) (review here) 7) Gay OK Bangkok Season 2 (2017) (a non-BL queer series directed by Jojo Tichakorn and written by Aof Noppharnach) (review here) 8) Make It Right 2 (2017) (review here) 9) Together With Me (2017) (review here) 10) SOTUS S/Our Skyy x SOTUS (2017-2018) (review here) 11) Love By Chance (2018) (review here) 12) Kiss Me Again: PeteKao cuts (2018) (no review) 13) He’s Coming To Me (2019) (review here) 14) Dark Blue Kiss (2019) and Our Skyy x Kiss Me Again (2018) (review here) 15) TharnType (2019-2020) (review here) 16) Senior Secret Love: Puppy Honey (OffGun BL cuts) (2016 and 2017) (no review) 17) Theory of Love (2019) (review here) 18) 3 Will Be Free (2019) (a non-BL and an important harbinger of things to come in 2019 and beyond re: Jojo Tichakorn pushing queer content in non-BLs) (review here) 19) Dew the Movie (2019) (review here) 20) Until We Meet Again (2019-2020) (review here) (and notes on my UWMA rewatch here) 21) 2gether (2020) and Still 2gether (2020) (review here) 22) I Told Sunset About You (2020) (review here) 23) YYY (2020, out of chronological order) (review here) 24) Manner of Death (2020-2021) (not a true BL, but a MaxTul queer/gay romance set within a genre-based show that likely influenced Not Me and KinnPorsche) (review here) 25) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) (review here) 26) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For The Sake Of Rewatching Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS (re-review here) 27) Lovely Writer (2021) (review here) 28) Last Twilight in Phuket (2021) (the mini-special before IPYTM) (review here) 29) I Promised You the Moon (2021) (review here) 30) Not Me (2021-2022) (review here) 31) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) (thesis here) 32) 55:15 Never Too Late (2021-2022) (not a BL, but a GMMTV drama that features a macro BL storyline about shipper culture and the BL industry) (review here) 33) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) and Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS (2023) OGMMTVC Rewatch (The BBS OGMMTVC Meta Series is ongoing: preamble here, part 1 here, part 2 here, more reviews to come) 34) Secret Crush On You (2022) (on pause for La Pluie) 35) KinnPorsche (2022) (tag here) 36) KinnPorsche (2022) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For the Sake of Re-Analyzing the KP Cultural Zeitgeist 37) The Eclipse (2022) (tag here) 38) GAP (2022-2023) (Thailand’s first GL) 39) My School President (2022-2023) and Our Skyy 2 x My School President (2023) 40) Moonlight Chicken (2023) (tag here) 41) Bed Friend (2023) (tag here) 42) Be My Favorite (2023) (tag here)  43) Wedding Plan (2023)  44) Only Friends (2023) (tag here)]

[steamberrystudio]

19/11/2023

Hey everyone! Time for the bi-weekly tumblr update for Steamberry stuffs!

Summary

Finished writing all routes up through the end of chapter 9

Started working on editing for now

Added in-game achievements

Received some new BG art

Ramble

Okay, so writing-wise, I wrote Yren's content up through the end of chapter 9. Also revamped my end-route summaries for Yren and Raif.

The current word count is 426,000 words.

But I decided to hold off on finishing the endings for the four remaining routes. The main reason for this is that I have planned a lot of early-story changes that are going to shift the trajectory of the route endings. And I was really struggling with how to construct the route endings with those planned changes in a more nebulous state.

I usually try to avoid working out of order because I find it is not conducive to forward progress. But there are some points when you have to break the rules and go back to make important edits because you need them there in order to be able to move forward.

I'm kind of at that point.

So I decided I would fully edit Asher's route, which will allow me to inject all those planned changes into the story which will make it much easier to construct endings that call back to that earlier foreshadowing.

So writing-wise, that's what I've been doing this week. I am currently up to Chapter 6 in the edit (which means I'm a little less than half through the route).

Other Stuff:

I have received new BGs of course. Those are coming in at a fairly steady rate of 1.5 - 2 weeks each.

I also have decided to add in-game achievements to WSC. I've been thinking about it for a while but putting it off since I know that one more screen (like an achievements gallery) means more tweaks to the UI. But I finally sucked it up and did it anyway.

I've also been playing with a colour slider for Wil's sprite. I'm not going to go into detail about it here because I've talked about it more in depth on Patreon and will continue to post most of the details there.

But the idea is that instead of choosing from 3 skin tones and 2 hair colours, there would be colour sliders allowing for a much greater range of selection. One of the big concerns with colour sliders is whether or not the recolours can be made to look as good as recolouring manually - which has always been why I've stayed away from them. 

The more complex shading styles have always struggled with colour sliders. But a developer friend - Feniks - has made a really cool and dynamic shader that actually can recreate even painterly or non-outlined art styles with incredible accuracy.

Using a slider is really useful because it increases the variations the player gets while *reducing* my work load. Instead of having to recolour manually, I would actually only need to colour everything once in grey scale.

Of course, it's not as easy as just dumping in the code and art. It requires some experimentation and learning but right now it is looking like I will be able to make it work. So I may be able to show off some examples in the future.

Screenshots:

None this time...

Upcoming Weeks:

I am currently editing Chapter 6 of asher/common routes and there are some pretty substantial edits I have to make.

It's always tricky to estimate what I will get done editing wise because editing does not flow at a more or less even pace like writing. Chapter 5, 6, and 7 had (and will have) major updates and changes so it may take a while to get through them. Though I'm already through with Ch 5. So...that's one of three.

Anyway.

And I'm also working on the GS lore book, still (LoL. 🙃). Someone today reminded me that I still need to go through all the deleted content to see if anything is salvageable for the lore book too.

😭

Thank you so much to that person (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. And you need to answer for your crimes, my friend.) 👀

[slavghoul]

There’s an interview with Martin in the new issue of Sweden Rock Magazine and he talks a bit about Ghost. I know some of you still miss the good ole Omega days and wonder what the hell happened in 2016 or whether he and TF are on speaking terms at all, so I translated the few parts where he talks about his time in the band..

--

There have been countless rumours about the reasons for your departure from Ghost, everything from mental illness to alcohol. I want to give you a chance to sort out what happened when you left.

MP: I don't know if I need the chance. Well, I have severe fucking ADHD, I was diagnosed the other year. And I've been taking anti-depressants for 16 years, I quit three months ago. So yeah, mental ups and downs have been plenty. No more alcohol problems than the average construction worker. It's invasive and so fucking unnecessary to delve too much into it, but in short: after six-seven years of intense fucking work, you get tired of each other in a way that might be unimaginable to someone who hasn't experienced that kind of relationship. It wasn’t just Tobias, it was everyone towards each other. You sit on a tour bus and you don't feel like it's a holiday or a fun thing, but such is life. I see it as a marriage. Ask anybody, let a mate move into your living room and live together in the same room for two years. A lot happens to your personalities and even though we were anonymous, you got a boost of some feigned self-esteem that some of us never had. It was turbulent, but also really fun and beautiful to do those things with that gang. There was nothing dramatic happening, no one doing more drugs than anyone else. Me and Tobbe both thought and think good things about each other. I can say the same about Simon or keyboardist Mauro Rubino or drummer Aksel Holmgren or bassist Rikard Ottoson or guitarist Henrik Palm or whoever. But people don’t need to know everything. It's as bizarre as me talking about my ex to the newspaper. Maybe if I lived in Hollywood, but now I live in Linköping, haha.

Do you have contact with Tobias today? Will you ever reconcile?

MP: Strictly business. I definitely think so. Sometimes you just have to have some time apart. I see no reason why we shouldn't, I see it that way with all the guys involved. It's a bit like having broken up with a girlfriend. It can be hard to see her with a new guy and you have to look after yourself. I've never felt the need to pour this out to people, I think it just does more damage. I understand that people want to know, but it's funny. People buy that it's anonymous for however long and then they want to know the most intimate stuff.

You have an Omega tattoo, your symbol in Ghost. Is it a painful reminder or do you mostly look back on that time as something positive?

MP: I have it on my shoulder, it sits where it sits. The Omega thing has nothing to do with Ghost for me. We had five symbols to distinguish the costumes and I had one stuck to one of my guitars. As we didn't have names, people started calling me that. When I think back on my time with the band, it's many years of great stuff. Being on tour isn't a great thing if you're unwell or homesick, but overall it was fantastic. We had so much fun, it was great and new for everyone and we learned stuff every day. We took it seriously, were smart and strategic and didn't party the whole thing up. If we had been 20 years old, it wouldn't have worked. For me, it's a great, important period.

How different would Ghost's first three albums have been without you?

MP: I'm not going to trample on myself, but I'm not going to put myself on some fantasy pedestal either. The band, the idea and the concept was started by Tobias and bassist Gustaf Lindström. That's it. Five guys don't wake up the same day and have the same idea. He's the main visionary, no question about it. He started Ghost and has written Opus Eponymous more or less alone. But for the next album, we had formed a band around it. It was still his band, everybody understood that he's the boss, but the musicians became more or less contributors. I came up with song ideas, ideas of what we should look like, album covers, concepts. And Tobbe was damn clever. He understood that if something was good, it didn't matter who did the shit. But there was no one with the mandate to take his place. lnfestissumam would have been a little different, but not that different. Some people say that when the old members left, the band died. That's not true. I think the musicians have played a big role live, but in the song-writing I don't think so. It's really hard to say what impact someone has had, but if you've been there, you've been there. On Impera, Hux Nettermalm plays drums and I hear it's not Ludvig Kennberg who plays on Opus Eponymus, Meliora and Prequelle. Aksel has his style and Martin Hjertstedt who played drums live also has a great style. Other than that, there are not so big differences.

The first time I heard that Magna Carta Cartel and Ghost shared members, I thought that the bands had the same singer.

MP: I've heard that plenty of times. In MCC it has been me or Simon singing. Neither Tobbe nor I, especially I, are trained singers. I won't compare us too much, because he's probably done over a thousand live shows by now. But we're from the same town, have the same accent... I can't sing any other way, I can't really sing at all. My voice here is just another instrument. If I'd done it again from the beginning, we'd probably have a different singer. I know people want to imagine it’s Tobias singing in MCC. They can stand in the room when we play and think it's him. People have been talking about the lyrics of "Sway" being about Ghost, but it was written in 2004 and is about a girl I had a crush on. But it doesn't matter how many times you present the facts, people still think things - and it's both amazing and terrifying.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

OPD spoilers up to the end of episode 7, because episode 7 was fun but brain insisted on a couple of thoughts before I can move on (or, apparently, work on thing I was supposed to upload today). Injury warnings, spoiler warnings, and talk about potential death, and also er I've had these characters for one episode running on auto-translated-auto-subtitles. You will pry them from my cold-dead hands, but it's not exactly the best way to study things like speech patterns, especially when my Portuguese is... I can now catch the gist of things and follow the rpg mechanics mostly, but very very far from me being able to use any words? I just kinda can sort of follow via context and stuff I /recognise/ but don't /remember/. Enough rambling, have two guys in a car.

"Where to now?" Johnny asks, as they drive away. "You're the one with the maps."

A groan.

Johnny glances up, checks his partner in the rear-view mirror. Some of his muscles still shift in ways Johnny is pretty sure aren't entirely voluntary, and Rubens holds his entire body like it is in pain. Still, he gives half of a shrug, and keeps looking out of the window.

Johnny is also sore, yes, especially from having been immobilised - but he's /not/ the one whose breathing sounds kind of janky, and hissed when the seatbelt touched his ribs.

"That bad?" He adjusts his question to, glancing up from the road every few seconds.

"Just head home," Rubens answers the first question instead of the second. "We can pick in the morning."

"What morning? It's already gone seven," Johnny takes the turning towards their flat regardless. A pause and then. "You sure you're good just to go home?"

Yes, they need to continue the investigation, but even Johnny can see that Rubens can barely stand; no matter what help they wanted to give those two other agents, it wasn't going to happen.

"What-" Rubens is cut off, hissing, as they go over a bump.

"Yeah, you know what, driver's rules - we're going to the hospital."

Rubens' lack of reply, not even a grimace, is pretty damning. It is also a little worrying, especially with the flinches and extremely deliberate breathing.

It is not that Johnny is paranoid, it's that he knows what that attack did to Johnny himself, and he's gained a decent feel for Rubens' tolerance over the last few months.

He takes the turn towards the hospital, and already starts constructing a lie. Rubens can probably pass for an electrician, and Johnny could have just been helping, and maybe someone turned the mains back on before they were finished? That's got to happen all of the time, right?

"Do you think we'll see them again?" Johnny asks, searching for a conversation topic. He's got to keep driving, but he is more than starting to get worried. "No clue what's up with the boy, but they seemed decent. Good to know the Order's always got people."

Rubens' laugh isn't very happy, "no."

"I thought you were an optimist?"

"Your job," Rubens shifts, seemingly trying to alleviate some discomfort, and only making it worse. "I'd like to, but… you saw them. Injured, electrocuted, and going to where their team went dark? They won't survive. We might not."

It's true, but that doesn't mean he has to say it. There's been a lot of deaths, recently, if what Sam has been telling them is true. Johnny isn't sure, but can't see any reason for Sam to lie about that; Johnny and Rubens have been undercover for months, but have managed to keep themselves above water so far.

A lot of people haven't, though. A great many people haven't.

"You left them your knife," Rubens follows up with.

"Shut up and sort through that notebook instead."

"No." At least he's perked up a little, actually sounding a bit more awake, thinking and shifting a little and worrying his lip before he speaks again. "Maybe they'll surprise me and you'll get it back? Can't read the notebook. The bag is in the boot."

Neither of them comment on how, usually, Rubens would still just lean over and grab it.

"Maps, then?"

He makes a left turn, and they find themselves nearly there.

"They're maps," Rubens replies. "We need the notes to work on a target... Gameshow, orphanage, orphanage, gameshow, Menefreda, puzzles, Energy... I can't see the link; do you think there's any crossover in the cases? Should we ask Samuel for their notes? Something's missing here."

"Can't be sure," Johnny has to focus on this bit of road, busier than the further out streets. "We can ask, though."

"And the girl? Erin? She said the woman's voice was-" Rubens cuts off with a gasp.

Immediately Johnny looks up, checking over his shoulder. Rubens' back is arched and he struggles for air; he shoves on his hazard lights and pulls over before unplugging his seatbelt, and inelegently scrambling across.

By the time he has done so, Rubens' body has relaxed. He has leant back, breathing heavily and clutching at his chest. Johnny places a hand on his back, rubbing a thumb into the twisted muscles there.

"Rubens?" Johnny asks, voice lower. "You good?"

The shudder looks just as involuntary, but a little more normal; Rubens leans slowly forwards, resting only one elbow on his knee, and folding his chin onto it.

One moment, two.

Rubens starts gesturing a reply, only to cut himself off with a wince.

"An answer, please," Johnny keeps his voice low, doing his best to be reassuring.

"I'm good," he answers, blinking fast as he shifts to looking at his hands. "I'm... Good, yes, good. Just, fuck, the speed bump."

Johnny had barely even noticed it; Rubens has got to be much more injured than he looks to react that badly to just a speed bump.

"I'll be more careful," he promises, though he isn't quite sure how. "Good to keep going? We're another ten minutes out, looking at this traffic."

"All good."

It is not quite believable, given everything going on, but Johnny chooses to let it pass. He knows shit all about these things, only that his partner is suffering. He's also suffering, but he's Johnny - he can take it.

Rubens... Not so much. Not really his skill-set; Johnny doesn't jump in the way of fists because he enjoys getting punched, after all.

Choosing to climb back over instead of getting out, Johnny only slightly catches his ankle on the gear-stick. Still, he gets back to the driver's seat safely, turns off the hazard lights, and pulls back into the road.

"Any thoughts so far?" he asks instead.

Johnny can put pressure on a gunshot wound just fine, but electricity is weird. Magic electricity? Even weirder. He does, however, know that so long as everyone is managing coherent conversation he /probably/ can just drive to the hospital instead of faffing with an ambulance.

(Don't they have their own doctor now? Johnny isn't quite sure, but he does know that contacting the Order, outside of secure and prearranged chats with Samuel, is likely to break their cover.)

Rubens shifts his face from side to side, mouthing words to himself and gesturing his hand around in a much more typically Rubens fashion. After a little while he shrugs - only with one shoulder and that's something to make the doctor check - and answers, "hopefully the paperwork is more useful to us; I don't think the Director was actually anyone important. Show, Director, he only does this one bit most likely? And only had, what, five staff members?"

"Barely a crew," Johnny replies. "I don't like the thing with Erin's grandmother - she's definitely not any of the corpses. None were old enough. So why was her voice there?"

"The man too," Rubens replies. "You shouldn't have told them we were Order agents; the cameras were running. Whoever runs it might have heard."

"Shit," Johnny can immediately see the problem but, to be fair, in the moment that had been far from his highest priority. Getting the grenade out already blew more of his cover than either of them liked - he should have just stolen the gun and tried shooting the glass. "We can adapt, but..."

"Danger," Rubens replies. "We'll need to be more careful, right?"

"Right," and, fuck, Johnny has been here before. "We might need to be subtler to get in."

"Games," Rubens replies.

"Hm?"

"He likes games. If we-" another speedbump, and Rubens gasps again, entire body twisting at the pain, but he settles himself quickly, moving on. "Fuck. But, if we do get in... it might be to play with us specifically. If the recording got through. Champion's match. New difficulty."

"Maybe the information we have will be enough?"

The look Rubens gives him is absolutely scathing.

"Yeah, okay, they weren't important enough to have anything actually good. I can wish, though; don't really want to be watching over my shoulder forever."

"It could work in our favour," Rubens settles on. "We need to get into deeper areas anyway. Toying, playing - if we interested whatever's in charge, perhaps it will bring us deeper to try again."

"They're deathtraps."

"But somebody always has to win. It's a bad game, otherwise."

Two people could have won the game they were playing, if they stuck to the rules, or perhaps there would have been more to it. Johnny doesn't expect them to be that generous again, though.

Ah, well, they'll work it out.

They always do.

---

It is not that much further to the hospital, and 7:30am is a blissfully quiet time. Most people from the night before have already left, but it's too early for most sorts of accidents.

Parking is easy, but getting out is more difficult. Well, no, Johnny can get out fine - stiff and weirdly cramping, but fine. It's Rubens he worries about, Rubens who scoots rather than steps out of the car, and still almost immediately collapses to the floor.

The concern - the /worry/ - is back nearly instantly.

"Ow, fuck, shit," Rubens mutters, in between the curse words as he uses the side of the car to leverage himself up.

Yeah, no, that is not going to stand. Johnny comes back over, taking the one of Rubens' arms that he isn't holding strangely, and pulling it over his shoulders. His own arm he wraps around his partner's back, protecting him from any potential falls.

When he squeezes his fingers, Rubens hisses; Johnny shifts them further down with an apology on his tongue.

"It's fine."

It's not fine.

The angle is awkward, so Johnny much crouch a bit as he helps Rubens to the emergency room. Even with the help and the rest he still keeps staggering and stumbling, his legs barely able to hold his weight.

The reception desk is even worse. By the time they get there, Johnny is supporting all of Rubens' admittedly meager weight.

"Hey," he says, reminding himself she may be the gatekeeper but if he isn't polite then they are both in trouble. "Sorry, we were doing some repair work, and some asshole turned the mains back on while we were working. I'm just kinda sore, but my buddy's having trouble breathing."

Always mention the breathing. They hate it when you cannot breathe properly.

Her eyes flicker momentarily wider, looking at the now disturbingly grey Rubens.

"Names, please?"

"I'm Johnny Tabasco, this is Rubens Naluti."

Rubens seems to try to smile and wave, only to grimace and flinch instead.

A few more questions follow - dates of birth, occupations, next of kin, particularly concerning symptoms... Rubens says unusually quiet, getting slowly heavier against Johnny's side.

Eventually, the questioning comes to an end.

"Please go sit down, and fill in these forms," two clipboards are handed to Johnny. Right. Insurance paperwork and medical history - at least he knows enough of Rubens' to fill it in, after so long doing this work together. "Someone will likely be with Mr Naluti shortly, though you yourself will likely have to wait longer. We're not overly busy, but there are still a few incidents already."

"Thank you," and oh, Christ, he's just glad to be able to get Rubens off his feet.

They end up on the plastic chairs, Rubens flinching at it.

"You alright?" Johnny asks him.

There are a good number of fast blinks before Rubens nods, "let's not repeat this, though."

"Sure thing."

Rubens' hand (and only one hand, the other stays at his side) shakes badly as he starts filling in his form - the simple bits like address he leaves just in case, and starts with his medical insurance details. Allergies, pre-existing conditions... Rubens is doubling back to fill in his basic details when a doctor appears.

"Mr Naluti?"

"Here," he raises his clearly good hand.

"If you would come with me, please?" she asks.

He glances to her, to the gap between them, and then to Johnny. Johnny goes to get up to help, and she says "wait here, please, triage for adult patients is done alone."

And, sure, but didn't they get the notes?

Rubens looks at Johnny, only slowly nodding after they have made eye contact. Johnny is not entirely sure what it means, but he prepares himself for trouble anyway.

And then Rubens /tries/ to stand.

This time when he falls, he catches his weight on his bad arm. Johnny just about manages to stop his head or chest crashing into the floor, snapping at the doctor with a "didn't you /read/ he can't walk right now?!" as he helps him back onto the chair.

It leaves Rubens even more off-colour, and shaking, and Johnny not a great deal impressed with what is going on.

"I'll be right back," the doctor vanishes back the way she came.

"Will you be okay alone?" Johnny asks.

"Eh," Rubens manages a small laugh - his breathing is not settling this time, remaining too fast and too shallow. "I'll manage."

"Of course you will."

Johnny wishes there was an easier way to solve this specific bullshit at least.

Quickly, Johnny finished Rubens papers, and lets him sign them. They are ready when a different doctor appears - this one accompanied by some lower ranked staff member pushing a wheelchair.

"Mr Naluti, I'll be taking over from my colleague," the new doctor says. "We need to speak to you alone - privacy and protocol, you understand - but he can help you transfer if that is better for you?"

It is better for Johnny, at least.

"It's up to you," he still manages to say, standing and offering his arms, just like getting out of the car.

Rubens nods, and takes them, struggling the few short steps from the chair to the wheelchair. Johnny helps him get... not comfortable, but less uncomfortable, before placing Rubens' clipboard on his lap.

"See you shortly," Johnny promises.

"Yeah," Rubens replies between tight breaths. "See you soon."

---

Johnny does not see Rubens shortly, not even close thereto. They did bring the evidence with them, split between their bags - it's been stolen from their car before, and that was it's own form of nightmare - but he cannot exactly work on it here. Neither can he work on it without Rubens, who...

"Mr Tabasco," one of the nurses had told him. "Your friend - Mr Naluti? He asked us to tell you... He needs to be admitted due to internal damage? Primarily to his lung. There is surgery involved, though the tear is small and so it is a relatively simple procedure. It is not common with electrical injuries, especially with mains supplies, but it can happen. The doctor wished to work on it immediately, and he consented. There were some other internal injuries too - all consistent with severe muscle spasming or electrical burns. You'll be able to see him once the doctors have finished, but he'll be here a few nights most likely; until the chest tube comes out, at least, perhaps longer depending on his ribs. Given the nature of his injuries, and that you were injured together, the doctor wishes to see you immediately."

And Johnny liked none of that, not at all. He complied with the doctors simply to get through everything, and given an injection to force his muscles to stop cramping. He hates how it helps him feel less like shit, and concedes to their desire for at least 24 hours of wires and monitoring only once he realises it will place him and Rubens on the same ward.

The ward is louder, and busier, and Johnny hasn't slept since this time yesterday, if nobody counts getting knocked out and kidnapped. Still, he cannot rest yet, not until he knows Rubens is fine. There are, at least, some non-work related books in his bag; he'll text Sam with an update once he's sure what's going on, and until then at least try to relax.

Thankfully, he does not get more than two chapters in before Rubens is brought through. Something he said must have stuck with the doctors, as he is given the next bed along. Propped to half-sitting, with some wires and tubes and thick bandaging around one shoulder, but awake and unhappy about it. Johnny waits for the medical staff to finish adjusting him to take a better look; Rubens' eyes trail after them somewhat nervously, and hospital blue does not suit him but he is looking a distinctly better colour.

"You alright?" he asks, drawing attention from the room to himself.

Rubens visibly relaxes when his eyes catch on him, bored and reading. He gestures to himself with his unbandaged arm, clearly moving carefully so as not to disturb anything.

"You?" he returns with.

"Painkillers help," Johnny offers, and receives a firm nod of agreement. "I'm sore, but fine. Might have torn something, but swelling needs to go down to check. The burns are too deep, but my nerves are a bit sensitive and they want to be absolutely sure the ones around my heart are fine before they let me leave."

"Heart?" Rubens asks, his attention focusing in for a second, before someone dropping a tray of medicines with a loud 'fuck!' draws a flinch and his attention.

"Doctor said if there was going to be a problem there probably would be by now, but he wanted it monitoring just in case," Johnny does his best to reassure. "You... look a bit more alive?"

"Not alive enough to read."

Johnny laughs, "I wasn't going to ask you for that already. Did they say how long you're here for...?"

Rubens shakes his head a little, "no 'heavy exercise' for at least 4 weeks. Maybe more. Depends on my ribs."

"I'll let Sam know. We can sort through the paperwork and update reports in the meantime."

"Ugh," he flops harder into the pillows, seemingly trying to lay down - something the nurses made impossible for the both of them - but gestures consent. "Tell him 'just hack the hospital records'."

"Alright. Get some sleep, or I do have our bags? I think your wallet is in there if you want to buy access to the TVs. Not sure what else you packed."

There is just the problem of getting Rubens' bag to him.

Rubens seems to choose sleep, though, or at least closing his eyes to think about something - it's been a long night, and Johnny will probably follow once he's reported in.

Just a short text message; Sam can work out a more secure connection if he wants information immediately, otherwise he can wait until at least Johnny can head home and ring. Scanning he can also do, but accessing the digital documents will have wait for Rubens. Not that the Order is ever running to time anyway.

'Hey Sam' he types, keeping things on their personal phones as civilian sounding as possible. 'So first off, don't panic, nobody's dead or dying, but Rubens and I are in hospital. He said to tell you to just hack the hospital records, so now I've said it. Not really in the mood to explain

.., but the short is some asshole got us electrocuted...'

[nanowrimo]

6 Steps to Help You Read Like a Writer

What have you learned about writing from the novels and stories that you read? Whether you love them or hate them, there’s a lot you can learn just from reading books! Today, the folks at Reese’s Book Club have shared some tips to help you read like a writer:

While there are a hundred different books offering specific writing advice from writers, critics, and educators, there is one universal truth accepted by all: to become a great writer, you have to be a great reader. This doesn’t mean reading acclaimed literature or finishing the Man Booker List each year. Instead, it means reading with a critical eye and learning from every book you pick up.

Every book has something to teach you, whether you liked it or not. Below are six areas where we teach you how to read your TBR like a writer.

1. Study the POV

Point of View, or POV, is a crucial part of every story, changing the way the reader connects with the story. First POV tends to bring the reader in by sitting them in the heads of the main characters while third POV offers a more holistic scope of the story.

Questions to Ask: How do different POVs build tension and drive drama? Which characters and I’m sympathizing with most and why? How does the story use POV to tell us more about the world of the novel?

Required Reading: The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak

2. Pacing/Structure

Chances are you’ve stumbled across a book that’s struggled to hold your attention. Examining these moments and what’s going on can help you solve for it in your own work.

Questions to Ask: When are you growing tired of the story? Is it a page count issue? A scene length issue? On a scene level, what is missing that could add drama or push the story forward? On a story level, is the plot too straightforward? How might deeper character work or plot twists create a more engaging story?

Required Reading: The Secrets We Kept by Lara Prescott

3. Stakes

Stakes are the reason we care about a story, why we’re affected so much when one character doesn’t get the love interest or when another character dies a tragic death. Notice which characters you become most invested in and why.

Questions to Ask: How do the world stakes and personal stakes interact? Are they in conflict with one another? Are they aligned? Which of these two options creates more engagement for you as a reader?

Required Reading: The Last Thing He Told Me by Laura Dave

4. Character Arcs

As readers, we want to see characters develop and grow. Studying how this is done in a novel can help you structure character development in your own work.

Questions to Ask: How do the obstacles the characters’ face force them to pivot? What about the plot forces them to reassess their beliefs? How do other characters impact the protagonists’ behavior? How do the protagonists’ mistakes, assumptions, and ideals create new problems in the text?

Required Reading: The Alice Network by Kate Quinn

5. Secondary Characters

Don’t neglect your side characters. Think about what types of characters can bring conflict, tension, comfort, and hope to your character’s world.

Questions to ask: Who is challenging the main character’s beliefs in this world? Who is the antagonist? What does their dialogue cadence look like? How do their personalities bounce off of each other? What is their life outside of the protagonist’s story?

Required Reading: Firekeeper’s Daughter by Angeline Boulley

6. Main Character Development

We all love a morally gray character, but they are usually constructed in such a way that we as readers still fall in love with them. Character development is how you get your reader on the side of your character.

Questions to Ask: What makes you care about the characters? Especially the ones you’re not supposed to like? How does their backstory play into the situation? Does that make them more sympathetic? Less?

Required Reading: Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid

Each month, Reese Witherspoon, the founder of Reese’s Book Club, chooses a book with a woman at the center of the story. There's no formula to the books chosen to be in the spotlight, and RBC likes it that way. They make their choices thoughtfully and look for ways to deepen readers’ connection to books, authors and ourselves. LitUp by Reese’s Book Club is an underrepresented, un-agented women’s writer fellowship helping to diversify our bookshelves. To keep up with all news from Reese’s Book Club, sign up for their newsletter.

[hereforthelizardsex]

You mentioned about different analyses of 1984 in a post that you reblogged from me, and now I’m interested. I haven’t read 1984 for a while (I’m thinking of rereading it soon), but I’d be interested in any of your opinions / other people’s analyses if you want to share! :)

Omg yay 1984 is my favorite book and I always want to talk about it.

Of course the well known thing about the book is the issue of censorship, but the censorship in the novel does not exist in isolation, rather it is influenced by other political and economic forces.

1984 is a story of a society where, as a result of an end to scarcity (which would otherwise require a transition away from capitalism), those in power have created an economic system where war is used to manufacture scarcity, thereby ensuring the continued existence of hierarchy and power. It is important to note that hierarchy is also the problematized issue in Animal Farm, another book my George Orwell that is often misinterpreted as anti-communist while in actuality being anti-capitalist. The censorship in 1984 is done not only in the service of preserving the state but specifically for the purpose of preserving hierarchy as a concept. This is stated outright in the theory section in the middle of the book, when Winston is reading The Book. When I logged on to tumblr after finishing 1984 to look for meta posts and analyses, I was shocked to find people saying that they had skipped that entire section of the novel. I exclaimed out loud about this and my mother who was in the room at the time said she’d done the same thing. While people are entitled to consume media in whatever fashion they like and 1984 itself promotes this idea, I find it deeply concerning that many people skip what was to me the most interesting and important section of the book due to finding it to be a difficult read. The book states outright that the preservation of the power of the capitalist class and the subjugation of the working class is the entire reason that the government does everything it does, and people just don’t read that part of the book.

The censorship in the book is also not only censorship by elimination but censorship by the rewriting of history. This is important because it happens all the time in real life. For example, Florida’s governor Ron DeSantis wishes for it to be taught in schools that slavery helped Black people. This is the same kind of censorship that happens in 1984. In the field of political science this is called the “usable past” - versions of rewritten history used to uphold a nation’s identity.

Another political science concept that 1984 takes to an extreme is that if war abroad being used to put an end to social movements at home. This has happened throughout history as wars are used to make patriotism the norm, thereby marginalizing “unpatriotic” political movements such as labor or racial or gender equality that are seen as not in line with the aforementioned national identity that has been constructed. In 1984 the wars do this quite literally by manufacturing scarcity and thereby preventing the rise of communism.

I could go on forever, but instead I’ll conclude with an anecdote from when I was in high school. In my English class senior year of high school we were split into groups and assigned various novels to read instead of reading one as a class. The group that was assigned 1984 (not my group, I read The Color Purple which is another favorite that I could go on about forever) decided they wouldn’t read it because “the main character wants to rape someone.” I found this disturbing immediately because the novel is about censorship being a bad thing and here my classmates were not wanting to read it because it depicts sensitive subject matter. Their behavior was disturbingly indicative of the self censoring mindset of so many young people on the internet today. When I myself read the novel a few years later I discovered that it deals with rape in a few different ways. The first is that the main character was himself raped by his wife before the story takes place, not for sexual gratification but for reproductive purposes. The second is that he does indeed fantasize about raping someone who he is under the impression wants to get him killed. He later has sex with this person after finding out that she does not in fact want to get him killed, and it is the sex scene in a novel with the best negotiation of consent I have ever read. After the characters have sex Winston muses on the political power of sex in ways that I recognize more from queer activists who post on tumblr than from any other novel. All of the novel’s dealings with sensitive topics around sex are well done. The ones that are disturbing are intended to be disturbing - the book ends darkly; nothing in it is intended to make the reader feel good.

I could go on and I have - I wrote one of my papers in undergrad on 1984 and would be willing to share that too, if I could find a way to link it without my full name attached - but I’ll leave this as is for now.

[bobgasm]

kingpin ⦾ four

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x ofc!emery young word count: 2971 warnings: grumpy suppliers, secrets, a fateful meeting

summary: in which they finally meet

author’s note: this is the part where i threw out my original outline 🫠

three | kingpin | five

Bob ran his hand through his hair as Lenny, one of the Feathers’ main alcohol suppliers, ranted in his ear. He was in half a mind to end the call and send him an email explaining the issue, but he knew that would anger him further.

“Lenny, I understand the situation we’ve put you in and I’m sorry,” Bob apologised. “Our accounting software apparently ran an update at the time of the transfer of our bill file, but I’m working with Decker to get your bill paid ASAP.”

He lied through his teeth like it was second nature, and to him, it definitely was. He barely needed to think before he spoke, the words coming out before he even had time to make sense of them. Luckily, he’d already figured out how to make a manual payment, so he was in the process of loading all missed bills into the system to be paid.

“If you aren’t paid by 5pm then please let me know and I’ll personally transfer you the balance that Feathers owes you,” Bob continued. “That’s the best I can do for you right now.”

Lenny grunted in acknowledgement. “If this happens again, you’ll be losing our business.”

“We both know you can’t afford to lose our business,” Bob replied firmly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Let me get back to work.”

Lenny hung up, disgruntled by Bob’s words, and Bob exhaled heavily. Part of him wanted to leave Lenny’s bill unpaid purely so he had a reason to knock some sense into him, but he knew Morgan would be ropeable if Feathers or Dice had no alcohol delivery next week. 

He created a new bill in the system and checked it against the invoice he’d found, entering the amount owed before selecting the due date as today. He did that for the next thirty odd invoices he had before logging into the business bank accounts and approving the payments. It’d take a couple of hours for them to be approved by the bank, but he wasn’t worried.

What he was worried about was that Halo had been organising interviews all week, which had interfered with him learning how to pay the damned bills. He was pissed at Decker for leaving them high and dry. Decker had to have known he was planning on retiring, so why hadn’t he said anything? Now Bob felt like he was scrambling and he hated being made a fool of. 

It didn’t help that his father was breathing down his back about updates, because he had also been tasked with tracking the almost seventy year old down. Richard still didn’t want to bring Coyote in, even though his tracking skills and connections were phenomenal. Bob was stretched thin trying to keep everything in order, but he knew it was only a matter of time before word got out about Decker. He was hoping it was sooner rather than later.

Bob sat up a little straighter when there was a knock at his office door. “Come in,” he told them, gathering all the papers on his desk into one near pile.

He looked up to see Halo open the door with a coffee for him. “Thought you might need this,” she said with a smile, walking towards him and placing the mug on his desk.

Halo, also known as Callie Bassett, was Bob’s assistant. She’d been hired a few years ago to help keep everything in order, helping make sure all the businesses that the Floyd’s owned ran smoothly. She worked closely with both of the Floyd siblings, who managed their own respective areas. Morgan ran Feathers, a strip club, and Dice, which was a casino in Downtown LA. Bob handled the construction company, which was in the midst of building a hotel on a plot of land they’d acquired recently. 

“I do, thank you,” he replied gratefully. “Have any more applications come through?”

“One late last night that looks promising,” she replied. “I haven’t had a chance to call her yet because I’ve been trying to pacify disgruntled suppliers.”

Bob ran a hand over his face. “I’ve just sent the final payments through. They should all be paid by the end of the day.”

Halo nodded. “I’ll pass the information along,” she told him. “I don’t want to add more to your plate, but I’m afraid that wages are due tomorrow.”

“Fucking hell,” Bob cursed. “I appreciate it, Halo. See if you can get in contact with the person who applied last night. I need someone doing this, like, yesterday.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

She left without another word, his office door clicking shut behind her. Bob had no fucking idea how to sort the wages out. He knew it was likely a similar process, but he had timesheets to collate and figure out what everyone’s hourly rate was. It was going to be a long night, he knew that for sure.

Calls kept coming in throughout the day from suppliers who hadn’t been paid, but Halo had it handled. Unless they were truly belligerent, Bob was left to try and figure out the payroll system. It operated similarly to the system used for invoicing and bills, but had all the employees’ information already loaded. He copied the previous fortnight’s template for each employee, paired it up with their timesheet for hours worked, and then processed them to be paid tomorrow. 

Halo interrupted him once to deliver lunch which he was grateful for. Bob practically inhaled the sandwich while fielding calls from Coyote about the ongoing investigation with Garcia. Mickey Garcia was a local cop who was on their payroll, but while the police ran their investigation about his suspected dealings with the Floyd’s, all of his salary was paid in cash. Coyote was trying to find out what the holdup was with the transfer so he could hand it over to Garcia later, which only stressed Bob out further. 

He had no idea how Decker handled everything. He’d made his job look easy enough that any man off the street could do it. As Bob was finding out, that wasn’t the case at all. He felt like he was at his wits’ end, so he paid Coyote from his own account so he could make the withdrawal for Garcia. He’d figure out the proper way to go about paying their more illegitimate contractors later. For now, this was the only solution he had. 

Halo stopped in once more before she left, telling Bob that she’d managed to get in touch with Emery, the person who’d applied for the job late last night, and organised an interview with them in the morning. It was set for ten, in case he was staying later than anticipated. Bob appreciated the thought and wished her a goodnight, getting up to make himself a coffee and finding Coyote sitting at the table in the kitchenette.

“You pay Garcia alright?” Bob asked.

“He’s happy,” Coyote replied, leaning back in his chair as he stared at the younger man he called his boss. “Where’s Decker?”

“That’s the million dollar question,” Bob replied. “Anyone else here?”

Coyote shook his head. “Only me,” he replied. “Halo just left.”

“My office,” Bob told him, coffee long forgotten about. Leading the way back to his office and closing the door behind them. “Richard doesn’t want anyone to know this, but Decker’s gone. Retired early Monday morning.”

“That’s what the phone call was about?” Coyote wondered aloud. Bob nodded briefly. “Why doesn’t he want anyone to know?”

“Until we can talk to him and find out why his retirement wasn’t discussed, or a replacement brought in, it leaves us vulnerable. Richard expects me to hire a replacement, keep things ticking over smoothly, and track down Decker. None of which is easy,” Bob explained. “I’m only telling you because I’m spread thin. I need you to track him down discreetly. Offer your contacts up to 50 large if you trust it’ll buy their silence. I need him found.”

“Do you have any leads?” Coyote asked.

“I haven’t had much free time to even start,” Bob confessed. “You’re my right hand. I should’ve brought you in on this earlier.”

“I’m in now,” Coyote told him. “I’ll stop by his place and see if I can find anything. Chances are he cleaned it, but I’ll reach out to Maverick and Ice, see if they can check the airports and docks for any footage or comb through passenger manifests.”

Bob nodded, bringing Decker’s disappearance to Maverick and Ice would help exponentially. They had buddies located at every possible exit out of the country, so if anyone could find Decker, it was them. 

“Good, keep me updated. Don’t tell them who he is or why we need to find him,” Bob reminded him. “Say it’s come straight from Richard Floyd. His name still strikes fear in those men, so they won’t go to him with any information.”

“I’m on it, boss,” Coyote told him. 

Bob knew he could trust him, it was Maverick he was worried about. He had a tendency to go out on his own and try to solve problems by himself, but tended to make things worse. Ice always managed to smooth things over, but if the shit hit the fan with this, Maverick would breathe his last breath.

“Keep Mav on a tight leash,” he added. “We need Decker alive.”

Coyote nodded once in confirmation. “What about the rest of it? Any luck finding a replacement?”

Bob hummed. “Too old, they know better. They’d rat us out the second they got a whiff of anything remotely illegal,” he said. “Halo organised another interview tomorrow, so we’ll see how that goes. Need ‘em young enough to mold them into the kind of accountant we need, desperate enough that this is the best offer they’ll get.”

“Smart,” Coyote agreed. “Hook ‘em in until they’d be buried with us if they even thought about taking a deal.”

Bob smirked at the praise. “Find me Decker. I’m going home.”

Bob was back in the office bright and early. He still had a bunch of wages to finalise before sending them off to be approved, but he’d needed sleep. The longer he stared at the screen of his computer, the more jumbled everything became. He was confusing himself and growing frustrated, so he’d called it a night. Grateful that Coyote was handling one of his problems so he could focus on other areas.

Halo arrived shortly after eight with a breakfast sandwich she dropped off for him and a piping hot latte, exactly how he liked it. He polished off the breakfast sandwich before finishing up the last few employees wages in the payroll system. When he finished, he sipped his coffee and exported the wage file to the bank accounts responsible for their businesses. Double checking each employee was paid from the right account before clicking approve and rubbing his hands over his face.

He didn’t know how some people enjoyed this kind of work. It was tedious and repetitive and he was sick to death of staring at his computer. Standing up from his desk, he stretched his arms above his head before bending forward and trying to touch his toes. 

A knock at his door saw him straightening up and clearing his throat as he ran his hand down the front of his shirt. “Come in,” he said, fixing his tie as the door opened. 

“Hi, Mr Floyd, I’m Emery Young. I’m here for an interview?” The woman asked. 

Bob took a second to look at her. She was young, sure, and not just by name. She had bright honey-coloured eyes and her thick hair framed her face in loose waves. She was dressed the part, with a cream blouse and black slacks that hugged her hips and thighs, and Bob knew her ass likely looked just as amazing in them. 

“Of course, Ms. Young,” Bob greeted. “Please take a seat.”

Emery closed the door before sitting down in one of the chairs Bob had gestured to, and he got comfortable in his own chair. Halo had printed off a copy of Emery’s résumé and Bob reached for it. He wished he’d had the chance to have a look through it before she’d arrived, but he’d clearly lost track of time. 

“Thank you for coming in,” he told her, briefly glancing up to see her fold her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry for the mess, I’m usually a little more organised than this.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him with a tight smile.

“It says here you’re currently employed as a housekeeper?” Bob asked, eyes scanning her résumé with skeptical curiosity. When he looked back up at her she nodded in acknowledgement.

“I am,” she said. “I’ve been trying to find an accounting job for almost a year in my hometown, but there’s not a lot on offer. I have to pay the bills somehow, you know?”

Bob chuckled lightly. “I do,” he agreed. “Do you know much about the construction industry?”

“No,” Emery replied truthfully. “From my understanding, you need an accountant, not a builder.”

“You’re right.” Bob chuckled again. “Are you local?”

“I currently live a couple hours away, but I’m in the process of moving out here,” she told him. “More job opportunities in bigger cities.”

Bob had to agree. “Tell me a bit more about yourself,” he prompted, letting the papers rest on his desk while he leant back in his chair. 

Emery cleared her throat and sat up a little bit straighter, opting to place one hand on top of the back of her other instead of wringing her fingers together. “I put myself through college by working two jobs. I know I’m young and don’t have a lot of practice as some of the other candidates who’ve applied probably do, but I’m hardworking, driven and reliable.”

“I manage the construction business, but my family also owns a few others around town. The role wouldn’t be solely for Floyd Construction, but also for Feathers and Dice,” Bob informed her. “Some of the work would be time consuming. Do you have any other commitments that could possibly affect the odd late night?”

“As opposed to cleaning toilets, which is soul crushing?” Emery joked. It surprised Bob, but he found himself laughing anyway. “I have excellent time management skills and can easily prioritise whichever jobs to complete first. As for other commitments, no, though I’d argue that I’m pretty efficient with my work. I don’t like staying late.”

Bob hummed as he mulled her answer over. So far, her answers stood out to him more than the other candidates. She was willing to make the move to a new place for work, which meant he likely had her nibbling at the baited hook dangling in front of her. He needed something to make her bite, letting him know that she was truly hooked. 

“Are you familiar with the Wiler accounting system at all?” Bob asked, which was the system he’d been battling with all week to try and pay bills and employees. 

“I am.” Emery responded with a firm nod. 

“What about their payroll system?”

Emery cocked her head to the side. “Do you not have a payroll officer?”

“Our previous accountant handled any and all monetary transactions,” Bob replied honestly. 

“Can I ask why they left?” She asked, curiosity laced in her tone. There was something in her eyes and the way she’d set her jaw that piqued Bob’s interest, though he wasn’t sure what it was. None of the other applicants had taken on the kind of tone or posture that she had. 

Bob steeled his gaze, locking his eyes with hers. “He retired,” he told her truthfully. “It came as a shock to us all.”

Bob thought Emery seemed pleased with the answer as she nodded her head. “So, I’m right in assuming you need someone to start as soon as possible, then?”

“You are,” he replied. “If you were successful, when could you start?”

“Two weeks,” she answered. “I’d have to hand my notice in, and find a place to live.”

Bob stored the information away. “Do you have any further questions for me?”

“I do,” Emery replied. “What are the benefits you can offer me?”

“Other than a better paying job than cleaning toilets?” Bob replied, watching the corner of her mouth twitch as she tried to suppress a smile. “Off the top of my head, healthcare, dental, and a new car.”

“The advertisement said there was the ability to partially work from home,” she said. “Would a computer be supplied and a stipulated cost toward my electric and wifi bill be covered?”

“It would be reviewed once the trial period is over and an amendment to the original contract has been signed.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr Floyd,” Emery said, rising to her feet. She offered a hand to Bob and he rose slowly to shake it, unsure exactly of the outcome of the interview. Was she happy with what they could offer, or was she politely declining? Either way, he would think about it over the weekend, so far, she was a shoo-in. 

“And you, Ms Young,” he replied. 

He enjoyed watching her turn around and showcase exactly how good he knew those slacks would make her ass look. The door clicked shut behind her and he blew out a breath, deciding to give her a minute to leave before he spoke with Halo. 

When he was sure she was gone, he opened the door to his office and leant against the doorframe. “Can you write up a letter of offer for Ms Young before Monday morning?”

“I’ll have it for you by nine,” she replied.

[triaelf9]

posting this just on its own b/c it’s something I’ve been wanting to say, but here’s the full post for other important input on the convo: https://www.tumblr.com/triaelf9/723501539078160384/xfreischutz-feathernotes-feathernotes-theres?source=share

This is something deeply personal to me and yes, the landscape has changed SO much. I started making webcomics in 2005, fresh out of high school and have been making them ever since. I make mostly grayscale comics on a schedule that doesn’t overwhelm me (1 comic updates twice a week, the other once a week, and the third twice a month). I use the same program I used back in 2005, though the newest version of it that came out in like 2010 I think.

The very first comic I worked on was silly and fun, but I still get the occasional email today of folks telling me how much it meant to them. After years of rejection & getting better each year, I started working on the stories I wanted to tell. I managed to get an agent, and one of comics was picked up by Dark Horse. I did not go to art school, I never got the networking a lot of the bigger folks got, and I don’t live in the US (which, fun fact, locks me out of being able to use Webtoons fully - they’ve region-locked their app AHAHAHAH FUN).

So yeah, start whenever the heck you want! If you have a story you want to tell, that is the only reason you need to start. The more YOU enjoy your story, the more that’ll show through. If you want your art to grow, nothing will improve you faster than starting a webcomic. Also, read comics, look how your favs construct a page. Panel composition is more important than you think. The main key to a good webcomic is “is what I’m trying to show clear” and just keep on pushing.

You can start anywhere. You can show whoever you want, or no one at all (I did comics for me all through elementary school). Everyone has their own personal goal of where they’d like to be. And I’m by no means a success story. but only YOU can determine your success, and I’m happy where I am.

START THAT COMIC! you’ve got this ^_^ (also, if you don’t want to do color comics YOU DON’T HAVE TO! If anyone bugs you about it, just tell them Elaine said it was fine and they can go make their own comic in color if they care so much XD)

And readers? SHARE THE COMICS YOU LIKE! Word of mouth does so much, and if we ever want the little folk to have a chance against the mega corps, or even just the highly popular aggregate sites, boost the heck outta the comics you love ^_^

[anamelessfool]

OC pride asks

For Primo: 6

For you, the writer: 14, 16, 18

OC Pride Asks

I'm 36, and there's a lot of stuff that's new now compared to twenty years ago. I've come into my own and found a label for myself (queer), although I'm personally indifferent to labels. But I think it's important to a lot of people and I support anyone who chooses a label. So that's where I'm coming from, and my characters reflect that.

I have all the characters’ traits in my mind when I write them, but sometimes they just never explicitly come up.

6. How does your OC feel about labels?

I'm no queer history expert but I think we have a wider range of labels now than in the 1960s/70s. Primo didn't even explore much before he returned to the Church. He had a lot of anxiety about attraction before the liberated environment of the Satanic Church of the Void. (His brothers, having been raised in the Church, had no such hangups.) If he were around today he would describe himself as pan.

I suppose his journey reflects my own, a little.

14: Any ace/aro OCs?

Yes! I've had one that was in the first ever story I wrote (and I took it down to work on it.) He’s a Sibling named Friar who works and lives in a satellite Church that Terzo visits just before his forced retirement. He’s a voice of reason character for the main character who has got herself wrapped up in Satanic Church of the Void drama. Nobody ever really explicitly says “hey, I am —-!” But in the way he interacts with everyone is reflective of his total worldview.

16. Did you ever change an OC’s Identity when they were already established?

I did, yes, for plot purposes. I like to have a “straight” (straight like in “straight man” in a comedy sense) person or relationship to oppose a main character or relationship. Like a “ghoul that acts normal around humans/their mission” Edelweiss Ghoul/Earth Ghoul/Alpha Ghoul vs. Omega who falls for his summoner and breaks a lot of rules. That way the reader feels the stakes more and doesn’t make assumptions about characters based on their lot in life, just their personality. These two characters Pamela and Frieda from my next three fics (the pre-retirement Terzo one and two Secondo ones) I turned from sisters to romantically involved. The way they acted around each other and also as a foil for Secondo’s own relationship hangups felt more like a romantic connection than a sibling one. It was a lot more interesting and flexible for me that way, so I changed it.

18: Do you prefer to give your OCs specific labels?

They’re in my head but never specified unless I do a profile of them or someone directly asks me. Also, in regard to the ghouls human ideas of gender and sexuality don’t apply to them. If anything all my ghouls are gender-fluid if we are thinking from human standards. I try to have a lot of different ways to be a ghoul featured in my work so readers get that impression organically. They’re human-shaped because their summoner is human, and there’s multiple ways to be human-shaped and how each ghouls reacts to that is based on their own personality. Aether Ghoul was cis female and she/her in his previous tour 400 years ago, but Edelweiss Ghoul has always been he/him regardless of how his body was constructed at the time. When the ghouls are in their natural astral living space beyond their human-shaped vessels, they are all they/them, and choose the form they wish. And a lot of times the forms are animals or just concepts and not human shaped at all.

Thanks for waiting for my really really long response!

[indigoleonis]

My safe place ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ (Part 1)

Leon x F!Reader (Word Count 2.4k +) Content Warning: 18+, Abuse, Gunshots, Choking, Offensive Language, fluff. Notes: Hi everyone reading this, I am new to writing and English is not my main language. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and if you notice any grammar mistakes feel free to message me about it so I can work on that for future projects. Reblogs and Likes are greatly appreciated! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

Part 1 || Part 2 (Soon)

‘Shit shit shit’ Was going through my mind non-stop as I ran up the stairs of the DSO building. He is going to be so pissed that I am late again.

This was like the 10th time in my 3 month DSO career that I had to run up these stairs because I didn’t make it in time for a meeting. It sure was a good workout, but it was absolutely not worth it in the end. I knew how pissed Leon was going to be again, he was going to tell me how immature I was and that I had a team that relied on me. He would keep telling me how irresponsible it is to keep showing up late. And I knew all too well that he was right, but I just couldn’t help it.

I made it to the 3rd floor and opened the door to the meeting room. I sighed, the room was empty, except for Leon who was sitting in a chair with his feet upon the desk reading some documents. I know I was getting an earful again.

“The meeting ended a few minutes ago. How can you be so reckless? Do you need a nanny or something?” He said before getting up from his chair, sliding the documents across the table towards me. “I am so sorry Leon.”

Leon shakes his head, annoyed. “The fact that you are always late shows how much you care about the team’s success.” He walked past me. “It may not mean much to you, but we all work hard to achieve success on the same missions. It would be nice for once if you’d put in the same amount of effort as the rest. You need to stop being late all the time. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes, I understand.” I said softly looking down at my feet, thinking about the reason I was late so often.

He looks at me, his face softens and he sighs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be harsh on you. I know you’re new on the job, but you need to take this seriously, the team needs to rely on you from time to time, we shouldn’t have to always be on alert for you because you might arrive whenever you feel like it, understand?”

“I know Leon, I understand, I really do.” I knew damn well that if it wasn’t for my controlling boyfriend I wouldn’t have been late every single time. “I know you understand.” He replies as he leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Do you have a boyfriend? How long have you been together?” He asks, curious, his body language indicates that he’s listening attentively. I looked up at him, my eyes widened and I gave him a questioning look. I never talked about my personal life with my co-workers, I never once mentioned that I had a boyfriend or lived with someone. I was taken aback by his question, not knowing whether he was suspecting anything or if he was trying to flirt with me. Leon was at least 10 years older than me, there was no way he was romantically interested in me right? But on the other hand, he wasn’t as mad as usual when I was late today. “Oh uh, yeah. I have a boyfriend, it’s been 2 years almost actually.” “Oh, it’s pretty serious then. He must be taking good care of you.” Leon leans closer and tries to gauge my face. “I’m just a little curious, that’s all.” He continues.

“Well, I’m sure he does. I mean, 2 years is a long time. What’s he like to you? He must make you really happy to stay so long in a relationship with him.” Leon asks, with a slightly skeptical tone, he looks like he’s trying to fish some kind of information from me.

I slightly panicked, he knew something was up and I had no idea how he was suspecting anything. “Oh it’s been great so far!” I lied, giving him a soft smile and lifted up my hand to scratch my neck, hoping I could deceive him.

Leon’s eyes followed the movement of my hand and he smiles at me. “Your boyfriend must be a very lucky guy, dating a beautiful woman like yourself. I hope he knows that.”

I was stunned by his sudden comment. He called me beautiful? He left me confused again, was he trying to get information out of me, or was he actually flirting with me the entire time? Leon’s smile grows wider as he sees my reaction. “Of course you are. I am just stating a fact. But now I am curious. What’s wrong with your boyfriend? Why does he make you feel like you need to hide things and lie to cover it?”

Great, he knew I was lying. “It’s nothing.” I lied again, looking down at the floor. I got a look from Leon again, his smile slowly fades and he senses that I could be lying. He comes closer to me and speaks very quietly, in a gentle tone. “Is he hurting you?”

I looked up at Leon, who was suddenly standing in front of me. He softly placed a hand on my shoulder to comfort me, and assure me it was fine to tell him the truth. “He is very protective…” I whispered softly. He was too protective, he controlled me, made sure he knew where I was all the time and with who I was. If he didn’t like it he would keep me at home, forbid me to even leave the house.

“Protective or controlling?” He asks, as he grabs my other arm, trying to get me to look at him. “Has he ever hit you? Has he ever stopped you from hanging out with your friends if you didn’t tell him where you were going?” He asks, gently brushing my hair out of my face. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I kept looking at the floor, not wanting to let Leon see me on the verge of tears.

His voice softens as he sees some tears rolling down my cheeks. “Come on, if I’m right, you need to tell someone about it. I am here for you. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.” His tone becoming more and more comforting and gentle. “Do you really feel you can’t tell any of your friends or co-workers because of him?”

I didn’t look or answered Leon. I rolled up my sleeves, which were covered in bruises. I lifted my shirt up to my bra to show him even more bruises. The tears now rolling down my cheeks faster. “Did he do this to you?” He asks quietly as he wrapped his arms around me. He was surprised by the amount of bruises he had seen, and I didn’t even show half my body yet. “Yeah.” I whisper between sobs, unable to say anything else.

“I’ll be here for you, he won’t hurt you again. If you ever want to run away from him, I can take you somewhere else, I can keep you safe.” He looks straight into my eyes. “Is that what you want? To be safe with me?” I looked at Leon confused, not understanding what he meant. “Go with you? Leon, what do you mean?” His face turns a bit red as he realizes what he might have sounded like. “I meant that I would take you away from him. So you won’t have to be afraid of him, or worry about him hurting you. And.. You could live with me.” He said with a concerned face, wiping some tears off of my face. “Do you want that?” He asks again.

I took a step back and pushed his hands away from me. “What is wrong with you?” I said angry. “I told you about my boyfriend, how he abuses me and you immediately take this as an opportunity to get me to sleep with you? You’re not any better than him Leon!”

Leon looks at me surprised, and then starts to laugh a little. “Sorry, sorry, I swear it’s not like that. Yes you’re beautiful, but I won’t force myself on you like that.” He says with a slight chuckle. “This isn’t funny Leon! I thought I could trust you…” Leon smiles and shakes his head. “No, no, don’t take this the wrong way! I should apologize, I should have phrased it better. Don’t be mad now. I was just trying to get you to smile a little by calling you beautiful.” He took a step closer to me. “I am not smiling for you old man.” I said infuriated and walked out of the room, tears rolling down my face again.

I left him in that room and made my way outside, I was desperately in need of some fresh air. It was late already, the sun had set and there was barely any traffic. I looked at my phone and seeing the messages my boyfriend had sent me. ‘You better come home soon, I am hungry. If I have to make my own dinner you’ll be in big trouble.’ I rolled my eyes and put my phone back into my pocket.

After walking for a few minutes I took a seat on a bench. My boyfriend had called me several times, he was definitely mad because I had read his messages but just left him on read. Knowing I was already going to be in trouble once I get home, I decided to ignore his phone calls as well. I looked up at the sky, closing my eyes and wished I could just be away from everyone and everything.

A soft voice comes from behind me calling my name. “Are you okay? The voice said, worried at the way I looked and my apparent sadness. The person sits next to me, and places their hand on my back to try and comfort me. “Leon, please..” I sighed. He leans his body towards me, and hugs me tight. “Come here, you’re safe, don’t worry. I’ll help you, I want you to be happy.” I faced him. “Why did you follow me?” He brushed my hair out of my face again. “I couldn’t just let you run off like that. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something were to happen to you.” He said while gently tucking my hair behind my ear. I blushed a little by feeling his cold fingers against my face. “Leon?” I paused for a second and looked into his blue eyes. “How did you know?” I asked him. “Know what?” He looked at me puzzled. “About my boyfriend.” He gave a light chuckle. “I noticed your bruises on your arms for the first time after our first mission in Eastern-Europe. I didn’t really think anything of it, I initially thought you just ran into some bad guy after we got separated in the sewers. I got suspicious after your bruises didn’t seem to heal even though it was weeks since we had returned. You also wore long sleeved shirts or hoodies a lot, even when it felt like the earth was on fire last summer.” He smiled a little. “It wasn’t until last weekend that my suspicions were confirmed. I was at the local pub and noticed you somewhere in the back. You were arguing with your boyfriend weren’t you? He grabbed both your wrists and dragged you outside not much later.” He said visibly angry. “I am sorry, I should have helped you. I should have walked out after you guys and helped you.” He sounded defeated. “I’ve seen you handle the bad guys on our missions so I thought you would be fine. I am really sorry.” Leon gave me an apologizing look. “It’s okay Leon, you don’t always know what’s going on behind closed doors. No matter how strong one person might be, they might just be a weak puddle of mud once they get home.” I joked trying to lighten the mood. “Thank you for caring about me though, it feels nice being able to talk about it with someone. I really appreciate your concern Leon.” I admitted, letting out a sigh of relief. I stood up from the bench we were sitting on and reached out my arms towards Leon. He gave me a smile and stood up, he wrapped his arms around me tightly. “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.” He said before letting me go. “Thanks Leon, I should probably go home now.” I said with a nervous tone. “I should break up with him, but I need to do this myself.” Leon nodded. “Are you sure you will be fine? I can walk with you if you want, and wait at your house a bit until I know you’ll be safe.” I assured Leon I was going to be alright and that I would see him tomorrow again. “Don’t follow me again!” I said loudly while making my way home, getting further from Leon.

I was on my way for a good 10 minutes, all I had to was cross through the park. The park always freaked me out a bit, there were no lights so it was extremely dark. Sometimes I had to stop walking to look around and make sure I wasn’t going off into the direction of the lake. My phone started buzzing, I took it out of my pocket only to see it was my boyfriend, again. “So, you’re going to ignore me again huh?” I stood still in shock, I looked around me but before I could see where he was I could feel his hands grabbing me around my neck. “Answer me bitch!” He yelled, tightening his hands making it hard to breath. “L- Let me g- go.” I tried to scream but his hands made it impossible. Tears were streaming down my face, my hands grabbed his arms but he was too strong for me. “No one is going to help you princess, if you would’ve answered my text we wouldn’t be here right now. It’s your own fucking fault and I am making you pay for it.” My lips were starting to feel numb, I gasped for air but he just tightened his grip more when he saw me struggling. It didn’t take much longer before everything turned black. I heard a loud bang, similar to that of a gunshot right before I dropped on the ground.

[hazbinficsandstuff-eyeshadow]

Helluva hotel fanfic(what do you think I take constructive critisims)

Chapter 1:closing

Blitzo picks up the horse standee covered in gems that he had bought a while back and placed it atop a box with other things. Papers filled to the brim with really nothing of importance, mainly random horse drawings and the “research” he managed to recollect after it flew out the window. Millie.moxxie. And Stolas also helped him pack.

”Are you sure you want to give up on this?” Stolas asked. Moxie and Millie looked at blitz with sadness and grief in their eyes. While they hadn't been successful blitz had made a name for himself. They still lived in the low-class. Millie had to lie to her parents about how well freelance was going but nonetheless they enjoyed the adventures they had.

“I really appreciate you all helping, as much as I kid around about you being my family here, I mean it. I mean you all are the closest thing to a family I have so I really hope we all stay in touch. I also want to thank you Stolas especially since you don't really work at IMP unless you count supplying access” Blitz responds.

With happy tears in his eyes as Stolas gives a slight smile the 666 news channel comes on the tv with Charlie and Lucifer replacing the spaces and pushing away Katie killjoy and tom trench as they yell at them.

Charlie whispers a quick “sorry” before looking back at her dad. Lucifer begins hitting a stack of papers against the table while squinting through his glasses, mumbling trying to make out his chicken-scratch handwriting.

Charlie rips the papers out of his hand and throws them back. “ Me and my father have been talking and he originally wanted to force everyone-” Charlie says with a hint of anger and attitude.

Lucifer cuts her off and says “ But we decided that we won't force anyone, although I offered to do it as a form of punishment-”

“ Because we can't force people to redeem themselves they have to choose to and the hotel is to help not punish people, although he did pitch it to me like a parole office or being sentenced to rehab like on earth sense we don't have jail in hell”. Charlie looks at her father knowing he's probably about to cut her off again mainly because he gets too excited and blurts stuff out but he notices the look and keeps quiet while looking at his daughter. “ Anyway we’re getting off track. The main point is that white we are not forcing anyone to come, we highly encourage everyone to give redemption a shot and try to better themselves”.

“Isn't this basically free therapy?” Tom asked from the background right before the broadcast closed.

“Dang it, they're probably the reason we had to close, also why'd that woman sound so much like me?” Blitz asked.

Moxie replied “ Why are you blaming the business’s downfall on the princess again?”

“Because with all the sinners going there I bet no one cares about getting revenge on those who wronged them in the living world, they're too busy worrying about getting he redeemed” Blitz says in his usual all-caps screaming tone.

Stolas pointed a finger up and responded “ Uhmm I actually think her business isn't doing much better than yours although I don't think they actually charge people to stay there so if they're not even trying to profit I’m not sure if it’s still considered a business, it's been quite the topic of discussion recently”.

Blitz trying to find something to pin the blame of the businesses downfall on says “ I don't believe it! I sure they had something to do with us closing, were gonna go there and find out for ourselves”

“If that’s what you want, boss, we'd be happy to come along” Millie says.

“Millie can I talk to you for a moment, ya know in private” Moxie responds. Moxie and Millie head out to right outside the door. Blitz was listening in head against the wall, usually moxie would check but today everything was too hectic to do so.

“ We’re finally able to get away from Blitz, we can finally be alone. I think if we do this one thing with him we'd be stuck with him forever. Him constantly trying to get in on what we're doing” he told Millie. Blitz pupils became almost nothing in his eyes as they shrunk from listening in to what Moxxie had said.

“I love you Mox but, do you remember when we first met? The only thing you could think to talk about was yer best friend, blitz. I honestly thought you and him might have had something going on at first” Millie responded.

“I love you so much too Millie , you're what's important. I only thought he was meaningful in my life because I met him when I was in a tough spot but now that I know you I can see that he's not really of anything of importance” Moxie responded. Moxie then went back into the room with the rest of them. Millie although still seeming not Completely satisfied with the result of their conversation entered with him. Blitz backed away from the door right before they came through and continued packing up as though he heard nothing. Blitz pretended to be fine as he always did. Stolas couldn't hear what was going on I the other room however he could tell blitz wasn't taking it lightly. He wanted to comfort blitz but wasn't sure how especially after all that's happened. He nervously put his hand over blitz's hand trying to console him.

Blitz looked up at stolas smiling “ do you maybe want a hug?” stolas asked.

Blitz looked at his face and was riddled With guilt he immediately teared his hand away and held both of his own hands together nervously “ sorry I…”. Stolas interrupts “ no, no sorry I overstepped…again”. Blitz wanted to say something like “it's okay” but he wasn't sure the exact words. He couldn't hand the guilt. Him and stolas hadn't even talked after what happened. He didn't even know how stolas knew about them closing. He felt bad that even though he had gotten him hurt and then ghosted him he still showed up to help with such a simple task. Moxxie and millie saw them but didn't assume what was going om had anything to do with they Were talking about just another day them.

“Do you still want to go check out the hotel blitz?” Stolas asked.

“YEPPPP” blitz responds sounding super exited to cover up their previous conversation.

Millie with slight anger in her voice Said “I'm going with blitz and stolas you can come if you want moxxie”. Moxxie looks co fused with the sudden attitude but follows anyway

[theserpentsadvocate]

On Names

So I try to post (work of some kind) on my days off + stats, and it's BC Day, but I didn't quite manage to crank out a chapter of Satisfaction in time (I did write 5K today, though - I cannot wait until I can quit my second job and write fanfic on the weekend), so here is a rant/meta I did about my pet peeves on names in fic, and how this applies to Veronica Mars specifically. (I started with a wide net, but the main focus ended up there because of course it did.)

Fanfiction peeve of the day –

Please, I am begging you, pay attention to names in canon! It’s so glaring when people get it wrong, but it’s so common and I don’t understand!

If two characters have any kind of important relationship in canon and we see them interact more than once or twice, we know what they call each other. Do not deviate from that to be cute, or to emphasize a character’s accent. (Cordelia’s nickname is Cordy. Doyle calls her Cordy. He also calls her Cordelia. He should not be calling her ‘Delia’ just because he’s Irish.) Do not randomly switch a character’s nickname to a different nickname for no reason, or so that their love interest is calling them something special! (Shortened nicknames are not a thing in Middle-earth unless you are a hobbit. Unless you feel qualified enough with Sindarin (usually) name construction to have someone give their friend or spouse an epessë like ‘Tinúviel’, that person should be using their full name. Yes, even if it’s three syllables. Spare me from this ‘Fara’ nonsense – Eowyn would call him ‘Faramir’. Yes, always.) Do not assign a character who doesn’t use nicknames a nickname they never use in canon just because you can’t imagine intimacy coexisting with a long name, or a standard one! (Hermione goes by Hermione. She takes pains to get Viktor Krum to say her full name, even if she tolerates a bit of mispronunciation. She is not ever called Mione.) If someone threw out a one-off joke nickname for someone, for the love of Dante, do not start using it as a regular form of address!

And for the love of god, pay attention to the context in which people use nicknames! I am running across this willy-nilly in the Veronica Mars fandom right now, so, for my sanity:

Veronica:

I am reading an otherwise mostly-good fanfic right now where Logan keeps calling Veronica ‘Ronica’ and it’s driving me up the wall. No one has ever called her ‘Ronica’ in the history of ever, and it’s not even a standard nickname for Veronica, so it’s even worse. (This is extra annoying to me because I happen to think ‘Ronica’ is an exceptionally stupid nickname (although it would actually be fine as a name in its own right), but YMMV.)

Veronica typically doesn’t use nicknames, she doesn’t introduce herself with nicknames, she’s comfortable with her full name. Her dad (nor her mom for that matter) never calls her anything but ‘Veronica’ (or ‘honey’). Her two long-term boyfriends only ever call her Veronica (with one exception that I will Get Into below). Cliff, Wallace, and especially Weevil have been known to call her ‘V’* on occasion, which is a sign that they have relatively close relationships to her that also have a strong element of casualness or flippancy (notably, during Season Four, when they are not close, Weevil only ever calls her ‘Veronica’). Lilly, who was exceptionally close to her, lengthens her name as a nickname/form of endearment, calling her ‘Veronica Mars’ pretty often.

Logan does call her ‘Ronnie’ in early Season One. This is extremely obviously him being an asshole; he’s addressing her by a diminutive she doesn’t use to emphasize that they’re no longer friends and because doing so is inherently demeaning (imagine if you have a Michael who goes by Michael (or even Mike) and you suddenly start calling him ‘Mikey’ – it’s rude and dismissive). No one ever calls her that except him and Dick, and once Logan and Veronica are back on good terms, no one calls her that except Dick, who is doing it to be irreverent and disrespectful. It is objectively incorrect for her friends and/or boyfriend to be calling her ‘Ronnie’ and utterly bizarre for the narration to be referring to her that way.

*I feel strongly that it should be ‘V’ and not ‘Vee’ because it’s not short for a name that starts with a ‘vee’ sound (e.g., if her name was Vianne or Vita I might feel differently), it’s the actual letter V that her name starts with, but I acknowledge that that’s subjective.

Also, Felix referred to her as ‘blondie’ one time, dismissively, to Weevil – ‘Blondie’ is not his nickname for her! Wallace, insomuch as he has a nickname for her, calls her ‘V’, although he sticks with ‘Veronica’ most of the time; ‘SupaFly’ was a one-off joke and he should not be calling her that on the regular any more than she should be calling him ‘Sodapop’* just because she made an Outsiders reference in the pilot.

*And on that note, it’s ‘Sodapop’ because that’s the name of a character from The Outsiders, not ‘soda pop’ like the drink.

Logan:

I am begging you, Weevil called Logan ‘Opie’ one time. It was a generic insult, not a nickname. Even in an AU where they’re somehow bros, it is not something he would be calling him on a regular basis! (Conversely, Logan should not be calling him ‘Paco’ for the same reason, and also because it’s racist so that’s even worse!)

Weevil:

Authority figures (Keith, various teachers, Cliff when representing him in court, etc.) typically call Weevil ‘Eli’; his friends, particularly the PCHers, call him ‘Weevil’ pretty much exclusively (except for Veronica), and his family seems to waver between the two with a preference for his actual name – his grandmother calls him both ‘Eli’ and ‘Weevil’ when she’s talking about him, but sadly we don’t get enough scenes with her to know what’s more common (the only time we hear her actually address him she calls him ‘m’ijo’), Chardo usually calls him ‘Weevil’ but switches to ‘Eli’ when he’s making an emotional appeal, Claudia appears to exclusively call him ‘Eli’. (Context makes it pretty clear that Jade calls him ‘Eli’ as well, which is unsurprising.) We never hear Ophelia call him anything, but he refers to himself as ‘Uncle Eli’ when talking to her.

Veronica only ever calls him Weevil when she’s talking to him, notably, although she does use his real name on occasion when she’s talking about him – to her criminology class, when representing herself as his PI in ‘Weevils Wobble But They Don’t Fall Down’, and to Jade (even correcting herself from ‘Weevil’) in Mr. Kiss And Tell. (Interestingly, she’s more likely to use his full name than just his legal first name – she calls him ‘Eli Navarro’ several times, but almost never uses just ‘Eli’. She’s also probably the only person to call him ‘Weevil Navarro’*, presumably because in that instance she’s talking to him.)

*although Cliff does call him ‘Eli ‘Weevil’ Navarro’ on one occasion, complete with audible quotation marks

The point is, Weevil does get called both, and there’s some leeway for things to change a bit as relationships change – it’s not necessarily out of character, for instance, for Veronica to start addressing him as ‘Eli’ if they’ve started dating, or if it’s a fic (particularly an AU) set around the time of the novels – but it shouldn’t come from nowhere, and it shouldn’t be arbitrary. Keith wouldn’t be addressing him as ‘Weevil’, and Felix and Hector wouldn’t be calling him ‘Eli’ (unless maybe he’s secretly dating one of them it’s Felix and they’re in private). [Writing that sentence made me low-key start shipping him with Hector – why do I do this to myself?]

What he should not be getting called is ‘Weevs’, which is right in the midpoint between ‘Ronnie’ and ‘Opie’. Yes, Logan called him that once or twice (keywords once or twice) – in the exact same context that he called Veronica ‘Ronnie’, which is to say, as a mocking diminutive. It should not be serving as a general nickname even when Weevil and Logan are antagonistic, and it should definitely never be something that Hector or Veronica calls him! (And yes, I have seen both.)

And since I’m already aggravated – while I’m on the subject ‘Eli’ is a name unto itself. There’s a subset of fandom that seems strangely convinced it’s short for ‘Elias’ or ‘Elijah’ and… no. It’s not.