#tiki try not to put everything in a new line to try and seem like u can write challenge

[tiki-was-here]

Billy Butcher x GN Reader-Valentines Edition

Word Count: 2k

Pretend that this isnt rushed because i forgot about it lol. also if its not clear reader cancels the reservation when they make the phone call butcher just doesnt hear

Valentines Event

Masterlist

You weren’t exactly the kind of person to get all starry-eyed about Valentine’s Day. The whole thing was a corporate cash grab, anyway—overpriced chocolates, gaudy heart-shaped decorations, and forced declarations of love. Yeah, you weren’t that type.

But still.

You glanced down at the confirmation email on your phone, the words practically glowing with your shame. "Your reservation for two at Le Château Noir has been confirmed for February 14th, 7:30 PM."

It wasn’t anything crazy. Just a nice dinner at a fancy place you wouldn’t normally splurge on. A way to say, Hey, I actually care about you, and I like spending time with you, even though you’re an absolute dickhead.

Because whatever was happening between you and Butcher—this thing that was built on stolen moments and rough hands on quiet nights —you didn’t know what to call it.The two of you hadn’t talked about what any of it meant.

And maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.

Still, you had scraped together enough money to make the reservation—partly from your own savings, partly from “borrowing” a bit of cash from Frenchie and MM. They’d get over it. Probably.

Shoving the thought to the back of your mind, you focused on the present—walking beside Butcher, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets, the two of you wandering through the city. No destination, for the sake of it.

The streets were packed with people, moving in and out of stores with bags of chocolate and teddy bears in their arms. Heart-shaped A-Train mugs, Queen Maeve teddy bears, little action figures of the Deep holding bouquets of roses. It was ridiculous.

Half-listening as Billy muttered about some new Vought scandal, something caught your eye—a massive, over-the-top billboard featuring the Seven.

They were all posed dramatically, dressed in shades of red and gold. Starlight stood front and center with a megawatt smile, Homelander beside her, eyes glowing faintly like he was about to laser the next person who so much as breathed wrong. The text at the bottom read: “Make this Valentine’s one to remember. Diamonds are forever! – The Seven’s Valentine’s Special!”

You snorted. “Jesus. They’re really milking the holiday for all it’s worth.”

You glanced at Butcher, smirking a little while nodding your head towards the board. “What do you say, Butch? Gonna get me a nice rock? Maybe pop the question while you’re at it?”

Butcher scoffed, barely sparing the display  a glance. “Not bloody likely.”

“Oh, c’mon. Not even a lil’ something?” You smled, poking fun at him. “I’ll get you a Black Noir keychain in return. Real sentimental.”

“Romance is a bloody scam.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“Think about it,” he continued, gesturing vaguely at the streets. “Whole thing’s just a racket. They guilt you into spending’ a fortune on chocolates and all that shit, just to prove you give a shit about someone.”

You raised a brow. “Right, because God forbid.”

He kept walking, jaw set. “I don’t see why people make such a big deal about it. It’s just another day.”

You rolled your eyes, but the sting was still there. “Right. Yeah. Stupid holiday.”

You hadn’t expected him to be enthusiastic about it, but the way he dismissed it so quickly—it kind of hurt. Because you had been excited, just a little. And now you just felt dumb.

The rest of the walk home was quiet, tension clinging to the air between you.

Later that night, when you were alone in your room, you pulled out your phone and scrolled to your reservation.

Maybe you had been jumping the gun with the whole fancy-dinner thing. Maybe it had been stupid to think that Butcher would ever entertain something like that.

You sat on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen longer than necessary before finally pressing the call button. The restaurant picked up on the second ring, a professional yet pleasant voice greeting you.

“Hello, thank you for calling Le Château Noir. How can I assist you this evening?”

You inhaled sharply. Just do it. It’s not a big deal.

“Hi, I’m calling about my reservation for tomorrow night,” you said, voice steady but distant, as if saying the words out loud made them more real. “The table for two at seven thrity?”

Down the hall, Butcher had been walking past your door, intending to grab a beer from the fridge. But your voice caught his attention, and something made him pause just outside the room.

A table for two at eight?

“For two, yes,” you confirmed, nodding even though they couldn’t see you.

Butcher frowned, shifting his weight. You never mentioned anything about it to him.

“Under what name?” the receptionist asked.

You gave them your name, confirming all the details, and Butcher had heard enough. He turned away, walking briskly toward the kitchen.

What the bloody hell were you thinking?

He grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap off with a little too much force, and took a long swig.

You had planned a fancy dinner. For him. After everything he had said earlier about Valentine’s Day being a joke. He didn’t know what to make of it. Part of him was irritated—you hadn’t even told him, and now he was expected to sit through some overpriced meal, pretending not to hate every second of it.

But another part of him—one he refused to acknowledge—felt something else entirely.

Something warm. Something suspiciously close to endearment.

Despite himself, the thought of you planning something like that, of you wanting to spend the day with him like it actually meant something…

He set the beer down a little too hard.

He didn’t know what to make of it, so he wasn’t going to make anything of it.

The day started off strange.

For one, Butcher was still here.

You fully expected to wake up alone, but instead  when you rolled over, he was  in bed scrolling on his phone, one arm folded behind his head. His eyes flicked to you the moment you stirred, something unreadable passing through them before he exhaled and looked away.

“Morning,” he muttered.

You blinked at him, still groggy. “You’re still here.”

“Brilliant observation, love.”

You frowned, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “Thought you had shit to do today.”

He shrugged, barely glancing at you. “Plans changed.”

Weird.

But you kne better than to question him— especially so early in the morning.

Instead, you dragged yourself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you shuffled toward the kitchen, figuring you’d have to scrounge around for whatever scraps were left from the last grocery run.

But then—

There was coffee.

A full pot. Fresh. Still hot.

Your brow furrowed as you hesitated near the counter, eyeing the mug waiting beside it. You didn’t even have to ask to know that it was for you.

Still, you didn’t comment on it. Just poured yourself a cup, and leaned against the counter, 

When Butcher finally strolled in, you watched him out of the corner of your eye. He grabbed his own mug—black, of course—and leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, staring at you like he was waiting for something.

You blinked. “Did you poison this?”

He smirked. “Drink it and find out.”

You just scoffed at him and took your glass to your room.

The whole morning was like that. A light touch on the small of your back when you passed him in the hallway. The way he didn’t snap at you when you stole the last piece of toast off his plate. The fact that he stayed.

Usually, Butcher had somewhere to be. Always on the move, always planning, always chasing the next lead.

But today, he lingered

It should’ve made you happy. A day ago, maybe it would have. Now it just made the ache in your chest worse. 

And now, he was sitting beside you on the couch, one arm draped across the back, fingers lazily playing with the ends of your hair while you scrolled through your phone.

“Not even gonna look at me today, then?” he mused.

You shrugged. “Dunno. Nothing to look at.”

His fingers stilled. “Bit rude, innit?”

“Only returning the favor.”

It slipped out before you could stop yourself, and you weren’t even sure what you meant by it. But he let it go—for now.

By the time evening rolled around, you had fully settled into your mood. It wasn’t even intentional—it was just there.

And it must have gotten to him too, because by the time seven-thirty hit, he was clearly restless.So when he finally stretched, exhaling through his nose, and said, “Well, I’m gonna take a shower,care to join?” you barely acknowledged it.

You just shrugged, staring at the TV. “I’ll take one in the morning.”

“Not even if I promise to make it special?”

Your fingers twitched around the remote.

Usually, that would work. You’d roll your eyes but still let him pull you in, let him distract you.

But not today.

You didn’t even look at him. “Not in the mood, Butcher.”

His face darkened, his usual sharp smirk twisting into something meaner. “Christ, what’s with you today?”

You turned your head, finally looking at him fully. “What’s with me?”

“Yeah.” His hands went to his hips. “You’ve been sulkin’ all day. Thought you’d be happy I’m stickin’ around, but you’re actin’ like I kicked your bloody dog.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “Isn’t it supposed to be Valentine’s or something? ”

You glanced at him, brow raising. “And?”

He met your eyes, something simmering there, something edged. “And you’re actin’ like it’s just any other bloody day.You’re supposed to be all over me, right?”

You stared at him for a moment, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t even like Valentine’s Day, so why do you look so upset that I didn’t plan anything?”

“Tch.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t upset.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He huffed, looking away for a moment before muttering, “Just figured—” But then he cut himself off, exhaling sharply like he’d already said too much.

You folded your arms. “You figured what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, staring at the TV like it suddenly had all the answers he needed. But his grip on his knee was just a little too tight, his shoulders just a little too tense.

“…Figured you would’ve still gone to that dinner.”

So that was it.

He knew.

Your stomach twisted. “I—” You let out a breath. “I canceled it.”

He stiffened slightly. “Right.”

“You made it pretty clear how you felt about Valentine’s, so I figured there wasn’t much point.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, in a low voice:

“That’s different.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

Butcher ran a hand down his face, looking uncharacteristically frustrated. “It’s different when it’s you.When its us i mean…”

The words weren’t particularly soft. They weren’t overly romantic. But from Butcher? They might as well have been a love confession.

Your fingers tightened around the remote once more“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Something in his expression shifted. “You still wanna go?”

You gave him a wry look. “You think I can get the reservation back?”

He  sighed, glancing at the clock. 7:09.His lips twitched, just barely.

“Guess not.”

There was another pause before you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Fine,” you mumbled. “Let’s order pizza and watch something stupid.”

Butcher snorted. “That’s your idea of a Valentine’s date?”

“It is now.”

He didn’t argue. Just plopped down next to you on the couch as you placed the order.

The pizza arrived, you put on the cheesiest rom-com you could find, and somehow, between bites of greasy food and sarcastic commentary, you found yourself leaning against him, head on his shoulder.

He reached into his pocket, then tossed something onto your lap.

You frowned, picking it up. It was… a keychain. A tiny, dumb-looking Black Noir keychain.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Wait—”

He looked away, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”

You stared at it for a moment, something warm flickering in your chest. Then, shaking your head, you muttered, “You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

And when his arm slung around your waist, tugging you just a little closer, you didn’t pull away.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale part 2

Mermaid!Shinsou x reader x Kirishima x reader

Warnings: adult themes (minors DNI)

Author’s note: sorry to those of you who have asked me to put on the tag list! I don’t do tag lists! But if you don’t want to lose this story, you can always bookmark it on AO3.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Original image by @maewoahoah

Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

The thing about being hungry is that you can sometimes convince yourself that you’re full. You can sip water, swallow your breath, pop a few mints in—hell, you could even pretend to eat. However, even if you might trick your brain, your stomach will still be empty.

By the time you finally get some real goddamn food in your stomach, it will be aching from being teased.

It feels like this is exactly what Hitoshi Shinsou has done to you. Teased you. He’d mentioned being one of Ryūjin, which you can only assume is something religious or magic. You know he’s a fish, and that he makes people’s skin glow when he touches them, and apparently his lips or his saliva can heal wounds. But he’s not yet given you any real goddamn food.

The jerk has been swimming circles around the pool, commenting on how disgusting it is being stuck with all the trash, and complaining about your poor hospitality, but has not yet told you what the hell he’s doing here.

It’s not like you ever asked for some creature to crash into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool. Maybe some people would be ecstatic over finding an actual merperson, but life isn’t all about singing songs and talking to seagulls. He’s definitely not an Ariel, unless he is in fact looking for a prince. With all his sass, you think he’s much more of an Ursula than a Disney princess. If he is a sea-witch, he refuses to tell you.

It won’t matter much by the time Denki gets here anyways. You had been honest when you said you wouldn’t put it against him to call some news station when he sees Hitoshi. You figure that after some science lab’s helicopters carried your intruder away to run tests on him, the fish-man will be out of your hair and a thing of the past.

Despite the cynicism crawling through your head, the thought actually makes a guilty pit form in the bottom of your stomach. A life is a life, afterall.

“At least tell me why you tried to…to…” Your mouth flattens when you recall Hitoshi leaning into you, his lips a whisper away from yours.

“To?” Hitoshi asks while he observes the wayward bra that blew into the pool with notable repulsion.

“To kiss me!” You bark out, ears warm.

“Oh, that?” He purses his lips, spinning the bra around in the water. Then, he’s contemplative for a moment, as if he’s thinking of an excuse that won’t make you angry. Or will. He seems to get a kick out of frustrating you.

“I suppose I should’ve considered that it’s not a social norm for humans to greet other humans with their lips,” he says with a cocky, probably lying smirk. “My bad.”

“You expect me to believe that mermaids kiss each other to say hello?”

“Not a mermaid.” The fish is all teeth as he regards you. “I’m one of Ryūjin. And I’d like to think that you’d believe anything I tell you, since you seem to know nothing about my people.”

“Because you won’t tell me anything about your people,” you mutter right before the house bell rings. Your heart jumps with a spike of panic. You haven’t thought about what you’re going to say to Denki yet. You begin thinking about science labs again, and that knot in your stomach tightens.

“Okay,” you say in a warning tone, “I’m gonna let Denki in now…”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s gonna see you…”

“That’s the plan.” Hitoshi lifts a brow. “You’re not worried for me, are you?”

“I just think you should be more worried about yourself,” you say. “Humans aren’t…” There’s a pensive pause when you try to search for the right word. “Humans aren’t good.”

“Would you say that you’re a good human?” He asks.

What a question. You’d like to believe that you are, but you can’t kid yourself. Never one to be very self-sacrificing, you utter your next words with confidence. “Nope.”

“And yet, you haven’t done anything malicious towards me. Nothing, besides that half-assed attempt to kick me away from you, anyways.”

Rolling your eyes to keep your couldn’t-care-less facade up, you left the smirking merman to wade around in the murky pool. There’s not another second to think about what you could possibly say to Denki about your surprise guest, because when you enter the house, you see his face peeking through the side window next to the front door. You could see a drink holder and a Tiki Burger bag in his hand. His smile is bright, while yours is grim.

He pouts, seeing through forced body language, and proceeds to make a funny face. You let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. You might not be a good person, but Denki is. He’s an idiot, but you don’t think he’d ever do anything to harm another creature, mythical or not. This could even be fun to him. Exciting. Something extraordinary happened, and you’d been too scared to react to it appropriately, but Denki would be different.

Your changing emotions grow palpable when you finally reach for the handle.

“Heard you had some thingies that needed twisting,” Denki says as you open the door. He’s wearing his company’s shirt, a brown thing with the PoolPros logo on it, though it’s cut raggedly short to show off his midriff. He’s been particularly confident ever since he’d gotten his navel pierced, and happily showed off the topaz stone that Kirishima had given him. It hangs right above his buckle. It forces onlookers to look at his abs…or maybe his groin. He says it’s lucky, and you haven’t argued with him about it. You would probably call something Kirishima gave you lucky too.

In a flash, you’re grabbing him by his shirt collar and guiding him in and against one of the hall mirrors.

“Something’s happened.” The words immediately spill out, even while you still do not know what you’re going to say. You hope that if the right things tumble out of your mouth, Denki will get the picture.

“Uh…” Denki’s cheeks are red hot, reacting to your close proximity. “Was it a spike in your libido?”

God.

“No, shut up!” You smack his chest and glance down the hall towards the back door. The pool isn’t in your line of vision, but just knowing what lurks there gets your blood pumping. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to keep an open mind.”

He bobs his brows. “For you? Always.”

After an exhale, you gather your composure, and tell Denki everything with as much eloquence as you can muster.

“There’s something living in the pool!” You bark out, erratic. “It’s big and it has zero impulse control and it’s rude! It talks! When it touches me, my skin glows. Then it tried to kiss me, Kaminari! And it’s rude!” You add that in again, because you cannot stress it enough. Hitoshi Shinsou is as unrefined as a piece of driftwood, and he had the audacity to make comments on behalf of your decorum. “It won’t tell me what it’s doing here, either. I offered to get it back into the ocean, but it said it wanted something else, but it won’t tell me what, and I don’t know what to do!”

Denki blinks rapidly, like his eyelashes are repelling every word you toss at him. There’s a beat, he swallows, then his lips tilt up into a knowing grin.

“Alright,” he says, “I see you.”

“You do?” Maybe you had to give Denki a little more credit. That hadn’t been your best description of a nightmare scenario.

“Sure do, little lady. This is some kinda belated birthday prank, huh? Thought you could slide one past me when I was least expecting it! I was thinking that maybe you just forgot about it, but now you’ve got something up your sleeve, don’t ya! Well cutie, I might be dumb, but I’m not stupid!”

Striding into the house, Denki places the shakes and burger bag onto Shuzenji’s kitchen counter. Shoulders deflating, you follow him while he fishes a few fries out of the bag. If he doesn’t get it now, he will soon enough.

“What could it be?” He ponders, tossing a fry into his mouth. He nods towards one of the cups and mumbles about a shake for you, then towards the back door. “Couldn’t be a party—it’s too early for a party. And you don’t talk to many people…”

Ignoring the slight burn, you front Denki, and extend your hand out to his. His eyes widen for a moment, he wipes his hand on his pants, and takes yours.

“I need your help, Denki. Seriously.”

“Yeah,” he says, a touch more reformative. “Okay.”  

What should’ve been some grand reveal, however, turned out to be anything but.

The pool being clean is the first thing you notice, as absurd as that is. It’s now half-filled, with only sprinkles of algae leftover by some miraculous clean-up. There’s no more silver fish swimming around, and all the trash that had previously taken sanctuary in the pool now lays on a mountainous pile with the bra sitting at its peak. Your guest is no longer in the pool—the very clean pool.

Denki chuckles and says, “well, this doesn’t look bad at all. By how hysterical you were on the phone, I was expecting something much worse. Oh! Hello!”

Your jaw drops as Denki waves at Hitoshi—a very comfortable-looking Hitoshi who lounges on one of the reclining pool chairs, head turned back like he’s sun bathing, one leg crossed over the goddamn other. Legs. Attached to feet—feet that definitely were not there when you’d met him.

Tricky, magic fish-man.

“Oh,” Hitoshi says, carefully considering Denki. “We have company?”

The ‘we’ in his statement doesn’t sit right with you anymore than his appearance does. He stands, and both you and Denki gasp when you see his new outfit in its entirety. It’s all royal blue, fine silks, and sheer fabric that only covers the places that would make Denki blush. Puffy, yet flowing sleeves connect to his now two golden cuffs. A heavy gold necklace hangs around him, and he’s got a light sash thrown around mostly his bare chest. A golden, v-shaped belt holds his deep blue harem pants up.

They are the gaudiest goddamn pajamas you’ve ever seen.

Hitoshi moves like water to face Denki, then firmly grasps him by the forearm, yanking the boy forward so that their lips are mere inches away from each other. Noting that there’s no glowing from their contact, you watch as Hitoshi’s indigo eyes slide from Denki’s lips, to you, and shows off a dubious glint.

“Whoops,” Hitoshi murmurs basically into Denki’s mouth. “I almost forgot that you don’t greet people like this here.” He takes a step away and smirks. “Forgive me. I’m Hitoshi Shinsou. You must be the pool guy.”

“Um, yeah. ‘M Denki Kaminari.” Denki laughs nervously. His cheeks burn red, and he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Grabbing onto your hand tightly, he starts back towards the house, towing you along, saying, “excuse us, we just have to—uh. Talk.”

In a tick, you’re whisked right back inside, in the land of private conversations.

“It didn’t look like that before, Denki. I swear to god.” You’re insisting as soon as the door is closed.

“It?!” Denki balks, his cheeks turning even more red. “Do you mean the pool or that hunk of a man hanging around your backyard?!”

“Both, I guess, but I wouldn’t call it a man! It had a giant purple tail before you showed up!!”

“That’s very rude, y’know.” Denki peers back at Hitoshi who’s lackadaisically cleaning his fingertips. “What are their pronouns?”

You imagine Hitoshi surrounded by others like him, all either screaming or clicking to communicate with each other in an inhuman language. “I don’t think pronouns matter wherever it’s from!”

“Hmm.” Denki slides the door open and pops his head out. “‘Scuse me, Hitoshi, what are your pronouns?”

Without missing a beat, Hitoshi answers him. “As in titles? You can call me Shinsou, but if you’re so inclined, I’ll allow you to call me lord.”

“Lord, of course.” More nervous laughter as Denki closes the door. “Lord. That’s a kink thing, right? It’s gotta be!”

“It’s not!” You bark, but Denki doesn’t hear you. Instead, he rushes towards one of the hall mirrors and begins fussing over his hair.

“I honestly can’t believe you did this. I mean, you, of all people. You’re braver than I gave you credit for. Coulda given me a heads up, though. I would’ve worn somethin’ nice. Or not come at all. I do feel like I’m intruding.” Denki’s eyes light up. “Unless this is for my birthday and you’re…you want me to join you?”

“You’ve lost me.” You're too busy trying to figure out what you can do to convince Denki that Hitoshi is a mermaid. You’ve considered pushing him back into the pool, but you don’t know if that would change him back to his sea-man state, or just make you look like a jackass.

“This is so weird. I haven’t seen that guy on the island before, and believe me, I know everybody. It must’ve cost a pretty penny to get him here. On top of everything else-“ He clears his throat- “how much is this costing you? Does Shuzenji know what you get up to while she’s away?”

It hits you like a freight train. “Oh, Kaminari…No…”

“The jig is up!” Denki stomps his foot defiantly and points towards the door. “You’re paying that man for sex!”

“God no!” The very idea that you’ve paid Hitoshi to be here, to touch you, flusters the hell out of you. If anything, you’d pay for him to leave. “You’d honestly think I’d hire a prostitute?!”

“Escort is the term they are using nowadays, and no, I wouldn’t think you’d hire an escort until now!” Denki scoffs, then moves his hand through his hair, exasperated. “The thing is, babe, you don’t need to. You’re cute and fun! If you got out every once in a while…”

“Fish!” You yell, cutting him off, because you’re not about to have another conversation about your hermit lifestyle. “He’s a fish, Denki! I didn’t fuck a fish! Nor am I planning to!”

Denki blinks at you. Not like before—not like he’s reflecting your words. This blink is more like a blink one would offer someone who’d been having an otherwise normal conversation, until they started talking about the earth being flat, or homosexuals burning in a lake of fire.

I’m not crazy, you think and will Denki to believe. I’ll prove it.

Before you can give Denki a play-by-play of what happened—properly this time, and not just your rambled recall—the door slides open, and Hitoshi steps in.

“May I enter?” The regal-looking man asks.

At the exact same moment you say, “no,” Denki says, “of course.”

“I was just hoping to find something to eat.” Hitoshi stops in the kitchen, arms crossed and expectant.

“You haven’t fed your hooker?” Denki whispers and it blows your mind that he can say hooker and you can’t say prostitute. “You can have half my burger!”

“Burger,” Hitoshi repeats the unfamiliar word, and looks around, probably wondering what it could be. Denki takes the hint and proceeds to fish his meal out of the bag. Overly familiar with Shuzenji’s kitchen, he finds a knife to cut the sandwich in two, then hands one half to Hitoshi.

Hitoshi frowns.

“I’m sorry, are you a vegetarian?” Denki asks, and you can tell he’s being overly hospitable in a house that is not his. When Hitoshi doesn’t answer him, but doesn’t stop frowning, Denki asks, “do you not eat meat?”

“This is meat?” Asks Hitoshi, shaking the burger in the air. Some mayonnaise-covered lettuce falls to the kitchen floor.

“I have to clean that!” You yip and wet a paper towel. When you’re on your knees, Hitoshi gives you a smirk of indifference.

“What, do you not have hamburgers where you’re from?” Denki asks, and when Hitoshi refuses to answer him again, he says, “the meat is the patty. It’s beef.”

“Beef.” Hitoshi begins dissecting the thing, throwing the bun halves, pickles, tomato, and lettuce all on the floor. You continue to curse at him while he sniffs at the patty. “What animal is this?”

“Beef is cow, dude.” Denki sounds more skeptical now, which you’d be grateful for if you weren’t already on your hands and knees, scrubbing ketchup out of the tile. “Man, throwing food on the floor is rude no matter where you’re from. Babe, you shouldn’t have to clean that up.”

“If I don’t, who will?” You ask, sardonic.

“There’s not really a floor where I’m from,” Hitoshi says once he swallows his first bite. He places the patty back onto the burger wrap, and steps away from his mess. “At least, there’s no floor when it’s meal time. We just let shells and bones float around until they go down to where they’ll eventually break down and decay.”

Denki asks, “where did you say you were from?”

“He’s a fish, Denki.”

“I didn’t.” Hitoshi gets down on his knees with a wetted paper towel of his own. He swipes at the places you’ve missed, then looks at you. “Tell me, would a not-good person clean up a mess that isn't their own?”

“It’s kind of my job,” you retort and stand so Hitoshi can finish cleaning. Instead, he stands with you.

“And what is his job?” Hitoshi nods towards Denki who looks more and more fretful by the second. “I assume he’s here to provide services. If you’re paying him, shouldn’t he be the one to clean for you? Prepare meals for you? Bend to your whims?”

Denki says, “I’ve got a couple jobs, but I’m not a housekeeper, no.”

“No?” Hitoshi gives out a terse laugh and hands the towel off to Denki. “Clean.”

Denki looks to you for an explanation. You’re about to chew Hitoshi out, when he again says, “clean,” but this time, there’s something attached to his voice. Something that is nothing, but also more. It sends goosebumps up your arms and compels Denki to fall to the floor and obey the command.

“Yes, my lord.” When Denki finishes cleaning and throws the rest of the mess in the bin, he looks at Hitoshi, eyes glossy, waiting.

“Fetch me some water,” says Hitoshi, and after another yes, my lord, Denki begins searching for a glass.

“Quit it!” You shout and very nearly grab on to Hitoshi’s arm, stopping only when you remember the glow and the prickles that accompany his touch. Decidedly, you hurry after Denki and grab the glass from his hands and snap your fingers in front of his face.

Denki blinks, and this time it’s not because he doesn’t hear you, and it’s not because you’re spouting crazy nonsense. He blinks, and it’s a revelation.

“Hypnosis!” Denki says the word like eureka! and you want to shake him, because he should be angrier than he seems.

“I’m surprised you understand or even remember that much,” Hitoshi drawls. “You’re more in-tune than you’d like people to believe.”

And I’m Mother Teresa, you think bitterly. The fish is contemptuous as hell, but he doesn’t read people well. To him, you’re good and apparently Denki’s a genius.

“How did you do that?” Denki asks with growing excitement. “When I was a kid, I was really into magic, but could never get any of the tricks right. You didn’t use any triggering noises or images or anything.”

“There is a bit of magic about you,” Hitoshi says like he’s thinking out loud. “Not enough to pull something like what I just did off unless you have the proper tide jewel. But you do have enough power to utilize a tide jewel.”

“Don’t do that again,” you warn, and pour water from the sink into the glass. There’s purified water in the fridge, but Hitoshi hasn’t earned it. “To Kaminari or to me. The difference between a house guest and a home-invader is who does and does not use hypnosis on other guests.”

“I wasn’t aware that hypnosis is a common occurrence in your residence.” Hitoshi reaches for the glass, but you hold it away from him. Casting out a withering look, he says, “I wouldn’t be able to hypnotize him again, even if I wanted to. Not for a while, anyways. Not without my tide jewel.”

“What’s a tide jewel?” Denki asks. “Is that, like, sea glass?”

Eyes flicking from the glass of water, to Denki, then to you, Hitoshi says, “he knows how to ask a question.”

The questions that you ask get ignored! But instead of saying that, you continue to withhold the water, and say, “then answer him.”

Mildly peeved, Hitoshi turns his attention back to Denki. “You say you have a couple of jobs. What would they be?”

“That’s not answering his question,” you mutter.

“I’ll decide whether I should answer him in a moment. Denki, if you will.”

“Oh, well…” The sheepish Denki brings his hand to the back of his neck, blushing slightly. “I’ve got the PoolPros gig, and sometimes I pick shifts up at The Salty Barrel. I sort of got an affinity for making drinks…and cooking…and fixing things, so they like to keep me around.”

Unamused, Hitoshi pries. “Anything else?”

“Sometimes I pick up odd jobs. Fishing and delivery. I guess I’m pretty dependable because of the boat.”

This catches Hitoshi’s attention. “You have a boat?”

“Sure, yeah. It’s nothin’ too special yet. I’ve been working on it, and it’s coming along, but it’s not ready for what it’s truly intended for.”

“Which would be?”

Denki looks at you and winks, making your ears warm. You know exactly why he got the boat.

“Romantic rendezvous.”

“I see,” Hitoshi says pensively. Then, his eyes go sharp when he notices you fiddling with the ties on your shorts. “Are you two mates?”

Denki lifts a conspiratorial brow towards you, before throwing his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his body. “Sure, yeah—we’re mates!”

You push away from him, and bite, “not those kinds of mates.”

Although nobody disagrees with you, you sense Denki sulking.

“Ah,” Shinsou muses. “You haven’t yet fought for her hand?”

Before you can groan at the idea, Denki laughs quietly, but his laughter quickly grows uproariously as he considers the idea. Soon, he’s gripping his stomach to stop himself from doubling over. You glare at his feet.

“As if there’s another guy to fight for her,” Denki bellows, wiping a tear away from his eye. “Maybe if she ever went out, but for now, the only person I gotta fight for her hand, is her!”

“Oh, I understand,” Shinsou says, eyes on you. “A battle to assert domination.”

Denki hoots loudly at the idea. “Looks like I’m screwed!”

To your growing agitation and embarrassment, Denki continues to laugh. It’s as if you’re not constantly shooting him down. You’re not pitiful. Not helpless. And you think you’d have some game if you put your heart into it. You just have a type, and the pool guy just doesn’t fit the bill, whether he’s handy or not.

There’s no humor to be found in Hitoshi’s eyes, though. He’s glaring at you, like before, only now he’s looking at you more like you’re a piece of meat—like he’s some kind of predator and you’re his newfound prey. You inadvertently step closer to Denki, as if he could be used as some sort of defense shield, then elbow him in the ribs, pretending that you’re not at all intimidated by this fish-turned-man.

“Nobody’s fighting anybody,” you say, keeping eye-contact with Hitoshi. You’ve been told before that the fact that you’re never the first to look away is a little off-putting. Hoping to have the same uncomfortable effect on your guest, you don’t even blink when you say, “I just have my eyes on someone special.”

At the same time Denki stops his laughing, Hitoshi narrows his eyes—not out of malice, but what seems to be curiosity. That’s as far as you’ll go with revealing any more personal information. You might not be physically spoken for, yet, but at least you’re emotionally unavailable. You vaguely wonder if those kinds of ideals are acknowledged by sea people.

“Yeah, Kiri,” Denki says with a roll of his eyes. So much for keeping things personal. “He’s not interested in dating anyone, though. In fact, he’s pretty much married to the ocean.”

“At least there aren’t other girls,” you say, and with a quick glance at Denki, you add, “or boys.”

Denki exaggerates a woeful, hand-over-forehead pose and cries, “at least we have each other!” Then, he places his hand back around your shoulders. Again, you scoot away from him, and this time, you catch Hitoshi’s lips quirk up, just a bit.

“Alright,” Hitoshi says. “I’ve decided.”

“Decided what?” You ask.

“That the two of you are going to help me.”

The fish-man moves to flatten the burger wrap down on the counter like a map, and proceeds to decimate the other half of Denki’s burger. Denki says, “oh that’s fine…I wasn’t that hungry anyways.”

“Help you with what!” You bark, practically starving for details. Despite Hitoshi and all that he’s done, your interest is piqued, and you feel as though you’re finally going to get to the meat of his situation.

Lining a few fries on the paper wrap, Hitoshi finally says, “a few of my worldly possessions have been stolen from me. They’ve been missing for quite a long time now, and I now plan to take them back. Four of the six items happen to be tide jewels. I figure those will be the easiest to locate and extract.”

Denki snaps his finger. “Tide jewels! That’s what we were talking about! What are those?

Dabbing his pinky into some mustard, Hitoshi says, “artistry…” He dips his ring finger into the ketchup and says, “reign…” he tears a piece of lettuce in half and says, “tide…” and finally, he rips some of the patty and says, “soul.”

“Artistry, reign, tide, soul,” Denki repeats, peeking over Hitoshi’s shoulder. “You don’t happen to be a musician, do you? A magician musician!”

“I’m a connoisseur, but not a practitioner.” Hitoshi breathes. “And you’re too close to me.”

“Well, you’re certainly not an artist,” Denki huffs, taking a few steps back. You move in to see what Denki saw.

On the wrap, the French fries have been warped to look like some sort of three-pronged fork. On the left prong, there’s a dab of ketchup, in the center, mustard, and the right has a piece of lettuce sitting on it. Connecting the three prongs is the bit of hamburger meat Hitoshi had ripped.

“Is this supposed to be a fork or a trident?” You ask, then kick yourself, because it’s obviously a trident. Duh. Mermaids. “Is that one of the things that have been stolen? A trident?”

Hitoshi says, “yes. All four of the tide jewels connect to the trident. With them, the trident could very well be one of the most powerful blessed objects on this planet. If it falls into the wrong hands, the results could be catastrophic.”

“Now, hang on,” Denki begins, brows curved into a frown. “What?”

“So good at questions,” you murmur.

“Each tide jewel has its own magical property. The names speak for themselves, but since the two of you are a little slow on the uptake, I’ll explain.” Hitoshi points at each different spot on his fries-trident, explaining what each point represents.

“The yellow jewel is for artistry and skill. Whoever wields it, whether in its natural form or attached to another object, will learn trades quickly, can craft almost anything at a master’s level, and they’ll have a more creative way of thinking.”

“The red jewel is for reign and rule. Whoever wields this can command any audience. Wars have been fought, kingdoms taken, and women stolen by the power of this gem. It’s almost the most violent of the four, but it can also be used to keep peace.”

“The blue jewel is for the tide. They used to be two jewels, one for tide-ebbing, the other for tide-flowing, but they’ve been molded together after another theft mishap. With the power of this jewel, one would be able to control not only the water of the sea, but water itself. This gem can create storms you couldn’t dream of. This is possibly the most dangerous stone if placed into the wrong hands.”

“Sir, that’s a piece of lettuce,” Denki says.

“Your burger didn’t have anything blue,” Hitoshi growls, “nor did it have anything purple, which brings me to the last jewel. This would be the soul jewel. It aids people with wishes, can offer good dreams, and can allow the wielder to see people’s auras, or souls. This jewel has stopped many malevolent unions in the past.”

Finally, Hitoshi turns back to you and Denki. There’s nothing content about his expression now. If anything, he looks grave.

“The fact that the trident is not in my possession has already had a cataclysmic influence on the world you know now. I need it, and the jewels, or else there may be dire consequences.”

Throat dry, palms sweaty, you swallow thickly, and allow yourself a moment to process all that he’s saying. It may be idiotic, but you believe him. Maybe if you hadn’t seen him in the water earlier, things would be different. You’d be more skeptical. But since you’ve already seen one impossible thing today—two if you're counting the fact that Hitoshi grew legs and magically poofed himself an outfit—you don’t think he’s lying.

However, Denki did not see him in the water. Which is why he’s the first to speak.

“Right,” he says, looking down on you. “Sorry, babe, but the marvel universe did it first with Thanos and his gauntlet. If this is supposed to be a scavenger hunt of some kind, can we skip the game, hints and all, and get to the dinner? I expect there’ll be candles and such for nighttime, so maybe you and I can hang out at the beach, sans the mean magician?” Denki looks at Hitoshi. “No offense, buddy. You could join us if you cheer up a bit. I’d never say no to a threesome with two equally attractive people.”

The water in the glass you’re holding begins to shake. It shakes, and then it moves, and then it lifts up into the air, snaking around like a gelatinous worm, and slowly makes its away to Hitoshi’s mouth. Never before have you seen anyone swallow menacingly, and this has changed it.

“I am not your buddy,” Hitoshi hisses between his teeth, “and this is not a game.”

“He just…” Denki begins stuttering. This isn’t something he can chock up to something as mundane as a magic trick. This is pure magic, and you feel less like a giant dork for how you reacted to Hitoshi showing himself to you, with how distraught Denki seems to be.

“I told you,” you say under your breath, “he’s a fish!”

“I am Hitoshi Shinsou. I am one of Ryūjin, and you will not desecrate my name or my people by belittling me or my power.” It hadn’t occurred to you until now that he’s not only speaking to Denki, but to both of you. The thought makes you shift with unease as Hitoshi’s eyes slide from your friend to you. “Not without consequences. I’ve been burdened with this purpose, and the two of you can choose to help me and reap the rewards that follow, or you can return to your miserable lives, loligagging and ogling the things you know you want, but are too lazy to obtain.”

At this moment, Hitoshi Shinsou seems ancient to you. Trepidation crawls up your spine, chilling you to the bone. You regret most of what you’ve said to him, even the things you’d thought he deserved. You have an inkling that if Hitoshi really wanted to harm you, or Denki, he would. Easily.

“Okay, well-“ Denki, again speaks first, thank god. “You didn’t say there would be rewards.”

Maybe don’t thank god yet. But before you can apologize on Denki’s behalf, the air that you hadn’t realized had got heavier, thicker even, lifts, and Hitoshi eases up, lackadaisical smirk back on track.

“You both wish for something,” he says. “If you help me retrieve what’s rightfully mine, I will graciously return the favor by granting your wishes.”

“We do?” Denki asks. It’s wild to you how easily he could jump back into conversation like this, although, when you look closely at him, you can see that he’s trembling faintly. “What do I want?”

“You wish for a boat,” Hitoshi says, “so I will give you a boat.”

“I have a boat.”

“I’ll give you a better boat.” Hitoshi seems to be enjoying himself now, even going so far as to lean on the table, picturing exactly what he’s describing. “A captivating boat that both women and men find irresistible. It will sail smoother and faster than the other vessels out on sea. You will never want or need for an upgrade for it will never wear or tear.”

“A super boat,” Denki muses, beguiled by the idea. It’s your turn to be skeptical now, because you haven’t wished for anything. At least, not aloud for Hitoshi to hear.

“Then, what do I get?” You ask, arms crossed. You can admit that you’re interested in what he might have to say.

“Oh darlin’, that’s easy,” Hitoshi purrs, and moves from the counter over to you. Slowly, like he’s savoring your anticipation. Lifting a finger to your arm, he slides it across your skin, watching as both the glow and the tingles return. You have to hold your breath to yourself from sighing.

“You want to be loved,” he says, “adored even. And not just by anybody. You want to be with your soulmate, isn’t that right. That may be why you came to this island to begin with.”

There’s no way he could’ve known that you’re new to the island. Nobody said anything about it. But he’s not wrong. Though you can’t say he’s right either. You came to the island in hopes to find…yourself. And though you haven’t yet found yourself, you sure as hell found Kirishima. And soulmate has a nice right to it.

“So if we help you find these gems—“

“—tide jewels,” he intervenes.

“Tide jewels-“ you roll your eyes- “then you will give Denki a super boat, and you will unite me with a soulmate?”

“Exactly,” Hitoshi confirms. “Easy peesy, isn’t it?”

“How do we know you’ll uphold your end of the bargain?” Denki asks, finally out of his super boat daydreams.

“I said you were good with questions.” Hitoshi smirks. “You don’t know. You can’t know. But you can either do this with me, and probably get a super boat and a soulmate out of it, or you can not, and get nothing.”

Denki side-eyes you, and you him. You hold each other’s gazes for a brief moment, and you already know how this would play out if you refuse. Denki would convince you to do it. You don’t do anything, he says with his eyes. Might as well hang around and see how this plays out.

“Fine.” Even though your good conscience screams at you to do otherwise, you let up. “We’ll help you.”

“Excellent.” Hitoshi beams, or at least, he beams in a way only someone who was just threatening two other people can beam. “Then we should start our search today. We’ll probably need to go into town and see if there are any supernatural occurrences or old folktales to check out.”

Going out to town is the last thing you’d planned on doing today. Or maybe the second to last thing you planned on doing. You have to ask, because if you don’t, you’ll go batsy.

“We won’t be getting wet, will we?”

Hitoshi scoffs, which isn’t an answer. Maybe you really don’t ask the right questions because when Denki asks, “you said there were six things you need to retrieve. What’s the sixth thing?” Hitoshi winks at you, and grins. And when he grins, your stomach aches.

[disneylanddilettante]

The Disney Renaissance Killed the Disneyland Star

This post has been brewing and stewing in my brain for some time.

We here in the Disney theme park fandom are prone to lament the modern attraction design philosophy that says everything must be based on a movie. Aside from spectacularly clueless comments about “a random mountain in India or whatever” and misuse of the term “barrier to entry,” the reason behind it seems to boil down to: That’s what guests want. On the one hand, this is very clearly an excuse to do what Marketing wants (because film IPs are proprietary in a way that broad concepts are not, and can be merchandised accordingly), but on the other hand…it seems to be…kind of…true? The vast majority of the public, in my experience, does think of Disneyland (which I am going to use as synecdoche for all Disney parks, because it’s the one I grew up with, it’s easy to say, and because I can) as a place where you see Disney characters walking around as if they were real, and go on rides based on Disney movies, and anything else there is just to, idk, fill space until they can think of a cool movie makeover for it.

I have spoken to people online who quite enjoy Disneyland, but also think the Enchanted Tiki Room should become a Moana attraction, Tom Sawyer Island should be something to do with The Princess and the Frog, and the Matterhorn should be turned into Frozen. When I challenged them as to why, they didn’t seem to understand the question—what did I mean, “why?” Isn’t it self-evident? A couple years ago, one of the Super Carlin Brothers (I don’t remember which one; anyway I couldn’t tell them apart if you put a gun to my head) made a video expressing bafflement over the use of Figment as a mascot in Epcot because “He’s not from anything.” As if a ride in that very parkwere nothing.

So there is something to the assertion that film IP tie-ins are what regular guests expect and want. But the question remains as to why they want that—after all, it didn’t used to be that way. Costumed characters and rides based on movies have always been part of Disneyland, of course, but in past decades, the most elaborate and promoted attractions were the ones based on unique concepts that had nothing to do with the movies. The reasons to love Disneyland were things like the Haunted Mansion and the Mark Twain and Space Mountain…not so much the chance to meet Mickey Mouse. So what gave the public the idea that it was all about movies and characters? I’m sure there are several reasons, but I’m going to focus on one that I don’t see brought up that often.

I’m going to blame the Disney Renaissance.

Let me give you some personal background. I’m a young Gen-Xer, born in 1977. I was a child of the 80s…and in the 80s, Disney wasn’t doing so hot. Feature Animation had dropped to a cinematic release about once every four years, the live-action division was even less productive, and the corporate raiders were pawing at the door. In those days, when I saw a Disney movie in theaters, probably four times out of five it was a re-release of an older classic. (Anyone else remember when that was a thing?) There wasn’t much new at Disneyland either. The biggest thing to happen in the first half of the decade was the remodel of Fantasyland, which added one new ride—based on Pinocchio, a 43-year-old film—and otherwise just rearranged and refined what had always been there. On the other hand, the big Imagineering projects of the 60s and 70s were mostly still going strong.

The upshot is that if you were a Disney fan in those days (there weren’t many of us, even in my age cohort), you were a fan of the older movies and/or the parks. And for all its genuine quality, that stuff was showing its age. It was made in decades past, and there was a corniness and a quaintness to much of it. Most of the kids my age considered Disney “baby stuff” and were eager to put it behind them. It seems to have been a widespread phenomenon, because I don’t remember the park being very crowded when I was a young kid. Queues for even the roller coasters tended to top out around 45 minutes and it was very rare that we didn’t have time to do everything we wanted on a given visit.

And then, the year I turned 12—the year my age bracket hit puberty and could definitively be said to have outgrown cartoons altogether (except for the weirdos like me)—The Little Mermaid hit theaters.

Two years later, we got Beauty and the Beast.

And the hits kept coming. Suddenly, Disney was the hottest thing in entertainment again. Not just kids—by this time the generation that would come to be known as Millennials—but their parents watched these movies and went wow, this is really good. Disney is better than I thought. Maybe we should rent some of those older movies that I remember from when I was a kid. Maybe we should go to Disneyland… Unlike in the past, when families went to Disneyland because it was advertised and known as a family destination, families went to Disneyland because the kids were going gaga over the new Disney movies and the parents wanted to make them happy.

So a whole new generation of fans flocked to the parks, most probably never having been before, or not recently. They didn’t know what to expect. They just knew they loved these new movies with their endearing lead characters (so much more full of personality than Snow White or Alice or Pinocchio) and their big bombastic Broadway-style musical numbers (so much more in line with current musical tastes than the Tin Pan Alley ditties from Cinderella or Peter Pan or The Jungle Book). That’s what they wanted from Disney, whether they were paying six bucks a head plus popcorn, or fifty bucks a head plus lodging.

And that would have been fine but for the fact that endearing characters and big bombastic musical numbers are really hard to build traditional dark rides around. What you can do, though, for people who want to meet their favorite characters, is build dedicated character meet-and-greet spots. What you can do for people who want to sing along with Academy Award-winning songs is create huge colorful parades and stage shows that feature those songs. Best of all, if you are certain people who shall go unnamed, these sorts of things are much cheaper to create and operate than rides. Corporate was more than happy to meet, rather than try to exceed, the expectations of this new wave of fans.

The newer guests got used to seeing more-or-less verbatim (condensed) film content in the form of these shows and parades. The classic dark rides began to look decidedly odd to them—why are the movie events out of order? Why doesn’t the main character show up more? Why don’t we get to hear all the songs? And no one was there to explain it to them, because the older generations of fans had largely drifted away and the internet wasn’t quite a household staple yet. Rides that weren’t even based on a movie seemed even odder—what does a Wild West roller coaster have to do with Disney? What does a submarine ride have to do with Disney? I thought this park was supposed to be for kids, but my kids don’t recognize this stuff! They should build a Lion King ride! They should build a Toy Story ride! That Snow White ride isn’t suitable for kids; they should do something about that! I didn’t pay all this money to stand in line for an hour and a half and go on a ride that my kids don’t get!

The pattern was set. IP tie-ins were what the people wanted, and they closer they hewed to their source material, the more guest approval they got, simply because people didn’t know any different. And it has snowballed from there. The Disney Renaissance was amazing for the art of animation, but I think it was a net negative for the art of theme parks.

Tl;dr The Disney Renaissance changed guest expectations for Disney entertainment products in ways that were incompatible with classic Imagineering principles.

[kevkesblog]

Translation: Julian Brandt Interview for “11 Freunde” (June 18, 2020)

Attention: long post! Julian talks about overblown salaries in football, why he even stays at two-star hotels, why he thinks football should not be dramaticly reformed and why you won’t see him in Gucci clothing & more.

Julian Brandt, what do you miss the most at the moment?

Ju:     Just going outside and sitting in a café with some friends. Enjoying a bit more freedom. But I think many people have the same wishes right now.

Yet, the break because of the Corona pandemic seem to have lifted you. You were involved in all four goals during the 4-0 win against Schalke.

Ju:     I would still have preferred it, without the break. I mean it’s like this: sometimes you need just a few days to arrive at a place, sometimes it takes months. Feeling well in a city, a club and with my teammates is important. I’m a football player that needs a comfortable environment.

How was it for you at BVB in the beginning?

Ju:     There were definitely no fireworks at the beginning. But honestly, I kind of expected to need more time. I think thats normal after five and a half years at Bayer Leverkusen. It was a great time there, but in the end it was a comfort zone for me. I switched to BVB because I wanted to do something new.

And because Marco Reus asked you.

Ju:     Many people were in favour of me going to Dortmund. Even my mother wore yellow pullovers astonishingly often, during the time before my transfer happend. And Marco asked me at the national team, that’s true. I felt honored, but I saw a chance playing for a team which plays competitively for the title until the end of the season and is represented in the Champions League regularly, those were the main reasons for my transfer.

What else is different in Dortmund than in Leverkusen?

Ju:     Dortmund is bigger in almost every regard. Even the stadium is enormous and it becomes even more imposing with people in it. Building such a stadium somewhere is one thing. Brining it to live however like in Dortmund – that’s an art in and of itself. You don’t get that very often in Europe. Leverkusen – and I have to be honest here – has never been on my radar for me as a boy. But it’s the perfect club if you want to develop as a young player. I already suspected this after I talked to Rudi Völler for the first time.

I was told, you said „Rudi Völler has honest eyes“ to your father afterwards.

Ju:     He has a sincere attitude. I would have believed everything he said. And his promises became reality. We were playing attractive and successful football. And you don’t get so much pressure as a young player from the outside. The media landscape for example is much smaller in Leverkusen than elsewhere.

Do you miss the fans in the stadium in Dortmund?

Ju:     I was never that guy who was aware of stuff that happend on the stands. But after the game against Inter Mailand, where we were behind 0-2 before the break and won 3-2 in the end – I recognized how important football is for the people here and how much they were willing to support us. It was so honest, authentic and direct. One of the best games thus far.

Before that Michael Rummenigge critized you as „C-youth player“. That was after the Inter game where you scored as well. Was that a key moment?

Ju:     Everybody can voice their opinions that’s totally fine for me. I’m not a person who jumps on it.  And I wasn’t really satisfied with my game as well. Perhaps the 2-1 win against Gladbach a few days before was a turning point. Not only, because I scored twice, but rather because I was able to play on the ten for the first time. After that my game became better.

You said in the beginning of your time at BVB „Peter Bosz liked the risk. We don’t really have that here in Dortmund“. Did the way you play now changed?

Ju:     We play nice football under Lucien Favre. He likes an offensive tactic. Adding that, we score alot of goals. But Peter Bosz was a special coach in that regard because we played a modern version of football with a high amount of ball possesion – often over 80 percent. And we not only wanted to keep the ball all the time, while playing until our opponent gets tired like it’s the case with tiki-taka football. We were always on the attack. At BVB we put more emphasis on the defensive at the beginning. It was a change for me, since I wanted to have the ball and not running behind him all the time.

Is football an elegant game?

Ju:     My room as child was full of „Bravo“-magazine posters with offensive players. Nedved, Robinho, Del Piero and the best among the best: Ronaldinho. I liked it whenever players carry their street football skills to the pitch. Whenever somebody is looking for something spectacular. I want to gamble and not just act in a rigid system.

Doesn’t modern tactics prevent something like this?

Ju:     You are basically being funneled at youth football academies with: receive the ball, passing, receiving, passing. There a strict requirements you have to follow. But I think good teams need self-confident players, saying „No, I won’t fit in, but I rather go into a one-on-one situation“. We have such guys in our national team. Leroy Sané or Timo Werner. Kai Havertz is a player who has a street football mentality too. Often it looks very easy, but it’s not. It just passed over into blood.

You are wearing the jersey number 10 at the national team. Like you also wore at Leverkusen. Does that do something with you?

Ju:     I feel lighter in some sense. Perhaps because I know that you have to earn the number ten. Not like in the past, but I do think it has a certain meaning yes.

We heard you don’t like to talk about your strengths. Why?

Ju:     I think, it looks like I’m a show off. I have enough self-confidence already.

Yet you do know that you can shoot really good. Who taught you?

Ju:     Many things happened because I just tried. I even knew as a ten-year old boy: if I want to become a great football player I have to be able to shoot well with both feet. So, for weeks I shoot with my left foot on our lawn. Shot, flank, pass. It helped a lot. I met Federico Palacios during my youth time in Wolfsburg. He taught me insane techniques. I had a phase were I was obsessively training my first contact: not trying to stop the ball between the lines, but rather take the ball without defender nor midfielder getting the ball instead.

What are your weaknesses?

Ju:     My headers. But I’m currently working on it and I often score. At least without opponent (laughs). Some people say I can work more on my defensive work. And yes, there is some truth to it, even after I already worked on it for quite some time. The thing is: I’m not an aggressive person, its not who I am. But of course, I understand whenever coaches say I need to have a certain minimum amount of aggressive behavior on the pitch.

Do you have a career plan?

Ju:     No, everything I do, I do spontaneously.

But everything you do looks so reasonable: youth football for your home club. Training at a football academy in Wolfsburg. Professional debut at Bayer Leverkusen, your transfer to BVB a year ago…

Ju:     Honestly: I could not have imagined going to VfL Wolfsburg as well at the beginning. Why should a boy do this, when he basically grew up just a 20 minute bike ride away from the Weser stadium in Bremen and was standing in the fan curve in his youth?

Because Werder [Bremen] overlooked you?

Ju:     That’s not true. I even got invited to a try-out training. But then I looked at some other academies. I wasn’t only looking at VfL Wolfsburg. For example I looked at FC St. Pauli as well. Yet, I had the best feeling with Wolfsburg.

Why?

Especially during the ages 15 to 18 a lot is happening: you grow, your muscle mass is increasing, you slowly get to play with the professionals. On the other hand, many doors are opening. Your friends go partying for example. I liked being on a football academy for two and a half years. You couldn’t leave the campus after 11 o’clock in the evening. Apart from that we were very successful and won the German a-youth championship. But I can still remember how perplexed my parents were at the breakfast table, back when I told them about my decision to join Wolfsburg.

You are being called the “Anti-Star” of the business quite often. Does that do something with you?

Ju:     Many people seem to think it’s probably because I have no tattoos and my father is my agent. But to be honest: there are some football player clichées I fit in. I like fast cars. I like playing playstation and I have 40 pairs of shoes in my closet. I just try not to pretend to be someone else. I wouldn’t look good in a Gucci-pullover.

Others like to call you “premature”. You were allowed to train with the professionals at the age of 15 in Wolfsburg. How did you do that?

Ju:     That was insane and unreal. I was riding my bike to the training ground one day and the assistant coach Bernd Hollerbach took me to his side and said: “Introduce yourself to the coach”. So, I went into his office. “Hello Mr. Magath, I’m Julian from the under-17 team.” Of course, I was suspecting he already knew me otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten an invitation. But he was just staring at the television. After a while – it felt like an eternity – he looked at me, didn’t say a word, total silence and then he turned away. And then I was sneaking out of the room.

Magath wanted to test you?

Ju:     I was unsettled a bit, but I wasn’t thinking about it anymore on the pitch. It doesn’t matter who is on your side, or whether your opponent is twenty years older than you and who your father is.

Did you nutmeg someone?

Ju:     I would have been beaten for that. On the other hand: the pain fades away, the nutmeg stays (laughs). I remember I unintentionally shoot a ball into Marvin Hitz’s face.

How many agents were lining up at your doorstep at the time?

Ju:     I stopped counting it after a while. I don’t think all agents are bad but I don’t need one at the moment. I have my father. He may not be Mino Raiola with thousands of contacts all over the world. But he doesn’t need them.

Nevertheless: this son-father-constellation also has it’s potential conflicts…

Ju:     Our family sticks together – we are very harmonic and strong. I can’t remember a time where we were had an argument. I lived together with my brother in Cologne. I also have a connection with my father because of football. He used to play for the first team at SC Borgfeld – which was also my first club. I still remember: we went into the clubhouse whenever the Champions League was on. It was the best day of the week.

Now it’s about big business. Do you know your own worth?

Ju:     It was downgraded since the outbreak of the pandemic. I read that on so some sites.

But it’s still 40 million euros. What does such a number do with you?

Ju:     I can handle that because I can manage those numbers quite well. There is a lot money floating around in football. And I know its not easy to comprehend it with normal standards anymore. We live in our own bubble in that regard. The salaries in football are in no relation to what normal people earn – even with football being the greatest sport on earth. But why is that the case? Because sponsors are flushing so unbelievable high amounts of money into football. I think it’s important not to make the sport a luxury item. It has to stay affordable. In the stadium as well as in front of the TV.

Explain to us: why does a professional football player negotiate whether he should get 10 or 11 million euros per year?

Ju:     It shows how greedy people can be sometimes. But that’s not football specific. It’s as unfair as the richest one percent of the world’s population owning more than half of the world’s wealth, right?

Could this crisis perhaps be a chance in order for football to calm down?

Ju:     Perhaps in the short term. For the next one or two years. If any. I can’t imagine a player like Mbappé being sold next year for 80 million euros. Someone will always pay those insane sums of money.

How do you ground yourself?

Ju:     Through my family and friends. Many are studying or doing an apprenticeship. It’s never about money when we talk, I just like having a great time with them. We don’t need a luxury vacation. But one time: we went to Mallorca for four or five days just as we qualified for the Champions League with Bayer Leverkusen. We stayed at a normal two-star-hotel, one room with a bed and a bathroom – that was it. We went to the beach and relaxed.

Has there never been a situation where a friend or family member had to take you back to the ground?

Ju:     No. I can’t remember that I ever reacted arrogant or snooty. Or a situation where I thought: “Wow. That’s not who you are”. I’m fully aware of my very privileged life. In short: my greatest worry is whether we will win or loose on the weekends. It’s important to be thankful and to remind yourself what you got every once in a while.

Why do you have to remind yourself stuff like that all the time?

Ju:     In order for it never to become normal. I know cheese costs about 69 cents at the grocery store and a different one costs 1,29 euros. But if a tool or device breaks down I sometimes just buy myself a new one. Whereas in the past I would have repaired it by myself.

But is football still the same game you fell in love with as a kid?

Ju:     Absolutely. The game itself hasn’t really changed much. Okay, we have the goal line technology – which I support. And we got the video assistant referee, were people can argue. I abstain in that question. Once in a while, new ideas are being floated: like reducing the playtime to 60 minutes, new tournaments, elite leagues – I think it’s all bullshit. Keep football like it is. The way we learned it. With all its faults and tricky aspects. Even if something goes wrong.

Like during the World Cup 2018. Did you know that you could be the first DFB-team leaving the tournament after the group stage?

Ju:     At some point he heard of it. It doesn’t really look good on your vita but it happened. Perhaps we needed this in order for something new to emerge. You have to remember: other great football nations also failed in similar ways. Italy, Spain or France all crashed out of the group stage after they won the World Cup.

Did the photo with Mesut Özil and Erdogan brought some unrest into the team?

Ju:     The fact that almost all reporting was revolving around that topic was irritating sometimes. Don’t get me wrong: I think its important for the media to cover political topics extensively and with background stories. But I remember after the game against Sweden – after we barely won because of Toni Kroos free kick: shortly after the game you get asked whether the poor performance during the first 75 minutes were due to the photo – and you thinking: why don’t we talk about the game? Mesut became the poster boy for the disappointing World Cup. That’s nonsense. We all played shitty.

During the Confed-Cup the year before, many young players were in the team. At the World Cup the established players came back. Did Löw put his trust into the wrong players in Russia?

Ju:     You can come to that conclusion afterwards, but you don’t know it in advance. I could fully understand Low though. He was loyal and in some cases he felt some gratitude. He couldn’t and he didn’t want to replace a World Cup winner from 2014 with a young player. The way we were defeated at the World Cup was not foreseeable. Because we also played great football between 2014 and 2018.

The team made it to the semifinals at the EURO 2016 and you became second with the Olympic football team in Rio.

Ju:     A great experience with a team that was just thrown together. A contribution of Horst Hrubesch.

What makes him special?

Ju:     He is just great, the guy! He’s from a different generation which you can tell with a lot of things around him. Once he wanted to show me how to shot from the side. I almost tore my muscle fiber doing it. But he manages it very well forming a team with young players. He’s a very free coach and very direct. He always called me lazy (laughs). And he has a very nice and dry sense of humor.

An example?

Ju:     Me and the Bender-twins were sitting together shortly before the semifinal against Nigeria. He came up and said: “Guys, losing today doesn’t make any sense anymore.” A funny sentence, but also true if you think about it.

Julian Brandt, you made over 200 Bundesliga games, played Champions League and participated in one World Cup. You just turned 24. Do you even still have time to suck it all in and enjoy it?

Ju:     Football is quick. I can still remember coming to Leverkusen – as if it was yesterday: my first game for the under 23 team against Essen. My Bundesliga debut against Schalke a week later. That was a little more than six years ago already. Crazy. Veteran players always say: “Enjoy it, because quickly your career will be over.” But how should you enjoy it? A game every four or five days. New photos, new events. You don’t have an awful lot of time to let everything sink in for a moment. I usually do that on new years eve. On a friend’s balcony. I even get sentimental then.

[doberbutts]

I must say that going from dobermans, highly competitive, political, with heartbreak dogs and people who love to backstab and gossip and push you out when you’re a threat to their own success, to a breed where everyone is leagues more chill has been fascinating. I don’t compete in that breed yet so perhaps it’s just a matter of time before someone gives me my comeuppance for thinking they were a nicer crowd, but at the same time remembering the difficulty in even getting my foot in the door with dobes compared to the ease with this breed has been astounding.

I am, and always have been, small potatoes in dobes. I don’t breed and have no plans to. I don’t compete for any reason besides that I find it fun and it’s a good way to enjoy what my dog is capable of. I have nothing to prove to anyone besides myself and maybe his breeder. I’m not aiming for podiums or championships or international levels. I am a singular asshole with a singular dog and sometimes he bites things and sometimes I tell him to do some prancey feet and sometimes a judge likes that a lot. That’s it.

And yet, existing in dobe world spaces is tiring. You always have to watch what you say, to who, about what, where, and when. People have a hidden agenda and a massive chip on their shoulders. What’s written isn’t what’s meant. You’ve never even heard of half these people but they know about you, and what you do with your dog, and they make sure to tell you how unimportant you are to them.

This is not everyone in dobes, I hope that’s clear. It’s not restricted to show vs working- I have had the absolute pleasure of making the acquaintance of two American show line only breeders and would buy dogs from them without hesitation if I felt so inclined. They’ve been nothing but kind, welcoming, friendly, and very willing to share their knowledge. Similarly, I love my European working bred crowd I run with, as my experience has been much the same. Welcomed with open arms and never chastised for wanting to know more, wanting to do more, wanting to experience more.

But it’s enough people in dobes that even non-dobe people know the folks in it can and will eat a newbie alive for breathing wrong. The atmosphere can be tense at time as people wait to tear each other to pieces. I’m watching a bit of drama unfold as two long-standing members of the breed club engage in a very public penis measuring contest on one of the FB groups. I remember last week I saw a vague post regarding something in pedigrees turn into a 200+ comment screaming match between 3 very well known people. Someone asked about the quality of a breeder they were considering and ended up being threatened with a lawsuit by that breeder for “smearing their good name”.

Meanwhile I sat at the edge of the GSMD ring back in March and went “hello I’m new and have very limited experience with these dogs, probably getting a puppy from xyz in a few months, talk to me” and got 2.5 days of free education from literally everyone present, from junior handlers to other breeders, people with dogs not even remotely related to or from the person I was technically there to see, watching them work together to keep tally of points and help each other when someone’s dog was struggling due to a flagging BiH nearby, giving compliments to every single dog that went in and out of the ring regardless of whether it won anything or not.

Maybe I just lucked out like I did with dobes and found a breed group that’s Just That Nice and not everyone is like this. Maybe the breed’s much more relaxed. But god was that environment much better for me mentally than the constant barrage of bullshit coming from dobes at every possible moment. I remember thinking it was so nice to come into a breed knowing I was supported locally by everyone, not just that particular breeder. The much more relaxed, laidback environment of true sportsmanship without it being so cutthroat was a blissful break from the dog world I’ve been in thus far.

(it’s worth mentioning that someone in dobes recognized at that show Creed and deliberately came over to talk to me about him- he was actually very nice and we spoke about our love of european dogs and that I shouldn’t sell Creed short as he could have been competitive if I’d’ve put a handler on him, which I don’t think is true but it was kind of him to say after I was being a bit self-depreciating regarding Creed’s chances in a show ring- that guy’s dog ended up getting Breed, so again Not All Dobe People, but enough of them)

But then I went to talk to the chihuahua people because I wanted to show my boyf what an actual chihuahua looked like, and they were the same as the swissy people! Very willing to talk to us about the breed, happy to share what they knew and answer any questions asked. I called Tiki my ugly gremlin child (because she was) and they chastised me for it, called her cute and pointed out that I loved her so it didn’t do to compare her to the show dogs (which is true), we talked about many things including their training and more...

And the more I interact with breed people who aren’t Dobe People, the more I wonder if part of the reason the dobe is dying out is because Dobe People are, well... a lot to deal with, unwelcoming of newbies, and Everything Always Means Something with them. Non-dobe people (so far) are just... Not Like That, and unsurprisingly their breeds seem to be in much better shape.

And I wonder if that’s the reason so many Dobe Peoplea aren’t willing to consider another side to things. Why not diversify the gene pool by breeding to other lines besides “the ones that win the particular sport we compete in”? Why not outcross? Why not continue to donate blood samples and gene results to further research? Why not eliminate the diseases we actually know how to be rid of? Why not publicize health testing and accurate CoD? Why not publicize things like coefficient, who died of what in the pedigree, show results, and more in ONE simple and easy to access website?

These other breeds do it. They’re in a lot better position than we are. Why can’t we try?

[supersoldiersruined-me]

I Could Never

A/N: This is so late, my brain hasn’t been my best friend lately. But, surprisingly, as I’d mentioned, school seems to have kickstarted my creativity. So here I am with a belated birthday gift for my space girlfriend @stanclub! I’ve already told you and keep saying it but I’m so happy to have you in my life! (at least I’m posting this while we’re still in Leo season! lol) 💕 Warning: um...cursing? no smut in that one. bit of angst. rpf Word count: 1.9k

Main Masterlist  | Drabbles Masterlist 

You had come home once to a fully decorated house, speechless before the immensity of work that was put into it. You hadn’t been able to spend Christmas at home, and Chris wanted to make sure you’d get a taste of it. After swearing that the band-aids on his fingers didn’t cover his struggle with the Christmas tree needles, you had settled down with hot cocoa in front of the fire and played board games until the wee hours of the morning.

On your birthday the year prior, a twelve person table was filled with family and friends who sat around a hearty brunch; his mom - who had grown to love you like her own daughter - joked about the pots of failed hollandaise sauce her son had expertly burned. His final result was amazing though. 

Needless to say that Chris had settled a high level of expectation for surprises; that you soon found out was taken for granted. Flowers, amongst other things, were usually delivered to your house on special occasions, no exception. But only fresh-cut grass is being blown onto the rain stained pavement as you stare at an empty porch, and the sudden chill has you rushing back inside after one last quick glance around.

With your head well rested on the cold ceramic of your stand-alone shower, you let the warm water travel down your body, flushing away the sting of disappointment. Disappointment that, you’ve convinced yourself, holds a lot more meaning than simply being left giftless on your birthday. Salty tears are washed away; gut shivers have seized their attack on your poor nerves. Once the handle of the shower deprives you of warmer water, you settle to give him the rest of the day, while absentmindedly patting yourself dry and heading out to the patio for some fresh air.

The faint buzz of your phone on the wooden chair startles you out of a daydream.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kid! How’s it going?” A familiar voice echoes through the speaker with a spark of joy.

“Seen better. How about you, Mackie?” You know he can tell exactly how bad you feel, but he’s learned not to bother people with too many questions. Mostly you.

“T’sall good,” he adds, still bashful. “Hey, do you think you can do me a solid?”

A small sigh escapes your lips. It’s faint enough so he doesn’t feel guilty for asking, but quite effective to relieve a bit of tension in your heart.

“Sure. Seems like I have the day to myself anyway...” You know he can deal with your sarcasm - being a fluent speaker himself.

An hour later and a bottle of milk down, you’re sitting on the couch with his youngest in arm, watching that one scene in Moana on repeat. The floor has become the most hazardous place to walk, but the smell of fresh cookies, and the sweet snoring of the toddler seem to have cheered you up after the frustrating morning. The location of his house on a hill makes for the most beautiful sunset view. The rays bounce on the pool outside and heat up the room wonderfully. Soon the moon would take its place and begin another day, and the thought of having spent it alone brings back a small headache.

You’re setting the baby in his bed when a knock at the door startles you. You tiptoe through the dark house out of habit, which comes in handy for the situation. Not bothered to look out the small window by the door, you spring it open in one swift movement, and your knees practically give in when your eyes meet his baby blues. Before you can put a word in, a series of giggles comes from somewhere on his left; not only indicating that he has company, but that this company is female and apparently trying too hard to impress him. He’s wearing a black shirt, neatly tucked into some clean jeans; just the way you had recently suggested he tried. Hair slicked back and glimmer in his eyes. Dreamy, as usual. Clearly he wasn’t here to help babysit Mackie’s kids.

Another minute goes on before their laughter dims down and Chris seems to acknowledge your existence. 

“Um, listen,” he begins through choked laughs. “I’m gonna need you to put this on.”

You look down at the black strip of fabric in his hand.

“Why should I?” The young girl hisses at your answer and bro-punches him on the arm.

“You said she was feisty. But man, she got you there.” You assume that your eyes dart through her soul because her sparkly smile immediately disappears. She glances quickly at Chris, and waves her hands in front of her before proceeding. “Oh, god. Look, I’m...” Her eyes shut close as she realises what you might have been insinuating. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m just here to take your place. I’m Anthony’s usual babysitter. Chris called me because he wants to ta-”

Her story is punctuated with Chris’ hand on her mouth. His brows rise up as a warning, and the poor girl snakes around you and into the house, taking the hint.

“I don’t know what you want, Chris but I’ve had a long day and I just-”

“Hold on, hold on!” His hand circles your wrist when you try to walk past him. “Y/N, okay look. I don’t want to break the surprise but please, put the blindfolds on and come with me.”

A small laugh comes out in a sigh, and your head shamefully drops down. So there is a surprise.

His finger carefully tips your chin up so he can look at you again.

“You thought I had forgotten?” His accusation is nothing but a friendly remark. Shivers run up your spine at the grin he offers next. “I could never,” he whispers a bit too close to your cheek. The last cloud dissipates and the stars begin to shine brighter. All of a sudden the air is a lot easier to breathe, although your heart seems to run faster.

His hands stretch the fabric in front of you, and you comply to the invitation. With your back towards him so he can secure it properly over your eyes, careful not to tangle your hair into it, you feel like a little kid waiting to unwrap their presents - albeit you’re the one being wrapped up. You curse yourself for doubting him. The ‘I could never’ replays in your mind, oddly pulling new sensations out of you - added to the fact that his breath tickles your neck with his proximity.

The ride is quite short and only makes his intentions much more mysterious. The only option to be ticked off the hypothetical list is him taking you out downtown, which would have taken twice the time. And you’re relieved to have a more casual night, considering the not-so-glamorous sundress covering your body. One thing Chris hadn’t thought of was to keep you from hearing your surroundings. As you stepped out of the car, the splashing of water gave up the first clue. 

“Chris, if you want to throw me down the river this wasn’t-”

“Oh, just shhh.” 

You walk down a small path, small branches snap under your feet, a faint cackling waits in the distance. The humming of the city seems to fade with each stomp, allowing you to relax for the first time today. Once you’re a few more minutes away, the grip on your shoulders tightens, bringing you to a stop. You hear him take a deep breath.

“Alright,” he adds in a soft tone. He steps behind you, and after a little warning takes the blindfold off.

It takes a few blinks before your mind catches onto the scene before you. 

An off-white drape dangles from a few trees, looping around poles and creating an inviting tent - the ones so popular in fancy home renovation magazines. A picnic cloth sits underneath it, and everything is beautifully lit with a generous amount of fairy lights, tiki lamps and a slow burning campfire along the water line. The sight is mesmerizing, something out of a children’s book, and it has you wanting to shout “I do believe in fairies!” 

The moonlight dances on the lake and glistens back into your watery eyes. With your hands over your mouth you turn around to him. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth and his look is to die for. He’s soft and proud and his eyes are full of something new. Something you can’t quite figure out yet.

“This is just…” Your eyes dart back to the secluded area. Something he bothered his siblings with, you’re sure of, until they agreed to lend a hand after their mom insisted Chris’ intentions were founded. But you know he came up with the idea himself. Had it not been for his money, you think, this would’ve been a home-made fort in his living room, and you wouldn’t have complained - although the extra attention does make you feel warm and loved.

Loved. There’s the feeling.

In a rush, you tiptoe towards him, anchoring your arms around his neck and in a heap of passion, your lips come to his. Surprise suddenly takes him victim, until he responds and starts moving his lips, then tongue, against yours. You part with a huff, looking for your breath - which seems to be the theme for the night. His mouth rests on your forehead as he keeps your bodies connected. Hands roam the other in search for meaning. Answers. It’s with drips on your cheeks and a childish giggle that you dip your head back.

“Was about time,” he teases. You puffs in fake annoyance before stealing a couple more pecks. 

“I didn’t see you make the first move...”

“I threw you all sorts of hints! Why did it have to be me?” You laugh at his remark.

“Alright, touché. But still. Thought you were old-school about this kind of stuff,” you clarify.

“I’m old-school as in I like to make sure that she’s the one, you know. All those years I planned things and bought some random stuff and you never asked for more. I could shit in a cup and you’d be hap-”

“Christopher! Fucking mood killer!” You pat him on the chest with your comical accusation, earning a deep laugh - minus the boob grab because he wasn’t about to take his hands from you.

“You get what I mean. You never made a big deal out of this,” he adds as he waves behind you. “You never made a big deal out of me. You let me buy things without always making me feel guilty for having this luxury. And then when I want to watch football with beer, wings and ribs stuck in my teeth you join in with a huge smile of excitement. I love the contrast...”

He closes his eyes for a second, trailing the last words in a shy whisper. Your hand comes to his cheek and your heart melts when he leans into it, water now overflowing under his long lashes.

“And I think I love you,” you say. His sparkly baby blues shot open, volleying between yours and analysing your expression. Looking for a hint of doubt, maybe. But then again, wasn’t this what he had always hoped for?

“I think I fucking love you too,” he answers. He kisses you, as if to seal a deal. 

Best birthday ever.

[bapyess1r]

Amphetamine

WARNINGS: drunken behavior, cursing, age difference, use of substance, slightly heated

CHAPTER 4

Talia’s POV

I left the house very excited to see my best friend. I had so much to tell her, so much to show her, and so little time to do it. I drove myself to the airport almost ready to hope out of my seat. These were the feelings my therapist once told me to savor. I took a deep breath and let the good feeling warm throughout my chest, gripping my steering wheel as I turned into the pickup lane. I parked the car, not bothering to turn the car off and climbed my car to sit on the roof, hoping to spot my tiny friend better. And in a matter of minutes, there she was carrying her bright purple suitcase, a jacket in her arms. She spotted me and screamed her head off, scuttling toward me with her arms wide open. I hopped off the car and ran to squeeze her tightly. Suddenly, I felt whole again. “Oh fraaaand! I missed you!” She squealed, brushing her long black hair off of her face. “I can’t believe it’s only been a month!”

“I know! Time flies. How’re the boys?” I asked, grabbing her suitcase and putting it in the backseat. Tulio and Jay were two other friends I was very close with in New York. The four of us were inseparable in school. There was never a bad moment with them.

“Tulio is currently a barista and freelancing. Jay is a voice actor now. He’s working on a kids show that's coming out soon.” She informed me as she got in the car, buckling her seatbelt. “Is the ABC still open? I wanna get us a bottle of something good!” She cheesed, nodding her head suggestively. It wasn’t too late so we had time to stop by.

While I drove, I noticed the sky growing darker and dark as Anna told me all about what was going on back home. She didn’t miss a single detail. And our behavior around each other didn’t change. Still horrible, still encouraging each other’s bad behavior, still laughing at dumb people doing dumb shit. We stopped by her hotel to put her suitcase and things in her room. “So what am I walkin’ into with this whole block party deal?” She asked me as we walked the hallway and waited for the elevator's arrival. I don’t know why but my stomach flipped and my mind immediately went to Sam. I blushed and covered my face, laughing away my nerves. Her eyes widened as she playfully and repeatedly hit my arm. She knew me all too well. “Biiiiiitch! Who is he?!” I took a deep breath and waited to board the elevator before answering.

“His name is Sam.”

“Oh, Sam…” she called dramatically clutching her chest, making me laugh. I pushed her off me and hid my face again.

“DILF vibes.” I groaned.

“Oooo an older gentleman! Okaaay! Okay sis!” She hyped me up to the best of her abilities. As the short elevator ride came to an end, I began fidgeting around for my cigarettes as we walked toward the parking lot. “Does he know you like him?” She pried.

“I fear he has an inkling…” I answered scrunching my face. I hadn’t even admitted to myself that I was into and now I was saying it out loud.

“Then make it a big splotch of ink, bitch! Tell him! Let it be known!” She said enthusiastically, throwing her arms all over the place. I laughed as I attempted to light my cigarette.

“He plays in the band I told you about…”

“Is he the guy that wasn’t there when you started playing with them?” I nodded.

“He plays guitar and he sings and even though haven’t heard it my god am I ready to but I’m so NERVOUS.” I blurted out before taking a long drag. “Fuck I need a drink…” That’s when she boldly grabbed my breast.

“Shit, bitch, I forgot the champagne!” She said and I cackled. “I’ll be right back!” She ran off performing her signature grandma speed walk.

“Alright. I’ll be here.” I said unlocking the car doors, sitting sideways in the driver’s seat. I looked up at the stars beginning to come through the now black sky. I huffed wondering what I was gonna do about Sam. There was no way my Godfather would let that slide. Not that it mattered to me. I was a grown woman. I did as I pleased. That’s when I felt the buzz in my back pocket. It was Marcel.

Marcel: Where are you? We’re about to start playing and Sam is looking like a nervous puppy

I felt a smile crack on my face as I read the last line. I couldn’t imagine Sam acting like everything wasn’t cool. He seemed so put together to me. I texted back, letting my cigarette hang from my lips.

Me: Im on my way!! I’ll be there soon. Good luck !

If anything, it was good that we’d show up late. Sam could sing without being worried about my opinion and I’d see him full force when I get there. “He’ll be alright.” I said aloud to myself as Anna returned, drinking said bottle already. She pouted as she looked at my face and held the bottle out to me.

“Take a sip. We’ll finish it before we go watch the band. That way you won’t be so nervous to see him! Also you’re gonna have to point him out to me. I’m ready to see this man.” She said, rounding the car to hop into her seat. I looked at the bottle and took a big but quick sip before turning into my seat correctly and giving her the bottle back. I slammed the car door and off we went to the block party.

By the time we arrived into the neighborhood, people were out dancing already, their children playing in the nearby park. I noticed the block was full of cars so I just pulled behind one and parked with a large sigh. I could hear the band playing already and I instantly became anxious. Anxious to see Sam, to hear him sing, to watch him play, to just be in his vicinity. I let out a loud frustrating grunt and my friend gave me the biggest smile. “Oh my god you really are nervous! Here! Drink bitch.” She told me, passing the bottle and almost dropping it. She was definitely tipsy. I giggled and actually relaxed enough to start drinking. “Is there anything else to drinky drink at this shindig?”

“The band bought plenty.” I said before taking a long sip. The beverage warmed my chest up so much I took off my tye dye shirt and tossed it in the back. I was just gonna go with the bralette from the combination of alcohol and Florida heat. I shook every part of my body with a random sound to release the tension that had been building, fluffing my hair as I did.

“That’s right, bitch. I see you. Get cute, sis.” She said aggressively sipping the champagne.

“Let’s do this…” I said, opening the door and slamming it shut.

Anna leaned over the car to pass me the bottle again and grabbed my hand, beginning to dance her way to the block party with a bright smile. Now that I was out of the car, I could hear the music more clearly. And even more so, closer we got to the party. Sam’s voice coming through strong and powerful as they performed Whisper to a Scream by the Icicle Works, sending shivers up my spine. I tried to move my feet to the music but I knew as soon as I laid eyes on him, it was over for me. The street became lined with tiki lights and string lights in the shape of pineapples. Somehow, the smell of wood for the bonfire being burned already comforted me. When we reached the end of the street where the band was, my breath was taken away. He stood front and center, clad in a tight white v neck, black shirt rolled to expose his strong forearms, veins bulging out from playing, and the best fitting jeans paired with his usual dirty boots. His hair was falling out of place from performing passionately, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead. Instinctively, I reached out for Anna and took an extended sip of champagne as I watched him. She looked at me with wide eyes and laughed. “Woo bitch…” I sighed, nearly shaking from how good he looked. “The one singing…”

“Sam?!” She exclaimed, running deeper into the crowd of drunk people dancing to get a better look, forgetting to let go of me. She dragged me right in front of him. And at the right moment he looked up and locked eyes with me. And almost like on the spot he began singing to me. I swallowed hard as he sent me a brief smile and wink. I could see his shoulders visibly dropping and loosening up. He was relaxing. Which was more than I could say for myself. “That’s Sam? He’s hot! Hell yes. You needed to fuck him like… yesterday.”

“Bitch I met him yesterday!”

“Your point?” She said putting a hand on her hip with a sassy expression.

“I mean… because he’s older I’m sure he’s more old school about that stuff.”

“I never try to understand what goes on in a man's head but that man wants to fuck. And real bad.” She said, reassuring me also tipping the bottle near my mouth upwards to make me drink. During the break in the song, Sam noticed the situation and smirked a bit trying to control his laughter onstage.

Throughout the night, Anna and I managed to find more booze. Boy….the trouble. We were now, drunk off our asses, shaking our hips and bobbing our heads to the music. Between songs, Sam would sip on a glass or three of scotch, watching me with intent and a hint of lust. The sexual tension was thick enough to cut with a butter knife. My friend would bring me back to earth sometimes when I was on another planet lost in this man’s performance. When his song was over, everyone clapped and he took his swig of scotch again. He waved everyone’s applause down enough for him to speak. “So… some of you know that we have recently acquired some new vocals for the band.” He began. I knew where this was going and I wasn’t prepared for it at all. Anna looked at me and snatched my beer out of my hands, pushing me forward. “My uh…. my guilty conscience is kickin in and I have to say it wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t get to sing a little something tonight. Would you guys be down for that?” And the neighbors cheered.

‘Well shit…’ I thought.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for our new vocalist Talia Aaron, everybody.” He said easing off the mic and clapping. The band hollered and encouraged the situation. With all the strength I had, I tried my best not to fall or trip over the wiring as I approached the stage. The band leaned in listening for my split second song selection. “Nice of you to join us.” He smirked before leaning in and whispering in my ear. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.” I was absolutely shaking as I tried to think of a song. Not from stage fright but literally just smelling the cologne Sam wore. I had not a clue what to sing until Marcel caught my attention. He threw me that bright smile and winked. I knew exactly what he wanted me to sing. I nodded.

“Black Velvet…”

“Great choice.” Sam winked and it shot right through my heart.

“Here’s to hoping I don’t fuck this up!” I said stealing Sam’s glass and finishing it for him in one gulp. He blinked in surprise and laughed to himself.

“You got this Tali!!!!” I saw Anna yell and my neighbors all cheered. I smirked, adjusting the stand and bringing the mic to my lips with a nervous smile. With a nod of the head, Sam kicked us off with that classic riff and Marcel’s bass line sat right where it needed in me.

“Ok y’all. I hope you don’t mind if I just…. Feel this liquor for a minute…” I said softly as the opening of the song played, tapping my foot and rolling my body to the beat.

“Take yo time girl!” My friend cheered as I played with my hair, feeling my oats and finding that comfort zone. That’s when I began to sing. The moment I opened my mouth, I could see Sam staring at me in my peripheral. I was shaking my hips slowly to the music, letting my body sing the song as well, easing into every word and belting out every note; the raspiness in my voice adding a soulful tone to each verse. I stroked the stand, somewhat using it as a pole. And the entire time, his eyes never left my body. It was a very sensual performance even though I didn’t mean it to be. That was the liquor talking. The neighbors cheered and the band performed two more songs after me before joining the block party themselves.

After receiving praise from the drunk older women (all of which were definitely trying to get into bed with him), Sam locked eyes with me as he grabbed a beer from the cooler and nodded towards our designated smoking spot. I grabbed Anna by the wrist and brought her forehead to mine. “He’s calling me over, what do I do?!” I panicked and she repeatedly hit my arms, squealing as she turned me around.

“Go get your man, bitch! Go! Go, go!” She said, suddenly catching Marcel’s eyes. He winked at her and she gave me a mischievous smile. “I think I found a boo, too….” she said, waving at him as I grinned, heading towards the cooler to grab a beer myself and following Sam’s trail.

The docks were dark and the street lamp nearby hadn’t turned on yet. All I could see was his tall figure in the moonlight, smoke dancing in the air around him. Nervously, I pulled out my source of nicotine and walked over to him, my heeled boots making a sound that stood out from the sounds of nature. He turned to look at me as I eased up next to his large frame.

“You didn’t play any Billy Idol!” I said poking him in his strong chest. He rubbed the spot with a laugh.

“Actually I did. You were late.” He said with a lopsided smirk.

“I wouldn’t have been drunk enough anyway. Right now though?! I’m extra toasted.” I chuckled trying everything in me to not be that drunk girl randomly kisses someone. But boy was he making it hard for me.

“Oh yeah? Started early, I see. I’m getting there. But just a warning:” he leaned down to my level, our noses almost touching. “You might be in trouble.” He took a drag of his cigarette and a sip of his beer, returning his gaze to the moonlit waters. ‘Fuck…’ I thought, biting my lip. “What did you think of the show?” He asked me.

“You were amazing!” I blurted almost immediately, taking a sip of beer and pulling on my own cigarette to hide my eagerness but I don’t think it worked. He smiled to himself and I stood in silence for a moment. “How’d I do?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“It was uh… very sexy… if I may say so myself.” He said, his eyes never leaving the water. “I love your voice. Marcel made the right call adding you.”

With that, we continued to talk about upcoming rehearsals and how it would work with my job. He understood that as he had to take off often for his job. We somehow ended up not leaving each other’s side all night and getting drunk together with the band and my best friend. We danced and played field games, ate food. You know, wholesome shit. As the block party came to a close, we still didn’t wanna end the night. So we moved the party to Sam’s, just us. Anna was in a corner with Marcel as he flirted with her, showing her how to play bass. She shot me a fangirl smile and I grinned at her from across the room, sitting on the kitchen counter as Sam leaned on the other opposite of me. We had all gone from drinking beer to drinking whiskey and this cup was sending me over the edge. I felt loose and not as uptight as normal. I crossed my legs and rested myself on the bar behind me, looking into his hazel eyes as he spoke to me about his adventures with his brother and family. I couldn’t believe he really went to all of these places and almost died every time. It sounded so exhilarating. And for a moment, he grew silent, his eyes running up and down my figure as I sipped on my Jim Beam and soda. “What?” I asked nervously, writhing under his strong gaze. He walked over and uncrossed my legs so that he could stand between them. He stared into my eyes as he moved a strand of hair from my face.

“You look so good…” he mewed, his forehead resting on mine now as he cupped my face with a large, calloused hand. I leaned into as his thumb ran across my lower lip. “God, I could kiss you right now…”

“Why don’t you?” I responded almost instantly, caught up in the tension of what was happening between us.

“Don’t tempt me, little girl.” He said, pulling me closer by the back of my leg, gripping it for dear life. I took a long sip of my drink, letting the ice sit on my lips for a while before wrapping my arms around his neck and grazing them over his own. The coldness against his warm lips made him shudder as my free hand played in his hair. I let my tongue dart across his lips, sending him over the edge enough to wrap his arms firmly around my waist, pressing his lips to mine. He moved slowly against me, both of us heavy breathing over each other. My fingers graced the tattoo on his neck and he took a deep breath, deepening the kiss. He moved his lips to my jawline, then to my ear. I giggled flirtatiously as I his lips travelled to my chest and back up again to the other side. I could feel him smile against my neck as he paid extra attention there, his hands roaming my thighs, hips, and back. As I bit his lip, he laughed nervously and pulled away. I was taken aback.

“Did I do something?” I asked, suddenly panicking. He placed a hand on my cheek and gently stroked my skin.

“God, no! That was… incredible. I just… I don’t wanna hurt you…” He said in a whispery tone as a slow tune played in the background. “And it’s so soon. I wanna make sure this is what you want first.” He was very considerate of me. I took a deep breath and nodded. He was right. We had only just met 24 hours ago and here we were making out like we’d known each other forever.

“We’ll work on it.” I said biting my lip. He gave a low frustrated growl before kissing me once more.

“Man, I like kissing you though…” he chuckled before kissing me again.

Eventually, the night did have to come to an end. I had taken off my heels and leaned on my friend to walk home, Sam trailing us to make sure nothing happened to either of us. As we made it to the front door, I unlocked it and sent my friend to my room. There was no way I was driving tonight. I turned to look at Sam in the doorway as my friend crawled the stairs. “Drink some water and eat something before bed. That way you won’t wake up with a hangover.”

“This isn’t my first drunk night, Mr. Drake.” I said rather loudly. It was like I had cotton stuck in my ears, everything was so quiet now. He chuckled at my current drunken state and leaned against the wall. He bent his head down, grabbing my waist with a single hand and guided me to kiss him for a final time tonight. It was sweet and passionate.

“Goodnight, princess.” He said lowly, kissing my cheek before walking across the street to his own home. I smirked as I drunkenly stared at his ass in those jeans, nodding in satisfaction as I turned to close the door and join my friend for the night.

[jayallencampbell]

wolves dressed as wolves:

About fifteen minutes into 1983’s Suburbia Penelope Spheeris punxploitation classic about runaways forming an ad-hoc family in the midst of Los Angeles’s ultra-violent punk scene, Jack, something of a leader to the other runaways, bemoans the laments the family he left behind: his real dad died in Vietnam, and his stepfather is a police officer. “That’s not the worst of it though” He’s quick to add, before delivering the kicker: “he’s black.”

As a punk obsessed kid, I hated this line– and I saw it plenty times, as I nearly wore out my bootleg VHS copy of the film. I felt attached to these characters. They were all different kinds of broken from lousy home lives like me and had found an outlet in punk to act out against a world they did fit into. I didn’t want them to be intolerant. Angry? Antisocial? Even Nihilistic? Sure, that made sense to me- but bigoted? That felt like the opposite of everything that drew me to the subculture in the first place, this idea of inclusiveness for people that feel like they have nowhere else to go.

I still hate the line, and the others like it, though I’m a lot less starry eyed about the culture around it. As I got older, I became more immersed in punk and other extreme music and the scene around it, I learned that this kind of bigotry was neither novel nor era specific, though large swathes of the culture had pretty effectively self-regulated it out of their immediate vicinity- go to your local DIY punk show, and you are likely to see a lot more kids wearing Nazi Punks F*ck off shirts than you are to see Nazis- but it still found ways to surface.

Like any subculture- what seems monolithic to an outsider is filled with nuanced connections and relationships only meaningful to those inside it, and extreme music’s relationship to bigotry is no different. From devoutly anti-racist activist skinheads in full boots and braces to Columbian black metal bands espousing white supremacist ideologies, the ultra-specific coding of political allegiance can feel equal parts labyrinthian and ridiculous. Even for those of us who took this kind of thing seriously, they often felt abstract: breadcrumb trails of information about a particular band or scene that you used to try and figure out where they landed ideologically, often no small task in a culture that prizes provocation. For whatever reason, some broken part of my brain finds this all fascinating, but up until recently, I wouldn’t expect anyone else to.

The, I saw a bunch of kids in skinhead-chic Fred Perry polo shirts carrying tiki torches and chanting “Blood and Soil” on the homepage of nearly every major news organization in the country. Suddenly this didn’t feel nearly as niche to me. As technology has enabled marketers to micro-target ultra-specific audiences, political extremists have learned to foster hate in thousands of tiny corners of our culture, some of which, like extreme music scenes, were basically primed and ready. Prominent, violent far right groups like the Proud Boys and Atomwaffen have lineages that lead directly through underground music scenes, and they have learned to embrace the gray areas of irony and empty provocation built into the culture.

Put simply, Wolves dressed as Wolves is an attempt to grapple with these elements of this culture that has meant a great deal to me, understand how it could be adapted as a tool for far-right radicalization, and how that can be countered or even subverted.

[bnha-hcs]

The Gods Enshrined

IF Y’ALL WERE WONDERING WHAT I WAS UP TO HERE U GO.

Seriously though I was supposed to be working on requests and then had an idea of my own and was like “Okay cool I’ll write out this idea it’ll be nice and short” and then it wasn’t. So here u go, an almost 8k fic I hope y’all like it since it literally took me forever to write it. I was tempted to give this a sad ending but y’all know I’m all fluff so,,,, let me know what u think,,, I gotta put this under a read more bc it’s massive good gods.

- Tiki 

Words: 7,923

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of slight gore

Other: Mythical AU

You never would’ve believed the gods could lose their power, but you supposed others were easier to scare than others. Assumptions made from superstitions never really surprised you, until you found yourself at the center of them. The outlier, the unwanted, and the unworthy… You were all of these things. You lived on the edge of an old, old village at the base of a mountain. There you were alone, save for the few livestock and frail existence of a farm. Your parents had abandoned you ages ago and the only time you ever visited the village was when you had to sell what little you had. Every so often you would visit one of the smaller shrines, scattered about the village, offering what you could before returning to the outskirts. Old habits die hard you supposed, even if you barely believed in the old gods yourself anymore...

The day everything started, well, was one of the days you had to make your way to the merchant streets of the village. You heard whispers of things here and there, trading had its perks of learning information but you never really paid mind to gossip if you could help it. Soon you found, that the village was awash with fear; the rumors that the god at the top of the mountain had lost its power. Others said that the gods had forsaken them and traveled to the eastern mountains, forever leaving the village to the elements and monsters alike. You heard talk of a ritual that would be performed later in the week but gave it no thought. It’s not like you would be allowed to attend the ritual anyways. The gods had already forsaken you for all you knew and whatever rumors floating around wouldn’t be able to stomp out what already little faith you had left in them. 

Dragging your feet, you headed back to the outskirts of the village where you supposed you belonged. About halfway back to your home you saw a few men, probably on their way back from hunting or fishing, dotted along the trail. You passed by them without making any eye contact. Nothing good ever came from garnering attention as you found out many times in the past. However you didn’t fail to feel their gazes on your back while you passed them. After passing the last one, you picked up your walking pace, determined to get away from their stares as fast as you could. 

That night you slept with your wood cutting axe by your bed, wary of the possibility that they would show up at your house. When the morning came, you found your fears were baseless, and there was no sign of anyone. ‘Of course no one would come here.’ You thought, leaning against the fence while the morning sun warmed the earth. With a sigh you picked up whatever things you could carry and set out to get to work. Crops needed to be tended to, your animals needed to be fed along with other needs. Daily work that you knew like the back of you hand, sometimes would have other tasks sprinkled in. Foraging was one of these said tasks. Occasionally you’d set off into the forests in search of herbs and things you found you couldn’t get to grow on your dingy farm. It brought in more money, if you could manage to find anything that is. But you knew a certain merchant was in town who would pay a high price for some of the herbs found in the forest, so you told yourself it wouldn’t hurt to look for a little bit.

The next few days continued in the same matter, leading up to you having to visit the village by the end of the week to exchange your goods. But for some reason you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been watching you as the days went by. Perhaps it was a wild animal, waiting to pick up scraps for itself, and maybe it was something else… you hadn’t a clue what it could be. Eventually, however, you got used to it, one way or another. On the third day you were looking around the forest as usual, nothing new other than the few flowers that had sprung up here and there as the late spring rains came in. You started to wander deeper and deeper into the forest, past the points that you had reached earlier, in search for more herbs.... but also to satiate your curiosity. Truth be told, you had never been this far into the forest. People always said it was dangerous, though you couldn’t say that you had seen any sort of dangerous animals roaming around that could warrant such a warning. 

It wasn’t until you started to get deeper and deeper into the deepest depths of the forest that you started to get a little anxious. You could hear a low drum start to get louder, and every time it sounded, you felt your heart creep further and further into your throat. Soon you were able to hear the low voices of people, seemingly hushed. You felt like you were intruding in on something you shouldn’t be, making the dread that hung in the air even more nerve wracking… Your hands trembled as you tried to take hold of a branch for stability, but your nerve riddled self slipped on the wet ground. You slipped over the mossy roots and stones around the tree and fell hard enough on your back that the wind knocked out of you.

Shouts rang out from above you, and it didn’t take long until people came running over. You being in your inebriated state, couldn’t quite catch your breath fast enough for you to get away. They caught hold of you immediately and with a swift hit to the back of your head, your vision cut off and you lost all consciousness.

-- 

Slowly but surely you woke up, the stench of blood greeting your nostrils with such a sharp stench that it almost made you want to pass out again. You realized that the stench of blood was not a good thing to be smelling and you bolted upright, quickly moving your hands to the back of your head, smoothing over the bump that was fresh. There wasn’t any blood when you inspected your hands leaving you to inspect the rest of your body. The first thing you noticed is that your clothes had changed and your hair was wet. In fact, your whole body was a bit damp… A shiver ran up your spine and thoughts raced in your mind. Someone had bathed you while you were out, and you loathed to think of just who it was. 

You inspected the robes you were wearing. They were all white, and pretty thin you noted. On closer inspection you could tell that they were ceremonial robes, and for what you didn’t know. Or really, you didn’t want to know. Your shoes were gone as well as any other items you had been carrying before you were knocked out. Speaking of, you could still hear the low drumming that you heard before, except this time it was louder. You must’ve been taken into wherever those people had come from, and from their reactions to you it’d be safe to say that you weren’t exactly an honored guest right now. 

The sliding door to the room was unsurprisingly locked as you found out from trying to yank it open. You didn’t have much choice than to wait for whoever to come get you... and come get you they did. As the lock on the door released, two men dressed in priests’ clothes stepped inside, their hands full of sacred rope. The thing was, you had never seen these men in the village before and you wondered just how far into the forest you had gone… Your hair stood on end and you stumbled backwards in fear, backing up so that you were against the wall. They closed the door so you couldn’t escape, and quickly seized you by the arm. You were outmatched so they quickly bound your hands together as well as tying a rope around your neck. It took every fiber of your being to not break down into sobs, even though you so desperately wanted to. There was no telling what they were going to do to you, but you had a bad feeling that it was going to involve a lot of… less than pleasant things.

The two priests pulled you out of the small room and led you through a series of halls that you would’ve got lost in even if you had been able to unlock the door. Soon you were outside and there was a handful of people waiting for you. Your heart raced wildly as they led you over to a litter type carriage. It was open into the air but had ornaments and other things strewn about around the cushion you had to sit on. Before you were allowed on it, you were forced to rinse your mouth, for purification purposes you guessed. As soon as you were situated on the litter, one of the priests bounded your feet together with more sacred rope. 

Looking around it all started to make sense. You could see the guardian fox statues carved into the cold stone, teeth barred and eyes that seemed to be staring right through you. The red and white lanterns that lit up the stairs that twisted into the mountains, and the effigies that lined the path under the dim glow. 

You were in the mountain shrine right now, and if you were remembering right, the ritual that was supposed to happen was… happening right now… with you. But it certainly didn’t feel like any other ritual that you’d heard of. Something felt distinctly off, and you weren’t sure what entailed in appeasing a god, although you couldn’t think of anything that sounded... good. For example the stench of blood in the air definitely wasn’t ideal… but you didn’t exactly see anything that could be responsible for the stench. Either way it wasn’t something comforting to say the least. Before you could think anymore about what fate that lay in sight, you were hoisted into the air on the litter by a few of what you could only call the shrine keepers. Everyone began their ascent up the stone stairs and with every step you could hear the sound of shrine bells and chimes. 

With each step you could also feel yourself feeling worse and worse. Sweat from your hands was enough to dampen parts of your robes, your breath shallow as your heart sat in your throat. Your eyes stung with tears you couldn’t shed and you felt like you might throw up at any second. And slowly but surely, you were brought up the stairs and to the main shrine closer to the top of the mountain. As soon as you were, the litter was placed on top of what you could only guess was an altar. Or an offering table… either way it wasn’t exactly good. 

Looking around you could see a massive shrine, obviously dedicated to the mountain god. Though, it wasn’t as shiny and grand as you thought it was going to be. You figured it was because god’s power was dwindling. There were some other shrines dotted around the grounds, but they didn’t look as impressive as the main one. You sighed, wishing you could’ve come see this in… less than sacrificial circumstances. 

You were instructed to turn to face the doors to the inner shrine and given an ornate bottle of sake to hold. ‘Of course the gods need drink with their dinner.’ You thought mockingly to yourself. There was a bitter smile on your face as you looked up at the tarnished gold plating around the shrine doors. Incense was lit and whatever priests that were behind you started to chant and pray. It lasted for what seemed like forever, until they both walked up the steps and past you to ring the giant shrine bell. They then hurried past you to join the others, who were just as eager to get away from the shrine as soon as possible. You swallowed hard. 

As soon as everyone was gone and the ringing from the shrine bells had died down, you watched as the inner shrine doors cracked open. You held your breath and waited for whatever monster of a god to step forward. Needless to say, neither of you were expecting what the other would look like. 

The second the door cracked open you were expecting some decrepit, old, nasty looking thing to be staring you down with eyes full of hunger and hate. So when the young face of a duo hair colored god peered out from behind the shrine door, you honestly thought you were imagining things. When he saw you were alone he seemed to relax a little and came into full view. He had two different colored eyes; his right eye was brown while his left eye was a lighter blue. His hair split into two shades of white and red; white on the right and red on the left along with two fox ears that matched, perched on top of his hair. His clothes more or less matched the same color scheme of white and red, looking similar to your own white robes but more ornate, long, and regal. There were some golden ornaments and trinkets that decorated his robes along with gold swirls and patterns towards the ends of his sleeves. You didn’t miss the red divine markings on his face matching exactly to the guardian fox statues that you had seen before. The whole thing was breathtaking to say the least.

He seemed to study you as intently as you were studying him. His eyes seemed to linger on the rope binding your arms and feet, along with the one tied to your neck before flickering to the sake bottle in your arms. Part of you hoped that he would see how much you really didn’t want to be here and let you go, but the other part knew you would never get that lucky. After inspecting you, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, ears twitching. 

“What are you supposed to be?” He asked you, obviously a little confused to the situation. 

“Uhhhh… I believe I’m what you’d call… a sacrifice?” You spoke, voice going a little higher than necessary, but hey, you were scared.

He didn’t really seem to like the answer as his eyes narrowed. Taking a few steps forward he reached out, soft hand going to hold your chin up as he studied you closer, going to tilt your head to the side. You couldn’t see him as he angled your face away but you could feel how close his face was to yours as he took in a deep breath, taking in what scent you had, pausing there next to you for a moment that seemed like forever. A shiver ran up your spine as your hair stood on end. In all honesty you weren’t sure if you should be flustered or afraid, but it didn’t matter as he pulled away, seemingly deep in thought.

“I know you.” He breathes, eyes flashing with recognition. “You leave me offerings often.”

“Y-You know me?” You almost wheeze, unsure if you’re flattered or not. 

“Yes, you’re the one who doesn’t smell like the scent of man.” He said, tilting his head. “You were sneaking around my mountain recently.”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking…” You trailed off, unsure if he’d even appreciate hearing your plight. 

And you weren’t sure if it was a good thing that you didn’t smell like, well, a human?? You guessed that some gods might not like the smell of humans, since they’re impure or whatever it is. The god standing in front of you looked like he was deep in thought again, probably trying to think about how to tackle the situation at hand. At this point could you even return to your farm? You were pretty sure if you were seen in town again after being offered as a sacrifice that the townspeople would kill you themselves out of rage. 

You were brought out of your own thoughts as you noticed the mountain god walk away and back into the inner shrine. Before he disappeared into the darkness, you didn’t fail to notice the two twin fox tails, part of you wondering how nice it’d be to bury your face in the soft fur. When he came back out he almost gave you a heart attack as he drew a dagger from its scabbard and stalked forward to you. You flinched as the blade neared you and for half a second you really thought he was going to kill and eat you. As soon as he grabbed your bound wrists and cut the robes that bound them you realized that he was letting you go. 

“You’re not going to eat me?” You asked, slightly confused. He stopped and gave you an incredulous look. 

“I’m a god. I cannot consume the impurities of humans.” He stated dully.

“Impurities?” You mumbled to yourself. 

“Beasts eat beasts but humans are monsters- they consume everything.” 

You couldn’t argue with that, considering how you’ve seen all the horrendous things in your life. He mumbled something to get you to shift your legs out so he could undo the binds there but as soon as you started to shift your legs out from under you, you heard the sound of an arrow flying through the air as it whistled past your face. You whipped your head towards the mountain god only to see the arrow buried squarely into his right shoulder. He had a look on his face that was a cross between unimpressed and offended. In fact, he didn’t even blink as he ripped the arrow from his shoulder and threw it aside. You watched in horror as the wound spouted blood all the while he stood there unfazed. The dagger he held in his right hand switched to his left as he stared down something in the distance until he suddenly threw the blade with such force that it was hard to believe he didn’t just shoot it like an arrow out of a bow. It shot through the air at blinding speeds before hitting its target, whomst of which let out a dying scream. 

The mountain god slowly made his approach over to the spot, just out of distance for you before grabbing his dagger and cleaning the blade with his already blood soiled robes. You shot up, the bottle of sake long forgotten as it clanked onto the litter before falling on to the wooden shrine floor. As soon as he came into range you tried to step forward, forgetting that your feet were still bound together. You soon found yourself, very much falling right onto the god himself to which he let out a grunt, his good arm coming up to hold onto you as your hands grasped for purchase on his robes. As soon as you got yourself back up on your own two feet, although not very steady at all, you looked up to him with panic filled eyes. 

“A-Are you okay?!” You asked, almost falling over trying to inspect his robes. “You were- the arrow- and your, your robes!!” You fussed. 

“Wh… what are you going on about?” He asked, looking down at you with puzzled eyes. “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine?? You literally just got shot with an arrow!!” You fuss more, trying to inspect his wound through the layers of his robes. It was then you noticed that the arrow wound had already stopped bleeding. You stopped to look back up from the bloodied robes to his face which held a passive expression. He seemed neither annoyed or pleased, just, confused by your behavior. 

“But…” You trailed off, not really sure what to think anymore. 

Not a moment later your binds around your feet were cut and you never thought you’d miss the feeling of being able to move freely so much. Looking back over to the litter you scowled at the memory of those priests tying you up like some animal. You wondered why they didn’t just catch a boar and offer that instead of trying to offer a human. Thinking back to all those rumors of the gods losing their powers made you think they probably thought a human sacrifice would be quicker at returning the lost strength to the gods. Speaking of, you wouldn’t have guessed the mountain god had lost any of his power from watching him not too long ago. He seemed pretty strong and ready to go at a moments notice to you.

“You can leave whenever you please.” His words brought you out of your thoughts. 

The god made a move to leave the area, which was pretty smart considering that there was now a dead body next to the shrine grounds. There’s no doubt that someone would come looking for their assassin friend soon. So, you decided to follow in kind and leave with him, to which he wasn’t expecting. As you followed him down an old mountain trail he seemed to gain a sort of exasperated mood to him. It didn’t help that you started asking questions either. 

“W-Wait! Where are you going?” You called out after him, almost out of breath having to hop from boulder to boulder over a rushing stream. “What’s your name anyways?”

He let out a sigh, obviously not really used to having someone accompany him. His ears were slightly backed as he continued on, trying his best to hurry along the trail. 

“You can call me Shouto.” He said, just loud enough for you to barely hear him. 

You could barely keep up with him as he made his way along the trail, mostly because you reckoned he knew this way like the back of his hand. It seemed like it was made ages ago, all the effigies, statues, and stone lanterns were covered in moss, long forgotten by the humans who lived in the area. You almost slipped a few times, half yelling out as you almost fell off the steep trail, causing him to look back at you every time. By the fourth time you could tell he was already regretting letting you follow him, and there was no telling how long you were going to stick around for. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, finally being able to catch up. Shouto stopped abruptly and you bumped into him from behind. 

“Well I need to wash the blood from my robes.” He said turning to you slightly. You looked over the blood as he continued on, “But why… why are you following me?” 

“Um!” Your response came out faster than you wanted it to, though in reality your answer was quite simple. “I can’t go back home.”

Shouto’s face scrunched up in confusion, clearly not sure as to why you couldn’t just wander back from whence you came. You didn’t need to guess his question since it was written all over his little face. He opened his mouth as if he was going to ask anyway but you cut him off before he could say anything. 

“I can’t go back because- because the villagers will recognize me and they’ll… Oh you know.” You couldn’t really get the right words out of your mouth and hoped that he got the jist of what you were trying to say. The way he blinked at you with a blank sort of expression on his face indicated that he didn’t.

“No… I don’t know.” He said slowly, “Do as you wish, it won’t matter to me.”

It wasn’t too much longer until the two of you came to a small spring with a gentle waterfall. You gaped at the serene atmosphere and could tell that Shouto definitely came here very often. There were things here that you could find in your own home for washing clothes and you wondered how exactly he acquired any of this? Offerings maybe? But who would offer half of these things here? There were also other things like water pots and chopped wood. You never would’ve guessed that Shouto would be running around felling trees and gathering other sorts of things. Did gods even need to eat? He did look like a fox so maybe it was more something that pertained to whatever underlying beast nature he had. 

When Shouto began to strip down his layers of robes you barely had time to register that it was probably something you shouldn’t be watching. Watching a divine god disrobe?? You felt like you’d definitely be cursed one way or another. Your hands shot up cover your eyes as a squeak left your lips. You didn’t get to see Shouto look over at you with a somewhat confused expression, but you could definitely hear him sigh. As soon as you heard the sound of water splashing and fabric being scrubbed, you decided to peek between the cracks of your fingers squeaking again as you saw the mostly bare back of him. Heat rushed to your face as you turned yourself away from him completely, screaming at yourself in your mind for even DARING to look at an exposed god. 

“Last time I checked, washing clothes wasn’t seen as something so, um, distressing.” Shouto spoke quietly. 

Now your face was heated by your embarrassment. Gods, were you the one acting weird here and not him?? Who undresses in front of another person you barely knew? Perhaps gods didn’t have the same social code as humans. It was either that or he just didn’t care. 

“It’s not! It’s just, uh, you’re not dressed!” You sputtered out. “It’s indecent!”

“Humans fuss about the oddest things…” He mused, clearly more invested in getting his robes clean. 

You sat there for a few minutes, unsure of what exactly to do until Shouto was done. After another few minutes you managed to muster up your courage and turn around. As long as you didn’t make a big deal about it, it wouldn’t be a big deal that he was half naked. He still had his lower pants on that went under the other layers, to which you were very thankful for. With closer inspection, you could tell that he actually had a layer under everything else. It looked like a skin tight black fabric of some sort. You had never seen something like that before as it exposed most of his back, only really covering the arms. It felt like you ogled at it for a little longer than necessary because you practically tore your eyes away as soon as the realization hit you. His back muscles were enough to get anyone drooling, so it took a lot of effort on your part not to.

Once he finished getting out the blood stains on one of the layers, he threw it over onto a large rock nearby. An idea dawned onto you, and you quickly went over to pick up earning you another confused look from the god. Shouto didn’t exactly protest to you taking one of his robes, but you could still tell he was slightly wary. Looking around you found what you assumed to be a drying line, and threw the soaked clothing onto it. All the while you could feel his eyes on you, watching you just to be sure. Or maybe he thought you were going to fall over and into the spring. 

For the next few hours things continued in a similar manner, neither of you speaking much. It was a nice silence though, and every so often he would indulge one of your questions as to how gods were like. You found out that technically his power had been waning lately, but it was because people were starting to distance themselves from the gods, and not the other way around. The decline of the gods’ power was mans’ fault, and whatever fate they sowed, they’d reap. 

After the clothes had finished drying you noticed that the wound in his right shoulder had already healed while the blood was already washed away from earlier. As Shouto redressed himself you watched as the sun shone through the trees of the forest to illuminate his hair and face. The glow on his hair and face was golden and ethereal, solidifying the fact that he indeed was the god of the mountain. All alone on the mountain… He didn’t seem to notice you staring because he got dressed rather quickly before gathering a few other things to get ready to go back up to the shrine. You continued staring at the place where he once stood, lost in thought. 

“Do gods get lonely, Shouto?” You wondered aloud, still staring off into the distance. He paused and looked at you for a moment, a little stunned by your question. There was a pause like he was thinking over the question, until he eventually answered. 

“I guess some gods can get lonely.” He said simply.

“Do you get lonely?” 

You didn’t get an answer from him as he started to walk back up the trail you came down. You followed him after you realized he was leaving, assuming that he didn’t hear you. The way back up was a little better than coming down, at least for you. Less falling, more walking this time. And you found out that you were not used to the mountain air as you struggled to breathe. Eventually you got back up to the shrine which was empty as always. You stepped back over to the altar, noticing that the litter was gone, and in its place was a basket of various foods. Maybe it was an apology from those followers who tried to sacrifice you to Shouto.

“You can have it.” Shouto said, making his way back over to the doors to the shrine. He opened them wide, letting the natural light flood in as he sat in the doorway. 

“Are you sure? It’s for you after all.” You hummed looking over the fruits that sat on top. 

“I don’t need to eat as much as you do.” He replied while watching you. “Gods don’t really get hungry either.”

You didn’t know if you should be a little offended or not, but you were glad for the food so you didn’t say anything. Instead you picked up a fruit from the top and started to eat. It was even more delicious due to the fact that you hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever. You ate two more after that one, deciding to leave the rest for later. 

“If you don’t really eat then… What do you do with the food they bring you?” You asked. 

“I’ll eat it if I’m bored, but mostly I leave it for the animals.” 

You recalled the animals that you had seen earlier and remembered that they didn’t seem scared of Shouto at all. Maybe if you stayed here long enough they’d get used to you, too. Speaking of staying here, you never really asked him how long you were allowed to stay. You didn’t really want to impose either, but you really didn’t have anywhere to go. Going back would cause more trouble than it’s worth, and you almost wished you would’ve been eaten just so you didn’t have to deal with your dreary village. 

Walking over to where Shouto was, you looked up to the sky. There was no doubt the sun would start setting soon so it really was now or never. You sat down a little ways from him, trying to keep a respectful distance while you gathered your thoughts. He didn’t seem to mind the distance, already looking out into the forest. 

“Shouto,” You started, getting his attention first. He turned his head to you, eyes flickering over your face trying to read your expression. “Can I- will you- ugh sorry it’s just… Would you mind if I stayed here… with you?” 

His head tilted while his eyes flickered with a series of emotions. Why would you be asking to stay here with him? He already knew human lives were short, so why would you spend time here at a dusty old shrine deep in the mountain? The only ones who visited was because they had to. But you didn’t have to, so why stick around? He truly wondered why humans were so odd. 

“Do you truly have nowhere else to go?” He asked, watching you closely. “If you stay here, in the domain of a god, you will cease to be human.”

“Wait, really?” You asked, leaning forward. “What will I turn into then?”

“Who knows, only time will tell.” He mused, “Do as you wish.”

Well, that didn’t make you feel much better, but at least you had a place to stay for as long as he could tolerate you. Shouto didn’t seem like someone mean or like someone who’d kill you in your sleep, so you took what you could get. 

The sun started setting not too much later and you admired the stars in the sky as they got more and more visible. They looked even clearer now that you were higher in the mountains. From your side Shouto shifted in place, going to hold an arm out and before you could ask what he was doing he snapped his fingers. All the lanterns around the shrine instantly lit and you nearly jumped to your feet in excitement, scaring the poor god.

“That was so cool!! How’d you do that??” You almost yelled, suddenly much closer to Shouto than he thought. He wanted to shrink under your intense stare. 

“Um, fox fire.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Of course you didn’t know what fox fire was!

 When you looked at him like you had no clue what he was talking about he knew you wouldn’t be satisfied until he explained. Not one to speak too much himself, he just held out a single finger until a small flame danced over it. You watched with the utmost wonder and excitement. Before he knew it, you had scooted even closer hand reaching out to hold the one with the flame as you inspected it. He didn’t pull away, even though the feeling of contact made him a little uneasy. 

“That’s so cool... “ You murmured, eyes alight with childlike curiosity. It took you a second but you finally realized the contact you were making with him and pulled your hands back sputtering all the while. “Oh um! I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to I just wanted to see-” 

You cut yourself off, watching with rosy cheeks as Shouto was… smiling?? Even though it was small, it was still there. And it was causing your heart to nearly leap out of your chest. When you heard a small chuckle from him, it almost killed you just then and there. You saw him shake his head while he looked back out at the lanterns for a second. His gaze flickered back to you and his mismatched eyes locked with yours making your breath catch in your throat. 

“You really are just odd.” He said. 

The comment caused you to puff out your cheeks, the ends of your ears burning as embarrassment flooded your system. Was he trying to kill you? Were you so amusing that he needed to laugh at you? The nerve!!

Once your embarrassment died down and the night went on, the two of you talked here and there. Shouto learned a little more about you and you learned a little more about him. It was during one of the stories Shouto was telling you about a local mythical fish that lived in the river that you ended up succumbing to your sleepiness. Since the two of you were still sitting close to each other, he hadn’t noticed you nodding off until your head fell on his shoulder. He stopped mid sentence, going to look at you as you used his shoulder as a pillow. You were out cold he could tell and he couldn’t really blame you after the day you had told him about. So he gently shifted you off of him and put you so that you were laying on the ground before stripping his top most layer of his robes. The robe was placed over you and he went to go fetch a pillow that was lying around the inner shrine. He had a few here and there for himself so sparing one for your wouldn’t be too bad he thought. 

As soon as you were settled in and he had managed to slip the small pillow under your head, he grabbed one for himself. After a little debate he resumed his spot next to you in the doorway, deciding to stay up a little longer so he could linger in his own thoughts. He didn’t know what you’d turn into if you stayed here. Human hearts were open to much corruption so... anything was possible. You could turn into a mindless beast, a monster, or… He shook the thought out of his head. Your fate would be tragic either way, so why not humor you for the short remainder of your life? 

Eventually, when he was done thinking and rethinking things, he laid his pillow down and settled himself right next to you. For a few moments he observed you sleeping, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. A fuzzy feeling bubbled up in his chest when he remembered your question from earlier. 

“Do you get lonely?” 

Shouto rolled over onto his other side, facing away from while he pondered the question. 

Yes, he was lonely, so maybe this feeling in his chest was him starting to be less lonely. He knew it was fleeting, but maybe he could indulge in this feeling a little longer...

When you woke up that morning you almost screamed. The warm feeling of breath tickling your hair was something you were definitely NOT used to. And you also we definitely not expecting to wake up to see Shouto’s sleeping face so close to yours. You couldn’t help but admire the peaceful look across his face as he slept, and the warmth that radiated from him reminded you of the sun. It wasn’t long until you had fallen asleep again, thankful for the opportunity to sleep in, and with a god no less. 

-----

Days, then weeks, then months passed by. You felt better than you ever had before being able to live at the mountain shrine with Shouto, and you had even managed to get yourself another set of robes that weren’t so… thin. Even then, he still insisted you wear his overcoat/robe now that fall was in full swing. The days were getting colder, and the nights even colder than that. But you were content with your new friend, and you could call him a friend now since the two of you had warmed up to each other quite nicely. Shouto had become more lively, and the two of you would talk away the days sometimes. It was a nice feeling, being this close to someone. You hoped it would never end. 

A lingering fear still held your heart though, and you felt like you’d never be able to truly be close to Shouto. He was a god, and you had ashamedly fallen head over heels for him. You would never be able to tell him how you felt. And you still didn’t know what you’d turn into. Just as Shouto cautioned, you were already less human than you were when you first came here. Your appetite had seen a nose dive recently, and you both knew what that meant. You couldn’t fool him, because the second you started to eat less he noticed. I mean how could he not notice? But you assured him you felt fine no matter how much he fussed. 

Today felt different. You felt, way different- like you could do anything. So when you woke up and saw that Shouto was already out and about, you practically sprung out of the inner shrine. When you saw his figure lingering in the distance you broke out in a sprint and practically tackled him. He was as solid as ever though, holding his ground like you were nothing. The hug from behind caught him a little off guard, but he regained his bearings rather quickly. You heard him chuckle before you released him and when he turned around he gave you a reaction that you weren’t expecting. 

Shouto stopped dead in his tracks, the soft smile on his face fading quickly as he looked at you. His jaw was set forward a little bit and he almost looked… angry?? Shocked?? You gave him a slightly lost and frightened look and yelped when he practically lunged forward and grabbed your face. 

“What did you do to your face? Did you do this?” Shouto growled, thumbs brushing over the several red marking on your cheeks. They didn’t come off when he tried to rub them off leaving him in a desperate hope.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!! W-What’s on my face??” You asked, slightly panicked. 

All your emotions were thrown into what you could only describe as a hellish whirlwind. As soon as Shouto was done staring at your face with an almost predatory intensity, he embraced you with such emotion and force that you were afraid that he might crush you. He took in a deep breath before letting it out in a steady stream, trying to get his emotions to settle, but it was almost impossible for him. He couldn’t look at you right now, but there was no way in hell he was letting you go. 

“Shouto? What’s going on??” You asked, trying to get him to release you from his almost death grip. “You’re starting to scare me…”

“You’re… turning.” He breathed. You stopped struggling, arms going limp as you stood in his arms. It was like, your worst fear come true, really. Were you finally gonna become a monster? Were you finally going to have to say goodbye to your only friend? 

“Am I going to-” Your voice cracked a bit as tears pricked your eyes. “Am I going to be a monster Shouto?”

When he pulled away you were expecting him to look sad, even disgusted, as he gazed down at you. But he wasn’t. Okay now you were confused… He looked… Happy?? What was going on?? Was he playing some kind of cruel joke on you? What was this… You watched as he practically beamed at you, it was blinding really. But you were still confused all to hell, and it was written all over your face, so Shouto dug into his robes to pull out a hand mirror, to which he almost shoved into your face. When you looked at your face and saw the face markings almost identical to Shouto’s, you immediately started to cry as emotions overtook you. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” He shushed you, murmuring soft affirmations that you were okay- that things were going to be okay. 

“I’m going to be like… you!” You cried, happy tears overwhelming your ability to speak. So you let Shouto embrace you once more, his warmth comforting you that it wouldn’t ever be leaving you now. You practically clung to him, and it was your turn to refuse to let him go. However, Shouto was still stronger than you in your inebriated state and managed to pull away from you as soon as your sobs had died down. He wiped the tears still clinging to your now rosy cheeks. 

There was that soft smile again, the one that you adored. Though this time there was a look in his eyes that really made it hit home for you. It was the look of adoration in his eyes paired with the newfound hope that burned brightly. You couldn’t take it anymore, so it was your turn to take his face into your hands. He didn’t protest as you tugged him towards you, and just as you were about to close the distance, you hesitated. Was this okay? Just because you were on the path to becoming a god yourself… did it really mean that…

“It’s okay.” It was a low murmur, much closer to a whisper, but firm enough to shock you out of your thoughts. His hands met your own as they held his face, taking yours into his own as he held them tightly, gently pulling you even closer to him. He took the initiative first and closed the distance between your faces, letting your lips meet his softly. Both of your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the contact as your lips melded together. He kissed you sweetly, over and over, until you felt your head become foggy with affection. The sensation was intoxicating- your skin prickling with goosebumps and shivers racing up your spine. After smothering you with as many kisses as he could get away with at the moment, he pulled away, but not before pressing one more to your cheek. 

A laugh bubbled up and out of your chest, your heart feeling more at ease than ever now. And you were sure his felt the same way. You both could exist here together without having to worry about anything anymore. Pride swelled inside of you, almost lifting you off your feet while you stared into each others’ eyes. There was no doubt in your mind that everything would be okay, and you could spend forever at his side, watching over the mountain together. 

-----

Your ears and tails developed not too long after- give or take about a week after the markings appeared. It was then you were a fully fledged god. Even though you couldn’t do a lot of the same things that Shouto could do yet, he promised to teach you how to control your powers as soon as they manifested. It also took a while for the word to spread around, but as soon as people found out about the now two gods that resided on top of the mountain, you started receiving offerings yourself. It was exciting, even though you weren’t sure how to process all of them, but you got used to them after a few months after they started appearing. 

The village grew as word came out that the mountain had gained another guardian deity to watch over them. Before you knew it, the village had turned in a busy and prosperous city, ripe with trade. Both you and Shouto ended up having a lot more offerings than you knew what to do with after that and people quickly started sending personalized offerings depending each of your tastes. And then the two of you had to relocate for a while as the shrine underwent some improvements. Neither you minded though, as long as the two of you were together. 

So the two of you enjoyed yourselves as the gods enshrined at the top of the mountain. And forever there you’d stay, together.

[girls-scenarios]

Can’t Focus

Idol: Lua (Weki Meki)

Prompt: Weki Meki Lua x Fem!Reader where the reader is distracting Lua from a performance, practice or a show (you can decide) and afterwards she confronts her and confesses to her/asks her on a date

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: Lua owns my entire heart. Also, she didn’t get like ANY lines or screen time in Tiki Taka. What’s up with that, Fantagio? Anyway, I took a few liberties but I hope you all enjoy!

♡ Tip Jar♡

Lua was not the type to get distracted from dancing. Sure, she’d look out the window for a cute dog if she got bored or might take a break from memorizing lines to watch a new music video, but when it came to dancing, she was passionate and nothing could tear her away. She loved dancing and threw everything she had into it, getting tunnel vision until she’d memorized the moves and the dance was natural to her body.

So when she found herself getting distracted by you, it was a shock. This had never happened before, but all of a sudden, even when you weren’t there, she found herself getting distracted by thoughts of you. She’d forget the next move after thinking about your smile, or she’d look away from the practice video to look at you instead. It was weird, and she didn’t know when this had started, but it was starting to drive her a little bit crazy. She had a show to get ready for, but she couldn’t concentrate because of you.

She’d met you a short time before, as a mutual friend of Yoojung’s, and the two of you had immediately hit it off, quickly moving to hanging out with just each other. And then the feelings had started. Lua wasn’t sure what to name them, and honestly she was a bit scared of them, so she tried to just ignore them. But it was hard to ignore her feelings when you laughed at her jokes and smiled brightly and interrupted her thoughts during her private practice time. The feelings kept jumping into her thoughts, until they blocked out the dance she was learning and made it hard to think about anything else. That was when she realized that this was getting out of her control.

She leaned against the mirror in the practice room, closing her eyes and wishing that the mirror could cool her warm skin, breathing hard. The other girls milled around to room, tired and moaning about practice, and it was weird. Lua never got tired out this easily. She could usually dance for hours on end without feeling tired. But now, she felt exhausted and frustrated with herself, just from a few rounds of practicing. What was going on with her?

“Lua, we’re going to take a break for lunch!” Suyeon’s voice rang through the practice room and Lua opened her eyes, blinking at her group mates before nodding and putting on a smile.

“Okay. I think I’m going to stay here and practice a little more.”

Suyeon sent her a little look, but didn’t say anything, just shrugging her shoulders. “Just don’t hurt yourself and make sure you eat.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

As the rest of the girls shuffled out the door, Yoojung hung back. She looked torn between leaving and staying before eventually sighing and walking back over to Lua. Eyebrows raised, the younger girl looked up at her.

“Lua.”

“What’s up?”

“We need to chat.”

Lua felt a chill run through her spine as she thought of the possibilities. Was she going to be scolded for not being able to memorize the dance? Had Yoojung figured out her feelings for you? Had she made too many mistakes? Every thought was scary, and she shivered, but tried to keep a poker face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Yoojung sat down beside her, knocking her head gently back against the glass of the mirror as she pursed her lips, thinking of what to say for a moment before turning to the younger girl. “So. Your dancing. Something has been distracting you.”

Lua could feel her cheeks color as she pulled her legs up to her chest, holding them tight. “Sorry. I’ve been trying to do my best as always but I just can’t focus.”

“What’s on your mind? Maybe if you talk about it, I can help you.”

She bit her lip, weighing her possibilities. Technically, Yoojung was right. Talking to someone about it might help her be able to focus better. Getting those feelings out would only be beneficial. But at the same time, you were good friends with Yoojung, and although she doubted this would happen, you might end up hearing about her feelings if she admitted them. Still, she had to focus. For the sake of her team. So she sighed, and pressed her forehead against her knees.

“Just promise not to judge me or tell anyone else, okay?”

“I promise.”

“I.... Recently, I haven’t been able to get someone out of my mind. I thought I could ignore the feelings I have for them because honestly I was kind of scared of what that would mean but I can’t and now I can’t think about anything but them and those feelings. I keep seeing their smile and, if they’re around, I can’t focus on anything but them.” Lua sucked in a deep breath. “I know, it’s dumb. But I can’t help myself. I’ve tried.”

“It’s not dumb,” Yoojung said, and then, after a beat of quiet, “it’s (Y/N), isn’t it?”

Again, Lua’s face colored, and she closed her eyes, wishing she could melt into the floor. “Am I that obvious?”

“Not to anyone to doesn’t know both of you well. But the two of you have been spending a lot of time together, and I noticed that sparks flew as soon as I introduced the two of you.” She paused and reached over to wrap a comforting arm around the other girl’s shoulders. “Why don’t you just tell them?”

“I can’t do that, what if they don’t feel the same? I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Trust me, you wont do that. (Y/N) literally talks about you all the time. They adore you.”

Could Lua’s face get any more red? She doubted it. “But do they like me? Like that?”

“They haven’t told me anything, but let’s just say that I would be really, really surprised if they turned you down.”

Lua opened her eyes and stared down at the floor. Could you really like her back? She’d noticed some things, too, but she’d been too afraid to get her hopes up. Her heart skipped a beat and she shivered again, turning her head to look at Yoojung. “I really, really like them, Yoojung.”

Yoojung smiled, fond and friendly, and gave her a little hug. “I can tell. Thank you for confiding in me. Do you feel any better now?”

She did feel better, somewhat, but her feelings were still crowding her mind, and she bit her lip. “Kind of? But now I’m thinking about how I should tell them.”

“I can help you with that!”

Warily, Lua raised her eyebrows. “You can?”

“Yeah! I’ve got a great idea.” Yoojung was basically glowing now, and nerves twisted in Lua’s stomach, but she swallowed them down.

“What is it?”

“Let’s invite (Y/N) to the showcase for our new song!”

-

A few weeks later, Lua paced behind the stage, listening as fans crowded in and the venue tested the microphone and played some of their songs. It was almost time to perform, and she was nervous. You were out there in that crowd, there to watch her (and the rest of the girls, but mostly her) perform, and she had to get this perfect. After confessing everything to Yoojung and planning her confession, she’d been able to focus more on the dance at hand and had gotten it down, but she was still nervous. What if she got distracted by you during the show and messed up? What if she couldn’t remember the dance?

“You’ll do great,” Yoojung said from behind her, knocking her out of her thoughts as the smaller girl threw her arms around her. Smiling, Lua turned around to look at her.

“Thanks. For everything.”

“Listen, that’s what friends are for! You’re going to kill it and (Y/N) is going to totally fall for you even more than they totally already have, and then your confession is going to be adorable. I just know it.” Yoojung beamed and patted the taller girl’s head. “I’m excited for you.”

“I’m nervous,” Lua admitted, looking down at the ground.

“That’s okay. I’m nervous, too, and I’m not even confessing. It’s normal to be nervous. But I know you. And I know you’ll be great on stage like you always are.”

“Thank you.” Taking a deep breath, Lua squared her shoulders. “I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit! Let’s go rock this place!”

It took Lua about five seconds to locate you in the crowd as she walked onstage, and butterflies immediately started up in her stomach as her heart flip-flopped and she felt her face heat up. Thankfully, the makeup artist had done a good job of concealing the blush, so she doubted anyone would noticed as she breathlessly took her place next to Rina on the stage. You smiled up at her and her heart jumped, but she managed to smile back, ignoring the pounding in her chest.

Just as she thought, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you. You were distracting her from the audience, and once again, she felt like she couldn’t focus. But as she got into formation and the music started, she steadied herself and threw her nerves to the wind. She was Lua of Weki Meki, and she could do this, even if she was only putting on a show for you. There was no way she was going to mess this up.

-

The showcase had gone well. The entire time, Lua had felt a bit breathless and nervous, with her heart pounding in her chest, but as she stepped off the stage, a huge smile spread over her lips and she leaned against one of the walls.

“I did it. I really did it.”

“You killed it,” Suyeon said, supportive although she seemed a little clueless as to why Lua was so relieved. Beaming at her, Lua thanked her before steadying herself on her feet and walking off to find Yoojung. They’d planned that Yoojung would run from the stage to the side door after the performance to let you come backstage, and sure enough, as Lua walked over to that side door, she heard your voice.

“You guys were amazing out there tonight,” you were saying with a smile as you gave Yoojung a quick hug, and she took a deep breath before walking over to the two of you. Your eyes lit up when you saw her walking over, and she gave you a shaky smile.

“Hey, (Y/N). Thanks for coming.”

“Of course, I wasn’t going to miss it! You did amazing up there tonight.”

Lua’s heart jumped once again in her chest, and when she glanced over at Yoojung, the smaller girl gave her a wink and a thumbs up.

“Oh, I need to go take off my mic, I’ll be right back.” With that, Yoojung was gone, leaving the two of you alone. For a moment, it was a bit awkward, and Lua cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her neck.

“I really appreciate your support tonight.”

“I’m always here to support you,” you said, giving her a smile. Was it just her imagination, or did you seem nervous too? “I love watching you dance and sing. Although I keep saying that they should give you more lines!”

Lua had to admit, she was glad she didn’t get too many lines this time. If she had, this showcase could have been a disaster. Still, she grinned, happy at your words. “Awe, thanks! It was Lucy’s turn to get lines, I think.” With a laugh, she shrugged. “We trade them off every comeback.”

“No kidding.” You stepped back to look her over, and she felt her face heating up again. “I like the styling this comeback, though. Your hair looks super cute with the darker color.”

“Thanks,” she said softly, touching the ends of her hair. This was just busy talk, and she knew she had to get to the original subject, so she cleared her throat again and planted herself. “Um, I actually wanted to ask you something tonight.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows raised, and something sparkled in your eyes. Hope, maybe? “What is it?”

Even in the dark-lit backstage area, almost drowned out by the loud sounds of music and people yelling back and forth and under the neon “EXIT” sign, you looked incredible. She was so head over heels for you and your smile and everything about you that it wasn’t even funny. Once again, she named those feelings. She liked you. So, so much. You had mixed up her life so much since she’d met you, and yet she wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when you brought her so much happiness.

“When we were preparing for this comeback, I couldn’t focus. I kept getting distracted. Distracted by your smile or by your voice or your laugh, or by you actually being there. I couldn’t focus on anything but you.” She swallowed, a bit too scared to look at your face as she focused on your shoulder instead. “It made me realize that I really, really like you. So I wanted to ask if you would go out with me. And if it’s a no, then don’t worry, I can-.”

“Of course it’s a yes, silly,” you interrupted her, laughing softly, and she finally looked up at your face to see you smiling widely, cheeks flushed. “I really, really like you too. I’m sorry for distracting you, though.”

“Oh, no! It wasn’t your fault! I just needed to work through my feelings and everything, it totally wasn’t your fault....” Realizing that she was rambling, she cut herself off and felt herself breathe a sigh of relief. It was okay. Everything would be okay. You liked her too. “Um, so will this weekend work? For a date? There’s this cool garden that just opened up, if you want to go there. And then we can go get dinner, wherever you want. If that sounds okay.”

You smiled and reached out to shyly take her hand. Giddy, she giggled, bringing her free hand up to cover her mouth and making you laugh too as you shuffled closer to you, bumping her shoulder with your own. Her manager was probably going to scold her for taking so long later, but she couldn’t care less right now. She just wanted to spend a little more time with you, finally able to just focus on you like she’d wanted to for so long.

“That sounds perfect, Lua. I can hardly wait.”

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 3x01-- The One About The Recent Troubles

HI GUYS I WROTE A LOT 

New season, new naming convention. Well, it’s either that or Diane Lockhart’s joined a reboot of Friends. Jokes aside, I don’t love the new naming convention (I never watched Friends) but I don’t dislike it either. It’s fine. What I do like is that we’ve dropped any sort of counting (unless you consider “the one” counting). (I am just now realizing that last season’s episode titles were more in the TGW tradition than I thought-- they were just another form of counting). Three seasons in, TGF is its own show (with its own titles!), and that makes me very happy.

I’m about to hit play on my third viewing of this episode. I watched at 5 am on the day it was released (worth it, tbh), then again with my roommate after work that same day.

This year’s previously montage works better than last year’s, but I still don’t love it. The selection of clips seems a little random at first: Liz talking about her father? The Assholes to Avoid case that I was hoping to avoid thinking about ever again? Okay…?

It’s time for some tone-setting! “I’m happy,��� Diane states as the season opens. She’s in bed with Kurt, waking up in the morning. This is one of those statements that becomes important mostly because it’s so prominent. I believe that Diane’s happy with her life and happy waking up next to her husband, but I don’t think Diane is trying to make a Thesis Statement. I think she’s just expressing that she feels good. The writers, however, definitely want us to note that Diane starts out the season in a good, happy place. This is because they are going to slowly complicate and destroy Diane’s happiness. That’s not a spoiler-- it’s a prediction.

Kurt laughs. “You like narrating your life,” he comments. Interesting.

“You know, there are psychological studies that say, when people are happy, they look desperately for things to make them unhappy. But that won’t happen to us, will it?” Diane wonders. Of course it will. I know these writers. If there’s one thing they hate it’s writing more than a few scenes of a healthy marriage.

Diane and Kurt’s new bedroom confuses me. It has an arch that seems very low and I can’t tell if that’s the angle or not. Also, we only see the area with the bed, the bathroom, and a large sitting room in this episode. It would make sense for Diane to have a bedroom suite and a separate living room/dining room/kitchen, but the way this episode is shot makes it feel like Diane and Kurt only have that one space.

Now Diane’s asking Kurt for reassurance that everything’s going to be alright, and she seems moderately worried that he doesn’t sound certain when he responds. Maybe there are still some issues there…?

“What could go wrong?” Kurt asks, and right on cue, shit starts to blow up. (By which I mean the title sequence rolls.)

New objects/shots this year include: A tea set, aerial shots of a wine bottle, coffee cups (they discovered aerial shots this year and clearly liked them a lot), the same four purses from last year but arranged differently (looks cooler now), new images on the TV (bye, tiki torch nazis), and the entire set where they staged the explosions.

The third co-creator is still listed, because his name will be attached to this show for as long as it runs, but I really want to know: what did Phil Alden Robinson even do to create the show? Invent the basic sketch of the premise and the new characters? Just today I saw him credited in an article praising season 3, and it’s my understanding that he hasn’t even touched TGF since the pilot, back before the Kings signed on.

The Kings wrote this episode, but I didn’t need the credits to tell me that. Robert directed, too, which is only surprising because I wasn’t sure if it would be him or if it would be Brooke Kennedy.

Complaining about this now before I get any farther into the episode: CBS, FIX YOUR CLOSED CAPTIONING. Someone over at All Access doesn’t believe in apostrophes and it’s driving me up a wall.

After the credits, we resume with Julius talking about Carl Reddick, founding partner of RBL and civil rights icon. Julius has to be prompted to add on that last part, but Lucca doesn’t: she read about Reddick in history books.

Lucca’s dress for the interview shouldn’t work, but she pulls it off. It has several different colors and patterns, big gold buttons, and a ruffle down one side.

Here’s Liz’s comment on her father: “When my father died, I could think of no better way to honor his life than by taking over his partnership here.” We know that’s only partially true.

Next up is Reddick’s secretary of 15 years. She refers to him as “Mr. Reddick” instead of “Carl” and seems uncomfortable talking about her experience. Jay and Marissa, who have for some reason been tasked with creating promotional materials for the firm, notice her hesitance. Marissa asks what a typical day was like, and the secretary-- Cynthia-- starts to cry.

Cut to the RBL website, which is very boring and generic. “Who are you?” a publicity consultant asks Adrian and Liz. This reminds me of two things: one, Diane and Will’s conversation in season 4 about firm identity, and two, the fact that Hitting the Fan started off with the line “You’re stable.” Isn’t that very reminiscent of this episode starting off with, “I’m happy.”?! Yikes, we must be in for a ride…

Adrian’s answer is that they are a “mid-size Chicago law firm.” Really? That’s all you’ve got? The consultant pushes further-- he wants their story. Liz says their story is that they’re growing with new hires and a new floor. The consultant isn’t happy with that, either, because he seems to believe there’s only one right answer: they’re an African American firm, and that is their entire identity. Ugh.

When TGF first started, RBK felt like a firm that had an identity  and a mission-- a commitment to giving black lawyers opportunities for success in an environment where no one would be a token, coupled with a strong focus on civil rights cases (particularly police brutality cases). I assumed that was the shared goal of Carl, Adrian, and Barbara, but the firm’s gone through enough changes that I’m willing to accept that RBL might now be struggling for an identity. Carl’s dead, Barbara was always the one who would actually put her money where her mouth is (sorry, Adrian), Diane is (as always) interested in being profitable while looking like a liberal legend, and Liz accepted partnership because it was a lucrative offer that fell into her lap right when she lost her job at the DOJ.

Adrian says he doesn’t want RBL to be sold as an African American law firm. Hasn’t he pitched it as such in the past?

“Diversity is in right now. Black Panther. Black-ish. And diversity is something you have in sp-- in abundance,” the consultant says. My God, he’s terrible. He’s also using “diverse” and “black” as interchangeable words.

Adrian gets a reprieve when Jay and Marissa call him out of his meeting, but it doesn’t last long. Cynthia, Carl’s secretary, told Jay and Marissa that Carl repeatedly sexually assaulted her.

“He forced her for 15 years? Why would Cynthia stay for 15 years?” Adrian asks incredulously. “Seriously?” Marissa replies. Woah there. I agree wholeheartedly with Marissa but just because I’d write “SERIOUSLY?” in a recap doesn’t mean I’d ever say it to a name partner with that tone! (But really: Marissa’s very right. “Why would she stay?” is a terrible argument. Cynthia had bills to pay and a family (or at least a daughter) to care for. She likely didn’t have the luxury of looking for a new job. And that’s setting aside the fact that for decades, language around sexual assault wasn’t widely known!)

Adrian asks Marissa and Jay to keep quiet, and Marissa pushes back, asking if it’s so they can cover it up. Marissa! You’re not helping your cause here!

“Marissa, I don’t have the luxury right now of being outraged. That doesn’t mean I’m not outraged,” Adrian explains.

In the hallway, Jay suggests that Marissa give Adrian (and Carl) a break, since the Reddick name brings in half of their business, and if Reddick’s name becomes toxic, the firm could be in trouble. “Well, then, maybe it should be,” Marissa responds.

I loooooooove Diane’s new hairstyle! It’s been ten years; it’s time for a change.

Diane is about to head into the office when she notices Kurt went hunting the previous night with a gun he hates. And to make matters worse, there are blonde hairs on his jacket and Kurt won’t admit he went shooting with anyone. Well, I guess Diane’s happiness didn’t last very long at all.

Maia has a scratched cornea, so she’s wearing big sunglasses. “I wouldn’t wear those when you meet with the partners,” Marissa says, planting a bad idea in Maia’s mind. The sunglasses take two seconds to explain, and no one is going to fault her for this. If Maia didn’t get fired for not doing any work over a two year period, she’s going to be just fine wearing medically-required sunglasses to an internal meeting.

Julius wants to talk to Maia and explains that on the new website, they’re adding associate and partner bios. They just might not be adding Maia’s. “Don’t take it as a criticism. You’re doing a great job,” Julius says. This is basically the only circumstance in which I understand giving Maia praise: trying to keep her from causing a scene by stroking her ego.

Since Maia took off her sunglasses, she now appears to be crying. Since Maia lacks common sense, she does not explain why she is crying, leading Julius to keep heaping on the praise and explain the obvious (it’s about her parents’ scandal). Maia says she understands and that “this is all medical.” THAT’S SO VAGUE, MAIA. You’re looking for the sentence you just said to Marissa: “I have a scratched cornea.” I know this moment is supposed to be funny. It just makes Maia look impressionable (she took off the glasses) and slow (she can’t easily navigate out of this situation when the exit route is obvious). I already think Maia is both of those things, so I’m not complaining about this scene (I did laugh!), it’s just…  Maia, why???

Julius is so confused by Maia’s odd reaction that he goes straight to Lucca’s office. Lucca is pumping and doesn’t care who sees, because she’s the fucking best. Julius asks Lucca to talk to Maia about the website.

Diane’s still thinking about the hair when she arrives at RBL. Marissa greets her with an empty mug, I mean, with coffee. Diane asks what Adrian wants to talk to her about, and Marissa says, “I’ve been told I speak too much, so I won’t handle that.” If Marissa weren’t so good at her job she’d need to watch out.

Marissa tries to join Adrian and Diane’s meeting, and Adrian slowly closes the door in her face. Marissa walks away. I love it when this show emphasizes that their main players aren’t all of equal status at the firm, and this episode does a fantastic job of showing it.

Adrian explains the Reddick issue to Diane. He’s (wisely) chosen to go to Diane before Liz about this.

Adrian’s plan is to have Cynthia sign an NDA, and now there’s a “Good Fight Short” to educate us about NDAs. God, this show is weird and I love it.

“Think they’re maybe always in a red folder but I didn’t do my research that well” cracks me up.

“Let’s try to count all the red folders in the show today. You know what who cares just pay attention, put your phone away,” the song continues. Okay, show, I’ll listen to you and put my phone (on which I’m watching this show) away and go run my errands. That’s what you wanted, right?

A storm rolls in as Adrian and Diane pay Cynthia a visit. Thunder is dramatic, in case you were unaware.

Adrian tells Cynthia he knew nothing about Reddick’s behavior. He reaches for the NDA a little too quickly and Diane slows things down.

Adrian promises they’ll have sexual harassment training moving forward. Cynthia reminds him that they’ve always had that-- but partners never attended. Or, apparently, remembered that it existed.

Diane and Adrian hear pots and pans banging in the kitchen and realize that Cynthia’s daughter is home. That complicates things because the daughter anticipates the NDA and doesn’t want her mom to sign.

When Cynthia leaves the room, Adrian comments to Diane that “this house, it reminds me of my aunty’s house.” Diane just smiles, probably because that’s a reference she can’t understand.

The partners hold a secret meeting without Liz, which is certainly a way to handle this but probably not the optimal way. Liz should know what’s going on before any NDAs concerning her firm are created.

Liz notices that the offices are empty, and asks Marissa (who’s walking past) where everyone is. “I have no idea. I’m just staying on the sidelines today,” Marissa says unhelpfully. Great attitude. Very professional. As you’d expect, Liz is not satisfied with that answer.

Downstairs, the MANY partners of RBL are debating next steps. Why do they always pack these partner meeting scenes with so damn many extras? How many partners am I meant to believe they have?!

As we learned in the Assholes to Avoid episode, the most interesting thing about #MeToo is that it’s controversial and leads people to talk over each other. That’s what’s happening in this scene, but it works far better than the show’s last attempt at showing this idea. Unsurprisingly, when they have more to say than just “controversial topic is controversial” they do better.

And, I’m not sure where to put it so I’ll just say it here, I think the Kings have more to say about #MeToo, and a new (and better) angle on it because it hit closer to home. This plot isn’t a reenactment of what happened with Moonves, but the ideas it explores? Once you think about Moonves and the role he had in bringing TGW to life (and keeping it on the air), it’s all you’ll see. This plot is the Kings reckoning with how to move forward and create distance after a powerful man in no small part responsible for their own success turns out to be a serial harasser.

And that’s so much more interesting than “what if we took the Aziz Ansari thing but removed all nuance?” TGW, and TGF, wouldn’t have existed without Les Moonves. I’m pretty certain I’ve heard the Kings and Julianna-- and probably other cast members-- speak glowingly about him (before the allegations, obvs). He allowed TGW to flourish (and TGF to exist, which is kind of amazing when you think about it) while also enabling sexual assault all throughout CBS.  

The reason for this meeting? Now they want to pay Cynthia off. Diane suggests letting the story surface, emphasizing that Carl did good things and bad things. Diane also, wisely, notes that if they pay someone off, then it becomes the whole firm’s problem. But it seems they might have already paid someone off, so it’s too little, too late. RBK had, in 2012, agreed to cover all of Reddick’s sexual harassment suits. (This is, apparently, “standard” for CEOs, barf.)

I’d still like to dig into Diane’s “just own it” idea a little more, but I do see why the other partners (the ones who were actually there for the bulk of the time Reddick was) shut it down.

Then Wendy, the stenographer, speaks up: Carl Reddick assaulted her, too. If there are two, there are more than two, and I’m surprised that Liz is the first person to suggest this.

At home, later, Diane scrolls through Netflix (not a streaming site, this is Netflix’s layout with different shows), unable to decide what to watch. I’m sad to report none of the fake shows are any fun, and none of them are Darkness at Noon. I guess Darkness at Noon is probably on AMC All Access, behind a paywall…

Kurt arrives home and asks what Diane’s doing. “Figuring out whether to watch a German series about serial killers or a Scandinavian series about serial killers,” Diane replies. Haven’t we all been there? That’s scrolling through Netflix in one sentence.

Diane has “helped” Kurt pack for a trip, and THANK GOD, she’s not kicking him out (that’s how scenes where the husband arrives home to find his bags packed always go). She’s passive-aggressively packing for his upcoming trip she discovered on their credit card account.

Kurt’s going on a safari. Diane says she doesn’t shoot anymore (I guess since 2x10?) and wants to know who Kurt’s going with. Shouldn’t Kurt be telling Diane if he’s going to go on a safari?

Kurt senses something’s up and asks what’s wrong. Diane says work has her thinking about “men.” Then she tells Kurt she doesn’t think he’s being honest and says she doesn’t like pretending to be the “cool wife who overlooks lies.” Is “Cool Wife” a variation of “Cool Girl” and if so, can we get a Gillian Flynn novel about it, please?

Finally, the truth emerges: Kurt isn’t hiding an affair (though Diane briefly suspects he’s seeing someone named “Holly Westfall” again… idk, have we ever heard that name? Nothing’s coming to mind, because Kurt never cheated on Diane and Peter’s trial never happened.). He’s giving private shooting lessons to 45’s sons.

My GOD, Diane’s reaction.

I love how every time Diane says “safari” she says it with a little more disbelief in her voice.

Kurt says this is just a job; he’s being paid. Can he take someone else’s money then? How strapped for cash is he? This is like the “we’re defense attorneys!” line Diane always goes back to. SURE, but you don’t have to take EVERY case to be profitable.

Diane proceeds to start BANGING HER HEAD AGAINST THE WALL, REPEATEDLY. This scene is simultaneously comedic, dramatic, and ridiculous and I love it. I’m not sure how it manages to feel far-fetched and also character-driven at the same time, but hey, it works.

Diane storms out, saying she’s going to do something she should’ve done nine months ago: conjure up space bugs. Okay, no, she’s making contact with her FuzzyFuzzyCuteCute friend, but she’s doing so in a way that involves moving lots of flowers to her windowsill, and THAT’S HOW YOU DRAW IN THE SPACE BUGS.

In case I haven’t said it enough times, TGF in some ways seems more like it’s a continuation of BrainDead than TGW.

Diane talks to Tara and asks her to break her NDA (some legal nonsense) and come forward with allegations that 45 paid for her abortion. Tara asks Diane why now, and Diane’s answer is kind of bullshit: “because now it’s personal.” And it wasn’t before?! And that matters?! (I believe it from Diane, but come on. You need it to be personal to fight this as hard as you can? The fact that this administration’s policies are having catastrophic effects on families isn’t enough?)

Adrian finally shows Liz the interview with Cynthia, and Audra McDonald could win an Emmy for her reaction shots alone (I can’t say enough times how pleased I am with the addition of Liz). Adrian draws the curtains of Will’s office, I mean Liz’s office, to give them some privacy. Good move.

Liz wants to know if Adrian knew, and she has good reasons to believe he might have. For one, when they were married, Adrian asked how her parents were doing-- suggesting they might have reason to not be doing so well.

Liz goes into her bathroom (first time we’ve seen this set, though we’ve obviously known it existed from ~Willicia sexytimes~) (Not to derail this recap entirely, but does anyone else ever wonder how Willicia would’ve played in this day and age? I wouldn’t consider it assault or harassment because it was obviously consensual, but I don’t know that you can do a boss/employee romance plot as easily today as you could in 2011.)

Liz, through tears, confesses that her father didn’t always treat her mom (or “us”-- I assume meaning Liz and any siblings she may have) well. She’d always rationalized it as the part of “sharing him with the world” while he was “fighting,” but “he was just here.” God, this is devastating, and this scene is spectacularly done.

Adrian tries to comfort Liz, but she realizes something: Adrian put in the glass walls. She wants to know why. Was he trying to force Carl to be more transparent about something? Liz remembers her dad complaining about the glass walls. Adrian says it was just a design choice. Liz doesn’t believe it, but she’s moved on to other things. She’s putting on her jacket and trying to decide her next move. She angrily opens up the curtains even though she’s about to leave her office (just to show that she values transparency) and marches down to the partner’s meeting.

Everyone quiets down when Liz walks in. She grabs a notepad and a chair and begins to take an active role in negotiating payouts. Julius mentions Wendy, and Liz didn’t know about Wendy yet. Her reaction? A long pause, and then: “My dad raped the stenographer?”

Have I mentioned yet that Audra’s great? She delivers the line with a fantastic blend of anger and resignation. And I love the line itself, particularly the use of the word “rape.” Aside from Cynthia’s daughter, Liz is the first person in the episode to call Carl’s actions what they are, and it’s meaningful to hear the word from her. Liz isn’t shying away from what her father did; she is trying to figure out how to name it and address it. Pretty remarkable.

Liz volunteers to make the deal with Cynthia. She immediately begins to ask Jay for help, but she thinks again and goes to Marissa instead (and says “rape” again) to find out if there are any others. Adrian and Diane should’ve had Marissa on this yesterday.

LUCCA!!!!!!!!!!

Sorry I’m just happy to see Lucca Quinn, who is the best and does not get nearly enough screentime. Because Lucca is the best, she’s meeting with the partners. She thinks something must be wrong-- that she’s about to be fired (no!!! I don’t even like thinking about that!!). But nothing is wrong. “In fact, consider this a promotion,” Adrian says. He offers Lucca the position of head of divorce law. (What are the odds we get through this arc without a cameo from David Lee?)

People who know more about the law than I do, is this even remotely plausible? Shouldn’t this be Lucca’s specialty if we’re going to see her head it up? Have we ever seen her on a divorce case?

The guy they had hired to head up divorce law had “harassment issues at his last firm.” “And that’s a problem these days?” Lucca jokes, not knowing just how bad her timing is. No one else laughs. (I! Love! Scenes! That! Show! That! Some! Of! The! Characters! Are! Junior! Staff!)

Lucca does not seem to want this promotion, but she realizes she’s being told, not asked.

Meanwhile, Maia’s spending her work day staring at the company website. Adrian stops by to see her (guess Lucca didn’t talk to her) and console her about the website. Maia now chooses to explain her scratched cornea. She doesn’t explain it clearly, so Adrian continues with his speech. “This is not a reflection of how we feel about you. It’s a branding thing.”

I suppose the same could also be said of the fact that the main poster for this season of TGF features Diane, Adrian, and Lucca when the first two seasons had posters featuring Diane, Maia, and Lucca. Maia adds less value, to the show and to the firm!!!!!

(I don’t hate this Maia plot, I just think it’s silly and unnecessary, and Maia’s still done nothing to prove to me that she’s interested in her job and/or good at it.)

“You keep up the good work,” Adrian says. Forget good work. What WORK?

The partners fussing over the website has made it a Big Deal for Maia, and now she’s pissed! Luckily, Marissa’s there to teach her how to be a badass.

“I’m a third year associate, and they are treating me like I was hired yesterday,” Maia fumes. Well, are you doing the work of a third year associate, or are you doing the “work” of a new hire who hasn’t yet been staffed on projects and just stares at the company website all day? Hmmmmm?

Marissa blames this on “the curse of short people.” Is Maia short? She’s never seemed short. Rose Leslie is, according to Google, 5’6”, which is hardly short! Then Marissa starts rambling about “the volcano of Vulcan” and, whatever, Marissa, I think Maia’s problem is that she has scumbag parents, not that she’s short.

Marissa’s advice-- which is basically to be more confident-- isn’t bad advice. But that’s not why Maia’s not on the website. Maia could be Lucca levels of incredible and her name would still look toxic on the website.

Maia’s so awkward she makes me look confident.

Marissa commands a “tall lady” not to wash her hands after using the bathroom and what, that’s gross, why are you doing this Marissa?

Marissa has a gift for Maia: Sunglasses that are “cool.” Marissa then breaks the doctor-approved sunglasses. Seems… unwise.

New, cool Maia gets a theme song and a leather jacket. She makes quite an impression on the image consultant in the elevator, and he asks her out. She rejects him. Ha ha.

Liz and Jay head to Cynthia’s next. They remember meeting each other before. Liz mentions the NDA, and Cynthia responds, “Your father wasn’t a bad man.” “I don’t understand how you can feel that way after everything that he did,” Liz replies.

Liz seems like she’s close to getting a signature on the NDA when Naomi Nivola, the reporter from 2x05, appears at her door asking about sexual harassment. Cynthia’s daughter tipped her off. I’m very happy to see Naomi again, not because I think she’s a wonderful character but because I thought Adrian’s “starfucking” excuse was too weak of a conclusion to her plotline last season. I’m almost glad to know she still holds a grudge, because it doesn’t let Adrian off the hook for some shitty behavior. Adrian isn’t Carl Reddick levels of disgusting but he’s done some troublesome things (and the way he talks to the female characters is a little condescending, no??)

(I went to re-read my thoughts on 2x05 and Naomi as I was writing this, and apparently I said I thought an episode about NDAs as they relate to #MeToo would be interesting. Hah!)

It’s still raining.

“I’ll talk to Naomi, find out what she knows,” Adrian decides. “You?! No,” Liz replies. Adrian actually asks why not!!!

Liz goes to settle with the stenographer next, and, again, she insists on doing it herself.

Maia is holding an NDA and sitting out at one of the associate desks, surrounded by a bunch of black men (does the firm have female associates?). Maia’s holding a red folder, and while that should mean she’s working on a case, she probably just picked it up because it was BOLD LIKE HER. What are work files if not accessories to make you look badass?

Maia’s also got her feet up on the desk. YOU’RE AT WORK, GIRL.

Julius asks Maia to move her feet. “Yeah? What do you need?” she replies. Julius is too stunned to actually play rank. Maia takes this as a victory. She shouldn’t. She can do this once, maybe twice, before it stops being cute and confusing and starts looking like what it is: an entitled white girl acting out and being disrespectful. If she wants to create distance from her parents’ scandal-- the actual issue here-- then she needs to be mature and develop a plan to work around it. She could, for example, take on lots of charity work and write an op-ed about deciding to help turn her dad in, and what she’s learned about the world from having her world crash down. Acting out in designer boots, red lipstick, and sunglasses is going to make Maia look like the oblivious child of privilege she is.

Why does this show insist on saying that Maia’s biggest weakness is her lack of boldness? She’s just awkward. She’s plenty confident. She just expresses it poorly.

I know this is a comedic subplot but Maia does not really behave like a human being??? Who would have that interaction and then feel self-satisfied? This is her place of work!!! She looks ridiculous!! She just talked back to a partner!!

Wendy doesn’t want to sign the NDA, and she doesn’t want any money. She says she’ll never tell anyone, because “there are so many people who want to destroy men. Black men.” And she doesn’t want to be a part of it. Interesting perspective, not one I agree with but one I’m pleased the writers included because it adds some nuance to the episode’s exploration of #MeToo.

Naomi and Jay talk in a not-very-interesting scene that includes some weird and unnecessary close ups of Jay. Main takeaway: Naomi thinks it’s Adrian who assaulted Cynthia.

Don’t really get why it’s great that Naomi thinks it’s Adrian. I suppose she’s a good enough journalist she wouldn’t publish a story there was no evidence for, but Adrian being able to deny it without lying hardly seems like cause for celebration. And would Naomi really drop it if Adrian said he didn’t rape anyone?

Eric and Don bailed on the safari, so Kurt’s still around. He winces when Diane hugs him, and Diane doesn’t let it slip. Kurt, being Kurt, says nothing is wrong.

He goes to the bathroom, and Diane’s phone rings. It’s Tara saying she won’t come forward.

Diane joins Kurt in the bathroom (lots of scenes in bathrooms this ep) and notices he has a huge bruise on his shoulder because Eric or Don shot him. We don’t get to find out-- and neither does Diane-- because Kurt’s signed an NDA about the incident. HAHAHA!

Adrian has his interview with Naomi. He denies they’ve asked Cynthia to sign an NDA, and denies he harassed her. And that’s it, until Naomi reveals THE REAL STORY: Assholes to Avoid.

I wonder, IRL, how much this would hurt the firm. I also am still not sure why they took that damn case. 2x05 and whichever ep was Assholes (I mentioned I’m glad we’re not counting days anymore, right?) annoyed me more than basically any other s2 episode because they were tied up so neatly, so I’m happy to see both cases come back to complicate things.

Now shit gets weird. I assume this next scene is one of the “soliloquies” the Kings mentioned that the season would include, and I like the idea more than the execution. The characters taking turns verbalizing their inner thoughts in eloquent speeches to no one? Sure! I’m down! Diane suddenly beginning to talk to a Trump-shaped bruise THAT MOVES AND TALKS in the middle of an episode? I’ll just say I hope they’re not all like this.

“The footman to the king. I am married to the footman to the king,” Diane starts. Then TrumpBruise talks back (don’t love this impersonation). I think this would work just fine as a monologue, and I definitely don’t need the animation. I couldn’t see it the first time through and the episode was better for it.

Anyway, Diane’s upset that Kurt’s become a worthless servant to a family she loathes, and she connects this to her ongoing thoughts on the State of Masculinity.

“What has happened to men? Where did the real guys go? Why do we now have these snide little creatures with slicked-back hair and cologne? What happened to Paul Newman and Burt Lancaster? What happened to men who were slow to anger and responsible and who didn’t cry like whiny little bitches? When did Trump and Kavanaugh become our idea of an aggrieved man, quivering lips, blaming everyone but themselves? You’re not fit to kiss my husband’s feet. A truthful man, uncomplaining, never passing the buck, never punching unless he’s punched. When did he become the exception?” Okay. But toxic masculinity is not a new thing. This isn’t insightful enough for me to applaud it and it’s not offensive/wrong enough for me to actually want to dissect it. I like that the show’s taking risks and like the soliloquy idea but this is… meh.

Bruise starts talking about how happy he is. He’s taunting Diane (well, technically, Diane is criticizing herself) because she was happy earlier, and now she’s not and this asshole Bruise is sooooo happy.

So Diane’s solution is to leak Tara’s abortion. Interestingly, she imagines TrumpBruise calling her out on breaking Tara’s confidence. Implying that Bruise has a conscience (or enough savvy to push her buttons), even one fueled by Diane’s imagination, feels weird to me. Diane’s imagining Bruise has a conscience?!

FRANCESCA IS STILL AROUND!!! My wish to ditch Colin and keep his mom came true!

Francesa is singing “I Wanna Be Sedated” to her grandson. Of course she is.

I’m unclear on a few things with this scene: who is Francesca talking to? Does Francesca know them? This must be Lucca’s house (?) if Francesca is leaving and taking calls for Lucca, but why does Lucca have a land line, and why would a client be calling her on it?

Francesca has an Instagram. God, I would love it if that account existed.

Lucca’s baby is really cute. What’s the kid’s name? Is it Joseph?

Francesca tells Lucca she’s the perfect divorce lawyer. Anyone else feel like we missed a scene or three with this Lucca/divorce law plot? Why would Francesca say that? Does she know about the opportunity? Was Lucca working divorce cases and doing great? MORE LUCCA NOW.

Maia’s still wearing her sunglasses the next day (unclear if this is for medical reasons or because she doesn’t know when to just stop). She’s sitting in on a meeting of the partners about the new Assholes scandal.

Adrian says they need to get their story straight, that they didn’t know they were taking down the site. That’s blatantly false, and Maia speaks up to say so. Adrian says they didn’t. Um, they did. Julius asks Maia to step out, and Lucca, who has a seat at the table, defends Maia. Julius says “this should be a partner thing” and Maia gets up to leave. Lucca, who is also not a partner unless we did, indeed, miss multiple Lucca scenes, asks Maia for her opinion.

On her way out, Maia says RBL should “own it. Our client wanted us to take down a #MeToo site. We didn’t agree, but we took it down. Because we’re that good.” Meh. That’s really the only way out of this. But as a client, I would not be reassured by that, especially not if I had brought my business to a firm specifically because of its values.

Adrian takes Badass!Maia’s advice, word for word. And it works. This particular client also wants to know who Maia Rindell is. He typed in ReddickBoseman.net instead of .com (but WHY) and it landed on a “really really cool” page about Maia.

Liz and Adrian immediately go to find this cool site, and Adrian shows how hip he is by typing a url in the search bar. What pops up is a site with the RBL logo and several ~fashionable~ pictures of Maia and her Miraculous Sunglasses. It’s hilariously terrible. They’re not bad pictures, but it’s sooooooooooooooooo inappropriate and ridiculous. It’s also unnecessary, and I know I’m overthinking a sight gag (and it is an effective sight gag) but if Maia wanted to be on the website that badly, she could have, you know, SAID SO instead of making a fucking website.

Lol @ Maia staging a photoshoot at the office. Why wouldn’t she?

The website has the tagline “younger-tougher-smarter”. Well, one of those things is true, and you all know which one it is.

Cynthia’s back, in the office, to sign the NDA. She does.

Marissa’s prepared her research on Carl Reddick. She leaves it with Liz, in a green folder.

Diane goes to Naomi with Tara’s story. We don’t hear her tell it, so there’s a chance she thought better of it, but omg, how shitty, Diane!!!!!

Liz and Adrian share a drink. Adrian says he did suspect that Carl might have been having an affair, he just never thought it was assault.

“Your dad was really good to me, Liz. He’s the reason I have a career,” Adrian explains. “Me too,” Liz says, raising her glass. Damn. I don’t think those words were chosen unintentionally. Lots of layers to this scene.

Adrian decides to lighten the mood by mocking the image consultant. Liz, who’s wearing heels similar to the ones Maia was wearing earlier and has her feet up just like Maia did, comes up with an identity for the firm: “We’re a firm with no past. Not anymore. We’re starting over. That’s refreshing.”

Then they toast to Peter Florrick’s State’s Attorney campaign slogan/the writer’s perpetual favorite phrase: “New beginnings.” But it’s still storming, and the folder with all of Carl Reddick’s past misdeeds is sitting feet away. Dramatic!

As the credits roll, there’s an actual count of all the red folders in the episode. Heh.

I’m very on board with this season so far. Can’t wait to see what happens next!

Couldn’t all the episodes of this show (and TGW) be called The One About the Recent Troubles, though???

[durativo]

The Disparity of Dante and Tony Redgrave:

(A Useless Meta about Dante’s Character and the Character of Tony Redgrave from Devil May Cry Volume One)

Tony dodged and parried, yet still suffered a number of direct hits. But finally he annihilated his attackers and paused for breath. The dizziness and nausea dissipated, replaced by exhaustion. Tony found it difficult to lift his sword. His spent pistols were little more than dead weights. He realized with a start that if he sat down, he probably wouldn't have the energy to stand back up. 

Tony figured he was becoming more and more ensnared in the demons' encroaching reality.

When I initially started writing this I set out to talk a bit about how Tony Redgrave and Dante act and appear as characters. As DMC5 makes quick note of, Tony Redgrave was simply an alias that Dante went by for ‘an unknown reason’ (we  now know the reason is because his mother Eva told him to rid himself of his name and start a new life) but Tony Redgrave knew deep down inside exactly who he was. He knew himself as Dante, but only to himself, and seemed to be pushing that down.

To make it short, Tony Redgrave hated Dante. And Dante envied Tony Redgrave.

That is definitely a more dramatic explanation, as I don’t even believe that Tony Redgrave and Dante are something severe; like say a split personality or even a personality disorder, but they are, in fact, personas of each other. There is thankfully a passage in the book that explains easily the inner turmoil Tony was dealing with.

Tony paused to recover his breath. The lack of an audience afforded him a rare moment of honesty. His ironic smile and theatrical red coat were mere props, protective masks, to put his enemies on the defensive and himself at ease.

This is of course, not really just a description of Tony. We can easily infer that this is Dante’s personality too, which is what I mean by the two really not being far enough apart or drastic enough that they warrant a title like a ‘personality disorder’. Tony, in essence, became a part of Dante.

But for a very rare sliver of Dante’s life. Dante was a part of Tony Redgrave. Dante was the persona that was buried away, pushed down, forgotten, hidden, and overall tried to lock away. As Dante built a new life with the name Tony Redgrave, he hoped to put away his anger and frustration and hatred into his old self. Dante attempted to bury his worst attributes, so that he could truly start anew, unbridled from his worst emotions and memories.

It was a pipe dream, of course, because the bad parts always bubbled up to the top, but for a while, he truly did believe he could bury the past, lay it all behind him. At night he would still have nightmares about the life he’d lived and been through. He buried a lot of his emotions into drinking at a young age and working to distract himself.

When Tony Redgrave loses everything, that is when Dante finally resurfaced, and came to face the music. It was all intentional, the suffering Tony Redgrave endured at the hands of Gilver, because that is what Gilver wanted. Evident here:

“Does this not upset you? All your friends...disappearing one by one?”

“I never had any friends,” Dante said coldly, trying not to think about Grue. “I don't care for any.”

“I can read your soul like an open book. You might push those worthless emotions away, but you can never fully escape them.” Gilver cocked his head. “The one you're experiencing right now is called despair. Limitless despair at having everything around you taken away. Your place in the world. Your friends. Your partner. Your substitute mother.”

Dante smiled dryly. “Don't make me laugh. Who's despairing?”

The Cellar grew cold.

“Demons feel no despair,” Gilver finally proclaimed. “You have our blood coursing through your veins. You're the mongrel half-breed offspring of a human and a demon. And you betrayed our side.”

Dante's smile left his face. “That's right. So you know I can't feel something as simple as despair.”

Now I could (and probably will) wax on about Gilver in the novel because he’s great -- but his intentions although unclear are very emotionally driven, and he’s clearly very angry at Dante, and Tony Redgrave in essence. He’s very ready to openly mock everything he just took away from Dante. Even stating he had taken away his ‘place in the world’ as he had been thoroughly ruining Dante’s reputation and workplace.

What made me realizing I was not so correct as I thought, as in the novel there are three locations which Gilver overruns with demonic passageways. A bank, a hospital, and Bobby’s bar. I initially thought by the third location, Tony, who had become Dante, was now unaffected by the situation, merely the presence of Gilver was what threw him off.

Instead, it appears that Dante still does feel the physical ailments that Tony Redgrave felt.

Gilver hefted his sword, seemingly recovered from Dante's last attack. “This place is a cancerous blight to incomplete souls like you. Do you know why? Can you feel instinctually?”

“You tell me.” Dante sneered, but he clutched his sword for reassurance. His breathing and heart rate were rising, just like when he descended into the basement below the hospital. He had barely been able to reach Jessica then, and he knew he would be unable to take on Gilver now.

Just holding his sword seemed to sap his strength, and every breath unleashed a new wave of fire into his lungs. (Calm down. Calm down. I can't show him weakness.)

Not only was he weakened by the presence of demons, while it strengthened Gilver, he was also blatantly aware he would not be able to take Gilver on -- and very clearly wasn’t, as he almost dies in the scene shortly after this.

That seems a bit interesting to me, considering Dante does not show this reaction to the demon world at all in the original game, and the book was written after or in accordance with the game. Of course, the game DMC1 takes place years down the line of the events of the novel. Still, Dante reacts fine to the presence of the demon world now, if not thrives in it.

Of course, this is probably with help of Vergil activating his ability in DMC3 (which of course, mostly retconned this novel out of existence) and helped Dante activate a Devil Trigger. In my eyes, Dante had been very far removed from his Devil/Demon side, and it caused any attempt to reconnect to that to utterly ruin him physically, as indicated in the passage above.

Tony Redgrave was so far removed from Dante that he was purely a human man. He had inhuman strength, because, of course Dante would not squander the potential in that. Dante still loved fighting, even if he didn’t love killing, although he showed little to no compassion for demons until later in his life as he encountered more and more.

Even now of course, Dante is aware that demons have a different lease on life and believe the will to live is a bad trait, one that is unnecessary so long as a demon has a greater will to die. To best, or be bested in combat is the one course of action all demons strive for. Dante can’t empathize with that, but he can definitely best them in combat, so he’ll take that trade off.

Tony Redgrave, is, of course, dead like the rest of his past. Very few people who knew him as Tony have really lived on, except for Enzo (the job broker) and Nesty and Tiki, Grue’s two surviving daughters. Nesty of course, was only a baby, and Dante has long since not seen them, hoping that the distance he kept from them would keep them safe.

I like to believe Dante would look back fondly of those memories of Tony Redgrave, Grue, Nell, and even Bobby and the others, but in the end, Dante really only meets them with contempt. Frustration and bordering on violence. It is very easy to set Dante off with mentions of his past. While the name Tony Redgrave doesn’t do anything to him, the mentioning of his lost friends will provoke a reaction out of him -- depending on the remarks of course. Dante was more than happy to hear Nico praise Nell, and to know that Nell had a surviving child -- but it also made Dante want to distance himself from Nico even harder, knowing the truth of what he’d caused to happen to Nell, and his fear that it would befall Nico too.

Other than small quips, Tony Redgrave is a very touchy subject for Dante because it is a constant reminder of all he has lost, and all he had done. All of it leading up to nothing, and scrounging around to finally pick up the scraps so that he could limp away and continue his life as Dante.

[qqueenofhades]

Clearly, I’m a masochist. But you know what I want...

Lucy Preston does not take the decision to travel to July 21, 2014, São Paulo, Brazil, lightly. This is going to be the first use of the own-timeline technology, Rufus keeps emphasizing the fact that it’s in beta, and if it goes wrong, there is no Lifeboat for the Lifeboat. She won’t even be in any remotely conscious state to know that it did. She would be pulverized atoms outside all constraints of space and time and existence, maybe aware enough to know it and to suffer, but nothing more. It’s basically hell, Rufus says. But worse.

And yet, because of this, because of the other kind of hell they’re already living in, Lucy has to take the chance.

What she actually has to do is not that difficult. Rufus has programmed in the course, and she basically just has to get into the Lifeboat and hit a few buttons – she doesn’t need to steer, it already knows where to go. The trick is pushing it when you know you could be worse-than-dead in negative ten seconds (literally, it might happen in the past, time travel is the worst) if anything goes wrong. But Lucy trusts Rufus’ calculations, and they don’t have a choice. She has written down everything in the journal that she thinks she can possibly risk, and she feels pangs of guilt at how much she’s left out. There’s no way this can be all of what Flynn read, right? It’s like trying to study for an all-important exam with half the textbook badly translated into English by a robot that doesn’t understand quite how language works. The fate of the entire world is riding on this, and –

(She doesn’t tell him that David Rittenhouse is one man, and furthermore, her great-times several grandfather. She doesn’t tell him about Emma’s true allegiances. She doesn’t tell him about her mother, or about Amy.)

(She doesn’t tell him that it’s pretty much this or nothing, that Rittenhouse has essentially won and the world is ever more unrecognizable, that they live underground and sometimes remember a new history every day.)

(She doesn’t tell him that he was shot during that last battle against Emma and company, two days after Hiroshima in 1945, throwing himself into their guns long enough for Wyatt and Rufus to stop Rittenhouse from using several more nukes, and that the last thing he said to her as he died in her arms, as she held him desperately and had to be torn away from his body to run, was, I love.)

(He didn’t have time to finish it.)

The trip itself goes – 

Well isn’t exactly the word for it, not when she walks into the dim tiki bar and sees Flynn hunched over and heartbroken and on his third drink, grieving Lorena and Iris and startled out of his mind to see this attractive stranger walk in with a book and a miraculous promise that he can have revenge. But she made it, she didn’t Splinch herself or anything worse, and it’s him, it’s Flynn, he’s red-eyed and drunk and haggard, but he’s real and alive and she barely restrains herself from touching him, from grabbing his face and kissing him. It takes a bit, but she convinces him to trust her, to listen to her, and after that –

She supposes she always knew, in a way, that this was going to happen. He is a drowning man desperate for an anchor, there’s a connection between them that he won’t understand for a few more years, and she misses him so desolately that while she was willing to leave without it happening, she can’t regret for a moment that it does. They have sex twice that night, as he is clawing and clinging to her and she does the same to him. He is never going to know how unimaginably, heart-rendingly difficult it is for her to walk away the next morning, after she’s looked and looked at his face and reminds herself that one way or another, she’ll see it again. The younger version of her is going to meet him in a few more years. Things will happen. Some part of her will still have more time.

(You’d think that in this line of work, you could theoretically have all of it you wanted. And yet, as all of them have discovered, that is the greatest tragedy.)

Lucy goes back to her time the next morning. But as it turns out, she does not go entirely alone.

Being pregnant is rough enough in the usual course of things. Being pregnant after a trip to the better part of a decade ago, to visit your now-dead lover and give him a journal containing the key to saving the world from the Darkest Timeline it’s now ended up in, when you don’t know if Time Travel, Take a Shot! will permit anything to change at all, or shift, or erase, is –

Sucks pretty much wins the understatement of the century award. This, or any century. Lucy didn’t know it was going to happen and it wasn’t planned, but she cannot remotely bring herself to get rid of this last vestige of Flynn. She gives birth in an out-of-the-way hospital under a fake name with Denise holding her hand, while Wyatt, Rufus, and Jiya stand guard at all the exits and Connor idles in the getaway car. They check out six hours later and go back underground. Their war against Rittenhouse is different, localized, guerrilla, and Lucy went on missions until her sixth month, but it’s more difficult to do active fieldwork now. She takes on different responsibilities. Of course she doesn’t stop.

(The baby is a girl, and Lucy names her Amy Maria Preston-Flynn. She couldn’t stand to call her just Amy Preston alone, and maybe later, if there is a later, if there is a future, she will explain to Amy how she was born years after her father died, and everything it has cost. But no child should have to bear that.)

And then. Things change.

The team has known that yes, Flynn got the journal, and yes, events have started to unfold, but happening not quite as Lucy wrote down. There’s another branch of reality, a version of themselves, and long and confusing story short, Rufus dies in Chinatown in 1888, which is a crippling blow. Without him, they won’t invent the new tech, they won’t get back to Flynn, they won’t have any of the limited and fading chance they do have, and after a lot of talking, it’s decided to risk Wyatt and Lucy traveling back again to the bunker. They have to bring the tech to these other selves that are almost them, that could still be them if timelines re-converge, and take the risk to save Rufus. They haven’t lived this loss, but they remember well enough what it’s like.

(And Flynn. Flynn is going to be there. He will not know that he has a two-year-old daughter, who has been raised by the whole team and whose eyes look just like his when she’s angry, and sometimes they make jokes about her shooting Lincoln too, because it’s easier to laugh rather than lie down in the dark, alone, and shake with the silent sobs.)

So Wyatt and Lucy go. Meet the very stunned younger versions of themselves, and she sees Flynn with his arm in a sling, standing there and staring at her like he can’t believe his eyes, and she is two seconds from telling him –

But still, she doesn’t. Talks to her younger self instead, this Lucy that is almost her, and warns her quietly about Hiroshima. That maybe she can stop Flynn from going, that it’s possible he survives, but in that case, it’s very complicated, not to mention dangerous. After all, if he isn’t there, if he doesn’t sacrifice himself in a literal heroic blaze of glory, maybe Rittenhouse sets off those nukes. Maybe that’s it, right there, curtains. And if he doesn’t die, maybe Lucy doesn’t travel back to São Paulo in an attempt to save him, and all this doesn’t happen, is rolled up out of existence altogether. It’s a horrible choice to put on this younger Lucy’s shoulders, especially when she remembers having lost Rufus because of the same kind of time travel paradox. She looks like she wants to throttle her older self, which future Lucy (well, she supposes she’s future Lucy, but this to her is past Lucy, so who gets dibs?) doesn’t blame her for. And yet – 

“So what?” Lucy bursts out, at her older self’s back. “Sacrifice Flynn and save the world, or save Flynn and sacrifice the world? Am I – am I really going to have to do that? Am I going to care that – that much?”

It’s not anger, or disbelief that she could come to love Garcia Flynn enough to make it so terrible to give up his life for many. It sounds almost like terror, as if she knows she’s getting too far down that path and might almost back out if she could. “What is it with us? What didn’t he tell me? What are you two to each other? Are you even me?”

“I don’t know.” Lucy feels the weight of all the questions she has kept from Flynn, from this Lucy, from everyone, and wonders if she can ever be forgiven. “But you will care. That’s all I can say. And because of Amy– ”

Lucy Two stares at her, face white. “My sister? I get her back?”

There’s a very long pause. Lucy One doesn’t have any idea how to respond. She feels some helpless impulse to tell her about something, since she has no idea how their timelines are going to tangle again, if at all. But she can’t tell Flynn, and one of them deserves to know. Maybe this is the tipping point. Maybe it’s not. She is so tired of being the one asked to judge. She never asked to be God. She never asked to hold the scales of life and death, time and space – and yet, she does. She is not quite human, she thinks. No longer mortal. There is no way to prepare yourself for that, but still.

“No,” Lucy says quietly, looking into her younger self’s eyes. “Your daughter.”

After their future selves leave, after they rescue Rufus, after it seems like a miracle and a fresh start and everyone else is excited, Lucy has a timer in her head that is counting down to when the Mothership is going to jump to August 8, 1945. That’s what her future self said. Two days after Hiroshima, one before Nagasaki. That’s where Flynn dies. That is where, according to how things have already gone, he has to die, in order to save the world. But that course of action leads to Rittenhouse winning anyway, doesn’t it? Nukes or no nukes? So if he doesn’t go, things change, they don’t end up in the future that her older self prophesied. There’s no way to tell if it’s for better or for much, much worse. That’s the risk you take. They’ve spent so long trying to change the past, or not change it, but can they change the future? At least history gives you a rough guide, a cheat code. The unmanifest, the un-happened, is entirely without space or form. Darkness moving over the face of the deep. It is Genesis.

You’d think the future would be the easiest to change, if it hasn’t happened. But time is a funny thing, and somewhere, it has already gone by, and Lucy doesn’t know. Doesn’t know. Doesn’t know.

Flynn can sense her disquiet. Of course he can. They’re ever more rarely apart, day or night, and Lucy is breaking down with the stress of keeping it from him. At last, she finally tells him. Whenever the Mothership jumps to 1945, they have to decide if he goes or stays. If he goes, he dies, and Rittenhouse could win anyway. If he stays, he will probably survive, but it also might not matter if they set off huge nuclear explosions and God knows whatever else. He could be living in a fallout shelter when they return, or he could have never been born, his ancestors eradicated before they ever got around to him. It could be so much worse. (Or better, but that seems naive to the point of suicide.)

“She told you,” Flynn says at last. It’s not hard to guess where else Lucy might have come by the information. “Didn’t she?”

Lucy hesitates, then nods.

“She never told me.” It’s unclear if Flynn feels betrayed by this or not, but thinking back, certain things might make more sense. “Did she say anything else? About what has happened after I met – well, you?”

Lucy almost can’t bear to tell him. She can’t be sure that her future self’s daughter is also Flynn’s daughter. But she knows in an unshakable way that it is for damn sure not anyone else’s, and it makes the final, terrible piece of the puzzle fall into place. As carefully and neutrally as possible, she does.

Flynn doesn’t say anything for the longest time. He’s clearly reeling. His face has momentarily lit up in wild, desperate joy – that somewhere in the universe, even if in a place he may never see, he has a daughter, a living daughter. She is probably three by now, or four. She is a little person, not a baby. She is out there, she is breathing on her own, she doesn’t exist now (Time Travel, Take a Shot!) but she will. The promise he’s been fighting for all along, even if for another daughter. She is there. She will be. And all he has to do for it is –

(Die.)

“I couldn’t make you lose another Amy,” he says at last, quietly. “I couldn’t do that to you, Lucy.”

This may be so. This may be true. But this Lucy has never met this Amy, and she very much has met Flynn. And between the two, right now, there’s only one loss that sounds, to her, as if it would be utterly unbearable.

The alarm sounds three weeks later.

August 8, 1945.

The blood drains out of the team’s faces as they stare at it. The word has gotten around, they know something terrible and fundamental happens on this mission, and that they aren’t going to get a takie-backsie to save Flynn the way they did with Rufus. Whatever goes down this time, it’s how it goes down, and even Wyatt has gotten fond enough of Flynn that he strenuously objects to the idea of sending him there knowing that he’s going to die. But Flynn argues that they’ve already changed quite a bit from the journal, how Future Lucy remembers it happening. The future is not set in stone. By now, he says, he trusts that Lucy will go back to São Paulo anyway, whether to save him or not. It will happen somehow, even if he has to die. And besides, if he does, it will save his daughter. He can’t regret that.

There’s some confused looks at that, as they think he must mean Iris, and neither Lucy nor Flynn can quite stand to explain otherwise. As Lucy looks at him, she realizes that his mind is made up. He is going on this mission, and he is not going to hear otherwise. Perhaps there is another path that leads him away from the guns, away from the death that still haunts her future self, that was the reason she’s tried to find some way, some fork in the path where he lives. It’s about stopping Rittenhouse too, of course. But it’s more.

(Does their daughter still exist if he survives this mission? It’s the biggest, most impossible paradox imaginable, and Lucy doesn’t know if it makes her a horrible person to almost be willing to make this gamble. If she goes to São Paulo anyway, but in different circumstances, does it still happen? Does it matter?)

She looks back at Flynn. Realizes that he’s entirely at peace with dying, if it means that somewhere, his daughter is going to live. Any daughter, any time. If he’s walking away for good – he always said he would with Lorena and Iris, after all. In a way, this is no different, even though he has never met her and very well never might. This is a Flynn who knows what is worth dying for.

His eyes meet hers, and he turns toward the Lifeboat. A wry smile crosses his lips, as if he’s almost going to miss the old bucket of bolts, knows he very well might not be coming back. Then he takes a deep breath, and manages a grin.

“Come on, Lucy,” he says. “It’s time to go.”

[stirringspirits]

Rebooting Stirring Spirits...

When I first came up with the name “Stirring Spirits,” my vision for it was a mixture of horror movies and horror-themed drinks. I started off with kind of a tiki theme because, well, it was summer and that was what I was in the mood to do. Tropical drinks and all that cool stuff. :-p

Yum... alcohol...

Photo Credit

It just seemed like a fun way to start things off, but I never really intended for it to keep that particular theme...

However, the more I got into it, the more it just felt right.

I think I’ve kinda given up on the idea of making it a web series... at least for the time being. One of my reasons for wanting to do this is because I want to take the focus off myself. I am alone in this venture, right now, though. Perhaps if I can get others involved in the future, something like a web series might be a more realistic goal (one where I don’t have to be doing absolutely everything), but right now, it’s probably best to just start this off as a plain old blog and see where things develop from there.

I’ve now decided the focus of this blog will be one of tropical dreams... but unlike the usual vision of bright sunny days, I wanna turn to the dreams that take place in the dark of night.

Imagine falling asleep to this view... not a psycho killer in sight... Photo Credit

If there’s one thing I love more than anything it’s the contrast between dark and light. The Nightmare Before Christmas was an early influence on me because I loved that idea of mixing two things, that seemed to be polar opposites, to create something new and magical.  Like the great Bob Ross once said, “Put light against light – you have nothing. Put dark against dark – you have nothing. It's the contrast of light and dark that each give the other one meaning.”

So, in the spirit of stirring up the dark and the light, I’ve decided to keep the name Stirring Spirits. I'm not sure exacty what I'll be featuring here yet, but I'm thinking spooky, but tropical. So skeletons and demons, but with flowers and drinks and warm nights on the beach!

Not to mention food. Sorry, but if Crab Rangoon is wrong, I don’t wanna be right. Photo Credit

Now, I use the term “tiki’ very loosely... as most Americans, do. :-p The fact is, though, tiki as we know it, walks a very fine line between cultural appreciation and cultural appropriation.

What, you’re gonna try to tell me the real Tiki gods didn’t wear sunglasses? They just went around without any eye protection... sure... Photo Credit

It’s something I’ve been putting a lot of thought into lately because if I’m gonna do something like this, I want to do it, right. I mean, I'm a white girl from Baltimore. :-p And, one side of me is drawn to all things kitsch. It’s just kind of a Baltimore thing. :-p And, one of the reasons I personally like it is that, it doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’s just all about having fun...

If you don’t know the connection between Baltimore and pink flamingos, well... it’s probably best not to get into it... Photo Credit

However I do want to balance that with an understanding of the world around me and where a lot of these things originate. Twentieth-Century Americana is sort of its own iconic style... but it also borrowed heavily from other cultures. And the past is hardly squeaky clean. There’s a lot of darkness behind some things that seem to have only good intentions. So, it presents a unique challenge.  I’m not sure if adding the extra layer of “darkness” to it all makes it better or worse. :) Honestly, it probably is kind of a dangerous area to tread, but... then all good adventures have an element of danger. :) And, I’ve decided to treat this as simply an exploration.

A respectful exploration, though. I can’t say exactly what that will look like... I’ll just be taking this as I go. I just promise to try my best.

Although, I gotta admit, I would love to see this movie. Photo Credit I can say, though, if there’s one thing I really hate, it’s pretentiousness. I certainly claim no expertise... no special perspective... or anything of the like. I do want to have fun with this... but I also want to learn. And I’d love it if you shared this journey with me, wherever it may lead...

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc IV: Megamart of Darkness (3)

Chapter 3: … And Put Up a Megamart

           It was like Christmas day all over again! For the first time in my ten year existence, someone had screwed up that wasn’t me! I never even realized this could be a possibility up to that point. And you bet your toenails I absolutely reveled in it.

At first they were honking like mad, protesting how I might work for Wegmart or somesuch (it had happened before, apparently). But all ol’ Bokrug had to do was give them a glare and they shut up good. I could understand why, though. For the Elves, apologizing is a fancy affair, with them all lining up in front of me, each kissing my swollen kneecap one at a time while I towered above them, laughing. I would have settled for a plain old “I’m sorry.”, but you know what they say, Elves will be Elves.

           One hour of kneecap smooches later, Birthday Boy stood in front of me, surprisingly dignified in his stupid hat. The rest of his flock (drove? Pack? It really is hard to decide what to call a group of these guys) formed a half-circle behind him, like his own personal orchestra (though geek choir would be more appropriate).

“Come now, o’ vagrant” he said, lifting out a wing for me “We must journey to the outskirts of the cursed lands so that you may know the direness of our situation.”

He pointed to the forest. I groaned, not exactly in the mood for walking.

“Fear not. We have procured some edibles to sustain us on are strenuous trek.”

An Elf wandered up to me, carrying the so called ‘blessed sustenance’ in their beak.

“Within this bag is the blessed manna bread, which will sate your hunger for your entire journey, as well as the meat of sacred to give you unspeakable strength, should the situation require it.”

All I saw was a half-eaten bag of beef jerky with a stale doughnut hole inside.

“The Blessings of Bokrug be with you!” the Elves honked, their half circle shifting into a path straight to the woods.

Birthday Boy didn’t start explaining until we reached the trees, a trial in and of itself. See, if it wasn’t cringe-inducing enough he had to explain everything to me in that dated voice of his, no, he just had to make everything rhyme!

           “Long ago in the Days of yore,” he began, “’Twas blessed land where we bore-our young, who pooped as they pleased in pristine ponds ‘til they turned algae green. It was this algae that we ate, from hours seven ‘til eight, when wily hours twist the day to darkness. And those who’d venture on yonder path, fed us wholesome grain, or faced our wrath, like the bull thistles blooming on a summer’s day.”

Somehow, he managed to keep his honker running the. Whole. Way. There. By the time we got to our destination, I knew more about LARP geese history than about my own family.

But where was there, you might be asking? Well, as Birthday Boy would say-

“’Till one day we encroached the wrath of wastrels longst strayeth from good path. Who sought paradise’s golden fruit as their own. We lost, o terrible tragedy, yet followed somber reality, as our greatest ally betrayed us, and the great pond of yore became asphalt.”

For those reading this who can’t quite get Birthday Boy’s pretentious picture, we had arrived at a parking lot. Now, even young me had seen a fair number of lots in his time, but never one this big. It stretched over the horizon, a never-ending desert of streetlights and maybe some handicapped spaces. (Which, if we kept walking any longer, I was probably gonna need.)

“Go forth child, and understand, who tooketh away our promised land.”

           As we walked across the parking lot, I couldn’t help but notice Birthday Boy waddled a bit behind me now. Something was coming up at the edge of my vision. At first I thought it was just a mirage, seeing all the heat radiating off the asphalt, but as we got closer, it became too big to be fake. Not tall in the usual way, though: heightwise it was only about three stories tall. But widthwise, well…

The darn thing seemed to go on forever.

What stood before us on that sweltering summer day was a giant rectangle painted so white it practically blinded me, its’ only other features being a sliding door, above which was a set of bold red letters, each the size of my house, proudly announcing the store’s name: a name I knew well from years of being stuck in a dressing room as my Mom forced me to try on just one more sweater before winter set in:

                                                    WEGMART

Birthday Boy spoke, his voice now as hushed as a goose voice could be (which was still subtle as a sack of sledgehammers). “Now we tread carefully with fear. If you are caught, I cannot help you here.”

           Conveniently enough (though it shouldn’t have been that surprising, considering where we were) two rows of cars formed a path to the place, like guards lining the world’s blackest red carpet. In other words, the perfect place for a goose to hide under. Walking down this path (only half obeying Birthday Boy’s instructions: I tread carefully, but I’m a Tostig and if you know Tostigs, we never tread with fear, at least not when we can help it) I found it kinda weird how this place made out to be this evil fortress of ultimate horrific doom didn’t have so much as a security camera to keep me out. The only thing between me and those automatic sliding doors was some wrinkly old guy wearing a blue traffic safety vest: the Wegmart Greeter Guy. For those not in the know, the Greeter Guy is this shtick Wegmart does where they employ some old guy who’ll work for pennies so visiting shoppers can be reminded of their own mortality. Something seemed a bit… off about this one, though. There was a broad grin on his face, too broad for a man his age; right hand raised in a perpetual wave at nothing. Seemed fake, though I figured this was yet another one of those byproducts of the high cost of low price or whatever they were saying on the news.

           I couldn’t step one foot past him before I hit something. Hard. I’d say it was like glass, on account of it being completely invisible, but really, it was more like hitting a steel wall that also gave you the worst case of static shock in the universe. Of course, young me being young me, this didn’t register until he’d waltzed into that deathtrap so many times he couldn’t feel his limbs. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise me the only reason I didn’t try to enter Wegmart a few more times was because by the last time, I was so zapped outta my head I stumbled into the cars by complete accident, giving the one Birthday Boy was under a static snap so strong it exploded in a ball of fire.

“Fool!” honked the goose “Do you not realized that your knaveous action could very well have delivered me to a premature encounter with dread mortis?!”

           I did not. And if it weren’t the fact he was explaining the situation to me, I don’t even think I would have cared that much. All I wanted was to go home, play video games, and spend the rest of the summer sleeping this crazy adventure off.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately depending on your tolerance for Shakespeare) Birthday Boy was fast regaining his composure.

“As you can see, they’ve torn asunder Holy Mountain. Sacred stream has become drinking fountain. A wicked grinning barrier they have erected. So long it stands, from elfin magic they are protected.”

“So… you mean to tell me that the greeter guy is some kind of magic energy shield thingy stopping you guys from getting your home back?”

“Your answer ‘tis acute. Now we must be astute.”

I saw a little black object flying in the sky. On account of the bright sun, I couldn’t see it clearly, but it freaked the everloving feathers off of Birthday Boy.

“Flee!” he honked, waddle-flying for the woods. “Every elf now for himself!”

Something shot out from the thing: a little foam dart, not unlike the kinds I had in my toy aero guns (or had, until I discovered real ammo.) It landed inches from my foot. A second later, it did something no foam dart should do: it started dissolving the ground with a hiss. As if on cue, the sky around me started to darken. Looking up, I could now see the mysterious black object was a toy RC helicopter.

Thousands of them, all armed with those same dissolving darts.

“We must escape now!” Honked Birthday Boy “Those curs wield the dread power of Shampow! A power you could not hope to understand, one long forbidden from the clutches of man!”

“Yeah, I get the idea!” I cried as we ran all the way back to the stock pond.

           We didn’t reach there ‘til sundown. When we did, Bokrug was first to speak to me.

“I trust you know the direness of the situation?”

“Well, yeah. But I still don’t see how I fit into all this. You guys look pretty powerful on your own.”

“While we have had some success in hit and run missions-“ He gestured a wing towards the shopping carts and tiki torches wielded by his brethren “-We have lossed far more than we have gained. Only by penetrating the heart of darkness, and seizing the blessed water that once flowed through our LARPing grounds might we hope to end the conflict once and for all.”  He said to me. “As you witnessed, our sacred LARPing grounds have been overtaken by the evil known as Wegmart. Using the limitless power of the Greeter Guy, they have erected a massive magic-proof barrier we cannot cross.”

“And how do I fit into this?”

“There is but one thing that can pierce Wegmart’s barrier: An artifact of a bygone age known as the Baldwin 60000. But in order to steal this artifact, we must first animate it with a mysterious artifact known as gold dust.”

“Still not seeing how I fit in.”

“Gold dust, however, is an incredibly rare thing. The only satchel known to exist was only ever possessed by the man who founded this great land: A man named William Penn! Technically, he acquired it from the natives… Among other things, but that is a story for another time.”

“And where the heck do you get gold dust?”

“You shall find it in the pockets of the great man himself as he surveys his city!”

“Hold on! So you’d want me to climb to the top of City Hall, and pickpocket a national hero when you have a thousand little goose friends who can FLY?! How does this make any sense?!”

Said thousand little friends glared at me.

“I would suggest referring to them as ‘Elves’.” Bokrug whisper-honked. “In honesty, I find the distinction quite trivial myself, but it is a touchy subject for them. But! You are correct: that is indeed the most logical path, but as it would happen, city hall is covered in spikes. Birdproof spikes. Seeing as you are partially human, I have faith you just might be immune.”

“Huh! I always figured those spikes were leftovers from William Penn’s rebellious phase!”

“As truth would have it, they were made to keep away those who would sully Penn’s temple of tolerance.” Bokrug and his brood turned to face me. “So, Watterson Tostig, I must humbly ask of you: Are you up to the task? Will you help us?”

I thought long and hard at that- maybe longer and harder than I’d ever thought in my LIFE up to that point. F-Bomb had warned me birds were a bunch of sellouts, giving up their form so they could live on the surface. But they had problems, BIG problems. And, well, maybe I’d run away from things a bit too much that summer, sappy as it might sound. Maybe it was time to lend a hand to guys who didn’t have any, even if they weren’t real dinosaurs.

“Alright,” I nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Bokrug bowed his head. “Thank you, Watterson Tostig.”

On cue, a trench-coated man emerged from the woods, pushing a shopping cart with a pair of fire extinguishers strapped to the back of it. It took me a moment to realize the ‘guy’ was just four geese stacked on top of one another, like in those old cartoons.

“Our envoy shall take you to as far as City Hall. After that, may your Lord’s grace be with you.”

But before I got in the shopping cart, there was one last question I had to ask:

“Say Bokrug, why’d you have your little friend take me to a death trap to explain the situation when you did it yourself just fine?”

The bandit-masked goose shrugged. “You seemed to me a visual learner.”

I rolled my eyes. This guy was starting to sound like my teachers!

[melodymgill49801]

New York City Is in the Middle of a Filipino Pop-Up Renaissance

In a scene playing out across sidewalks all over New York City these days, the makeshift patio in front of Kabisera, a small coffee shop in Manhattan's Lower East Side, is now so bustling on the weekends that one might wonder what alternate universe the critics claiming "New York is dead" inhabit.

Over the course of the pandemic, Kabisera has become a Filipino food hub, not just for their own menu but also for a rotating cast of pop-ups that share their space. The line of people outside might be waiting for drinks from Kabisera and food from the stand on the sidewalk, as a vendor grills skewered meat over coals. To Augelyn Francisco, who owns the shop with her boyfriend Joey Payumo, Kabisera's adoption of the pop-up scene is a way to pay back the community.

Francisco started Kabisera's coffee run in April, bringing baked goods and drinks to frontline workers at dozens of hospitals using donations of food and money from the community and other businesses. Through this effort, she connected with new people and organizations, and when Kabisera began to re-open, she reached out to those new friends to offer a platform to sell their products. "It started [as] a small payback for all of our friends who have been helping us through the pandemic," she said. Through the pop-ups the shop hosts on the weekends, Francisco finds it "very beautiful" to see "how everyone here thrives from what's happening."

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The specter of being "the next big thing" has hung over Filipino food in the United States since at least 2012, when chef Andrew Zimmern shared this forecast, and it shaped how American publications have covered the cuisine ever since. It is always "up-and-coming" and just on the verge of breaking through to a white American audience, though it's never clear what's needed to tip the balance before it's no longer "the next" big thing, but simply a popular part of American dining. In New York City, it's time to stop framing Filipino food as something “on the rise,' and to firmly declare it as not only here to stay, but an integral part of the community.

With options from traditional to re-invented, affordable to high-end, meaty to plant-based, pop-up to brick-and-mortar, the Filipino food scene is growing, diversifying, and even thriving—even amid a pandemic that has hammered the restaurant industry. When it comes to pop-ups in particular, the city is in the midst of a Filipino food renaissance, with so many event options some weekends that it can be hard to figure out which one to visit.

The old school Filipino joints in Queens' Little Manila and mainstays like Jeepney and Purple Yam set a baseline for Filipino food in New York, but with that basic familiarity established, new food entrepreneurs are taking more liberties with their approach, especially through pop-ups. As newcomers have entered the Filipino pop-up scene over the past seven months, joining existing projects like Flip Eats and Woldy Kusina, they've also helped diversify the city's Filipino food.

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As one of 2,000 people laid off from Union Square Hospitality Group in March, Kimberly Camara started Kora, a doughnut pop-up that had a waiting list of 800 people as of last month. Lamon Lagok wants to expand the idea of Filipino food beyond lumpia and pancit through modern dishes paired with tiki drinks, drawing on the long history of Filipinos in the tiki scene. With dishes like chopped cheese silog, Big Papas Tapas makes "Filo-New Yerrr"-style breakfast bowls that riff on the formula of garlic rice, fried egg, and meat. The Dusky Kitchen describes its desserts as Milk Bar meets Red Ribbon, with nostalgic options like ube cheesecake with SkyFlakes saltine crumbles; The Boiis Co. makes cookies and balls of mochi. Mama Guava cooks Hawaiian Filipino food, while Sweet Angel Baby's brings Filipino cuisine to Ridgewood. You're not lacking for options if you're looking for Filipino food in New York.

It might seem like a bad time to start a food business, with the continued restrictions on indoor dining and predictions that as many as half of the city's restaurants could close permanently within the next year. But the rise of pandemic pop-ups makes sense, as Taste and Resy have explained: Without ties to establishments, cooks—especially those out of work—can be more flexible and creative, and the pop-up format makes their food easily accessible, at the same moment as diners look for new experiences.

So Sarap NYC Filipino street food pop-up outside Kabisera | Photo courtesy So Sarap

Though the pandemic initially seemed to dampen launch plans for So Sarap, a new street food pop-up, it actually forced the hand of co-founders VJ Navarro and Sebastien Shan after both were furloughed from their jobs. "We were thinking like, what better time than now?" Shan said. "We're at home doing nothing. Let's just do something." Serving barbecue skewers and fried fish balls from a curbside cart just as Navarro's father did as a street food vendor in the Philippines, So Sarap is now booked for the entire month of October, with events in Manhattan and Queens.

That's, in part, a result of So Sarap having established popularity at Kabisera. To Shan's recollection, all of So Sarap's September appearances took place at the coffee shop, as a way of giving back after Francisco and Payumo welcomed them with open arms. "I think doing pop-ups is great because it's a good way for us to help small businesses, or big businesses, that have been suffering and have been hit hard," Shan said. Though pop-ups have historically been seen as a path toward traditional establishments, pandemic pop-ups can be a survival strategy.

The Lamon Lagok pop-up, for example, operates out of restaurants during their downtime. Though co-owners Gelo Honrade, CJ Lapid, and AJ Palomo were ready to go all in on a restaurant of their own, they chose to pursue pop-ups thanks to encouragement from the East Village Filipino restaurant Ugly Kitchen. (In a testament to the small world of New York's Filipino food community, I learned during reporting that my father knows Lamon Lagok's co-owners.) This model has worked well, and Lamon Lagok is now aiming to hold events every two weeks. "It's just the spirit of COVID and hospitality where people try to help each other out," said Lapid, a co-owner and a bartender who was briefly put out of work by the pandemic. "It's always a win-win thing for both parties: for us, for the establishment."

The logic of the "next big thing" tends to position food cultures, especially those outside immediate white American familiarity, as fleeting trends that have the spotlight only until something bigger and newer comes along. It implies that there isn't room for everything to succeed all at once, and that idea of scarcity can breed competition as people vie for the same rare, few spots. But New York's new Filipino pop-up scene is proof of a model that sees success as a shared effort, rooted in collaboration instead of competition.

The patio outside Kabisera during a pop-up event | Image courtesy Craig Nisperos

At Kabisera, Francisco helps new pop-ups by tasting the food to make sure it's good; notifying sellers of interest online so they can prepare accordingly, without food waste or hungry guests; and if there's more than one vendor at once, making sure their menus don't overlap so the pop-ups aren't at odds with each other. The idea isn't for one to be the most popular pop-up, but for all of them to drive business to each other through complementary menus. Instead of a model that puts a few projects on a pedestal at the top of the scene, this network of Filipino pop-ups is making space for more people to succeed.

"That's actually what we're [trying] to create: that it's becoming stronger and louder if we go all together as one pop-up," said Francisco. "It's hard to promote if you're a single business and you're doing a pop-up, but if you are collaborating [with] four or five pop-ups, you help each other, promote each other. It will become louder."

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