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warmau · 4 years

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☆ [nostalgic] summer romance!au taeyong hbbd to our beloved leader! | find others here: johnny | haechan | taeil

mark is giving you a quizzical look from over the counter, fingers tapping against the register

“taeyong? no, i haven’t seen him. doesn’t he usually disappear during the summer?

mark is right

taeyong does tend to vanish just as the weather gets warmer and there isn’t an excuse of class or work for him to make his presence known

you heard rumors about how his parents send him abroad to some kind of family owned estate, vast and beautiful and far away from the mundane place you call home

everyone is always saying he’s hiding something. that something, everyone whispers is money

he has to be rich, no one else has the kind of luxury of having a summer long holiday to the other side of the world

but you doubt it, if his family is so loaded, taeyong wouldn’t be spending the rest of the year sitting across from you in physics

you’re sure wealthy kids can afford something better than public schools

“actually......”

you look up and mark takes of the uniform hat he’s supposed to wear for his job at the local burger joint, he scratches the top of his head and then snaps his fingers

“i did see him not too long ago, maybe - on monday? he was standing next to his bike in front of the trails.”

“as in the forest trails?”

mark nods, he looks like he wants to say something else but the voice of his manager makes him scurry to the back with a final a wave

you take the medium soda you ordered, the ice melted and the cup wet under your fingertips

whats taeyong doing going to the mountains all alone?

its getting dark by the time you make your way halfway through the trail, you know mark said he saw taeyong monday and its been three days since then

but you just wanted to make sure, even though you’re here and you haven’t seen one other person through the trees

finally you think you should turn around and go back - but you look to the side and spot a bike leaned up against a mossy, large boulder

its off the trail - so its kind of creepy - but you inch just a bit closer, close enough to see taeyongs name scribbled on the middle bar, below the seat

the clouds are slowly and surely coming in over the light blue sky, so now its just going to get dark and rain

but you think just exploring for another five or so minutes cant hurt

you push past some bushes and wander until you finally pull back some branches from a sagging old willow and see the entrance to a small, but open meadow

in the middle of it - someone is splayed out and reaching up toward the sun

“t-taeyong?”

his hand drops and turns his head, the last droplets of sunlight flicker off his skin

he doesn’t say anything for a while and neither do you

until he sits up and asks you what you’re doing off the trail

you know you can ask him the same thing, but something stops you from stringing the sentence together

instead you feel the darker clouds grow heavy in the sky and soon enough you feel the drizzle

“i just got lost’

you lie and taeyong stands up from the meadow, pointing behind you

“we should go before the storm comes all the way in.”

taeyong leads the way back to the main path, grabbing his bike as you two make way back down to the opening of the forest

you sort of fall behind him, eyes on the broad of his back

you want to make conversation - but you dont know what to say

once you reach the end, the rain has gotten stronger and you ask taeyong if he wants you to drive him back to his place

motioning shyly to your car

he smiles, and even through the darkening weather, it seems to make his face glow

“that’s alright, thanks.”

and then he hops on his bike, his figure smaller and smaller as he rides down the road

you watch it, getting drenched in the process, but something about seeing him makes the rain feel like nothing more than morning dew

you go back to the meadow the next day, earlier - closer to noon - and taeyong is there

at first you tell yourself: stop being weird, just turn around and leave him alone. you might have had classes with him but its not like you two were even friends! hes going to think you’re crazy for showing up here again!

but something inside you refuses to let you give up

you clear your throat and call out to him

taeyong doesn’t turn his head this time, in fact he doesn’t move from where he’s flat on his back in the middle of the grass and wild flowers

panic sets over you and you rush over, knees hitting the ground as you hover over him

his eyes are closed, but the corner of his mouth twitches a bit at the small sound that you make

he’s just sleeping.

you realize, tracing the godly lines that make up his almost impossibly handsome face

he manages to look magical even like this.

“hello?”

taeyong’s eyes are open now - lazily, amber browns staring up at you curiously

you jerk your head away and feel your shoulders stiffen

what do i say? what do i do? he must think im such a freak-

“are you lost again?”

his sits up, propping himself on his elbows and looking at you innocently

“n-no! i just - i um - since i know the way now. i mean i saw your bike again. i just - um-”

the words get tangled in your mouth and so you give up and taeyong doesn’t look as annoyed or as angry as you expect

he just smiles, the same smile he gave you when you two parted ways last night

“a-are you always here?”

you blurt out, trying to compensate for your lack of an answer to his original question

taeyong nods, “i am always here.”

“everyone thinks you go abroad during the summer, b-but you’re really here right?”

its weird that you pose it like a question, so you laugh it off in hopes he wont catch on

but taeyong turns his eyes back toward the sun and falls back against the pillow of flowers

“nope, i dont go abroad. im right here.”

you look up at the sky, nothing special about it, just bright and blinding like any summer days

you wonder how he doesnt get bored just ........... laying here and looking up at it

“people in town like it though.”

he suddenly adds and you shift so instead of sitting back on your heels, you’re laying down beside him

its the closest you’ve ever been to him and you have half a thought he might shift away uncomfortably when your elbows brush but ..... he doesnt

“like what?”

he pauses, a long pause and you almost think he isnt going to answer as your eyes trace the wings of a butterfly that pass by

“they like that i disappear. i think they like it better when im not around.”

you sit up, confused and look at taeyong

“but people are always talking about you-”

“right, but i dont think that means they like me.”

he follows the same butterfly you were just looking at and you try to think of a counterpoint to argue

but you cant

taeyong is the most talked about person in your town, from his statue like looks to the rumors circulating about his familys wealth

but

youve heard the jealousy-induced whispers too

you cant lie and say you havent

you carefully lay back down and take a second in the silence of the forest to think

“i like you.”

you hear taeyong turn his head but you’re nervous about saying it outloud and so you can’t bring yourself to read the expression he might be making

“i dont know much about you, but .......... i think i like you. we had one class together last semester, physics and you would always help me and other people. sometimes i wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me to go get lunch but i was-”

you’re rambling, your aware so you stop

but taeyong whispers,

“but you were?”

now you turn to look at him and you’re surprised to see the usual glassy far-off look in his eyes has turned serious

“i was sc-scared? i just thought you wouldnt care to ......... hang out with me?”

you think your palms are sweating and you hide them in your pockets, taeyong is looking at you - really looking at you - for the first time ever and it stirs a feeling youre not used to in the pit of your stomach

“i would have loved to.”

his voice is faint, but there’s no one else but you and him, so you hear him clearly

you giggle, a nervous habit, and then swallow it down

“well - now i know. ill invite you when- when the summer is over.”

he turns back and closes his eyes, the sun basks down on him like the grace of a goddess

nothing else is said. when it starts to darken, and your hungry stomach makes a noise that keeps you embarrassed

you and taeyong walk back down the trail. you offer him a ride again, but he says now and rides off with a smile

you get into this habit now, you get to the meadow - earlier and earlier - hoping one day to beat taeyong to it

but he’s always there before you

you also start bringing lunch and when you first offer half of the sandwich you’ve made to taeyong he looks too shy to take it

but on the third try, he gives in

you also..................talk a lot more with him

and realize you were right, taeyong is as kind as you had thought him to be

and his gentleness isnt lost on you from how he helps you up from the grassy meadow when its time to go - to how he talks in a small voice to forest creatures that scamper past you two

you never thought you’d end up spending your whole summer off the trail, laying around beside lee taeyong

but not a day of it feels wasted, even though you both do ultimately nothing

one evening, as you’re walking down the trail, you both come to a stop in front of the mossy rock that taeyong’s bike should be leaned up against

except that its gone

and for the first time - due to circumstance - taeyong accepts the ride back home

the car is quiet, as are the streets that you drive through to get to his house

suddenly, without any thought you ask taeyong;

“do you sometimes go up to the meadow because you want to disappear?”

you glance at him in the rearview mirror and see hes already looking at you

“not just because you think others want you too?”

his lips thin, but his eyes don’t flatter from yours

“yes.”

you nod, shoulders tightening a little as you focus your own gaze on the road

“a-are you ok with my company?”

you make a turn and are worried by the silence that follows. taeyong’s house is coming into view and you realize he could just get out without answering you

but when you come to a stop, neither of you moves a muscle

you let your hand drop from the wheel and just as it does, taeyong catches it

his fingers are warm and his palm is soft you let out a small gasp and turn to see he still has his eyes on you

“im fine with it.”

a dust of pink comes over the bridge of his nose and spreads down onto his cheeks

“im fine disappearing with you. no one said i had to do it alone.”

that feeling in the pit of your stomach that you get around him sometimes seems to bubble and burst into a flurry storm of wings and glitter inside you

your eyes move on their own, skimming down his face to his lips in an anxious line

holding his hand is different from all those times you’d lay elbow to elbow with him

and thinking about kissing him..................is a jump over a fence higher than just the thoughts youve had about getting to know him better

you think your shoulders shake and taeyong looks like he wants to lean in

but the lights on his porch flicker on, and he says he’ll see you tomorrow

his warmth leaves your hand, but right as he steps out of the car, you scramble over to the passengers seat

one hand on the window and you look at him

“h-how will you get to the meadow, without your bike?”

he startles, but frowns

“right,i think i can walk ther-”

“i can pick you up.”

taeyong smiles, this smile - as soft and as sweet as the rest - is just a bit more......happy.

“ok - can you come by at around nine?”

“i promise to be here.”

he hesitates and you cant believe you’re about to say this, but you do

“want to seal it with a kiss?”

he looks over his shoulder, his front door hasnt opened yet

he leans down and its a little awkward and weird, but its cute and when you break away you wave goodnight to him

and he trips over the sidewalk as he waves back

the next day, when you two are laying back in the flowers

you turn to him

“is it ok if we re-do our kiss?”

he laughs, “i wanted to ask too, kissing through a car window is a bit-”

you dont let him finish, rolling over to take his face in your own - you feel that smile of his on your lips

when summer comes to an end and taeyong shows back up in town, everyones gossip stirs back up

where’d he go this time, franc? italy? thailand? australia?

no, the only place he went - you want to tell them - is to the forest, and to that meadow, and to the center of your heart

you slip your hand into his when he comes to greet you outside one of the classroom

and all of the gossip dies at the tip of peoples tongues

even now all these years later

when you and taeyong want to “disappear” for a little while

there’s a secret space, just for you two

let everyone else think you’re off in some other place - some other country - some other continent

disappearing together, is way better than disappearing alone.

#taeyong scenarios #taeyong imagines #taeyong au #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct au #no i didnt think of this just because i literally ate up all of twilight today i literally already had this planned #nct 127 scenario #nct 127 au #nct 127 #lee taeyong #sfw

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himitsu-luna · 3 years

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Nct 127 - Creatures series

File #2 - Johnny, the werewolf

Warnings: werewolf attack, mentions of wounds

Genre: fantasy/ supernatural/ angst/ fluff

Pairing: Johnny x reader

Nct 127 - Creatures series masterlist

---

The story

Johnny is part of the Suh family, one of the most renowned clan of creatures hunters.

The night before his 15th birthday, he was attacked by a werewolf, that was seeking revenge for the fellows he had lost for Johnny’s family.

Johnny got bitten, but he was quickly medicated, so the werewolf venon didn’t spread all over his organism.

However, it was not enough to completely neutralize the cursed effects of the incident.

He does turn into a werewolf at full moon nights, but he doesn’t lose his senses entirely. He doesn't have the wrath and thirst of blood that the commom werewolves have.

His werewolf form presents itself as a giant muscular human shaped creature, covered in dark brown hair, with big canines showing up through a long snout, in addition to his pointy ears and silver big sparkly eyes, that still carries the warmth of Johnny's soul.

When everything happened, his family immediately hid him from the world and subject him to an intense preparation, so he could learn how to control his powers and be introduced to the society again.

The powers

His five senses are sharp,even when he is in his human form. His vision, sense of smell and hearing are beyond our comprehension.

He also developed a sixth sense, and can feel danger from miles away.

He is capable of understanding and communicating with some animals, like wolves and dogs.

He is super agile, fast and strong

He has regenerative powers. If he is given enough time to recover, he can heal the deepest wounds by himself.

The only things that affect him are pure silver and ultrasonic waves settled in a certain frequency.

°°°

— Report - Incident number 1

Being the only child and only heir of a respected family of creatures hunters was not easy. You had to deal with the high expectations of your clan since you were not even aware of your own existence. And one thing made everything worse: Johnny Suh. Johnny was the heir of another powerful clan. Your families were not exactly enemies, but they had this unspoken competition between them, that ended up uncousciously impregnated in your mind. You always felt the need to be better than Johnny. You were the same age, but you were born with a fragile body, and Johnny's healthy and perfect condition lit on you a feeling of envy you really hated and felt ashamed of. And the guy was talented, you couldn't deny it. You always had to make the double of effort to get the same result as him. However, the trait that irritated you the most on him was his kindness. You two grew up together, and he always considered you as his precious friend. He never let you down, he never ever once doubted you.

"Can you stop being so nice? I don't deserve it." - you thought while watching him on his way back home, waving for you after another day playing and practicing together. This was the last memory you have of him. You never saw him again. His family said he suddenly had to go somewhere to complete his training. He had left you behind. As always, all you could visualize was his back. "Where are you, you jerk? You said you would always be with me... Liar..." - you said to yourself, mad and desperatly holding your tears, at that full moon night you should be celebrating his 15th anniversary together.

---

You are 21 now. You look at the mirror and you almost can't recognize yourself. There you are. That little weak and fragile child has become strong. One of the best hunters out there. There you are. Ready to assume your position as the leader of the clan. There you are. Entering the salon, everyone cheering for you and greeting you as their master. There he is. That familiar face, that familiar smile, that familiar eyes looking at you proudly. There you are, your mind bluring your surroundings so you could focus just on him, and making your lips open to let escape that one name you were willing to say again for so long "...Johnny??"

°°°

— Report - Incident number two

Your first hunt as the leader of the clan. The bright full moon lights your path, guiding you into the dense forest. You are excited, and your dilated pupils are making your eyes look pitch black. You are used to hunt, but today is a special day. He is here. He is going to see how much you've grown. You finally... Finally he will truly acknowledge you. And you... You will finally be able to walk beside him. Johnny. Your beloved Johnny.

---

You barely had any opportunity to talk to him during the day. Sneaking through dozens of arms trying to congratulate you, you reached the tall man that had been staring at you with affectionate eyes, just to give him a big hug, to make sure he was not an illusion - "I missed you too, Y/N", he said with a much deep and low voice you remembered him to have, while wrapping his arms around you. You had no time to answer him, as you felt your father strongly pulling you away from Johnny's embrace. You didn't notice your father's curious and suspicious glance at Johnny. You didn't noticed Johnny's sad eyes. You just murmured "See you later?", and before you could hear the reply, you were again among the happy festive people.

Still with his eyes locked on you, Johnny whispered - "See you later."

---

You hear a loud howl. The werewolf that has been hauting the village is near, you can feel it. "Johnny..." . You lose your focus for a second. "Y/N , concentrate!!", you say to yourself, surprised by your fool thoughts in such an important moment. The sound of big steps crushing the dry leaves behind you put you instantly in alert. All you see is a giant shadow jumping in your direction, with its sharp claws glittering with the moonlight. You skillfully project your body to the ground while back flipping, escaping from the beast, but losing your silver dagger in the process. "Shit!" - you think, covering your face with your arms, as the creature again attacks you. You get shocked when you hear a painful yelp, followed by a deep silence. You slowly let your arms down, to visualize the inanimate body of the werewolf you were hunting, laying on the ground. You then listen to a crackle right behind you, and turning around as fast as you can, you see yourself in front of the most imposing werewolf you've ever seen. The fear dominates your body. You know you would never be able to fight that creature. But as soon as you meet its eyes, you freeze. You know. You just know. Again, that name escapes your mouth – "Johnny?". And by the sound of this word, the majestic being runs away from you, leaving behind your astonished figure.

---

– "Johnny!! JOHNNY!! TALK TO ME!" - you are begging in front of his house, slamming the door with all your strenght. Johnny quickly appears, taking you by the hand and pulling you away from his family territory. "Please Y/N, it's not the time! I... I ... I can explain..I.." , Johnny starts to speak, looking desperate, but you interrupt him – " You!!! I was about to get that werewolf!! I could get It on my own!!" . Johnny could not be more stunned by your totally unexpected sentence. –"What?? This is all you have to say? You.. you are not afraid of me? I'm a Monster! You lost your mind?" . These words and the hopeless gleam in Johnny's eyes make your heart ache more than it already is. You soften your voice, as you say, cupping his perfect face with your hands : - "Johnny, what if someone saw you? You need to be careful, please. And how could I be afraid of you, when you look so fragile right now, in front of me? Please, would you let me take care of you? I can! Now I can! I've spent years of my life trying to reach you. I'll protect you! I know I must be crazy, but staying away from you again would drive me insane for sure. So now, please, just shush and let me be by your side, ok?" Johnny then lets his stiff body relax again. "Oh, so you knew it all along.. And you... you were waiting for me. I see now. Don't worry, I'm here to stay, Y/N. I missed you so much" . Your faces slowly get closer and closer, until your lips meet and melt into a sweet kiss, sealing your forbidden vows to each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

°•- taglist - @starrdustville

°•- Nct 127 - Creatures series masterlist

-;-;-;

#nct 127 #nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct headcanons #nct blurbs #nct johnny #johnny suh #johnny #johnny x reader #nct x reader #werewolf #supernatural creatures #queue #nct reactions

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heartofsnark · 3 years

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Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Twelve): Your Demon, Never Leaving

Notes: Soooo, its been a minute, like I said, been kind of sick. And I've been sitting on this chapter for a while, I was gonna wait until I finish the next. But decided, fuck it. We're still rocking around the angst train with this and I'm sure some of you are like, when is Johnny gonna be let out of brain jail and the answer is soon, next chapter, promise. Our girl just needs some time to process and what better way to do so, then to get into a fist fight and talk to some folks.

Word Count: 11873

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and mentions, bit of blood and violence, general angst, some talks of sex but no actual in chapter sex.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V finds herself in Westbrook next, kicking herself for forgetting that Wakako never paid for the Dorsett job. The sun’s barely been up but an hour by the time she makes it to Jig Jig street, the merc preoccupying her time by pouring more energy drinks from a vending machine into her thermos. A quick hack used to get them for free.

She leans against the wall of the pachinko parlor while she waits, someone passing by offers to sell her drugs and a joytoy tries to flirt with her in the meantime. Both swiftly denied and the merc jumps when she sees the parlor lighting up, Wakako likely already tucked in her back room. She slides on her mask as discreetly as she can before she walks across the blue tiled floors and past the desk clerk, who shoots her a dirty look.

Past a beaded curtain, she sees Wakako at her back desk. A slick black and gold color scheme that seems completely at odds with the gaudy vibrancy of Jig Jig street. Wakako is one of the older fixers, V would wager to guess she’s at least Padre’s age, with long gray hair pulled back off her face and cold shrewd eyes.

“Well, well,” the fixer greets, “who do I spy but V, in my humble parlor no less.”

“Here in the flesh, never did answer my call,” V can’t help but sign, thankful her bitter smile is hidden behind her mask.

“I must have been busy, I’m sure.”

“Of course.”

“So, what brings you here?” Wakako asks, tapping her red nails across the wood of her desk.

“Last gig, said I had to swing by to grab my payment, remember?”

“I don’t forget such things, V. Here is your reward, it comes with a fairly ample bonus. Go to Cassius Ryder in Watson, he’ll weave you a derma-imprint with smart-gun compatibility, a Tyger Claws special. You did good work, you and that… friend of yours.”

“Appreciate it,” V signs, feeling her muscles tighten at the mention of Jackie. Then the money comes in, over three thousand, not bad at all. But, she could still use a bit more before she pays back Vik. If she completely drains her bank account for him, Vik will throw a fit.

“And V,” Wakako calls out before the merc can leave, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for your calls from now on.”

V simply nods, unsure of how to take the comment as she leaves the pachinko parlor. Wakako is hard to read, that much she knows. Everything the woman says seems to drip with poison and sarcasm. She could wish V could morning and the merc would wonder if it’s a veiled death threat. Kindness and cruelty sound the same coming from Wakako. Meaning the statement could be a cruel taunt regarding V’s ruined reputation or it could be genuine, that somehow the merc has built back some of it. She has been going hard the past three or four days, refusing to do much else. Deciphering Wakako will only drive her crazy, V determines, leaving Jig-Jig street and climbing in her stolen MaiMai.

The fight in Kabuki is worth at least two grand, meaning if V’s lucky enough she can finish it up and pay Vik back while still leaving around… two grand in her bank account. Not much, but she’s worked with less. If she loses, she’ll just have to make it back in more scanner jobs, she supposes. Or start selling some stuff.

She parks near the coordinates Coach Fred sent her. V pulls off her mask, it could be considered unfair, fighting with a face cover. When she gets out of the car, she catches a flash of something in the side mirror, breath catching in her throat. Thinking it’s a flash of dark hair and a beard, think it’s him, she looks again. But only sees her reflection, granted, she looks like she’s already been fucked up in a fight.

Her hygiene has… suffered during this ordeal. Nose bruised to hell and back, looking a little crooked she realizes. There’s blood and dirt on her face, the worse of it down her lips and chin. She smells like sweat, blood, and still vague hints of stagnant water. Wakako probably smelled V before seeing her.

The merc first takes a deep breath, grabs her nose and cracks it back into place, setting it as pain shoots through her face and tears blur her vision. . She curses, giving herself a moment before she goes looking through her bag for wet wipes or antiseptic ones, something to give herself a quick whore’s bath. But finds nothing, her supplies needing a restock.

In a pathetic attempt at something, she spits onto her hoodie sleeve and tries to scrub some blood off with the drool. Only managing to smear the dirt and blood into a new pattern. As far as she knows, no one she cares about will be at the fight. She’ll shower before she sees Vik. For now, she’ll just be gross. Too exhausted and overwhelmed to care about how strangers view her hygiene.

She takes three heavy drinks of energy drink and makes her way to the feet, down a set of stairs that run next to the overpass, walking across cracked cement through patch work metal shacks. Up a little yellow ladder and climbing over air conditioning units. Even getting to the fight has to be an ordeal it seems.

V can see the backs of people, on one of the other rooftops involved in this little parkour endeavor. A crowd gathered around and she has to assume that’s where the fight is. A little set of metal steps up to the slightly higher platform. When she walks up the stairs she can see the crowd is around a clearing on the roof; two identical men squaring off. She half expected a Tyger Claw gang member, given the area is their turf. But the men look fairly nondescript, twins who box, she supposes.

“This is pointless, I know where I’m gonna strike before I do it,” one of the men say, fist raised to his brother, though the wording seems off. Of course, one would know where they’re going to strike. Brain damage too many blows to the head, maybe.

“Typical, I knew I’d say that.”

She raises an eyebrow but shakes her head, and clears her throat. The men straighten up, two pairs of brown eyes staring straight at V. They’re older than her, which isn’t saying much, with bald head and implants around their heads. Completely identical, only thing to separate them out is their clothing; one is a tee shirt and the other in a tank top.

“Was told I have a fight here,” V signs, “so, which one of you is it?”

“Me,” the men speak in unison and V blinks, confused.

“Didn’t know it was a tag team fight, but alright, who’s up first?”

“No, no,” the one in the t-shirt waves his hand, “you don’t get it. That body and his one, I’m the same person.”

“I’m seeing shit then?”

“I used to be twins, which you could probably guess. The twins had a close bond, but they wanted to be closer, stronger. “

“So they installed neural oscillation synchs. And now they’re… well.”

“Me, one person, two bodies,” the twins finish in unison again.

And here she is, two persons, one body. Whether she likes it or not. The whole tale is horrific to the merc, unable to understand why anyone would willingly undergo something like that. She has a twin, Eira, and despite everything that’s happened, V loves her sister dearly. But, she can’t imagine ever wanting to merge themselves together, to want to lose herself. Its part of why what’s happening with the chip is… horrifying. She doesn’t want to be something else, someone else. V is far from perfect, but, she’s her. As many times as she’s wished to be better, she’s always wanted to still be her.

These two willingly signed up for the horror show, V’s enduring, just split across two bodies. They wanted to be someone else, to morph into some new amalgamation of who they once were.

“So, I’m fighting you both at once?” She asks, trying to get out of her own head, to focus on the here and now.

“My bodies do everything together. Everything,” the pair speak with finality and V can’t help but smirk at the implication. How far does everything go?

“Everything? Even in the bedroom?” She signs, waggling a brow and can feel the immediate annoyance.

“I have one girlfriend for both bodies, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Shared between both.”

And it takes everything in her not to laugh, a smile pulling at her lips and face flushed at how stupid it is.

“So, what. she gets a daily double teaming?”

“No. She’s with one body from Monday through Wednesday and the other Wednesday through Sunday. Bitch.”

“You take shifts?!” V bursts, the entire ridiculous nature of it is exactly what she needed, cracking up at their whole situation.

And maybe it’s mean to laugh, but she can’t help it, holding her stomach as she cackles. The insult more than worth it to know these two have their girlfriend on a sex schedule, that they take shifts for fucking. They have fuck shifts, how is she meant to handle that information?

“We doing this or what?” The twins yell, obviously not amused by her outburst.

“Yeah, yeah,” she signs as she comes down, “but we’re doubling this, four grand.”

She was already at a size disadvantage, the twins not huge, but taller than her. And now they’re outnumbering her as well, it’s already high risk, so she needs higher reward. The twins consider her deal for a moment, before nodding to each other.

“Fine, see no problem there. So, can we get started?”

“Show me what you got.”

And three pairs of fist raise. The twin the tee shirt moves towards her first and she steps up to meet his charge, swinging the first punch and knocking her knuckles into his head. And then she steps back, grin on her face. Its been a long time since she’s sparred, a good clean fight with just fists and no weapons, it feels good.

She throws another punch and misses, the same twin comes back in to hit her, but she connects another punch first. He staggers back, but swings at her, a hard pain wracking her jaw when he connects. V blocks the next swing and momentum makes him twist around, letting the merc get a cheap shot against his back. Then another as he twists then she connects a right hook to his jaw; three hits in rapid succession, he stumbles back. He hits the ground. Then the other twin comes charging.

V throws a right hook into the force of his run, catching just the right way to make his nose bleed. She swings for a left jab but the tank top wearing twin ducks and steps back, the one in the t-shirt is back on his feet.

Tank-top comes at her again, right fist hitting her temple and she throws her own in return, knuckles catching his ear. She misses with her left and he brings a knee up, knocking it into her chin, making her teeth clang together as she bites her tongue in the force. He swings another punch and she deflects with her left forearm, punching her right into his face. He falls back.

T-shirt comes at her next and gets punched in the eye, blackening under her fist. She connects the next punch to the opposite cheek, knocking into his nose. He stumbles back and wipes blood from his nose.

The other twin swoops in, he acts like he’s going to knee her again, then swings a fist and catches her already injured nose. Pain cracks through her, but she laughs and throws a punch in return, connecting two more hits against him. Twins switch out again, t-shirt twin kicking her in the gut before throwing three quick hits. Then he shoves her back, only for her to push back and throw two more punches. And he’s down. One half done, she turns her attention back to the twin in the tank top.

He tries to keep distance from her and she waits him out, fist raised. And after a quick moment of dancing around each other, he runs at her. A punch to her head, a swing to his own, and she connects one more to his chest. And he hits his knees. V stares for a moment, unsure if she really just won a bare knuckle fist fight against two grown men?

“Stop, stop, I give up!” One twin yells and gets up, face bloody as he walks to the railing. V looks down at the other twin.

“You got more fight in you or had enough like your brother?”

“That ain’t my brother,” he yells as he gets up, “that’s me. Jesus, what’s so hard to understand?”

One leans against the railing and the other sits on a table by a couch, each with fresh blood and bruises on their faces. She finds herself standing before them, mind still revisiting the twin’s dynamic and situation. Melding yourself with someone else, even someone so close, she can’t even imagine being that close to someone. Even her own sister, she has a strained relationship with. She’s going into this situation with the chip kicking and screaming.

“Here, your winnings,” the twins eyes glow as they transfer four grand into V’s bank account.

“Not bad at all.”

“Don’t worry, there’s always the next fight,” one twin tells the other.

“Stop talking to yourself!”

V can’t help but smile at the odd exchange, “Thanks for the fight, it was fun just sparring for once, I’m V. By the way.”

“Certo,” the one in the tee introduced himself.

“Esquerdo,” the other chimes in.

“I know I kind of razzed on you earlier, just your situation is… interesting to me,” she admits, genuinely a part of her just wanting to ask a bit more about it. The twins must not have been perfectly alike, not anyone is, then they melded together. She can’t help but think of the ghost in her head, the man she’ll meld into, the fear of it.

“If you’re here to pry more into my sex life, piss off.”

“No, no, not that. Do you two read each other’s thoughts?” She asks, Johnny responded to her thoughts in the subway, assuming it was him and not an exhaustion induced hallucination.

“No. Same person. Same thoughts.”

“If that weren’t the case, I’d be on schizoid meds.”

“Yeah, be weird having someone else's thoughts in your head… Would drive anyone crazy. Speaking of, wasn’t that, I don’t know… scary.”

“What?”

“Melding together like that, becoming one person. Because like… you’re no longer you, right? You’re a new combo, wasn’t that terrifying, to lose yourself?”

“Not really, everyone’s always becoming someone new. Brothers knew each other well enough, loved each other enough, they knew they didn’t mind becoming each other.”

“Strange… no offense.”

“Why you so curious about it?”

“I don’t know,” she stumbles for a response that makes sense, can’t explain she’s thinking about the ghost in her head, “I got a twin myself, actually. Love her, but life took us to different places. Can’t imagine… becoming part her, part me.”

“You don’t though, you just become something new, the best of both of you.”

“Interesting, uh, I won’t hold you up any longer. See you around.”

V heads off and makes her way back home, guzzling energy drinks along the way, stinging the new bite mark in her tongue. She passes by Barry’s apartment on the way to her own, she’ll grab a shower, she decides before she talks to him either. Showing up at a former cop’s doorstep covered in blood and sweat sounds like a bad idea.

The merc strips down as soon as she’s in the privacy of her apartment and makes a beeline for the shower, Hot water a godsend even as it stings her cuts and bruises, the heat relaxing her tightly wound muscles and the ache in her head. Her eyes drifting shut, body relaxing. A blink that lasts a second, maybe a minute, or two too long.

Then pain shoots through her tailbone as she crashes to the wet shower floor, falling right onto her ass. She curses beneath her breath and gets back onto her feet, finishing her shower quickly before she falls asleep again. The energy drinks are cutting it less and less, three days without any sleep, other than long blinks.

She checks her tongue in the mirror thankful the bite didn’t tear at her piercing, and sighs as she takes a look at herself. Still bruised, but no longer bloody or dirty, dark bags have formed under her eyes and she’s paler than before. Her headache has become a constant throb she can’t get rid of, ears irritated from the rub of her hearing aids, the pain in her joints is equal parts overexertion and neglecting her immunosuppressants, the familiar burn of her disease flaring up.

If Vik and Misty see her like this she’ll never hear the end of it. It feels like lying as she grabs up her foundation and concealer. She laves on a heavier layer of makeup than she’d usually do, applying it until she looks a little more human, a little more awake and put together. After everything she’s put them through the last thing she needs is to cause them any more worry.

V throws on some clothes and makes up a new fresh batch of her caffeine cocktail before she leaves out again, fiddling with her bullet pendant as she makes her way down the stairs. She knocks on Barry’s door, trying to get the neighbors attention.

“Hey, you home?” She signs, turning the volume up a little on her translator, hoping he’ll hear.

“Who is it?!” A rough voice yells out.

“V, your neighbor, remember? We talked about rides, You were all worked up over the newest Mizutani. I said it was for flash-posers.”

“Heh,” he chuckles behind the door, “you don’t forget a gonk thing like that.”

“You gave me this look, I was about to run back to the Badlands right then and there.”

The door finally opens, showing Barry, just as she remembers the older man. Dark crew cut, over a foot taller than her, with tattoos across his biceps. He leans against the door frame, looking down at her by necessity.

“I remember, what do ya want?”

“To talk, I know that’s what you need right now, even if you don’t realize it. I can’t turn back time or magically make everything okay, would if I could, promise. But.. if nothing else, I’m good for a chat, hear you out as best I can, and make sure you know you’re not alone.”

“Now hold on a sec,” he makes her pause, the heaviness of it taking him off guard, “we barely know each other, and you just rock up here talkin’ to me about my problems? Where’d you get the idea something with me was up? You watchin’ me? Somebody send you?”

“You got me, your buds from the station asked me to drop in. I figured, why not, decent guy even if he’s got shit taste in rides,” she signs, with a teasing smile.

“Come back just to get your ass kicked?” His grin makes her snicker, “man, you really know how to cheer a guy up. Maybe those two asshats really are worried about me… All right, come on in. You wanna talk, let's talk.”

Barry leads her into the apartment, it’s layout a little different than her own. Most notably where her window stretches across the wall, he has none, with a couch against it instead. The apartment dark and gloomy without the sun being able to touch it, her boot knocks into an empty can, one of many. There’s trash across his floor, discarded takeout boxes, bottles, cans. Has he left the apartment since she spoke with his friends? Has he locked himself up in here for the past three days?

He sits down on the couch and V plops herself on the table in front of it, careful not to sit on his ashtray or nearly empty pizza box. She wants to be able to make eye contact and she knows human voices are far more comforting than AI ones, turning off her translator.

“I lost someone, too,” she hates the scratch in her throat, the slight widening in Barry’s expression as he hears her speak for the first time, “he was my best friend, a good man.”

“What do you mean ‘too’? Wait, this about Andrew? They… told you about him…”

“Yeah, I know it ain’t easy, losing someone like that.”

“Best bud I ever had… known him my whole life. Only person I could spill to without being judged.”

“Take it Petrova and Mendez weren’t that great at listening?” She raises an eyebrow, Mendez seemed like a genuine dickhead, but Petrova was nice. Surely, she wouldn’t have minded hearing Barry out, given how worried she seemed. Barry shrugs his shoulders.

“Petrova’s a decent gal, but she’s not good with this stuff. Mendez just doesn’t get it He thinks us blues need to be tough. Can bear the sight of a kid getting murdered? Born with pussy genes, according to him,” Barry tells her, the crestfallen expression telling her those are exact words from Mendez.

“You told them about Andrew, though?”

“Honestly? I thought about it a lot. Anyway… they don’t know everything. Better that way,” his soft nearly whispered tone tells her there’s more to this, something he doesn’t want them to know Or maybe he’s just like her and prefers to keep his cards close to his heart.

“What exactly happened with Andrew? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Does it matter? Uh,” he rethinks when he looks at V’s face, “old age took him…. No wonder, seeing as he was only a few years younger than my grandma.”

“I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less. But, Andrew had a long life with a good friend like you sticking by him through most of it. No better way to go, if you got to. And in Night City of all fuckin’ places? That alone deserves a fuckin’ monument.”

That makes Barry smile, a soft laugh tumbling from his lips, “ashbox in a niche will have to do.”

“So, was Andrew like a grandpa to you?”

“Hm. Wouldn’t go that far. He was like… egh. I don’t know. A window into the past or… something. He reminded me of my gram-grams, about our little talks… time when everything had its proper place, y’know? He was the last living record of those times.”

“He clearly meant a lot to you, it’s only natural losing him is gonna hurt. Mendez is full of shit, to be blunt. Life and loss is hard, really fuckin’ hard. And feeling that hurt doesn’t make you weak, makes you human.”

Her throat feels tight as she speaks, each word making her feel more and more like a hypocrite. Preaching the importance of feeling out your hurt while hiding from her own. She can still taste gunmetal, feel the weight of the barrel on her tongue as she willed herself to pull the trigger. Talking a man off a ledge she tiptoed no more than a few hours before. And it’s not that she doesn’t mean what she says, but she can’t give herself the same kindness she affords him.

“What if he’s right though?” Barry asks, eyes big with worry, “maybe my genes are soft? Don’t only the strongest survive?”

“Losing people hurts. And that’s okay, doesn’t make you weak, and ignoring it don’t make you strong. If you felt nothing at all, then his loss wouldn’t have any meaning. You lost someone you cared about, who was there for you most of your life; anyone with a heart would be hurting right now.”

“I guess… so. Thanks for the talk. I, uh, need time to take all this in.”

“Alright, take care of yourself,” she stands from the table, “and if you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

She leaves Barry’s apartment and lets out a soft sigh, rethinking what she told Barry, wondering if she handled it well. Taking in how it applies to her. The words she can easily speak to someone else, but not to herself. Feeling hurt doesn’t make her weak, just human. Painfully, disgustingly, revoltingly human.

V shakes her head, making her way out of the apartment complex and taking the NCART down to Buran and Bradbury. Walking down the family little cluster of storefronts, pass strippers dancing in windows, where Gary the wannabe prophet sleeps on some abandoned filthy mattress, and into Misty’s store. Her heart jumping in her throat when she sees the older woman.

“V!” Misty calls out, green eyes brightening and a breath of relief leaving her chest, “its been a minute, got worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about, just been, busy… Actually, wanted to see Vik, got a debt to pay back.”

“Hmmm, c’mon then, I’ll walk you back.”

“I think I know the way by now,” V signs with a raised eyebrow. Misty isn’t going to start babying her now, is she? Sure, V got hurt and is in the shit right now, but that doesn’t make her any less of a grown adult.

“You’re the first customer to walk in today and I’m bored out of my mind, just give me this,” Misty jokes and V feels bad for doubting her intentions, though there's still something in the way the older woman looks at the merc. More akin to a worrying mother than a friend.

“Alright, whatever you want.”

The two women leave out the back of Misty’s store and into the back alley, V searches for the bald little cat she pet last time she was here, but it’s gone now. Misty leads the way down the stairs to Vik’s clinic, the ripper doc in his usual spot at his desk.

“Someone’s here to see you, Vik,” Misty announces as they walk through, the older man looking up to see V. A smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes pulls across his face, more of pity than happiness.

“Hey, kid, how you’ve been?”

“Getting by,” she shrugs, “more importantly, I got the eddies to pay you back.”

“What is this?” He asks as she starts to transfer the seventy thousand.

“Optics, mantis blades, and the launcher; all adds up. That’s the best estimate I could ge. If they cost more than that I-”

“Hold onto ‘em,” he waves her off, “just in case. You need ‘em more than me.”

“Not taking them to my grave, Vik, please, it’s the least I can do.”

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping; “twenty-five thousand, I’ll won’t take a dollar more”

“What? That’s not even half?” V blinks incredulously, can see Misty smiling at the exchange.

“Covers the mantis blades; you didn’t ask for the optics or launcher, seems fair to me.”

“Even if I didn’t ask for ‘em, doesn’t mean they didn’t cost you a pretty penny.”

“Not worried ‘bout it, spend the money on yourself.”

“Vik, seriously, there’s no point in me keeping it.”

“Six months is longer than you think, V,” his voices rises, a hint of frustration, “I’m not letting you throw that kind of cash away just because your-”

And he stops himself, before he can says what they all know. Just because she’s dying. Her jaw clenches and she swallows hard. Trying to search for how to respond, how to deal with that.

“I know you wanna pay him back, but Vik’s just trying to look out for you, V. Never hurts to keep some money in your account and besides, you’ve got way more than six months left in your,” Misty says, trying to smooth over everything. Her concern and worry always softer spoken than Vik’s.

“It’s not just because I’m dying, you’ve done a lot for me over the years, want you to have something to show for it.”

“That’s what friends are for, V.”

“Fine, fine, never had to beg someone to take my money,” she jokes, sending a transfer for the twenty-five thousand instead.

“Other than that, how have you been?”

“Already told you, getting through, not much to report.”

V shrugs her shoulders again, wondering why he’d ask the same question twice. And she can the clench in Vik’s jaw, the somber downward pull on Misty’s expression. They don’t believe her. And she can’t blame them for it, because she knows its not true.

“And how are you really feeling?” Misty asks, softly.

“I… is there anyway we could talk about Silverhand and the chip?”

“I’m no expert, but fire away, I’ll see what I can do.” Vik tells her.

“I’m seeing him, I saw him, again. And I hear him, even without my hearing aids, is that? Is that normal, I none of this is fucking normal what am I talking about…” She rakes a hand through her hair, cleaning her jaw.

“Well, that biochip is designed for users to communicate with constructs. It's just doin' its job. As far as hearing goes… Johnny’s in your brain, not your ears. You're deaf because the autoimmune disease destroyed your inner ear, but the Relic bypasses that and stimulates the auditory processing part of your brain like he’s actually there talking to you.”

“So, my brain treats him like he’s real, even though he’s not?”

“I mean, he is real, he’s a person,” Misty softly corrects, “just a person in your brain.”

“He’s data on a chip,” Vik corrects Misty in return, earning an eye roll for his troubles. V can’t say she gives too much of a shit about the philosophical aspect, more just wanting Johnny not to choke her out.

“He… tried to kill me,” V admits, both Vik and Misty’s eyes going wide.

“What!?”

“Oh… V.”

“Tried to put my head through my window. It… he… felt real as anyone else. He wants to kill me, I think, I don’t know what to do.” V can feel her eyes stinging again, tears threatening to escape, as she finally puts her anxiety out into the world.

“Well... long as you don't give him control, can't do too much harm. 'Course that won't necessarily be possible after some time.”

“And… what then?”

“What do you say, we don’t let things get that far? Find a way to get rid of Silverhand and fast.”

“What about his memories, why can I see them?

“You two share a brain now,” Vik says matter of fact and she wants to scream, “he has access to your senses, perceptions, even memories. Likewise, you get a look into his. After a while, won’t even know whose is whose.”

“Right…”

“V…” Misty says the merc’s name in a soft voice, “if you need to talk, we’re here for you. ”

“I need to go,” V signs and shakes her head.

She doesn’t want to deal with this. Hasn’t wanted to deal with it for days and she has no idea where she’s even going or what she’s going to do. But she hurries through the clinic gate and up the stairs, getting ready to cut through the backdoor of Misty’s shop.

“V!” Misty yells out and grabs V’s shoulder, all too reminiscent of the merc’s exchange with Cecelia the night before. Women who’d be better off worrying about someone else, spending their time worried about V.

“I can’t do this right now, Misty, I’m sorry.”

“You can’t run yourself ragged, honey, you’ll kill yourself before the chip does.”

“And is that really such a bad idea?!” She blurts out without truly meaning too, at her ropes end, because she can’t do this anymore.

“You don’t mean that, V.”

“Why not? I can’t fuckin’ live like this! I haven’t slept in three days, I’m fuckin’ terrified that I’m gonna wake up and it’s not gonna be me! That he’s gonna take over and kill me in my sleep or, or, if it’s not him, it’s gonna be his memories, his life, that I’m gonna lose a piece of me and not even know which one! I survived, but maybe… I shouldn’t have… ”

Her voice trails off, becoming choked and pathetic as a dam threatens to burst. Tears collecting in the corners of her eyes, threatening to break lose. But she doesn’t want to break down in front of someone. A few people in the alleyway give her side eyes, looking at her like she’s already lost her last scrap of sanity.

“C’mon, V, we can talk more up on the roof, okay?”

Misty wraps her hand around V’s, gently tugging the merc into the elevator. And V doesn’t have the energy to fight her, holding Misty’s hand in return and following along. The warmth and kindness of the touch sinking into her bones, making her squeeze tighter just to hold on to the small gesture of affection. As the elevator starts to shake and rattle upward, V can feel her limbs getting heavier, her exhaustion pushing her to lean her weight onto Misy.

To the merc’s surprise, Misty doesn’t seem to mind her weight, doesn’t even flinch when V lays her head onto Misty’s shoulder. Instead she lays her own head over V’s for the short moment, short wispy hair tickling the shorter woman’s cheek. Misty’s warmth and affection feels like a lifeboat, rather than the innocuous touch V knows it to be.

The elevator comes to a stop and Misty pulls V up the stairs up to the roof. A place V has visited so many times with Misty, Jackie, and Vik. A cool September breeze rolling through, cooling V’s skin while the sun works to warm it. The two women sit in the little plastic lawn chairs that are put around a table. V feels like she’s sinking into it. She feels heavy and like she’s dragging her own weight. Her emotional outburst just compounding her physical exhaustion.

“I meant what I said, V. That as long as your alive there’s still hope.”

“Misty...I-”

“I can’t imagine how hard this is, I don’t think anyone could. But… I don’t think it has to be this terrible hell, you think it is. Fate doesn’t act without reason and there has to be a reason for this, for all of it. But if you…end it all like that, you’ll never know.”

“You think this is fate…?”

“I do, your soul and Johnny’s were brought together for a reason, I think you owe it to yourself and Johnny to find out why.”

“So, what, everything that happened is fate, I’m supposed to blame fate for all of this, for the heist, for Jackie, for-?”

“Better than blaming yourself, isn’t it?”

The question takes the winds out of her sails for a moment. She’s never put much stock into fate and the idea that things are meant to be, meant to happen. It sounds ridiculous to her. That the fates or some mystical pull in the universe put them in that hotel, an excuse to take blame off her own shoulders, a way to avoid accountability.

“I already had a bad feeling before you and Jackie left, the heist was on the anniversary of the tower going down, and it just happened to be Johnny on the chip. And theres your tarot reading… there’s more to this, V, I know there is. There has to be,” Misty tries to implore her to understand, to accept the idea that this was meant to be. And all at once V is reminded of something she’s wanted to forget.

“I’m sending you something,” V says softly, watching Misty’s brow furrow as she sends her the image of that SID profile, that night her door wouldn’t unlock.

“What is… is that?”

“His SID data.”

“How’d you get it?”

“Night before the heist, I tried to unlock my apartment door. Wouldn’t work, mainteance guy comes down, says my SID chip is reading as someone else’s. Sends me the data, it’s him… How the hell does that happen? We hadn’t gone near Konpeki yet, I… “

And she’s said it, put out that maybe there is a little something to this fate thing, that she doesn’t want to admit, doesn’t want to acknowledge. How cruel can the world be if this was all intended? But, she can’t quite come up with a logical reason for it. It could just be the mother of all coincidences, but that feels like a cheap explanation at best.

“V... “ a small almost incredulous smile comes across her black stained lips, “this was meant to be. You and him, merging, it’s fate. There's something the world wants from you two, just got to figure out what.”

“Its… a hell of a coincidence… “

“A higher power is screaming at you and you’re gonna turn a deaf ear?”

“Only kind I got.”

“Smartass,” Misty teases, “have you talked to him?”

“Who? Takemura?”

“No, Johnny.”

“No,” V blinks in disbelief, has Misty lost her mind, “strangely enough I didn’t feel like striking up a convo while he was trying to kill me.”

“You should.”

“And why the absolute fuck would I do that?”

“Like it or not, V, his fate and yours are one now. This is as much about what the world has planned for him as it does for you.”

“He tried to kill me!”

“And?”

“And!?” V flails her arms out exaggeratedly, the flippant response taking her back, “I didn’t appreciate it!? I…?”

Misty laughs at V’s shocked reaction and the merc can’t help but chuckle too, the entire thing sounding and feeling ridiculous.

“Did you appreciate it when Jackie put a gun to your head?”

“That’s different, Jack was just doing a job.”

“So, it’d have been better if he was being paid to do it?”

“Yes, least Jackie had a reason, dipshit just wanted to hurt me.”

“Is that what you think?” Misty raises an eyebrow and tilts her head softly to the side, halo of blonde hair bouncing with the movement.

“Is there anything else to think?”

“Not saying it makes it okay, but, Johnny woke up fifty years in the future, in the head of a stranger. Feeling your feelings, your memories, and last thing he remembers is whatever the hell Arasaka did to him.”

“And?”

“And maybe, the fear you felt that night, wasn’t all yours.”

V hums, rubbing her hands together, “I’ll think about it. Still kinda think offing myself is the easiest move, though.”

“What would Jackie say if he heard you talking like that?”

“He’d kill me first for even talkin’ like that. Tell me to pull myself together, that it’ll all work out in the end.”

“And it will, don’t know how, but it will. Just need you to want to live long enough to see that happen.’

“Fine, fine,” V sighs, “no blowing my brains out on this fine day, happy?”

“Wanting to live is about more than just not killing yourself, V. You need to sleep, eat, drink something other than energy drinks and booze. Take care of yourself and actually deal with your shit”

“But that sounds hard.”

“Is it harder than running yourself ragged and no sleeping?”

“Maybe.”

“V…”

“I’m just… scared, of seeing his memories, his past. Or, him getting a hold of me in my sleep.”

“I could watch over you, make sure nothing happens.”

“And what if he hurts you?”

“He’s still in your body, V.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t use it to hurt you, I’m not risking that,” V tells Misty, shaking her head emphatically.

“You could sleep in Vik’s clinic, no offense, but pretty sure Vik could stop your body if Johnny uses it to do anything.”

“Nah, this is my demon, no one else’s. I appreciate the chat, really, I think I need to be going though.”

“V… please.”

“I’ll sleep tonight, in my own bed, alone. Just in case, but I’ll sleep, promise,” V reassures Misty as the merc gets up out of her seat, a few ideas already fluttering around in her head.

“C’mon, I’ll get you set up with something to help you sleep, alright?”

V’s soul feels a little lighter as she follows Misty back into her shop. The older woman getting a little sleeping kit put together for the merc. Lavender oils, tea, and spray. Moonstones meant to relieve emotional tension and help her relax. V can’t help but smile at the kindness of it all, Her money refused for the second time when she offers to pay Misty for it.

“Take care of yourself, please,” Misty begs again, ruffling her hand through V’s hair.

“I’ll give it a shot, thanks again, for everything.”

“Wait,” Misty calls out, stopping V before she can head out, “you mentioned Takemura earlier, did you and him talk?”

“He called me, morning after I got back to my place, wanted me to meet him for a chat.”

“What about?”

“Don’t know, not meeting up with him.”

“V…”

“You know you keep saying my name like that it’s going to start hurting my feelings.”

“Why haven’t you talked to him?”

V shrugs, “He’s a corporate rat, can’t trust him.”

“He saved your life.”

“He also tried to kill me, which I think balances itself out.”

“If he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here, V.”

“Corpos are tricky bitches, guy probably has some scheme up his sleeves, kept me alive so the wolves would have fresh meat or some shit.”

“V… “

“My name is starting to feel like an insult.”

“Talk to him, what’s the worse that can happen?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

Misty rolls her eyes and the two part with a quick goodbye, V feeling a little more energized, despite still being sleep deprived. She still has a few things she wants to cover before she goes home and sleep. Misty brought up something important, what Jackie would tell V if he were here to tell it. He’d want her to at least try and she owes him that much.

It's a longshot, she knows, but she pulls out her holo. Evelyn, the client, claimed she knew how to remove the chip. That was before it was damaged and V’s not entirely sure Evelyn knew half as much as she claimed too. But it’s worth a shot, prefers it to anything a corpo suit like Takemura might be offering. She calls Evelyn’s number, but an automated message tells her it’s not avaliable at the moment, V opts to leave a message anyway.

“Hey… this is V. Got the chip, I know the heist had a few… hiccups, but if you could call me back, that’d be cool.”

V huffs as she hangs up, blowing hair out of her face. She still doesn’t want to risk talking to a corpo, so she opts for her next idea. Learning more about Johnny, which feels weird to even think about. She’s not sure she buys the fate angle, not sure she really wants to ever have a chat with the man who bashed her head against a window. But, if nothing else, she wants to know more of who she’s dealing with. And while she gets his memories, she doesn’t have a good grasp on accessing them. She could look him up online and fully intends to. But, she has some other ideas in mind.

Dino is in the rockerboy scene, would know a bit about Samurai and Johnny. And despite what his faceplate looks like, he may actually be old enough to have crossed paths once or twice with the guy. The fixer may not be offering her jobs right now, but he only knows her as a V the merc when she’s wearing her mask. Without it, she’s just the girl he fucked in a bathroom stall once. Not her proudest moment, but hey, means he may entertain a conversation with her.

The trickier one is Rogue, who she knows was close with Johnny, was too close. V grimaces at a few choice memories that stand out to her. But Rogue’s the queen of fixers and has never so much as looked V’s way. It's doubtful the older woman would want some no-name merc asking about her ex from fifty years back. But, that’d be her best source to try to get some solid first hand info of how the beast in her brain operates.

The Afterlife is closer, but Dino is more the sure bet as far as talking to her goes. So, she catches the NCART into City Center. She gets off at the nearest stop, making her way through the crowd as she walks to his bar; Electric Orgasm. Because the man can’t name anything without sex being involved. The humiliation of fucking a bassist who named his band Gloryhole Bandits will truly never leave.

Her boots scuff across the black and white dirty tiles, music blaring in the bar, making her turn her hearing aid volume down. She walks past the arcade and vending machines on her left, the stage with a band playing on her right. Dino is in his usual spot, leaning against the red bar.

The fixer is taller than her by a ways, as most men are, prominent muscled biceps, one plated with bolts in an implant. Chrome in his jaw and along the back of his head, a mohawk of teal dreads and eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. An energy that suddenly seems all too familiar, a rockerboy wearing sunglasses indoors with a smug air, the attitude of a man convinced it’s his world and everyone else is just living in it.

“Hey, you,” Dino greets her with a smirk she’s never seen him without, the drag of his tone telling her he remembers her face. Or maybe he’s just remembering what her throat feels like.

“Hey,” she signs and she can see his brows furrowing, thinking for a moment. ASL and translators aren’t… particularly common. She’s the only person she knows who uses them, but Dino seems less confident in that fact.

“You finally decide you didn’t get enough of ole Dino?”

“Maybe I did, but turns out men speaking in third person makes me dryer than a desert,” she teases, climbing onto the stool next to him.

“Oh, c’mon, girl,” he wraps an arm around her shoulders, leaning in close, “don’t break my heart like that.”

“I don’t think your heart is what you’re most concerned about,” she ends her signing by tapping her finger to his chromed chin, “so any news in the music scene?”

“Nothing too exciting, a few new baby faced wannabes. We’re planning another show here in a few weeks, if you wanna pay me another visit, that is.”

“What, not a fan of the newer crowd, prefer the classics?” She pointedly ignores his invitation, she can’t deny she’s attracted to him, but fucking a bassist in a public bathroom needs to be a one time experience in her life.

“‘Course, new bands ain’t got style or soul, just young pissants hoping a guitar will help them get their dick wet.”

“Because you’re so much better than that,” she rolls her eyes and he smirks, “old school bands, like, I don’t know… Samurai, more your thing I take it?”

“Oh fuck yeah, you wanna talk style, Johnny Silverhand had fuckin’ style.”

“You ever meet him?” She signs, stomach drop at the mention of that name.

“Pssh, c’mon, little young for that. Did hit one of his gigs once.”

“So, not that young, actually,” she taunts him, because she can’t resist.

“Only as old as you feel, but...” he seems to to drift off for a moment, remembering, “that gig was fucked up, remember that much.”

“They play that good?”

“Eh, played normo. But Johnny, ‘parently he had some ‘saka suit tied up backstage. Said if they didn’t get at least three encores, he’d bash the poor bastard’s faceplate in. Like I said, he had style, kid.”

“Firstly, you don’t get to call me kid after your dick has been inside me. Secondly, that all you know about the guy?”

“What? You a Silverhand fangirl?”

“I would actually enjoy killing you for saying that,” she signs and forces a smile to her lips, to make it seem lighthearted. But just the notion of being that man’s fan has left her stomach churning and her skin crawling.

“Hehe, well how about I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

“I actually got to head out now, bye.”

V is out the door before Dino can say another word or stop her. Sex isn’t exactly a prority right now, dying taking precedent. Though she’d be lying if she said a part of her didn’t want to take Dino up on his offer. Her sex drive truly knowing no bounds.

Additionally, the merc tries to limit her amount of repeat partners; Cece and Jake the exceptions because of her own odd logic. Cece and Jake are both in their forties with kids. They’d have to be out of their mind to want anything more out of V, considering a twenty-year old merc isn’t exactly step-mom material, at least not if you give a damn about your kids.Means less worries about them wanting… more.

While less tethered than them, Dino is a grade A fuckboy with the same love them and leave them attitude, so he’s low risk as far as that’s concerned. Maybe another time, when there’s not a bomb in her head.

She takes the NCART back towards Watson, feeling a little silly for pinging back and forth between the areas. But as expected, Dino was ready to spill his limited knowledge on the rockerboy with only a little bit of needling, probably just happy to oogle the merc. Rogue will be her own problem of getting information out of, given the Queen of Fixers is a little over V’s head. Maybe she can pretend she’s looking for work, granted she knows Rogue would never work with her after her reputation tanked. But, could at least get her into Rogue’s booth and a chance to have a convo.

There’s an odd, bittersweet sense of nostalgia as she gets off a stop near the club, slides her mask on, and reaches the little enclosed alleyway that leads there. Stuck in one spot in the alley, remembering the night she met up with Jackie here, half expecting to hear him on the phone with his mother. But there’s only chatter of other mercs. She takes a deep breath and curses beneath her breath when she sees the flashy red and blue poster pinned to the alley wall, graffitied over. But the band is clear, bright red flaming oni face and Samurai underneath it.

Childish as it may be, she scratches her nail up under the corner of the poster and gets a hold of it, ripping it from the wall. An odd little sense of satisfaction at the way it tears half assedly, destroying the logo and oni head. Mild act of vandalism completed, she drops the piece she ripped up and continues on her way.

Turns the corner, through the doorway, down a set of stairs, through a pair of double doors and down another set of stairs. Fellow mercs are scattered in the hallway outside of the main doors, a few stare at her, seem to be whispering. Must be her imagination, flashbacks of the other kids in The Herd mocking her start to flicker in her mind. They’re all adults here, though,way above schoolyard rumors and bullying, right?

The same bodyguard from that night is blocking the entrance to the bar, he looks down at her and scoffs. Her jaw clenches behind her mask and her stomach drops, she really is a fucking laughing stock here now, isn’t she?

“And what do you think you’re doing here?” He mocks her and she hears some snickers, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin.

“Here to drink and talk shop like anyone else,” she signs, hoping he can’t see the nervous twitch in her fingers.

“After the shitshow at Konpeki? Not happening, get lost.”

Her face burns hot with shame behind her mask and it takes every ounce of self control not to kick him. She forces herself to turn around and walk out instead, trying to behave. Trying to ignore the side glances or the soft snickers as people watch her get turned away, mocking the pathetic little merc who thought she could still have a rep after that shitshow. The fuck-up they all blame for the heist gone bad; for Jackie and Bug being gone.

When she reaches the alleyway, alone, she pulls off her mask and puts it into her bag, tugging at her hair. Her feet stomp, anger and shame hot under her skin as she walks. She wanted to prove she was strong, capable, worthy of respect, worthy of something. And all she did was prove she’s as worthless as she always thought, as her supposed clan thought.

“Fuck!” V screams her anger out as she reaches the end of the alley, and slams her fist into the wall, feeling her knuckles split open against the wall. She follows up by kicking it, she needs another boxing match something to get the anger out.

“Need a smoke?” A sly female voice asks and leaning against the wall around the corner is Rogue. V still recognizes the much older woman from when Jackie pointed her out. And her face is still recognizable from Johnny’s memories, just more wrinkled with time. Her teal fluffed up mohawk of hair now traded for long gray hair shaved on one side. Cyberware notches along her cheeks and chrome peeking out over the neckline of her shirt. She’s puffing away on a cigarette, eyebrow raised as she watches the merc like a cat watches a mouse. Rogue is exceptionally tall for a woman and casually even in her older age, V can see the maintained muscle of her abs around a chrome inset.

Dumb luck seems to be on V’s side. Rogue, if she knows V at all, knows her as the masked merc. Which means V may be able to pass as a random civilian. She double checks and casually musses with her hair, making sure her hearing aids are covered. Rubbing at her neck but turning off her choker translator.

“Appreciate the offer, but I don’t smoke,” V tells her, shrugging her shoulders and leans against the wall, hoping her body language is as casual as she intends. Even if her own voice is grinding to the ears.

“Sure looks like you need something to take the edge off.”

“Eh, I’ll survive, always do.” V picks dirt from her bleeding knuckles, “you’re Rogue, right?”

“We know each other?”

“Boss of the Afterlife, everyone knows you,” V opts for stroking the older woman’s ego, on the off chance it makes her lips even a little looser.

“Ugh,” the older woman scoffs, V’s praise not quite hitting how she wished.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be?”

“You don’t know the half of it, but ain’t too keen on that label. ‘Boss’,�� she roll her eyes, ''Makes it sound like I've got an army of greasy henchmen.”

“I mean, guy inside didn’t look that greasy.”

“Cute.” A soft sarcastic lilt colors her tone, but the slight hint of an almost smile lets V know she’s at least amused by the merc.

“So, what’d you rather be called?”

“Hmm,” she hums, taking a drag off her cigarettes before breathing out the smoke, “Good question. I'd have to think about that one…”

“Mind if I shoot another question your way?”

“Why not? But ask at your own risk.”

There’s an almost condescending bite to her voice, making it clear if V doesn’t traverse this next question carefully, she may find herself back in the landfill. Something about it… attractive, if the merc is being honest. And she’s not sure if that’s a physical attraction to the much older woman or that Rogue is… what V wanted to be. Exudes the confidence, commands respect, and is a legend in Night City; no one questions her strength or her competence. Rogue truly made it in Night City, something V can only dream of now.

“You use to run with Silverhand back in the day, right? What was he like?”

“Johnny...? Where’d that come from?”

“Seem to be as many rumors about him as there were fifty years ago. And not all of 'em gel together, figured this be one of my few chances to ask someone who actually knew the guy.”

“You a media, now?”

The ‘now’ hits V’s ear the wrong way, maybe just a slip of the older woman’s tongue. But, Rogue doesn’t know V, especially not without her mask, just some random stranger striking up a conversation. For all Rogue knows the stranger could be a media, maybe V’s worrying for nothing.

“Just curious, ain’t got to answer if you don’t wanna, both know I can’t make you do shit.”

“It's good you know that,” Rogue smirks, “Johnny was… strong, arrogant, uncompromising. He'd burn down half the city just to prove he was right. And burn the other half just for fun.”

“Sounds like…” V trails off, not completely sure of what she wants to say.

“Like a kid with a box o' matches and a can of CHOOH2.”

“Still stuck by him, though, didn’t you?” V can’t help but ask, more to herself than to Rogue, but the question bugs her. Even back in the day, Rogue was a certifiable badass, hot as all hell to boot. Yet she wasted her time on some greasy manchild?

“And how exactly would you know that?”

“Lucky guess,” V quickly covers her ass, “called him a kid, but way you say it, sounds more fond than mad, ya know?”

“Maybe, doesn’t matter, won’t speak ill of the dead, anymore burning questions or can I get on with my life?”

“I ain’t stopping you,” V says, shrugging her shoulders as she watches Rogue stomp out her cigarette and walk back down the alley towards the club.

V lets out a heavy sigh, she didn’t exactly get a great deal of information. She didn’t expect to get a biopic of the guy’s life. At the very least she got a bit of a better idea of his personality, but it’s done nothing to put her at ease. Anti-corp rockerboy, reckless, unpredictable, and destructive. It doesn’t give her much more of an idea of how to handle the guy. Misty is saying to give the guy a chance to at least talk, but god knows what he’d do if he had half a chance to hurt her again. V shakes her head, she knows Misty means well, but whether it’s fate or shitty luck, being stuck with this asshole can only mean bad news. She’d be better off keeping him under lock and key. It’s not worth the risk.

She makes her way back to her apartment at that, remembering her promise to sleep. She grabs a shower as soon as she gets home, letting the hot water relax her for a moment. Ther merc changes into comfy pajama, throwing on her slightly silly but cute plush golden brown hoodie, with little bear ears. It’s ridiculous and childish, but she loves it. The softness of it making her want to burrow under the sheets and never come up. Already exhausted and ready to sleep by the time she’s placed the moonstone in the shelves at the end of her bed cubby and sprayed lavender mist over the pillows.

Her eyes are already heavy when she lays down, half asleep already, she grabs her holo, deciding to try one more time. Evelyn hasn’t called back at all, so V sends her a quick text message. Right now, the blue haired woman is her only real lead on anything that could help. Other than speaking to Takemura and… that’s a road she’d rather not travel if she doesn’t have to.

V: We need to talk, it’s important!

[Unable to deliver message. Recipient may be temporarily unavailable.]

The merc blinks at her phone screen, yawning as she puts it aside, what on earth is going on with Evelyn? There’s no way Arasaka could have linked the heist to her is there? They wouldn’t have had a chance to track V’s call, Jackie’s phone had no correspondence with Evelyn if they got it, the bot couldn’t be linked back to her. Maybe Evelyn changed numbers and ditched town? V hopes the fuck not, but it would have been the smartest thing to do. But if so, V’s one lead is gone.

Thoughts and worries flicker through her mind, but exhaustion crashes down on her before they can run rampant, slipping into sleep. Darknesss flooding her vision.

A blanket of black then neon begins to bleeds through, brighter and brighter until it blinds.

World around her shifts and she’s no longer her but him.

Bright lights in a dingy club, the cling of sweat on skin, the weight of a guitar. Hands of flesh and chrome strum the strings, vocal chords straining as his voice screams out his lyrics. Kerry not far off to the side, the rest of Samurai behind him as they play through Blistering Love. A decent sized crowd screaming and dancing along to every note they play.

And its a soft thrum at first, the chaos that starts to erupt, but not because of the music. A steady murmur thats something is wrong, then chaos bursting forth as security starts running through the crowd. Trying to push through people, shouting over the music for someone to stop, unable to draw their guns in the sea of bodies without risk of hitting someone else.

Johnny’s gaze looks over to Kerry, confirmation that his friend is seeing this too, that the attention on them is shifting elsewhere. Samurai forced to play second fiddle to the growing commotion and when he looks back to the crowd he sees her, a woman cutting her way through the audience. Sweat stuck to her brow, a split lip with a steady drip of blood, and a wild mused mohawk of teal hair. Bloody lips pulled into a smug sneer as she ducks and dodges through the crowd, away from security.

Then that soft thrum explodes into something more, someone in the crowd throws a punch at a shoving bouncer and they throw one right back. The audience breaks out into a brawl as drunk idiots start attacking the bouncers or each other; blood spraying and teeth knocked clean out. Music stopping as they know the audience is done giving a shit about them.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Kerry curses as a beer bottle smashes at the back wall behind the band, nearly nailing him right in the head.

“We better delta before the pigs get called.”

“Take care of this for me, Ker,” Johnny ignores Nancy’s warning, handing Kerry his guitar. He can see her making her way towards the door, trying to slip out in the commotion with a bouncer still on her heels. He’s not letting her go without making damn sure she knows who he is. An undeniable pull of attraction to her, to the kind of woman who can turn a crowd of drunk club goers into a battle royale.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Kerry questions him, but Johnny’s already jumped off stage and into the fray, shoving and pushing his way through people. He walks surefooted, head held high and no shame as he cuts his way through. Shutting down anyone who gets in his way however he has too; a solid left hook, silver knuckles leaving their nose a cracked mess. Slamming an elbow into someone's jaw and hearing the crack of it over the noise of the crowd. All with his eyes staying focused on her, on the flash of teal hair under neon lights.

She's nearly to the backdoor, Johnny not far behind, when a heavy wraps around her upper arm. One of the bouncers finally gaining ground and trying to wrench her backwards, though he can't manage to drag the amazon of a woman back.

"Think you'd get away with this, bitch!"

Her hand pulls back to throw a punch at the bouncer, but Johnny's hands are faster, stepping in to save the day. He slams his fist onto the bouncer's face, nose cracking and teeth gnashing under the force of the blow. The man is knocked back, the woman's green eyes glaring at Johnny, she looks pissed. Lips bloody and sneering, eyes dark with distrust. Domineering and angry in her demeanor, even while he's playing hero.

He reaches over her to wrench the door open, an excuse to be in her space, taking what advantage he can of the small height difference. She's only around an inch shorter than him, the heels of his boots extending that difference slightly.

"C'mon, no reason to stick around," he says, hand on her back as he pushes her through the door into the alley.

The night air cools his sweat slick skin, the woman quick to move away from his touch as the door shuts behind him. Silence enveloping them with the noise of the club is shut out. Johnny just takes her in for a moment; hot as all hell. Sweat clinging to her skin, freckles across her cheeks, split lip, and dyed hair falling into her face. A face cold and cruel in its expression, contrasted against the flush of exertion on her skin.

"The fuck do you want?" She asks him, glaring. Tone and attitude nasty, making him smirk. Always did like the bitchy types, more fun when someone's got a bite to them.

"Just saved your ass, wouldn't kill you to say thanks," he returns, already thinking of tasting the blood on her split lip and grabbing a handful of her ass.

"Don't need your help, rockerboy." She rolls her eyes at him, if he gets half a chance he could have her eating out of the palm of his hand by daybreak. Or better yet, could find himself between her legs before the sun comes up.

Johnny's not stupid, knows damn well the effect he has. The way he can draw people in, only reason Kerry still hangs around, maybe the only reason Samurai still exists at all.

"How 'bout a drink then?" He offers, smirk on his lips. And she groans, pissed off by the littlest thing.

"Fuck off."

He watches her stomp off, eyes drawn to her ass and the swing of her hips. But he doesn't go after her. Not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him chase after her twice in one night, instead lighting himself a cigarette. He's seen her type before, runs with the Atlantis crowd; no doubt in his mind. They'll run into each other again.

And as he breathes out a cloud of smoke, the world around him obscures. Gray filling his vision, flooding it, choking him on it. Until his throat itches, his stomach churns, pain cracking through her head… her head.

A migraine wakes V up, every single cell in her body on fire, a sharp pang in the back of her skull. Her stomach clenches and twists, tighter and tighter. When she opens her eyes, the world is shifting and glitching, swimming before her, eyes unable to focus. Every muscle in her body winds itself into knots and can’t get a deep enough breath, lungs struggling to take anything in.

Relic Malfunction Detected

The words flash across her optics as she flops out of bed onto her knees, gasping for air and retching to vomit all at once. Body unsure of what to do while everything seems to fall apart at once. She clutches at her chest, claws at her rib cage desperate to feel if her heart is even still beating, begging herself to just breathe, to just breathe.

And it starts to pass, her stomach calming down, her breathing evening out. Her muscles starting to release some of the tension. She’s still dizzy and the world is still wobbly as she wipes spittle from her lips, forces herself to stand up. V needs to do something, speak to Vik, maybe he can give her something. Do something for it, but he’s made it clear he has no idea how to save her.

She trips over herself on the way to her bathroom, grabbing at her sink for some balance. Looking down with her eyes closed as she breathes, steadying herself, waiting for the new fresh wave of nausea to pass before she looks up into her sink mirror.

But it’s not her she sees. Johnny fucking Silverhand reflected back at her, leaning his hands against her sink and staring into her eyes; glare harsh with that barely contained anger he brims with. Always looking a moment away from lashing out. And when she twists her head, his follows, as natural as a reflection. Like she’s really him.

“Jesus fuck!”

She curses and jerks back, falling back onto her ass, not even minding so long as she doesn’t have to see him. V grabs at herself again, feeling that’s her. Soft flesh, not hard muscle, skin where his chrome is. Her blue painted nails, her dumb bear hoodie, her bleached hair, and her smooth face; that’s it her. That she’s still herself. And she is; for now, But for how long?

V can’t keep doing this, can’t just wait until Evelyn answers her calls or texts back, she needs to do something. Anything. Even with popping the blockers like candy, she’s seeing him, living his memories. He’s bleeding into everything and she’ll lose herself to him before long. She can’t hide away, Jackie would want her to save herself, would want her to live. And she if she intends to do that she needs to move.

The merc rises, as she’s had to so many times before. Her reflection is her own again, still woozy from the aftermath of the relic malfunction, but she pushes through to shower and change. Collecting all she needs before she leaves the apartment, marching out of the apartment building with single minded determination towards Tom’s Diner. She’s got a date with a corpo. Maybe it’s a trick and maybe he can’t help, but he’s something. As he put it so elegantly, if she intends to live, she’s got to get back in the ring and she’s been fucking around in the sidelines for too long.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #misty olszewski #female v #aidan becker

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heartau · 5 years

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Oooh you went to Neocity right? I’d love to hear descriptions of the boys in the words of a writer 🥰

omg this sounds fun !!! ok before i start this i just wanna say this is from what i personally saw when i saw them live. i was relatively close to the stage, enough to make eye contact and to be waved at, so i’ll do my best!!

taeyong: seeing him in real life was a little surreal because he looks exactly how he does in pictures and videos which is already jarring because he’s already really beautiful through those. he has really big, expressive eyes and the warmest smile; every time he would look at the audience he’d have this small smile that looked like pride. it was really really heartwarming to see. he has such a calming, relaxed and cute aura durings ments but once he started to perform... whew! his head also really big, honestly a lot of their heads were really big in real life which is adorable idjdjddk, but yeah!! i made eye contact with him a number of times and you would think his gaze would be intimidating but it really really wasnt! the only word i can describe the feeling i got from him is motherly :(

johnny: first and foremost, i do not believe that he’s 6’1... that man is gigantic. his proportions are so good, his leg to chest ratio is so... [chef’s kiss]. what you see of him in videos is truly what he is in real life, he’s so goofy and funny and lively and he always encouraged other members to do their thing as well. he’s honestly so hilarious too which makes me sad because it makes me feel like we’d get along really well if i knew him personally ... man i just wanna be his bff. but yeah he’s really tall, like towering over the other members tall; even taller than jungwoo, who was surprisingly tall as well. maybe it’s just me because i’m really short. he also has a small face in real life, but at the same time his features are so expressive that you dont even realize it haha. but yeah he’s just a happy, talented, gentle giant.

jungwoo: if i could describe jungwoo in one word it would be cherub-like. he literally has the softest features ever and he moves so gracefully, he literally glowed on stage and it was kinda shocking really. he was also really tall omg, like i was expecting it anyways since i knew that he’s around 6ft, but like... he’s REALLY tall. he has the SOFTEST, most honey-like voice but he speaks with so much confidence, it’s so so so cute and made me so happy. he also has really fluffy hair, like even from my seat i could see how soft and light his hair was; every movement he made that night just made his hair whip around really easily, like even if it was bleached you really couldn’t tell because his hair didn’t look fried at all. all in all jungwoo was truly angel-like and very graceful.

taeil: oh man taeil is beautiful on screen and through pictures already but in person he glows 100x more. he has really, really pretty skin that made him shine under the spotlight and his jawline is REALLY sharp omg. he’s also really short (which i was expecting... probably still taller than me though) and has a big head hehe. he’s also one of the members that had a really calming, nurturing energy, during the ments he would literally have heart eyes full of pride when he’d look at the audience, it was really really heartwarming. a GOOD butt. also his vocals are so, so, sooo good and very stable - there was one point (i think it was back 2 u(?) i can’t remember anything from that night other than my videos) where he used his headvoice for the highnote and not falsetto and it floored me - i’m a classically trained vocalist so you bet i freaked out in the audience. but yeah, taeil is just really calming and nurturing and REALLY funny too :(

yuta: yuta honestly shocked me because although i knew that he’s baby from interviews and other clips, i was still somehow intimidated by him, but when i saw them live he really stomped on my intimidation. he literally has the most fresh, most positive, most genuinely kind energy i’ve literally ever felt :( he had the biggest smile throughout the night, every time i’d look at him he’d just be grinning from ear to ear. “healing smile” doesn’t even come close to describing how GOOD his smile is in real life. he’s also short, something i really wasn’t expecting, like a good 2nd or 3rd shortest - really really REALLY funny too and a REALLY good dancer, i got some of his freestyle dance on camera and every time i watch it, i’m floored bc he hits every beat on the spot. i made eye contact with him at one point and i remember feeling just so happy and at peace, like... he’s not intimidating at all... he’s just a happy boy :(

mark: ohh mark... i see mark as a childhood friend so when he came out on stage i literally felt tears spring in my eyes. i live in vancouver and saw them in vancouver so i feel like that kinda intensified it a bit more as well. he is SOOOOOO undeniably funny its crazy, throughout the night i’d just be laughing at things he’d say (that were intended to be humourous ofc). his head also really big omg it was kinda jarring, and taller than i expected. his stage presence is so good, everytime they’d perform my eyes would sometimes land on him, literally SO good. honestly, when i walked into that venue i was expecting him to cry which i feared for because when someone cries, then i cry, but he didn’t!! although after the concert ended, when they were saying their goodbyes, they left mark alone to say his own goodbyes and when he was doing so, his voice kinda cracked before he did this bow and his eyes were a little glossy and i got SO SCARED because i didn’t wanna cry rkdndkdndk but yeah :( im proud of mark and you can tell that he holds pride in what he does as well!

donghyuck: MAN... donghyuck literally has the most beautiful skin i’ve ever seen. i know i’ve said this before but he glows, like he literally glows, fullsun is an appropriate nickname for him. he emitted nothing else but cute, happy, mischeviohs energy during ments but once he started performing his vibe changed so drastically it was crazy - especially during wake up and baby don’t like it. there was one part during baby don’t like it when he pressed his forehead against taeil’s and when i tell you how much i lost it because i wasn’t expecting it... oh man. i also see donghyuck as a best friend; i was born a week before he was and our natal charts are exactly the same save for our moons, so seeing him rip it up on stage was so so soo good it made me so proud :( i made eye contact with him somewhere during summer 127?? I WAS SO HAPPY AFTER like it was refreshing omg i sound so silly but im telling the truth iddndkjd he’s also shockingly tall as well, around mark’s height, maybe even taller, and REALLY long legs. like a good 90% of his body was made of leg didjdjdjd but yeah donghyuck is just... he’s really the sun and he was meant to perform.

doyoung: i will start this off by saying; i left that venue as a doyoungzen. doyoung... whew... he also shocked me because through videos and pictures i was NEVER intimidated by him at all, i honestly genuinely always just saw him as cute baby but man oh man. you know when you just KNOW that someone’s rich by the way they hold themselves? that’s doyoung... he’s really regal-like and holds himself really gracefully, like a strict prince type. he intimidated me SO much that night (in the best way possible... sexy intimidation... dont worry) like his energy was just so... intense. i made eye contact with him a number of times and when i tell you how SMALL i felt just from meeting his eyes... my goodness. he has really broad shoulders and a tiny waist, also really tall, small-ish head. his features are REALLY sharp like it’s crazy, i really have no other way to explain it. he also has really pretty hands, nimble-looking fingers. he was really adorable during ments and at one point kept hopping which was so CUTE but even then... man. his energy is just really intense. i ended up making him one of my ults after i left the venue.

jaehyun: deep inhale... so. jaehyun. honestly its kinda silly because i can remember so many details from the other members but i feel like once it comes to jaehyun i’m at a loss of words because of how in SHOCK i was to see him up close bc as you all know he’s my ultimate bias, it was my three years with him a few weeks ago. but gosh... jaehyun... i really can’t see the whole “cold prince” image they give him bc he’s so chill and relaxed? ok wow a few memories are coming to mind now; he has a really big head, which i was expecting because i’ve seen people talk about how big his head is but yeah it’s big but it’s CUTE he’s just a little bobblehead :( i made so much eye contact with him that night too and god like. i got some of those moments on camera and you can see through the videos how i’d just FREEZE every time we jefkenfkd he’s just... really chill, really relaxed, let the other members do their thing, but at the same time really silly and had this aura of confidence which was really nice. a lil shorter than i expected omg but his skin was reeallllyyyy nice and he’s very pale irl omg. he waved at me and my friend at the end of the show and i also got it on video and like... every time i watch it its just so surreal cuz like ... 😭 LIKE WHAT NOW how am i supposed to live the rest of my life now knowing i reached my peak at neocity like .... bruh

all in all these boys are just so talented and have the best stage presence ever, and they’re super SUPER interactive with the fans. beingin the crowd during touch and replay was just so... nice :( it was truly one of the happiest moments in my life and i hope that they come back soon !!! i also hope that the next time i see them, winwin is part of 127 again as well :( and lastly, i also hope that whoever is reading this sees them in the future as well bc u deserve it!!!

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bebaexoexo · 6 years

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Shit Oh Sehun did in 2017

-Mistook Jeonghan (svt) for Johnny (nct)

-Movie date with suho

-Slayed at the gaon chart award show with a solo dance

-Paris vacation/date with suho

-Got called best dressed man at a Louis Vuiton catwalk and then proceeded to spend the next day walking around Paris with a hood, baseball cap and a cowboy hat on his head all at one time

-Revealed his bed time snuggle routine with Suho, no shame attached

-Was supposed to debut as an Actor Oh in February, but didn’t…

-Was supposed to debut as an Actor Oh in March, but didn’t…

-Got an award for being himself (popularity award)

-Was supposed to debut as an Actor Oh in April, but didn’t…(NoT EvEn a FRackin TraIleR)

-Waved to a tablet instead of the camera, tried to play it cool by continuing to do so

-Posted about his big chilli… 0.0

-Got 15 points on a drawing game while everyone else got over 100 (he drew love hearts and wrote ‘I’m sorry’ for everything and still couldn’t accept being last)

-Howled because of sour pickles

-Members accuse him of being the prime suspect when food goes missing in the fridge, he agrees

-Used binoculars the wrong way round and couldn’t understand why he couldn’t see (Suho to the rescue and an embarrassed osh as a result)

-Gets driven around by big brother chanyeol

-CAN SING (might as well be in exo’s vocal line)

-Biyak Biyak 4 lyfe

-Rubbed his head on a random guy’s stomach (who looks like he’s his sugar daddy)

-Made suho sad because he didn’t go to a premier with him, but went to a festival with Chanyeol and guy whose stomach he rubbed his head on

-Danced (????) at said music festival. By dance I mean chicken fingers at the crowd wtf @ exo’s main dancer

-Can ya tell iv given up on the debut of Actor Oh

-Graced his instagram with such artistic pictures of rice, spoons and cereal

-Only one ft BoA returns

-KING OF SPOILERS sehun the cereal rice (kokobop) poster

-KING OF SPOILERS PT2 dancing the dance with kai can you all please stop this isn’t good for me

-Comments ‘is this exo’s official account?’ On exo’s official account

-“What did you do in preperation for this album?” “Loyalty”

-Passionately talked about eel reproduction

-“Favorite fruit?” “Water with ice”

-Gave flowers to the members because he’s their cute baby omfh (it was a punishment but same thing)

-*gives Kai a rose* “it fits you, you’re sexy and dark red suits you”

-Baekhyun confirms Sehuns big DIACK

-“Sehun has absolutely no interest I’m women. How do I know? Sehunnie said he has no interest in women”- Baekhyun

-Bragged about a really good noodle place, took 30+ people to eat and payed for them- but the food was disappointing

-“Say something to the EXO-L for their birthday” *sehun claps*

SUPER ELLE

-*brags about his dog at every chance he gets, literal protective father to vivi* “I am a cat person”

-EXOTOURAGRAM AKA SEHO AND FRIENDS

-“We’ve been roommates for 6 years I want to cross the line”

-Producer Oh

-“I’ve arrived!” \(-°o°-)/

-Date in NYC with suho (ft the third wheel JD)

-Pulls out chair for suho

-“Its enough just to film me, suho’ s voice in the background is fine”

-Couldn’t believe that a waitress in NYC can’t speak Korean

-Theatre date with suho (ft the late third wheel JD)

-Kicks suho out of their room

-SBS power fm- more like 2 hours of sehun whinning and crying from embarrassment while suho laughs

-“I really like chocolate milk. I think it’s love”

-“Sehunnie is upset~ upset~ really really upset… huhuu” AEGAO KING WHAY

-“I’ve been having a hard time too. At times like this, we should all embrace each other. There’s something I always tell the members and that is to to ‘hug/embrace (me)’. Let’s cheer each other on, got it everyone? Cheer up always and yea, that’s it” and this is why we love our baby

-Sehun irl- “I love all my hyungs to the moon and back #se-rang-hai-yo” Sehun in manwha- “who cares”

-LA date with suho

-DING DONG

-“Let’s goo” \(^o^!)__

-Just sehun trying to control his face while riding the drift car

-King of being HOT, calm and panicking at the same time when their car stalled

-Also Oh Sehun driving someone hold me

-Heart-shaped sweatpatch on his back

-“Excuse me… sir… ketchup ketchup yahh… thank you”

-“The hardest time isn’t when we have a lot of schedule but when the members have different opinions (argue). It saddens me a lot”

-Me me da

-Fan- “do sehun and i have something in common?” Sehun- “we’re human”

-Las Vegas date with suho

-Volunteers suho to go sky diving first like the little shit he is

-Wears a dress shirt and leather shoes to sky diving

-Acts like he isnt shitting himself on the zipwire

-Shamelessly wore nothing underneath an easily unzip-able hoodie

-MC Oh

-“Who is the scariest hyung?” “All of them”

-Tries to prank suho by putting a sticker on him, fails misrebly and then loses the sticker

-White suit blue shirt

-Chanyeol saying Sehuns voice is so good he wants to produce him PLEs

-Teary eyed sehun as eXO WIN RHE PRIME MINISFERS AWARD WWKBDUDBDJ

-Hello councellor MC’s @ seho “stop touching eachother are you guys coming out right now?”

-Sehun @ LVTN

-Gets customised bags from LVTN

-Sehun @ Moncler (also makes the CEO come out just to take pictures with him we love a powerful man)

-Peace signs in his pockets when hes told not to do it

-Doesnt follow seungri back on insta because aesthetics

-Omfg okay elyxion antics begins here

-SHIRTLESS SEHUN IMDG THAT BOY JUST THREW OFF THAT JACKETS WTF I JUST GOT OUT OF WORK AND THATS THE FIRST THING I SEE ON INSTA WTF OMG MY HEART I DONT EVEN KNOW WHATS GOING ON YET BUT I SAW FOKKIN RIPPED SEHUN AND SHIT THATS JISTVTJE LIFE OMG THIS IS GONNA BE LIT

-Wrote and co produced his solo In At thE CONCERT COZ WE LOVE A TALENTED KING

-Lovingly strokes suhos face during touch it

-Comforts kai, upset because he made a mistske in his solo, during cmb

-Danced to ka-ching with CBX

-Suho “after our concert ended at midnight yesterday, sehun and i went back to our door and boiled 20 eggs. 2 adult men peeled them seriously and ate 10 eggs”

-Kisses baekhyuns neck

-Eats pizza at the concert after holding back for months, members happy give us one last chance at seeing THE ABS

-Went crazy and got chanyeol too drunk on his birthday

-Fansites “please dont crop our watermark we work really hard for these pictures” Sehun ;)

-Cute instalive of him just trying on the filters and telling us not to be stressed and play

-SEHUN IN DEAR HAPPINES OMG GREY SEHUN IS DA BESTZ IN A THIN WHITE SHIRT OMG

-“OK!! goo” *pouts*

-“Hey dog, look at me~”

-“Cheese many manyyy”

-*is just standing there posing* Photographer “youre cute”

-Didnt know it was just him, kai and baekhyun in the lightsaber mv

-“Sehunnie makes the most delicious soju” byun baekhyun

-LEON KOREA

-Makes a personal training room in their dorm that can barely fit his own ass

-Supports suho at his musical despite both going through a tough time

-Struggles with the rudolph hat

-SINGING IN UNIVERSE YES DAS MA BETCH

-Subtly strokes suhos face on a national award show

-Make chanyeol kneel whenever he wants something from him. We love our king

-Curly haired solo on mbc gayo

-A beautiful family picture from Oh Sehun to end 2017

——–

Cr. Lerandomexotic

I had a lot of fun making this, just thought i needed to record sehuns never ending loveble antics etc

Feel free to add whatever else i missed

Hopefully he’ll just keep getting crazier next year too, and exo themselves will grow to be greatet and stronger

Like, reblog & excel

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doomedandstoned · 6 years

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Doomed & Stoned Turns Five!

Coinciding with Doomed & Stoned's fifth anniversary, Todd Severin of The Ripple Effect talks to Editor in Chief Billy Goate about this bitchin' lil blog, from its inauspicious beginning in the summer of 2013 as a simple social media platform to bring together lovers of the doom-stoner sound to dabbling in its own music festival, a massive compilation series, podcasting, and of course album reviews and interviews. Touching on both the joys and challenges of coordinating a multinational team of contributors, Billy discusses battles with burnout, the excitement of new discoveries, and the struggle to stay on top of an exponentially mushrooming music scene.

Photo by Chris Schanz

Let's start with the obvious: why Doomed & Stoned?

The name Doomed & Stoned isn't really meant to be edgy, though it does have a nice ring to it. It came to me as a simple way to sum up the heavy vibe that is the heart and soul of our writing: doom metal and stoner rock. I consider those to be the enduring styles of true metal and classic rock 'n' roll, best encapsulated by the music of Black Sabbath. Sabbath played music that was famously downtuned, slow, plodding, and somber, documented so incredibly by those first four albums. Then they had their up-tempo swings that tapped into the feel-good era of the 1970s, "Hole In The Sky" and "The Wizard" comes immediately to mind, as does "Sabbra Cadabra" and a number of songs on Sabbath Bloody Sabbath (1973) -- such a forward-looking album. Black Sabbath is the quintessential doomed and stoned band and it has been, broadly speaking, the stylistic portfolio of music we've decided to hone in on for this venture.

Photos by Alyssa Herrman

As soon as I was turned on to the doom-stoner vibe, I began to notice things happening into my own backyard of Portland, Oregon. At the time, Oregon’s proudest exports were bands like Witch Mountain, Yob, Lord Dying, Danava, and a handful of others that were being signed left and right to labels like Relapse and Profound Lore. Well, I just started documenting everything, because I felt there was something really special happening here, much as there'd been a magical vibe about our sister city Seattle in the '90s when my family had moved up here from East Texas.

It all began with me showing up randomly at shows and shooting live footage, I believe the first was the Portland Metal Winter Olympics in 2014, then Hoverfest. Initially, no one knew who the hell this guy was showing up with his camera, but gradually I became more accepted by the community, which opened up opportunities for doing interviews, album reviews, and a big 75-band compilation of the Portland scene, which kicked off this massive series of scene comps that many know Doomed & Stoned best for.

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Yob at Hoverfest (Film by Billy Goate)

What gave you this crazy idea of promoting the scenes to the rest of the world?

Doomed & Stoned originated out of a frustration I had in sharing discoveries like Windhand, Saint Vitus, Sleep, and Goatsnake with my metal friends. Many wouldn’t give these bands a chance or listened for half-a-minute and gave up. Surely, I thought to myself, there must be others out there who were just as in love with the doom-stoner genre as I am. It wasn’t long until I met Melissa Marie in a metal forum. I told her what I was planning, she was down, and together we burrowed in the heavy underground and discovered a whole community there welcoming us. Melissa was my first contributor and along the way, we made acquaintances with aspiring writers and photographers who really caught the vision and volunteered to document their own scenes. She's since become my executive editor and the organizer of our flagship festival in Indianapolis.

Suzi Uzi and Melissa Marie at Doomed & Stoned Fest

Just like that, the Doomed & Stoned team was born. Roman Tamayo joined the team shortly afterwards, now the Editor of Doomed & Stoned Latinoamérica and I started meeting people from all over who wanted to contribute an album review here, a bit of concert footage there. It all happened very naturally and organically, fueled by simple passion, a mutual love of fuzzy, downtuned riffs, and a desire to document the energy and excitement of what we were all witnessing -- Demon Lung in Las Vegas, Orchid in San Francisco, Pale Divine in Pennsylvania, Pilgrim in Rhode Island. It didn't take us long to discover was going on in the rest of the world and it blew our ever-lovin' minds.

With the explosion in blogging and desktop publishing, we gradually discovered there was a loose network of folks covering the doom-stoner scene all over the world, too. Most of them have been very friendly and we’ve even had the opportunity to collaborate with folks like The Sludgelord, Outlaws of the Sun, The Ripple Effect, Invisible Oranges, Revolver, Blabbermouth, and so many more. There are others that wouldn’t acknowledge our existence -- still won't to this day -- I’m guessing because we were viewed as unwelcome competition in an already small market with a tight circle of friendships. The thing is, we never really wanted to compete with anyone; we just wanted an outlet to share our love of music. It’s hard not to be competitive sometimes, of course. Competition can be positive in that it inspires you to push yourself, try new things, and grow.

Stephanie Cantu, Frank Heredia, and Elizabeth Gore at Psycho Las Vegas

That said, since none of the 20+ contributors to Doomed & Stoned are doing this full-time, we want ultimately just want to have fun and you can’t enjoy the ride if you’re constantly trying to outdo this site or that. We found our niche in digging into local scenes and telling the stories of the bands who may very well be the next Sleep or Windhand a decade or two into the future.

We're now in the fifth year of our existence and I feel we’re becoming known as people willing to give bands and their local scenes the kind of in-depth coverage they deserve. That speaks to our motto: “Bringing you the music and the stories of the heavy underground, with an emphasis on the Sabbath Sound and local scene coverage -- by the underground, for the underground.”

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Disenchanter at Doomed & Stoned Winter Showcase (Film by Billy Goate)

How has the scene grown and changed in the intervening years?

Well, since those bright-eyed early days, the doom-stoner scene has absolutely exploded. We were lucky enough to time our entry, purely by happenstance, to ride that wave just as it was nearing its crest. Right now, the scene is at least twice as big as it was five years ago and it’s becoming practically impossible to listen to all the new albums coming out, even if we limit the consideration to just doom metal, or even a subgenre of doom like blackened doom or death doom. It becomes a matter of practicality to prioritize those albums that are brought to your attention by PR firms and record labels, but I always remember that some of our greatest discoveries have been unsigned bands.

Over the years, we’ve been lucky enough to discover bands like Disenchanter, Holy Grove, Troll, Year of the Cobra, Toke, and dozens of others that have since risen to international prominence. Just to know you were there the moment their demo showed up on Bandcamp. You were among the first to listen to their self-produced CD on the commute to work. You were there to witness them opening for a touring headliner. You wrote their first review. You made that social media post that sparked a fire of interest. You recommended them to one of your overseas blogger pals. All of that is tremendously gratifying to be a part of.

Toke at Doomed & Stoned Festival I (photo by Johnny Hubbard)

We're all the product of our musical past. What's your musical history? First album you ever bought? First musical epiphany moment? First album that terrified the hell out of you?

I was raised by parents who came of age in the ‘50s and ‘60s, so I was exposed initially to a lot of late-‘60s rock, big band jazz, and later the ‘70s radio pop. Mom was fond of playing three classical music albums with a mix of music by Mozart, Beethoven, and Rossini, and that left a very powerful impression on me early on. She also was fond of Olivia Newton John, so I have “Jolene” permanently etched on my psyche and every so often vainly attempt singing it in the shower.

My first vinyl was the Ghostbusters soundtrack, which dad bought for me, and it unleashed a curiosity for the popular music of the ‘80s. Like a lot of my friends at school, I was nuts about Michael Jackson and I remember asking dad if I could have one of those swank red jackets that he wore so famously in “Thriller” (I was denied, though I did get quite good at grade school moonwalking). I distinctly remember the day my family got cable TV for the first time and with it MTV, which brought the music of Metallica, Boy George, Madonna, Aerosmith, and Run-DMC into our conservative Texas household.

It didn’t last long, because somewhere in the mid-‘80s, my family got caught up in the whole “Satanic Panic” movement. They started monitoring my listening habits vigilantly. One day, for instance, my mom was horrified to find her ten-year-old boy singing along to “Nobody’s Fool” by Cinderella during Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 show. From that point on, both rock and metal were banned from the house and my radio was confiscated. It was too late, though, because I was hooked – particularly by metal. Something about it has always moved me in a way that only classical music has matched. My first metal album, which I purchased in secret, was ‘Appetite for Destruction’ by Guns ‘n’ Roses – which at the time represented the pinnacle of late ‘80s heavy metal. People need to understand how revolutionary it was to hear something that “hard” on mainstream radio and MTV. I listened to it and ‘Lies’ incessantly on my Walkman and continued listening clandestinely to FM hard rock and heavy metal.

Since I couldn’t listen to it openly, I started developing an interest in the darker side of classical music, the moodier pieces by Beethoven, Liszt, and Scriabin, and took up playing the piano around 13. My family was supportive of that talent and I would spend hours and hours a day for years playing the piano in solitude. That was my first introduction, in kernel form, to “doom” – especially late Beethoven, when he started growing deaf and began expressing his frustration and despair more poignantly through dark tones. Franz Liszt, later in life, experienced so much tragedy that he begin to write very bleak, obscure music and was one of the first to experiment with atonality.

It wouldn’t be until my college days that I’d come face-to-face with doom at a Saint Vitus show in Portland. From that moment forward, I knew I’d discovered my soul food. Doom metal made an immediate connection, as it addressed the fucked up nature of life and society in a way that felt authentic to me. It wasn’t just anger. It was dark, slow despair and even a blithe kind of acceptance to it all. It was refreshing to have those feelings mapped out in song like that. That triggered a wave of discovery that led to Usnea, Cough, Pilgrim, Demon Lung, Serpentine Path, Undersmile, and others that are now staples of my musical diet.

Drumhead from Doomed & Stoned Festival II

What do you see happening in the music scene today, good and bad?

More people are digging to the doom-stoner sound and the scene is growing exponentially. The internet has democratized music in a way that has made it easier than ever for bands to form, record, and share their music. It’s also made it much, much harder for a band to get discovered. We’re simply oversaturated by it all. We’re reaching peak information and many listeners have just stopped exploring altogether. I think there was a study done some years back that said by the late-20’s/early-30’s the average metal listener typically hardens in their musical tastes. I don’t know how true that is still, but I know that I’ve been increasingly suffering from listening fatigue. 2014 was the last year I felt on top of it all. 2015 was explosive and every year since has found me woefully behind in my listening. I’m still digging through the rubble and discovering incredible records that I share now and then in a series of short reviews I call, “Doomed Discoveries.”

Among the trends I’ve seen in our scene in particular is the increase in female-fronted bands (which we tried to document in our compilation, The Enchanter’s Ball) along with more experimentation with genre blending. It’s becoming harder to find bands who traffic in traditional doom, but that’s fine because I think we all needed more diversity in our playlist to keep us from becoming jaded. For a while, it seemed every other band was “witch” this and “black” that. I’m the last person to judge a band by its name, but it was leading to a ton of criticism from fans -- to the point I’d have a hard time getting doom-stoner listeners to take a chance with a newer band that had the word “wizard” in their name. One thing that seems to be a theme of the doom-stoner scene is a continual drive for excellence and evolution. On the negative side, we tend to expect more of our heroes, as a result -- which is why bands like The Sword and Electric Wizard have been criticized for producing music that would have otherwise excited us if they were a brand new band.

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Holy Grove at Hoverfest (Film by Billy Goate)

What's been your all-time greatest "find"? That band you "discovered" before anyone else and started the word spreading?

It’s hard to pinpoint one band, but I’ve been instrumental in boosting the music of Holy Grove, Disenchanter, Troll, and Year of the Cobra -- all bands from out of the Pacific Northwest. Initially they were promoted through Doomed & Stoned and then found their way to small-to-medium sized record labels and festivals. Over half of the bands that played the Vinyl Stage at the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in the inaugural year of Psycho Las Vegas were my direct recommendations. Though I was less involved in the following year, Psycho Las Vegas booked most of the bands that appeared at Doomed & Stoned Festival, such as Merlin, Toke, and Youngblood Supercult. It was a huge confidence booster in Doomed & Stoned’s ability to be a “taste tester.” This is not to say our taste in bands has always been picked up by festivals or record labels. The scene is getting bigger and out of necessity bands have to diversify their reach through a multiplicity of media outlets, because you never know who will read that one feature at the right time and dig your sound. Besides, there’s too much music in the doom-stoner subgenre for any one site to cover right now, so there are plenty of great recommendations coming from a number of amazing blogs and webzines.

What's the last album to grab you by the throat and insist you listen?

Definitely ‘Celestial Cemetery’ (2017) by Purple Hill Witch. I was only a nominal fan of their first album, but their second one was quite convincing, emotionally. There’s an underlying sadness to the record that appeals to me as a person who has long battled depression.

Celestial Cemetery by Purple Hill Witch

What's the hardest thing you encounter in promoting shows?

Convincing people that live music is worth leaving the comfort of our homes to experience, to say nothing of many benefits that come from connecting others in the underground music community. These days, we tend to value how conveniently something can be delivered to us. Audio books have replaced the need to sit and read (and collect printed media), our homes have become veritable theaters so no need to go out for movies anymore, and streaming high-definition music makes us feel like we’re in some sense getting the real deal.

Of course, those of us who go out to shows know there’s just no substitute for the excitement, energy, and sound of a well-produced live show, especially in a small venue. This is to say nothing of the community that comes with it. My best friendships in the scene have come about because I chose to breach my comfort zone and venture out to a show, sometimes merely on a whim. With that said, I admit I struggle with convincing myself to go out. It’s the introvert in me, I suppose. However, I have a saying that I try to live by: “Feel the fear and do it anyway.”

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Witch Mountain -- first tour with Kayla Dixon (Film by Billy Goate)

If you could write a 1,000 word essay on one song, which one would it be, and why? What makes that song so important?

Funny, I actually did write a 1,000+ word essay on Cough’s “Possession” -- the only song I’ve been moved to write an entire piece about so far. I think it’s because it spoke to me during a time in my life where I was feeling such raw, charged emotion and witnessing a personal transformation from being a happy-go-lucky, easy-going dude, to someone emptied of hope and weighted down by a very nihilistic outlook and pessimistic thinking. This was, in turn, keeping me more closed off from other people, because my trust level was at an all-time low.

I’ve always valued music for its ability to commiserate with me in my circumstances. During Basic Training it was Superunknown and Down on the Upside by Soundgarden. In my college days, it was Alice in Chain’s last album just prior to the death of Layne Staley, which fans nicknamed Tripod. In 2016, Cough returned after a long absence, released Still They Pray, and headlined the first ever Doomed & Stoned Festival in Indianapolis. It was a year of transition for me with a lot of upheaval in my personal life and “Possession” seemed to capture my inner storm perfectly, which inspired me to write a few words about it.

Give us three bands that we need to keep our eyes out for.

White Wail: The grooviest psychedelics this side of Berlin are nested right here in Yob country, my hometown of Eugene, Oregon. White Wail is best described as part-Graveyard, part-Radio Moscow, with a special kind of DIY electricity that has made them hands down one of the most entertaining live acts in the region. Their upcoming second album is going to put them on the map for many people, I predict.

I by White Wail

Reptile Master: Norwegian doom-sludge clan with two guitars, two basses, a drum, and one unhinged vocalist. You’ll find none fiercer. “The Sorcerer’s Weed” (opening number off their first LP, In The Light of a Sinking Sun) is positively frightening. I can feel its seething rage filling up my chest cavity like pneumonia every time I listen to it. I believe they’re expecting a new album out in the first quarter of 2019, if not sooner, and I can't wait!

Chrome Ghost: The ultimate contrast of light and dark come to us from a relatively unknown band in Roseville, California. The secret sauce here involves incredible vocal harmonies pitted against massive, crunchy riffs, something that’s done very effectively in their recent EPs, ‘The Mirror’ (2018) and ‘Reflection Pool’ (2017). Now, they just need to take this show on the road so the world can get better acquainted with them.

Shallows by chrome ghost

Tell us about your personal music collection. Vinyl? CD? What's your prized possession?

People think I have a huge vinyl collection, but mine is quite modest, really. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have a bigger collection and show it off, but unfortunately, I haven’t a lot of money to put into it, really. My most prized records come from bands I’ve supported from their earliest stages, like Holy Grove, Menin, Soom, or Vokonis. CDs have come to dominate my collection, not so much by choice, but quite a few promos are sent to me that way. Mostly, I have a vast digital collection that takes up almost six terabytes of data. Since I’m doing a lot of podcasting, this allows me the easiest point of access to put together my mixes for The Doomed & Stoned Show.

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BelzebonG at Psycho Las Vegas (Film by Billy Goate)

What is it about this particular type of heavy music that makes it mean so much to you?

To me, doom metal and stoner rock has incredible staying power. It’s something I can listen to over and over again without growing weary of it. Add to that the fact bands in this genre take so much care in crafting their live sound and you can go to any doom-stoner show knowing you’re going to have an incredible time, perhaps even walk away with a better experience than the record gave you. I was constantly disappointed by the concert experiences I had while immersed in mainstream metal. It just never sounded as good as the records did. With doom-stoner music, my experience has largely been that a band's show can, and often does, transcend their studio recordings. It’s just the ethic of our scene; we're fanatical about sound.

With BelzebonG

What makes it all worthwhile for you?

That's a really good question. My philosophy is that as long as we’re all still having fun, it’s worth it to keep doing Doomed & Stoned. With that said, it can be very demanding and stressful, especially as we’re increasingly turned to by bands, labels, and PR firms to host track and album premieres. The gratification of a piece well done -- whether by me or by one of my team members -- is ultimately what keeps me going day-to-day. I find a lot of joy in developing talent and even helping writers and photographers hone their craft, gain greater name recognition, and develop the confidence to even branch out on their own as freelancers. Several have gotten gigs with larger outlets like Noisey due to their work here and that just blows my mind.

When Melissa first started, she wasn’t confident at all that she could do an interview. Next thing you know, she’s interviewing Wino, negotiating contracts with promoters, booking venues, and organizing a music festival with international acts. I’ve very proud of the team and everyone who has been a part of it, if only for a season. I'd add to that my relationships with growing record labels and ambitious promoters, who I've been able work with to get bands like Tombstones, BelzebonG, Spelljammer, Vokonis, Cardinals Folly over here to play for the first time in the United States.

With Disenchanter

How would your life be different if you weren't spreading the word about music?

I suppose I’d be spending more time playing the piano, something I’ve neglected more than I’d like to admit since starting Doomed & Stoned. There are some gnarly pieces by Beethoven, Liszt, Scriabin, Godowsky, and Prokofiev that I've half-chewed, just waiting for me pick them back up again. Either way, I don’t think I can stay passively involved in music. I have to be playing it or writing about it, preferably both.

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Usnea play 'Random Cosmic Violence' (Film by Billy Goate)

Ever been threatened by a band or a ravenous fan?

No, but I’ve been doggedly pursued on Facebook by overly enthusiastic bands trying to get me to review their albums. What they don’t realize is that I’ve got a very heavy editing backlog -- it takes at least 2 hours and more commonly 4, 6 or even 8 hours –- to prep a feature length piece for publication. To review a record, I need even more time to let it soak in. I have to find something in it that connects with me on an emotional or at least an intellectual level or I can’t write about it. Because of that, I don’t write very many reviews a years. Maybe a half-dozen traditional, track-by-track reviews, though I do try to write at least one short review a week on our Facebook page.

Part of the blessing and the curse of doing this as a hobby, as opposed to full-time, is I don’t have a lot of opportunity to hear gossip, get into interpersonal dramas, know who's not speaking to whom -- that kind of thing. With that said, I really wish I could spend more time responding to every message I receive and developing deeper level friendships. Perhaps in time I will. My work schedule is so packed right now that it’s very hard for me to tear away and just relax and get to know people. On the positive side, it does save me from a lot of inter-scene conflict and allows me to be more of a neutral party when issues arise between bands, venues, promoters, forums, or fans.

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Saint Vitus Live in Portland (Film by Billy Goate)

In the end, what would you like to have accomplished, or be remembered for?

I’m hoping we can be remembers for documenting this special era in heavy music history. I want to get better at showcasing the bands in their scenes and telling their stories, just like the writers and photographers of the Seattle grunge era were able to capture the imagination of the world with the Nirvana-Soundgarden-AIC-Pearl Jam vibe of that scene in the early-to-mid ‘90s -- what the 1996 documentary Hype! captured so well. I also hope I’ll be remembered for writing interesting, engaging, and relatable music reviews that aren’t pretentious crap. That’s still a work in progress!

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Bell Witch at Doomed & Stoned Fest (Film by Billy Goate)

Many people may not realize the hours you devote to what you do for little or no pay. Is there a day job? If so, how do you find the balance?

This is most certainly not a day job. I have a full time job that I work 40-50 hours a week and I do Doomed & Stoned in the evenings and weekends. Right now, I’m not doing very good with the balance, to be honest. I’m an unrepentant workaholic, if I’m being honest with myself. That said, every other weekend, my mind and body revolt and refuse to allow me to do anything except sleep or just lay around watching movies or doing normal things like, you know, mowing the lawn. If I could will it, I wouldn't sleep more than four hours a night, hit every show that comes to town, review every new release, put out a podcast every week, edit every article within a few days of it being submitted to me. In other words, I'd manage Doomed & Stoned as if it were a full-scale entertainment website. However, I have to remind myself that I started this to build community and to have fun, so it’s okay to operate on a different model.

Filming Elder at Dante's in Portland (Photo by Matt Amott)

What's next? Any new projects?

This year, we’re on a roll with our compilations, thanks to some wonderful organizers who are embedded in their local scenes and are good at rounding up tracks from all the participating bands. We’ve released Doomed & Stoned in Ireland, Doomed & Stoned in Philadelphia, and Doomed & Stoned in New Zealand, Doomed & Stoned in South Africa, Doomed & Stoned in Sweden, and we're coming up on Doomed & Stoned in Deutschland, and our fifth anniversary compilation, Doomed & Stoned in Portland III.

Other than that, we’re in the third year of our flagship festival, Doomed & Stoned Festival, which takes place on October 6th & 7th in Indianapolis. Over the summer, we’ve had two new festivals: Chicago Doomed & Stoned Festival and Ohio Doomed & Stoned Fest. We’ll likely be doing a festival in Portland later in the summer, too, perhaps doing an all-dayer in Eugene, too. These are very much passion projects and we're lucky to break even on them, but the joy of putting on a successful fest that brings together members of the community, that brings bands like Vokonis and Cardinals Folly to the United States for the first time, is totally worth it. This is history in the making. More than that, it's vital therapy for our people -- refueling our storehouses with the power of the Riff!

Finally, other than the music, what's your other burning passion?

I have cats that I love to death. I’m a fanatical collector of B-movies, from the ‘60s and ‘70s especially –- the more awful the movie is, production wise, the more I delight in it. Probably that has a lot to do with growing up on Mystery Science Theater 3000. When B-movies and cats collide with music, I’m in a very happy place (see the band Gurt!). Also an avid fan of vintage comic books -- many of the narratives of the pre-code 1950s comic books were taking chances that rival many of the shocking storylines of Marvel and DC today. Surprisingly, one of the themes that I see recurring between titles is DOOM! It's a delight every time I discover one of these stories. Art, film, and music have a very important, symbiotic relationship and I find it tremendously gratifying to play historian and trace the threads of the past into the present and watch how they continue to evolve into the future.

I've also got a gang of cats that keep me in line and like to be very involved with the production of Doomed & Stoned, so much so that I've had to make cat beds in front of my monitor and in the drawer of one of my desks for a pair of twins I adopted from the pound some years back. They absolutely are enthralled with that desk of mind, whether I'm editing an article or interviewing someone for a show! Best of all, they love them some doom. They sleep soundly every time I've got the likes of Sea Bastard or Serpentine Path rumbling my speakers. Wouldn't trade 'em for all the vinyl in the world.

Meet The Team

North America

Billy Goate (Editor in Chief -- Oregon), Melissa Marie (Executive Editor -- Indiana), Frank Heredia (California), Elizabeth Gore (California), Stephanie V. Cantu (Texas), Chris Schanz (Washington), Papa Paul (Pennsylvania), Zachary Painter (Texas), Alex Watt (Oregon), Alyssa Herrman (Oregon), Hugo Guzman (California), Lara Noel (Chicago), Suzi Uzi (Chicago), Jamie Yeats (Montana), Stephanie Savenkoff (Oregon), Corey Lewis (Oregon), Colton Dollar (California), Adam Mundwarf (Oregon), Dan Simone (Ohio), Shawn Gibson (North Carolina), Tom Hanno (New York), Eric The Red (Oregon), Justin Cory (Oregon), Jamie LaRose (Florida).

International

Roman Tamayo (Mexico), Sally Townsend (Australia), Calvin Lampert (Switzerland), Mari Knox (Italy), Svempa Alveving (Sweden), Juan Antonio (Spain), Angelique Le Marchand (UK), Jacob Mazlum (UK), Mel Lie (Germany), Silvi Pearl (Austria), Simon Howard (Australia), Matthew Donk (UK), Willem Verhappen (Netherlands).

Doomed & Stoned would also like to thank contributions from Ben Edwards, Brian Schmidt, Bucky Brown, Cherry Darling, Chris Latta, Curtis Parker, David Glass, David Knottnerus, Doomstress Alexis, Doug McHardlane, Drew Smith, Eleanna Safarika, Gonzalo Brunelli, Gustav Zombetero, Hannah Rachel Lowe, Jake Wallace, Joey Demartini, Johnny Hubbard, Jules Maher, Leanne Ridgeway, Marcel van der Haar, Mathew Jacques, Mona Miluski, Patrick Alex Thorfinn, Paul Bracamonte, Randy Beach, Sabine Stangenberg, Sandra Mez Russotto, Sandy Wright, Sarah Eriksson, Sean Schock, Stef Dimou, Steph LeSaux, Steve Howe, Thäedra Clare, Wendy Yashira, Ygor Silva, and so many others who have supported us directly or indirectly.

Mona Miluski from High Fighter sporting our basic black

Show your Doomed & Stoned pride! Get a t-shirt or sticker and become a patron of The Doomed & Stoned Show. You can also check out and share our free scene-by-scene compilation series. Donations help us to fund cool projects, such as new t-shirt designs, patches, etc. and helps with the much needed funds for web-hosting, data storage, and lots more besides. Most of all, we value your regular readership. Thanks so much for being a member of the Doomed & Stoned family!

#Doomed & Stoned #Doomed & Stoned Festival #Purple Hill Witch #Chrome Ghost #White Wail #Reptile Master #Yob #Disenchanter #Holy Grove #Witch Mountain #Saint Vitus #Bell Witch #BelzebonG #Doom #Metal #Doom Metal #Stoner Rock

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fadingvitality · 3 years

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The Red Doors Write - Pride -Texts From Last Night

*Antoni was my favorite coworker. Why he had decided to slum when he took a job at Castaways I would NEVER know. He totally had the swagger for posh, hipster, shi-shi bars in the city, but instead he ended up at the place that was a lot more rough around the edges, of course what it lacked in swank, it made up for in character. The place had charm and the patrons were exceptional. He tried to tell me it was me that sold him. I attempted to play coy, but I just didn’t do coy and I was immediately friend-smitten. Besides his adoration for me, there were several reasons Antoni was my work ride-or-die. One, he was in culinary school. HELLO. I was his favorite taste tester, most likely because I scarfed down anything that was non-ramen and raved about the flavor profiles, ingredients and how he was a kitchen God. I was not born with the ability to poker face, and subsequently he was amused by my quirky and over-the-top reactions. But the wonderment he brought to my mouth was not where his awesomeness ended. For our second match, he, like me, was exceedingly bisexual. Not only that, we had both leaned same-sex oriented in our comparable history but had recently come to realize we weren’t meant for a singular Skittle color. Nope, we had been deprived of tasting the rainbow. Tragedy had been narrowly avoided.

It was fate. Destiny. Coworker magic.

Antoni was sooooooooooo my people. We quickly fell into the scandal of rating our patrons on a scale from would-do-sober to not-even-shitfaced. We were the best bartenders at Castaways and Johnny knew it, which is why he had been so easily swayed to let us schedule all our shifts together for Pride month, including the cherry Friday and Saturday nights. To our delight, he handed off the responsibility of decorating to us, and we delivered. In place of life preservers were Unicorn floaties, and I had ingeniously used rainbow ribbon purchased at the dollar store to pinstripe the walls. Antoni had swapped out some of the blue lightbulbs for all the colors of the rainbow and added a bowl of temporary Pride themed tattoos in coconut shells at the entry.

I was too sad the end of the month was looming, because Pride could not be topped. Sexy, beautiful people celebrating love in all its forms and feeling free and proud to do so. It was never short on kinky fuckery either. The vibrations were ninety-nine percent high, with only the occasional disruption to the mood.

Many-a-rule were overlooked during Pride, basically it was like a party we got paid to work at. Johnny said as long as we used our noggins, we could enjoy ourselves and he’d set his eyes towards the sea. Yes, he liked to be cute like that, relating everything back to the theme of his bar. Antoni and I made a rule, no more than one drink or shot an hour. If someone was begging, we had a dummy bottle of water we’d fake a pour with. One drink an hour still allowed for a little buzz but there would be no shit-faced-drunk-and-therefore-amorous Elliot showing ass. Antoni and I did offer ourselves up shamelessly for body shots on request…and he got just as many as me, not surprising, he was smoking hot. Some of our frequenters preferred we take the shots off each other, and we always worked it. I needed rent and he was paying his own way through school. It was worth the exhibition, and it’s not like we hated it, even if we’d never go there.

It was the last Saturday of Pride and Castaways was packed. The night was zooming by and it was already close to ten. We were well prepared for the craziness that we suspected would ensue. This was it and not a soul would waste it.

There was one guy throwing the mojo off, though. He stuck out like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time but didn’t know how to excuse himself from the table. I couldn’t help but notice Antoni was giving him a lot of his ear, like his entire ear, and didn’t seem irritated in the least. I had to investigate. I slid a couple of vodka tonics in the direction of two boys and gave Antoni the head jerk so we could meet up in the middle of the bar. He didn’t leave me waiting, what a gent.*

Alright, spill. What’s with the broody dude camping in front of you?

*”First…One tequila.” That was nearly a sober rating! I gave a little side-eye down the bar. Okay, he was easy on the eyes, just slightly too… sad-daddy looking. My eyebrows lifted as I silently begged for the sordid details.

Antoni slung a towel over his shoulder and turned to wash some glasses at the sink. “His name is Benjamin. It seems Benji has some hardcore bottom curiosity and wants to get him some before the clock strikes pumpkin to commemorate Pride. Specific, I know. And… potential complications.” Just then we both got flagged for some orders. RUDE. “Update at eleven.”

I laughed at him despite the reluctant split and we were kept apart for what seemed like an hour. Not that it was all torture… There was tongue around my navel action courtesy of a hot little thing with pierced nipples, and blowjobs, so many blowjobs. The shot…not the act. The patron that bought a third round absolutely insisted Antoni and I both partake. He leaned in to lick some whipped cream off my neck which was more about whispering in my ear. “Okay, I agreed to give him what he wants.”*

That’s it? *I slugged him in the arm.* That is not the TEA.

*I could see he was hiding something so he got the serious-Elliot-eyes and he coughed it up. “He’s married, but the missus knows. SHE KNOWS.” That was the serious-Antoni-voice that said he knew it was messy but also, fuck it.*

I better be the first to hear from you post disaster, dude.

*He smirked, full on, unabashed smirking as he walked backwards. It was a dirty weapon he wielded like a master. He could totally charm panties off with that thing, and also pound some virgin ass, or so it appeared. As the night progressed, people got louder, threw more money at us, downed an obscene amount of alcohol, and sang off key. Benji was still in the same spot, and if he’d gotten up to piss, I missed it. As if I hadn’t endured enough suspense, Antoni gave me the puppy-dog-eyes and asked for me to close on my own. I agreed on the condition that he feed me delicious things. The deal was closed on a little handshake trend we’d picked up.

“I’ll text you.” He winked and then he was out of there with sad-daddy Benji. Luckily for me Johnny showed up twenty minutes later and hooked a thumb towards the door.

“Get out of here, Indigo. Place looks good enough and I’ll lock up.”

A Lyft ride, short walk and shower later, I was in bed and crashed hard.*

========================================================================

*I woke to my phone buzzing off the nightstand what seemed like a blink later, but I could see the sunshine peeking under my door, alerting me it was in fact, daylight.

I grabbed my phone off of the floor and saw the text alert from my precious Antoni, and holy crap! It was almost eleven!

I thumbed over the numbers to enter my password and opened right to his text.

“Double high-fived his wife and her sister on the way out. If I’m not the best mistress ever tell me how.” I cracked up, and I really needed the salacious details pronto. I texted back. “Spill.”

I impatiently waited as little dots teased on the screen, while silently appreciating his full sentence texting style. “TOO scandalous and detailed for text, meet me at Menotti’s and I’ll spring for your sprinkled donut.” Drool. I tapped out what felt like a very enthusiastic reply, as it bounced out of my brain and onto the screen. “Sold. I will be there in fifteen but keep your expectations of me on the lower end.” I hit send with a laugh and popped out of bed to get dressed and out the door.*

========================================================================

*I arrived right on time and spotted Antoni at a table outside, my donut and black coffee waiting in front of the empty spot. I leaned down and dropped a kiss to his cheek, before I sat.*

Aren’t you going to eat?

*He waved me off. “No. Already stuffed.” He shot me a look that said “don’t even” and I shut myself up with a bite of donut. “Also, you look flawless. Stop it.” Then he got right down to it.

“So last night, I somehow ended up the priest to Benji’s confessions. He spilled it out in every detail. But the best part didn’t happen at the bar. Anyway, since Benji’s wife couldn’t really fulfill what he was looking for, her sister had suggested she let him get it somewhere else. Find a willing guy to satisfy the urges.

Girl, we got to his place and he was eager. In a blur he was down on his knees slobbing my knob like he’d been born for the job, and then without delay splayed himself for the taking. We are talking face down, ass up, cheeks spread in invitation. NO SHAME.”

I choked on my sip of coffee that I of course chose to take right at the moment the cheeks and spreading part of the story happened.*

But how did you end up high fiving his wife and his sister? I don’t get it!

*”Impatient! I’m getting to that! Shhh. So, after a little prep work a la sous chef, I gave him every inch I had to give. The more merciless I was, the harder he got. Heavens, he was tight. There were moans, there were obscenities, there were...giggles at the door.” My eyebrows flew up.

“Right? So, anyway, he was too busy enjoying my cock to notice my glance over the shoulder where we had not one, but two ladies in the audience of our intimate show. I winked at them, yes, I did. I also had no shame. And then I really gave it to him, winding my hips in dramatic rotation before slamming into him hard and making him wail like a banshee. It was glorious. The smacking, the taking of virgin butthole, the way he proclaimed I satisfied him beyond wildest imagination. I came four times before his ass passed out.”*

Oh my GOD! You ho!

*We both laughed before he kept on, because apparently he wasn’t done.”So I woke up, right? And he’s still crashed so I roam down to the kitchen. I was starved but also, I just wanted to tack on a little exclamation point to the wild night and put my culinary skills to work.

Who do I find? The wife’s sister! She was one of the little voyeurs. Her name was Angie. Turns out Angie gave the idea to her sister, Katie, about Benji getting banged because, get this, Ang has a thing for male-male romance novels. She regaled me with stories of her favorite fictional pairings while I whipped up some eggs benedict and breakfast potatoes for the house. We congratulated each other on likely saving a marriage.

Benji and Katie made their appearance together. His cheeks still looked flushed, but the breakfast spread dispensed with any lingering awkwardness. We got along famously, and it was stupid comfortable. After a breakfast where Benji was notably shifting and maybe still a tiny bit shell-shocked, it was time for me to say my goodbyes. Benji got a reassuring squeeze but the ladies were waiting by the door. I told them I was glad they enjoyed the show and the high fives happened. You were my first text as soon as I hit the Lyft.”

I was cackling. It could not be helped and the man was due a toast. I lifted my coffee cup and he held up his chai.*

To a Pride well done.

*I signature winked and he smirked. “And a Benji.”*

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weneverlearn · 6 years

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Dead Boys 1977

Interview with Clevelander Dave Treat about his new photo book that peaks into some daze in the pre-legendary life of the Cleveland punk rock masters.

It’s easy to forget that, by their initial demise circa 1980, the Dead Boys were considered a kind of dark summation of the original American punk rock explosion. A blistering live act no doubt, they were “the Stooges played fast;” glam rock sans glitter; even proto-power pop given the best hooks of the second album. One of the ultimate flameouts in rock’n’roll history, their punk status was cemented just under the ubiquitous Lower East Side canon. And heaven forbid, they were from Cleveland.

But as the years roll on, the layers of their status have shifted and deepened. Being from Cleveland – actually forming out of bands who pre-dated the CBGB scene (Rocket from the Tombs, Frankenstein) – makes them punk originators, not just the out-of-towners they were sometimes painted as when they moved to the Big Apple in 1977. Their debut album, Young Loud and Snotty, remains perhaps the most consistently invigorating American punk album of that era. Singer Stiv Bators’ too-soon death, guitarist Cheetah Chrome’s long journey to find himself, it all inadvertently lent gravity to the band’s more immediate and welcome sense of humor that put them in stark contrast to the sometimes pretentious CBGB scene.

And in the last few years, Chrome has been busy as hell, making new records, playing Dead Boys songs again with various friends, and doing occasional solo acoustic sets that can be genuinely tear-quelling in their intimacy and memory-dredging.

If you haven’t checked out Chrome’s 2009 biography, A Dead Boys Tale: From the Front Lines of Punk Rock, you should! It not only gives a flailing firsthand account from one of punk’s template tossers, it articulates to outsiders that Cleveland was the equal to NYC as THE post-industrial blank canvas for young, drunk, and broke punks to come up with their own thing. Further, you will find no trust fund kids in his story, no relocated Connecticutians sliding into ripped jeans and hoping nobody finds out their dad is a Wall Street lawyer. As “punk” has incrementally defined its soul as a working-class genre, the Dead Boys story becomes more and more foundationally iconic.

And now this beautifully bleak collection of photos and quick quotes, Dead Boys 1977: The Lost Photographs of Dave Treat. It’s a perfect companion to the first few chapters of Cheetah’s bio. Half are gloriously raw shots of the band awkwardly striking poses around the desolate streets of downtown Cleveland as a newly minted, four-piece Dead Boys. The second half is color photos from two 1977 Cleveland shows. Then the book closes with achingly alone solo shots of Stiv, also shot during one afternoon (Treat lived in the same building where Stiv and Chrome roomied.) Stiv had an uncanny visage that could be simultaneously madcap and melancholy. For a guy who would whip it out anywhere on command and who spent the majority of his adult work life yelling loudly on stage, he remains a mystery man in many ways. And you see that mystery in his eyes and bent body through these pix.

As you arrive at the end of this book, you feel as if you just spent a day and night with the Dead Boys. Your inclination on closing it is to swig back the last backwash, throw the bottle down, and say “See ya later” to the guys, walk out onto Detroit Ave., and never look back, just like they did.

The photos herein were meant as a no budget attempt at “promotional rock photos,” but the band soon added a fifth member and moved to NYC, so these photos have been sitting in a box since then. Save for one small gallery show where a few of them were displayed, this is the first time they appear.

I asked Treat about the book and more.

The Dead Boys pose for Dave Treat on Huron Avenue in Cleveland, 1977, a time when the central city was so desolate you could do this in the middle of the day and hardly see another soul. L-R Johnny Blitz, Cheetah Chrome, Stiv Bators, Jimmy Zero. Photo credit: Dave Treat

Did you grow up in the Cleveland area?

Yes, on West 41 St., off of Clark Avenue.

So when and what were the initial inspiration to drag these pix out and do something with them?

Actually, I didn’t know I still had them. I was cleaning out some boxes and there they were. That was three years ago. I went to Blue Arrow Records and started talking to Pete the owner, and he liked the pics. He had Brittany Hudak look at them and she wanted to do a gallery show at Gallery 61-- owned by Byron Miller, who also printed them for me -- with a 25th Anniversary Show honoring the loss of Stiv Bators. That is how it all started. Clem Burke of Blondie came to the Cleveland Stiv show on Waterloo and gave us a number and recommendation to Lethal Amounts in LA. The gallery show was first, with Cheetah playing to a sold-out crowd after at the Monty Bar.

How did you first meet up with Cheetah and Stiv?

I moved to an apartment on Giel Avenue in Lakewood. About three months later, Stiv moved into the building. We met and became friends. Cheetah was always there. One note: Stiv and Cheetah wrote some of the songs for Young Loud and Snotty in their bathroom. Cheetah on the toilet and Stiv in the tub.

The pic with the band next to the dumpster – what was the impetus behind purposely shooting in garbage? Were any of the members like, “Can we take nice shots somewhere, like maybe at Swingos?” I know Cheetah mentions the first Ramones album cover as inspiration.

No nice pics, it was decided to go downtown and find the place we shot the photos. Cheetah liked the Ramones album cover. Collectively, we wanted the urban decay, the garbage and the dilapidated buildings. We didn’t want them lined up against a wall, but something unique to them.

So how present were the Ramones and the notion of this new "punk" music in your life personally?

For me, the intro into punk was through the Dead Boys. Meeting and seeing their passion for this new sound was amazing. It pulled you in. Finally, something new in Cleveland.

What were the live music clubs you'd go to, and were there local bands you could stand? I know Cheetah's told me how it was mostly lame blues or ‘60s cover bands, if any live music at all...

Pirate’s Cove, Agora, Jicky’s After Dark, Piccadilly’s.

Pere Ubu, The Pagans, Styrenes.

(A history-smushing aside: The Pirate’s Cove turned into Peabody’s, which I frequented in my youth (Replacements, Pixies, Godfathers, Death of Samantha, Rocket from the Crypt, among many), and only died a few years ago; and the Agora is still there, operating on/off.)

Can you just give me a random crazy Stiv story, and maybe one that is not expected from the "wild man" he's known as?

Came home from classes, started knocking on the door, looked in the hall and Stiv was having sex with someone. He looked up, waved, smiled and put up his index finger to say just a minute. I laughed and went upstairs.

Dropped at the door of Drome Records, 1977.

Was Stiv a late night, drunkly opening up with his feelings kinda guy?

No, not at all. He was always upbeat. He liked having a good time, pulling a good prank…never melancholy.

Dead Boys singer Stiv Bators poses for Dave Treat at the Cleveland Agora with their friend and neighbor “Barb the Fat Bitch” (a joking nickname for someone who, according to Cheetah Chrome, was in fact neither fat nor a bitch). Photo credit: Dave Treat

I grew up in Cleveland - Parma Hts., to be exact -- and the whole Catholic thing about Cleveland is one of the simmering things inside the Dead Boys that I always loved, and makes them so "Cleveland," no matter their fame gained in the Big Apple. But did religion actually come up much? Or any stories of desecrating churches or anything?

Religion never came up. Nothing too outrageous. Stiv putting his finger on his throat and barfing on a Denny’s window while people were eating. Cheetah pissing out the window or back porch. Cheetah mooning two ladies walking on Giel Avenue. Not too crazy yet.

I think, while the NYC scene was peppered with slumming rich kids, reading Cheetah's book and looking through your's, you definitely get the sense there was none of that in Cleveland, that the Dead Boys and the few people in the actual "scene" were not exactly getting their rent paid for.

No rich kids here. Went to classes in the a.m. and worked in the evenings. Paid for everything myself.

That "ruin porn" early-70s punk era is always mythologized, but as Cheetah has pointed out, it wasn't some huge scene. At underground or new rock kind of shows, there might be 15 people in the crowd. Do you agree, and any stories of hanging out at shows with Cheetah and Stiv, with 10 other people or what have you?

Cleveland at that point was in a free fall. Our mayor had the city’s garbage men deliver a porn poll. We were called the Mistake on the Lake. The city would go into default. There were no jobs. My roommate, after I moved, and another student at Cooper actually organized the First Annual Cleveland Smoke-In. Attached is a copy of the flyer. In short, good or bad, you got by.

In the book, the mentions of how dead it was downtown, Cheetah saying you could just stop in the middle of Euclid Ave. and take pictures -- do you have memories of just exploring downtown Cleveland then? And did you have a feeling that this really was the end of a city, an end of an era, or did you think Cleveland could "come back?" Would you want it to "come back?"

As far as downtown, it was dead. The malls opened in the ‘burbs and people didn’t need to go downtown. I shot the guys in the middle of Huron. We were there 10-15 minutes. No cars or people. Can’t do that now.

What did you think when the band decided to move to NYC?

They had to, there wasn’t a market in Cleveland. When they first went to CBGB’s, there was no turning back. They found where they needed to be, and I am glad they did.

How did you hear about Stiv dying, and when was the last time you'd heard from him?

I heard there was a benefit for Stiv and Babylon-A-Go-Go, 6/29/90. I went there and saw people I knew. They told me what happened. *

Where do you live today; what are you doing for a living; and what do you think of the more bustling downtown Cleveland of today?

I currently live in Solon, Ohio. I am a currently consulting in residential construction. It’s about damn time. Actually the renaissance of downtown and the Flats has been doing incredibly well. I’m proud to say I’m a Clevelander.

* -- I too was at that memorial:

http://weneverlearn.tumblr.com/post/520928279/this-is-the-funeral-card-from-stiv-bators

These are the amazing VHS tributes that were shown at Stiv’s memorial:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FreVBEt_8BQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfIZwblztxQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOUIZIQghFY

Dead Boys guitarist Cheetah Chrome moons Dave Treat’s camera in one of downtown Cleveland’s MANY empty buildings in 1977. L-R: Stiv Bators, Cheetah Chrome, Jimmy Zero, Johnny Blitz. Photo credit: Dave Treat

Photographer Dave Treat, photo credit: Bryon Miller

#dead boys #dave treat #cheetah chrome #pere ubu #Pagans #blue arrow records #eric davidson #cleveland punk #cleveland 1970s

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sleepy9000 · 7 years

Text

Some thoughts on the Villain Alliance (Spoilers)

Loooong post under the cut

Now, while I don't think we have nearly enough information to make endgame predictions, with so much focus on the Eight Precepts lately I can't help but wonder what's going to happen with the other big villain group. We know almost everything about the bird gangsters now excluding a few big things- Chisaki's plan, the former don, maybe some stuff about Chronostasis- and having them to compare the VA against has given me this unexpected feeling of family. The Eight Precepts is completely structured around people being used by the ruler, with the 8 Expendables and even Mimic throwing themselves at heroes to buy the boss time and Overhaul not giving a damn about anyone's life but his own. (RIP Nemoto). Seeing Shigaraki respond to this by showing genuine care and trust in Toga and Twice, putting value in his subordinates in exactly opposite the way Overhaul behaves... it was a big shock! I suppose AfO's capture gave him a crash course about losing people and what they can mean to you. This is a big important change for Shigaraki's leadership; he's come a long way from threatening to kill Kurogiri for a small mistake in the USJ arc. So with this new leadership method, I can't wait to see how the VA will evolve under Handman's guidance. This is where I just wanna throw out some ideas about that.

Strategy

It feels like with each arc Shigaraki is directing VA missions, he gets better and better at strategy. While he had a few clever plans in USJ to deal with the pro heroes, it sorta ended there. The mooks he brought in were almost entirely useless, and he didn't even bother factoring the students into the equation which lead to the plan's downfall. In the Feild Training arc, he was more or less throwing a tantrum over Stain being more popular than him and wasted three Noumu by throwing them out into the streets to cause havoc without any sort of plan. But after his talk with Deku in the mall and receiving a wave of recruits due to Stain's legacy, he really started playing it smart. I could make an entire post about the Vanguard Action Squad, but the things he did with some of its members- Dabi, Toga, Twice, Mustard and Mr. Compress stand out- really showed some forethought into their abilities. This is made even more clear in his Shogi game with Overhaul; he recognizes that Kurogiri, Toga, and Twice are vital to the VA's mobility. If he has the same understanding for the other members- Dabi's destructive power, Compress's ridiculous power in sneak attacks, etc- then the things he could pull off would be insane.

Quirk Improvement

We see 1-A constantly training their abilities, improving their quirks and costumes to be stronger and stronger. With that said, I think it would be massively beneficial for the VA to do the same. A lot of their quirks are already ridiculous, so training them up further could snowball pretty fast. Plus, with Giran around, they could get their hands on some seriously impressive equipment. The shining example so far has been Toga's blood extractor, which paired alongside her surprising skill in combat makes her hella dangerous. If Giran loaded up his buddies with some solid stuff they could get pretty diesel pretty fast.

As for Shigaraki himself... Admittedly, I fear he might have hit his limit. Disintegration, while a powerful and very fitting weapon, is relatively simple and seems to lack much room to grow. It has strict rules and looks to stick to them. So how do I think Shigaraki can get stronger? I think it would be best to save for a post on its own, but judging by what AfO said to Best Jeanist... Handman might join Deku in the "inheriting insanely OP quirks" club.

A quick side note- to my knowledge, we still don't know what Spinner's quirk is. We know he has one because he's a lizard, and we know it isn't just being a lizard since Mandalay pointed out he hadn't used it against her. If his name and his mention of being the one to "spin Stain's dream into reality" are any indication, we could potentially be looking at a Johnny Joestar situation- and Tusk Act 4 is really something. Time will tell.

New Members

The VA has seen some serious losses since the first wave of recruits rolled in. Numbers have sunk from the peak of 14 (including the chainsaw Noumu) down to a meager 8. Arguably the biggest hitters of the Vanguard Action Squad- Muscular, Moonfish, and Mustard- are behind bars, and Magne is tragically no longer with us. The biggest loss is obviously AfO, whose guidance and connections were vital in establishing the VA. His quirk, alongside being ridiculously powerful, also provided a stream of Noumus for Shigaraki to use. And despite how much I love the current lineup, 8 villains against a whole world of heroes just won't cut it. That was made clear as day during Hideout Raid, and they don't have Sensei to bail them out anymore. So, Shigaraki is gunna need more friends in his weird evil family or at least scoop up some old ones.

I reckon that at some point, there will be a jailbreak arc in BNHA. I can't imagine another way for AfO to pass down the mantle, or for Stain to do more things as his cameo seemed to imply. If this is the case, some old VA members might make their return. The first Noumu still seems to be the strongest, and with All Might gone it could wreak havoc without much trouble. Muscular is STUPID strong- he tanked a 100% OfA hit like it was nothing and could obviously deal a shitton of damage himself. Moonfish has been pointed out multiple times to be a force to be reckoned with, and the fact that two top seeds like Bakugo and Todoroki needed the help of a fucking KAIJU to take him down seems to back it up. Mustard went down to a couple of bit players, yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that he's got a crazy quirk and was apparently a big part of the Bakugo plan. I might be biased though- I have a weakness for gas masks in character design.

Another obvious addition is whoever the traitor turns out to be. There's a ton of theorizing that I won't get into here, but whoever it is is a shoo-in for joining up.

That said, when it comes to completely new members, I have some thoughts on this as well. Everyone remembers that spiky rock monster that cameod alongside Toga, Dabi, Mustard and Spinner, and judging by what appears to be a cameo in Chapter 100 (when Midnight was talking about fighting prowess), that might be followed up on. As for other new members, well... this might be me putting on my tin hat, but I reckon Toga and Twice will grab a few from the 8 Precepts before booking it. Last chapter Twice suggested something to Toga, and alongside potentially grabbing the quirk bullets I think they might try to lure over some of Overhaul's minions. Setsuno, Hojo, and Tabe's mindset of "friendship as people spurned by society" near-flawlessly matches Shigaraki's new style. All of their quirks are easily on the level of the VA and their team dynamic is incredibly strong. I reckon having their masks removed after losing could be symbolic, and I can only imagine what they'd do under a leader that values them like Overhaul didn't. Speaking of masks being removed, this sort-of fits with the other potential expendable I think will get recruited- Rappa. Again, his quirk is no joke- his battle with Kirishima and Fatgum made that clear. But unlike the other trio, Rappa never respected "Overhole" from the start. I imagine this would make him very attractive to Toga and Twice, whose objective seems to be "piss off that bird asshole as much as possible". Plus, with Kirishima edging his way into main-characterdom and Rappa being very interested in a rematch, joining up with the VA seems the obvious next step. I mentioned something about his mask earlier- it, like those of the Trash Trio, is removed in a way. But unlike them, his mask is not forcibly taken away. It splits in HALF, showing his face and emotions underneath, when he screams out for Fatgum to continue the fight. Rappa's own desires literally and metaphorically tear his connection to Overhaul to shreds, and if that doesn't fit with the VA I don't know what does.

Sorry for the long post, I've had these things on my mind for a while. XD

#BNHA #shigaraki tomura #bnha spoilers #chisaki overhaul #chisaki #overhaul #toga himiko #kurogiri #dabi #twice #rappa #villain alliance #eight precepts of death #boku no hero academia #mha oc #my hero academia

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

for all the honest world to feel (trixya) (2/8) - dare

When your skill set is limited to being a real person around your friends and family and a fake person around random strangers, you’re kind of fucked for being a real person around a basically-stranger.

He texted Katya: ’can’t remember how to interact with ppl when they’re not paying and lining up to meet me. do u know a good therapist.’

(AN: part two! i meant to get this up on monday so it would be one week squarely, but, on the flipside, this is legit twice as long as part one at 8.3k words. whoops? this is for M, who is to blame, because she said “where’s my 100k trixya slowburn fic with bonus adore friendship” and sunk me down this rabbit hole. i don’t quite love u 100k worth, but like, somewhere between 30-40% of that probably. thank u to dandee for reassuring me that this isn’t garbage!)

FROM: BOB - 11:03 AM - Thursday August 3rd, 2017

Your bf is talking crazy online again, u should prob check in w her

The one who looks like the baby eater from pan’s labyrinth

Girl

Txt me when u have a sec ok, it’s been a while

“So I cleared out my drag and opened a window last night – if it still stinks a little, I’ve got these candles that smell really fucking good, I can hook you up.”

“This is great, thanks,” Brian said, looking around. “Really, thank you so much for this. It’ll just be a few days while I figure out what’s next.”

“It’s no problem, girl. Whatever you need.” Adore swung her arms at her side. “Listen –”

Somewhere in the living room, a phone started blasting Britney’s Lucky.

Adore twitched in its direction, like a startled dog; “Shit,” she said, “I’ve gotta take that. Eat whatever’s in the fridge, I’ll do groceries later, and if you can find booze it’s yours but I’m pretty sure I’ve cleaned this place out, man. I’m coming, I’m coming!” she called in the direction of the phone as she disappeared through the door.

Brian dropped his guitar on the bed. Then he sat down beside it, at a bit of a loss.

Adore poked her head back around the frame.

“Hey, do you prefer, uh –”

The phone was still going off. “Uh,” Brian said, glancing over Adore’s shoulder.

Adore flapped a hand. “I know who it is, I can call them back. Just, like, we’ve only really hung out at shows. Do you prefer I call you one way or the other?”

“Trixie, I guess,” Brian said after a moment. He shrugged. “Trixie’s fine.”

“Cool,” said Adore with a smile. She was out the door before Brian could ask her the same.

Brian looked at the door, falling shut, then at the walls, and then down at the bedspread underneath him.

When he finally went out to the kitchen, Adore was on the couch, phone at her ear and knees pulled up to her chest. She didn’t seem to notice Brian; to be fair, she barely seemed to be listening to whoever was on the other end of the line.

Brian got himself some water, made a sandwich out of the scraps left over in the fridge, and slipped back into the guest room as quietly as he could. He ate sitting on the floor – there was no desk or chair in the room, and he wasn’t going to eat on somebody else’s bed; his mother had raised him, well, not right, but pretty okay – with his laptop balanced on his knees, watching some British baking show that Kim was obsessed with to calm his nerves before he checked his email or twitter.

He could hear Adore from outside, just a little, talking in a more serious tone than he’d ever heard from her. And that was weird, but there was no part of this that wasn’t weird. He was sitting on Adore Delano’s floor in Seattle; the nice, antique hardwood was biting into his ass. Like. Weird didn’t begin to cover it.

“What the fuck am I doing,” he said under his breath, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket like he’d been dying to since he arrived and woke it up.

There was nothing new from Katya under the column of message bubbles from Bob, which he’d received but not answered that morning. He tapped in his password and opened iMessage, scrolled past Bob with a mild guilty itch, and opened his and Katya’s chat. He thought for a moment, then started typing.

TO: Katya - 7:22 PM

some white girl’s been talking about me on the internet again

💖

The white ellipsis appeared almost immediately, flickering in and out of view, but no reply came.

After a minute, he typed and sent,

TO: Katya

Check in girl

The ellipsis flickered one more time and then a response appeared within seconds.

FROM: Katya

👌

His shoulders, which had been rising with the ringing of early alarm bells in his head, dropped and loosened. The uncommunicative but will survive signal they’d agreed on during one of the more hellish stretches of touring in 2015 was doing its job. He sent back another heart, then a picture he’d taken of his room – guitar on the bed, bags on the floor, and the hooks sticking out of the walls where, he assumed, clothing lines had hung to hold up Adore’s drag. His knees and his dinner balanced on top of them (the laptop having been abandoned to the floor before he could break it, juggling all his things like Icarus flying into the sun) were in the foreground, slightly out of focus.

He sent it over and added,

I love art

Katya responded with a heart wrapped up in a bow.

Around eleven, Brian heard the door outside open and close, and then, very faintly, footsteps on the stairs. When he poked his nose out of the guest room, the living room was empty, Adore’s phone lying abandoned on the coffee table. An unsettling, absolute quiet blanketed the apartment.

He slipped through the living room, then stood under the shower for a good twenty minutes regretting every choice he’d ever made.

Adore was back when he came out, sitting at the table that stood against the island separating the living room from the kitchen. Takeout containers covered the table and the smell of Chinese food filled the air.

“Hey!” she said when she saw Brian, brightening. “Grab a fork, I got a shitton of everything. You’re veggie, right?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “But I’m, like, Wisconsin-veggie, not LA-veggie. If there’s nothing else I’ll eat it.”

“I got you, bae,” said Adore, sliding a carton down to the end of the table.

Brian laughed as he sat. “I’ve got you, bae,” he sang, not fully expecting Adore to get it, but her eyes lit up and she poked her fork fervently in his direction.

“I fucking love Johnny Cash,” she said. “Hang on, where’s my laptop – you mind if I put on some music?”

Brian waved his carton, like, please, go ahead, but Adore was already bouncing out of her seat and rushing off before he’d even finished the gesture. A few moments later the Folsom Prison Blues rumbled out across the apartment – and the space suddenly felt less hollow, the corners seemed less angular, and something about this airy Seattle rental with its expensive antique furniture and discordant hippie love beads was suddenly akin to the small warmth of his grandparents’ old home.

He tipped his head back on his neck, stretching out the aches, and hummed along, fingers marking out chords on the side of his carton.

“Have you listened to any of the stuff June did by herself?” he called across the room. “Wildwood Flower will change your fucking life.”

There was no answer. A moment later, Adore came back out of her room, frowning slightly as she typed away on her phone.

Brian watched for a second, then ducked his head and returned to his food.

He was halfway through his carton before Adore looked up again, setting her phone down on the table. “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “My mom would murder me for having my phone at dinner with a guest here.”

Brian waved her off. “It’s your house, girl.”

“Still –” Her phone buzzed insistently, rattling against the table. “For fuck’s sake,” she muttered, grabbing at it.

There was some more rapid-verging-on-furious typing. Brian glanced over every few seconds, a thought slowly occurring to him. He chewed methodically through the bite he’d just taken but barely tasted it at all; when Adore kept typing, hitting the top of the screen intermittently and scrolling like she was moving between multiple conversations, his stomach turned over and he blurted, “Have you told anyone I’m staying here with you?”

Adore looked up. Her eyes darted across his face for a moment, then she frowned, like what she saw wasn’t adding up. “No,” she said.

“Okay.” Brian tapped his fingers against the side of his carton. “Listen, could we, like… keep it between us? Me being here?”

“Here as in my place or here as in Seattle?”

“Seattle.”

Adore was still looking at him like that, brows pinched together, and he waited for the question he knew was coming – are you okay? Or, worse, do you want to talk about it?

Instead, Adore nodded slowly. “Yeah, for sure.”

The moment stood, suspended; the thudding guitar-beat filled the room in their stead. If they freed me from this prison, if that railroad train were mine, the walls echoed. I bet I’d move it farther, a little farther down the line –

Adore’s mouth moved, like she was biting at the inside of her lip, but then she relaxed and turned back to her food. “My brothers used to blast Johnny Cash in the backyard,” she said, like an offering. “You know, holding Grandma’s antique lamp like a guitar in front of their chests and yelling about prison.”

“Oh my god, same,” Brian said, laughing out of sheer surprise. “Well, my brother with Grandma’s lamp. It was my Granddad who’d put the tape on in the first place, so really, who’s to blame here?”

Adore grinned. “You and me, we knew better than to fuck with Grandma’s porcelain.”

“Bitch, completely,” Brian said, then barked a laugh. “You know how it is – the only family antiquity I ever got in trouble for handling was my great-uncle’s c–”

Adore’s phone buzzed again.

“Trixie Mattel, you are fucked,” said Adore through her laughter, grabbing haphazardly at her phone. “Like, in the head. No wonder Bianca likes you.”

Brian gasped and pretended to swoon.

“Fucked,” Adore repeated. Then she glanced down at her screen and sighed. “Sorry, I’ve gotta make another call.”

The moment she was back in her room, that same pall fell across the floor again; the feeling that Brian was so unthinkably out of place that the whole room was being distorted around him, like water slopping out of a previously-peaceful tub. He looked at the table. From the other room, the music stopped. He could hear Adore talking, staccato, rapid words piling up like a highway crash and then dropping into silence. If he tried, he could probably make out what she was saying.

She still wasn’t back by the time he’d finished his food. She’d taken one carton with her; he cleared away the rest into the kitchen, where he searched briefly for containers before becoming uncomfortable with the idea of digging through somebody else’s cupboards. There was a roll of saranwrap, no box, on the marble-finish countertop, so he used that to wrap the remaining food up as airtight as possible. He stacked them in the fridge (which was, for the record, an absolute graveyard) and grabbed one of the beers in the door for himself. He was just cracking the cap with the opener in the sink – he wasn’t the kind of gay who carried a swiss army knife, although he suspected that would be his final evolution – when Adore came back in, still on the phone.

He tipped his beer at her, offering. She shook her head. She’d taken off her wig; there was a bobby pin still sticking out from her bangs. The phone was pressed to her ear again and she looked like she was considering whether to make her warranty worth it. A new, unlit joint was clutched between the fingers of her other hand.

Whoever was on the other end must have said something particularly stupid, because she rolled her eyes and started off towards the balcony. She made an apologetic face at him across the room but he waved her off, mouthing good luck as he made his way to the guest room.

With the door shut behind him, the bare space felt like it was staring into his soul. Off-white walls, red sheets and duvet. No pictures.

To be totally fair, his own bedroom was pretty minimalist too. But it was like this little room was wholly separate from the rest of the apartment, which – while obviously an expensive pre-furnished rental – was littered with the detritus of life: pictures of Adore’s family stuck up all over the fridge, an oversized sweater slung over the back of the couch, half-burnt prayer candles on the mantle, and sheet music scattered over the coffee table.

It’s the guest room, he reminded himself. It’s the drag room. He hadn’t left home expecting to find home.

He was being stupid.

Halfway through his beer, his phone buzzed. He was stretched out on the bed in his boxers with a book; when he heard it go off across the room, he nearly spilled all over himself in his haste to get to it. He tugged it out of his jeans’ pocket and woke the screen up, already telling himself he was being an idiot for hoping so hard, but there it was – a new message notification from Katya.

I’m sorry about the periscope, it read.

He flew through his password and opened his messages. Settling himself cross-legged on the end of the mattress, he hunched over his phone and typed,

Girl no you dont have to be sorry for that. Did you say antyhign about me? No.

Yes, Katya replied.

He rolled his eyes, even though the message – the simple honesty of it – made something in his chest squeeze tight. Okay, but not so anyone else could tell for sure, he typed.

Should have asked tho. Or not done it at all. You dont like having your shit out there & here i am laying my corpse out for public autopsy with ur name in sharpie on my spleen

Brian laughed under his breath.

Your spleen? Wtf even is a spleen

All other organs completely atrophied :( mass necrosis :( spleen’s the only thing left but it’s urs, Katya sent.

Brian navigated out of his messages and flicked open Safari to google “spleen,” then he burst out laughing, half-yelling, before he remembered where he was. He screenshotted the page and sent it over.

U CAN KEEP UR ATROPHIED CORPSE BLOOD BITCH

And then, because he couldn’t resist: lucy, u got some ‘spleenin to do.

AHHHHHHHHHH, Katya replied.

Brian grinned down at his phone while the little ellipses kept on flickering. He had five more puns off the top of his head and two of them were actually good – but then the next message came through, and the smile slid off his face.

I am sorry though.

And then,

I dont know all of why you left but i can guess part of it. And i shouldnt have done that, knowing it.

I feel like i chased u away & then made it worse.

Brian swallowed. He looked away from his phone, up and out the window at the stretch of Seattle visible over the low roof of the building across the street – grey buildings, yellow lights, deep blue sky. Leafy green unfurled between the rows of buildings, trees demarcating where the gap of the street escaped the naked and distant eye. At the farthest edge of his vision, the navy-black of the sky melted into the ocean on the horizon. And then there was him – lost somewhere in the middle of it.

Was this running away? Sort of. Was it worse?

He turned back to his phone and thumbed it awake again. He typed, you didn’t. Don’t be stupid.

The beginnings of a response flickered on the left side of the screen; he raced to finish – i don’t want you to not be you. i LIKE you.

The ellipsis disappeared.

Brian yawned into his palm, dropped back onto the bed and scooted up until his head was on the pillow. Pushing up onto his elbow, he stretched to turn off the bedside lamp; the clock at the top of his phone’s screen said it was pushing 12:30 and he was completely wiped. Fuck, he was old.

Speaking of old, Katya was typing again.

I like u too. Shocking i know. I still feel bad but i wont have a breakdown or anything over it, promise

Brian grinned tiredly.

I’m not worth a breakdown? I thought i was on ur spleen

Go to bed you wretched cunt, Katya replied.

Brian sent another heart emoji, then switched his phone to sleep mode, shut his eyes and relaxed back. The wall on his left glowed dimly with light from the window, which had no curtains, but it wasn’t enough to keep him awake. His eyelids grew heavy. He kept thinking hazily, like it was coming from somewhere outside his own body, about how Katya would smile around the words if he’d spoken that last text aloud.

When you were on the road as much as he was, it was the little things that mattered the most, the little things you carried with you. He moved too much to carry a lot. But the way Katya’s voice sounded when he smiled – Brian had carried that close, these last three years.

He was still thinking about it when he fell asleep, the low murmur of Adore on the phone whispering through the walls and Seattle grey and restful outside.

The next two days were weird.

It wasn’t that Brian didn’t know how to relax. It was just that he didn’t know how to be still. He hid out in his room but his mind ran off without him, thoughts spinning from Seattle to LA and back again. The frantic energy would build up inside him until he had to go outside, fuss around in the fridge without picking anything, step onto the balcony for just a minute before going back inside – struck by the deeply paranoid conviction that someone was watching him.

Fucking crazy.

So he’d go back in his room, chip away at the book he’d brought – Gillian Flynn’s depiction of the Midwest was unflattering but one hundred percent accurate, right down to the murder rate – firmly not-thinking about his laptop, waiting, and the whole wide internet out there and all the speculating that may or may not be happening.

It had been one day, he told himself. One and a half now. There was no speculating.

Fucking, fucking crazy. He was breaking away from dire realist in the direction of paranoid schizophrenic. But he’d sit there, or lie there, as the case may be, and he’d flip pages until he realized he wasn’t reading at all, and then he’d put the book down and just think, about all the shit he was doing wrong, the massive and ominous precedent of shit he’d done wrong in the past, all the responsibilities he was letting slide, the momentum he was losing by the minute, and, worst of all, Katya.

And eventually he’d reach some dumb-ass breaking point and repeat the whole pattern. It’s not like the fridge had gotten more full. It’s not like he was actually hungry.

(What he wanted more than anything more than anything was to pick up his guitar, but the thought of interrupting the afternoon quiet like that made his stomach turn.)

To make it worse, Adore kept catching him on these ridiculous trips. Apparently she was as generous as she was talented because instead of looking at him like he was a lunatic or kicking him out of her house, she’d smile, like seeing him in her living room was completely normal – and Brian would echo it, his whole body suffused with awkwardness.

The fifth time it happened, Adore was just getting off a call. She reached out to grab his arm as he was passing by to say, “Hey, tacos tonight?”

And Brian said yes, and then, remembering the previous night, “I never really got around to asking. Do you have a preference? Like, Adore, or –?”

“Adore’s good,” she said. She blew her bangs – short again today – out of her eyes. “I feel like I’m always a little bit in drag, you know? And anyway, only my family calls me Danny all the time.”

“Same,” Brian said, huffing a laugh. “The family thing, I mean.”

And then, at a loss for the next conversational turn, he pretended the plate of microwaved leftovers he was carrying – this trip being the first and only time he actually had a reason to leave the room – had suddenly become very hot, and juggled it awkwardly as he retreated with a sheepish smile.

That was it. That was the whole conversation.

‘Tacos tonight’ was actually a bag of veggie tacos Adore pressed into his hands on her way out to the balcony, phone pressed to her ear. Brian didn’t mind. He was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the realization that it wasn’t just Adore’s guest room he was crashing in on. It was her life.

He texted Katya:

can’t remember how to interact with ppl when they’re not paying and lining up to meet me. do u know a good therapist.

Katya sent him a skull emoji and a phone number. He laughed at the first; the second he stared at for a long time, then resolved to pretend it never happened.

Thursday started with Adore knocking on his door around ten to let him know she’d be livestreaming in the living room, and Brian smiling painfully to try to hide the fact that his palms had gone all sweaty. He ducked back in his room and stayed there for two hours, long past when Adore went quiet outside and the live vid must have ended. His heart rate kept picking up at random moments, which his high school level biology told him wasn’t really supposed to happen.

A little while later, Adore knocked again.

“What’s up,” Brian said, swinging the door open. A guitar was thrust immediately in his direction, so fast he had to throw his hands out to stop it before the neck could hit the doorframe.

“Oh, shit,” said Adore, and then, “Hey. Wanna teach me to play?”

Brian stared, and then he felt one side of his mouth tick up. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

They sat on the couch, turned towards each other, Adore with her piece of shit Yamaha (he wasn’t being mean for the sake of it, it really was a piece of shit) and him with his Gibson. She showed him the few chords she knew, fingers wobbly against the frets, glancing up at him under her bangs to check if she was doing it right. He remembered, suddenly and intensely, holding his Granddad’s guitar for the first time. How the strings pinched his fingers. He could almost smell the sage his Grandma hung in the windows, which filled the kitchen with a faint perfume on breezy summer days.

“Don’t press too close to the metal, it can mess with your pitch,” he said. “When you’re just learning you’ve gotta really nail the placement before you can fuck around with it. Like scales and runs, right?” He played a few chords of his own, clean as windchimes. “You do it right, and then you fuck it up. Intentionally.”

“It huuurts,” Adore whined. She laughed as she stretched her pinky for the third fret and slipped. “Oh my god, fuck this!”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” said Brian, grinning. “Here. The trick is to not think about how much it hurts or how bad you sound. What’s a song you really like?”

“Hit Me Baby One More Time.”

Adore had a shit-eating grin on her face, but if she thought Brian doesn’t know every word, she’d pegged him as the wrong bitch. “Okay, that’s – hang on – four chords, you know three of them. This is D minor,” he said, and demonstrated. “But don’t worry about getting it perfect. This is more about your fingers learning where they’re supposed to be. So four chords, and the rhythm is something like…”

He played the first line – four-four time, with a folk bent to the rhythm.

“Shut the fuck up,” said Adore, staring at him wide-eyed and laughing in disbelief.

“Don’t shut up, copy me,” Brian said. He was laughing too, playing the chords over and over. “Guitar is about rhythm as much as melody. The song is four-four, but you don’t strum four times to four beats precisely. Come on, do the upstroke, don’t be scared of it.”

“Don’t be scared of the upstroke,” Adore wheezed, and Brian gave a high-pitched scream of laughter.

“Um, this is serious,” he said, “why don’t you respect my art?”

Adore played an astonishingly sour chord and swore. “I don’t believe in, like, putting restrictions on what art is and stuff, but girl, I’m pretty sure this isn’t it.”

“Have a little faith in me,” said Brian. He played the chords through one more time then came in, quiet overtop, loading country into the vowels. “Oh baby baby how was I supposed to know…”

Adore burst out laughing, then broke in, “Not to be scared of upstrokes.”

“Bitch! Oh my god.” Brian thought quickly. “Oh baby baby I shouldn’t have let you go… dick like a mighty oak, yeah.”

Adore got up and started doing the iconic knee-socks-and-pigtails hallway choreo, shoulders shimmying, and Brian nearly dropped his guitar out of his lap he was laughing so hard.

But then they did some Fleetwood Mac, and some Lauryn Hill, and even a little Johnny Cash, although neither of them could sing low enough. And it was – kind of great. Just jamming, not on stage or in a club but in a home, where the acoustics weren’t great but the company was.

On Friday, Adore went out in the morning before Brian woke up, and didn’t come back until the sun was starting to set beyond the balcony, an orange glow covering the living room floor. She stopped in the front hall, shadowed; Brian, sitting on the couch with his guitar in his lap, couldn’t make out her face, but he could see the slump of her shoulders and her hands fisted at her sides.

“Adore?” he said, quietly.

She looked up, and then stepped further into the apartment so the tangerine light fell on her face. Her mouth was pinched tight. For the first time, Brian noticed faint stress lines around the corners of her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said. “Long day. What’s up?”

“The usual,” said Brian, shrugging a little. He reached up to fuss with back of his cap where it rested against his forehead. “I think a pigeon shat on the balcony. You should get a cat or something.”

Adore sighed, long and heavy. Then she dropped her bag and jacket to the ground and walked past him to the sliding doors, ragged converse scuffing against the floor. She didn’t even look at the site of the unfortunate incident; she just circled it on her way to the railing, where she propped her elbows up and leaned out, looking across the street at the city beyond.

After a minute, she put her head in her hands.

Brian fidgeted with his guitar, tension creeping up his spine like a pernicious weed. That feeling that had been so successfully foiled the previous afternoon – that he was intruding – was back. He curled his fingers tightly around the frets so the metal bit into his skin; then he picked up his guitar and retreated into the guest room, as quietly as he could.

At some point he dozed off; it was pitch dark outside his window when he woke, and he could hear Adore moving around the apartment restlessly. Not on her phone, like she often was. Just moving around.

He slept in fits and starts, and each time he drifted to consciousness he could hear her out there, still awake, wandering the contours of her home through the night like some anxious ghost.

Adore was still out there the next morning when he woke up, blearily stumbling out of his room at seven AM – one leg thrown over the back of the couch, painted toes catching the early light, fully crashed out. Even asleep, she was clutching her phone to her stomach, white-knuckled. He looked at her for a long moment. There was some kind of conclusion percolating in his brain, just out of reach; he felt, weirdly, like he was making a decision, although he wasn’t sure what it was yet.

She started awake with a grunt fifteen minutes later as veggie bacon sizzled on the stove.

“I’ll be running that off for a week, you fucking asshole,” she mumbled, draping one arm dramatically over her eyes.

Brian chuckled. “It’s veggie, girl,” he said. “No running required.”

“I love you,” she said plaintively, the words muffled against her skin. “Please stay forever.”

He pushed some bread into the toaster and scraped at the pan a few more times. Eyes glued to what he was doing, and with as much nonchalance as possible, he asked, “You get much sleep at all?”

She didn’t answer. She was staring up at the ceiling when he looked over his shoulder, her gaze distant, like the day before was coming back to her in one fell swoop. Brian was familiar with that particular feeling.

The decision – the one he’d been percolating on – reached him all at once.

“Adore?” he said. When she didn’t say anything, he tried, “Danny?”

She blinked and looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Do you, uh,” he said, then told himself suck it up and pushed the rest out – “Do you have anything going on today? ‘Cause I was kinda thinking it would be nice to like. Go out. Do something.”

Adore sat up fully, crossing her arms over the armrest and looking at him inquisitively. Which was fair. He hadn’t left the house in the three days he’d been there so far. “You want to go out?”

No. “Yeah. I mean, if you want.”

Her face lit up, like he’d thought it might. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, fuck yes. I’ll give you the fucking tour, man. Seattle is literally so fucking stunning, you’re gonna – shit, Pike Place Market, you’re gonna go crazy. It’s like Chicago on speed, if it was way more white and smelled like fish.”

“I think the important question here is,” Brian said, sidetracked from his own anxiety, “when will we have a queen who’ll roll around on the docks for an hour before a show and go out on stage serving fish? Like giving you realness, honey. When will we have that queen?”

“Katya,” Adore pointed out. When he started laughing, she said, “No, I’m so serious. She’s gonna be living in a sea shack collecting beer caps and colourful glass from the shore to cast spells on people. I give it ten years but I’m telling you, it’s gonna happen.”

“Oh bitch, completely,” Brian said, grinning, then, “Shit, hang on,” as the bacon started to blacken and smoke. Once it was safely off the stove and onto a plate, he turned back. “So, Pike Market?”

“Pike Place Market,” said Adore. “Yes, fully yes. I don’t think stuff opens until, like, ten, so let’s eat, and then, I dunno, nap, and head out in like two hours. Seriously, Trixie, this is gonna be the best. Like you’re not even ready.”

Two hours, a plateful of bacon each, and some napping later, they left the house on foot, and twenty minutes later a flare of neon red appeared between two curtaining buildings. They emerged onto the street directly in face of the great fluorescent sign: PUBLIC MARKET CENTER, it read, on three levels of rails above a single-level shopping arcade, with a great clock-face suspended on the right side of the rails. It was only going on ten-thirty, but the entryway was bursting with flowers, the street outside awash with pedestrians going in, going out, or gawking as they passed by.

“Holy shit,” Brian said, and Adore turned to him and grinned.

“Get ready to lose your fucking mind,” she agreed.

He was so busy staring in every direction around him as they entered that he barely even registered the crowd; and it didn’t matter, because every other person was craning their neck doing the same. They entered into a farmer’s market, where stalls of brightly coloured fruits and vegetables were stacked one on top of another. Neon signs and banners overhead directed visitors and advertised wares; when it wasn’t food it was flowers, roses, sunflowers, carnations in gorgeous arrangements, eye-catchingly vibrant.

With a fiver Brian bought himself a pear while Adore went for a banana – “this is definitely not local,” she said, laughing, then proceeded to mime deep-throating it in the middle of a crowd of tourists while Brian giggled.

Past the farmer’s market there were cheeses, fresh meats, and, as promised, so much fish and salt he had to cover his nose for a second, although he was pretty sure that was rude.

“I’m from the country, bitch!” he said when Adore laughed at him. “I thought the ocean was something my brother made up to screw with me until I was, like, thirteen!”

“Shut up, you did not,” said Adore, shoving at his shoulder. Her grin was bright in the thin rays of sunshine that slipped through the slats overhead; she looked like she’d forgotten the previous day entirely. Which was exactly the point, and which made the way Brian twitched any time a stranger looked at him a second too long almost worth it.

There were bakeries and cafés further down the walkway, which seemed to go on forever, but Adore pulled him away and down some stairs. He followed the bobbing of her tiny ponytail – held up by one of those stupid two-loop elastics with the little plastic balls, which, yes – down to a second, lower level, where there were fewer people and he could actually see the wooden floors under their feet. The stores were more artisanal here – leatherworks, glass and jewelry, some vintage clothes stores they were going to have to demolish later, and –

“There,” he said, tugging at her arm, “There, there, tell me we’re going there –”

“Duh.”

A magic shop, the facade papered with old circus posters in red and black; inside, it was somehow two floors (“How?” he demanded, to which Adore replied, “Magic, bitch!”), the walls lined with books, magic kits stacked on tables, with a long counter on the left filled with pendulums, crystal balls, earrings, bangles, and rings. There was everything from whoopie cushions and itching powder to tarot sets stuffed in every inch of square space; and in the dead center of this colourful chaos stood a big glass box, like an old-school cinema popcorn maker or one of those stuffed animal claw games. It said FORTUNE TELLER in purple neon on the top. Inside there was a bust of a withered old woman; she had one hand up in some witchy gesture while the other was held out flat, cards splayed out in it face-down. She frowned out at the observer from under disturbed eyebrows, like she didn’t quite approve.

“This… is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Brian said, eyes wide.

Adore had already peeled off to talk tarot spreads with the woman behind the counter, with whom she seemed to be on a first name basis. Brian huffed a laugh, then turned back to the glass case, which was calling to him something fierce. He walked over, pulling out his phone as he went.

Katya would love this, he thought, and took a quick picture and sent it to her.

I can’t believe u followed me to seattle, he typed, and then, the humidity is really bad for ur skin, huh?

Katya replied with a string of exclamation marks followed shortly by a BITCH. YES.

Smh, he sent, then tucked his phone away again.

“Hey!” Adore called from behind him. “You want Steph to read your palm? Swear to god, it’s some real shit, man.”

“Stop it,” Brian called back, startling the woman behind the counter into laughter.

A larger group of tourists burst in then, college-aged, filling the center of the space and pointing everywhere excitedly. Brian made a face at Adore over their heads as he shifted back towards the wall to avoid them.

These kids weren’t really that much younger than him, but they looked like – god. Babies. A few noticed him looking and looked back; he turned away to inspect the books on the shelf behind him, tapping his knuckles frenetically against his thigh.

When no one approached him after a minute or so, he went from fake-looking at the titles to actually looking, and then browsing, and then he found himself flipping open a small book titled Witches’ Wisdom On Surviving The Apocalypse, which turned out to be full of free verse poems. One of them began:

We were burning long before you put your pyre under us

That’s where the power is

Start there.

He didn’t know a lot about poetry, so he couldn’t say if it was good or not. Probably there would be more than one copy stocked if it was. Still, when the crowd moved on to the second floor, he kept hold of it as he approached the counter – where Adore, he realized, frowning, had disappeared.

“You want me to ring that up for you, doll?” said the woman – Steph? – behind the counter. She was probably in her late forties, fuzzy curly mom hair, black cardigan, anatomically-correct heart necklace with tiny inscriptions he couldn’t read running along the big ventricular arteries. She was probably crazy; he liked her more or less immediately.

“Did you see which way, uh, Danny went? I think I’ve lost him.”

“Skipped up to the staff roof for a bit, I’ll show you where.” She looked down at the book in his hands and nodded. “You want me to ring that up for you?”

Brian looked down too, to where he’d been running his thumb across the two ravens on the cover unconsciously. “Yeah,” he said. “I have a friend who’ll go nuts for this.”

“You should read it too,” Steph said, accepting his card. “You look like you’ve seen a bit of apocalypse yourself. Door behind me, up the stairs. It’s supposed to be just staff, but Danny’s a sweetheart and he’s by all the time so we let him up.”

He nodded his thanks and waved off the offer of a little bag, ducking around the counter with the book still in hand. Through the door and up too many stairs led him to a beige landing and another door; through this one, he emerged into the sunlight, gulls overhead, and for a moment, staring up at the sky, he forgot where he was entirely.

“Trixie!”

He jerked back to himself, and went over to join Adore at the edge of the roof, leaning against a thick metal railing, staring out at the grey-green stretch of the ocean and the breaking waves.

“Sorry,” said Adore. “I meant to be back down before you noticed, but I guess I just – lost track of time.”

She had a lit joint in one hand, gaze distant.

“You okay, girl?” Brian said, hooking his elbows over the rail.

Adore looked at him sideways, like, really?

And – okay, that was fair. It’s not like Brian was one to talk.

Adore brought the joint to her mouth and inhaled deeply; she held her breath, then exhaled, a thin white plume drifting up into the robin’s egg blue of the sky.

“Crowds give me the shakes sometimes,” she said. “You know?”

Brian looked down at the toes of his sneakers poking out past the lip of the roof, then across at the water. The wind off the ocean ruffled the pages of his book as he held it up to shade his eyes.

“I don’t know if ‘shakes’ is the right word, but. Yeah.” He forced a smile. “That’s just where I live now.”

It was such a deeply insufficient answer, but when he tried to force anything else out, his mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton; his throat closed up and he had to swallow, grit his teeth, look back out at the water.

“Trixie.”

He looked over. Adore was watching him, gaze steady.

“You can stay as long as you need,” she said. “I mean that.”

He swallowed again and nodded.

She turned back to look out too. The August sun beat down, but with the breeze at their faces, it wasn’t overwhelming. It was like the warmth of two bodies under a duvet; despite the conversation, Brian felt himself relaxing, eyes slipping shut and face tipping up towards the light.

He remembered walking down the Santa Monica Pier with Katya; he remembered taking Katya’s hand, and Katya’s brilliant smile when he did. And that same feeling – like all his stressors, all the shit in his life that he couldn’t seem to outpace or outwit, were melting away.

Adore nudged him in the side a few minutes later. “Listen,” she said, “some friends invited me out tonight for drinks at this cute little bar on Capitol Hill. You wanna come? It’s super chill. I have a show there later this month, actually.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders up awkwardly, then dropped them. “Not this time, I think,” he said. “Thank you, though.”

“No probs, girl.” Adore nudged him again. “Wanna get some sketchy food and go try on vintage clothes while the sales people stare at us?”

Brian laughed. “That’s a yes. Hard yes.”

Adore’s apartment was eerily quiet when he got back, her keys cutting into his palm with unfamiliar ridges and jingling an unfamiliar tune. He paused in the threshold, setting down his and Adore’s bags, and looked out at the low sun in the west, the rays cutting golden across the otherwise-dim living room.

He walked in and stood for a moment where the rays just began to touch his face. He hovered his hands over the back of the couch, a bare breath away, then shook his head and went around it, dropping his new book onto the coffee table and sinking down into the cushions.

He meant to do something – read, get his guitar, get his notebook – but instead, he nodded off into the deepest sleep he’d had in weeks.

It was dark when he jostled awake, with just a thin sliver of light glowing from under Adore’s bedroom door. Something near him – on him – was buzzing. Drugged up with the last seconds of his dreams, for a second he wasconvinced it was bugs – and then it buzzed again, in the front left pocket of his jeans, and he remembered his phone.

When he pulled it out, Katya’s name was shining above the green call symbol.

He nearly dropped the phone in his haste to press accept. “Hey,” he said, “hey, hi. Hi stranger.”

“Hey yourself,” Katya said, and Brian could hear the smile in his voice like warm sunlight. “Have you seen my friend Tracy? She vanished into the night and no matter how many Christmas bulbs I tape to my wall I can’t seem to find her.”

“Is that what you’re calling interior decorating now? Bitch, I’ll take the demi-gorgon,” Brian said, and grinned into the dark as Katya cackled delightedly. When he’d settled again, Brian added, “Hey. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too. I’ve missed you,” said Katya. He made a dismissive sound, then, and said, “I mean, I know that’s stupid, we’ve gone longer than a week without talking on the phone and much longer without seeing each other, but. I missed you anyway. And all the festering guilt probably made it worse.”

Brian pushed himself up to sitting, pulling his knees in towards his chest and resting his cheek against the back of the couch. “I wouldn’t be telling you anything you don’t already know if I said you don’t need to feel guilty, right?“

“Yeah.”

“You process better out loud. That’s not, like, news to me. And I didn’t…” he trailed off, trying to get his thoughts in order. “I don’t want to take away something that’s good for you, something you use to cope, because it’s not something I like or want for myself. Like how selfish would I have to be – that’s not what I want.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I get the radical honesty thing, you know? It’s just…”

“It’s not how you operate, I know,” Katya said. “And I knew you wouldn’t be mad, although I still think maybe you should be.” He laughed. “So I’ll quit apologizing for periscoping about my, uh, emotional duress. But I will still say sorry for putting that day out there. That was meant to be just ours. So – sorry.”

They were dancing around it, and Brian knew it was for his sake, but he wondered if maybe it was for Katya’s too, a little. “Apology accepted,” he said quietly. He rubbed his thumb along the knuckles of his index finger, feeling out the juts of bone and the softness of skin on skin. “And how goes the emotional duress?”

Katya huffed a laugh. “Oh, you know. Enduring.” Brian rolled his eyes in the dark. Katya seemed to know it because he laughed again, just quiet, intimate beside Brian’s ear. “I’m doing better now,” he said. “It took a few days. It was like I knew consciously that all of this couldn’t be just my doing, that there were all kinds of factors that I may or may not know about, but try telling my crazy brain that.”

“I know,” Brian said, pressing the phone closer to his ear, like that would accomplish literally anything. “I”m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Katya said. “Just promise me you’ll talk to me when you’re ready.”

“I will, of course I will.”

It felt to Brian like he needed to offer something up, something to bridge the gap of hurt he’d left behind – in both of them – when he left LA at the end of the tracks. But unlike that moment in the bright afternoon sunlight with Adore, here, now, it felt almost easy to find a little piece of himself and hand it over. Because the room was dark, and this was Katya.

“We went to Pike Place today,” he said. “Adore and I. It was amazing, you would love it, but – it was the first time I left the house since I got here. Basically the first time I left the guest room.”

Katya made a soft noise.

“My shoulders go up when I’m around a crowd of people. Just thinking about going out for drinks with Adore’s friends tonight made my pulse race. It’s not – I’m not anxious. I’m pissed. And… concerned about the consequences of being pissed, because I’m so frustrated and done and so much shit could go wrong – I could lose everything.” He scrubbed a hand roughly over his head. “I can’t stop thinking about it. So maybe anxious isn’t so far off.”

“I wish I were there,” Katya said, his voice a quiet rumble, like morning waves at low tide.

Brian closed his eyes. “I wish you were too.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Brian’s eyes were starting to slip shut, each blink lasting a little longer, but he could feel the tension in his shoulders still, and he could see the stress dreams coming at him from a mile away. He forced his eyes open and said, “Let’s talk about something else. Just before I go to sleep.”

“Tell me about Pike Place,” Katya said immediately. “Was it amazing?”

“So amazing,” said Brian. “There’s this fucking – girl. There’s a fucking magicshop. The woman behind the counter is on first name basis with Adore and she offered to read my palm.”

Katya screamed very quietly on the other end of the line. “See my future with them hands, bitch,” he crowed, and Brian was laughing, saying, “Bitch, yes.”

“Okay, okay, that’s amazing,” Katya said. “Is that where that hag you sent me was?”

“You’d better believe it. Oh! I got you a present.”

“What?” A smile curled through Katya’s voice. “What is it what is it what is it?”

“I found this little book of poems,” Brian said; “Witches’ Wisdom On Surviving The Apocalypse.”

“Oh my god, I need it.” There was a pause, and then Katya said, “Read some of it to me?”

“Hang on.” Brian used the dim light of his phone screen to find the book on the coffee table, then to skim through the pages for the lines that had caught his eye before. He lifted his phone back to his ear, angling it awkwardly so the light was enough to read by if he squinted. “Okay. So this one is called, uh, Battle Plans. It starts:

We were burning long before you put your pyre under us

That’s where the power is

Start there.

But this isn’t work for one –

So start there

And start with you, and start with me;

This is work to be done with love.”

The sound of Katya’s breathing over the line as he read was like a warm blanket; his eyes dipped, shut, blinked open again and again. His words faltered. He picked up the thread once, then again.

His head nodded forward. His phone fell into his lap. At some point, on the other end of the line, Katya ended the call – Brian woke up the next morning to find his screen read “Call Ended - 24m13s” (on what had been, at most, a fifteen minute conversation.)

He looked down at his phone, and he smiled.

#trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #trixya #adore delano #dare #rpdr fanfiction #fathwtf #canon compliant

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iamwhelmed · 7 years

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For Whom the Bell Tolls: Chapter 1

I’ve had this story, and its sequel, outlined for over a year now. I’m so, so happy to finally post the first chapter. Only a few people knew about it, actually. This isn’t the Special Project (which I promise you, is still coming!), but it is the story I mentioned that I had banging around in my head for some time. I hope you guys enjoy it! Honestly, this story is based around my predictions surrounding what Monsters are in the Pnat universe, and also my theories about Dimitri. I have a few of these chapters stocked up, so now I can do the requests that piled up!

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net!

Summary: When monsters start to invade Mayview, the morality of the connection between a medium and their spirit comes into question. Is killing a spirit any different from taking the life of another human? Relationships between club members become strained, and if Max thought the club was coming apart before, it certainly is now.

The day had been little less than exhausting, and Max could feel the pull of his muscles with each step he took downhill, the pain in his legs growing duller and duller with each passing block. He cursed Johnny Jhonny somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, and vowed revenge for his scooter– someday. Right then, he would be satisfied to meet the cold air of the corner store– home, though he was still unsure he wanted to call it that– and the familiar curve of his mattress.

He trekked up to the front doors, reaching a hand out to pull a handle and retracting it as soon as he remembered that it was, after all, a sliding glass door, and sliding glass doors didn’t have handles. Max stepped out of the hot sunset and into the blasting AC. If he was mumbling his grievances under his breathe, it didn’t register.

Up the stairs he slumped, tired enough of the weight of his backpack to let it hit each stair on its own as he dragged it behind him. His metal bat sat like a heavy brick meant as a shackle more than a weapon, and after the fight he and the club had been through that day, he wasn’t willing to think much else of it. Spirits seemed to enjoy terrorizing the dead– undead?– of their school, and punching them in the face with a metal bat was therapeutic on occasion, just not today. The stupid half-mountain-lion half-rattlesnake had them running all over the school the entirety of lunch period and then some; he cringed remembering what it was like running into the student council without a hall pass, and grimaced at the feel of the detention slip weighing down his back pocket. Spender had said he could get it alleviated, but Max still wasn’t sure he could trust him to remember. The man did seem to be in his own world, lately, at least, more than he was the first day Max had been there. Maybe he was simply seeing the “Real Spender”, but something told Max his arrival in Mayview was the mere beginning of a handful of changes for the club.

What those changes entailed, exactly, Max was far too, unfortunately, ignorant to guess.

He tossed his backpack onto the couch as the sole of his shoe hit the final step, grunting and slinking towards the kitchen in search of sustenance. “Remind me to demand lunch breaks off.” He could hear his father and Zoe talking, probably lounging around the kitchen waiting for him to return so they could have take out and watch reality TV. Max entered the room with a wave that went unnoticed.

His dad sat leaning over the table with his hands clasped, and had Max not known his father to be one of the chillest people the world had ever seen, he might have thought the tightness of his eyes was an indicator of– stress? Apprehension? Fear? Zoe looked more relaxed, slouched as far back as she possibly could be in her seat with her arms crossed like shields over her huffing chest. She was on the defensive, clearly, and that had Max’s attention. He reached into the fridge and opened up a bottle of orange soda substitute, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Zoe turned her sharp eyes on him, nose scrunching up as she snorted and hopped to the floor. “Ask Casanova!” She waved in Dad’s direction and twisted on her heel, and before Max could even register what she’d said, she was gone.

His dad sighed, and leaned against the table, burrowing his head into his arms.

“Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“What’s going on?” Max had a thought, and spit the sip of juice he’d gone to take. “Oh god, are we moving again already?”

“No! No, no, no, no. Don’t be silly, loinfruit!” (“We had a conversation about that word, Dad, and your prohibited use of it…”) His dad sat back up and pat Max on the back a few times, uneasy smile inching from one crooked side of his face to another. “It’s great news, actually! I suppose your sister just isn’t ready for this big of a change, yet…”

“Are we sending Zoe off to boarding school? Because, ya know, I could really get behind that-!”

“I’ve got a date!”

Max paused, biting down on his lips to keep another sip of juice from pouring past his tongue. He already had one mess to clean up, after all. At first, he wasn’t sure he’d heard his father correctly. After all, it’d only been five years, and the man seldom showed interest in the actresses in the new superhero comics, let alone real women. He’d never shown any surmountable interest in the blind dates their friends and family were constantly trying to set him up on, and Max had been convinced that was partly the reason for the move to Mayview! He’d never questioned it– after all, if Dad wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready, and he wasn’t exactly jumping at the thought of replacing Mom, either.

He’d figured his dad just, well, felt the same way.

He glanced at his father, then, and watched the crookedness of his smile turned almost hopeful, like he was sitting on whatever response there’d be, like whatever Max said next would make or break his world and the scale of the universe– his universe.

Max looked at him, took a long swig of his juice, finished the glass off, and nodded. “That’s great, Dad! When is it?”

Tuesday

It was odd that Spender was up until midnight grading papers. He was, after all, a typically sufficient teacher, or so he’d liked to think. He just hadn’t had the time for the last week. It seemed spirits were cropping up in even larger numbers than before, becoming more aggressive, even, enough to attack Isabel in the middle of class; getting out of that one hadn’t been fun, and he was sure his class had been more than a little suspicious of why he’d decided on an impromptu trip to the park to study… the statues? He wasn’t sure what assignment he’d given the students, then, and judging by the papers, the students weren’t quite sure, either.

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, rubbing between his eyes and stretching his back as best he could with his butt planted firmly against the desk chair. “I’m getting too old for this-”

His phone began to ring, vibrating silently on the desk beside the mountain of papers he still had left to grade. He frowned and reached out to pick it up, hardly glancing at the number before answering. “Hello, Richard Spender speaking?”

His eyes popped open, and he sprang forward so suddenly that the sheer force knocked his seat back as he came to stand. “Master Hashimoto! Yes, of course, I-! Yes… yes.” Spender frowned and stepped away from grading for a moment, letting his legs stretch as his back had earlier, as he paced to and fro in his bedroom. “I… suppose I could get in contact with Master Guerra? Hah hah, yes, he is a very busy man.” He came to stand in front of his window, looking out onto the street as car after car crossed from one end of the panel to the next, leaving behind only the fading sound of pressured air. “Well, yes… Master Hashimoto? May I ask why you’re requesting to see Master Guerra and, well, why I’m the middle man in this?”

More cars passed by, but Spender’s mind was far far away from the road before him as he shut his phone and slipped it into his pocket. Lips in a thin line, he glanced to his desk, where the ungraded paper still lay, taunting him with each wave of a corner under the moving fan. “This may get messy…”

It concerns one of your students.

“You have to admit, I was pretty awesome yesterday.” Max flexed one of his arms for Isaac to see, grinning from ear to ear as he watched his own muscle, or lack thereof, contract. He was finally getting the hang of the whole “spectral” thing, after all, and he had to give himself some credit where credit was due. Isaac seemed less than amused, if not borderline annoyed by his attempts at conversation. It had been like this for weeks after Hijack. When Isabel and Ed weren’t following the two of them to school, Max found Isaac to be less than sociable company. Any attempt at conversation was met with an eyeroll or a scoff or one of his infamous anime “tch” noises, usually accompanied by a shrug of the shoulder, as though it put distance between the two of them.

Today it was an eyeroll, and Isaac wasn’t even so kind as to make eye contact.

They still weren’t cool, yeah, Max knew that, but he wasn’t one to stand a silence, especially one with underlying malice. He was just trying to lighten the mood, and Isaac was too petty to even try. Max exhaled and rolled his eye right back, reaching into his pocket to grab his cellphone. If Isaac wasn’t going to make conversation, then he’d have to find something else to occupy the silence. Dawghouse was usually up to texting…

Max: Hey man, wassup?

Dawghouse: Nothing much, Maxy Boy, how’s the third week outta the city?

Max: Can’t complain, I guess.

It was true. Aside from the random spirits sneaking in and out of his house at night and the ghosts pestering him in class during the day, he didn’t have a lot to complain about. Mayview was, actually, a really great city. Yeah, it was pretty freaking crazy, what with teachers in lakes and a fully capable monetary system consisting entirely of laminated stars, but it was a scene to look at all the same. He was used to getting up and seeing the apartment complex across from his own, sometimes even waking up to awkward eye contact with the neighbor’s naked cat– creepy, that little thing was, and evil too, he was sure– now, he woke up to sunrises and rainbows and green trees and hills as wide as the eye can see. He’d wake up and just think about how his mom would have loved it, how she probably had loved it when she’d lived in Mayview. She’d never really like the city. It was too crowded for her, too busy. She liked quiet; she’d produced some of her best works in the early AM, when the rest of the city was asleep. He’d found himself wondering why she ever left. I might not have been born if she hadn’t…

Max: My dad has a date this week. Zoe’s been skulking around the house like she did that one week she thought String Swirl Suzan was canceled when she was four.

Dawghouse: That’s weird, man, I can’t imagine your old man with anyone else.

Max frowned.

Dawghouse: Can you?

He inhaled, shut his eyes, and exhaled.

Max: If it makes him happy, I’m happy.

“Hey, losers!” Max screeched and juggled his phone in the air until he was sure he had a good grip on it again, twisting to glare at Isabel, who still had a hand planted firmly on his back. She reached around his shoulders and pulled one side of his body into her arms, squeezing him despite the protests he managed to make. “What’s up?” She winked Isaac’s way, and she too received an eyeroll. He scoffed and Max almost felt jealous at the cold shoulder combo Isabel had received. If she’d noticed, she didn’t pay the attitude any mind.

“Nothing. You?”

Isabel grinned and raised a fist as though she was socking the sky itself. “Beat one of the older students in a rematch last night! Let’s see them look down on me now!”

Max glanced around, finding a suspicious lack of blond within their general area. He raised an eyebrow. “Where’s Ed?”

Isabel pulled her arm away from him, then, shrugging and turning her quickly sharpening eyes on the road ahead of them. “Don’t know.”

By the time the three of them got to the clubroom, Max’s mood had lightened substantially, at least enough to get him through a school day. Isabel was a handful to deal with, but she was also an interesting conversationalist, at least by normal people standards. Sure, she wasn’t somebody he could have fun snarking at– she often times ignored him– but she did have a lot to tell him about the paranatural world, and he certainly had questions.

She’d been explaining the in’s and out’s of spirit biology when they pushed the door to the clubroom open. Ed turned his head and waved at them before returning to the dragon he’d been painting in midair, brows furrowed as he stroked each individual scale, working his way down from the head to the tail. Spender was more distracted, pacing around the small room with his cellphone pressed to his ear. At their entrance he turned around and smiled, waving for them to come in.

Max came to sit on Ed’s left, while Isaac went to sit on the armrest of the other couch, shuffling like he wasn’t comfortable. Max looked at him and gestured to the entire empty couch, and then to the armrest he’d chosen instead. Don’t you wanna sit on an actual seat? Isaac shrugged and crossed his arms. I’m happy like this. Max squinted and gestured more vehemently to the rest of the empty couch. What the flip is your problem? Isabel passed them both by and sat opposite Isaac on the other end of the otherwise empty couch, albeit on the cushion. Max glanced from the empty seat to Ed’s right and then back to Isabel, who had her legs crossed and was doing an awful job of looking like she hadn’t sat away from them on purpose. Ed, who must have been watching her, raised a somber hand and wiped away the incomplete dragon, brush in hand slipping like dead weight into his open backpack. Max frowned– it wasn’t really his place to say anything, but he couldn’t help but wonder…

Spender sighed and leaned against the desk, pressing one hand at his forehead, other hand still squarely at his ear. “Yes, I-! Yes, sir… Master, if you would just– yes? Yes. Yes, I understand. Should I tell Master Hashimoto seven– no? Eight. Eight o’clock. Yes…. well, that’s very kind of you to say sir, I– oh, he hung up on me.”

“Hah!”

Maybe Spender didn’t appreciate Max literally pointing and laughing at him, because his eye narrowed behind his glasses.

“Max.”

“Your sensei hung up on you.”

“Yes, I know.” Spender readjusted his glasses and stood up straight, hand reaching up to loosen the tie around his neck. “Now, if you children wouldn’t mind, it is time for morning patrol.” The whole of them groaned, Max with his head thrown back and Isabel slinging her upper body over the armrest. Spender smiled and clasped his hands together, tired eyes turning bright under black frames, if only for show. “Isabel, Max! It’s up to you two today!”

He didn’t notice the way Isaac tensed or the growing slump of Ed’s shoulders, but Max did; he noticed it as he stood and slung his backpack over his sore arm, and he noticed is still as Isabel wrapped one arm over his shoulders and waved a goodbye nobody but Spender returned.

He wasn’t always in a bad mood. He couldn’t say he walked around his house grunting and pouting, though it wasn’t like there was ever anybody in the house to accuse him of it, so maybe he actually did, but he didn’t feel grouchy at home. He didn’t feel like crushing the controller in his hands when he was playing a video game. He didn’t want to throw a mug across the room and see it smash against the white wall when he had tea to calm him down before he tried to sleep. His bed never left him feeling cold, because it was warm and it enveloped his entire body like a good hug, and in those small moments he was– well, maybe not happy, but he was content. He was satisfied. No, he never felt like his insides were tearing him apart, or that his heart was slowly decaying and simply wanted the peace he himself so badly yearned for. The only thing home and school had in common was that he was alone– always, always, always alone. Maybe that wasn’t good, maybe he wished that his parents were around, but if they were then he’d just be reminded how distant they were and how nonexistent their entire “family” is and–

… and home would be just like school.

Isaac wanted to go home. He wanted to be done for the day. When the seventh period bell rang, he felt such relief, so much that it lifted him out of his seat and swung his lungs in a circle and made his heart leap, just before it went crashing down into the furthest depths of his stomach, sending his entire spirit into the murky waters of reality. Of course, he still had club to go to, how could he forget?

Isaac huffed and shut his locker door, carrying his uncooperative body to the clubroom.

He thought about quitting the club sometimes– not all the time, just most of the time. It was a thought that occurred to him when he’d feel a little more hurt than irritated, or the annoyances he called teammates were trying to push him to the brink of insanity. It always came like a small, beaded light in his mind, flickering like a candle he dare not touch, but each time it came to mind, the fire would grow just the smallest bit larger. It mingled with his pain like it was flirting, gracing his lips, pushing him to maybe say–!

No. Perhaps surprising, his pride always won out in the end– pride and logic. Where else would he have even a chance of getting information? Where else would he go if he had questions? There was no telling what information he’d be cut off from if they decided to spite him; he had little faith they wouldn’t.

Maybe it was fear.

When he entered the clubroom at last, he found Isabel and Max still hadn’t made it. His heart leapt in his chest, and he couldn’t help but shove the feeling under as many murky, cloudy, dirtied emotions as he could to hide it, to pretend he hadn’t thought for just a second that he might have been disappointed that Max hadn’t shown up yet. He’s a liar like they are. Ed and Spender were crowded around the monitors, almost oblivious to his entrance. Isaac grimaced and cleared his throat.

“Is there something going on?”

Spender twisted around in his rolling chair and clapped once. “Ah! Isaac! You’re here! There appears to be a spirit causing trouble in the west hallway. I’d like you and Ed to get things under control!”

Ed finally turned around and met Isaac’s gaze, giving him the most unsettling, toothy, smart-aleck grin Isaac was sure he could muster. He sighed, and shrugged.

Isaac dodged what appeared to be an extended, muddy claw as it reached and grasped for the floor where he’d once been. Had he been a second slower, those claws might have done more than just pierce skin… He cringed at the thought. “Ed, try to cut it at its core!”

“What do you think I’ve been doing,” Ed cut down one of its many limbs and chuckled to himself at its screech. He turned his gaze on Isaac and gestured to the width of the hallway, or more presumably, the spirit itself. “Dancing with it and having pina coladas?”

Isaac grunted and rolled his eyes, using his aura to deflect another claw headed straight for his face. The limb bounced off and went flying for the ceiling. “Could you maybe, I don’t know, cut it with the sarcasm for a hot minute?”

“No, but I could cut it for a cold minute?”

Isaac winced as another arm changed directions and charged for him almost faster than he could pull up another shield. It hit the ground instead. He stumbled. “Ed!”

Ed squated as another arm came for him, and hopped out of the way when it came down on the tile. He painted a thin line, as sharp as he could make with his non-dominant hand, and brought it down upon the claw. The spirit screeched again and pulled back. Ed’s eyes followed the tile where he’d been, and he swallowed hard. “Hey, Isaac?”

Isaac took a shot of lightning at the spirit, aiming as best as he could for its chest. Its skin tore apart. His lightning missed, shooting through the gaping hole. “Yeah?”

Ed waved at him from across the hall, then pointed to the floor. “I think we have a problem. It’s a poltergeist now. Causing damage to school property.”

Isaac groaned and looked back, struggling to keep his hands on either side of the tentacle rushing him. It pulled suddenly to the left. Isaac’s entire body moved with it. “Are you serious?”

“As can be.”

“We need backup!”

His hands slipped at the last second, and Isaac found the wind knocked from his lungs as one of the arms rammed into his stomach. It sent him into the lockers, gasping for air. His vision began to blur, and he squeezed his eyes closed. Another arm came rushing at him, and he only narrowly dodged its attack. The claws hit the lockers and tore metal the way down, leaving lines as thick as a dragon’s down the wall beside him.

“This world will be ours again.”

Isaac gasped and looked to the mass that he’d assumed was the spirit’s core, and he couldn’t decide if he was in shock, or if it truly had grown an eye– a single, bloodied eye. It was staring him down, watching him as though anticipating his every breathe. The question on his lips was dead on his tongue, and he couldn’t be sure they hadn’t escaped him in a whisper so quiet he couldn’t even hear it over the heavy beating of his heart. It blinked, and he swore its eyelid was inside out, like he’d seen other kids do in elementary to freak out the girls and the smaller children. He choked on his own air.

“We will reign again… and you will pay for this.”

The most disturbing thing was how, underneath the echo of a spirit’s voice, he could hear the undeniable sound of a human– like something out of a horror movie, like someone eaten alive screaming for help. Isaac went to ask, went to say anything to draw out that human voice, beg for answers so maybe he could help– and then Spender had cut right through it.

Isaac slid to the floor, heaving and coughing and– he reached up to wipe his mouth– was that… was that blood? “Not ectoplasm…”

“Is that…” Max appeared to be holding back a sudden nausea. “Is that normal?”

Isaac glanced up to find that it was everywhere. A mixture of human blood and ectoplasm alike, coating the walls of the hall like something straight out of a horror movie. Even Isabel looked frightened, eyes wide as she helped Ed to his feet, who could hardly function with the way he was looking at the floor. Spender stood in the middle of it all, brows furrowed, hands clenching and unclenching as he stood as still as stone.

What was that thing, if not a spirit? Was it– he felt sick to think it– a living thing? Why could they attack it if it was still living, then? Isaac wiped away the blood– ectoplasm? Something else?– from his jaw with the back of his hand, shuddering to think of all the questions building and fighting for top pick when he head was so… so muddied that nothing made sense.

“Isaac.”

He blinked back to reality, glancing up to Spender, who then stood with his cellphone in one hand.

“You should go get cleaned up.”

Isaac looked from Spender to Isabel and Ed, who were watching him, why were they watching him? “Yeah, I guess I should…” His voice trailed off like it’d known something he didn’t, and he pushed himself to think about what he could be missing. What was wrong with the picture?

And then he saw it.

Ed wasn’t as bad, but his legs were still nearly soaked in the weird blood-ectoplasm combination. Spender himself was covered from speckled face to drenched shoes, eyes narrowed behind the glasses he hadn’t yet taken off to clear. He’d gotten up to make for the bathroom, but halted midway up from the floor. “Why am I the only one who needs to get cleaned up?”

If he was thrown off by Isaac’s apprehension, Spender must have been a hard read. He swore he could see the man’s eyes flicker behind his shades, and he pointed more avidly to the bathrooms. “Isaac, that’s an order.”

He blinked again to clear his eyes, gaze running over the faces of his other teammates.

Isabel and Ed were looking away, eyes anywhere in the destroyed hall but him. He’d been expecting that.

Slowly, cautiously, he turned to look at Max, who stood on Spender’s other end with wide eyes and a stomach he held between his hands. Their eyes met, and Isaac’s brows furrowed because he was asking a question and Max had to have known, had to have understood because he had earlier.

Max frowned and turned his head to the side, hands falling limp at his legs, and Isaac knew he’d been stupid to think there’d be any other outcome.

He sucked the roof of his mouth with his tongue and stood up, hand clutching his sides were the spirit– person, thing– had gotten him earlier. “Fine.” He turned away from the rest of the group and all but stomped in the direction of the west hall bathrooms, clutching hands turning to fists without him even noticing.

It was a good thing the school was empty come nightfall, Max mused to himself, because otherwise there was no way Spender could have called down a cleaning crew, of all things, and gotten away with it. It wasn’t like that was their job, he guessed, they were just spectrals, friends, he called to help him out of a particularly messy situation, but still! “What was that thing if it wasn’t a spirit?”

Spender sighed and leaned back against the wall, squeezing clean the hand towel he’d had Max break out of the janitor’s closet. “A monster.”

“Great. What, exactly, is a monster?”

“An overloaded medium.” Spender dunked his washcloth back into the mess and began clearing as much as he could in one sweep. Isabel plopped her own down and began cleaning the same area, wiping as aggressively as she fought. Spender nodded at her in a silent acknowledgment, and Max didn’t miss the smile that brought to her face. He glanced down at his own washcloth, finding the mixture of blood and ectoplasm to become thicker, more like rotten slush than, well, however the heck else blood and ectoplasm should hypothetically act. “Of course, this isn’t something that normally happens, it’s just” he paused and wiped away the blood that was beginning to crust under his glasses “in this case, the spirit is ready and willing to leave, but…”

“… the spectral won’t let go?” Isabel’s voice was sharp, like she was barely keeping it from breaking with emotion, and Max couldn’t even begin to tell what she must have been feeling. She was used to all of the spirits and ghosts and stuff; she’d grown up around it her whole life, he hadn’t, but in some ways he wondered if that made the new knowledge even worse for her. He was terrified, yes, and he probably wouldn’t be able to wash the sight from memory for the next thirty years, but he hadn’t been so deathly close to a threat like that his entire life.

“Exactly. A situation like that can only build so long before, well” he held up his washcloth and let the blood and ectoplasm flop off like thrown tomatoes “this happens. The humans and spirits fighting for dominance over one body eventually tore it apart and made a monstrosity of it. They don’t think like we do, they have two sets of thoughts and memories. Most importantly, two sets of emotions, both terrified and angered, enough that all they can agree they want is, well, revenge or blood or whathaveyou. What makes things worse is that, because the body they both inhabit is still of the physical world, non-spectrals can see and feel their impact. That is what makes them so especially dangerous.”

“And it sounds like there are a lot of them.” Max dumped his washcloth into the bucket and let the hot water fold over his hands, soothing in the face of the chore he’d set upon doing. “And they’re coming for us for some reason.”

“The Consortium specifically, probably.” Isabel amended, moving hair from her eyes as a bead of sweat rolled down a string of her bangs. “I’ve never heard of that happening within our ranks, so I’m going to assume that’s the agency we branched off from.”

Spender nodded. “Before The Consortium existed, there was an earlier spectral group. Mankind was still new to the paranatural world, and experience has taught us better. The spectrals who became monsters were some of the first mediums on record. The spectrals sealed them away in an undisclosed location.”

“But one got out.” Ed spoke up for the first time that hour, squeezing out his washcloth before wiping his reddened face with it. Max cringed. “So, what do we do now?”

“I’m not sure…” Spender glanced up at the other spectrals running around the hall, struggling to open lockers, dropping entire buckets of water and falling over the sopping wet floor– it might have been funny had Max been in a laughing mood. “I’ll be speaking with the other agents tonight.”

#paranatural #maxwell puckett #isaac o'connor #isabel guerra #edward burger #richard spender #blood warning #fwtbt #the monster trilogy

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goldenuwuswriting · 5 years

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Siren's Song: [Miyoung's feedback part two of two ... sorry]

I hope this isn’t coming off as mean or anything because I really did like the story ://

You had a question over the study guide that Johnny had handed out, so naturally you went to office hours to ask before heading to your next class. (1)

I think there should be a few more details here, like introducing the question (background info) or why the question was hard - this can also be move down later to when the reader asks the question

¶ There (1) was something magical about the voice you heard coming from Yuta’s office. It was so pretty and drew you in. Your feet kept moving towards the door, as if they weren’t controlled by your brain. You reached out for the door handle and turned it. Something compelled you to keep walking into the office, where Professor Nakamoto was sitting in his chair (2) and singing under his breath.

There should be a transition sentence either at the end of the (new) previous sentence or a thesis statement sentence at the beginning here so that the subject changes fluidly

But was he turned around and didn’t see you walk in? Was he distracted by his work? Did he stop singing immediately when you saw him or did he finish his song (probably not finished his song because Sirens die once their song is finished, otherwise they are immortal … yeET)

Yuta was shocked. You weren’t supposed to hear his ‘true’ voice. He quickly cleared his throat and asked you what you needed.

¶ You were frozen for a minute, as all of the gears in your brain started to move again, you remembered why you were there.

“I have a question on the study guide that Johnny made. Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I could probably help you since I am the professor.”

You wanted to laugh at yourself for being such an idiot. (1) “The question asks for the differences between harpies and sirens. Is it for the modern idea of sirens or the original idea of them?”

Does the reader have any other thoughts? How does embarrassment word for this reader - just an awkward laugh and nothing more/they move on? Or is their exterior an awkward laugh but the interior is a face palm? Or maybe the interior matches the exterior? Please don’t be afraid to add small details that gives the reader more life!

Yuta looked at you confused; shouldn’t you be questioning him on the fact that he is a siren (the answer is yes but you are too tired to realize it). He looked at you for a moment before answering, giving you his perfect, healing smile. “It’s for the modern idea of sirens, Y/N. You’re the only student who caught that.” (1)

Maybe have an extra sentence to indicate that they do have feelings for each other? Or at least that this is where his feelings start to develop? This entire paragraph is about his feelings and thoughts so maybe the reader’s feelings towards the very attractive professor is not included, except the healing smile part probably.

“Alright, thank you and see you in class.” You took off towards your next class, (1) mind still piecing everything together. Professor Nakamoto can’t be a siren because they don’t exist, right? (2) Your next class went on for what seemed like hours.

Maybe describe some of the features how the reader dashes off? Like actions or reasons why or thoughts.

A transition sentence might be nice to add here, to indicate that this thought is why the next class dragged on for hours.

Yuta was freaking out, so he called Johnny, hoping the sentient tree would answer the phone. (1)

Describe Yuta’s internal panic? - i.e. “Come on, come on, Johnny, pick up, pick up, come on.”

“Hello?” Johnny’s disembodied voice flowed through the phone.

“I, uh, may have done something stupid and exposed myself.”

“Nakamoto Yuta, What did you do?” (1)

Maybe indicate how Yuta perceives Johnny coming off - Angry? Done? Amused?

“I may or may not have been singing under my breath, and Y/N may or may not have gotten captivated with my ‘true’ voice.”

Johnny sighed, and Yuta could picture the taller man rolling his eyes.

“You want me to convince them that their mind is playing tricks on them, don’t you?”

Yuta just hummed in response.

Johnny hung up on him, not before telling him that he should be more careful.

You were finally dismissed from class when Johnny had texted you and asked if you want to meet up at a café near campus. It was about a 15-minute walk from the building you were at. The only thing in your head was the sound of Yuta’s voice. The voice that mesmerized you, the one that belonged to a forbidden object, and the one you couldn’t have. The more you thought about your professor’s voice, the more it dawned on you that he might be a siren. You walked towards the café, pulling your jacket closer to your body, trying to get as warm as possible while walking into the wind. The fall weather was your favorite, but it still had its downsides. You pushed the door open and took a deep breath, taking in the scent of fresh roasted coffee beans and fresh baked goods.

Johnny waved you over to the table he was sitting at. Your TA had two cups of coffee in front of him of which he handed you one. You gladly accepted the bean juice and took a sip. The two of you exchanged greetings and talked about random topics.

“Johnny, how much do you know about Professor Nakamoto?”

“He’s like my best friend, why?” Johnny was concerned about what you were going to say, and it showed (1).

but how did it show?

“I want an honest answer. Is he a siren?” you whispered those sentences. Perhaps you were going crazy with all the credit hours you were taking and the disturbing amount of sleep you were losing due to it. Everything about the professor seemed to match the exact creatures he was teaching about, obviously there were small differences though.

Loud laughter broke you from your thoughts. “You honestly can’t believe that, Y/N. Sirens don’t exist, and he is not one. I think you need to take a break from your course work or take a long nap.”

“I guess so (1), but no one should have a voice that pretty.”

I think that there should be a pause here, like “I guess so,” you say dejected, reclining in your chair. Then you perk up slightly, another thought crossing your mind, muttering, “No one should have a voice that pretty though.”

Johnny helped you with a few questions on your study guide before it was time for him to go help Yuta get set up for the introduction to ancient civilizations class. You decided to head to your dorm and sleep as Johnny suggested.

The nap was just what you needed. Your roommate woke you up and asked if you had notes from your English class that they could borrow. Your phone’s screen lit up displaying the current time and a message from your best friend, Kun. Kun is the mom friend. He brings you food and takes care of you, so it’s no surprise when he texted you asking where you were and why you weren’t in class today.

Johnny had met up with Yuta and practically clowned him for letting you catch on.

“I didn’t know that they was there.”

“Well, it would (1) take a genius to figure out that students are going to stop in during office hours.”

“would” or “wouldn’t”? Is Johnny intending to be sarcastic or is he explicitly making fun of Yuta - say the two sentences and hear the difference: “Well, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that the students are going to stop in during office hours,” Johnny stated sarcastically. VS. “Well, it would take a genius to figure out that students are going to stop in during office hours,” Johnny stated, rolling his eyes at the man with a full PhD.

“If you’re so smart, Johnny, then why aren’t you a professor?” Yuta was becoming dramatic. He picked this habit (1) up from a few of the first-year students. These students called themselves the dream team (2).

The habit of being dramatic?

I know that this foreshadows Renjun’s cameo later on lol

You weren’t prepared for class on Monday (1), knowing that you had to take the chapter test. Johnny had warned you that the professor had a project planned but he was picking the partners. You asked him to put in a good word for you, so that you would hopefully get paired with Dong Sicheng, who goes by WinWin and happens to be the professor’s favorite (2). WinWin was a cutie and very babie so you understood why he was the favorite. A plus to working with WinWin was (3) that he was friends with Kun as well, so study snacks would be made for you both.

When did a weekend pass? What about the paper? I didn’t even realize it was Friday in this timeline.

I just really like how this part was written lol; it reads so pleasingly

Keep tenses consistent

The test was easy, probably because Johnny had explained everything to you when he asked you to get coffee. Yuta had waited for everyone to turn in the test before explaining the project, which was to come up with and market a product as business entrepreneurs (Johnny’s idea after writing an essay at 3 am and drinking red bull). He started to call each pair.

“Dong Sicheng and Mark Lee.” There goes your chance at a decent grade, Mark was the only other student who wasn’t a freshman and had a great work ethic. “Y/L/N Y/N and Huang Renjun.” You have heard that Renjun was a responsible boy who loved art from Kun constantly talking about him and Sicheng. Kun also said that Renjun and his three other friends referred to themselves as the dream team and they did everything together (1).

Why add this part if Renjun is the only Dream member (sorry Mark lol) to appear?

Said boy came up to you, and introduced himself and gave you his number. When class ended, you marched up to Johnny.

“I thought I asked you to make sure I was partnered with Sicheng.”

“I tried. Professor said no multiple times.” Johnny was trying not to smile at the memory of teasing Yuta.

“What would he say if I ask him? I really don’t want to work with a member of the self-proclaimed ‘dream team’.”

“He would most likely say no and to get over it, but you can try. He’s in his office.”(1)

Find balance between words and statements! I think you could describe that the reader stalked over to Johnny or appears mad through micro movements.

Johnny was sending you to war with a dangerous (read: Soft) enemy. Johnny immediately texted Yuta a heads up after you stormed out of the classroom. Yuta had anticipated someone was going to be upset at the partner choices, he just didn’t think that it was going to be you (1).

Okay but why not?

You furiously rapped on the door to Yuta’s office and waited for him to tell you to enter.

“Y/N, what can I do for you?” The male had asked in a sing- song tone. The cadence of his voice quickly quelled your anger.

“I wanted to know if I could switch Renjun for either Mark or Sicheng.” You smiled at him (1), silently praying to whatever gods or goddesses existed that he says yes.

I suggest describing how the reader’s disposition changed and why - the why part being explained with vague words to symbolize that the reason for the change is unknown

“I’m sorry, but partner pairings are final unless one partner is doing more work than the other.”

You exited the office in a slightly better mood than before, which Johnny noticed when he passed you in the hall.

“Yuta, was Y/N just here?”

He nodded.

“They were furious after you assigned partners and then is suddenly in a better mood after talking to you. What happened?”

“We had a great conversation, that’s all.”

Johnny shot him a look that conveyed his thoughts. Yuta was slightly annoyed that the elder could read him that well.

“I just charmed them a little,” Yuta smiled at his friend. “Y/N might be short but they’re kind of scary.” He shivered with the change in topic, recalling your furious demeanor.

“I know, but we’ve had this discussion. What happens when they figure out that you are in fact a siren. Y/n already asked me if you were.”

Yuta knew that Johnny was right. He should probably stop while he was ahead. You were too pretty to die, and he really didn’t want to move again (1).

WHAT???!!! EXPLAIN PLEASE

You messaged Renjun and asked him to meet you at Kun’s after okaying it with him. Kun was already working on snacks for the three of you. Three hours later and Renjun never showed up, Kun tried calling him but the boy never answered and Kun knew the boy didn’t have class until tomorrow. You already texted Johnny and told him what happened and that Renjun hasn’t shown up. You made sure to ask where the professor was, hoping that this would get you a new partner. Your favorite and only teaching assistant informed you that the was hour left in Yuta’s office hours. The walk from Kun’s dorm to the office to you about thirty minutes compared to the usual hour. The anger boiling in your system at the freshman kept you warm and was what caused you to practically slam the office door open.

The Japanese man had heard angry footsteps coming down the hall, so he started to sing in order to calm the anger. It worked after a while and you could feel the anger melt away as waves of relief washed over you. The song continued and something about it compelled you to start walking towards your professor. You closed the distance between your lips and Yuta’s. The kisses (1) were filled with passion and need.

This part seemed abrupt to me, tbh, because there was no obvious buildup of even one-sided feelings, or at least no buildup that I outwardly saw.

“Get a room!”

That phrase startled you. Yuta grabbed your waist, not ready to let you leave, and looked at the source of the interruption. Johnny was standing at the door, rolling his eyes. You didn’t even notice the glare that Yuta shot him.

“Get Out, Johnny. Office hours are over.” (WiNk WoNk)

#Princess Miyoung #sweetie its fine #How am I supposed to grow w/o critique #thank you again #im really glad you liked it #submission

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