#oh also the growler but that could maybe change

[bitterpngs]

IM TELLING YOU METAL BAND AU WITH THE SECOND YEARS

#band aus #angel.txt #au tag #i say even though i’ve never talked abt this au here before #apparently jumó is releasing a culling games rock festival style type of hoodie and this pic is from that sample #JUMP*** #i’m not retyping that #anyway it’s cliche but lead singer yuuta who screams bc it’s a little amusing to me but more importantly bc at the start it can be a nice #stress reliever to him that he still enjoys doing after he works through his anxiety #lead guitarist maki bc she deserves to have solos and show off her skills #actually wait i forgot i assigned toge as the screamer hmmm #maybe i’ll switch it out again bc it’d fit him more i thinkkk. lead singer yuuta but toge is the screamer #also another guitarist #then panda is like #the drums #and in a panda suit bc when i think of drawing him i do not wanna think of a human design i’m terrible w doing that #oh also the growler but that could maybe change #i do not actually have that much knowledge abt bands despite my love for these types of aus LOL #kirara hangs out with them and ppl think they’re part of the band too bc of their aesthetic but no they’re just supportive #the first years are also in a band maybe. is 3 ppl enough to be in a band. in my mind yuuji plays the drums idk abt nobara and megumi tho #i also have a meta band au w sashisu but that’s a whole separate thing. geto is the lead singer and screamer #metal*** #bc i think his high voice would be so nice + screamer bc that man needs it. like i said. stress reliever. it’s cathartic ok. also i like it #specifically thibking about something like the lead singer of dir en grey. he has such a beautiful high voice #idk singer terms #gj the lead guitarist #they have songs where he can show off #shoko drums #i wrote a whole thing here might as well tag #ok i’m done back to drawing lmaoo

[shaekingshitup]

Grindin

A/N: EEEPP. This is my first attempt at a reader insert. Reader is always gonna be black. I missed a many of days. Here is the day 3 prompt because I liked this idea! Kind of based off my favorite coffee shop. Maybe I’ll do more for this lil story? 💁🏿 The chime for the door is literally from this song here. 

Summary: Reader goes back home to open a coffee shop and meets a man that stirs some things in her. 

“I love the concept,” you commented, “ I know we were only interested in black and blue originally. But can you do a mock up with gold lettering as well?”

“YAS! THAT! I like THAT! exclaimed Ray

“Already done,” Lulu noted and pulled out a secondary growler mock up from behind the print that you were assessing.

“You know me so well,” you smiled.

“Yeah, your ass is kinda predictable” she smiled back which earned her a tongue out.

This was your first meeting of the month and so far everything was going great. You loved that you could live out your dreams with the two people you trusted more than anyone in the world. Lulu had been by your side since you both realized you were the only two Spelman freshmen who were both from Cali in your class.  By your second semester y’all were so inseparable that everyone thought you were sisters. And by year 2 you were already living together. Thank God y’all had separate interests which kept your friendship and now your business in a healthy and ever growing state. You were engrossed in the world of science. You had been a bio major who often volunteered at the local greenhouse. That helped you establish your small but busy coffee shop a year and a half ago. Lulu was a graphic artist whom also was in charge of all Grindin social media and the unofficial pastry taste tester. Ray had come along when the ladies were rooming together off campus. He was a community college to 4- year transplant at Clark Atlanta but the boy was born and raised in Macon, Georgia and he’d never let you forget it. It was evident that once he met the girls at a mixer in his first week, the friendship was a wrap. That spawned regular visits back to his parents’ homes on the weekends and even some holidays spent in the south. After graduation, the bond never broke. You and Lulu returned to Cali with Ray in tow so that he could use his business degree to help birth Grindin.

You glanced over to Sherell. The Brewista Lead for the morning shift. You knew that Sherell had been strugglin to keep up a healthy sleeping schedule with finals right around the corner and the nerves of her impending graduation from Lincoln. She was a sweet girl and you couldn’t stand to see her bare any more stress. You were so caught up in your thoughts about Sherell that you had missed the very clear topic change amongst your friends.

“Okay, but that nigga’s arms? They biggg. You know what that mean!” sad Ray pointedly at Lulu

“HA” she cackled, “ that don’t mean nothin’. My guy has really soft eyes and you know Y/N loves a guy who is easy on the eyes,” Lu quips

“Bitch, you see the caterpillar above those eyes? We don’t nee her birthin the next Helga Pataki in these streets”

“Ugh” you groaned as you rubbed your temple. “I don’t know how many times we have to have to do this but I do not under any circumstances want you two meddling in my love life,”

“But” they chorused.

“BUT NOTHING! Every human with an assumed penis and who looks like they got more than $150 in the bank becomes a contestant for your little game of ‘Win a Date with Y/N’! I run a coffee shop! Not a dating service. I’m done explaining shit to y’all. Stop harassing my customers and let my ass worry about who I am with! I mean that shit.”

“I told you we should have started addin females to the list,” whispers Ray as you walk over to the counter.

“Raymond Johnson the IV and Eyeluta Nicole Hathaway, if I hear one more word from either of y’all you both gone be banned from any pastries for the rest  of the month” you spat feeling like the unofficial mother of your group yet again. You took a deep breath and continued toward the counter. 

“Sherell, how’s it going?” you asked a you approached the register.

She sighed heavily.

“You know what? You need a break. Go in the back and relax your eyes a bit. I’ll man the front”

“Oh no. It’s really-“

You cut her off. “Get back there and relax a little. I think I know how to run a register,” you winked.

You were on the register and Antwon was pouring at the bar. You two were in a good rhythm. It was either bustling or there was one customer to tend to today. There didn’t seem to be any in between this morning. 

GRINDIN rang out as the next patron entered.

“Welcome!” Antwon called out as you were assessing the stock supply up in the floor.

When you turned around you were met with... Well, you weren’t quite sure how to describe him. Fine was an understatement. Standing six feet tall was a milk chocolate wonder with a physique that his dark turtleneck and three piece suit couldn’t hide.

Keep it professional y/n

Before you could even get a breath out he growled “Y’all really got Clipse playin every time the damn door open?” He said this with his eyes glued to his screen as if looking up was such a difficult feat to conquer at 7:32 a.m.

“Yeah. It’s a signature touch,” you responded to the stranger. At your voice, he looked up and offered a smirk that probably made most women collapse at first sight. You still hadn’t made up your mind though.

“I’m feelin it.”

“Is this your first time here? I’m more than welcome to answer any questions you have about the menu or the store in general” you offered.

“Nah. I’ve been in a time or two before. Never seen you before,” he very openly eyed you up and down, “I normally let my assistant handle this shit though, you know Miss… “

“Y/N. Well, since you’ve been here before then you’re familiar with our unique take on the menu.” you supplied.

“Yeah, y’all rotate teas and coffees quarterly. You seem to keep a few staples- which I ‘preciate and y’all got some corny ass names for these drinks too.”

You bristled a bit at that last part. “There’s nothing wrong with a little creativity.”

“Never said there was, Y/N” At this point you couldn’t tell if you wanted to serve this man or show him the door. You chose the professional route.

“So, what does your assistant normally bring you Mr…?” you trailed off

“Just Erik is fine. My favorite is the single origin. Black.  It’s always the best way to start my day.”

“Mine too.” you smiled. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all

“If you’re into the single origin and you love that bold, black, taste something similar with just a little more sweetness is Brew Thang.”

He chuckled. “See what I be saying about these names? How you expect a grown ass man to order a drink called ‘Brew Thang’?”

“It’s good. Once you have a taste, you won’t have a hard time getting it to roll of your tongue.” you sassed.

Oh fuck . I didn’t mean it like that. I gotta keep this professional. I don’t need a bad review from this guy.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh really? Then lemme get a taste,” he said licking his lips. Your eyes widened slightly but he caught it. 

“Size?” you asked looking down at the tablet screen. 

“Large” he said with a bld and dark stare, “How much I owe you?”

“This one will be on the house. I want to make sure you’re satisfied.”

OH MY GAWD GIRL? WHO ARE YOU? WHAT IS COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH. PLEASE LEAD WITH YOUR HEAD AND LESS OF THE PUSSY

“Antwon, let’s switch. I’ll take the bar. You take the register!” You yelled out and quckly you two transitioned so that he could help the growing line of customer and you could bang out the drinks. Erik followed as you moved to the bar where he watched you work your magic. Once you were done pouring his drink you gave it to him. You got started not the next orders not the board but made sure to keep an eye on him as he took the first sip.  

“Fuck ma. This shit good” It was your turn to smirk. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. So now you’re hooked on the Brew Thang?”

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely satisfied.” You failed to hide your giggle as you called out that Ricky’s order was ready. Erik stuck around for a little after that inquiring about other menu items that you told him not be too quick to judge based on their names. The initial tension had dissolved and you two were in a comfortable rhythm of commenting on both the menu and the changes you’d seen in Oakland during the last few years. Thankfully there wasn’t a rush at the moment and it was fine for your to be off to the side of the bar answering any questions he could put forth. He was attentive to your passion regarding the menu and all that went into the shop as a whole.

“Hol up. You ain’t a barista. This is yo shit?”

“I prefer Brewista and yes. I do co-own this shop with my best friend Ray and we have a great Graphic Artist, Lulu, on deck too” The more he learned about you. The more he wanted to know.

“Okay Miss Entrepreneur. I see you. Damn, does that mean that you tha one that come up with these corny ass names then?”

You scowled playfully. “You keep talkin on my name and you gone catch these hands. I’m a professional. But I grew up on these streets. I can throw blows Erik,”

“My bad baby girl. I respect your grind.”

“Okay. So who really is the corny one here?”

“Whatever,” he smiled. A genuine smile with teeth and this made you want to melt right there. “Anyways, speaking of Brew Thangs, you got  a ni-“

His phone rang and he glanced down cursing. He put up his index finger and gestured that he just need one moment. You nodded your consent.

“What up T?”

In that time that he took his call, you looked up and saw that you had a line out the door. Sherrell came back out to the floor and your two were in a great rhythm getting through the 16 drink orders that had come up. When you looked up again, Erik was no where to be found. Now that the shop was stable you let Sherell do her thang and went into the back to re-convene with Lu & Ray.

“Y/N we need to get you an award for best employer. You really be out here goin the extra mile for your staff,” Lu said. You lifted the corner of your mouth in a weak attempt at a smile.

“Uh uh. Hoe what’s wrong?” Ray said noting your dejected spirt.

“Now? Now you listen to me?!” you yelled. “ALLL the time, I tell yo asses not to intervene in my love life and the one time it may have actually been beneficial y’all were no where to be seen!”

“I know she didn’t” Ray said.

“Yeah. She did” Lu, retorted. “I’m gonna ignore your funky attitude because I can see you’re going through something sis. What’s the deal?”

“I was talking to this guy. This man. And y’all he was so charming and sexy as hell and he wasn’t afraid to talk about shit that matters and I just turned away to make some drinks and he disappeared! I really thought he was gonna make a move. Or at the very least that you two would move in on him and make me sit through another awkward date. But nooooooo, you two finally decided to respect my wishes for once and now Imma die alone!” you monologued.

“You done?” Lu asked.

“Yes” you pouted.

“Aww come here baby,” Ray said with his arms outstretched, “I’m sure he’ll be back.” He hugged your frame tightly and rubbed some circles into your back. “Especially if you turned around when you were in front of him, cuz BABY GOT BACK!!” He yelled.

You and Lu laughed as he started smackin your ass and shakin his own. Soon enough you were all in the back twerkin like it was the first night y’all meet all over again. Hopefully he’d be back.

I’m sorry I forgot who to tag! Soooo if you got tagged and didn’t wanna be I’m sorry. The inverse is the same 😁

@twistedcharismaaa @raysunshine78

@ghostfacekill-monger @yoursoulstea 

@shewrites02 @sarcastic-sunshines

@thadelightfulone

#fictober19 #day 3 #prompt 3 #shaekingspeaks #black panther fanfiction #erik x reader #erik killmonger #erik stevens x reader #im in a coffee shop right now #i love coffee

[callboxkat]

Deceit’s Purpose

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Author’s note: This is one of those fics that just kind of wrote itself. I don’t know what this is, but it’s Angst.

Summary: After the events of Selfishness vs Selflessness, Deceit tries to figure out how to get through to the other sides and show them that he’s right. But maybe it’s too late.

Warnings: Does this count as sympathetic Deceit? I’m really not sure. Morally gray, maybe? He’s not a sweet angel or anything, but he’s not horrible. Also, because it’s from Deceit’s perspective, Patton and Virgil are kinda vilified a bit. Expect arguing, lying, talk of lying and the morality of it, a wedding, insults, kind of depression, and an UNHAPPY ENDING. Shocker, I know.

Word count: 1654

Writing Masterpost!

Deceit paced back and forth in his room, angrily flinging his hat and gloves at the bed and fisting his hands in his hair.

Why were the other sides so ridiculously stubborn? So completely unwilling to listen to him?

Sure, he was Deceit. Sure, he lied. A lot. Maybe. But that didn’t make him bad.

Deceit’s main function was, well, deceit. But that wasn’t always wrong, and it didn’t always simply entail him trying to get Thomas to lie with reckless abandon. He had more class than that. More finesse. More sense.

Deceit didn’t just try to make Thomas lie: he also worked to get Thomas to recognize his lies, to be aware of them—especially when he was lying to himself. Especially when he was hurting himself by pretending to be something or someone that he wasn’t. Deceit was trying to look out for Thomas! To protect him! The others had even admitted as much the first time that Deceit had revealed himself to their host. So why did the so-called “light sides” still treat him like some horrible, irredeemable piece of garbage?

Now, not only was Thomas not going to the callback, but he was going to the wedding instead. An event he was most certainly not looking forward to. Thomas’s role in it was limited to simply watching the ceremony and saying a brief “hello” to the newlyweds to prove he was there. All it was going to do was make Thomas miserable and satisfy Patton’s need for Thomas to be some kind of morally pure, selfless angel.

But Thomas wasn’t an angel. He was a human. As a human, shouldn’t he get to be selfish sometimes? Especially when it came to once-in-a-lifetime opportunities like this?

Recently, Deceit had been trying to change things, to make them all more aware that Thomas needed to do things for himself sometimes. But it was beginning to feel pointless. Maybe they would never listen, certainly not to a liar like him. Their perceptions were too clouded by what Deceit was.

All he’d wanted to do with the court room scenario was teach the others a lesson and try to convince them to let Thomas do what was best for him for once. Truthfulness was not always the only good option. Selfishness was not inherently inferior to selflessness. Being deceitful did not inherently mean being a bad person.

Deceit wanted to help Thomas; and since he knew the others were hell-bent against Deceit, especially a certain overgrown child and a certain angry purple raccoon, he’d been trying to do it while disguised as one of the “light sides”.

But acting was hard. Deceit was not the creative side, and Thomas simply was not a good liar—therefore, much of the time, neither was Deceit. Even worse, the others didn’t exactly hang out with him a lot, so it was hard to get an idea of how to properly mimic them. He still did his best, but clearly it wasn’t working.

So, how was Deceit meant to help his host, to do his job? To keep Thomas from becoming someone that others simply used, took for granted, and tossed aside? He wasn’t going to duck out—he wouldn’t do that to Thomas, and based on the others’ behavior so far, they probably wouldn’t miss him until the damage was unfixable.

Deceit continued to pace, wracking his imaginary brains for something, anything, he could do to fix this.

But perhaps the damage was done. Perhaps there was nothing Deceit could do to convince them that he was worth listening to. This seemed particularly true in the case of the callback. The others, even Roman, Thomas’s creative drive, were set on making Thomas go to the wedding. All because Deceit had happened to be the one to most seriously try to get him to go to the callback instead.

And now there would be no callback. No Alfred Hitchcoppolucas. No movie, no fame, no fortune, no more doors opened for Thomas. Just more of the same. Just more of the main four sides forcing Thomas to do what they wanted, what Morality wanted.

Heck, the deciding factor that made Deceit choose to pop up in the first place during the callback vs. wedding debate had been the fact that Patton had just kept talking over Thomas, telling him what he needed to do without even asking Thomas what he actually wanted to do.

…

As time went on and the day of the callback and wedding neared, Deceit continued to try to change the others’ minds. But, of course, it didn’t work. Virgil would just yell, or hiss, or simply roll his eyes and leave. Roman would be clearly conflicted, but ultimately deny him, his mind already made up. Patton would point fingers and lecture him on right and wrong, leaving no room for Deceit’s argument. Logan might have listened to him more, but he was still mad at being mostly left out during the courtroom scenario. That may have been a mistake on Deceit’s part, in hindsight, but it was also yet another thing that he could not change. And any time he tried to speak directly with Thomas, Thomas would either immediately banish him, or Virgil would pop up and make him do it.

So, when April 13th finally came, Thomas went to the wedding. He missed the callback. And just as Deceit had expected, as Thomas himself had expected, Thomas had a terrible time. They all did, really.

Virgil spent the whole day anxious about everything that could go wrong. Roman was miserable, both because of the missed callback and because of the loneliness that the wedding dredged up inside him. Logan claimed to be unaffected, but Deceit knew that he felt that the callback would have better served Thomas’s needs and wants in life, even if not going to the callback was akin to Thomas having never gotten the opportunity in the first place. Patton was all but drowning in nostalgia and other feelings. Deceit, meanwhile, spent the day having Thomas lie about the fact that there was somewhere else that he would very much rather have been than at that wedding. And Thomas himself felt all of that.

It was a long day, in short.

Afterwards, Deceit was sitting in the dark, theoretically watching The Phantom of the Opera on the television in the commons of the mind palace. The television was on silent, Deceit’s head resting on one gloved hand as he watched the screen with glazed eyes, his mind elsewhere entirely.

“Ugh,” a voice said, interrupting his thoughts. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hello, Virgil. You’re exactly who I was hoping to run into this evening,” Deceit said, rolling his eyes.

“Just get out already. You lost, okay? There’s no point hanging around and bothering everyone anymore! Just GET OUT!”

Deceit turned to look at him. “Oh, of course. The entire mind palace belongs to you and your pals, how could I have forgotten?”

“Dude, if this is some pathetic woe-is-me act to try to get us to sympathize with you, it’s not going to work.”

Deceit, deciding he didn’t have the energy for this tonight, just released a heavy sigh and turned his gaze back to the television.

Virgil snapped his fingers, and the screen went dark. Deceit made a point of snapping his own a half-second later, turning it back on. Virgil growled at him. That was unusual, Deceit noted. Usually when Virgil chose to mimic an animal noise, he favored hissing. Roman was more of a growler.

“Why. Are. You. Here,” Virgil demanded, snapping his fingers again. This time, Deceit didn’t turn the show back on. He knew it would just lead to an endless, frivolous fight of turning the television on and off again. The main sides were rather ridiculous, after all.

“Because you’re completely incorrect,” Deceit drawled. “There’s plenty of time to change things. Thomas can still go to the callback, and even barring that, he can get another opportunity like this one! They just grow on trees, after all.”

Virgil frowned at him.

“I was going to watch a movie,” Virgil said.

“Well, clearly, no one else is watching anything right now,” Deceit said.

Virgil, even though he surely knew what Deceit meant by that, shrugged and snapped his fingers. A different movie started playing, Phantom of the Opera gone.

“I wasn’t watching that!”

“I don’t care. Don’t you get it? We don’t want you here. I don’t want you here. Just go! Get out of here!”

“No!”

Virgil threw himself onto the couch and put his legs up on it, crowding Deceit into the corner—as petty of a tactic as all get out.

“Why not? You don’t even do anything good for Thomas. All you do is show up in cartoonishly awful costumes and jeopardize all of his friendships! How is that helping? All you do is lie.”

“That isn’t all I do,” Deceit said, his voice shaking from anger, but slow and deliberate.

“Ah, he admits it.”

“Yes! I mean—No, I don’t! I’m not just deceit!”

“It is literally your name. You are Deceit.”

“You aren’t just Anxiety, are you?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Is it so hard to believe that I might be useful for things other than deception? You may be Anxiety, but you are also Virgil, correct?” Deceit was practically vibrating with anger now. Why did the others refuse to understand? Why did his primary function have to make getting his point across so much more difficult?

“Deceit—.”

“My name isn’t Deceit! My name is ETHAN!”

Virgil stopped. He stared for a moment, eyes wide. For a second, Deceit thought that maybe, he’d actually gotten through to him. Maybe, he’d actually found a way to start to prove to Virgil that he wasn’t just a single function, incapable of being anything more, of being anything good.

But then Virgil’s gaze hardened.

“That’s just another lie.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #deceit sanders #virgil sanders #sympathetic deceit #morally grey deceit #sanders sides fan fiction #fanfiction #ts fanfic #Deceit's Purpose fic #angst #I genuinely have no idea if this is any good or not #guess I'll find out #oof

[mooberg]

Pavor

Part one: Into the Belly of the Beast 

It’s fear gas shit, fam, y’all know this. Buckle the fuck up. Also pavor is latin for fear, specifically that of a trembling and paralyzing nature. So look forward to that... Also this is split into two parts because she got long af.

Beta: @virus-vodka

Virus world created by @voiceoflarka

Word Count: 3304

Warnings: None

Enjoy...

“And you are certain your intelligence has led us here?”

Callow looked up at his mentor with a cocksure grin. “We got 'em right where we want 'em.”

Psi nodded. “Good work.”

“We're going to have to be careful approaching the building, there's no telling who, if any, are on lookout.” Gamma said, eyeing the warehouse.

The light grey exterior walls had long since stained a peculiar mix of green, brown and black, heavier at the top of the three stories. Almost every window was boarded up, the glass long since broken in any that weren't. Tag signs littered the lower half of the building, causing an odd sort of rainbow effect.

“It's so big...” Jolly commented.

“That's what she said.” Callow quipped, earning him a smack on the arm from Horns.

“They chose this place for a reason.” Gamma continued. “It's undoubtedly going to be a maze in there, and they'll know every inch.”

“There's a lot of old gang tags on there too.” Glitch added. “This place has been abandoned for a long time and changed hands a lot.”

“They may not be expecting us, but they will be ready for us.” Psi agreed.

“We'll just have to be faster.” Jolly said.

Gamma smiled at her approvingly. “Glitch, Jolly, you two take the ground floor. Cal, Horns, you two on two. Psi and I will cover the third and roof, then meet up with you when we're done. We've been working on takedowns for arrests, and you guys know your stuff, so use it. You've got zip ties, use 'em, and bring anyone back out here once you have them subdued.”

“Call for backup should you require it.” Psi added. “You have your earpieces.”

The team just nodded in understanding, choosing to let the conversation drop and get to business like a certain plant manipulator they knew. Together, they made their way around the side, electing to crawl through a shattered window and avoid any attention on the front door. The stairs were easy to locate and the team split ways.

“Left or right?” Horns asked Callow as they left the stairwell.

“Always go left.” Callow headed in that direction, Horns close on his heels.

It was odd being in Callow's presence and not talking, or arguing, or whatever he was in the mood for that day. “He's in the mood to kick some ass.” Horns thought, kicking himself mentally at the terrible joke. The importance of this mission was not lost on them.

The Growlers were a gang that had been making waves for the past several months. Having formed out of two smaller crews, their main focus in Dashland had been the movement of Venom through the streets. They'd done a good job, getting big enough that the 99 took notice. Iota and Epsilon had gathered enough evidence earlier that month to take them down, and their leader had been led away in handcuffs shortly after.

Rounding up the remaining members had been a messy process, being quite scattered due to the merger of the two different crews. The officials and the 99 had been under the impression that the gang had been completely dismantled, until a familiar strain of Venom had cropped up in Dashland Proper. Callow had caught word of this development and sent out some feelers to 'friends' in the Upper Capitol. This had led them here. Gamma figured if her team had found them, her team should bring them in.

The concrete floors were heavily coated in dust, dirt, and chips of the beat up cinder block walls. The lighting was low from the boarded windows, what few streaks of light that made their way in illuminating thick dust particles floating in the air. Horns had to physically stop himself from coughing as he breathed in, clapping a hand over his mouth. As they rounded corner after corner, that light quickly faded. Callow turned his flashlight on low, keeping it pointed at the ground. Whatever this warehouse had been used for, it wasn't shipping. They'd expected a few hallways and then big open rooms, but the building was like a rabbit warren of small, interconnected rooms.

“We're gonna be here for hours.” Callow commented under his breath.

Horns just hummed in agreement, not wanting to screw up the mission by talking too loud. As the two delved deeper in, they started hearing sounds. Or at least thinking they heard sounds, it was hard to tell. A scratch here, sourceless footsteps there, a softly closing door. Horns reached out on a more metaphysical level, hoping to connect with any spirits that may be responsible for the sounds. There were certainly other beings present here, but none that seemed capable of this level of activity.

“Someone's messing with us.” Horns whispered. “They know we're here.”

“We can take 'em.” Callow grinned at him, but an unsettled feeling had rooted in the pit of Horns' stomach, and he just grimaced in return.

A loud bang at the end of the hallway drew their attention in the darkness. Callow, deciding stealth was no longer an option, turned his flashlight up to full brightness and the two of them charged down the hallway. At the end, he swung left and Horns swung right, coming face to face with nothing.

Horns sighed, pressing a finger to his ear. “Team, we-”

Another loud bang shook both of them, followed closely by a screech in their ears. Horns and Callow both ripped their earpieces out, Horns throwing his to the ground in his surprise.

“What the fuck was that?” He hissed.

“They knocked out our comms.” Callow replied lowly. “Someone's been watching, they shouldn't even know we have them.”

“Consider it a necessary precaution.” A sneering voice sounded behind them. The two spun around, but nothing was there. Nothing had ever been there.

“This is what mind games feel like then.” Horns said.

“Let the games begin.” Callow agreed.

 ~~

 “The hell was that?”

“Guys?”

“Something's wrong.” Gamma looked at Psi with worry to match his own.

“That did not sound good.” He said.

“Again,” Glitch retorted. “The hell was that?”

“Sounded like something knocked out their comms.” Gamma replied.

“Do we just let them keep going?” Jolly asked.

“No.” Gamma replied quickly. “No, I don't want them going on without open communication.”

“Jiji and I are close to an exit, we could go.” Glitch offered.

“No, you two stay on your current path.” Psi said. “We are almost done on this floor so I will find them and Gamma will finish up.”

She nodded, letting him know she was okay with the plan. “Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, just kinda worried about the loud screech...” Jolly replied with a hint of sass, a sure sign of her nerves.

“They are going to be fine.” Psi nodded to Gamma and made his way back down the hallway. “I am going to find them and we will figure this out together.”

~

Glitch sighed as the line fell silent again. “I hope they're okay.”

“Psi better find them quick.” Jolly frowned. “I don't like the sound of this.”

“They can handle themselves.” Glitch soothed her, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. “They've got each other, they're not alone.”

“Horns has to be freaking out by now.” Jolly worried.

“He's got Callow.” Glitch laughed slightly despite the situation. “Do you really think our moody-ass gator boy is gonna put up with Horns' anxiety for more than two minutes?”

“He's gonna slap him,” Jolly couldn't hold back her grin. “Isn't he?”

“Oh probably.” Glitch said. “But they'll make it through. They will.”

 ~~

 “I guess we just continue on then...” Callow said. “We still have a job to do.”

“I-I'd feel a lot better if we could still talk to the team.” Horns replied.

The gator virus sighed. “Alright, out with it. What is it?”

“It's nothing much I just...” He looked away, slightly embarrassed. “I have a bad feeling.”

“Anything specific?” Callow asked, surprising Horns with his genuine intrigue.

“I haven't been able to pinpoint anything, really.” Horns said. “Just... I don't know, something bad. Something bad is about to happen and I don't know what.”

Callow looked back down the way they'd come. “Maybe we should turn back.”

“We've already made it this far.” Horns argued. “I'm not saying I like it, but it would be better if we kept going.”

“True-”

“Besides.” Horns continued. “I... have a feeling they're already behind us.”

“Oh great.”

“Turn back. Turn back!” Horns faltered on the first step, hearing resonant whispers coming from all around him. He whipped around, soul flashing violently enough to provide a little more light. But there was nothing there.

“Did you hear that?” He hissed.

“Uh... no.” Callow eyed his friend warily. “I didn't hear anything.”

“Liar!”

“We're right behind you.”

“Run!”

Horns grabbed hold of Callow's sleeve. “Stop it! There's no one here!”

“Horns.” Callow gripped the Satyr's shoulder and gave him a shake. “Of course there's someone here.”

“Cal-”

“That's literally the whole reason we came here, numbnuts.” He cut Horns off. “Someone's messing with you. You said it yourself, there aren't any spirits here powerful enough to do that. It's probably a sound manipulator or something.”

“Why?”

“Probably trying to rile you up.” Callow retorted. “And it's working. So you need to cool it or we're never gonna get out of here.”

Horns just nodded, looking around wildly despite himself. Callow let go of his shoulder, but let him keep hold of his sleeve. He'd done it many times for his friend and knew the contact soothed him. They continued forward cautiously, whipping around corners in case they found the source of the voices. Horns jumped every so often, hearing more voices getting more pervasive, but he tried to keep his cool, even as his pulse picked up.

“There.” Callow doused his flashlight. “Light.”

“Looks like we drew the short straw.” Horns replied.

“They're going to kill you.”

“Get out while you still can.”

“Run.”

“RUN!”

“Oh fuck me!” Callow hissed. “That's fucking terrifying.”

“I told you!” Horns whispered back.

“It's. Not. Real.” Callow insisted. “Chill. We have a job to do.”

Horns whined. “We can't even radio for backup...”

“Hey.” The gator virus turned, clapping Horns' shoulder. “I've got your back, you've got mine. We can do this together.”

Horns nodded, steeling himself. “Together.”

Callow led the way quickly down the hall towards the open door, trying not to make a sound but not really caring if he did. Let them hear him. Let them come. There was no sound coming through the door but that didn't mean much. They'd already established that these thugs were likely expecting them.

Callow paused just on the other side of the door, looking back to meet Horns' eye and coordinate. The Satyr nodded, breathing deeply to prepare himself, gun in hand. Together they whirled around the door, Callow again going left, and Horns going right. Horns didn't see the man on the other side until a fist connected with his face. He fell back, clutching at what he could already tell were spiderweb cracks on his temple as the man knocked the gun clean from his hand. He heard it skidding along the floor as he tumbled into Callow, the two of them hitting the ground hard. Horns tried to roll off his friend and pop back up as quickly as possible, but the man before him was faster. As he felt himself being lifted by the collar, he heard Callow struggling against someone else.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” His last word stretched out, echoing around them in those same resounding voices, feeling like they were piercing right into his skull. Horns squinted through the crippling sound, taking in the man before him.

In the back of his mind, Horns had been expecting someone crazier looking because he just thought that's how drug dealers worked. This man was far from crazy looking. He looked Horns over with pale blue eyes that had seen far too much for their age and showed it. His dark skin was broken by veins in the same light blue, and he grinned at Horns in a way that made his stomach turn even further.

“Looks like these little mice wandered right into our trap.” The man dealing with Callow sneered.

The sound manipulator just gave a huff of a laugh that reverberated around the room.

“Haven’t you heard?” Horns wanted to crane his neck around to see who Callow was up against but feared what would happen if he lost eye contact with his opponent. “Mess with the Growlers and you’re gonna get the bite.”

“I’ll show you a bite.” Callow snapped. Literally it seemed, as Horns heard the snapping shut of his jaw.

“Easy there, kitten.” The other man chuckled. “We just want to play.”

“Time to have some fun.” The echoes picked up in their intensity even further. Any sense of rationale or restraint that Horns possessed was quickly fading as the voices invaded his mind, unbearable and overpowering.

“Have fun with this!” Horns shoved his palm up, hoping he’d find a good target through his insanity-induced blindness. He heard a crunch, and despite himself he smiled, knowing the man’s nose would never heal right. His feet touched ground as the man stumbled back, and Horns took the opportunity, hooking a leg behind the taller man’s and swinging his weight into him. 

Gamma would have been proud as the guy collapsed to the ground. 

Horns reached for the zip ties at his side, only to be shoved off the man before he could secure him. He rolled away, springing to his feet. His opponent was slower on the draw and in that moment of pause, Horns lashed out at him with his powers. The mind spike sent him reeling back but didn’t send him down. Horns scowled, knowing he resisted the full effect. 

While the man recovered, Horns fished out two zip ties, making sure this time he was ready when he lunged forward. He got the man on his back again and was moving to roll him over and secure his hands when he retaliated. His fist connected with Horns’ throat and the Satyr reeled back across the floor, gasping for air.

“I don’t have time for you, you little shit.” He heard the man say, voice low with anger. “Why don’t we just let you play on your own?”

Horns staggered to his feet in time to see the man retreat down the hall, throwing something behind him. Horns hadn’t seen anything like it before, but he’d heard of things called ‘grenades’ and knew enough to duck for cover. He waited for an explosion, but all he heard was a hiss as green smoke enveloped him. Suddenly the worry that had been ever present in the pit of his stomach intensified, twisting in his gut like a knife, making him curl into a ball as it grew. This was no ordinary gas. But he didn’t know what it was, what it might do. This gang was dangerous; there was no telling the depths they might go to. Horns certainly had no clue. What if this was the end? His breath hitched at the thought. He’d never be able to thank Gamma and Psi for all they’d done, all the patience they’d shown him. He’d never be able to show them their time hadn’t been wasted, never even be able to train hard enough to do so. He wasn’t even close to that level yet. And his team. He’d never get to thank them for taking him in, for putting up with him on his worst days and caring for him on his best.

“They never really cared for you anyway.”

Horns flinched at the thought. Of course they had, they were a team.

“They didn’t choose their teammates.”

The Academy had put them together. What if they’d had a choice? Would they have still chosen him? He had his hoodie then so they wouldn’t have seen the real him, but…

“No one would have chosen you. After all you’ve been through, they still wouldn’t. They’re just putting up with you because they have to.”

“You’re wrong. They love me.” Horns gripped at his head, flinching as he brushed past the cracks in his temple.

“No one loves you, you idiot. Look at you, cowering on the ground in fear. Why would anyone put up with that?”

“Glitch loves me.” Horns retorted. “And Jolly. They love me.”

“How do you know?”

“Shut up.” Horns whimpered. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. You don’t know! You don’t know anything!”

“I know you.” Horns looked up at the voice as it became clearer, seeing himself reflected in a mirror on the opposite wall. His hoodie was off, and he squirmed uncomfortably at the thought. “I know what drives you. Drives us. That self hatred, that loathing the skin you’re in, wishing you could be someone else. Anyone else. But you can’t. You’ll always be stuck here, like this. A Satyr. A disgusting Satyr.”

“Stop!” Horns shouted, dagger flying from his hands towards the mirror. But there was no breaking of glass, no shatter. Horns squeezed his eyes shut, opening them to see nothing more than his knife spinning on the ground in the low light. It wasn’t real. But as the first of many tears fell, it sure felt like it…

 ~~

 Psi lowered himself down the broken elevator shaft, landing between the open doors of the second floor. He didn’t want to waste time doubling back to the stairwell, he wanted to find his trainees as quickly as possible. He knew they’d been taught well enough to get by without aid, but still found himself worrying just a little. Sammy was never going to let him hear the end of this.

Silence greeted him as he crept through the halls on red alert. Not even the sounds of his team reached him, muffled by concrete and dust. He lost count of the number of corners he edged around until finally, something came into view. Not someone, unfortunately, but the backpack chucked into a corner was as good a clue as any. Psi froze when he opened it, the contents more than enough to cause worry.

Gamma. Psi popped into the mind link.

What’s wrong? She just knew, sensing in his tone this was bad news.

They have Fear Gas. He said, rifling through the bag and its familiar canisters.

Dammit. Gamma’s anger came through the link clear as day. If they’ve used it…

We will find them, do not worry. Psi soothed.

We should warn the team. I don’t want this getting out of control. Gamma replied.

Psi tapped the earpiece, connecting with the remaining members of the team. “Glitch? Jolly?”

“Aye boss?”

“The remaining Growlers have gotten their hands on Fear Gas.” He announced.

“Shit.”

“What’s Fear Gas?” Jolly asked.

“It’s a toxin that, when inhaled, makes the victim see their worst fears.” Gamma piped up on the line. “It’s really dangerous stuff, guys.”

“We have an antidote, but if you find anyone with a canister, or get sprayed with an unfamiliar gas, run.” Psi said.

“Thanks, Psi, that’s really reassuring.” Glitch quipped.

“It was not meant to be.” Psi felt for the antidote mask among his gear, glad that it had become common practice to carry one. They may not ever know who to curse out for inventing the cruel gas, but at least they had a way to deal with it.

His movements quickened, knowing time was now limited. He needed to find Horns and Callow fast, hopefully before they were hit. The side effects of this gas on the body... He shook the thought from his mind.

#lvc #larka's virus community #virus world renaissance #the team #moo writes #Pavor #real real unsure about this fic so i hope you enjoy #shoutout to vod #A+ beta #10/10 would be bullied into sharing again #part 2 coming asap

[packsbeforesnacks]

A Life Still Permanent || Solo

[Part One | Part Two | Side B]

TIMING: Saturday, February 8th, 2020, Dawn LOCATION: The Outskirts SUMMARY: You can’t keep a good wolf down. WARNINGS: References to suicide and attempt, suicidal ideation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and potentially self-harm.

Winn felt like death.

There were certain benefits to being a werewolf. Increased strength, stamina and, hell, Winn’s alcohol tolerance had improved—though some might attribute that primarily to his frat boy tendencies rather than his monthly furry problem. But he was only (mostly, kinda) human, and his body could only take so much before it decided to give up.

A quick review of Winn’s week would reveal the following events: (1) the Kansas City fuckin’ Chiefs had won the Super Bowl, (2) he’d been forced to come clean to a maybe-baby-wolf about his being a werewolf (and made an ass of himself in the process), (3) Ricky hadn’t yet confirmed he’d be willing to make Winn more barbecue, (4) Blanche was being weird, (5) he’d helped a drunk lady home (great, one good thing), (6) he’d fought a Zamboni—oh, yeah, and ghosts existed (???), and (7) so did bone-sucking literal monsters (?????), (8) multiple people in his newfound life knew about all of this and were seemingly totally chill with it, and (9) this all happened over the course of a full moon week. Because of course it fucking did. Because (10): Winn’s life was a cosmic joke.

He’d scrawled out so many angry, sad, and/or confused letters to his packmates today, enough to put a small paper mill in business. Why had they left this (huge) detail out? Was it a big secret from even him? Was he not enough of a member of the pack to know. Had everything with them been a big joke? Or, worse: Did they also not know that vampires—and, really, how fucking Twilight of the universe—existed? That people could do literal magic. How could they not know—their families had been around since forever.

And, to Winn’s absolute credit, he had been extremely down with werewolves being a thing! His best friends were werewolves! They wanted him to become a werewolf too! This was all great! Oh, there were werewolf Hunters? Wild! But it was fine! He had friends, he had a pack, he could make it through. And then, ‘course, he had to go and kill one. A Hunter, dead in a pool of blood, blood that covered Winn and César, soaked into the wood of the fraternity house, staining it. Staining them, forever. Winn didn’t regret it—how could he, César was alive, the pack was alive. But he couldn’t forgive himself either—something had changed between all of them that day, they’d all grown up in ways that maybe they wouldn’t have had to if Winn could have just kept his dick in his fucking pants for one goddamn minute.

But here he was, middle of the woods, buck-ass naked, twenty-four cans of cheap beer, a tightly packed bowl, and a half empty bottle of Maker’s Mark in his system, waiting for the full moon to come out. Waiting for the only inevitable thing in this shitcan of a week. Maybe he’d die tonight. Wouldn’t that just be a perfect end to his week? But no. He couldn’t die here, not like this, not crossfaded and self-destructive. Right? They’d never forgive him. No, he’d let the wolf out, let the wolf run free as it could be, and then Winn could think about what the fuck this all meant in the morning. Could hunt down someone—Miles, maybe?—who could actually explain this shit to him. Winn could listen. Winn would listen. It would be fine. It had to be fine.

When the moon reared its beautiful, terrible head, Winn knew something was wrong. His transformation didn’t hurt so much as it felt unbearably numb, the usual stretch and snap of his bones replaced with a dim awareness of the pit in his heart, stronger than any physical pain. He needed to let the wolf fully take control, God. He didn’t want to be in the driver’s seat tonight, thanks. But the wolf… well, it didn’t seem too comfortable about the circumstances either, if Winn was bein’ honest. It growler a little lower, ran a little slower. But still, it ran. Padding through creeks, dancing in the moonlight, reveling in the small apocalypse that Winn had been through. The wolf didn’t care about fae, or witches, or vampires, or ghosts. (And, fuck, the wolf probably knew. Asshole.) It could just be, out here in the middle of nowhere—or at least, nowhere when anyone could see him, deep in the woods on the outskirts of White Crest. Only weighed down by Winn’s cares in the nominal sense, free to push them to the back of its mind, where Winn sat, chained to his own memories.

He didn’t pay any real attention to the world around him until he could sense dawn approaching, once again. It, too, was inevitable. But this time, unlike the previous month, there was no Miles to find him, to make him feel less alone. No new wolves had come upon him either, had fought and bit and rolled with him. Winn has alone and the wolf howled, desperate for his pack. Winn stopped in a small clearing, panting heavily. Wait. Where was he? He could smell his path from the place where he’d left his jeans, but he couldn’t smell any of the characteristics of his own patch of the forest. But still, it felt… familiar. He inhaled deeply, and smelled… people? Fuck, no. No, no, no. He couldn’t have gotten this close to the town. He twisted on the spot, head cocking left and right, trying to look for a landmark, for anything that would tell him how close he was to White Crest proper, how close he was to fucking up everything. Again. Always again, back to this, back to him. Him fucking up. (Could wolves have panic attacks? Was he having a panic attack?)

Winn didn’t see the bolt coming, not until it buried itself in his front-left shoulder, immediately painful, immediately burning him with its force, with its tip. The wolf—he—screamed. It was a Hunter, come to collect Winn’s debt. A debt he deserved to pay with his life. No. No. It was a Hunter. And Winn was the prey. He had to think like himself—like the wolf knew how to. Or else, he was dead. He was so, so dead. The bolt had been shot from above, based on the way it had lodged itself into Winn, that angle… from somewhere in the trees in this clearing. Pretty high, he hoped. And there was hope. The wolf would fight and bleed until its last, so Winn turned, fully at one with himself, and leapt back down the path towards his home, towards his tree, towards anything that would get him away. He thought—maybe—he had just enough time. He could get back to his jeans, find a spot to hide, escape certain death.

But every smack of his paws against the earth, every push downward into the dirt, was another surge of lightning and fire in his shoulder. Winn knew silver. Knew how it from that time, all those years ago, when a silver dagger had buried itself in his back, how the burn peeled away at your innards, rotting you from the inside. Knew it from the time he’d held that same dagger in his hand. Winn knew that, if left untreated, he wouldn’t live long enough to find out who the fuck had shot him. To eliminate the threat. Getting away wasn’t just a decision for his survival, it was now a race against the clock. Winn had to get to the tree, get his jeans, run back towards the hospital, against the dawn, all while trying not to let the Hunter find his path once he finally lost him.

He heard running water, and bolted towards it. He knew these woods, now, knew that there were old, waterlogged trees that wanted to fall, and die, that were trying to make way for new forest. He shoved himself against any tree that looked suspect, his nose telling him that the Hunter was still close on his tail. Another bolt zinged past Winn as he zig-zagged through the forest, and lodged itself in one such tree with a deadly thunk. Fuck. Fuck. The creek—please, fucking please be a wide section—was close now, the rush of water music to his ears. Was he going to get lucky this morning? If he lost the Hunter at the river, he could circle wide and get to his jeans, spiral back and out the hospital. He just needed one good distraction for the crazy person with the crossbow.

It appeared before him like a vision, like a hallucination brought on by the pain from the silver, but Winn knew that it wasn’t, knew that this was the tree that he needed to shove, to crack, to let fall in the Hunter’s path. And damn him, but Winn didn’t want to hit the bastard, just get in his way. The tree was big, a mess of tangled branches at the top and leaves still clinging on, but Winn could be bigger. He circled around the tree, precious seconds ticking by, and rammed his good shoulder into it. Crack. C’mon, c’mon. An arrow thunked into the tree. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Another slam, another shove, and the tree went tumbling down. Not directly, not straight into the Hunter’s face, but firm enough, deep enough, that it would cut him off. Winn hoped. Winn prayed. He didn’t want to die.

He bounded into the river, icy water soothing his spirit a little, even as he reminded himself that he had to keep going, and going, and that he couldn’t stop. Winn ran fast, only using his nose to gauge if the Hunter had been lost, but not slowing down for a second even when Winn confirmed, shit, thank fuck, he’d managed to lose the Hunter in his tree tricks. The last of the moon’s light was fading as the sun breached the sky, but Winn knew that he wouldn’t change back this time, not unless he was safe, not unless he wanted to. He came upon his hollowed tree, yanked his pants away from where he’d hung them and clenched them between his teeth as gently as he could manage. Hospital. Hospital, now.

A voice echoed in Winn’s ears: What’re you going to live for?

He didn’t know yet, but… he wanted to live. And so he ran.

#wickedswriting #para #solo #A Life Still Permanent #suicide tw #self harm tw

[lonelypond]

Can’t Get Started

Love Live, NicoMaki, 3.5K, 1/2

Nishikino Maki is trying to make in the piranha fishbowl of movies, music, and Hollywood. Yazawa Nico already has. And they keep crashing into each other.

Can’t Get Started

No matter how many luxury, fancy, five star, $$$$$ hotels Nishikino Maki would spend time in, she would never get used to the powder room lounges, with interior design as fancy and challenging as the living areas of the ‘finest’ homes. This one had a wood and platinum motif, with large low sofas scattered over a space the size of her moderately luxurious apartment. There were pitchers with cucumber water and a thick book full of very unclothed photography, which actually interested Maki, as a photographer herself, but here, where women came in and out every few minutes, she felt too exposed to pick it up, have a look, and see who had made that particular editor’s cut. So no lingering after the deed is done. In a room seemingly designed for lingering. And one fidgety blur of movement in a corner Maki made certain to only catch out of the corner of her eye. No staring. Time to move on, no matter how tempting the couches seemed compared to the roomful of noisy chatter and chummy elbows.

Maki was back to continue her decor appreciation jam session after only ten minutes because of a small accident with the soup. Award shows should be like the Oscars, someone else in your seat when you needed air, not occasions where you not only had to juggle nerves but also food. Maki shook her head at herself, looked at the curry down the front of her dress and wondered if water would make it better or worse.

She stopped. There was the blur, now in the center of the ‘lounge,’ a tiny dark haired woman, pacing and muttering, hands flying back and forth, making shapes in the air, leaning into a couch, patting an imaginary cheek, turning to one side, smiling and waving, unusually...red eyes wide and friendly. And then they spotted Maki, and narrowed.

“Sorry…” Maki coughed and ducked her head, pointing to her dress, “spilled soup. Just…” Maki smiled shyly, “thought I saw you in here ten minutes ago. Are you okay? I get nervous too.” A flip of her finger across the still damp soup stain to demonstrate empathy.

Now there was staring. The eyes were red, almost rubies, with that same illusion of faceted depth that the best jewelers carve into their efforts, bringing out magical warmth from mineral cold. Then an incandescent smile happened that knocked Maki back, “Nico is fine. Nico is just rehearsing her acceptance speech so fans like you,” a broad, broad wink, “aren’t disappointed.”

Nico. Yazawa Nico. Maki took a better look, this woman was so tiny, but yes, the eyes should have been a giveaway, set deep over a nose that was much sharper than Maki had even seen in any of the movies where Yazawa had bled out all of her emotions for an audience eager for stories of romance, tragedy, and triumph with an actress unafraid to be as unapologetically gay on screen as off. From superhero to Empress, Nico had swept the international cinema scene, scoring box office hits in both small indie films and action blockbusters. Maki had been impressed by the actress’s range, cried and laughed over her performances, and maybe had a slightly illicit dream or two. Like every other gay and bi woman on the planet.

“Hello?” Yazawa’s hand was waving in front of Maki’s nose, “Nico can help you with the spill. I have a stain stick in my purse, It’ll keep it from setting.”

Maki nodded. That sounded sensible. Like a plan. And Nico’s dress was silver slashed with black fringe, that went with the silver slashes across sharp cheekbones above lips that could really only be described as a sensuous dark plum.

The actress was waiting for some kind of verbal reply, but Maki had half turned and was just staring at a pattern on the couch and running a hand through her hair, as adjectives and screenshots kept flashing on her internal movie screen. Then Yazawa’s hands were on her shoulders and she was being shoved into a chair, “But first you listen to Nico’s speech…” Yazawa paused.

“Um…” Maki realized her elevation had changed and she glanced up, Nico watching her critically.

“Name?” Nico urged.

“Maki.” Easy question.

Nico nodded and the tension eased. “Okay, Maki, hi I’m Nico, I have a big presentation in…” Yazawa glanced at a delicate twist of a silver watch, “20 minutes, so it’s kinda urgent, can I run something by you? So I don’t sound like an idiot.”

“Yeah, I always sound like an idiot too.” Maki blurted.

“Well,” Nico stepped back, “thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Sorry, Ms. Yazawa...” Maki bit her lip, “you’re always so polished on screen….”

“It’s Nico. And I never write my own dialogue. On set improv is lame.” Nico stepped back, her eyes focusing somewhere else, hands seeming to measure out where the stage and microphone were, “Writers work as hard as Nico does so they deserve respect.”

Maki thought Umi would be pleased and surprised to hear that from a celebrity she had occasionally doubted the work ethic of. Maki, as a composer, was usually immune from actors altering her artistic choices but it was a near daily struggle for Umi. Maki wondered if Nico would be interested in reading their latest, an intimate musical…

Nico’s hand again, fingers snapping this time under Maki’s nose this time. She jumped as Nico began to sound testy again, “If Nico can keep your interest, she can keep anyone’s…”

“Not, that’s not...I just...my friend Umi is a writer and always complains about actors who want to improv.”

“Posers.”

Maki grinned, “Exactly what she says.”

Nico patted Maki encouragingly on the shoulder, amused, “Introduce Nico later. Now you listen. We only have 15 minutes before...” Nico flung her arms wide, nodding to each side, gathering in imaginary shouts and whistles.

“Okay.” Maki stood, stretched her arms out in front of her, sat, leaned forward, slammed her hands into her knees, the picture of alert attention, and winked at Nico, “Go.”

Nico laughed, stepped behind her imaginary podium, whispered, “clap” so Maki did while Nico’s hand gestures called for more. Then the flip of the hand for quiet.

“Thank you. Tonight is very important to Nico…”

###

Sundance...party...one pissed off caterer...Maki had no idea what she did to annoy the woman...oh wait, yeah that...but Umi was going to be SEVERELY disappointed when their party, intended to impress award winning designer Minami Kotori turned out to be Maki smiling awkwardly and handing around a bag of stale chips and a growler. It was a weeknight, the Thursday before the second weekend, and Maki had had hopes of catching the ska documentary she’d connected a musician friend with. But no, here she was frantically searching for...a pizza place, maybe? Fewer crowds than last year, when they’d come the first weekend, but still enough people bustling that Maki felt like she was elbowing people awkwardly in the halls of high school again. And then her heel hit a patch of black ice and she sssssssslllllliiiiiiiiiiiiiid down the sidewalk until some obstacle forced her back on her butt. That was going to be sore, Maki thought as she reached a hand behind her, levering herself up was going to be at least a three limb job, both legs and one arm.

“Here let me help you. Are you okay?”

Maki recognized the voice and winced. Yazawa Nico once again catching her in an imperfect moment. “Hi. No, I’m fine.”

Nico snorted. She was in a black snowsuit with cute pink flair, fake fur, and patches scattered all over her arms and legs. She took Maki’s hand and when the redhead nodded, pulled. Maki rose and stumbled forward, suddenly finding herself with A list celebrity arms supporting most of her weight while dreamably delicious, not even mildly chapped lips pinched back what was probably a belly roar of laughter.

“Sorry.” Maki stepped back, hands brushing the snow off her leggings. Why hadn’t she dressed for the weather? Leggings based on samurai armor, an oversized Northwestern hoodie and a Reign ballcap would not have been any stylist’s choice.

“No soup stains?” Nico teased, clapping together pink mittens that looked like Muppet fur. Maki thought there might be eyes on the palms. She wasn’t sure if that was cute or creepy.

“No food at all.” Maki sniffled, feeling the cold soak into what was going to be a sitting bruise, and having no real options as her mind raced through possibilities. Umi and Kotori would be headed back with a small crowd after the premiere of Umi’s latest film and Maki had nothing, “I have to go. Nico to see...I mean nice to see you, Nico.” Maki tried to smile but she knew her face was giving away how many non options she was discarding per second.

“What’s the matter?” Nico asked so casually, so quickly, Maki almost forgot where she was.

“I pissed off the caterer. And Umi…”

“Your writing friend….”

“You remembered…”

Nico tapped her temple, “Nico keeps future industry connections who know cute redheads in the most secure part of her memory.” Nico frowned, “Sorry, Nico meant intelligent and attentive test audiences. Nico’s not a creep.”

“Then why are there eyes on your mittens?” Maki couldn’t help asking.

“Huh...” Nico laughed, raising one of her hands, turning her mitten into a sock puppet, the pitch of her voice dropping, “Hey, friend, let’s make a snowman…”

Maki glanced around, a little frantic, not sure how to react, especially as this new conversation track was her stumble entirely, “Sorry no...there’s not really anywhere...I really...Umi’s going to be so upset…”

“They make my little brother laugh. He’s 13 and I’m trying to keep him silly.” Nico rolled her eyes, “They grow up too fast.”

“Oh.” Maki hated being this confused. And feeling this incapable. But Nico was grinning at her and cute and surely Umi and Honoka could charm Kotori without catering. There was ice cream in the freezer. Probably.

“So what did you do to the caterer…?”

Maki shoved her hands in her kangaroo pocket so she wouldn’t just throw her hat somewhere as she remembered the scene. “Ummmm...ran over the main dish because I was running late and backing out of the condo driveway when they were unloading…”

“Sounds like a movie meet cute.” Nico’s eyes were twinkling while Maki was getting shorter and probably tilting toward the left as her hip contracted from pain and cold. “So is it a private party...why did Nico miss getting her invite?”

“Oh, it’s for anyone who goes to Umi’s premiere.” Maki glanced at her watch. “Which is going to be over soon.”

Nico pulled out her phone. “What’s your address?”

“Why?” There wouldn’t be much of a party, and Honoka would surely just hit Nico with every project her clients might need an actress for.

“Nico knows someone. Is this Umi or who she’s trying to impress allergic to anything?”

“Minami? I’m not sure.”

Nico whistled, “Kotori, the Divine Kotori of Floating Feather Atelier….Nico really needs to come to one of your parties. Nico hears she’s big on cutesy food…” Nico frowned, considering. “I might know a place...”

“Where?” Maki got ready to run.

“You are not touching anything breakable, droppable, or poisonable. Nico will send her assistant.” Nico handed Maki her phone, “Just give me your contact info and Cocoro will take care of it.”

“Okay.” Maki took off a glove and tried typing but nothing registered. She kept punching until Nico took the phone back, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Just talk.”

“Okay.”

Nico typed in the digits as Maki recited them. “All right, Nico will send a rescue party to your wreck. Don’t back over them.”

“I’m walking everywhere from now on. Rogue Salmon spaghetti carbonaras are obviously stalking my car.” “Probably safest. Are you hanging out this weekend? Nico’s chairing a diversity panel. People are going to be talking about it for months.” Nico kept typing, biting her lip as she muttered things Maki couldn’t make out.

“Flying to Tokyo in the morning.” Nico looked disappointed so Maki explained. “Family business. My parents...”

“Oh. Nico will text you a snap of her agenda and her dress so you can see what you missed.”

“Okay.” Maki nodded at Nico, who had finally glanced up from her phone.“Thanks, Nico. I’d better get back.”

As Maki turned, Nico giggled. “Send Nico back a pajama selfie.”

Maki whirled, “What?”

Nico, with a too innocent expression on her face, was watching her mittens out dance each other, “We should go to a party TOGETHER sometime.”

“Stop by tonight. You have the address.”

Nico’s mittens dropped to her sides, her voice apologetic before it dipped back into a teasing edge. “Guest of honor three places. Already late for the first. And Nico has to hurry her assistant because there’s a cute redhead with no food to stain her clothes…”

Maki blushed and bolted. Nico had a very distinctive, short, snorting laugh and Maki feared that further conversation would draw a crowd. Plus, the liquor delivery was probably waiting.

###

Maki’s phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number, “We’re here.”

“Who?”

“Food.”

Maki had changed into jeans and a turtleneck, and was about to put her last layer on. Shoving her arm quickly into the formal jacket, she hopped down to the door.

One young woman, leading three young men with huge insulated bags, stood, impatiently tapping her fingers against the doorframe, “Maki?”

The grim tone made Maki wonder if she should pull out her ID. “Yes.”

The woman turned, “Take everything inside, find the kitchen, set it all up, my sister said not to let her touch anything.”

The staff nodded and shuffled past Maki once she stepped out of the door and onto the porch so they could get through.

The young woman glared at her. “Nico already tipped them.”

“Okay.” Maki was staring. This young woman was almost identical to Nico in coloring, but no amusement had ever lurked in her blood red eyes and her entire expression screamed “Not on my watch, you don’t.”

“You should probably go back inside.” The not Nico pointed.

“Okay.” Could this be over soon, Maki wondered.

“I have to text Nico a picture.” Nope.

“I’ll take you to the kitchen.” Maki had said something right, but it was too late to score any points. The “thank you” in response was perfunctory.

“I’m Maki Nishikino.”

“I know.”

Maki knew Nico had mentioned a name but its memory was as slippery as the Park City pavement.“You are?”

“Ms. Yazawa, Nico’s assistant.” Stated slowly.

“Right. Thank you.”

No reply. Ms. Yazawa racewalked into the living area, and Maki could hear her ordering the three young men around.

Maybe everything would be self serve. And Nico’s...sister? Evil clone? would make a quick exit. Maki wasn’t looking forward to the party and extra scrutiny would make it so much worse.

“Maki!” Honoka Kosaka cheerful trill echoed as the front door banged open, ‘Everyone loved Umi’s script. And they can’t wait to meet you.’ Maki waved at her old friend and agent as the ginger in a kilt and shawl bounced into the living area. The food had arrived just in time. But a smile was more than Maki could muster as the memory of the younger Yazawa’s frigid attitude kept scalding her.

###

The condo was finally quiet. Umi, Honoka, and Kotori had gone off somewhere to continue what Umi called ‘negotiations’ while Honoka had whispered date. Which Maki wasn’t thinking about. Because the condo was finally quiet. And then her ringtone went off. Maki groaned and grabbed her phone, wondering what the new crisis was.

A text from an unknown number: ( ˘▽˘)っ♨ how was the party? My sister said you didn’t spill anything while she was there.

Maki smiled. Nico.

M: （－－；exhausting

N: In bed already? Pajama selfie?

M: Collapsed in chair fully clothed so not terribly exciting.

N: Depends on the chair ପ(⑅ ॣ•͈૦•͈ ॣ)ଓ

Maki shot a quick pic of the fabric pattern.

N: 10/10 would slouch right there with you

M: I’d be terrible company. During party: |_-｡), after party (o_ _)o

N: And yet, here we are...(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Maki ran a hand through her hair and sighed. What she really wanted to do was soak in a bath for hours, candles lit, music low, but past experience had taught her that as soon as Honoka came back she’d barge into wherever Maki was with an update.

N: Is the rest of Team 'Slide In Through My Window' there?

M: You know the script title?

N: Nico talks to people. Your friend Umi made quite a splash at the writing panel. Bet actresses are swooning to get a look at the script ヽ/❀o ل͜ o\ﾉ

Maki frowned.

M: Are you?

A pause...Maki could see Nico typing, then the bubble disappeared. Then more typing,

N: (,Ծ_ლ) Honestly? There’s no good way for Nico to answer that.

Maki leaned forward, her fingers flying.

M: Why not?

N: *groans* Because of course, duh...hot new thing and turns out I love the score for the 'Déshabillé and Disaster' short and YOU composed that, but mostly, Nico is swooning over an excuse to keep talking to you.

Nico knew her work. The first thing people mentioned was usually the hit steamy summer bop she’d written with Carly Rae Jepsen last year, not the Le Cristal d'Annecy winning animated short so Nico had either done her homework or was a genuine enthusiast. Either way…Maki found herself typing too quickly to reconsider anything she said.

M: You don’t need an excuse.

N: Are you going to be in LA for awards season?

M: Yes.

N: Nico will see you then. Cocoro hasn’t overscheduled me yet…So let’s crash a party together.

M: Can it be a small, quiet party? *yawns pathetically*

N: Get some sleep. And don’t forget to send Nico a pajama selfie when you get to Tokyo. Or at least a chair pic. Nico needs to know your furniture preferences.

And Nico had attached a selfie where she had the most serious of faces, one eyebrow quirked to its sharpest, most questioning extreme.

Maki couldn’t help it. The guffaw just rolled out; there was no other word for it. This was flirting. This was nice. No one staring and making her feel uncomfortable. A minute to think. Maki relaxed into the chair, legs pulled up, remembering Nico’s grin. This was flirting. A nudge. A wink. A dare. Maki took a risk.

M: Not too well padded.

N: (╯‵□′)╯︵┴─┴ Rude. Nico’s furniture is padded perfectly. ಠ‿↼

Guffaw followed by giggle. Maki was feeling better. Maybe she could actually sleep before leaving for her flight. IF she taped a huge DO NOT DISTURB ME, HONOKA to her door.

M: Thanks for your help, Nico. You saved me. Although I don’t think your sister likes me.

N: She’s not the deciding vote in the Yazawa family. Chat up Cotaro, he likes donuts, you might be able to swing a majority. Nico will put in a good word for you.

M: You’re probably exhausting in person.

N: All the to die for parties are ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)

M: *collapses further into chair, CRUSHED under weight of brush with celebrity*

N: Nico is not fatal, Ms.OVERdramatic, just friendly.

M: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

N: Sleep it off, recluse ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )

M: (b~_^)b

N: Cute. See you in LA.

See Nico in LA. It was now a plan. And Nico would be in one of those dresses designed to show off every perfectly padded curve. Maki felt herself redden and then panic jumped to her memories of red carpets and last year. The crowds. The cameras. And how everyone sweeping by, svelte and confident, had brought out every clumsy twitch in her body. But Nice was certainly not the watch the red carpet on a laptop with takeout and TWIG commentary type. Maki sat up, maybe if she started with a dress. Could Umi and Honoka talk Minami Kotori into coming back to the condo for some fashion talk? Maki could use a little divine design intervention.

A/N: Enjoy this first half. I started this while finishing up Jingle Bell Jazz when I heard Nancy Wilson's version of "I Can't Get Started." Juggling a few storylines so I'm not sure what'll be next after this as summer and Shakespeare and crimes against humanity by the government of my country continue.Thanks for reading. Take care!

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Red carpets #Hollywood #Yazawa Family #etc

[transboygenius]

SE4SON: Chapter 16

Jimmy and Nick got the king just where they wanted. The boy genius did all the talking, while Nick just stood beside his friend. Jimmy discussed the people, the finances, and the benefits of serving the community. Jason was really getting into the proposal, from how the boys were looking at it. He seemed to be interested, and he even didn't ask any questions, which would've gave the boys an opportunity to dig for his interests like Jimmy intended to.

It was a lot easier than they expected to be. Maybe this king really is dumb. Jason just sat his big behind down on that throne, smiling and agreeing to all their notions. He even threw in some compliments. Despite all the positivity they've gained so far, Nick was sweating from the inside of his armor. If Jimmy screws this up, then they could have another appointment. ...with a noose.

"So, may we have your opinion?" Asked Jimmy.

The king continued to sit there, widely smiling, and staying silent. Jimmy snapped his fingers in his face to awaken him.

"Oh, you're done? I mean, how staggering! I am quite hath moved by this presentation thee put forward! Grant you mercy to thee, gentlemen, I has't now did look upon the errors of my ways. My lord, so many unhappy individuals! They do very much misprise me yond much?" Said Jason. "Yeah. One of our friends mentioned they wanted to turn you into a skin suit." Replied Nick, before being nudged by Jimmy. "Goodness! I've just about heard enough! I won't stand for this injustice any longer! As the king, it is mine own responsibility to give what is best for my people! What have I become? I has't forgotten the wise words my father bestowed upon me: Make the world great again!" "Oooookay. Does that mean we have your approval?" Asked Jimmy. "Absolutely!" "You hear that, Nic-" -"Aaaa! BUT, on one condition!" "Huh?" "I've agreed on your half of the bargain, now it's time you hear mine. And before you bring up any more questions, we shall discuss this over dinner tomorrow."

Jimmy and Nick shot a glance at each other, confused. So it's just too good to be true, eh?

"Can... ...we invite some friends?" Asked Jimmy. "I'd be delighted if you brought your friends. As many friends as you please. As long as they don't disturb us while we're talking about: THE DEAL."

Suddenly, a loud boom was heard. Jimmy, Nick, Jason, and Richard followed the sound, and there was Diana in the main hall, fending off a few guards, with a huge hole in the wall behind her. Everyone soon stopped when the king was present.

"Jimmy! Nick! You're alright! Sorry to make a scene, boys, but it's been an hour and I thought it was now my time to take action, just like you said!" Said Diana. "Your greatness, pardon her manners. She's with us." Jimmy noted to the king. "This thing- I mean, she's one of your friends?" Asked Jason. "Yeah. I know it may seen strange, given the high age gap and all." Replied Nick.

Jason winched an eye at Diana. He didn't know this giant was a woman. Sure, she had the face for it, but a body like that shouldn't belong to a female, he thought. And she also dressed very masculine, opposed to the normal womanly attire, such as dresses or gowns. Judging by that hole in the wall, which he can assume she made herself, and the way she easily fended his guards, she was strong. Very strong. Like Hercules. Women aren't suppose to be strong. Once again, the king forced a smile on his face.

"Heh heh, don't worry about the wall, gentlemen. I'll get the royal carpenter on that." Said the King. "Wait, I have a few questions about this favor!" Asked Jimmy. "During dinner, my boy! During dinner! Wear your best cloak! Richard, order the staff to release the drawbridge!"

The drawbridge then descended, leading to an opening out for our young heroes. Butterscotch was outside, playing poker with a random knight. As the stallion spotted his owner and the two boys, he abandoned his game and galloped over to them. Before they were ready to leave, Diana helped both Jimmy and Nick up on the horse's back, then spoke to King Jason for the first time.

"Sooooooo, you're the king. The one who got a lot of people hanged, for the littlest crimes. Well... You... ...certainly look more... ...handsome than I pictured."

King Jason was not pleased with the brawny woman's words. Another thing he wanted to add about what he didn't like about this woman: She had a personality, which is apparently something a woman should never have. However, he would've been more upset if he knew she was lying right now. His appearance alone made Diana cringe. Even if he's not that bad in the eyes, it's his priorities that make him ugly. This is a man who resorted to harsh punishments, and left the needy in poverty. Her, Benson, and Rodent Girl are unemployed, and are driven to the farthest area away from the village because of him. She would do anything to punch him in his stupid face on spot.

"Are you alright, madam?" Asked Jason. "Huh?" Replied Diana. "You've been staring at me for two whole minutes, with that weird look in your eye." "Oh. Uh, your greatness... It's just that pretty mug of yours! How could anyone look away?" "Well, stop that! It's blamed disturbing!" "Your wish is my command!"

After a short bow, Diana turned around with a change of expression. The four then journeyed away, and the king waved goodbye.

"You see, Nick? Hook, line, and sink 'em." Said Jimmy under his breath. "I just can't believe we made it out of there with our lives."

................................

While making their way to the hut, Nick felt the trip was getting a little too quiet, so he decided to entertain everyone by summarizing the plot of his favorite movie; Insect-Man: Around The Bug-Verse.

"As the stranger was about to lay a finger on Miley, whom she presumed was the Growler, she acted fast by knocking them out with an unexpected wasp sting she didn't know she had until now. After that, she decided to examine the unconscious body out of curiosity. To her shock, the stranger looked none other than Frankie Fender, the original Insect-Man! Only older. And he was fat. Also bald. Not that bald. 'But how?' she thought. 'That's impossible! He's supposed to be dead! I was there when The Don dispatched him with the biggest can of bug repellent money could buy!'"

Jimmy was really getting into the plot, even Butterscotch, although he was confused over the mentions of modern technology and chemical engineering. Diana, however, wasn't paying attention. She only had one thing on her mind.

"(Punch Jason. Punch Jason. Punch Jason. Punch Jason. Punch Jason. Punch Jason. Punch Jason.)"

............................

18 minutes later, hut sweet hut. Benson was watering the crops, and Rodent Girl was napping in them with her rat friends. Nick continued to discuss the plot with Jimmy as they got off of Butterscotch.

"And that's how it ends. Miley Moraze carried on the legacy of a deceased superhero by living as Insect-Girl. And what makes her feel better about taking this job is knowing she is not alone. ...as long as there's 50 different multiverses with 50 different Insect-People in them. The end." "Wow. What an interesting story. I feel like I wanna see it for myself, despite that you pretty much spoiled the whole plot. Eh, I could probably just erase my memory." "It's no longer playing in theaters, but it did release on Bloo-Raid recently! Plus an extended viewing of the film in the special features!" "Hey, did the older Frankie ever make up with his wife back in his universe?" "Nah. He realized he never really loved her, and now he's on the rebound indefinitely." "Sounds like he had the right notion. As for Miley and Kevin (aka the Spectacular Firefly), I wish it would've worked out for them. They seemed like a good, healthy couple." "Yeah. (FOR CHRIST SAKES, BOY! CAN'T WE LET TWO MAIN CHARACTERS OF THE OPPOSITE GENDER BE FRIENDS FOR ONCE?!)" "And the whole conceptual, about a suppercollider that is competent of opening portals to multiple parallel universes antithesis from ours. Theoretically, it can be dangerous to perform in real life just as it’s performed in fiction. But I’d like to try it someday. *Silent evil laughter*” "Please don't. I'm not ready to meet another me."

Rodent Girl then woken up as cold water hit her face. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Jimmy and Nick. Excited, she got up and scurried towards them.

"Was the mission a success?" Asked Rodent Girl. "Like giving a monkey a banana!" Replied Jimmy. "So I guess that means employment is open to us, right?! And meat won't be pricey anymore?!" "Not quite yet. You see, the king asks for something in return, and wants to discuss it over dinner tomorrow." "'In return?' What could the king want- Could he be looking for an heir? All his lovers have vainly delivered nothing but girls. Or he needs a transfusion! Rumor has it that his body is soon ready to give out. If that's the general case, better off leaving this deal, cuz nature will eventually take its course anyways." "I don't know. He hasn't told us yet. Although, it could be one of those two options, judging by the weird look he gave us from our first encounter." "I'd rather donate blood to this man than let him be my dad. (Two bad dads are already too many)" Said Nick.

Benson butted into the conversation.

"Was he as viled as the people proclaimed?" "I can't find an answer to that. He's been nice to us this whole time." Replied Jimmy. "Even though we broke into his castle and got caught imitating his staff." Also, replied Nick. "You got caught trespassing and yet made a good impression on him?! (You lucky bastards!) Are you sure he hasn't arranged for a hanging?" "Nope!" Both replied. "Was he white?" Rodent Girl butted in again. "... Why do you want to know about his race?" Asked Jimmy. "Because the biggest birtbags only turn out to be white, DUH." "Yeeeeeeeaaaaaah, he was most definitely white." Replied Nick. "I KNEW IT!"

Then Diana butted in.

"And do we really have to dine with this tyrant? Those three minutes of interaction felt like hell to me. You had no idea how much strength I had to restrain myself with! I'm physically strong, not mentally!" "We need to give off a positive impact on the man by attending as a big happy family. And besides... We're still a little nervous doing it on our own. If it makes you feel better, you don't have to eat his food!" Said Jimmy. "Do, we have to dress formally for this event? Like, the men wear suits, and the women wear dresses?” "He didn't mention a dress code of some kind. So guess it's a causal dinner? Heh heh." "*Deep breaths* Okay. If it's for the sake of the people and ours, I'll try to buck up. But I'm not gonna eat his food!" "I've already suggested that." "And we can't tell or invite Mitzi!" Said Nick. "Why?" "Beeeeeeeecause... We wanna surprise her! The woman has been salty towards me and my friend since our first arrival, and it looks as though she still isn't warming up to us. We wanna prove that she's been wrong about us this whole time by showing what a excellent deed we've done! It will do her heart good!" "It doesn't seem right to exclude Mitzi. We're a family! Which means we all sit at the same table together, and no exceptions!" "Trust me, Di! Everyone loves surprises!" "But, Mit-" "Everyone loves surprises!" "We can't just-" "Everyone loves surprises!" "I-" "EVERYONE LOVES SURPRISES!" Shouted Jimmy, forcing a smile. "Okay."

Actually, Jimmy and Nick had an obvious good reason to exclude Mitzi. It's bad enough she thinks they're spawns of Satan in disguise, looking for a juicy victim to take prisoner, but if she were to find out about their proposal, she might accuse them of being in cahoots with the king. Everyone hates the king. Except the wealthy.

"Speaking of dinner... BENSON! Could you reheat some moose?!" Screamed Diana. "I'm getting tired of moose." Nick whispered.

..............................

[*14 hours earlier, in another time*]

It was time to investigate the Neutron household for clues.

"Libby, I just said I don't wanna be involved! Just looking at it brings me bad memories." Said Sheen. "C'mon, Sheen! I could really use your help right now! Carl won't assist, and neither will Cindy! ...for obvious reasons." Begged Libby. "Well, you turned to the wrong guy, my pet! It's not like it's that any difficult for one person! I mean, you're a woman, aren't you? Femmes such as yourself are born smart, independent, and courageous! Because... ...women are superior to men! Maybe not in strength, but in all redeeming qualities! As for me, a man, would just slow you down! As a matter of fact, I slow everyone down! Jimmy, Carl, Nick, Butch, Dad, Jimmy's parents, Cindy's parents, speed racers, Miss Fowl-"

Libby then planted a quick peck on Sheen's right cheek. Not to shut him up, but to win him over. Sheen was silent for a moment, then his face blushed a bright red. His heart was pounding in his chest. He slowly turned his gaze to Libby, who was smiling at him, and batting her eyelashes. Darn, women have triumphed again. Sheen dashed out of sight for a moment, and then returned just in time wearing a Sherlock Holmes costume, with a bubble pipe.

"The game is afoot."

Libby knocked on the door, and Hugh answered. Boy, did he look awful. His hair was a mess, he was shaky, and he had a few flyers glued onto him. It's like he hasn't slept for days.

"Children, you for do I can what?" Said Hugh, and his dialogue was reversed. "Hi. Is... ...your wife home?" Asked Libby. "Flyers more attaching, town the in out is booger sugar, no! Son our find help to anything!" "Okay. We're-just-gonna-walk-right-in."

Libby and Sheen picked up their feet and ran inside. They knew Hugh wouldn't try to stop them.

"Home at yourselves make!"

Hugh wasn't the only mess around here. The house looked like it hasn't been cleaned in days. There were mountains, and mountains of paper. You couldn't see the floor anymore. There was a photocopy machine in the living room, printing an endless supply of flyers. The kitchen and dining room littered with Chinese takeout pails, a few pizza boxes, soda cans and water bottles, and an empty tube of chocolate ice cream. The mess attracted a few minor pests. Sheen studied the scene with his magnifying glass. Libby's guess for this catastrophe, Judy either had no time to cook, or was too depressed to. Also, nuts and bolts scattered around the house. She knows where those came from. The poor family is under a spiral.

"Where were you on the night of June the third?" Sheen questioned a sitting fly, with his magnifying glass up close. "Sheen, you're talking to a fly. Don't tell me you've lost it, too." Moaned Libby. "How do we KNOW this is some ordinary fly? Jimmy has enemies, remember? The most intense loss scenes happen with the least likely slimeball you'd ever suspect! Maybe, they could've cleverly transformed themself into this tiny insect by extracting the DNA of a normal housefly, and injected those deliberate genes into their blood stream, thus manipulating their shape and form! Supermodel once did this in Ultralord #153. Or, if my second opinion is correct, this is actually a robotic spy cam! You listening there? Professor Calamitous? Or King Goobot? Or the Junkman? Or Beautiful Gor-"

Libby then swatted the fly dead.

"Let's move on already."

The duo decided to checked Jimmy's bedroom. Sheen told Libby to halt for a moment. The boy opened the door slightly, carefully observing the contents of the room. After that, he opened the door wide and said

"All clear! M'lady."

Feeling slightly annoyed, Libby walked in. Jimmy's bedroom was the cleanest room in the house. Libby checked under the bed. All he had under there were textbooks from the four previous school years. Weird. Libby then went to look into the drawers next, like last time, until Sheen stopped her.

"Woah woah woah woah, miss! This seems like a dangerous task!" "I'm opening drawers." "Libby, I am not taking a risk on whatever disturbing thing your beautiful chocolate orbs could meet! Let your future hubby in on the case. Don't worry, you'll still have something to do. You could dust for fingerprints! ...cuz maybe someone else has been here before us! ...on the day of the big headed boy's disappearance!" "You didn't mind me doing that while we were searching Nick's bedroom." "Ah, but that was before the smooch, babeh gurl.*Kissy lips*"

To avoid, Libby decided to just let Sheen do his thing. First, Sheen dug into the nightstand drawer, throwing items carelessly. He found some used forgotten inventions, prototypes that were never completed, old school supplies, a binder, and a dispenser bottle, bearing Jimmy's signature atom insignia, labeled "child-friendly testosterone gel." He must use this to boost his macho flare, Sheen thought. Egotistic blastard.

Next, he looked into the closet. All he found were clothes and shoes. Every outfit consisted of a red t-shirt and pair of jeans, but as he walked further into the closet, he noticed a distinctive sky blue color behind the end of the row of clothes. It was a blue dress with a big bow on the back. The dress also happened to have pockets. Curious, since Sheen has never seen a dress with pockets before, he reached into them. One pocket was empty, but the other held a golden name necklace that read Jamie.

"(I don't know who this Jamie is, but she's probably the REAL cause behind Jimmy and Cindy's breakup! He found love for a new girl. A prettier, prettier, possibly rich too, girl. And since her dress is in his room, they must really be hitting it off. Man, he's such a horrible person.)"

Last thing to examine was the boy genius's dresser. Like with the nightstand, he tossed whatever he found over his shoulder. The top drawers contained underwear and socks, the middle drawers kept formal clothing that are only to be worn for special occasions, and the bottom drawers were just extra room for more of Jimmy's belongings. The first bottom drawer had the usual: Techno nerdy junk. Inventions he may never use again. Like the Forgetto Blaster. Or the Memory Implanter. The second, however, it was filled with photos. Photos that are considered treasured memories to the boy genius.

Sheen shuffled the pictures to look for anything questionable. Only one photo left Sheen curious: Mr. and Mrs. Neutron were posing with a little girl, who appeared to be very young, and wore the same dress Sheen found in the closet. Her brown hair was tied into a ponytail, and she had sapphire blue eyes, which were very identical to Jimmy's. Everyone was smiling, except for the little girl. The photo was old as well. Okay, if Jimmy didn't leave Cindy for another girl, then who is she? Why hasn't Sheen seen or heard of her before?

The rest of the photos were just of Jimmy with his family, and most were of him with his friends. Especially... ...his favorite two other amigops.

Jimmy photographed every happy moment they had together. Some took place during parties. Some took place at Retroland. Some took place on another planet. And some took place in areas little kids aren't suppose to be left unsupervised at. All their smiles looked natural, and not forced. They sure had a hella good run. Sheen picked up a photo of an event that happened three years ago: His 10th birthday party.

Every kid was invited to Sheen's party. Even Cindy. Hugh was playing pin the tail on the donkey with the kiddies. Butch was breaking down the pinata, and it wasn't for the candy. Carl would sneakily dip his finger into the cake frosting. Nick... He'd just loiter and look good. It was an Ultralord themed birthday party, which he has every year. It had everything that could make the now 10 year-old happy, but one thing was missing.

The actor, to play Ultralord, called in to tell Sheen's father that he had to cancel his appointment due to an appendicitis. When Mr. Estevez  broke the bad news to Sheen, he began to cry like a five year-old. The crying started to irritate Nick, so he left the party. And when Nick leaves, everyone follows. Jimmy felt sorry for his friend. So then, he requested Goddard to project a holographic simulation of said superhero, and spoke into a microphone that modulizes his voice. Sheen saw Ultralord, stopped crying, and regained his happiness. Unfortunately, as he embraced his favorite hero into a hug, he fell right through him, and then caught Jimmy and Goddard puppeteering the act. Somehow, Sheen didn't feel angry, or sad again. He seemed blessed of his best friend trying to make him feel better.

So much has changed since then. He can't believe Jimmy keeps these  memories. In this day and age, he would have expected he'd throw them away. However, Sheen still refuses to see that Jimmy still cares for him and Carl. He's been very rude and inconsiderate. Carl probably knows Jimmy better than him, since he's by his side most of the time. He should ask him. Oh. Wait. Earlier, Carl was pretty peeved about the way Sheen underestimated Jimmy. The allergy boy is just so attached to Jimmy, despite that he and Sheen were together before the boy genius came into their lives. As a matter of fact, Carl also blocked Sheen on their text chat. It's officially over. He probably won't speak to him again. Sheen put his two hands together, and began to pray.

Dear big guy, although some say you might be a woman, up in the sky: I know I promised I wouldn't ask for any more favors after I wished my NOTP, Ultralord x Sue Mari, would never become canon, but now, this is down to earth serious. Besides, you kinda owe me for not making my last prayer come true. (I am very, very disappointed) I need proof. Proof that Jimmy Neutron still loves his best friends very much. Like, when he returns from wherever the heck he is, he'll greet us both with a loving hug, and an apology to add. Just for a bonus, could you have him agree to watch 395 episodes of Ultralord on CageFlix with me? Amen!

"Sheen, what are you doing?"

Sheen accidentally spoke his prayers out loud.

"Uhhhhhhh... Nothing! I'm doing nothing! This is a waste of time! Let's just go home!" "But what about the mess?!" "Don't worry! We could always just blame someone!"

#Jimmy Neutron #Boy Genius #Nick Dean #Cindy Vortex #Libby Folfax #Carl Wheezer #Sheen Estevez #Season 4 #fanfic #adventure #romance #TVverse #TVEE

[easytravelpw-blog]

Full text write on https://easy-travel.pw/what-i-spent-three-day-road-trip-through-the-southwestern-us/magazine/

What I Spent: Three-Day Road Trip Through the Southwestern US

01 of 04

Upfront Costs

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The upfront costs of vacations are predictable. It’s the little things—airport snacks, cocktails before dinner, tipping a tour guide—that can throw even the most well-planned vacation budget off track. In new series, we look at the spending patterns of real travelers in popular destinations, so you can estimate what you’ll actually spend. 

In this installment, two friends fly into Vegas and drive for three days from Nevada to Utah to Arizona.

Upfront costs:

Flights: $463.60 (Newark, NJ to Las Vegas, NV)

Accomodations: $156 (per person)

Rental Car: $102 (per person)

Antelope Canyon Tours: $78(per person) for the most popular tour time.

Continue to 2 of 4 below.

02 of 04

Monday

Michele D’Amico supersky77/Getty Images

11:00 a.m. The drive from Las Vegas to Utah is filled with gorgeous scenery. Driving out of the most over-the-top city in the U.S. and immediately being surrounded by miles of desert is a bit surreal. How can a bright, showy city exist smack in the middle of all this? This, mainly being the stunning purple mountains in the distance, getting ever closer as we drive past cactus after desert brush. Of course, as we approach the mountains, we realize they aren’t actually purple, but a red-brown color.

We are stocked up on road trip essentials (peanut butter cups, popcorn, cheese doodles, and granola bars, à la Trader Joe’s), the music is blaring, the sun is shining, and our spirits are high (fueled by a mix of caffeine, peanut butter cups, and the view). Cost: $13

1:15 p.m. When we reach Zion National Park, we are completely surrounded by those red-brown mountains, which are even higher and more awe-inspiring as we get closer. First things first: check into the hotel. We’re staying at Cable Mountain Lodge, and our suite is much bigger than my small Manhattan apartment. We stock up on waters, and hit the trail! Cost: $1.55

2:00 p.m. On our way into the park, we see a very enticing sign for salmon tacos next to the Zion Brewery (mental note saved for later). Admission into the park for the day is $15 each, which includes the access to all the hiking trails. We don’t have time for such luxuries, but instead we have our sights set on one of the most strenuous (and perhaps one of the scariest) trails: Angel’s Landing. Cost: $15

As we set off on the trail, I’m a little disappointed. The trail itself is a paved path. I grew up in the Adirondack Mountains of New York, so I can’t believe that a hiking trail is paved. Yes, the hike is steep, and yes, many parts of the trail wind around a cliff side with a sheer drop-off, but the path itself is steady, so no real need for worry. That is, until we reach the top. Oh, so this is what everyone was talking about. The end of the path greets us with a narrow ridge and a chain to hold onto so you don’t fall over the edge. I take a few steps and decide I’m not cut out for this kind of hiking today. I let my friend tackle the rest of the climb, and I sit down with the rest of those who decided not to do it.

5:45 p.m. Now at the base of the park (the climb down was quick–a bit of a jog at some points as the downhill slope and our excitement to eat those salmon tacos overcame us), we are ravenous. Charging straight into the brewery, we order 11 flights (that’s their full menu of beer, so might as well sample everything!), two orders of salmon tacos, and chili cheese fries (because we earned it). We figured that ordering all 11 flights was a normal occurrence, but with the surprised look we got from our server and others, we quickly realize we are maybe a little overzealous. Oh, well! We finish up and then order a growler to-go of our favorite beer that we tried—a delicious sour beer with fruity notes. Cost: $58.35

7:15 p.m. We proceed to the hot tub with our growler, considering it physical therapy for our soon-to-be-sore muscles. We relax with the sunset and chat with a few other visiting families before we call it a night–but not without first stopping by the brewery to buy a second growler to bring home with us. Cost: $15

Continue to 3 of 4 below.

03 of 04

Tuesday

Florence Dugué / EyeEm/Getty Images

8:30 a.m. Next up: we’re heading out of Zion and on our way to Page, Arizona. But first, breakfast. We stop at a cute little diner where my friend orders a giant savory crepe covered in hollandaise sauce and I get a bacon, tomato, and scrambled egg grilled cheese (I definitely helped myself to some of that crepe, though). Cost: $15.48

9:15 a.m. We had no idea what was in store for us, but we’re now winding through narrow, cliffside roads. We make our way up, up, and up, all the while, gorgeous textured mountains are taking over our entire view. It’s simultaneously beautiful and terrifying—one side of the road is a sheer drop-off, and as we get higher, the drop-off gets deeper. The mountain fairytale ends with a mile-long drive through a dark tunnel, straight into the belly of a mountain.

We get to the main road again (and pick up our jaws off the car floor), and stop for gas. Cost: $20.78

11:00 a.m. We arrived in Page about an hour and a half before our appointment with Antelope Canyon Tours, so we are hitting up a local bar. Finding wifi and a place to charge our phones was really our main criteria, but a couple of late morning beers doesn’t hurt. Cost: $11.50

12:30 p.m. Our scheduled tour for Antelope Canyon is at 12:30, which was the recommended tour, as the light is optimal during this time of day in the Upper Canyon. We take a bumpy, somewhat thrilling ride on an off-road path into the desert to arrive at the entrance to the canyon. The path is tight, and some parts require being squished up against the canyon wall as other tour groups make their way by in the opposite direction. Our guide seems to have the most uncanny ability to locate the best photos. “Here, give me your phone,” and after bending into an awkward position against the canyon wall to capture the perfect shot, the results were truly unbelievable. The guides have also named many parts of the canyon, as if the wind and waters had magically formed presidential faces overtime; we can see Obama, Bush, Trump, and Lincoln–the resemblance is actually pretty spot-on for some of these.

3:00 p.m. While on our way out of Page, we spot Big Texas BBQ and, stomachs rumbling, we’re sold. I ordered the sampler–ribs, pulled chicken, and smoked sausages. A side of baked beans and coleslaw and ice cream for dessert really rounded out the meal. Cost: $25.52

4:30 p.m. Barely five minutes out of Page, we’re immediately driving by Horseshoe Bend, and we decide to stop for a spontaneous exploration. We climb up and over a massive sandy hill, and we can spot the indistinguishable landmark. The colors are so vibrant this time of day, and the water bending around the rock is perfectly still. The breathtaking and slightly unexpected view makes Horseshoe Bend one of our favorite stops so far.

We’re back in the car, and on our way to Flagstaff, Arizona, and the landscape around us is slowly changing again. The flat-top mountains are gone, being replaced by trees (how long has it been since we’ve seen those?) and one gorgeous blue, snowy peak getting closer in the distance. The mountain is located near Flagstaff and a popular skiing destination.

6:30 p.m. Reaching Flagstaff, we come upon a quaint and cool little town. It’s an eclectic mix of old Southern-style architecture, artful graffiti, and neon signs—a hipster-millennial playground. Our hotel—Monte Vista—is apparently infamous for being haunted. Since the 1920s, quite a few people have died there, and ghosts are apparently rampant throughout the hotel.

7:30 p.m. After checking into our room, which is the very same room that actor Anthony Hopkins had stayed in, we head downstairs to one of the bars located off the hotel lobby. In the first bar, which has a fancy but hip cocktail menu, we try the Magic Eight Ball, which is a fruity gin concoction that tasted pretty good. Then, we head off to another bar, which is more of a dive bar–with karaoke to boot. Exhausted, we leave the bar and look out for the known elevator ghost on our way up to our room (no luck). Cost: $16

Continue to 4 of 4 below.

04 of 04

Wednesday

Dean Fikar/Getty Images

8:30 a.m. Recommended by our bartender from the night before, we head to MartAnne’s Burrito Palace. The colorful, quirky Mexican spot is previously a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant (explained to us by a friendly local and our waitress, who once owned the place, but had now stepped aside for her daughter). The previous location became so popular and the line to get in so long, that they had no choice but to upgrade to a much bigger space. I order the Fiesta Potatoes with a fried egg on top, and it does not disappoint. Cost: $22.14

On our way to the car, we decide to stop for a coffee at a not-so-subtle shop called Whyld Ass, and I order the Mexican Specialty Latte. Unfortunately, it tastes like hot, steamy taco seasoning, not the caffeinated version of Mexican hot cocoa that I was hoping for. Cost: $6.02

10:00 a.m. The drive to the Grand Canyon is a bit of a longer one (about three hours), and we decide to veer off the main highways for the Arizona backroads. The sun is out in full force, and the landscape, yet again, is amazing. Bright green brush and strange-but-pretty cacti occupy the desert while red and purple mountains stand tall in the distance. The closer we get, the more I’m wondering where the Grand Canyon could possibly fit into all of this.

2:15 p.m. A quick stop for gas, and a bit of fumbling for directions later, we make it to the National Park. Since the zipline closes at 4:00 p.m., we try to hurry along to the canyon. We buy our tickets and board the shuttle. Cost: $93.31 (zipline tickets + canyon admission)

The zipline is brand new (opened January 2018), and the view, as anyone can imagine, is breathtaking. The actual thrills only lasted two lines and 20 minutes tops, which was a bit of a disappointment. We’re in our RV on our way back to the shuttle stop, but our driver decides to pull over at the edge of the cliff to show us Quartermaster Canyon. Closed off to the public, and once the scene of a historic expedition, it is hard not to feel a bit unworthy standing on such sacred ground and taking in the unbelievable view.

3:15 p.m. There are two more shuttle stops and two different spots to view the Grand Canyon. The second stop on the line is slightly disappointing. After being wowed by Zion, Antelope, Horseshoe Bend, and Quartermaster, the canyon we are staring at now felt a little less grand. The third shuttle stop, however, immediately stops those complaints. It turns out the Grand Canyon is most definitely worth the hype. We’re on a massive rock with miles and miles of canyon stretched out before us on three sides. On one side, there is an old abandoned guano mine that makes this scene that much cooler.

4:30 p.m. The drive back to Vegas is peaceful, both of us exhausted and satisfied from our journey. We stop for gas one more time and return our rental car before venturing back into Sin City. Cost: $5.01

Totals:

Food & Drinks: $184.56

Activities: $186.31

Accommodations: $156

Transportation: $591.39

#travel #airlinetickets #airtickets #cheapairfare #planetickets #travelinsurance #travelquotes #travelblogger #traveller #travelling #travelocity #travelodge #vacation

[etherockj]

Enjoli

I’m newly sober and dog-paddling through the booze all around me. It’s summer, and Whole Foods has planted rosé throughout the store. Rosé is great with fish! And strawberries! And vegan protein powder! (Okay, I made that last one up.) At the office, every desk near mine has a bottle of wine or liquor on it in case people are too lazy to walk the 50 feet to one of the well-stocked communal bars we’ve built on our floor. Driving home from work, I pass billboard ads for Fluffed Marshmallow Smirnoff and Iced Cake Smirnoff and not just Cinnamon, but Cinnamon Churros Smirnoff. A local pharmacy, the same one that fucks up my prescription three months in a row, installs self-service beer taps and young guys line up with their empty growlers all the way back to Eye & Ear Care.

Traveling for work, I steel myself for the company-sponsored wine tasting. Skipping it is not an option. My plan is to work the room with my soda and lime, make sure I’m seen by the five people who care about these things, and leave before things get sloppy (which they always do). Six wines and four beers are on display at the catering stand. I ask for club soda and get a blank look. Just water, then? The bartender grimaces apologetically. “I think there’s a water fountain in the lobby?” she says.

There is. But it’s broken. I mingle empty-handed for 15 minutes, fending off well-meaning offers to get me something from the bar. After the fifth, I realize I’m going to cry if one more person offers me alcohol. I leave and cry anyway. Later I order vanilla ice cream from room service to cheer myself up.

“People love this with a shot of bourbon poured over it,” the person taking my order says. “Any interest in treating yourself?”

***

That’s the summer I realize that everyone around me is tanked. But it also dawns on me that a lot of the women are super double tanked — that to be a modern, urbane woman means to be a serious drinker. This isn’t a new idea — just ask the Sex and the City girls (or the flappers). A woman with a single malt scotch is bold and discerning and might fire you from her life if you fuck with her. A woman with a PBR is a Cool Girl who will not be shamed for belching. A woman drinking MommyJuice wine is saying she’s more than the unpaid labor she gave birth to. The things women drink are signifiers for free time and self-care and conversation — you know, luxuries we can’t afford. How did you not see this before? I ask myself. You were too hammered, I answer back. That summer I see, though. I see that booze is the oil in our motors, the thing that keeps us purring when we could be making other kinds of noise.

***

One day that summer I’m wearing unwise (but cute, so cute) shoes and trip at the farmer’s market, cracking my phone, blood-staining the knees of my favorite jeans, and scraping both my palms. Naturally, I post about it on Facebook as soon as I’ve dusted myself off. Three women who don’t know I’m sober comment quickly:

“Wine. Immediately.”

“Do they sell wine there?”

“Definitely wine. And maybe new shoes.”

Have I mentioned that it’s morning when this happens? On a weekday? This isn’t one of those nightclub farmer’s markets. And the women aren’t the kind of beleaguered, downtrodden creatures you imagine drinking to get through the day. They’re pretty cool chicks, the kind people ridicule for having First World Problems. Why do they need to drink?

Well, maybe because even cool chicks are still women. And there’s no easy way to be a woman, because, as you may have noticed, there’s no acceptable way to be a woman. And if there’s no acceptable way to be the thing you are, then maybe some women drink a little. Or a lot.

***

The year before I get sober, I’m asked to be The Woman on a panel at the company where I work. (That was literally the pitch: “We need one woman.”) Three guys and me, talking to summer interns about company culture. There are two female interns in the audience, and when it’s time for questions, one says:

“I’ve heard this can be a tough place for women to succeed. Can you talk about what it’s been like for you?”

As The Woman, I assume for some reason that the question is directed at me. “If you’re tough and persistent and thick-skinned, you’ll find your way,” I say. “I have.”

I don’t say she’ll have to work around interruptions and invisibility and micro-aggressions and a scarcity of role models and a lifetime of her own conditioning. My job on this panel is to make this place sound good, so I leave some stuff out. Particularly the fact that I’m drinking at least one bottle of wine a night to dissolve the day off of me.

But she’s a woman. She probably learned to read between the lines before she could read the lines themselves. She thanks me and sits down.

“I disagree,” says the guy sitting next to me. “I think this is a great company for women.”

My jaw gently opens on its own.

The guy next to him nods. “Absolutely,” he said. “I have two women on my team and they get along great with everyone.”

Of course they do, I think but don’t say. It’s called camouflage.

Guy #1 continues. “There’s a woman on my team who had a baby last year. She went on maternity leave and came back, and she’s doing fine. We’re very supportive of moms.”

Guy #3 jumps in just to make sure we have 100% male coverage on the topic. “The thing about this place,” he says, “is it’s a meritocracy. And merit is gender-blind.” He smiles at me and I stare back. Short of hijacking this panel for my own agenda, silent balefulness is all I have to offer. But his smile wavers so I know I’ve pierced some level of smug.

The panel organizer and I fume afterward. “Those fucking fucks,” she says. “Ratfucks.”

What’s a girl to do when a bunch of dudes have just told her, in front of an audience, that she’s wrong about what it’s like to be herself? I could invite them out for coffee, one by one, and tell them how it felt, and they might really listen. I could tell the panel organizers this is why you should never have just one of us up there. I could buy myself a superhero costume and devote the rest of my life to vengeance on mansplainers everywhere.

Instead, I round up some girlfriends and we spend too much money at a hipster bar, drinking rye Manhattans and eating tapas and talking about the latest crappy, non-gender-blind things that have happened to us in meetings and on business trips and at performance review time. They toast me for taking one for the team. And when we are good and numb we Uber home, thinking Look at all we’ve earned! That bar with the twinkly lights. That miniature food. This chauffeured black car. We are tough enough to put up with being ignored and interrupted and underestimated every day and laugh it off together. We’ve made it. This is the good life. Nothing needs to change.

***

Do you remember the Enjoli perfume commercial from the 1970s? The chick who could bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget you’re a man?

I blame that bitch for a lot. For spreading the notion that women should have a career, keep house, and fuck their husbands, when the only sane thing to do is pick two and outsource the third. For making it seem glamorous. For suggesting it was going to be fun. And for the tagline she dragged around: “The 8-Hour Perfume for the 24-Hour Woman.” Just in case you thought you could get one fucking hour off the clock.

More tales of my first sober summer: I go to an afternoon showing of Magic Mike at one of those fancy theaters that serves cocktails to blunt the terrible stress of watching a movie in air-conditioned comfort. A few rows ahead of me, a group of women are drinking champagne through straws. They whoop and holler at the screen as though at an actual Chippendale’s. In the parking lot afterward, one of them says to the others: “Girl time! We have to claim our girl time.” “We’ve earned this,” another replies. And then they drive off in separate directions.

A baby shower is in progress at the nail parlor. Except for the guest of honor, everyone is drinking wine, lots of it. I wonder if the mom-to-be minds, if it feels like they’re rubbing it in. “Thank God there are places like this where we can have lady time,” a woman in a yellow dress says. She tells the mom-to-be she’s far enough along to have some wine. It seems important to her that the mom-to-be drink with them. I catch myself nodding. You, I think. Yeah, I know you. There’s always one person who can’t deal if someone isn’t drinking. At times, I was that person.

“I’m going to feel hungover by dinner,” a different woman says. “But it’s so worth it. How often do you get a chance to get away from your kids for an afternoon?”

I personally think this is an insensitive thing to say at a baby shower.

Is it really that hard, being a First World woman? Is it really so tough to have the career and the spouse and the pets and the herb garden and the core strengthening and the oh-I-just-woke-up-like-this makeup and the face injections and the Uber driver who might possibly be a rapist? Is it so hard to work ten hours for your rightful 77% of a salary, walk home past a drunk who invites you to suck his cock, and turn on the TV to hear the men who run this country talk about protecting you from abortion regret by forcing you to grow children inside your body?

I mean, what’s the big deal? Why would anyone want to soften the edges of this glorious reality?

***

I run a women’s half-marathon on a day in August when temperatures are fifteen degrees above normal. It’s a — what do you call it — a horror show. But I finish and someone puts a finisher’s medal on me. I’m soaked, chafed, limping, and still triumphant. Until they say: “The margarita tent is right over there!”

A yoga studio where I sometimes practice starts a monthly “Vinyasa & Vino” event: an hour of fast-paced yoga in a hundred-degree room, followed by a glass of an addictive, dehydrating substance (made locally!). Oh, but it’s about mindful savoring, I’m told. Well, then. Apologies for thinking it was about mindful reciprocal advertising to an overwhelmingly female audience, and om shanti.

A local kitchen shop offers a combination knife-skills and wine-tasting class — yes, wine for people who have already self-identified as being so clumsy with sharp objects that they need professional instruction.

At the waxing salon, a cut-glass decanter of tequila is at the ready for first-time Brazilian customers, which — okay, you know what, that tequila was actually pretty helpful back in the day, and far be it from me to deprive other first-timers.

But knives and booze, yoga and booze, 13 mile runs and booze? What’s next to be liquored up: CPR training? Puppy ballet class? (Not really a thing, but someone should get on it.) Is there nothing so inherently absorbing or high-stakes or pleasurable that we won’t try to alter our natural response to it? Maybe women are so busy faking it — to be more like a man at work, more like a porn star in bed, more like 30 at 50 — that we don’t trust our natural responses anymore. Maybe all that wine is an Instagram filter for our own lives, so we don’t see how sallow and cracked they’ve become.

Toward the end of summer I take a trip to Sedona and post a photo to Facebook that captures the red rocks, a stack of books, a giant cocoa smoothie, and my glossy azure toenails in one frame. It is scientifically the most vacation-y photo ever taken.

“Uh, where’s the wine?” someone wants to know.

“Yeah, this vacation seems to be missing wine,” someone else chimes in.

I go to a stationery store to buy a card for a girlfriend. I couldn’t keep it together enough to track greeting card occasions when I was drinking, so it’s been a while since I’ve visited a card shop. There are three themes in female-to-female cards: 1) being old as fuck, 2) men are from Mars, and 3) wine.

“Wine is to women as duct tape is to men…it fixes everything!”

“I make wine disappear. What’s your superpower?”

“Lord, give me coffee to change the things I can…and wine to accept the things I cannot.”

Newly sober women have a lot of wonderful qualities, but lack of judginess not one of them. I don’t just stand there mentally tsk-tsking at the cards. I actually physically shake my head at them like Mrs. Grundy. Are you sure you can’t change those things? I think. And have you stopped to think that if you need ethanol — yes, at this point in my sobriety I called wine ethanol, wasn’t I charming? — to accept them, maybe it’s because they’re unacceptable?

***

The longer I am sober, the less patience I have with being a 24-hour woman. The stranger who tells me to smile. The janitor who stares at my legs. The men on TV who want to annex my uterus. Even the other TV men, who say that abortion should be “safe, legal, and rare.” What business is it of yours whether it’s rare or not? I think.

The magazines telling me strong is the new sexy and smart is the new beautiful, as though strong and smart are just paths to hot. The Facebook memes: muscles are beautiful. No, wait: fat is beautiful. No, wait: thin is beautiful, too, as long as you don’t work for it. No, wait: All women are beautiful! As though we are toddlers who must be given exactly equal shares of princess dust, or we’ll throw a tantrum.

And then I start to get angry at women, too. Not for being born wrong, or for failing to dismantle a thousand years of patriarchy on my personal timetable. And not for enjoying a glass of wine, alone or with their girlfriends — cheers to that, if you can stop at one or two. (I could, until I couldn’t.) But for being so easily mollified by overdrinking. For thinking that the right to get as trashed as a man means anything but the right to be as useless.

“What,” says a woman I enjoy arguing with, “so they can get fucked up and we have to look after them?”

No, I tell her. We have to look after ourselves.

“That still doesn’t seem fair,” she says, not unreasonably.

But who said anything about fairness? This isn’t about what’s fair. It’s about what we can afford. And we can’t afford this. We can’t afford to pretend it’s fine that everything we do or think or wear or say yes or no to is somehow wrong. We can’t afford to act like it’s okay that “Girls can do anything!” got translated somewhere along the line into “Women must do everything.” We can’t afford to live lives we have to fool our own central nervous systems into tolerating.

We can’t afford to be 24-hour women.

I couldn’t afford to be a 24-hour woman. But it didn’t stop me from trying till it shattered me.

I am very angry with women that summer and then I’m very, very angry with myself. And I stay that way for months, trudging through my first sober Christmas and job change and flu and birthday and using that anger at every turn as a reminder to pay attention and go slow and choose things I actually want to happen. By the time summer comes back around I realize I no longer smell like 8-hour perfume.

***

That second summer, I meet my friend Mindy outside San Diego, where her adopted son is days from being born. Mindy’s dark alleys were different from mine, but she walked them all the same and walked herself out of them, too. Sometimes, talking about the recent past, we blink at each other like people struggling to readjust to sunlight after a long, bad movie. More and more it’s the new that gets our attention: my new job, her newish and happy marriage, the book I’m writing and the classes she’s taking. The things we are making happen, step by step.

We spend the weekend moving slowly and sleeping late and — hypocritically — wishing the lazy baby would hurry up already. On Sunday morning we’re reading by the deep end of the hotel pool when the shallow end starts to fill with women, a bridal party to judge by what we overhear. And we overhear a lot, because they arrive already tipsy and the pomegranate mimosas — pomegranate is a superfood! one woman keeps telling the others — just keep coming until that side of the pool seems like a Greek chorus of women who have major grievances with their bodies, faces, children, homes, jobs, and husbands but aren’t going to do anything about any of it but get loaded and sunburned in the desert heat.

I give Mindy the look that women use to say do you believe this shit? with only a slight tightening of the eyeballs. The woman on the other side of her catches the look and gives it back to me over her laptop, and then woman next to her joins in too. We engage in a brief, silent four-way exchange of dismay, irritation, and bitchiness.

Then Mindy slides her Tom Ford sunglasses back over her eyes and says, “All I can say is it’s really nice on this side of the pool.” I laugh and my heart swells against my swimsuit and I pull my shades down too, to keep my suddenly watery eyes to myself. Because it is. It is so nice on this side of the pool, where the book I’m reading is a letdown and my legs look too white and the ice has long since melted in my glass and work is hard and there’s still no good way to be a girl and I don’t know what to do with my life and I have to actually deal with all of that. I never expected to make it to this side of the pool. I can’t believe I get to be here

Written by: Kristi Coulter