#to say i fucking launched to the website when i saw this thing it did NOT look this big in the picture

[eau-the-agony]

Bought a big sticker for my kindle without looking at its dimensions because cmon it's a fucking sticker it probably won't even the size of my palm and uh

#to say i fucking launched to the website when i saw this thing it did NOT look this big in the picture #hamb goes on a ramb #pics a little misleading but its less than a centimetre smaller than my whole hand #i think the only thing itll fit on is my tablet but the outsides already plastered with coolshirtz stickers

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hello there! I love to read your responses ( I read two responses of yours (which is enough to make me love your views on tannies and their work) regarding controversial stuff in twt, and about the tannies in general)

I also apologize for my English in advance!

I had a question, about J-Hope's album, actually, I am and was a baby army when they went solo, and stopped doing activities as a group.

And I was not very involved in the streaming or tracking of their schedules for releases. So I didn't understand and realize the importance of Jack in the Box, as much as I do now for all the other releases.

Now, since I'm pretty active in twt, I get to see the sales tracking, stream tracking of Face, Indigo and D-Day..

Coming back to the question, what actually happened during Hobi's album release? And would it be possible to like you know up the sales again for the album?

***

Hi Anon,

I have no fucking clue. Honestly. I don't know where or when exactly it went wrong with Hobi's JITB release, but I know it did. I maintain the packaging looks pathetic and as I've said before, I'd say the same thing to Hobi's face. I love him, but come on. Lol. It would've been great to have a CD, a book, something with weight and heft that you can look forward to receiving in the mail. Not a scrap of cardboard. Hobi agreed and decided on it but it impacted his sales, and more importantly, the overall perception of the album too, however mild. His album also didn't show up on the official BTS website for a good while. With no explanation. While other members' albums were displayed. Just weird ass missteps like that and there's a lot more. But I'm aware all the members' releases have had their own set of circumstances, and incidents that go back too. It doesn't bother me much because this sort of thing is to be expected.

I liked a lot about Hobi's roll-out. I love that he let us in into his album launch party. We saw what the tannies look like in the club (cute). I love how he explained his process. The music videos for More and Arson are A24 indie gold. His 2022 MAMA performance of Future is iconic. JITB felt very Hobi. I'm thankful that record exists and the Weverse album version does have superior sound quality. Rush Hour, On the Street, and HUH?! are stellar follow ups to JITB.

Hobi has worked hard.

He's done so much and left such a huge legacy already. He's a one in a lifetime artist. I miss him dearly. Painfully, to be honest. This or that hiccup with rollouts doesn't register for me beyond my noting it. Life's too short to not savour everything they're giving us now. Yoongi has dropped the album of the year; Jimin has ended k-pop in 2023; J. Cole now calls himself "Cole hyung"; RM has collated an exhibit of some of the finest artists alive in Indigo; Jin performed in concert with Coldplay in Argentina (LatAm ARMYs, hi!); and Taekook are making splashes well ahead of their solo debuts.

#j hope #hobi #jitb #hybe #bts #kpop #bangtan #jung hoseok #hoseok

[arpov-blog-blog]

...."First off let me say this: If I am ever trapped behind enemy lines or wander accidentally back into Gilead, there is only one person I want with me to fight off the hordes of evildoers, just one soldier in the foxhole who has my back and if necessary will throw themself on the hand grenade so that I may live — and that person is Nancy ”Thor” Pelosi! I’m talking about the 82-year-old “Don’t-Fuck-with-Biden?-NO-DON’T-FUCK-WITH-ME” Nancy Pelosi!!

That newly released raw footage from January 6th we saw yesterday — shot by the brilliant documentary filmmaker, the Kathryn Bigelow of nonfiction action films, Alexandra Pelosi — showed us the first ever female Speaker/Slayer in full superhero mode. When she hears Trump on TV order the mob to raid the Capitol Building, Pelosi exclaims, “I hope he comes — I’m gonna punch him out! This is my moment. I’ve been waiting for this — for trespassing on the Capitol grounds…” (and then she launches into a very detailed description of what she’s going to do to Trump as if she HAS INDEED thought about this moment for a long time). “I’m gonna punch him out and I’m gonna go to jail and I’m gonna be HAPPY!”

I got so excited I thought someone offstage was going to toss her a bazooka and a red beret and she was going to break out in song!

But then, as if straight from a scene from “A Very Pelosi Family Thanksgiving Special”, grandson Paul Pelosi is looking out grandma’s window over our Nation’s Capitol and shouts, “Grandma! Grandma! The fascist mob is coming up the Mall!”

And sure enough, it was.

Grandma Nancy had invited her whole family to come to the Capitol that day to witness history. Not hang Mike Pence.  So she leapt into action.

First, she got the family and staff to a safe place. Next, she loaded a fresh clip into the Glock she keeps strapped to her ankle. Then, to confuse the idiots who would soon ransack her office, she placed a few nice things out on her desk for them to see: A copy of Betty Freidan’s “The Feminine Mystique”. An open laptop with the “Critical Race Theory” website left up on the screen. A half-written love note to Angela Davis. And Her personal “To-Do List:” 1. Take away everyone’s guns.  2. Burn all Confederate flags.  3. Ban the NFL.  4. Appoint only ppl under 30 to Cabinet.   5. Remove testicles (on a need-to-know basis). 

Her staff tried to whisk her away. She asked them, “Have you called the National Guard?!” 

“Yes!”, an aide replied. The “yes” did not sound believable, so she would ask this question three more times. 

For the next 11 minutes, while walking to wherever they were taking her, she showed no fear. She just kept working the phones. She called the Acting Secretary of Defense to tell him to send in the troops. She called the Acting Secretary of the Army to send in other troops. She called the governors of Virginia and Maryland to send in their National Guard. Then she thought for a moment and said “Let’s call the head of Prince George’s County!”, thinking they may have some extra troops, too. Next, from her secure location, we see her and Chuck Schumer badgering the Attorney General (Acting) to tell him to call Trump. Eventually they were calling every (acting) Trump appointee and tearing them each a new hole. It was like a symphony they were conducting, albeit one for the devil. It was a wonder to watch. 

And through it all, Pelosi kept repeating her mantra: “If we cannot get back in there tonight and finish our business, then they’ve won.” 

“They can’t win!!”

[unmaskedagain]

Rather be Me (than with You)

Hey everyone. This is a kind of angsty ONE-SHOT; not the usual humor and fun I usual go for. I decided to do something a bit different. I experimented with the idea of a story where Lila doesn’t get exposed. Marinette just moves on. Decides she deserves better.  This ISN’T a QUEEN MARI but Marinette does realize she’s a queen. 

This is Anti-Class but not Lila bashing. I didn’t not to got the normal LILA BASHING everyone usually does. Don’t get me wrong, Lila Bashing is my favorite tag in this fandom. But I wanted to do something different. Tell me what you think and if you like it.

It had been a long time since Marinette had cared about their snickering; cared that sometimes she ate alone. Marinette hadn’t given a rat’s ass about what anyone in her damn class thought. She had been done for a long time.

A year had passed since Lila created the hurricane that pretty much turned Marinette’s life upside. A year since Alya had been her best friend, since Adrien was her crush. Since Ladybug’s partner was Chat Noir, a year since she was anyone’s everyday Ladybug.

These days the other students in class ignored her, and she was fine with it. The minute Marinette stepped back and decide to say, “Fuck Them.” Lila had left her alone. The Italian girl still side-eyed her every now and then but was content to let Marinette be. One thing Lila did right was that she saw Marinette exactly as she should be seen; an unbeatable threat, and one hell of pain in the neck if she tried hard enough. For a while, Lila was sure the Marinette would expose her, that every lie she spun would come undone.

But then one day, just a few months after Lila had returned, Marinette came to school with a big grin on her face. Lila said one tall tales, and the other girl didn’t even blink. Lila still remembered that their eyes met and saw: nothing. No longer did righteous fury reside there. No hurt expression. Or tears. Just apathy, sheer indifference to everyone in class.

Lila didn’t smile that day. In fact, she found it hard to really smile for the rest of the week. Because though technically she had won, it didn’t feel like a victory. It was like the game the two girls played had resulted in a stalemate and Marinette decided the battle was over. Marinette lost all her friends. Lila had no choice but to keep up the lies, particularly, after her mother announced they wouldn’t be moving like they usually would after a few months. It took a lot of work. Lila could admit that if she had know Paris was permanent, she’d have been a little more honest.

So, in the end, neither girl won but neither girl lost.

Nevertheless, Lila was smart. She knew when to back off. And so she did. She learned quickly that if she kept Marinette’s name out of her mouth, she was golden. Lila also learned that Marinette wasn’t made at Lila. It was everyone else the Asian girl had a problem with.

Everyone else in class who quickly realized just what life was like without their everyday ladybug.

Gone was the random sweets from her parents’ bakery. Gone was the well planned birthday parties and class trips. Gone was the comforting shoulder. Gone was the friend who they could call no matter time of day or night if they needed someone to talk to. Gone was their biggest supporter. Gone was the always friendly face that promised to brighten the darkest day.

           The kids learned quickly, that if they were in trouble, they were on their own. Apart from Akuma attacks, that Ladybug still showed up for. Though Ladybug had taken to ignoring the students, particularly Alya. Even going as far as to say to the teen reporter, in front of other journalists, that she doesn’t talk to tabloids; too many rumors and lies.

           This had slowly but surly caused the downfall of the Ladyblog. Alya could no longer get the best scoop; no that went to Aurore who created an entire website with tips and advice and videos about and straight from Ladybug. The website fully endorsed by the hero. Alya had quickly decided that she just needed to talk to Ladybug to clear up whatever was caught the strife. It was then that Alya remembered that Marinette had gotten her that first interview, the interview that had launched the Ladyblog’s success. Marinette who she was no longer friends with.

           Marinette who had it clear that she didn’t care. She didn’t are that Alya’s beloved blog had spiraled into nothing. That Nino’s music career seemed to be at an all-time standstill. That Marc and Nathaniel’s comic and partnership had gone down in flames. (Mostly because Nathaniel had taken too much of Lila’s advice and changed too much of the comic to be recognizable.) Or that Ivan and Mylene had broken up. Juleka had gone back to never showing up in pictures. Rose was in tears that Prince Ali no longer wished to speak to her. Kitty Section had broken up. Chloe was a bigger bully than ever, though she too was smart enough to stay clear of Marinette. The list went on and on, getting worse and worse.

           Even the teachers realized just how much of a control presence that Marinette had. And just how lost their classrooms were without her.

           But still, Marinette didn’t care.

Marinette had been screwed over. Once. Twice. A dozen times. Her best friend, her sworn bestie, hadn’t been the loyal friend she promised she was; acted nice when was so not nice. Chat Noir, Adrien, had left her to fight alone so many times that Master Fu took back his Miraculous. Screwed over by her best friend. Twice. And then by all the other kids.

Still, no one could understand how the sweetest girl could go full Ice Queen.

They had been smart enough to get Luka and Kagami to ask Marinette at the school’s end of the year party. Adrien got Kagami to ask as Marinette had taken to ignoring him for a long time by then Juleka got Luka to promise to find out. Kagami and Luka had become her closest friends. And the fact that her classmates would use them to get information on her, just reminded Marinette just how done she was.

She was so done.

So after the two had asked. Instead of answering, Marinette texted Colton, her friend, and DJ of the party. Marinette needed to make something clear.

When the song, ended Marinette got on stage.

“Hey,” She said into the mic. Her hair was only a bit longer but the blue had been dyed out of it. Her skinny jeans were black and ripped and she had on a red halter top was lacy and elegant. “Someone of you might not know me. But I’ve done enough for this school and a lot the students, to know majority of you do.” Her tone was dry and her stare blank. “Over last year, I took a step back you could say from, well, bullshit.” There were laughs. Most of the students who knew of Marinette and had been affected by her kindness had reached out almost immediately when they realized something was wrong, something had changed.

           Marinette looked at the students, “I got screwed over by too many times to count.” She sighed. “Turns out, a lot there’s a lot of assholes in my class.” She said bluntly. “So how do I deal with it all. In fact, how do you deal with all the drama and bullies and liars and two-faced bitches in your life? I got some advice for you. Pay close attention because it worked great for me.” The music started and Marinette started to sing.

“Here's my secret strategy

It always works because

The world doesn't end

It just feels like it does”

           Marinette wasn’t the best singer but she was decent. The song wasn’t about high notes or theatrics. It was sung with grace and humor. A strong daria morgendorffer vibe.

So raise your right finger      Marinette raised her right hand flicked off the entire school and looked right at her classmates. There faces turned red and their eyes were wide.

And solemnly swear

"Whatever they say about me

I don't care!"

           The first few months had been hard. And full of mean looks were way and nasty remarks. Until they realized they needed her. They needed her charm. Her can-do attitude. Her to come back as class president. Her ideas. The free handmade clothes she designed.

I won't twist in knots to join your game

           Rose, surprising, had been the first to try to tempt her back. The other having enlisted the second sweetest girl in class to talk to Marinette. Rose had told Marinette that if she just admitted she was wrong Lila and apologize, they’d take her back. Marinette had told her to fuck off.

I will say, "you make me mad."

And if you treat me bad

I'll say "you're bad"

And if I eat alone from this moment on

That's just what I'll do

'Cause I'd rather be me, I'd rather be me

I'd rather be me than be with you

           Marinette had eaten alone for weeks until she made she found real friends in other classes, both upper and lower grades. That was when Marinette found out that she was well-liked by the majority of the school. And the majority of the school didn’t buy Lila’s lies.

We're supposed to all be ladies

And be nurturing and care

Is that really fair?

Boys get to fight, we have to share

           Marinette found new friends, made new plans, her schedule filled up again, and she was happy. That was when the rumors started. Alya and Alix, leading the charge, had taken upon themselves to tell Marinette new friends what a bully she was and the rest of the school as well. They got upset when no one believed them.

           They got even more upset when they realized Marinette didn’t care. At all. However, when Alix had taken it too far, he had decided to get physical and trip Marinette in the lunchroom….

Here's the way that turns out

We always understand

How to slap someone down

With our underhand

           Marinette got up, pulled her arm back, and knocked Alix’s lights out. “Don’t try that shit again,” Marinette had warned her ex-friends. “I have no problem kicking each and everyone one of your asses.”

She got a week’s detention but she smiled all the way through.

So here's my right finger Marinette flicked off the school again; waved it around so everyone could see it.

To how girls should behave

'Cause sometimes what's meant to break you

Makes you brave

So I will not act all innocent

I won't fake apologize

           From then on, it was everyone understood that a new Marinette walked the halls. One that didn’t care about being nice. How ladies should behave. She refused to apologize after a fight. And she never backed down from an agreement.

           Turns out losing all her friends didn’t break her. It made her braver. In a way Ladybug never managed to before then.

Let's just fight and then make up

Not tell these lies

Let's call our damage even

Clean the slate till it's like new

           Marinette never gave in; even when the ice out happened. All the kids in her class ignored her, they didn’t say a single word to her. Refused to pair with her. Didn’t even acknowledge her existence.

It's a new life for me

Where I'd rather be me

I'd rather be me

Than be with you

The once bluenette just laughed at their childish antics. She didn’t bat an eye as they wanted her too. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t fight like normal people. Or the very at least call the war done, the damage even on both sides, and then move on with clean slates.

I'll say, "NO!"

NO!

I'll say, "knock it off,

with your notes and your rules and your games."

           Marinette had just gone: NO. No. She wasn’t going to play their little games. Do anything to make it even remotely look like she card. It was over. She was done. It was all just a waiting game.

           Waiting for them to grow up and realize, it was game over. There was no magical way their friendship would ever be restored. They should move, let go. Find something better. Accept the loss and learned to live with it.

           Like she’d done with Lila. Marinette hadn’t been happy with the results of their chess game but she could live with it. Move on. Got a new life.

And those sycophants who follow you, Marinette turned her attention to the pretty Italian girl. If Lila ever came after her again… Or when her kingdom of lies fell, and there was no doubt it would. Marinette would be there to watch it burn.

I'll remember all their names, She sang to Lila who nodded having understood. Even she knew her time was running out. Though Lila wouldn’t just hand over her power willingly. No, Lila knew it would have to dragged away from her bloody hands before she let it go. Lila would fight. It was just the way she was.

           The one thing Marinette liked about the girl.

           Alya was getting desperately. Eventually, she’ll realize the answer to all her problems lay in the comments on her blog. All questioning why she was promoting such an obvious liar. And when she did… There would be hell to pay.

And when they drag you down

Like they inevitably do

I will not laugh along with them and

approve their palace coup, 'cause that's not me. She promised her once the greatest enemy. (Hawkmoth’s was Ladybug’s.) That caused Lila to smile.

           Because when the faux-faced kids turned their ire onto Lila. When they dragged her through the same torment they put Marinette though. At least the wannabe Volpina wouldn’t have to worry about the once Every Day ladybug.

           In fact, if Lila played her cards right, and she nearly always did. She’d find an alley to teach her. Teach her not to care. Teach her to be stronger. Teach her out to say “Fuck you” to the world.

           Because Marinette no longer cared enough to have any reason not to. Granted she could just say, “I. Don’t. Want. To.” Like she did frequently these days.

Janis. Janis. Janis. Janis

I don't need their good opinions

I have plenty of opinions

Everybody has opinions but it doesn't make them true

           Marinette didn’t care what her old friends thought. Or that they didn’t like her. Who cared? So what if they thought she was a bully? Or a jealous liar. Or a bad friend. Or the new Ice queen.

           She shrugged. She had a lot to say about them to.  And sure she bitched with Luka, Aurore, and Kagami but it wasn’t serious. It was just to vent. Because who cared?

What's true is being me

And I'd rather be me

I'd rather be me than be with you.

So raise them high 'cause playing nice and shy is insulting my IQ

           Marinette had no problem being a bitch if they pushed. She was no longer shy and sweet and far too nice for her own good. Because she had learned her lesson.

           And, Marinette thought, she learned it was so well that life rewarded. She was making clothes for Clara and Jagged. Worked with Chloe’s mom. She had an internship with Teen Vogue, in New York, that summer. Won several design contests. Got to see one of her designs on the red carpet worn by an up and coming actress that Jagged recommended her to.

           The actress said the brand was MDC, created by a kickass teenager name Marinette. That dress got the actress on the best-dressed list, and Marinette twenty more commissions by other almost, or kind of famous celebrities.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah

I'd Rather Be Me

I'd Rather Be Me

So maybe I should thank you. Marinette adlibbed the line but sang it directly to Lila who smirked as she knew exactly what the other girl was referring to.

           While Marinette would never say it, Lila knew, she had done the girl a favor. Showed her who her real friends were. Or weren’t. And without them, without the niceness and overly caring nature she once had, Marinette had thrived; gone further than Lila ever imagined.

           Lila had only wanted them because she liked the attention. However, she knew they weren’t real friends. No matter what Alya said, they weren’t besties. Lila didn’t trust the glasses-wearing girl as far she could throw her.

Because now I know…

I'd Rather Be Me than be with you!

           Most of her classmates looked sad. A few looked angry. Lila just looked up at her used to be nemesis with admiration and a small smile.

           A brief look of wonder and hope flashed over her face and for a moment she of just saying “To hell with it.” Screaming her sins and go binge watch Grey’s anatomy. Take up dance class when summer was over and the new school year began. She always loved dancing.

           It was the only thing Lila knew was honestly good at; great at even.

           But that moment passed. Lila liked her power. Besides, there was a good chance she could make everyone think Alya was crazy or lying to convince to save her blog; that Lila wasn’t the liar.

           Lila smirked. She had all summer to slowly leave breadcrumbs that Alya was reading too much into the situation, was too desperate, didn’t know what she was talking about. By the time the summer ended, Lila could have all other students convinced the once future great journalist had just lost her edge. So much so that it was reason Ladybug dissed the Ladyblog.

           Alya wouldn’t be a challenge like Marinette had been. Not even close. Marinette had been the Sherlock to Lila’s Moriarty. (If Marinette had kept the game going, Lila would’ve too. Until it was a full-scale war. No prisoners. Just blood; both metaphorical blood and the real red stuff.)

Alya would be too easy. But it would still be fun. Even if Alya managed to pull a fast one, there was no way their little friendships would survive what they did to Marinette. Not all the blame could be put on Lila, no matter how much they tried.

And when Marinette didn’t come back after the truth was revealed and they begged and apologized for never believing her; for not trusting her. Blame would shift. Especially if Lila changed classes like she knew Marinette had to be at least considering.

I'd Rather Be Me

           Because, Marinette would never be their friend again. They were just pawns in the game of life. And Marinette realized that while pawns could become queens. They never went back to being pawns again.

I'd Rather Be Me

I'd Rather Be Me than be with you!

Marinette was doing just fine. She wasn’t their friend. She didn’t like them.

And most importantly, Marinette didn’t care.

#ml salt fic #ml salt #marinette dupen chang #Marienette Dupain Cheng #Queen mari #alya salt #lila salt #saltinette #miraculous of salt #Nobod #nobodyfamousposts

[hatsukeii]

I have another songfic idea and despite the requests in my box I will do this first lmao if I don’t Imma forget tomorrow-

This blog is bnha starved, so let’s go with that:3

Idfc//Soulmate AU! Bakugou x Reader

Word count: 2700+

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: In a world where the name of your soulmate’s quirk is tattooed on your arm when you turn 17, Bakugou got unlucky in the soulmate department.

Despite all his prayers and wishes for the words “Game Over” to appear on his arm, life just didn’t want to go his way.

What’s even worse, is those words ended up on shitty half n’ half’s arm. 

What a way to screw with Bakugou.

He watches as you step out of the school gates, Todoroki’s arm wrapped around your waist. Giving you a tiny wave, he rocks forward and backward, hoping for you to notice him. You glance towards his direction, pursing your lips, before ignoring him and making your way home with your boyfriend. The ash blond’s fake grin falters, shoving his hands down his pockets, head hanging low as he turns around and goes his own way.

He still remembers the moment he realised you weren’t his soulmate. The way his heart dropped when the words on his arm said “Zero Gravity”. His parents were ecstatic, cheering as they celebrated over how their baby boy was growing up, and how he would soon meet the love of his life. What they didn’t know, was that he had already found the one he loved, and it sure as hell wasn’t Uraraka, whose quirk was on his arm. Just that one revelation was enough to make his entire weekend shitty. He definitely did NOT want to be with Uraraka. She was way too bubbly and annoying. Plus, her quirk had a lame name. And she’s way too clingy for his liking. He tried his best to stay optimistic about the situation. Maybe he’ll eventually be able to change his fate if he defied it. Maybe if he was able to make you love him back, the names would change. He racked his brains, searched for answers on every website he could think of, asked on every forum he could find, but still, nothing. He was stuck with Uraraka, and there was nothing he could do but sulk and accept it. That night, he cried himself to sleep, knowing he was never going to get a chance with you. The only person he wanted was snatched away from him and just the thought of being able to win her over was ripped to shreds.

The following Monday back to school was no better. In fact, it was worse. He watched as you excitedly told him about your soulmate, the words “Half Hot Half Cold” imprinted on your skin as you explained how you got it the day before. You were beyond excited, knowing fully well who your soulmate was. The pretty boy of 1-A that all the girls were head over heels for. Thank god you couldn’t tell that the tiny grin plastered on his face and the playful cheering was fake. Those were all just poor attempts to mask all the despair and heartbreak he stored up in his chest. All Bakugou could possibly do was be happy for you. That’s what he should’ve done. However, no matter how hard he tried, it just never worked out. You were always there in the back of his head, lingering around in his mind like an annoying pest that he couldn’t get rid of. Thinking of you became a daily routine. He would stare at you longingly in class, text you every day after school, cry about you every night, and wake up puffy eyed. Waves of depression hit him every single time the sight of you having fun with Todoroki appeared in front of his eyes. He swore that if he heard another person talk about how cute you and Todoroki were together he would punch their face in. People backed away from him whenever he was close to the dual haired boy, not wanting to get on his nerves.

In class, Aizawa started noticing his lack of focus in class. For months, Bakugou had been in a constant state of daydream, staring at you in class as he thought of all the things you two could do if only you were his soulmate. He would spoil you so badly. Take you out on as many dates as he possibly could. Kiss your tears away when you were crying. Pillow fights every weekend. Cuddle you while the two of you watched movies on your bed. Eventually present you with a diamond ring in a tiny velvet box. All those possibilities, flushed right down the drain as he was constantly snapped back to reality by his homeroom teacher every single time, remembering that he was only a best friend to you, nothing more. He wasn’t doing as well in class, and his parents were worried. Since when did their straight A son start flunking English? Mitsuki was anxiety ridden, fearing for her son’s mental state, as she should. Bakugou would rather die than admit he was weak, but at times like these, a motherly hug would be nice. Mitsuki would let her son cry on her lap, instead of sulk on his bed all alone. He may not have told her anything about what was making him seemingly depressed, but all he wanted was some form of emotional support, even if it was from his old hag. Masaru would join in sometimes, giving Bakugou a few pats on the head or ruffling his hair. They didn’t know what had changed his son so drastically, however despite their worries for his academics, they knew that he was not okay, and that it was their job to help him, even if they were in the dark about the situation.

“Bakugou, you’re going home alone again? I thought Kirishima was gonna walk you back!” Mina jogs towards Bakugou, placing and hand on his shoulder and launching herself into the air with a jump. Usually, Bakugou would flick her hand off at the last moment, but instead of doing that, he remains stoic, completely ignoring everything around him. “Haaaah? Hello? Earth to Bakugou?” He rolls his eyes, trying not to blast the pinkette’s fingers off as she pokes his cheek, trying to get a reaction out of him as Kaminari and Sero approached the two.

The Bakusquad were quick to catch up on his issue. Kirishima was the first to point out the difference in his now quiet, negative attitude compared to his usually boisterous and aggressive personality. Being the top tier best friend he was, he tried his hardest to get something out of Bakugou. Anything. He soon informed the rest of the gang about it, much to the blond’s annoyance. Since then, they’ve been trying to get Bakugou out of his heartbroken state and back into the rat he usually is. Everyone was worried for him, fearing that this would affect his mental health. They were there for Bakugou since day one, hyping him up whenever he was about to make a move. Cheering him on when he finally asked you out. Encouraging him to continue fighting for you when he was feeling down. They always thought the two of you were meant to be, but they were mistaken, because obviously fate has a cruel way of messing with people. Out of everyone, Kirishima was the most concerned. He had watched his best friend put himself down time and time again, all because of you. He was always there to give him a punch to the back, reminding him that he still had a chance. He was there to listen when Bakugou wanted to vent his issues out. He was his number one wingman, setting the two of you up in secret as an attempt to help Bakugou get with you. When he eventually found out his soulmate was Uraraka, and that yours was Todoroki, he was shocked, to say the least. However he was also frightened. Scared. He was scared that Bakugou would go back to his cold self. He was scared that the friendship he had bonded with you would break. He was scared his best bro’s heart would be shattered. Despite his efforts to cheer him up, the blond was not improving. The fiery, determined flares in his crimson irises were gone, replaced by a dull, hopeless maroon. 

“Don’t be so down in the dumps about the whole soulmate thing Bakubro! Maybe you’ll eventually move on!” Oh, what a big mistake Kaminari just made. The icy glare sent his way is scary enough to kill, piercing through his skull and shaking every single nerve in his body up. “I don’t fucking care at all. Leave me the fuck alone.” This isn’t his usually grumpy attitude, where he’s just irritated. He’s being dead serious, his tone hinting that if they didn’t get away from him right this instant, they were going to get their asses kicked badly. “Guys, maybe we should just leave him alone for now.” The three teens backed away from their moody friend, waving him off before going their separate ways.

Whenever anyone tried to make an effort to understand his frustration, the only answer they would receive was a forced out “I don’t fucking care.” That was the only thing Bakugou would tell people, including you. Oh how oblivious he was, thinking no one saw through the facade he was putting up. If he had to admit he was a weak bitch that cried over some stupid crush, he would kill everyone in the room and then himself if that’s the last thing he does. No way in hell is he letting his strong, tough, intimidating image down. Time after time, he would tell people he didn’t give a fuck about you. That you were just another extra in his life. Just another stepping stone to his inevitable victory. The time you overheard him telling Kirishima you were just another obstacle in the way of his success made your heart shatter into a million pieces. You slowly started to let him go, not wanting to let yourself get hurt anymore by his words. Everyone acted like they fell for his white lies, as if they were dumb enough to not hear the audible hint of pain in his usually shameless voice. He really did all this, just to convince himself to move on from these useless feelings that ate him up from the inside. His usually unfriendly self became extra hostile, shutting out everyone that tried to help him. He was increasingly aggressive with each passing day, letting out all the pent up anger and bitterness onto his classmates. At that point, Midoriya was so scared that he requested for a seat change from Aizawa. Almost nobody dared approach him. Some even begged for him to be excluded from sparring and training, although it was unsuccessful. It was guaranteed, without question, that whoever was going against him was going to be beaten to a pulp, bloodied and battered, burn marks everywhere on their bodies. In some instances, All Might had to step in, and even he suffered a few nasty blasts from the ash blond. Even you were getting irritated by his irrational actions, occasionally calling him out for it, much to his dismay. This was the last thing he wanted. For you to slowly break away all the bonds you two made. For you to take another person’s side, without even thinking about how he felt.

Walking out from his quick shower, he sat on his bed, grabbing his phone and going through your chat again, as if the ‘seen’ at the bottom of the wall of good morning and goodnight texts will magically disappear and replace itself with your replies. Groaning, he throws his phone onto the wall, letting it fall back onto his mattress as he shoves his face into his hands.

Since the time you heard him call you an obstacle, you started to let go of the friendship you had made with the fiery teen. He held a special place in your heart. He was your first, and best friend. You two shared everything during those late night talks you had through FaceTime. If you had to choose between Todoroki or Bakugou, you would save the latter first. The moment you realised Todoroki was your soulmate, you were ecstatic. Your fat crush on the aloof boy was a known thing around 1-A, and the fact that you were lucky enough to get him as your soulmate made all the girls jealous. However, things took a turn when Bakugou started to go back to his cold self. He stopped calling you after school. He stopped walking you home. He stopped trying to keep a conversation with you, only replying with the driest responses he could muster up. You didn’t know what was up with him, but it was annoying you. The one time you were looking to confront him, you overheard his conversation with Kirishima. “She’s just an obstacle.” “A stepping stone to my victory.” “I don’t fucking care about her.” It was as if everything you have done to befriend him was for nothing. He only thought of you as some extra. Nothing more. You were pissed, definitely. He was acting cold, ignoring you, all because he never cared. You made up your mind, and sent him one last text.

“If you didn’t care about me then we should’ve never became friends.”

And with that, the friendship that you two put so close to heart was erased from your life, never to be seen again as you left his side and joined with Todoroki.

This is the last straw for Bakugou. He yells into his hands. Nobody’s home, and even if somebody were in the house, he doesn’t care. He screams until his lungs give out, his voice reducing to a raspy groan after ten whole minutes of screaming. He was mad at himself. He was mad at his fate. Why did it have to take away the best thing that happened to him? Why did you have to land in the hands of Todoroki? Just the thought of it fills him with anger, sparks emitting from his palms as his sight is clouded by red. Scrambling onto his bed, he sends punch after punch towards his pillow, activating his quirk and letting the fabric burn as he continues the assault on the pillow, feathers now flying all around him as he screams, tasting his own tears. He doesn’t care about his pillow being completely demolished. He has extras at home anyways. Throwing the now tattered pillow onto the floor, he grabs a new one and shoves his head into it, sniffling into the cool material. “Why do I feel like this? How can one person ruin everything for me? Why is this happening? What kind of God does this to people? Why do I care anyways?” His eyes widen as he realises what he just confessed to himself. “No. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care at all. I don’t care. Not a shitty single fucking bit.” His heart aches when he says that, as if it’s mocking him for trying too hard to convince himself to believe something that was completely untrue. The ash blond thrashes wildly on his bed out of frustration, kicking his sheets away and muffling his strained screams into the clean pillow. “Stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP! WHY? CAN’T YOU JUST GET OUT OF MY HEAD FOR A FUCKING DAY? JUST A FUCKING SECOND? PLEASE?” Pulling his sleeve up, he stares at the words “Zero Gravity” in disgust. Bringing his free hand up, he activates his quirk, sending a scorching burn to the words as he hisses in pain, flinching a little bit. The soul mark is now a shade of pink, but the words are still clear as day. He knows he screwed up bad with you, but what could he do about it? You’re happily dating your soulmate, and all ties between you two have been cut off. All his texts have been left on seen. You have stopped talking to him. With that, Bakugou knew what he had to eventually come to terms to.

He cares. He cares too much. 

All the times he’s said “I don’t fucking care” were just pathetic attempts to forget about the cruel truth, even just for a moment.

You’re never going to go back to him.

Todoroki is your boyfriend.

And he was just another classmate to you.

References:

Idfc- Blackbear

Lyrics to said song

A whole lotta brainstorming because oh my god my angsts are becoming more and more predictable and repetitive and I hate it ahahhaha

Tags:

@ewfilthymundane @izzyphantomgamer @artsamber @sunshines-and-tatertots @tiger1719 @inlwlevi @burnt-tomato @just-another-bored-writer @macaronnv @random-fandomlover @kaylacinderella @justachillgirl @for-ests @bokutokoutarou @trashcanweeb @itmekisuu @poppirocks @xonfusedsoul @shoutsukii @estherwritess @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @fullmetalfangirl21​ @mariechan123​ @agentvicinity​ @sakusasgarbage​ @tiredgr3mlin​ @letshaikyuu​ @emsvegetables​

Have fun reading this love ya sorry for not writing anything in days and uh I’m gonna go to sleep now because I have school and I need at least 5 hours:D

#bnha #bnha scenario #bnha bakugou #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha angst #boku no hero academia #mha #mha imagine #mha scenario #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst #anime #bakugou scenario #soulmate au #ua high #imagine #scenario #angst #idek what this is but have fun reading thank you #idfc #blackbear

[hookedonapirate]

Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States. 

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again. 

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld​ for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon​ for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?” 

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right? 

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase. 

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender. 

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table. 

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.  

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league. 

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman. 

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists. 

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?” 

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does. 

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away. 

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him. 

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior. 

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter. 

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell. 

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape. 

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner. 

“Hey, babe, ready to go?” 

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips. 

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat. 

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart. 

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups. 

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes. 

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust. 

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning. 

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words. 

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.” 

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem. 

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing. 

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.” 

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.” 

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.” 

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this. 

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments. 

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.” 

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.” 

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum. 

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties. 

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress. 

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile. 

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship. 

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away. 

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other. 

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually. 

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”  

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years. 

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke. 

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd. 

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.” 

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her. 

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss. 

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television. 

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

[calypsoff]

Fifty Seven. Part 2

Looking over at Chris, he keeps falling asleep in the SUV. Meanwhile I slept and he didn’t, I wonder if he got any type of sleep actually come to think of it but him sleeping in the SUV he must be exhausted. Opening my bag and grabbing my phone, I’m sorry but he looks too cute asleep with his phone in hand, he is hanging bad. Aiming my phone camera and taking a picture, he is going to have one nasty neck pain when he wakes up. Tapping on IG and tapping on IG story, adding the picture and captioning ‘He still makes every appointment for me and FYI! He calls me a mouth breather lol. Love you @fuckyopictures’ pressing send on the post, I want to wake him and tell him about his neck, but I will leave it, let me call Jay Brown while I’m here and tell him I will do the Grammys, I don’t feel like shit anymore and I am ready to do that. I am ready to perform before I give birth, placing my phone against my ear as it rang out. Watch his ass not pick up, he always busy doing something “Rihanna” he answered “oh, very formal. In a meeting I am guessing?” He must be, I know that voice “you know me, but I had to answer. Everything ok? You’re important to me” he is so caring “I accept, me and Chris discussed, and he says make the Grammys about you, keep this a secret and then walk the carpet” I want him to know that Chris was involved “I like your husband, he is a clever man. I will tell them; this is going to be great. I will contact you soon I have to go. Bye” he disconnected the call, well he’s happy anyways. But I am excited about this, I think Chris is right. But I hope my face doesn’t look fat, oh my god I hope my face doesn’t come out because I will cancel that shit with quickness. I need to tell Tina actually, get the team together for the performance.

My driver opened my car door for me “thank you, I am going around to wake him” I added before he rushes over and opens the door for Chris, he is still asleep and I had to sit in silence because of him. Dragging open the car door “Chris, hey” tilting my head to see his face, god he is knocked out asleep “Christopher” patting his thigh, his head shot up and eyes wide open “hey” I laughed “we’re home, come out” walking off, he will eventually come out of the car. Making my way to the house, I am generally getting used to living here. At first I was a little not really liking it but I am getting there, it’s nice and smaller then what I would have gotten but I do like the stairs going up. I will need to childproof the whole house soon though, unlocking the door and pushing it open. Looking behind me and Chris hasn’t made his way out so I will leave it open for him, looking behind me once again “is he coming?” It’s making me doubt myself, the driver was going to go back around but I heard the door shut. Let me wait for my sleepy head to come, my smile grew seeing him dragging his feet. I am very much in love with him, the same way I saw him the first time, I do think to myself did I like him first day and if I am being honest with myself I was more scared he would be mean to me but I did fall for him “I love you Chris, I really do” Chris lazily put his arm around me “I know you do” he said huskily “you have really opened my heart in ways that I didn’t think could happen, I just want to thank you for loving me in every way” Chris chuckled “you’re being very loving now huh, what you want?” He questioned “dick” and I’m being deadass “that can be arranged, what you doing now” I’m sure Barry is here somewhere “office” nodding my head “can I come? I just want to be there for you, I want to know your business, if you don’t mind?” I want to be involved “but what if I’m not doing it right, you’re going to judge me” he is right “but then you learn, it’s ok” he needs to learn.

Chris keeps on looking over at me and then laughing, not sure why but he’s feeling like I am judging him but I’m not at all “how do you like, let me ask this. How do you take care of your family without giving them a job to help you? Like you and your family are good, no jealousy or upset but they live good, if you understand what I mean” why is Chris looking at me like he shy “what is it?” He’s stupid “no just looking but tell me” I chuckled “I don’t hire family, I treat them. When I go to Barbados I buy them gifts, I never have my family struggle at all. If they were I would want to know how to help, I learned giving money is a no. It doesn’t help, they do live good, and I do bring them on holiday and things but hiring family gets messy, even friends. I rather hire a person I don’t know then family. Worst mistake same goes for friends. I do spoil them, if they have a venture then I will help them with it and they know it. This is why I asked and said if they have a venture help them but hand on heart, after I heard they fucked your supplier up I wouldn’t give them shit, so why did you leave them in Vegas? For what? To have fun” Chris’ eyes widened “erm no” the erm speaks volumes “erm yes, don’t stick up for people like that Chris; they are playing with your money, so when something fucked up happens it will be Chris Brown’ friends messed up, never them. Your name and then mine, you need to be lethal, they will learn. The hardest part for you is maybe letting go and it is for me with my dad so I understand but now I am a wife and mother to be, I know where my loyalty lies and if my child or husband comes in harm’s way by my dad then I will cut him off, he can hurt me but not my family and trust me Chris I am waiting for that moment, I had to become this way or I would be taken advantage of and broke I guess” I didn’t want Chris to think I’m a hypocrite by saying that “I understand, so how would I do it. Telling them?” Good question “take them out for a meal, but Chris I have a feeling in my heart you’re covering up for them. They were in Vegas for nothing, and you left them there. I saw their posts, if I know they are using us as a pass into things, I won’t be happy. Nobody does that” Chris’ face went so small like I struck a nerve and I just know this game; I have lived through it and I don’t play at all.

Chris has been quiet ever since “so who is Deja?” I asked, he is answering her emails “she is working with my social media, since she started the page it has been super lit, there is three of them and they are answering service stuff, Neima and Cena are making a website which will be live soon” nodding my head “ok, that is fine. What to do with that, do a good launch. Freebies and stuff, entice people. I will promote it too; it’s your big day Chris so tell me when. I can you know be at your event, I mean not really but if you do a little IG live I can be on it, Chris it’s a big step. Be excited for it, so erm” I paused thinking “have you announced that website coming soon?” He nodded his head “ok, now post it on your personal page how excited you are. Just announce there is a surprise to come, I will figure something out for you. Let me just help you ok?” He was about to speak “but I am not with you to use your name” putting my hand up “stop, just let me help you and say there is a surprise, but I will think about what to do ok? Now discuss this with your team, your new team. I am going to find Mel, show her our baby, show her how active it is” getting up from the chair “you’re going to do good Chris; I just know it. I will help you” touching the top of his head before I walked off, he worries too much what people will thing when he shouldn’t “actually Chris, I have one. I will design a piece of clothing, limited edition” I winked at him, that just came to mind so quick there. That will help him a lot, they will eat that up, well my fans will anyways but then people will start buying and like his stuff because I do, he makes good stuff.

In no way shape or form am I being selfish with Robyn or declining what she wants to do for me but I wanted to kind of do it in my own but the more I realise, the more things are explained to me, the more hard this is to do on your own without the right backing which I have, with Robyn. I have Drake to fall on too also, I will contact him actually to help but I just need to get over this Barry and TJ shit “you’re here” Barry made his way into my office, looking up from my lap “you seem really down for a nigga that just saw his baby throwing up gang signs” I snorted laughing “gang signs, nigga” dapping him “I just saw the scan photos, cute bro. Baby is really claiming westside already” watching him sit down “thank you, I am excited for when the baby is here, just tired. If I am a little quiet” Barry looked around the office “you spending time with Mel then?” I mean what else if he here for “yeah, lay the pipe and leave” he laughed “that was your saying, don’t give me that look. She likes a chunky nigga with a big dick, what can I say” shaking my head “if you’re speaking like that then close the office door, what did you do in Vegas when I went?” I asked but I know what happened of course, I am not stupid “we were at your plot and we just were vibing, girls were just passing their numbers. We just living, you know what happened” Barry pointed at me “how many?” Barry cackled “yo, the girls were good” I sighed out “bro, leave Mel alone please. Just leave her, I don’t think you should be doing this to her. She is a good woman” Barry pulled a face at me “right I see you have your life in order, you’re married and everything. Just stay out of single folk business bro, come on” kissing my teeth “it is my business Barry, Mel is practically a sister to Robyn and if she finds out Robyn will know that I know! She fucking will, I am asking you as my friend to leave her alone” Barry knows I mean it now “just like that huh? We had sex and she’s a bad bitch you know these caribbean women love sex, you don’t know her sexually Chris, she sucked me off on the first time you know chicks like that stick, she is ok with it” he is a liar “bro I am telling you now, it ends here. You nicely say to her that I am not ready to settle, that is Robyn’ sister and I know this will upset her, and I thought you wouldn’t just be a dickhead about it, you got to stop and stop talking like that you dickhead! You know my wife’ background so shut the fuck up” Barry looks annoyed with me.

I need to speak up about it, I won’t say it to them, but he needs to stop this thing “right, so you’re upset about something that has nothing to do with you, why can’t you just keep your nose out of it right. I am having fun, she is too” he is funny “so she knows you’re having sex with other women? So I can just go up to her and tell and she will know?” he knows damn well that Mel doesn’t know shit “Chris, look. You are my brother, just let me have fun” punching the desk “Barry! You fucking listen to me, you drop it. She is a decent girl and doesn’t deserve this ego you have got right now; in her delusional mind she thinks you’re a good man! Not knowing you’re telling me she is a easy fuck! Fucking leave her or we going to have problems!” I shouted at him because I lost my temper, is he being fucking real right now with everything he is saying, playing girls like that “is everything ok here?” Mel and Robyn walked in “yeah, just having boys talk, right Barry?” he is angry, I know my friend “yes” sitting back in my seat “what are you both doing here?” I questioned “just Mel is going out with Barry now and I just come here to see your face” rolling my eyes playfully “miss me that much, my mom loved the photos. She is emotional about it, good looking out telling me to send them” my mother is so overjoyed, thanks to Robyn telling me to send them to her.

I was going to go for a nap, but Robyn sent me a text message saying come upstairs, that her back hurting so I guess I better make my way upstairs and help my baby to sleep. Walking up the steps while looking out of the window, my back yard is so damn beautiful. I really love it here, it’s so peaceful. Clearing my throat as I made my way to the bedroom, I think we need to start fixing the bedroom next door to ours for our baby. A smile grew on my face, just pure excitement hit me because I am about to be a whole daddy, I already love the baby “I am here” opening the bedroom door “you good?” closing the door behind me “oh you stood up now? You just text me that your back hurt and here I am, we can nap together” squinting my eyes “wait, you didn’t have makeup on before?” I pointed “I like how you notice poppa, I got dressed up for you. But” she dragged out undoing her robe, raising an eyebrow as Robyn took off her robe exposing her naked bottom, my breathing hitched “damn” I breathed out, she looks so beautiful naked “you look so good Robyn” it went straight to my dick, I felt it flinch already. Walking over to Robyn “your body is amazing Robyn, every part of it. You are really carrying our child, which makes you amazing” rubbing her bump with the back of my hand staring into her eyes, leaning down to Robyn and pressing a kiss to her lips and then moved away from her lips to cheek and down to her neck.

Our eyes met and held when I stepped forward and grabbed Robyn, pulling her body back to the edge of the bed. Licking my lips, I can’t help but touch her bump “you good with me touching your bump?” lightly touching “yes” Robyn placed her hand over mine “just makes me so happy to know how much you care” biting my bottom lip, moving my hand back and leaning down. The head of my erection pressed against the entrance of her sex and I am ready to be buried deep inside of her, it has been so long. I plan on slowly pushing myself all the way to the hilt and fill her completely. Spreading her legs wide and pushing them back into the air “you good?” I asked, I have too “yes, it’s ok Chris” I held on to her ankles and slid inside of her “damn!” Robyn spat, my groan was deep and long when she gripped my member and tighten around me. My hips barely moved forward; my rhythm is so slow. My eyes are locked on my dick sliding in and out of her. I enjoy watching myself disappear deep inside of her, it amazes me how stimulating such a thing as watching yourself stroke in and out of my wife could be. My eyes gazed up when I heard Robyn moan, her voice was caught in her throat, and all she could do was look up at me with begging eyes “faster” she wants me to go faster, to stroke a little deeper, to push a little harder. This agonizingly slow speed I was serving her was beginning to drive her mad clearly “I have to be nice” is Robyn crazy, we have to be good and not crazy about this.

I stared down at her face, loving each priceless expression she made. The ruffle between her eyebrows, the wrinkle of her nose, how tight her eyes were clenched shut, and what really turned me on, the way her tongue brushed across her bottom lip before pulling it back inside her mouth and biting down. It drove me wild, awaking the beast inside of me, but I had to contain myself. I fought the urge to flip her over and drive into her, something I really wanted to do, but I couldn't. I have my baby to think of now, I have to be good. Pulling out of her and thrust back inside of her and picked up my speed. Finding a natural rhythm, each stroke was filled with passion. Letting go of her ankles, I gripped her hips and piston into her. The bed rocked back and forth as Robyn gripped me and released, gripped me and release. My speed picked up more and my head fell back in ecstasy. It has been so long since sex “oh fuck!” I shouted; I know I will come early because it’s been too damn long since.

She came, I came. We both came hard. With a raspy grunt, we remained connected, our climax still slowly riding through us. I fell forward and placed my hands on either side of her, sucking down on her neck. My open mouth kisses moved across her ear "I love you" I started moving my hips again “my man always hard huh” I grinned “for you” nuzzling her nose, I am hard as hell for Robyn and always will, look how beautiful she looks under me “if I wasn’t already pregnant I would be” I didn’t even leave Robyn, I just can’t believe how hard I am still “you feel weird?” Robyn asked, placing her hand on my chest “a little, I would have flipped you over and fucked you so bad” kissing Robyn’ lips as I thrusted into her.

#chrianna ff #chrianna fanfiction #fanfiction #chriannaff #fanfic #chrianna

[elisaphoenix13]

Accidental Phenomenons

Nobody had been home all day, either they were out on missions, at school, or at work. Sam, Quill, and Scott were the first ones to get back and they all ended up at the penthouse to raid the fridge for something to eat. When they got there though, they found three strangers standing in the kitchen and looking a little confused. Well, the teenager was looking confused. The toddler was sniffling and rubbing his eyes, and the silver-haired adult woman was trying to calm the toddler. When the three Avengers came in, the woman looked up at them and actually looked relieved.

"Who the hell are you?" Quill finally asks.

The toddler immediately looks up and turns on the stool he was sitting on and then launched himself at the celestial. Quill grunts when he wraps his arms and legs around the god and rubs his face in his collarbone with fresh tears.

"I didn't mean to! I'm sorry Daddy!" The little boy whimpers.

The look on Quill's face was comical and the scathing one on Scott's almost made Sam laugh. Almost. They had more pressing matters to turn their focus on. The boy clinging to Quill had no need for support and certainly wasn't getting any from the god since his arms were straight out at the sides.

"I thought you said you wore condoms in space." Scott says.

"I did! I swear!" Quill exclaims and grimaces when the toddler sniffles against his shoulder. "I have no idea who this kid is!"

"That would be Flynn." The woman says and all three men look at her, then the toddler, and then realization dawns on them.

"Athena?" Scott asks curiously as Quill tries to pry the toddler off. It wasn't really working.

When she nods, Sam looks over at the teenager. "That makes you Tibbs."

"When are Dad and Gramps getting home? I wanna go down to the lab." The boy asks and then yawns.

It was the breaking limit for Sam. He burst into laughter, wheezing about the Gramps name Tibbs very obviously gave Tony. Athena sighs and mutters under her breath as she walks over to the living room to sit on the couch, and Tibbs sits on the breakfast counter. Quill eventually managed to pry Flynn off of him and was holding him out at arms length and looking at him like he had a second head.

Scott could see the hundreds of questions running through his head, but what the celestial finally asked was, "what did you do?"

Flynn squirms in Quill's hold to cling onto him again. "I didn't mean to…" he repeats with a hiccup. "I slipped while playing with Tibbs and I broke the big shiny cup."

"The what?"

"He's speaking of the relic that Master brought home." Athena elaborates, motioning toward the shards of a broken vase on the floor. "He didn't know what it did and deemed it harmless enough to bring home and study."

Scott scratches the back of his head. "Well I guess now we know. Is he dimension hopping?"

She shakes her head. "He is out with his mate."

"Guess we're waiting for Mama Bear to get home." Sam says.

Neither Scott nor Quill argued, and they decided to get the three new humans fed. Sam helped Scott in the kitchen and Quill sat in the living room with Flynn still very much attached to him. He fortunately calmed down and was content to cling to Quill, and Tibbs had walked around the tower until he found a sunny spot big enough for his new form to lie in. Athena was content to observe until lunch was ready. When Sam and Scott set out some sandwiches for the six of them, Quill had to get up and take Flynn to the table with him since he wanted nothing to do with anything that would potentially take him away from his daddy.

So Quill had to eat with the toddler in his lap. It was an interesting sight to see, but quickly got old since on the rare occasion, Valerie was found with Quill instead of Stephen. Tibbs took his time slinking to the table, and Athena had gone when Quill did, leaving Sam and Scott to be the last to join them with drinks in hand. They were all at the end of finishing their lunch when the elevator opened and Stephen and Tony stepped out, with Valerie on Tony's hip. That was a strange sight in itself.

The couple immediately stopped and looked at the strangers sitting at the table and then Tony looked at Stephen. "Did you adopt more kids off a website or something Duchess?"

He earned a smack to the back of his head for that remark.

"These people are actually your pets." Sam tells them and Stephen looks at them with an arched brow.

"How did this happen?" He asks and looks over to the broken vase when Athena motions to it once again. "Ah. I see."

"Can you change them back?" Tony asks as he swipes one of the extra sandwiches Sam had made.

"I believe so." Stephen nods. "Just give me a little bit to look into it." He says as he grabs the last extra sandwich and wanders off to find his books.

The books that Stephen had brought back from Kamar-Taj and the New York Sanctum slowly ended up on a bookshelf in Tony's office since that was one of the few places the kids entered. If they did, they knew not to horse around and they didn't because the only reason they ever went into the office was to play on the chessboard or retrieve something for their parents. It was where Stephen did some of his meditating or studying when he needed more quiet than usual, and that was where he disappeared to to look for a way to reverse what the relic had done to the pets.

Tony had put Valerie down for her to go do as she wished, which happened to be watching a Disney movie after retrieving her favorite stuffed animal. She, of course, looked longingly at the door to the office, but she knew Stephen was looking for a way to turn Athena, Flynn, and Tibbs back to normal. She would have her mother back as soon as he was finished and so she waited patiently on the couch and watched a movie.

"Hey Gramps? Can we go down to the lab?" Tibbs asks and Tony chokes on the piece of sandwich he had been swallowing.

"Excuse me?! What did you call me?!" Tony sputters after coughing to clear his throat.

Tibbs tilts his head. "Gramps?" And Sam started cackling again.

"He considers Peter his dad." Scott explains while Sam continues to laugh and Quill takes Flynn into the living room to watch TV with Valerie. "It makes sense that you're Gramps."

Tony points at Scott. "Nuh-uh! You don't get to be all logical about this Mr. I-Drink-From-The-Fountain-Of-Youth!"

Sam stops laughing abruptly to make a face as Scott turns bright red and Quill cackles from the living room. "Ugh, don't remind me."

Tony shakes his head and walks to the living room after finishing his sandwich, and sits on the couch. He only half paid attention to the movie playing while he texted the boys to do some odd errand on their way home from school since Stephen insisted that they try to have some normalcy in their life. The boys didn't complain about having to run errands once in a while so Tony didn't bother arguing, and it kept chaos out of the house for a few more precious minutes. He loved his kids, but they could definitely be terrors.

There was that once incident at a nearby bodega where he was actually called to pick up his kids and pay for damages, and Stephen had grounded them for two months. No friends, no phones unless there was an emergency (Friday helped with restrictions on those), and no tv. It was the harshest punishment the sorcerer had ever dishes out but it was effective. Especially when followed with:

Your father may be a billionaire, but that doesn't give you an excuse to behave like wild animals! I'm disappointed in all of you!

The poor twins had thought that Stephen was going to send them back into the system, and Harley and Peter had looked admonished when they got home. Tony took away lab time as the final nail in the coffin when they did. It was the quietest the kids had ever been but it felt wrong when it was because of a punishment.

Tony looks up from his phone when he hears books tumbling from the office, and Athena immediately jumps to her feet to go investigate. She may be temporarily human, but her loyalties still lied with Stephen.

A quiet curse floats out from the office when Athena opens the door and Tony raises an eyebrow. "Honey? Do I need to come dig you out of a pile of books?"

"NO! I-I mean...fuck--" there was more thumps and the engineer raises an eyebrow at the rare usage of a swear word. "Don't be mad."

Tony sighs and takes the cue to stand. "Did you open a hell dimension in my office? If you did, I don't think I'll know whether to be upset or thank you."

"Err...no. Nothing like that. Maybe you'll actually like this…" Stephen mumbles the last bit as Tony stands in the doorway.

He found more than just Athena and Stephen. The sorcerer was predictably under a pile of books that Athena was helping remove from him, but their four boys and Cassie were in the room as well. Harley and Thomas looked amused under what looked to be shock, Peter just looked indifferent (Tony wasn't sure how he felt about that), and William...looked mortified. Cassie looked too happy for Tony to jump into worry so he just followed their gazes back to the sorcerer.

"Are you going to help Mom or not?" Tony asks and rolls his eyes when the kids finally jump into action.

It barely took a minute for Tony to find out why Peter had looked indifferent, because as Stephen finally managed to sit up, there was a whimper...and then a cry of a baby. The engineer rushes forward to look for the source and finds himself taking the 'newborn' baby from Stephen the second he processed what he saw, ignoring his spouse's grouchy, "oh sure, I'm fine. I can get up by myself."

"How exactly did this happen?" Tony finally asks after wiggling his finger in front of the baby until she takes it.

Stephen looked confused. "I... honestly don't know. I wasn't even looking in that book. The kids managed to startle me when William teleported them here...and the next thing I know, she's lying next to me."

"Huh…" Tony says. "Well, make the boys clean up this mess. I'll go put a diaper on Lucy while you explain to Valerie that she is no longer the baby." He says calmly as he walks toward the door.

"Lucy?!" Stephen sputters. "We're not going to talk about it?"

"Lucy Elina...what? You don't like it?" Tony asks over his shoulder and Stephen sighs.

"No...I do."

"Then no. We're not going to talk about it." He says and exits the room, smiling when he hears a muttered "douchebag".

By some miracle, Tony slipped up to their room without anyone noticing the new baby, and the engineer was able to put a diaper on his newest daughter before they were found out. Sam saw her first and simply rolled his eyes.

"Always bringing kids home or into the family without any warning." He huffs.

Scott looked over at them before joining them and smiling...and then pouting. "I think Stephen's magic cheats so your kids are always cute."

"Just good genes." Tony smirks and Scott gives him a mischievous smile. "What?"

"Hey Spaceman?"

"What?" Quill asks from the living room where Stephen was currently turning the animals back to...well...animals.

"There's a new baby."

Quill's head snaps up toward the trio and Tony points at him.

"No! You stay there Porcupine! Worry about your own!"

"He's fine!"

"You'll see her in due time!"

Stephen rolls his eyes and changes each strange human back to their animal forms, and then sits on the couch with Valerie. The toddler was tilting her head curiously as her father did eventually make his way over with Sam, Scott, and the teenagers, and when she saw what Tony was holding...her expression soured. It made Harley cackle.

"Valerie...this is your new baby sister." Stephen says softly and Val frowns.

"Mama no love me?" She asks sadly and the sorcerer immediately pulls her into a hug and pushes his fingers through her hair.

"Of course I do. Do you think I stopped loving your brothers or Diana when you were born?" When she shakes her head, he smiles. "That's right. I love you all the same. For a while it might seem like me and Daddy are giving her lots of attention but that's only because she can't take care of herself like you can now." Stephen explains gently and Valerie looks at the new baby again.

Fortunately she accepted this and moved closer to inspect her baby sister more, but Stephen could still sense some of the jealousy. When Valerie was born, Diana at least had some forewarning to her potential arrival, and the boys were basically used to it at that point...but Valerie didn't get that. Tony and Stephen had planned on talking to the kids beforehand, but this was truly an accident. A happy and wanted one, but an accident all the same. It would likely take time for Valerie to warm up to the idea of Lucy being around, especially when she was now going to take up a good portion of her parents attention.

"Speaking of Diana…" Tony starts and Cassie gasps.

"Oh my god it was my turn to pick her up today wasn't it?!" The teen grabs William's hand. "Help me!"

William sighs softly. "Well...at least I'll sleep tonight."

And then they were gone in the blink of an eye. A couple of minutes barely passed when they came back with Diana, but it was long enough for Tony to get comfortable on the couch before she practically jumped at them to see the baby. Diana was a very laid back child and easily went with the flow of things.

"A new baby sister!" She says excitedly as she jumps onto the couch next to Tony to look down at Lucy. "What's her name?"

"Lucy." Stephen answers as he continues to run his fingers through Valerie's hair.

All three animals present had gotten as close as possible to sniff at the new addition, and this time, Stephen didn't need to tell Athena she was family. The wolf already knew.

"Hey!" Quill suddenly says as he pulls Flynn away. "I need to teach you what personal space is!" Scott snorted at that.

"For once, Nat owes me money." Sam grins. "I'm going to go collect and send the cavalry up."

Tony sighs and leans his head back against the couch as Sam steps onto the elevator. "When did I sign up for chaos?"

"When you adopted Peter and married Stephen." Scott answers and Tony reaches over and smacks the back of his head once he frees an arm from under the baby. "Ow."

"I'm just glad it's another girl. It's a freaking sausage party around here." Cassie says.

It sent Quill and Harley into hysterics.

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #supremefamily #mama bear stephen strange #mama bear au #lucy elina stark-strange (oc) #cassie lang #scott lang #peter quill #sam wilson

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Strawberry Wine

This was prompted by my lovely, mythical friend Ross ( @mythical-ross ). 

—

Rhett shifted in his seat as the interviewer and his small crew were setting up around them. Rhett’s back was aching from sitting too long on the uncomfortable couch, and the hunger that has been gnawing at his insides for a while now had just audibly announced itself to the room. Jenna seemed to notice Rhett’s discomfort because she got up and walked to him. She leaned down to brush off invisible lint from his shoulder and whispered, “This is the last one.”

Rhett gave her a small grateful smile and trained his attention to the interviewer. He was a young guy, probably in his early twenties. Rhett had already forgotten where the guy had said he was from but by his appearance, Rhett could guess it was some kind of a website – something young and hip and trendy. Exactly the type of site they wanted writing about Bleak Creek.

“Okay, you guys ready to start?” the interviewer asked. Rhett glanced at Link, whose smile was wide but tight around the edges – he was tired too. 

“Let’s go,” Rhett said jovially as Link nodded in agreement.

The interviewer launched into his intro with way too much energy for Rhett’s liking. The questions were all boilerplate – stuff they’d already answered dozens if not hundreds of times during the press tour of Bleak Creek. In a way Rhett is thankful. The answers flowed out of him without much effort, and the carefully rehearsed give and take with Link shone brightly despite their weariness.

“Okay. Great! One more thing I wanted to talk to you about. Actually, it’s something I wanted to show you. Our researchers found an interesting video. Here, let me…” the guy said, setting up a laptop in front of them. He looked almost giddy, and Rhett frowned wondering which of their videos could garner that strong of a reaction.

A blurry image of a guy with a guitar filled the screen. Rhett stared at it for a beat, confused. It was clearly him, but it wasn’t any of their usual sets. He looked so young with his cropped hair and barely bearded face.

“What’s this?” Link asked, curiously leaning towards the laptop.

“Our researchers found a deleted Myspace page saved up on one of those vault sites. It appears to be Rhett’s, yes?” he asked looking at Rhett expectantly. Rhett nodded slowly as the image started to move. Young Rhett was strumming the guitar. There was a chill creeping inside Rhett now, making him weak and a bit nauseous. This couldn’t be…

“Really?” Link asked with a crooked smile, glancing at Rhett. “I didn’t know you had a Myspace page.”

Young Rhett was singing but no sound came from the laptop. The interviewer cursed and his hand shot to turn up the volume.

No! Oh, no. No, no, no.

Rhett was trying to make his limbs move. He waited for his fight or flight response to kick in, but he was stuck inside his immobile body, staring at the screen. He needed to shut this down before –

“…of his eyes. Lips red and moon kissed…” young Rhett sang from the laptop speakers. His voice was shaky but deep and full of emotion. Present Rhett was still frozen in place. His heart was thrumming in his ears and he wondered if you could faint from panic.

“…made me so weak, but it was the blue that got me, and threw me into the deep. And I wished he was mine, that night we –“

The video stopped. Rhett felt numb as he stared at Link’s long, slender fingers on the space bar.

“Oh, this one!” Link said as if he knew what he was talking about. “God, Rhett, you really didn’t know how to use your voice back then,” Link said with an affable laughter, playfully nudging Rhett’s side. Even as confused and panicked as Rhett felt, he realized that Link was trying to save him. He forced out a laugh that sounded more like a hoarse cackle.

The interviewer was watching them like a hawk and Rhett saw his hand move towards the laptop. Finally, Rhett’s self-preservation instincts kicked in, and he slammed the laptop closed. The interviewer almost got his hand caught inside it and jerked back. Rhett smiled at him, trying to look playful, but feared that his expression was probably more on the manic side. He coughed and let out a measured chuckle.

“Well, that was a blast from the past. Yeah, a friend of ours wanted to surprise her boyfriend with a song. But she wasn’t much of a composer, so Link and I helped her with that. She wrote the lyrics.”

“Oh,” the interviewer said, his face falling. “So, this was not about–?”

“You know what?” Link interrupted him. “I think Sarah is still with the guy.”

“Really? That’s nice. Good for her. They were a lovely couple,” Rhett mused.

“Okay. Well, I guess, that’s all…” the interviewer barely got out before Rhett was already getting up and with a hasty goodbye rushed to the door. Link followed close behind him as they left the conference room the hotel had provided for them. Jenna could barely keep up with them as they strode to the elevators.

Rhett was stealing glances at Link all the way up to their floor, wondering if he’d heard enough to know. If he’d made the connection. If he finally knew. But Link was closed off, no emotion showing on his face. A slight twitch at the corner of his lips was the only thing Rhett could see, but it told him nothing.   

When the elevator doors opened, Link walked past Rhett, colliding with Rhett’s side with surprising force. Rhett was pushed aside by him and had to rub his arm that had gotten a sharp jab from Link’s elbow. There was no apology and the panic Rhett had felt when the video started playing gripped him again.

“Do you want me to order you guys some dinner?” Jenna asked as she followed Link out of the elevator. She’d been looking at her phone and missed Link’s strangely violent departure.

“Ummm. I think we’ll just order some room service and head to bed. Long day,” Rhett mumbled, distracted by his pounding heart and Link’s receding back.

“Okay. See you tomorrow,” Jenna chirped and turned the other way to head to her room. 

Link was already inside their room when Rhett reached the open door. He followed in gingerly. Link was standing at the far end of the room, trying to get his jean jacket off with angry tugs. His whole body was strung tight – muscles tense and posture abnormally straight. He was about to go off. Rhett could see it clear as day. 

Link knew. 

Rhett’s knees almost bucked and with shaky legs, he sat on the edge of his bad. There was no other explanation. Link had realized who the song was about. Rhett pushed his hands against his thighs, trying to rid the sticky sweat that was gathering on his palms.

“Link, I – I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I…” he started. Link whipped around. His mouth was a tight line and his eyes blazed with anger.

“I can’t – I just can’t believe it! How long have you…? All these years… And to find out like that!“ Link’s voice was rising and there was a shrill edge to it.

“I should’ve told you. I know that. But you gotta understand… The way we were raised – You know how it was back then. And you… You were so – I thought if I told you…”

“You’re my best friend! You have been that for the past thirty-five years! You honestly thought you couldn’t confide in me?! I – Fuck, Rhett. I don’t even know… Who are you?” Link whispered, voice cracking. Rhett got up and stepped towards him.

Link threw his jacket on the floor with a thud, covered his mouth with his hand and rushed past Rhett, pushing him out of the way.

“I’m sorry! I am. But I thought – Link, please wait. Let me explain!” Rhett called after him. Link stopped with his hand on the doorknob. His posture was hunched and his whole body trembled as a sob ripped its way out of him.

“Who was it?” His voice was barely a whisper, and Rhett was sure he’d heard him wrong.

“What?”

“Who was it?” Link repeated, louder, turning around and staring at Rhett with a pained expression. “Who was the guy with the moon kissed lips? Did you – ?” Link’s voice cracked and his eyes slipped closed. “Did you just kiss him or was there more?”

Rhett stared at Link, mouth hanging open. Link thought…

“No. Wait, Link, no! I wasn’t – there wasn’t…”

“Just tell me. Was it someone I know? I need to know.”

“Please sit down.”

Link still stood at the door, eyes closed, trembling. “Tell me,” he repeated.

“I will,” Rhett promised. “Just sit down”

Link moved slowly, dragging his feet, avoiding Rhett’s gaze and sat on his bed. Rhett took a deep breath and grabbed his guitar.

“What are you –?” Link tried to ask but Rhett silenced him with a hand gesture.

“Just listen.” He strummed the guitar, trying to remember the chords. The lyrics were etched into his mind. He would have no trouble remembering those. That stupid song. Why had he ever uploaded it into the internet was still beyond him. Link shifted on the bed, opening his mouth, about to say something but when Rhett began to sing he fell silent and listened.

“It was like ice burning

In the dead of the night

It was the blue that made me fall

The blue of his eyes

Lips red and moon kissed

Made me so weak

But it was the blue that got me

And threw me into the deep

And I wished – oh how I wished

He was mine

That night we drank

Our strawberry wine

You said it had a bite

That it burned oh, so bright

I laughed and agreed

But, baby, I lied

Because no amount of wine

Could match the burn

Of my wish, oh how I yearn

That one day

You could be mine

After that night

All I wished from my life

Was that one day

You would be mine

The blue of his eyes still burns

Oh so bright.

Years have gone by

And I’m still by his side

Even though he’s not mine

The torch that I carry

Still has a flame as bright

As it was that night

And baby,

I still wish you were mine

Just like that night

When we drank

The bottle of sweet

Strawberry wine”

Rhett settled his palm over the strings of the guitar to silence it and slowly lifted his gaze to Link.

“Oh,” Link whispered, lips parted and eyes round.

“Yeah.”

Link got up and walked to the huge picture window showcasing a view of the city lights. Rhett put away the guitar and sat back down on his bed. He tried to find words. Something to say, to explain. But what else was there to say? Nothing. Now Link knew, and Rhett just had to deal with whatever the consequences would be.

The silence stretched and Rhett got lost in his memories. When Link finally spoke, it jarred Rhett into the present, making him jump and kick-starting his heart into an anxious flutter. 

“The wine was horrible,” Link said. Rhett chuckled.

“It was.”

“I almost kissed you that night.”

Rhett’s heart missed a beat. 

“What?” He’d gotten up without realizing it. Link’s back was still turned. Rhett walked up to him and with trembling hand pulled on his arm to make him turn.

“Please, say that again,” Rhett whispered. Link still refused to look at him, his gaze firmly trained on the burgundy carpet of the hotel room.

“I’d wanted to, for years. And I almost did. But…” He finally lifted his gaze and looked Rhett in the eyes.

“But?” Rhett coaxed him on.

“I was a coward. I was afraid of rejection… Of losing you. I –” Link’s voice broke and he turned his face away again. Rhett gently grabbed his chin and lifted it up. Link’s eyes were glistening with a film of tears and he gave Rhett a small, apologetic smile. One lone tear spilled over and rolled down his cheek. Rhett brushed it away and with a trembling voice said:

“We were both cowards.” 

Rhett cupped Link’s cheek and his thumb slowly brushed along Link’s lower lip. Link’s lips parted and he let out a stuttering gasp. Rhett wondered if the beating of Link’s heart was as wild as his was. They stood close, bodies almost touching. Link closed his eyes for a beat and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, their icy flare almost burned a hole into Rhett’s stomach.  

“I’m not a coward anymore,” Link whispered before grabbing Rhett’s collar and rising on his tiptoes. 

And as their lips met for the first time, Rhett could have sworn that there was a faint taste of strawberry wine.

#rhink #rhink ficlet #Appa writes fic #prompted ficlet #angst and fluff #and one badly written song #(be kind. I've haven't written lyrics before) #Ross! I hope you like it

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 6

Tommy was starting to get sick and tired of monsters.

The creature with blades for arms was effectively incinerated by the rocket thrusters in the launch room, taking Bubby out in the process. Tommy had grown to expect a quick reappearance from both of their elderly companions anytime they were wiped out. He wasn’t sure what kind of spatial fuckery had been added to their cocktail of enhancements, but it was definitely coming in handy. Especially once they escaped the clutches of one monster and promptly ran into another monster.

Oh god what the fuck what was that? What was that?

The whole team wasn’t sure what to do with the lumbering, twelve foot tall beast with lasers for hands. It reverberated the very chamber they stood in as it swept its incinerating beams in a wide, burning arc. The scientists scattered while Benrey slouched out of the way.

“I actually don’t know if you can help. That looks like hell,” Bubby commented once they had all found cover.

Tommy, pressed against the wall next to a frightened Dr. Coomer, eyed the thing in the next room. He cast a line out in his brain for something, anything familiar. Oh, well, there was that one thing.

“I’ve never seen something like that - they don’t - there’s no article about that on Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia!” he called.

Coomer parroted him instinctively. “The free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit?”

Across the walkway, Gordon barked out a laugh. The creature swung its attention to the three of them and they bolted.

Benrey actually managed to surprise Tommy by luring the monster into the arcing shock of a defunct generator, effectively frying it. With an ear-shattering screech, it disintegrated, leaving the group to stare at a solitary figure cruising leisurely out of the chamber. Benrey looked like he was on a stroll in the park.

Bubby pumped a fist in the air. “Gordon, we’ve defeated the creature!” he announced, an excited gleam in his eye.

“Thanks to Benrey’s song of death,” Tommy added. He caught the entity’s eye and lifted his chin in acknowledgement. So he could pull his weight and help out if he wanted. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

Benrey flipped him off and kept walking.

Tommy scoffed. He didn’t know why he bothered.

Dr. Coomer strode into the chamber to investigate a residue that was left behind. Gordon, panting and leaning heavily on the doorway after his most recent near-death experience, cast the scientist a concerned look.

“Don’t drink that!” he called. His voice was like a barbed wire fence, rusted and strained.

Before he could get himself any more worked up, Tommy took Gordon by the arm and pulled him aside to a quiet hallway. He needed to calm down. They both did. Tommy was relatively used to avoiding mortal injury, but getting bisected by an extraterrestrial laser wasn’t usually on his list. Tommy spoke to him slowly and evenly, watching the tension in Gordon’s neck gradually ebb as he caught his breath.

“When we get out of here,” he told him, mouth quirking with mischief, “I’m writing the Wikipedia article for the thing we just killed.”

Gordon’s laugh was more of a stumbling exhale. “What was it - what was it named?” He asked between breaths. He looked utterly drained, but he still chose to humor Tommy. “Y-You mean, you - I guess we’re the - the fuckin authorities on this. We’re discovering these things.”

Tommy leaned his shoulder against the sheet metal wall, facing Gordon as he thought. “I’ll call it…” What was the dumbest shit he could think of? “The Black Mesa Golem Ape. And I’ll write it down and put it on Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.”

The tired laugh Gordon let out felt like a gift just for him. Tommy found himself chuckling softly along. The dim glow of the industrial lighting reflected off of Gordon’s glasses as they held each other’s gaze. The lenses needed a good pass with a cleaning wipe, clouded as they were with blood and grease. Impulsively, Tommy reached up and removed them from his face with careful hands.

Gordon froze. Stopped laughing. Retroactively, Tommy tipped his head in a question. May I?

After a pause, Gordon nodded. Tommy could feel the weight of the other man’s gaze on him as he passed a hand over each lens, polishing them to perfect clarity with just a thought. It was quiet except for the latent hum of electricity from the lights.

“So I can’t wait to read that article,” Gordon said to fill the silence. “It’s gonna be great.”

Tommy’s smile pulled wider, but he didn’t say anything. He had hoped a gentle, private display of his power like this wouldn’t spook Gordon, and he was glad it was being received well. Tommy raised the frames to inspect them in the light, even though they were spotless.

He slid them delicately back onto Gordon’s face, his fingertips touching his cheekbones just barely as he withdrew.

“Um, yeah,” Gordon went on. “After this, I think I’m going to sleep for like, five days.” He raised a hand to push his glasses more securely up the bridge of his nose. His eyes were so dark and lovely. Like pools of rich ink. “Maybe get like a… Big Mac or something.”

Tommy could go for a Big Mac. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly, curious as to where Gordon was going with this line of dialogue.

Bubby chose that moment to stick his head around the corner. “What are you doing back here, Gordon?”

Tommy angled his chin to get a good look at the scientist, who wordlessly passed a glance between the two of them. He didn’t ask. Tommy didn’t answer.

“I’m relaxing after the-” Gordon flicked a look to Tommy. “What did you call it? The Black Mesa Golem Ape? After that incident.”

Tommy listened to Gordon explaining the concept of adrenaline to Bubby while Dr. Coomer caught up to them. This guy really was the only member of their party who was purely human, having to push himself harder than anyone just to stay alive. Tommy couldn’t help but feel a prickle of admiration for Gordon. If Tommy’s heart had been leaping out of his chest every minute for the past day and a half, he wasn’t sure he’d still be able to stand upright.

“When I come out of that,” Gordon finished, “I feel like I’m about to crumble to pieces.”

“Oh, dear, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer piped up. “That sounds serious. You may have come down with a case of The Crumbles. I read about it on Wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit.”

Tommy had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Gordon, bewildered, glanced between Tommy and Coomer. “Why are you guys being like - why are you being so verbose about Wikipedia?”

Dr. Coomer offered no clarity, instead choosing to announce, “we’d better get a move on,” and disappear around the corner with Bubby.

Gordon’s questioning gaze hung on Tommy. He just grinned apologetically and shook his head. They followed the other scientists out of the hallway.

Rounding the corner, they found Bubby reclining in a metal folding chair that looked more uncomfortable than it would have been to simply stand there, with Coomer hovering next to him. The scientist’s eyes flashed with an almost feral glint when he saw Tommy and Gordon. Bubby had a pained look on his face, as if he’d been coerced into this.

“While you were out working,” Dr. Coomer informed them brightly, “we took a break on this luxurious chair. A chair is a piece of furniture with a raised surface supported by legs, commonly used to support a single person. Chairs are supported most often by four legs and have a back; however, a chair can have three legs or can have a different shape. Chairs are made-”

Tommy had never broken a bone in his life, but he felt that maybe one of his ribs would fracture from the sheer force of his laughter. He was delighted that his panicked, throwaway line about Wikipedia had evolved into such a tremendous gag. Sure, he’d read every line on that website, and sure, Black Mesa was maybe probably definitely funneling funds from the organization, but the tenacity with which Coomer jumped onto the joke was incredible.

Did he have that article about chairs programmed into him? Did all the clones come with secret Wikipedia articles? Were they all about chairs or did they each get their own unique knowledge?

Tommy giggled madly while he speculated. Gordon looked confused. Dr. Coomer looked pleased. Benrey looked like he was about to throw up.

---

They went deeper into the facility, following the vertebra of an extensive railway system. The army paratroopers had somehow found their way down there as well, and it felt like every corner they rounded hid a soldier on the other side. Tommy nudged the team in what he hoped was the right direction, drawing on his memory of the time he scanned the building layout in a manual he’d read a while back. It was questionable intel at best, but it was all they had.

Benrey was being refreshingly cooperative for a change. Okay, cooperative was a stretch, but he at least wasn’t actively hindering their progress. At times he was running with the team, mowing down infantrymen alongside them, other times he would disappear completely. It was during one such time that they encountered a sandbagged barricade, walling off a mounted turret. The barrel was pointed directly at a soldier in a maroon beret, who appeared to be in deep discussion with a man in a security uniform - wait.

“Is that Benrey?” Gordon asked, peering at the two figures on the other side of the tracks.

It wasn’t Benrey for long. The soldier put a bullet in his skull as soon as the group of scientists announced themselves.

Gordon, hopping the rails immediately, interrogated the man at gunpoint. It was admittedly not a good look for him, threatening the life of another in such a contentious way, teeth bared and trigger finger taut. The intimidation was forced and unnatural, and Tommy could see by the whites of his eyes that Gordon was nervous. He stepped neatly over Benrey’s latest corpse and backed Gordon up, anyway. He did ask nicely, after all.

The man identified himself as Forzen and, aside from being excessively agitated and jumpy (acceptable - he had four firearms pointed at him), appeared to be an ordinary human. Every word that came out of his mouth was either a clear lie or utter nonsense, and Tommy seesawed between respecting the guy for shooting Benrey point-blank and mistrusting him for associating with Benrey at all.

The soldier then chose that moment, apropos of nothing, to unload three consecutive clips into a nearby body.

Well, uh. Sure. Okay, dude.

Crossfire drew their attention long enough for the hostage to slip away. Gordon pelted after him, the rest of the team close behind. Tommy dragged his thoughts behind him on a string while he ran. What was this deranged man doing with Benrey? What made him decide to kill the entity? He suspected, somehow, that this particular paratrooper was not here simply on orders.

They found him hiding behind a crate minutes later, perched at the top of a precarious, ten story drop. Coomer and Bubby flanked Gordon and aimed their weapons. Tommy mirrored them passively, examining the soldier. Forzen, was it? He had that wide-jawed, high and tight, mass-produced soldier look, strong and anonymous. It made the fact that he was almost pouting all the more noticeable.

Bubby misfired his AR, startling everyone present.

Gordon recovered quickly. “We’ve got a couple of loose trigger fingers here,” he warned the soldier. “A lot of loose trigger fingers here.”

Tommy heard Bubby mutter “I think the trigger is loose,” under his breath and barely held in a snicker.

Forzen scowled. “Sounds like you guys don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I tried explaining to them about thirty times,” Gordon sighed. “This one’s a kid.” He tossed a gesture at Tommy.

Ouch. Was that payback for pointing his gun at him earlier today? Tommy pitched an inquiring look at Gordon, but he wasn’t paying attention.

Forzen passed Tommy a leer, eyeing him up and down. “You’re a kid?” he asked.

“I’m thirty six,” Tommy clarified testily. He didn’t feel weird about pointing a gun at him anymore.

“Oh,” Forzen uttered. “You have a - d’you - you have any - uh, you want a Beyblade?”

Tommy’s mouth opened wordlessly at the sheer audacity of this man. A Beyblade? Forzen was seriously trying to sell him on a child’s toy? He straightened, keeping his aim steady. He was beginning to suspect that him and Benrey’s proximity was no coincidence.

Actually, y’know what? Fine. He’ll bite.

“Yeah,” Tommy answered flatly. Gordon’s subsequent laugh was more of a startled choke.

“It’s - it’s downstairs,” the soldier went on. “Let me go get it.”

“No, no, do not listen to him,” Gordon said, the seriousness of his warning diluted somewhat by his giggling.

Dr. Coomer rolled a sardonic look between Tommy and Gordon. “I think we should let him get the Beyblade,” he suggested.

“Why do you need a Beyblade?” Gordon asked shrilly.

“Let it rip,” Forzen intoned. His sneer was mocking, now.

Tommy stared at him. He was actually starting to feel angry. Of all the fucking things he had to put up with on this nightmare hike through Black Mesa, infantilizing remarks from a gun-toting maniac was not what he had the energy for. He was about to commit an act of violence.

When Tommy pleaded, “Mr. Freeman, what should I do?” he was really asking, “Mr. Freeman, can I kill him?”

Gordon caught the dangerous edge in Tommy’s voice and threw him a warning look. “Don’t fall for it, man,” he said. “This is a fucking US military strategy. This is a US military strategy. Listen-”

“He’s infiltrating my mind!” Tommy’s words were dripping with so much sarcasm he suspected he could drown someone in it.

“The US military is getting crafty, Gordon.” Coomer remarked, his stare hard as he kept his gun aimed on the hostage.

“What d’you think, Bubby?” Gordon slanted his attention to the old scientist.

Bubby hadn’t said a word this entire exchange, aiming his weapon pensively. Gears were turning in his head, judging by the expression on his face, but he said nothing.

Gordon glanced back to Tommy. “Tommy,” he said seriously. “Stay strong.”

Fine. Since Gordon asked. He stayed strong as long as he could. Tommy didn’t have to worry about his own self restraint much longer, however, as Forzen went on impishly about the Beyblade. Gordon finally knelt so he was eye level with their hostage, pointing the barrel of his weapon straight at the soldier’s head.

“Listen,” he said. “Give me one piece of information that might get us out of here a little bit faster, and I won't blast you in the skull.”

Forzen, effectively cowed, spat out, “Benrey knows the exit.”

Tommy and Gordon exchanged a glance.

“Benrey knows the exit?” Gordon echoed, narrowing his eyes at Forzen. “You killed Benrey. That man’s - What do you know about Benrey? How do you even know his name? Why do you know who Benrey is?”

Tommy was staring at the paratrooper very intently now. This was orchestrated. Wherever Benrey was, whatever the entity was doing, this person was in on it. He stood very, very still at the realization.

“Because we’re best friends,” Forzen continued. Then he faltered, correcting himself. “We were best friends.”

Gordon peered up at Tommy again. Benrey had friends?

The loudspeaker, which had been pealing overhead like an omen for the past hour, chimed in. DOCTOR. FREEMAN. GET. OUTSIDE.

“I’m not gonna listen to the fucking intercom!” Gordon hollered at the ceiling hotly, springing to his feet. “I can’t trust anything!”

Tommy did not miss the way Gordon’s voice cracked when he said those last few words. He really thought he was an island in this haunting black sea. Tommy gazed heavily at him. He ached.

“Listen,” Gordon said to the hostage. “We’re going to point guns at you. You’re going to walk to the Beyblade.”

Forzen pulled himself languidly to his feet, eyeing the barrel aimed at his face. He passed a look between the scientists present, hovering with hesitance. Then he strolled to the edge of the vast pit and stepped right into it.

Gordon, stunned, stared after him as his form disappeared into the blackness. He cast a nonplussed look at his companions. “Don’t follow him,” he cautioned, his eyes snagging on Tommy in particular. “Do not f - Tommy.”

Tommy leapt down after the soldier, ignoring Gordon indignantly calling his name.

At the bottom, Forzen stood waiting, staring at him keenly. “Let’s go,” he said.

Yes. Let’s. Tommy flicked his fingers. The soldier disappeared from the plane.

---

When Tommy materialized at the top of the ten story shaft, he was surprised to see that Gordon looked legitimately worried.

“You’re back,” he sighed shakily.

Tommy held his gaze and inclined his head in a reticent nod. Of course he was. He’d always come back. As long as the world was crashing off its axis, Tommy would return to Gordon’s side. This was a matter of trust, and trust wasn’t something to be fucked around with.

Gordon cleared his throat. “Did you get the Beyblade?” he asked, attempting to be cheeky but failing.

“No,” Tommy answered evenly. “He ran off.”

Chapter 5 <-----> Chapter 7

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #guns #blood #violence #hlvrai

[theropoda]

3, 4, 6-8, 11, 13-17, 19-22, 26-30 uwu

WOO LAD THAT’S A LOT THANK U!!! this got long and i wrote an essay or two LOL so im putting it under a readmore!

3: Best game you’ve ever played? WEEEELLLL.......let me preface this with two things: one, i am a FAKE GAMER as in my laptop is not at all made for gaming, it’s piss poor, so a big chunk of games i’m interested in is because i watched a playthrough of them lol. i have a 3ds but only 3 games on it (animal crossing new leaf, tomodachi life, nintedogs & cats). second, i’m very bad at choosing favorites of things.....BUUUUT .....i choooooose, in no particular order, OFF, pigeonetics, elder scrolls oblivion, pathologic classic HD!! i’m more than likely forgetting a few though, so sorry about that

4: Worst game you’ve ever played? as i said above, cannot choose favorites, neither can i choose whatever the opposite of favorites is but...uhh, does lif even count as a game? like lif, the stupid little furry flash game i remember playing on some shady website. it was surprisingly very active with a BUNCH of people there but i kept dying like every 5 seconds....AWFUL

6: A game that’s changed you the most? WELL define Changed.....ummm aha first thing that comes to mind is OFF. it’s one of those things where you never knew you wanted something so fucking bad until you saw it--and it’s like that for me. i NEVER knew i loved that odd, surreal, colorful, “looks playful and simple in some parts but incredibly violent and unnerving in other parts” aesthetic til i played it. like aesthetically i love that game to BITS and something about it just stuck with me til the end of time.

later in life (meaning, past year or so) it changed me because it taught me a lesson about storytelling and creative endeavors. a very useful lesson. which is: things don’t really need to have a meaning. stories, art, music, writing, whatnot, while it CAN be deep and meaningful, while you CAN use it as a way to communicate with the world about all kinds of heartfelt things, it can also be...nothing, really.

once i, as usual, got ridiculously overwhelmingly sad about small things. specifically seeing other people around me come up with all kinds of deep and meaningful characters and stories, sometimes putting them into webcomics or writings of theirs, and they were all so well-thought out and detailed and what i envied most was people put a lot of themselves and their experiences into them, venting and coping through them, whilst also making these larger-than-life grandiose complex stories and worlds and so on and so forth.

it made me look at my own ideas and get mad/frustrated at how shallow they were. but then i remembered OFF and i felt better because Fun Fact, mortis ghost has a now-abandoned dA account and if you go through the comment section on his profile, he answers a lot of fan questions and he mentions several times that the game didn’t really have a “meaning”, it didn’t really have a “deeper story” or moral or anything, really. i’m paraphrasing this but i vividly remember him saying “i wanted to make a game, so i did”.

that made me feel a lot better because it made me realise that sometimes art--especially stories, in my case-- doesn’t NEED to be DEEP or have MEANING...sometimes it can just BE!!!! sometimes it really can just be all about AESTHETICS like who GIVES a shit if there’s a hidden meaning if you take the first letter of all of your characters’ names and put them backwards, sometimes all that matters is if they just VIBE with you y’know....

yume nikki is similar in this regard bc that game doesn’t have any story other than “collect egg” and yet it’s so impactful. that game doesn’t have a story or meaning it just IS........ :) GOD THATS SO LONG IM SORRY ABOUT THAT but yeah. funny violent ghostbusting baseball man is a game that changed me :)

7: A game you’ll never forget? OFF AGAIN LOL,,, it’s just so memorable because of how unique it is. visuals, soundtrack, story, everything is so memorable. unforgettable. oh god you can tell how much i love this damn game can’t you

8: Best soundtrack? yakuza 0, OFF, there is a picture (another game by mortis ghost, again composed by alias conrad coldwood who also composed OFF), pigeonetics (the entire soundtrack of which is here), jojo’s bizarre adventure all star battle and eyes of heaven, silent hill 2 & 3, undertale....probably forgetting more but all of these...earcandy

11: Hardest game you’ve played? i am a shitty gamer so this is Most games i’ve played lol!! but uhh..well you see. hardest game i remember playing as of recent is pathologic classic hd in which it’s...not only hard to understand what any character is saying at any given time lol but also, i don’t think it’s HARD it’s just...you need to focus. you REALLY need to fucking focus and pay attention in this game. so i wouldn’t say its HARD, but i’m only putting this here bc it’s in recent memory.

i say recent memory because the true answer is susceptible to “yeah, but now you’re older, it must not be so hard.” as in if i played it now i think i’d have a way easier time. but when i was around....10-12 years old i had several ps3 video game adaptations of animated movies and i had SUCH a fucking hard time with them. g-force, bolt and up in particular were fucking HARD. like genuinely, the hardest time i had EVER had in my live playing video games is tied to these three fucking games. g-force and bolt ESPECIALLY. one particular level in bolt took both me AND my sister around a year to fucking finish.

again, i was baby, so i bet i’d have a much easier time with them now that i’m 17. but for now, in my experience, bolt and g-force for the ps3 were harder than pathologic classic. i think icepick lodge should take a few notes for them for pathologic 2.

13: A game you were the most excited for when it wasn’t released yet? STREETS OF KAMUROCHO...i spent the entire day of its release anticipating its launch lol

14: A game you think would be cool if it had voice acting? hmm..most games i like and know about do have voice acting so i dunno....i guess it would’ve been kind of cool if morrowind had like, full proper voice acting. but i can understand why it only voice acted things like greetings and battle insults because GOD that game is SO...complicated...and as a result, the conversations are so lengthy and text-full. playing morrowind is really like a goddamn book! if it was voice acted i’m sure all that information would have to be shortened bc i know no one is going to fucking voice act two whole paragraphs

15: Which two games do you think would make an awesome crossover? pigeonetics and yakuza in which instead of being about the criminal underworld it’s about shady and unethical pigeon clubs, breeding, racing, etc etc...a lot of illegal shit does happen in the world of pigeons especially when it comes to racing; prized racers have been kidnapped and held for ransom before. and then there’s Avian Cucking: The Sport, where people breed the sexiest pigeons (horseman thief pouters), release them outside to seduce other people’s sexy pigeons, and bring them back and keep ‘em, drama ensues. will kiryu ever escape his past as a professional pigeon-napper, and find solace in his new life as a pigeon hobbyist? find out now by playing YACOOZA......

JOKES ASIDES i don’t know i really don’t....umm, pigeonetics and animal crossing somehow?? :O... like, instead of managing your own town it’s managing your own loft!...orrrr, the jojo games (all star battle & eyes of heaven) with yakuza, because i think they’re somewhat similar because they’re both haha Wacky Silly AND serious over the top fighty-fighting.....or maybe a crossover with OFF and discover my body, which, despite being an incredibly short and obscure indie game i still love to bits for what it’s worth. WAIT ANIMAL CROSSING AND MINECRAFT THAT WOULD FUCK SO HARD OH MY GOD

16: Character you’ve hated most? From what game? i can’t think of any character i like, HATE...with a burning passion.. there are a few i dislike or have a complicated relationship with though.. i’m not interested in the series anymore but ouma from drv3...i’ll admit that he is a bit fun sometimes, especially in the very early beginning he’s a likeable brat but as the game progresses he becomes more irritating than anything and i have an issue with him in regards to writing, despite the fact that i have never been awake in any english class ever lol. it’s too long to put in this already long post but i’ll keep it at that. if you like him, well, good for you for finding joy in something i couldn’t! but he just doesn’t do it for me.

AH I JUST REMEMBERED....MINE......FROM YAKUZA 3....maybe i’d change my mind if i watched a playthrough of y3 again, because i think you always absorb something better on your second watch (tho i honestly Dont have the energy to do that all over again, the yakuza games are too fucking long), but i really hate his writing. spoilers for y3 but, i think mine’s writing, alongside other things in the game, were super messy...and a big part of why i hate him is that not only is he one of those “could’ve had great potential but fell flat” sorta guys but also his love for daigo is seen as some fans as good gay rep and i?????/.............um....WELL let’s just say that, i think people nowadays will see any gay character ever in any circumstance and say it’s good gay rep just based off the fact that A Gay Character exists....he was Not, good gay rep imo....he was not, let alone, Good. .........

17: What game do you never tell people you play? can’t think of any games i wouldn’t tell people i play.. idk exactly what this question’s asking. does it mean what game you don’t tell ppl you play bc you’re embarrassed about it...? i’m not very embarrassed by any of them. the only thing that comes close, i guess, is uhh lioden and wolvden. i’ve only interacted with those communities a LITTLE TINY WEE BIT, yet of what i’ve seen it’s a goddamn dumpster fire and i’d never want to be associated with them lol

19: Which game do you think deserves a revival? i’m well aware it’ll never happen and that it’s more a wet dream than anything but...PT/silent hills..... on a more realistic/”could happen” note, PIGEONETICS!!!! SERIOUSLY, it’s an amazing game about amazing animals and it teaches genetics in a very simplified and efficient way!! genetics is SO hard for me to understand, i fucking hated studying it but this game really helped me understand how it works AND its super engaging and interesting!! HOWEVER, of all the pigeon genes we know of, only a handful were seen in pigeonetics and i’d LOVE a sequel that employs new game mechanics AND new genes!! i wanna learn about bronze and stencil genes! i wanna learn about phenotypes like grizzled and pied!!! genes like sooty and dirty!!! @ UNIVERSITY OF UTAH GENETICS DEPARTMENT PLEASE IM BEGIGNG YOU

20: What was the first video game you ever played? earliest memories of Gaming involves me at my aunt’s house playing two games: super mario brothers and some kind of trapeze game. i don’t remember anything else though

21: How old were you when you first played a video game? i can’t remember but i must’ve been REAL tiny.... 6-9 years, maybe??

22: If you could immerse yourself in any game for one day, which game would it be? What would you do? immerse myself meaning go into their world...? huh....on one hand i’d like to go in the world of yakuza 0 to play in the arcades and do whore related activities but i’d also love to go into the world of animal crossing (and i’m pretty sure i’d be some sort of generic dromaeosaurid in that game!!) and shop, chat with villagers, do chores for them, go fishing, bug hunting, eat delicious fucking food like the apples mangos peaches cherries etc etc.....OH AND FOSSIL HUNTING THAT’S THE BEST PART!! though it would definetly be a little weird, to be a little dinosaur and finding a fossil of a...little dinosaur....i guess the non-sentient species went extinct and the dinosaur i am is some kind of, descendant of a sapient non-avian dinosaur that survived the k-pg extinction event...oh but who cares all i want is a cool little ambulocetus fossil or something. and some cherry pie :)

26: Handheld or console? my old ps3 just went kaput one day years ago so i haven’t used it in years so i can’t compare well... but i’d say handheld, because it lets me like DO stuff more...would love to get a console one day, a ps4 maybe but i’m kinda worried it’ll make me stay in one room all day wasting away my time when there’s other stuff i can do, y’know? but something handheld like my 3ds, on the other hand...i can do stuff with it. i can take it to my room and play it between breaks i take as i clean the room and fold my clothes, i can watch something on the tv and play the game during ad breaks, i can take it outside too if it has charge to last me a while! so....handheld i guess

27: Has there ever been a moment that has made you cry? yakuza 0 and undertale in particular have ALMOST made me fucking bawl with many of its moments....yakuza 0 especially, after that Fucking Ending i had trouble sleeping because oh my fucking god. video game people SAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

28: Which character’s clothes do you wish you owned the most?

29:  Which is more important, gameplay or story? HMMM....well, if i were to play a game with a shitty story but really good and fun gameplay i’d probably continue playing it for the gameplay. but if i played a game with shitty gameplay but an interesting story, there is a chance i’d play it more for the sake of the story but also i might just quite and see the rest of the story on youtube or something. i’m more likely to go through a boring story for fun gameplay than go through boring gameplay for an interesting story, so i guess gameplay is more important to me....that is, WHEN i actually own and play a game as opposed to when i just watch someone play a game because i don’t own the game but wanna know abt the story lol

30: A game that hasn’t been localized in your country that you think should be localized? i have no idea how video game localization really works....but i assume localizing a game in india would mean something like, removing content according to cultural norm and also somehow translating it into the 22 official languages..? or just two or three language if it’s tied to a particular state, which seems way more doable. i honestly have no idea? i’ve never interacted w the indian gaming community that much to be honest, all i know of it is of the video games i’ve seen sold in some game stores and a few whispers about like solid snake or whoever from my school’s cafeteria....the most popular games here, to my knowledge, are those very streamable games like fortnite and PUBG and your call of duties and whatnot. those generic shooters. and even then, that honestly isn’t the “indian” gaming community bc this country is so FUCKHUGE, it’s just tamil nadu. one state.

soooo, according to what little i know of gaming interests in where i live, i don’t think any of the games i like should be localized here bc i don’t really think there’s an audience for it as far as i can tell :( maybe animal crossing? it’s a fun little games for all ages and i think it has a chance of becoming popular here, so maybe that is worth a shot! but i can’t think of any other game that i like that really has an audience here (other than Me lol)

#asks #stommevrouw #THANK U EVIE THIS WAS SO FUNNNNNNN #WOOF haha this made me tired #im probably hitting the bed now! thank u!!

[dragoon-of-all-trades]

My wings may be weaker, but I still will hold onto hope for something better.

I just need to verbal barf about the situation to make myself feel a bit better. This person isn’t on here, so I don’t have to worry about them seeing it. More below the cut, because I don’t want to bore people. 

A few days ago I had to say goodbye to someone I had taken the chance to know since 2014. It was a sobering moment where I realized the abuse and not feeling good enough in that friendship wasn’t worth it anymore, and I was just tired. 

I approached them when they had suddenly come back after a year long hiatus after being dumped by their boyfriend of 11 years. When she returned she kept putting depressing second names on her site making me ask if she was okay. She was shocked I’d notice as nobody else cared to, but I was concerned for her (I was just an admirer of her art prior). 

We talked and I tried to distract her mind but a few days later she made a huge vent piece where she just couldn’t take it and felt soulless and debated leaving again. I didn’t want her to, and I didn’t think an image with a heartfelt meaning would do anything, but I tried. I did a small comic of her being picked up by her favorite character and telling her that her story wasn’t over yet. It was the first time in several years she felt hope or something to that effect, so out of all the pieces in my galleries, I consider that one a triumph. 

However, after only 4 months, she fell back into her depressive slump. I knew it wouldn’t be a fix all, but I was happy to have given her something. I should have just seen this sign and knew that I should have kept her at a distance… 

Long story short, we continued to be there for one another to the best of our abilities (as we both have depression and what not). We drew gifts for each other and I helped her out with her character ideas when she asked for advice, and we probably wrote like 5 page messages to one another in email just to keep ourselves distracted. 

However, what I slowly began to uncover about her made me uneasy. When I found out her relationship ended because the guy was cheating on her since a month in but she refused to dump him because she was that eager for love, I got anxious. There was even a moment where she told me to my face she’d give up all her friends for one boyfriend. It really hurt to hear that I could be that easily replaced. Hell, when I got into any relationships with men she’d express her jealousy and start venting more on her own page (what a friend…). Well, come 2016, she snapped one day. It was like she was angry that all my hope and talks of how things would probably get better were all for nothing in those past few years, and she launched an all out verbal attack against me. 

She did come back to apologize, but the fact I told her angrily I wasn’t going anywhere and she couldn’t chase me off…I shouldn’t have done that. The moment that mask fell off, I should have taken the sign as a ‘get the fuck out, you have your own demons to battle’, but I didn’t. 

For the next several years I did everything to carry her woes and problems on my back, ignoring how often she’d sink her teeth and claws into my skin as if she was using me as her own verbal punching bag. I was worried about her, and I wanted to hope something good would come for her, because I wanted to believe she was a good person inside regardless of how increasingly frustrated I was getting as time went on. I mean, you can pray for a better life, but if you do nothing to make it better, you have yourself to blame, and that’s basically how it went with her—the world was to blame, not her. Regardless, the more I tried to comment on her art and tried to be there for her, the more dismissive she’d become. What further hurt was how she’d embrace her lifelong friend in the comments who only seemed to show back up for art trades and the fact I suddenly was around after her big fall apart. Then she’d turn around and instantly tell me in her own roundabout way to ‘fuck off’ and that my kindness and affection meant nothing to her. 

I finally had enough and vaguely vented about it on the website we were on together. She apparently KNEW what she was doing, because when no names were mentioned, she called herself out about it and basically said she had been walking on eggshells around me while also reminding me all the great things she did for me and how thankful I should be for them. 

Don’t get me wrong—I'm super grateful for the things she did both artistically and financially. I love her for them, but that doesn’t mean you can get a free pass to raise your hand and slap the ever-loving crap out of me and face no repercussion… 

At first, I was shaken, but the more I sat and thought about it, the more I realized I was shaking for her. I was worried what would become of her now because another friend ‘showed their true colors of being a villain in her eyes’. All those years I had warped my brain into only focusing on her, and that’s the unhealthiest thing I could do to myself. I think when she saw me taking steps away to focus on myself and not focus on her all the time, she grew resentful. She hated me for also giving her a reason to keep living and breathing when nothing became of it right away. I honestly don’t know what to say to that last part…It hurts thinking that someone would hate me for trying to save them. What further hurts is her abusive, manipulative ex who cheated on her for so long got many second chances, but I get none, because I cannot give her the love she wants, I guess. That REALLY hurts knowing my gender is a factor in how quickly she’ll say goodbye. 

So, forgive my quiet and weird behavior. I'm just kinda healing from that friendship abuse. It’s been so many years, and I'm just so exhausted. It is nice to breathe again finally.

#just vent art #i needed to vent lol #it's not great sorry #abuse #manipulation #myart #artwork #wings #tears #pain #emotional #digital painting #digital artwork

[viaossis]

“Do you think they’ll make it all the way up here?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, we’re in orbit, and there can only be so many of them, right? Could they stack themselves up and reach us?”

“Start talking sense or I swear to Frank…”

“Have you looked out the window lately?”

“No, I try not to. Safer for my sanity that way.”

“Doubly so today, I think. I’m pretty sure I can see the zombies down below.”

“You have lost your marble. You can’t see an individual skyscraper from up here, let alone zombies.”

“So I guess Houston has decided to build a giant dark cone over itself.”

“What are you-- Huh.”

“Yeah. Huh. Think they’ll make it up here?”

“We’re in orbit 500 kilometers up. Are you seriously asking if they’ll stack up enough bodies to reach 500 kilometers into space?”

“Well there’s a lot of them down there, right?”

“Not that many. I mean, yeah there’s a lot, couple billion, but not enough to build a cone to reach us.”

“Looks weird though.”

“Besides, that’s not even Houston. Too far south. Probably Corpus Christi. Speaking of corpus, I wouldn’t worry about ‘em no matter how high they stack. They’ll probably self-combust long before they reach any real height. Decomposition creates heat, remember?”

“And the pressure. And no real air circulation for cooling. Yeah. Makes sense. Imagine the smell, though.”

“We’re in a vacuum 500 kilometers up.”

“Would still smell terrible.”

“Not up here. Seriously, who did you pay off to let you come on this joy ride?”

“How are we doing on food?”

“Dunno for sure. Four weeks left? Maybe six or seven if we don’t wanna eat too well.”

“Think they’ll be ready to come get us by then?

“Hope so. We don’t have a way down, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. Hey, where did my marble go? You haven’t seen it, have you?”

“…”

“My marble. You mentioned it earlier. You seen it?”

“Is this like a real marble, or have you finally cracked?”

“It’s real, I showed you that one time. On the call to Karim.”

“I wasn’t on the call with Karim.”

“Well then who did I show the marble to?”

“Probably Sarah.”

“Oh, yeah. Why do I always forget about her?”

“It’s the sound dampening. Can’t hear the moaning.”

“Yeah, but you’d think I’d remember we used to be three people up here.”

“Two Astronauts and a Zombie. Sounds like a bad movie plot.”

“Hey, when the Corpus Cone starts burning, you think the Z virus will go airborne?”

“It’s not a virus.”

“How do you know?”

“There were lots of reports of people who died in isolation who still got up and went walkabout. Can’t be a virus if there’s no contact.”

“So what do you think it is?”

“I dunno. Maybe… I don’t know. Doesn’t much matter now, does it?”

“Maybe this is a bad movie, and when we figure out the trick to getting back down, we’ll have to come up with the cure and save everyone. Big damn heroes, right?”

“Okay, you need to stay away from that website.”

“And then we’ll travel the country, bringing the cure to the huddled hillbillies who will reward us with truly heroic volumes of moonshine.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“The only problem I see is what happens when we get to Cornsville, Nebraska, and it’s surrounded like Corpus Cone. You know, big ol’ swarm of zombies crushed up against the walls so we can’t get in and the people inside can’t get out.”

“What.”

“And the gate starts to get broken in from the weight of the zombies, and the music starts to get all tense.”

“Okay, slow your roll, cowboy. It’s not like a buncha survivalists throwing up a few bits of sheet metal are even going to last that long. The “town” you’re thinking of is a whole lotta really prepared nerds who’ve spent months fortifying the walls, who keep the farms going to keep everyone fed and strong, and who post that chronically-ill kid who survives on spite alone with a rifle to snipe anything that moves. Even if the shambling horde is still moving when it gets to the town, they’re only human bodies – they can’t really break down a brick wall just by feebly pawing at it while moaning real loud.”

“Look- okay? Just go with it?”

“No. I refuse to play your stupid game.”

“Alright, so how are we getting down?”

“Can’t.”

“Well, that’s depressing.”

“All we can do is hope they send up a ship in the next couple weeks. If Control is still around and capable of launching.”

“How long has it been since they last answered a report?”

“Ten days.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, when was the last time you talked to Charlotte?”

“S’been… three months, I think?”

“She still with whatshisname?”

“Nah, probably ate him by now.”

“Um…”

“She wasn’t looking too healthy last I saw her.”

“Jesus.”

“Well, it was pronounced ‘Hay-soos’, but yeah, no, pretty sure he’s dead by now.”

“And you say there’s something wrong with me. How can you be all calm about your ex being a zombie?”

“She was a bitch. What can I say?”

“Really?”

“No, not really. She was amazing. I just… it’s so weird. I mean, we’re stuck up here, so nothing I could have done anyway.

“Yeah, I get it.”

“I want to be sad or angry or something. Anything. And it’s not like I’m numb or repressing anything. I just… can’t seem to care.”

“Whose turn is it to feed Sarah?”

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Well, don’t they need feeding? I know they’re dead and all, but they still eat people, right? So that means they need to eat. So we should feed Sarah, as long as she’s still here.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“What? No, not like that! I mean, I know we only have a little food left, but I figure we can share out a ration every now and then, just to keep her going.”

“Hell no.”

“Come on. She’s your friend, too. And if they find a cure, wouldn’t you feel better if she were still around to get it?”

“I am not giving my food to a dead woman. Besides, she’d probably try to eat us as soon as we tried to feed her.”

“I still say we should think of something. I don’t want to be the asshole who let our zombie friend die… again… when a little bit of food might have kept her around long enough to be cured.”

“This is going to be a long few weeks, isn’t it?”

“Another beautiful sunset, though. Doesn’t get any better than this.”

“I don’t think they can die. Again. You know what I mean.”

“What, so like we don’t feed her and she just sits there hungry and not dying?”

“She’s dead? So can’t die twice? Pretty sure that’s a thing.”

“Hrm. Hm.”

“Maybe just go count the food again. Not saying we’re sharing with her, just… See how much we have left.”

“Right. Just in case.”

#flash fiction #zombies #midwatch

[toshootforthestars]

Yes!

Via Tom Ley, posted 10 Sept 2020:

This site exists because of the events of Oct. 29, 2019, when we all still worked at Deadspin.

That was the day that Barry Petchesky, who had been a writer and editor at the site for over 10 years, and was at that point the site’s acting editor-in-chief, was fired. He was marched back to his desk by G/O Media CFO Tom Callahan, who made Petchesky hand over his keycard and collect his things while I and a handful of my colleagues demanded to know why he had just been fired. We’d all sprung up from our chairs and started barking half-formed questions, to which Callahan responded by pointing at one of our computers and sneering, "Just look at the home page.”

At that moment, Deadspin’s home page featured stories about wedding dresses, three good dogs I recently met, a pumpkin thief—and no stories about sports. This was purposeful, the staff’s response to a memo sent by the company’s executive editor a day earlier that forbade us from covering topics not related directly to sports. Jim Spanfeller, who had been installed by the private equity firm Great Hill Partners as CEO of our company all of seven months before, responded to this act of insubordination by calling Petchesky into his office, firing him, and then telling him to “get the fuck out.”

I spent the rest of that day and most of the next huddled in an empty corner office with my colleagues 27 floors above the 45th and Broadway intersection of Times Square. The conversations we had in that room eventually led to all of us making the decision to quit in solidarity with Petchesky.

At this point the staff was used to navigating various workplace crises. We’d had similar meetings before, following resignations, sales of the company, layoffs, collective-bargaining sessions, and even a bankruptcy. We used to joke about how no new Deadspin employee ever made it through their first few months at the site without some kind of company-wide crisis.

This meeting felt different, though. Through all the other troubles we had been able to determine that no matter what was crumbling around us, Deadspin was still ours, and the ability to go to work every day and make the website we loved was worth holding onto for as long as possible. But suddenly we were confronted with a vision of Deadspin’s future—one without Petchesky and without the editorial freedom our site depended on—that we simply couldn’t accept.

One colleague, vaguely recalling all the other existential threats we’d survived through the years, summed up our situation neatly, saying through his tears, “They got us this time.”

Within 48 hours the entire remaining staff of Deadspin, 20 people, had resigned. Now, 10 months later, we are ready to start something new.

That’s the story of how we arrived at this point, but if you want to truly understand why we are doing this, you need to widen the scope a little bit. The full story is about more than just an irascible staff of writers reacting flippantly to a memo they didn’t like. It’s a story about what will and won’t be tolerated, both by those with the power to shape the present and future of the media industry, and by those who bear the consequences of how that power is wielded.

The version of Deadspin we walked away from was an immensely popular one. Every day, millions of people visited our site—by the end, a good month saw us bringing in around 20 million unique visitors—to see what we had to show them. You could log on in the morning to read analysis of a hockey game, come back a few hours later to a perfectly crafted headline about Lions fans copulating in a parking lot, and then return in the evening to find out that Manti Te’o’s dead girlfriend was a hoax, or why Greg Hardy was arrested, or what kind of person NBA All-Star Kevin Johnson really is.

Every day offered Deadspin an opportunity—to joke, to argue, to critique, and to uncover. The tenacity with which we seized that opportunity is what electrified the site.

Deadspin didn’t acquire all those readers by accident, and the skills its writers and editors needed to run the site every day didn’t spring from nothing. The site grew and became a better version of itself every day because of how seriously those who were entrusted with it guarded and improved upon the folkways and traditions that had been handed down by previous iterations.

Will Leitch launched the site in 2005, and from the very start gifted Deadspin with a clarity of purpose that persisted right up until our departure. The site’s motto from its 2005 launch until our last day: “Sports news without access, favor, or discretion.” In one of his first posts Leitch explained, “There’s a whole side of sports that, because of either corporate obligations or just plain laziness, never makes it into the public consciousness. We specialize in that side.”

After Leitch came A.J. Daulerio, who understood that the more Deadspin burrowed itself into the negative space created by traditional sports media institutions, the more vital the site became. Deadspin looked at ESPN and newspapers and other legacy publications the way raiding Vikings must have looked at the shores of Britain, dedicating an entire section to exposing workplace harassment at ESPN, revealing sports media stars like Jay Mariotti and Sean Salisbury as frauds and hacks, and routinely securing stories in ways that would make a journalism professor faint.

Those infamous pictures of Brett Favre? Exchanged for a paper bag stuffed with cash.

Tommy Craggs succeeded Daulerio, and during his tenure Deadspin’s already venomous bite was imbued with a political sensibility. The scope and ambition of the site also began to expand during Craggs’s tenure, and eventually the site that had started with a staff of one accumulated a stable of editors and writers, reporters with dedicated beats, as well as the budget and appetite needed to publish the sort of reported scoops and features that rivaled anything you’d expect to find in a prestigious newspaper or magazine. The site also established culture and lifestyle sections, which brought Deadspin’s voice and point of view to bear on all manner of topics, like Gamergate and Wile E. Coyote.

A funny thing started happening around this time: The site that had stood itself up by throwing bombs at various institutions was becoming something of an institution itself. This transformation continued under the stewardship of subsequent editors Tim Marchman and Megan Greenwell, both of whom worked to diversify the staff, further expand Deadspin’s coverage areas, and continue landing the sort of big, industry-leading stories that made the site an indispensable daily read.

After a while it was no longer accurate to describe Deadspin as just a sports site (though the vast majority of its coverage remained sports-related) or as a place to find rude headlines about sports columnists. What Deadspin became, what it was on the day its entire staff resigned, was a full-bodied publication. It married muckraking with a 27-word blog post headlined Tony Dungy Doesn’t Think Michael Vick Is Being Haunted By Dog Ghosts.

To an uncommon extent, readers wanted to know what Deadspin had to say. When other people in the industry would hear about how much of our traffic came directly through the homepage (as opposed to social media or search), they would stare in disbelief. Whenever someone left the site to go work at another outlet, they would invariably send a grim dispatch about how much they missed Deadspin’s built-in audience.

What was apparent to those of us who had spent years reading and creating Deadspin was that the site wasn’t defined by what it covered, but by its sensibility.

People liked reading a site that refused to condescend or patronize, that was comfortable telling ugly truths about sports and the world at large, that was rude, that was mean (usually in ways that were more illuminating than gratuitous), and that was whimsical in ways that were never insufferable. Readers didn’t come to Deadspin every day just to get their sports news or find out who won last night. They came because they liked reading Deadspin.

Where did it all go wrong, then?

There are perhaps too many points on the timeline to discuss. Maybe it was when infamous venture capitalist and Donald Trump confidant Peter Thiel, angered over sister site Gawker’s antagonistic coverage of him, secretly funded a lawsuit against Gawker Media from ex-wrestler Hulk Hogan and structured it to cause maximum damage to the company. (A loss at trial in Florida state court in March 2016 resulted in a $140 million judgment and Gawker Media’s bankruptcy.) Maybe it was when debt-laden broadcaster Univision bought the company at auction that August and then spent the next few years failing to figure out exactly what it wanted to do with us. (To wit, Univision seemed to be under the impression that Gawker Media’s sites would somehow be able to create television shows that would prop up their failing cable channel, Fusion.)  

Even if the dominoes started falling years ago, I never felt the end was in sight until Great Hill purchased the company in April of 2019. They got to work quickly, changing our name to G/O Media, and installing Spanfeller, a veteran of Forbes.com and content mills like The Daily Meal, as CEO. During his introductory meeting with the whole staff, he revealed that though he’d spent his career on the business side of digital media, his true ambition was to publish the next great American novel.

Spanfeller moved through the office like a blunt object, always more interested in how to further monetize the G/O Media sites than in the sites themselves. In an early meeting Spanfeller had with the editorial staff, he told us that his plan was to more than double G/O Media’s annual revenue within a year.

He went about executing his plan by firing the company’s top two editorial leaders, wiping out the investigations desk, and installing a coterie of former colleagues in high-level positions across the company. As Spanfeller molded the company to fit his vision, we at Deadspin found ourselves in a heated confrontation with him.

[…]

Soon it became clear that his plan for juicing G/O Media’s revenue involved turning Deadspin into the kind of site it was never supposed to be. He liked to talk about the site’s position in the “sports category,” kvetching about how poorly our revenue and traffic numbers stacked up against those of ESPN.com and SB Nation.

It didn’t seem to matter to him that sports fans would visit ESPN.com and Deadspin for entirely different reasons, or that every site ahead of us in the “sports category” had exponentially larger staffs, or that some of those same sites relied on hundreds of underpaid and unpaid bloggers to hit their traffic numbers, or that Deadspin was one of the few sites that earned its traffic without resorting to SEO plays designed to capture clicks from people searching things like “Mayweather vs. McGregor livestream.”

None of that seemed to matter to Spanfeller, because he didn’t see Deadspin the way its staff and its readers saw it. To him it was just a valuable brand name within the sports category, and with that brand name came unlimited potential for growth and profit.

[…]

Lately I’ve been thinking of Deadspin as a strange machine. For more than a decade, the people charged with the maintenance of that machine were allowed to tinker with it according to their whims and idiosyncratic tastes. The result of all that tinkering was a machine which, for all its apparent wonkiness, worked brilliantly.

The problem with a machine like that is that it’s difficult for anyone who didn’t build it, or doesn’t respect those who did, to understand exactly how or why it works. When Deadspin’s staffers and readers looked at the machine, they saw a wonderful and whirring contraption, but all Spanfeller and Great Hill saw was an odd collection of valves and pistons. They saw parts, but not the whole.

Spanfeller’s disdain for his own newsroom, the “stick to sports” memo, Petchesky being fired, and the cascade of oppressive ads—they were all signaling the same thing: Spanfeller and Great Hill weren’t really interested in preserving what we had spent the last decade building. Maybe a few components would remain to keep up appearances, but Deadspin’s demolition was coming, and we couldn’t stop it. What we could do was refuse to participate in its destruction.

What happened at Deadspin, what’s still happening at G/O Media, isn’t unique. It’s just a particular version of the same slow-motion, industry-wide disaster that’s been unfolding for years.

[emphasis mine]

Everything’s fucked now.

Newspapers have been destroyed by raiding private equity firms, alt-weeklies and blogs are financially unsustainable relics, and Google and Facebook have spent the last decade or so hollowing out the digital ad market. What survives among all this wreckage are websites and publications that are mostly bad. There’s plenty to read, the trouble is that so much of it is undergirded by a growing disregard (and in some cases even disdain) for the people doing the actual reading.

What readers are being served when a sports blog leverages its technological innovations in order to create a legion of untrained and unpaid writers? Who benefits when a media company cripples its own user experience and launches a campaign to drive away some of its best writers and editors? Whose interests are being served when a magazine masthead is gutted and replaced by a loose collection of amateurish contractors? Who ultimately wins when publications start acting less like purpose-driven institutions and more like profit drivers, primarily tasked with achieving exponential scale at any cost? What material good is produced when private equity goons go on cashing their checks while simultaneously slashing payroll throughout their newsrooms?

Things have gotten so bad that even publications that get away with defining themselves as anti-establishment are in fact servile to authority in all forms, and exist for the sole purpose of turning their readers into a captive source of profit extraction.

The truth is that nobody who matters—the readers—ever asked for any of this shit. Every bad decision that has diminished media—every pivot to video, every injection of venture capital funds, every round of layoffs, every outright destruction of a publication—was only deemed necessary by the constraints of capitalism and dull minds.

This is an industry being run by people who, having been betrayed by the promise of exponential scale and IPOs, now see cheapening and eventually destroying their own products as the only way to escape with whatever money there is left to grab.

The ability of Defector to escape these constraints will depend not only on the quality of our work, but on our ability to avoid feebly chasing dollars through a collapsing digital ad economy. We want the freedom to provide you with a site, custom-built by our partners at Alley Interactive, that isn’t clogged with pop-up ads, banner ads, video ads, and chum boxes full of spammy headlines explaining how That One Girl From Full House Looks Like A Damn Snack Now.

Me:

Nothing lasts forever, not even tumblr, and probably not even Defector.  I gave ‘em a lousy $8 this month. Hopefully I can continue to do so.

Defector’s prospects are grim, not at least because of ALL THE OTHER sporps blergs out there plus the Second Great Depression now underway. How will it end? Sued into oblivion like gawker was? Unable to find enough subscribers or advertisers to fund operations? No search traffic from google? Buried by the algorithm on facebook?  The worrying starts IF defector is viable (ie: people have money to give) and churns out not just great stories and thinkpieces but also good #content to goose the Google and Facebook algorithms. Who knows where things will be in a year.

Here’s the thing IMO: The business elite, the billionaire class, social conservatives from every income bracket, GOP acolytes, and our reviled gatekeepers at facebook & google, all are in unison on the notion that what’s posted online must be controlled.

What’s posted online should never impinge upon their collective dominance.  Authority, especially THEIR authority, must never be questioned. Even one’s inclination to question authority must be countered by intimidation and fear.  We, you and I, can have some left-ish “capitulzm sux” schtick, as a treat, but any and all critical writings on the powers that be and the way things work, anything that raises deeply pertinent and uncomfortable questions on the people who have accumulated outsize power and control over the course of our lives, that must be clamped down upon post-haste.

Peter Thiel and crew successfully went after gawker’s survival, and its select shitty posts from shitty people were a conveniently compelling argument that the website needed to go (not just the shitty people).  Later revelations made the case that much more was at play, somewhat vindicating the suspicions of Gawker’s good writers.

As Gawker has noted over the past decade:

[Thiel’s] vaunted hedge fund Clarium Capital was an abject failure, losing more than 90% of its $7 billion in assets, a decline that Valleywag assiduously chronicled.

He is an arch libertarian who believes that central mechanisms of contemporary society—including representative democracy, universal suffrage, and formalized education—are either outdated or incompatible with human freedom.

He is a loud proponent of “seasteading,” the movement to establish sovereign communities on permanent ocean vessels for the purpose of developing legal systems unencumbered by taxes or any other kind of traditional government policies.

He believes death itself can and should be cheated, and even intends to be cryogenically frozen after he passes away, in hopes that science will one day be capable of reviving him. He literally wants to live forever.

He has backed efforts to question the legitimacy of climate change science as well as political groups opposed to immigration—even though the industry that minted him as a billionaire is heavily dependent on immigrant labor.

Gizmodo’s recent coverage of Facebook, in which Thiel was an early investor and on which he has a board seat, launched a congressional investigation into the company’s news curation practices, and inspired a national conversation about the vast amount of power the company wields—with no transparency and minimal accountability—over who reads what.

These stories, which are only a small sample of those Gawker has published about Peter Thiel, largely concern his professional life: Business ventures, political positions, and public statements. But as he noted to the Times, it was concern for his “friends” that Gawker had covered that motivated his secret legal assault: “One of my friends convinced me that if I didn’t do something, nobody would.”

Hm.

The news business is indeed in dire straits right now.  As noted above in the defector blerg post, it’s definitely true that:

“Every bad decision that has diminished media—every pivot to video, every injection of venture capital funds, every round of layoffs, every outright destruction of a publication—was only deemed necessary by the constraints of capitalism and dull minds. This is an industry being run by people who, having been betrayed by the promise of exponential scale and IPOs, now see cheapening and eventually destroying their own products as the only way to escape with whatever money there is left to grab.”

I contend that THIS IS THE PLAN.  No news, after all, is good news.  Money of course is made, “profit extraction” and/or “value extraction” happens, but these companies are one part cynical profiteers but also one part ideologues: an informed electorate is BAD. Fuck this, the public doesn’t need to know jack shit about anything.

Via The New Republic, posted Oct 2019:

This is not to further pan for lamentations over the demise of a website. Splinter and its parent company was already something of a distressed asset—its status as such, in fact, likely played no small role in attracting the attention of Great Hill in the first place. But the wider world of mass media is filled with other such distressed assets, from the websites spawned in the heyday of venture capital media mavens, to long-standing local and regional newspapers, straining to balance their journalistic mission with an ever decreasing supply of capital.

It feels increasingly like the terms of journalism—which kinds of outlets get to do it, who gets paid enough to live doing it, which communities get coverage—are set by the rich.

The best case scenario is that journalists become part of a billionaire’s patronage network.

When Splinter shuttered, former Gawker writer Brendan O’Connor wrote that “the workplace under capitalism is a dictatorship, and the dictatorship of private equity is an especially arbitrary one.” It’s a shame that journalism—something with such obvious broad societal value, and that should be wholly antagonistic to the rich and powerful—should be mostly done for private profit, with all the compromises that come with that. But the sad fact of journalism’s dependence on profit-making becomes far more grotesque and dangerous when the profiteers in question are financial sector wheeler-dealers.

This particular flavor of profiteers seek a higher yield, faster, with no regard for the long-term sustainability of the business.

Alden Global Capital, which owns Digital First Media (DFM) and its publications like The Denver Post, drained hundreds of millions of dollars from DFM for their own gain. It can be confounding to contemplate: How can a hedge fund profit from destroying the value of what it just bought? Remarkably, they can.

As The American Prospect explainedin detail last year, private equity can make big bucks off destroying local papers if it “strips staffing and siphons off cash flow.” Papers continue to make money off local advertisers who still value them, even as the quality of the journalism collapses; cutting costs by laying off staff or centralizing production can speed it up. Essentially, the long-term consequences to profits don’t catch up fast enough to prevent the hedge fund owners from stripping the assets, who then flip the carcass.

That’s how you end up with instances in which Alden executives “rewarded themselves with tens of millions of dollars’ worth of prime real estate in Florida and the Hamptons for their personal enjoyment.”

The “War on Journalism” isn’t a myth, it’s a bone fide pursuit. There has never been a “liberal media” and the corporations that own news organizations very much prefer it stay that way.  Facebook and google siphoning away ad dollars helps immensely to this end.

Take Advance Publications and the Newhouse family!

Via the CJR, posted Dec 2013:

Often represented to employees as an extraordinary worker benefit, The Pledge, in fact, had its roots in the antipathy of the late Advance founder S.I. “Sam” Newhouse, Sr. toward organized labor.

“I refuse to stand by passively and allow any union to ‘bust’ me,” he wrote in A Memo to My Children, a thin, self-published memoir that is apparently the only personally penned record of his life and career.

After acrimonious and sometimes violent contract negotiations and strikes at Advance-owned newspapers in New York, Oregon, Missouri, and Ohio in the 1930s through the mid-1960s, Sam Newhouse, apparently in consultation with his son, Donald, is believed to have crafted the Pledge. (The Newhouses have declined to talk to reporters and authors about the Pledge, including me when I was researching my recently released book about the “digital first” changes at the Times-Picayune and other Advance newspapers.)

Over the years, the Pledge became “so well-known throughout the newspaper industry that it was almost considered legendary,” according to a 2009 lawsuit by former Mobile, AL, Press-Register Publisher Howard Bronson, who sued after he was dismissed from his $745,000-a-year post at the Advance paper while The Pledge was still in force. (The suit was settled for an undisclosed amount in April 2011.)

When originally instituted in the mid-1960s, The Pledge explicitly promised employees that they would not lose their jobs “because of technological changes or economic conditions so long as the newspaper continues to publish and [employees] are willing to retrain for another job, if necessary.”

It was modified in 2008 to cover only permanent, non-union employees of Advance’s daily newspapers “published in newsprint form.” The addition of this fine print set the stage for the arrival of the digital initiative, which began in 2009 at the Newhouse-owned Ann Arbor News in Michigan. Layoffs were now technically permissible under the still-in-force Pledge because that newspaper went from daily to twice-weekly. And in July 2009, 214 jobs were eliminated at the Ann Arbor News.

Advance rescinded The Pledge altogether in February 2010, when the newspaper industry was deep into its long and ugly nosedive.

“We felt that it was the right thing to communicate to people that we could no longer afford not having the flexibility to do something if the revenue challenges continue,” Steven Newhouse told The New York Times in August 2009. “I think the policy was meant for a time when the newspaper business had ups and downs, but was relatively stable. It was not meant for a time when our newspapers, like others, are struggling to survive.”

…

Deadspin, amongst its furious shitposting, and kinda like gawker (when it wasn’t fucking shitty), spoke truth to power.

There is a concerted effort to end that, online and elsewhere.

There’s a concerted effort to control what’s posted online and what information can be freely accessed.

(my bad and shitty theory: The overarching, unifying reasons are power, control & domination. Conservatives want far-left views that threaten them to be vanquished, businesses want preferential treatment to do whatever the fuck they want, the billionaire class want their wealth protected from the guillotines of the working class, the GOP wants political power in perpetuity, Facebook & Google are run by rapacious ghouls and ideologues.  ALL OF THEM want control over what becomes public information and #content just for their individual safety from the rebellious unwashed masses, as recent advances in AI will mean a lot less people employed anywhere, and that + climate change = guillotines for the rich.)

TL;DR: Corporate media sucks. Check out Defector.

#long post #scroll alert #news #defector #sporps #journalismism #us press corps #news media #the media #corporate media #gawker is dead #long live gawker #deadspin #g/o media #gawker media #the news business #the way things work

[theboardwalkbody]

That’s me (in my nursing cap because it’s my most recent photo and capping ceremony was cancelled so I took pics in my house to send to nursing school buddies instead): Amanda - meme - Manda 28 NJ Tired AF And bored so I am answering this Ask Meme I found by @myautisticjournal​

What music have you discovered or listened to lately?

I’ve been listening to my Recently Added playlist on iTunes. Only “recently added” has been adjusted to include the last 28 months. lol But I did discover Blinding Lights by The Weeknd and that song’s been making me happy. Hurricane (Reimagined) by I Prevail has hit me in the Depress and next week The Used’s new album comes out so I’m waiting for that.

Have you made any new playlists since quarantine times? If they’re on Spotify, maybe drop a link?

I haven’t made any Quarantine Playlists because ALL my music is about being isolated and depressed anyway that like... what’s the difference? 

Make a three-song-minimum playlist of songs that make you happy!

Blinding Lights // The Weeknd (also makes me think of Data because I discovered it around the same time I started watching TNG so now they Go Together) Paradise Lost // The Used Dance Monkey // Tones and I

What’s your go-to show that you like to binge watch? Why do you like that show?

Currently its Star Trek TNG - because Data And One Day at a Time because that shit hits real. 

Are there any shows that you‘ve been planning to start watching? Why do they interest you?

It was just Star Trek and I did start watching. Interested because I wanted originally to watch ST Picard because Harry Treadaway but having never seen any ST before it didnt make sense (obvs) so I went back and started watching TNG. I didn’t want to start with the original series because honestly my attention span is garbage and I just was always curious about Data and so I started with him.

What movie(s) always comforts you?

Twister, Forrest Gump, The Lion King (1994). I’m currently wearing Lion King pjs lol. Pirate Radio is a relaxing feel good movie, too. 

Are you an arts-and-crafts person? If so, what types of art/craft do you enjoy?

I try SO HARD to be lol. So far during quarantine I’ve tried crochet, I’ve tried making string bracelets as if it was 2005 and I was in 8th grade again but I forgot how to make them and my brain refuses to re-learn its too full of music, nursing school, and data now. I tried coloring and lost patience. I have been working on a Quarantine Photo-Journal. Every day I post a tiny update and a few pictures (mostly memes since i cant leave the house and several Data photos lolololol) but my printer isn’t working right all of a sudden so I can’t print out any new pictures which I guess that one project I was really enjoying is out the window.

Do you have any planned projects to work on during self-isolation? If you’ve started any and you’re willing, share a photo of what you’re working on!

Here’s a pic of page like 3 or something lol

If you had to recommend an art or craft for people to get into, what would you recommend and why?

Man. Just do what makes you happy. I saw someone on TikTok making GIANT ass Worms on Strings and honestly. Pure genius. 

What are your favorite YouTube channels? Why do you like them?

Achievement Hunter. Rooster Teeth. Markiplier. They make the funny. Various ASMR channels. They make the sleep.

What is the weirdest YouTube video you’ve ever watched?

Conspiracy Theory videos probably. I don’t really know. 

Recommend a book or book series to read!

Across the Universe trilogy by Beth Revis read it and fangirl with me I am so alone.

Are there any books that you’ve read multiple times? If you could re-read a book that you loved as if it were the very first time, what book would you choose?

The Islander by Cynthia Rylant. I don’t know why but the first time I read it it just transported me into the middle of it and it was amazing (I was like 11) and it was so mysterious and everything. I’d like to read that one like the first time. Also Living Hell by Catherine Jinks did a similar thing 

What’s your favorite book genre? Why do you enjoy it?

Science Fiction. Because I like science. and Fiction and space and robots and things. 

If you were to write a fanfiction about your own life, how would it go?

LOL The tags would be like : #depression #anxiety #ptsd #childhood abuse #adulthood abuse #i miss having sex but at least i dont wanna die #except i still do #twsuicideideation #badluck #dontread lol

What’s the best fanfiction that you’ve ever read (or the top three if you can’t choose just one )? What about it made an impression on you?

My brain hurts too much to pick a top three but I will say I am currently reading May I by @ladyfogg​ and it’s been giving me the squishy feels and I am loving it and ya’ll should read it. Her OC is relatable and also inspiring and I think at this point I don’t need to mention Data anymore. (But I did). 

Do you listen to podcasts? What kind of podcasts do you listen to?

Off Topic podcast and used to listen to RT podcast when Burnie was still on. IDK what kind of podcast that is other than ‘usually wild’ 

If you could make your own podcast, what would it be about and who would you invite to make a guest appearance?

It would be about anything and everything. I’d invite anyone for an appearance lol

Are you addicted to Animal Crossing: New Horizons? If yes, what’s your favorite thing about it so far?

Yes. My favorite thing has to be CUBE. CUBE I LOVE CUBE. I WOULD DIE FOR CUBE.

If you had to recommend ONE video game, what would it be and why?

Cube. I mean, Animal Crossing. 

Have you tried any new recipes lately? If yes (and if they were good), share it with the class! I’m sure everyone is as bored with the same old foods as I am by this point.

I am too lazy to cook even when I want to so I always end up getting take out or delivery. 

What is your favorite website to waste time on? (Is it, perhaps, tumblr?)

Tumbebells. (Tumblr yes)

How are you finding ways to stay connected with your friends and family? From video calling to playing online games, what would you say has worked the best for you?

Nothing. I’m sitting here wallowing in deep loneliness and it’s killing me. It’s just my grandma and my cat and that’s why I can’t go out or work (I am a Patient Care Associate and I know the hospitals could use help but my grandma is 83 years old and it’s too high of a risk for her for me to be working in a hospital and coming home from there). 

If you have pets, first of all share some photos! Second, how have you been spending your time with them?

LOLA. L-O-L-A LOLA. LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LOLA She doesn’t leave me alone. Her new trick has been LAUNCHING her 7lb body on to my back while I’m standing and pretending she’s my goddamn backpack. And earlier today she decided to pull the socks out of my sock drawer. Because she loves me. 

Share your general quarantine experience so far. How are you handling it?

Bad. I often forget to take my meds, we’ve been on “spring break” from nursing school this week so I have 0 sense of time and no routine and I’ve sometimes been going to bed at 4am, sometimes 4pm, sleeping until like 9-11 regardless and I spend 95% of the day in bed. I can’t be bothered to change, sometimes can’t be bothered to really eat, and I care 0% about showering and Doing Anything. lol 

I mean it’s been great guys. Ba-da-ba-ba-ba I’m lovin’ it!

I did somehow loose 2lbs without trying tho. That’s a total of 7.8lbs lost since March. Only 125 more to go BUT THE GYM IS CLOSED AND IT HAS BEEN COLD AND RAINING.

I’ll shut up.

I tag @lyrslair​, @ladyfogg​ @datalaur​ and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it even tho its really long and I fucked up the layout so instead of 25 questions they’re ALL NUMBER 1. lol 

[camillemontespan]

gossip girl: cordonia’s elite [part three: marshmallow]

Warnings: Sexual harrassment. 

I’ve taken some liberties with the TRR canon.. you’ll see what I mean. 

************************************************************************************

Camille sipped her martini, eager to cloud any anxious thoughts that were racing through her mind. She wished she hadn't gotten at Bertrand but she had felt so furious about Maxwell's treatment. She shouldn't have gone to the Bash. She should have stayed home and prepared for university on Monday, like a good girl.

She noticed from her Gossip Girl notifications that someone had sent a photo of her at the Palace Hotel Bar. Whoever took the photo was now gone as Camille was the only person drinking.

Gossip Girl needed to get rid of that 'submit a post' option for her readers. Anyone could be paparazzi these days and Camille was sick of it. She knew that now she was back, Gossip Girl would be reporting on her every move.

'Hey trouble.'

Camille looked up to see Leo sauntering towards her. He gestured to the bartender. 'Can I have a scotch on the rocks, James?' he asked.

He slipped down beside Camille and studied her. Camille sighed. 'I thought you would be at the Bash. You can never resist a party.'

Leo chuckled. 'True. But I saw on Gossip Girl that you were here so I felt like saying hello. Give you a warm Leo welcome.'

Camille drained her glass and asked the bartender for a refill. 'Why do I feel like a warm Leo welcome is code for get Camille on her back?'

Leo shrugged and sipped his scotch. 'I'm Leo Sullivan.'

He eyed her and gave his best lazy smile, the one that made girls go gooey. 'You remember last time.'

Camille visibly shuddered. 'Please don't remind me.'

'I recall lots of screaming my name and back scratching.. Man, you tore my skin to ribbons-'

'Please just stop talking,' Camille interrupted. 'I'm not in the mood.'

Leo sipped more of his drink, his eyes looking at her over the rim of the glass. He placed the glass down on the bar, before gesturing for the bartender to leave. This was his family's hotel. He could do what he wanted.

'You're always in the mood,' he said.

'That was the old Camille,' she bit back, her voice laced with venom. 'I'm different now.'

Leo rolled his eyes and leaned over to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. 'I liked you better before,' he whispered, his hand snaking up her leg towards the space between her thighs.

Camille pushed him away. 'Leo! Get the fuck off me!'

'Come on, Cammy,' Leo teased. 'You know you want to. We're good together. I make you feel good, don't deny it. You want it really.'

His hands were snaking over her skin. Camille twisted her body, trying to get off her chair so she could escape but Leo's body formed a barrier.

'Come on, baby..' he said. 'I'll fuck you good and hard, just as you like it -'

'Get the fuck away from her!'

Leo and Camille looked around to see a dark haired guy standing at the threshold of the bar with his fists clenched. He looked extremely angry. Camille breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't alone with Leo anymore.

Leo laughed bitterly and strolled towards the stranger, his hand up in defence. 'Who are you?' he asked. 'Why are you interrupting a private meeting in my bar?'

The stranger narrowed his eyes. 'Get away from her.'

'Seriously, who the fuck are you? Get out,' Leo replied, losing patience. He had Camille to fuck.

The guy launched forward and his fist connected with Leo's face. Leo fell to the ground, clutching his face as Drake stood over him. 'I'm fucking Drake Walker!' he shouted. 'I'm at the same university as you. I see you every fucking day. Leave her the fuck alone.'

Camille was gripping the edge of the bar. She didn't know what to do. But looking at him, at Drake, she recognised him from the train station. He had bumped into her and she had dropped her book. He had been really apologetic and awkward. She remembered he replied to her joke with 'nggggghhh..'

He was cute.

Leo got up awkwardly and gave Camille a cold look. He looked back to Drake then back to her before letting out a harsh laugh. 'Not worth my time,' he decided. He looked at Drake and smirked. 'She's a good fuck. But who wants damaged goods?'

Drake pulled him in by the shirt collar, fury burning in his eyes. 'Say that again.'

Leo blinked and stayed silent. A bruise was blooming over his right eye. 'Alright, let me go,' he croaked. 'Easy.'

Drake let him go and Leo skulked out of the bar.

                       ********************************************

Drake hadn’t meant to punch Leo. He hadn’t meant to get angry but when he had walked into the hotel bar and saw Camille struggling to get away from Leo who was saying such obscene things.. He saw red. How dare Leo treat her like that? Not only did it anger him that it was Camille who was being targeted, but Drake imagined his sister being put in the same position and he felt anger flood through his veins. 

Now, he was alone in the room with Camille and he felt like he had to explain himself. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to go crazy there..’ he muttered. ‘I just hate it when guys like him act entitled. He’s a prick.’

Camille surveyed him, her eyes looking him up and down. Drake sighed and closed his eyes, knowing he had blown it. He had looked like a crazy person. Turning to go, he moved back to the door but was stopped by her voice. 

‘Join me for a drink?’ 

He turned back and saw that she was smiling bashfully. ‘I owe you for saving me.’ 

Drake chuckled and walked to where she was sitting. Camille hopped off and went behind the bar, running her fingers along the bottles. ‘Which bottle should we take from the Sullivan’s collection?’ she mused. ‘I think Leo can put this towards his grovelling present.’

Drake sat down and watched her. She moved like water, fluid and light. ‘Which is the most expensive?’ he asked.

Camille laughed and picked out a bottle of whiskey. ‘This one.’

‘Nice choice.’

Camille opened the bottle and poured generous measures into crystal tumblers before handing one to Drake. Their fingers brushed and Drake felt the electric shock. Camille blushed and moved to sit next to him again. She clinked her glass against his. 

‘So, what’s your name?’ she asked. ‘Or do you not have one? Just a mysterious stranger who saves girls from creepy guys?’

Drake smirked. ‘It’s Drake. Drake Walker.’

Camille grinned. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Camille Montespan.’

The fact that she assumed he didn’t know her name proved him right about one thing; she wasn’t arrogant like her friends. They sipped their drinks and sat in comfortable silence. 

‘You bumped into me at the train station,’ she said. ‘I remember you.’ 

‘Sorry about that,’ Drake apologised, blushing. ‘I wasn’t looking.’

‘It’s okay. I’m just saying that I remember you.’

But she didn’t remember him from their biology class in high school. That was the kicker. Drake thought to himself, trying to calm down his negative thoughts. They both looked different from high school; he was taller, broader and more muscled now. Her braces were gone. It was normal for her not to remember him like that. 

‘What do you study?’ she asked. She was so much better at making conversation than he was. Why was he so awkward? Why wasn’t he more forthcoming? Why wasn’t he sparkly and easygoing? 

‘English Lit,’ he told her. 

Camille’s face broke out into a grin. ‘Same! We’ll be in the same lecture on Monday then.’

‘Awesome,’ Drake said, trying to settle his pounding heart. Oh man. They were studying for the same degree. He would see her every day. As much as he wanted to see her every day, he still felt nervous. They would drink now but on Monday, she would pretend not to know him because that was how his life was. He expected this from people now; that way, he could avoid disappointment. 

‘Sit with me in the lecture hall?’ Camille asked hopefully. ‘I don’t know anyone on our course.’

Drake blinked. ‘Uhh… sure?’

Camille tossed back her whiskey. ‘Wow, be more enthusiastic, Walker.’ 

‘Sorry! Sorry! Yeah, that sounds great.’

Camille smiled. ‘Perfect. English buddies.’ 

‘Buddies, huh?’

Camille raised an eyebrow. ‘Drake, you defended me from Leo’s creepy advances, I think we’re buddies.’ 

‘Can we not call ourselves friends? Buddies sounds like a… 90s cop TV show.’ 

Camille rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, Drake. Friends. God, you’re such a marshmallow.’ 

Drake laughed and pushed her shoulder with his, feeling less self conscious now. Camille shot him a warm smile and poured them another drink. 

‘Bottoms up, marshmallow!’

‘I’m not a marshmallow.’

‘You so are. You defended my honour, ergo, marshmallow.’ 

‘I think you’ll find I’m a s’more.’

Camille burst out laughing and Drake revelled in the joy of it.

*******************************************************************************************

Olivia was helping herself to another vodka at the Beaumont Bash.  She was glad she hadn’t seen Camille and from what she saw on Gossip Girl, her ex-best friend hadn’t bothered to come to the Bash, instead choosing to drink alone. Pathetic. 

She had been trying her best to engage with Liam but he had seemed distracted. Twice she had caught him refreshing the Gossip Girl website on his phone, as if he was waiting for more notifications of Camille. 

Olivia spotted Leo stalk into the manor and head straight for the drinks selection. He poured himself a scotch and tossed it down his throat. He sported a purple bruise around his eye which hadn’t been there when she had last seen him. 

‘What happened to you?’ she asked him. 

Leo touched his eye gently and winced. ‘Nothing.’

‘Okay, liar.’

‘I mean it. Nothing. A fucking nobody sucker punched me.’ 

Olivia frowned. ‘What did you do to deserve that?’

Leo glowered, not wanting to answer the question. Olivia knew not to push him. She knew Leo more than most people. 

She knew what his hands felt like against her skin.

She knew what her name sounded like on his lips.

She knew that his lips were soft.

She knew he smelled like sandalwood. 

Only Olivia knew these things, these things they had both shared. Liam didn’t know that Olivia had lost her virginity to Leo when they were seventeen. It was the dark secret she kept locked in her heart. 

Despite being with Liam for so many years, she hadn’t been faithful. It had been a mistake, she knew that now. It had been a drunken night, reckless, chaotic. She had instantly regretted it. Loyalty was a big deal for her and she had gone against everything she believed in when she spread her legs for Leo Sullivan. 

But as she watched Liam from across the room who was unable to peel his eyes away from his phone, she did wonder: why are we still together?

*******************************************************************************************

Drake walked Camille home. She lived on the other side of Cordonia, right by the harbour, but he didn’t mind. It was nice just to walk with her, talking about everything they could think of. So far, they had debated about which American football team was better (Camille was pleased to discover a fellow American), talked about her grandmother, his mom being away and Texas. They had covered a lot of ground. 

When they reached her door, Camille smiled up at him. ‘Thank you for saving my night,’ she said. ‘Seriously. I was having a bad time. But you made it good again.’ 

‘No problem, Montespan,’ he said, shuffling on his feet. 

‘Look at you calling me by my last name like you’re not a marshmallow,’ she teased. ‘So cute.’

‘I’m not a marshmallow!’ he protested. 

Camille stuck her tongue out and Drake resisted the urge to pull her in for a kiss. He was rejecting every single part of him that longed to take her in his arms and kiss her. This wasn’t the moment. They had only really just met. Plus, she had already been harrassed by another guy tonight; she didn’t need another. 

‘I’ll see you Monday,’ she said quietly, her brown eyes penetrating his. 

‘See you Monday,’ he croaked. There was a silence and then Camille turned on her heel and opened the front door, calling out, ‘Grandma, I’m home!’ 

‘You’re home early!’ Drake heard her grandmother say. ‘Taxi?’

‘No, a nice guy dropped me home!’

Drake chuckled and sloped off down the street. A nice guy. 

*******************************************************************************************

Good morning, Cordonians.  Heavy heads this morning? I thought so, after last night’s Beaumont Bash.  Thank you to my source, Camille didn’t even bother attending- does this mean Beaumont Bashes are now defunct? Do you really want to go to a Bash if she isn’t going to be there? 

I hear that she was drinking whiskey until the early hours with a mysterious stranger. How quaint. Perhaps after three years, Camille is over the glamorous debauchery of elite society and has decided to try out what the rest of Cordonia has to offer? What glittering heights can he show her? A bottle of whiskey and witty banter? Who knows, but I’ll be watching. 

I’ll be watching all of you, as you know.  Now, pound that ibuprofen or order a Bloody Mary. As the always elegant Elizabeth Taylor said: ‘Put on some lipstick and pull yourself together.’

You know you love me.

GG

#drake walker x mc #trr fanfic #trr