#THE MOST PHOTOGRAPHY SHIT HE DID IS TAKING PHOTOS OF HIS FUCKING BIKE

[angelecho]

Can I request some First date hc's for Karasuno? 🌼

going by jersey number order and then the two managers!

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Daichi Sawamura:

→ i feel like he's a really old fashioned guy

→ he'll show up to your house dressed nicely, and tell your parents that he'll bring you back before the curfew ends

→ he'll most likely take you out for dinner then go to the theater and watch a movie, then drive home together

→ he'll take multiple photos of you and send them all to you for your Instagram or for personal use

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Kōshi Sugawara

→ PICNIC DATE PICNIC DATE

→ the both of you will plan beforehand what kind of food/snacks/aesthetic you're going for, and then he'll go and set it up to surprise you

→ he'll play a Spotify playlist that he made just for you

→ and he'll "accidentally" have WAP in there

→ and he "accidentally" know the entire dance

→ and will "accidentally" dance it for you

→ also if you want this to come true, there's a literal playlist on youtube of this that I ABSOLUTELY live for

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Asahi Azumane

→ coffee date!!

→ it'll be at one of those really aesthetic cafes with nice sofas so that you two can talk in comfort

→ and maybe a walk around the neighborhood once you both finish your coffee

→ the walk might take a while because every time a person with a dog passes by, he'll ask to pet the dog

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Yū Nishinoya

→ he skateboards and you can pry that headcanon out of my cold, dead hands

→ he probably either teaches you how to skateboard or if you know how, then takes you around the neighborhood

"Noya, where are we going? We've just been going around in circles?"

"Shh, i know the popsicle vendor is somewhere here, but I somehow can't find it"

"... we passed it two blocks ago"

"whAT???"

→ after getting popsicles, he'll drop you off at your house first before going back to his

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Ryūnosuke Tanaka

→ he would rather die than admit it but he was really nervous making sure everything was perfect

→ he planned out a little day trip around the city (stops included the bakery, a park, a cafe for lunch, and then a movie)

→ he strikes me as the type of guy to dabble in photography so he would have a pretty nice camera around his neck to take photos of you around the city

→ like he would lie down on the middle of the road in traffic to make sure to get the best shot of you

→ he sends them all to you and probably keeps one of them in a photo frame on his desk to motivate him when he studies

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Chikara Ennoshita

→ he'll also take you on a day trip, but it's more of a one destination type of thing

→ the place is wherever you expressed the most interest in (ie: the zoo or the aquarium or the gardens, etc)

→ he'll also film parts of it (he won't tell you this yet, but he's planning to compile any and all videos of you to make a short movie/video for your one year anniversary)

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Hisashi Kinoshita

→ he would probably take you to an ice cream parlor!

→ after eating icecream he would probably take you on a walk around town and buy you a flower

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Kazuhito Narita

→ baking together!!

→ one of you would probably end up burning something on accident, but it would still be fun

→ some sort of feel-good movie would probably be playing in the background

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Tobio Kageyama

→ to be honest, he's a bit newer at love in general, so if you were to look at his search history it's literally just

"what do you do on a first date"

"first date best places to go to"

"is it too early to kiss on the first date"

→ and Hinata is of absolutely no help (no surprise there)

→ in the end, Daichi suggested that he go watch a movie with you

→ so he did, you guys ended up watching a movie but Kageyama fell asleep because he got up at 4 in the fucking morning to practice volleyball with Hinata before school

→ he ends up accidentally cuddling/clinging to you (which is absolutely adorable)

→ he wakes up near the last 5 minutes of the movie, and unclings himself from you in an embarassed frenzy, but was relieved to see you were asleep and probably didn't notice (news flash: you were awake but pretended to sleep to save him his dignity)

→ you guys end up texting late into the night after getting home

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Shōyō Hinata

→ he would take you to the amusement park or whatever state fair is going on locally!!

→ somehow??? he doesn't get lost and can always find you, despite constantly disappearing for the first half of the date

→ you both go on rides together and he does the rope ladder to get you a giant stuffed animal and goes again to get one for himself

"Shoyo, how did you even get up that? twice?? It's rigged to make it hard."

"Oh, I know it's rigged. I purposely built one exactly like it so I could get used to it and practiced on it"

"damn"

→ the entire way home he's smiling ear to ear and waves you goodbye

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Kei Tsukishima

→ for your first date you guys go get coffee and walk around and come back home

→ the next day when Tanaka pesters him about it he's confused

"how was your date?"

"What date?"

"??? did you not go somewhere with y/n?"

"I did go somewhere...we went to the coffee shop."

"mhm, and??"

"and what?"

"AND??? you're dating them!!"

"oh shit-"

→ so he apologizes and asks to go on another "first" date, to which you agree

→ you guys end up going on a study date at the library followed by another cup of coffee

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Tadashi Yamaguchi

→ he would take you to a place like color-me-mine and have a duo spotify playlist to play while painting

→ at the end, he would take you to get a meal at a local restaurant or cafe before walking you back home

→ when you get it back a few weeks later, he would the one he painted to you as a gift

→ it's a beautifully painted coffee cup in your favorite aesthetic

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Bonus!:

Hitoka Yachi

→ Yachi was talking with Kiyoko about where to take you because she wanted it to be perfect

→ Tanaka overheard and suggested a beach trip, to which she agreed was a good idea

→ however, what was not mentioned was that Tanaka and Nishinoya would be following along

→ they promised to be quiet and "unnoticeable" but that meant that they were wearing terrible disguises (Tobiyolo Swaggeyama part 2)

→ the trip overall was hilarious and you both had a good time and fell asleep on the ride back home (Tanaka got a photo but it ended up being shaky because Saeko was driving them home, but it was a picture nonetheless)

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Kiyoko Shimizu → she would probably take you on a light bike ride around the scenic part of town

→ of course, she would take photos of you whenever you asked

→ you would stop by a cafe to cool down before heading over to a pet cafe of some sort

→ the entire event would be lighthearted and fun

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hope you enjoyed it!!

#angels.writing #daichi x reader #daichi x gn!reader #daichi headcanons #sugawara x reader #sugawara headcanons #asahi x reader #asahi headcanons #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya headcanons #tanaka x reader #tanaka headcanons #ennoshita x reader #ennoshita headcanons #kinoshita x reader #kinoshita headcanons #narita x reader #hinata x reader #hinata headcanons #kageyama x reader #tsukishima x reader #yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi imagine #yachi x reader #yachi headcanons #yachi imagines #kiyoko x reader #kiyoko imagines

[kindnessisweakness]

YOU WERE A BET --PART 3!

Hi guys, I know you've all been waiting for this so here it is. I really hope you like it!

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My stomach turned over as I waddled up the steps of the clubhouse. I was really nervous. The last time I was here my world was ripped apart and now I'm here for my gender reveal. Pushing open the door of the clubhouse I felt so strange. I hadn't seen any of them In months. Sure they all checked in by text or called but other than Felipe and EZ I haven't really had contact with any of them. Angel did as I asked and gave me space. Apart from scan photos and messages passed between Felipe and EZ and Doctors appointments I haven't had much contact with him. As much as i hate to say it it killed me. "OMG! Y/N look at you! You're glowing!" Letty gushed as she made her way over to me. "I feel like a whale!" I giggled as I took the young girl into my arms. " thank you for throwing this for me letty. You've done amazing with the decorations." And she had. Pink and blue balloons littered everywhere. There was 2 tables full of food laid out. A flower wall made of white roses and green vines lay off to the side with the words 'boy or girl?' In gold lettering on. And my faveorite thing of all? There was a donut wall!! Mini coco really pulled it out of the bag. "Honestly Letty I couldn't of planned it better myself". The young girl blushed and hugged me again just as the door to templo opened. "Y/N we've missed you" Bishop, Taza and Rizz wrapped you in a hug. Gilly, coco and Angel hung back behind creeper. They were clearly worried to approach you for fear of upsetting you. Hating the awkwardness I decided to make the first move. Giving Bishop a small smile I made my way over to them. "Coco, your daughter is a genius." Smiling softly coco gave you a hug. Gilly quickly following suit. "I'm sorry" they both whispered in your ears as they held you tight. Nodding at them as I pulled away to let them know it was ok, I could see the relief on their faces. Yes what they did was shitty. But they were my family and I couldn't hate them forever. Glancing up at angel who was watching the interaction I gave him a small smile. "Hey" my heart beat so fast in my chest as he smiled at me. I've missed him more than i could explain. I'd give anything to never find out the truth about how our relationship started. To go back to the beginning and be happy. The clubhouse door opening cut my thoughts off as Felipe and EZ came in.

Angel watched as the love of his life embraced his father. He loved the fact they were so close. Her own parents were never really around for her, always something more important than there daughter. They aren't even coming today to find out the sex of their grandchild. Angel couldn't help but smile as he took her in. She wore a white sundress that fell just above her knees. Tight enough to show the swell of her bump off proudly. She looked amazing. He didn't know what it was but seeing her carrying his child was just so damn attractive. If he had his way and they were back together he would of taken her home already and made her feel just as good as she looked. Angel shook the dirty thoughts from his head as he made his way to the table where she sat with Felipe and letty talking about her cravings. Not seeing her properly these last few months has been painful. So he was going to make the most of their time together.

A few hours into the party after everyone had eaten letty interrupted their convosations. "Hey shut up!" She shouted at Gilly and Creeper. Y/N couldn't help but smile at her. She was definitely Loco Cocos daughter. Beautiful but takes no shit. "Everyone make your way outside please." Looking at angel confused I waddled my way towards the door and back down the steps of the clubhouse. Making her way infront of everybody, Letty stood infront of Angels Bike. "Angel, get on your bike start it up and rev it" looking at her confused angel made his way towards the bike and sat down. Making my way to stand next to him I placed my hand on his shoulder, I don't know what it was but I just wanted to be close to him. To feel him next to me. "Are you ready?" He asked me. Grinning at him I nodded too excited to form words.

"3!"   "2!"  "1!"

Everyone screamed and cheered as Angel revved the engine and blue smoke started spilling from his exhaust. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the excitement of it all. But I grabbed angels face making him look at me "its a boy!" I whispered in happiness as I pulled him in for a kiss. Wrapping his arm around me he pulled me as close as he could with my big bump in the way. Everyone was still jumping around too happy with the reveal to notice the intimate moment between the two. All except for letty who yet again with her sneaky photography skills managed to capture the memory again. Y/N and Angel pressed close to each other as tears streamed down both their cheeks, a  passionate kiss shared between two heartbroken lovers as blue smoke spilled around them.

Pulling away from Angel Y/N was shocked at her behaviour. Suddenly feeling embarrassed that she threw herself at him like that she looked away from Angel. "Sorry. Damn pregnancy hormones" she stuttered as she quickly made her way through the crowd of guests and back up into the clubhouse bathroom. Letty followed behind her not missing angels face drop, his sad eyes following Y/Ns waddling figure.

Letty found her sat on the closed toilet seat crying. "What's wrong?" Shaking her head Y/N broke down, unable to hold it in anymore. "I'm just so split in half. Half of me wants to go out there tell him I love him and take him back. I'm not sleeping because I miss his warmth. I miss him next to me, I've gotten so used to us doing everything together. Fucking hell we used to shower together! I feel bad because I'm keeping him from experiencing this pregnancy too. It's his child too and he's missed so much. He should be with me at 2am when I'm craving pickles covered in flaming hot cheeto dust! He should be with me to hold my hair back when I've got sickness. He should be with me rubbing coco butter into my bump to help the stretch marks. The other half of me can't help but think what if I take him back and it's all a game again? What if it's all a lie? I don't think I could cope if I had to do this again. It's not just me I have to think about anymore it's our child. Plus what would people think of me if we got back together? People would think I'm a push over and I'm asking for him to hurt me again. I just don't know what to do I'm so torn." Letty pulled Y/N in for a hug. "Look, it doesn't matter what people think Y/N. If you want your man back you go get him! As for angel doing this to you again, I don't think he would dare. He knows he's messed up. I've seen him around the clubhouse these last few months he's not even looked in the direction of any of the women. Jesus he's been sat at the bar reading baby books during club parties" that made Y/N giggle. Wiping her eyes she stood up and gave Letty a hug. She needed to make her decision but why did it have to be so hard?

                    {{Time Skip}}

I winced as I stood back up. Getting prepared for this baby on my own while being heavily pregnant was proving difficult. Me and Angel have still not spoken since the kiss at the gender reveal. We've fallen back into the old routine of sending messages through Felipe and EZ. Y/N didn't know how to approach their messed up situation. She couldn't exactly turn up at the clubhouse and be like 'I want to go back to how we were. Take me home'  y/N didn't even know how angel felt about the whole thing. Too much time has passed, did Angel even want her back? She knew he wanted to be around for the baby and she had no doubts about him being an amazing father. But shes been undecided about their relationship for so long and has avoided him for months. Has Angel got sick of waiting around for her?

Moving around the spare room in her apartment Y/N packed away the baby clothes into the white chest of draws. She bent down to grab her maternity bag. She wanted to make sure she was fully prepared for this little boy to arrive. Suddenly a sharp twinge through her belly made her stop. She grabbed a hold of the cabinet that held the baby's nappies wipes and lotions and took a deep breath. She'd been having pains for most of the day, just thinking they were Braxton hicks she didn't worry too much. But when another pain ripped through her panic settled in her chest. This is it. She has no choice. She's got to phone angel. Slowly making her way down the hall and into the kitchen she grabbed her phone from the counter and dialled angels number. She nearly threw her phone in frustration when it went to voicemail twice. Giving up she called EZ. She nearly cried of relief when he picked up straight away. "Hey, everything ok?" His worried voice came over the phone. "Not really Ezekiel. I'm about to have a baby rip through my lady garden and your brother isn't answering his phone!" Y/N was starting to panic. These pains were getting more intense with every one that passed and she was terrified she wouldn't make it to the hospital. "Shit. He's in templo. His phones probably on silent. I don't know how long their gonna be Y/N" she couldn't believe it. She was going to explode. "GET IN THERE AND TELL YOUR BROTHER HIS CHILD IS ABOUT TO BE BORN! I COULD CARE LESS IF BISHOP CUTS YOU OPEN AND USES YOUR INTESTINES AS A SKIPPING ROPE FOR INTERUPTING!! IF YOUR BOTHER MISSES THIS I WILL RIP YOUR HEAD OFF AND SHIT DOWN YOUR FUCKING NECK EZEKIEL REYES!" EZ didn't know how to respond other than to mutter a very submissive and stuttered "Y-Yeah I'll tell him now. Hang in tight" scoffing Y/Ns anger was building "Yeah sure I'll just tell your nephew to hang in tight. I'm sure he can just hold on to his umbilical cord might make him stay in abit longer." Y/N let out a deep groan and ended the call. She moved to lie over the back of the couch hoping the change in position would help ease the pressure on her lower back. 'Just hold on for few more minutes little one. Daddy's on his way."

10 minutes later a red faced and panic stricken Angel ran up the steps of Y/Ns apartment building. He didn't want to think about how many speeding tickets he's probably going to receive from the rushed drive over here. Throwing open the door his eyes widened as he saw a tearful Y/N on all fours nearly screaming in pain. "It's ok baby I'm here! Let's get you to the hospital." Rushing over to her angel helped Y/N stand and moved her towards the door. Supporting her weight as they made their way down the steps and to the car angel helped her into the back seat. "I need my hospital bag. It's got all the baby stuff in." Angel shook his head. "Don't worry about that baby. I'll get Ez to come back for it. Let's just get you to the hospital." Y/N was about to argue but another contraction stopped her.

15 minutes of Angels frantic driving and 10 minutes arguing with the hospital receptionist who was eyeing Angel up they were finally on the Labour ward. "You didn't have to threaten to strangle her with the telephone line, Mi Dulce." Angel chuckled at her as she heavily inhaled on the gas and air. Her eyes narrowed at him "She was more interested in looking you over than getting me booked in. She's lucky I didn't reach over the desk and claw her fucking eyes out for looking at what's mine" angels heart clenched. It might just be the gas and air making her say that but he hoped with all his heart it wasn't. God, that kiss at the gender reveal kept playing over in his head. How he missed being able to kiss and hold her like that. A midwife entering the room made is attention refocus. "I'm just going to check to see how dialated you are" y/Ns eyes snapped up to angels as she gripped his hand. "Don't look down there!" She whined as she pulled on his t shirt making him turn away from the midwife as she lifted the bedsheets. Leaning over angel kissed her forehead, whispering "I've had my face down there baby, it doesn't make much difference" Y/Ns cheeks tinged pink as the midwife cleared her throat. "Ok so your 10cm dilated." She grinned at Y/N and Angels confused faces. " Your ready to start pushing let's have this baby!" They both looked at eachother wide eyed.  Their baby was close.

After an hour of pushing the baby still hasn't made an appearance in the world. Y/N was on her knees on the bed angel supporting her as she sucked on the gas and air heavily. "I can't do this angel!" She sobbed. "You can baby! He's gonna be in our arms in no time. You got this! I'm here. I'll always be here" crying she lay her head on his shoulder as his hands rubbed circles on her lower back. "Come on Y/N! Really big push now baby's close." The midwives encouraged her as they stood on the opposite side of the bed. Angel winced as Y/N pushed really hard. Christ, women really had it hard. Thank God men didn't have to give birth. "I love you" y/N gasped hard inbetween pushes. "I don't want to be apart anymore Angel. I can't do this on my own. I need you!" Angel kissed her forehead as she kept on pushing. "I'm sorry I dragged it out so long. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I know you probably don't want to be with me any more-" angel cut her off pushing the gas and air in her mouth. "Suck on that, keep pushing and listen. You have nothing to be sorry for! Ofcourse I want you. I want you and our son. Always. I meant it when I said you were it for me Y/N. Our relationship didn't have the best start I know but we're good together. You make me so happy--" the midwife interrupted angels speech. "I'm so sorry to cut your lovely moment short but I can see your baby's head! Little pushes now Y/N. Gently" Y/N listened as the midwife coached her through it and minutes later Gabriel Ignacio reyes was born.

Angel watched with pride as the his son lay on Y/Ns chest an hour later. The midwives had cleaned him up and done all their checks and he was perfect. Head full of black hair and the cutest little fingers and toes hed ever seen. Angel never thought something so small could make him feel like this. The door to the hospital room opened and in spilled Felipe, EZ and letty. "They only let a few of us in. The club said congrats on the baby. They'll give you some family time and meet him at his welcome home party." EZ explained as he made his way over to his nephew after handing Angel the hospital bag. Y/N pulled him down by his Kutte gently kissing him on the cheek. "Sorry for chewing your ass out on the phone earlier. Labour hurts." Smiling at Her Ez shrugged his shoulders "Don't worry about it. Let me meet the little guy." Angel stopped Ez from taking the baby. 'Nah man. There's someone more important first." Taking the baby from Y/N he handed his son to his father. "Meet your grandson pops" Felipe smiled as the baby was placed in his arms. Letty snapping a photo of the usually warring men incased in love around the new arrival. "Im proud of you, Mijo" angel teared up at the words he's always wanted to hear from his father. Clapping the old man on his shoulder letty interuped the moment. "Let me take a family photo." Felipe placed the baby back in Y/Ns arms and made his way to the other side of the bed where EZ stood smiling wide. Angel stood next to Y/N on the other side as letty snapped away with the camera. Looking up at him Y/N pulled him to sit along side her in the bed their son still nuzzled close to her chest. That was when letty had the opportunity to snap both Y/Ns and Angels faveorite picture to date. Y/N pulled angel in for a kiss holding him close to her as their son held tightly to his father's finger, Much to the surprise and happiness of the other people in the room. It was a moment that  signified a new beginning. Theyd been through the heartbreak and came out fighting for eachother , neither of them wanting to let the other go.

That night after everyone had gone home and Y/N was sleeping angel stood looking out of the hospital window at the stars in the dark night sky. He held his son close to his chest, feeling like he was on top of the world.

Angel could only think one thing as he looked up to the sky. "Thank you mum. I won't let you down."

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I hope you guys enjoyed it! Just want to say a massive thank you for all your support and feedback on my post! I do have other ideas In the works so should hopefully be posting more for you guys soon!

Love to you all! Stay safe in this crazy world! X

#angel reyes x reader #angel reyes #mayans mc imagine #angel reyes imagine #mayans imagine #mayans x reader #mayans fanfic

[allthingsfern]

In order, my responses to comments in Reply of my COVID19 era post that was my answer to my question “My answer to my questions: Has the era of COVID19 changed your photography? How? And perhaps also, why?“ I am so confused now...

adventuresofalgy

Algy thinks you are lucky and - certainly if compared with Europeans - perhaps quite unusual in not having experienced a more profound effect on your creative outlets and expression. Many of Algy's creative friends have experienced wide-ranging and often severe impacts on their creativity and associated motivation - and therefore on their mental health as well.

themazette

As @adventuresofalgy Jenny said.... you are lucky...

I am indeed very lucky, or as I think of it, blessed. However, it is no way a US thing, nor even a California thing. I add California, because I know many in the US and around the world think of the Golden State as a haven, a progressive, hippie filled state that is all about peace and love and marijuana. However, that is far from the truth. California is like Germany in the 1920s and 30s. There was Berlin, where there was a wildness in the city that was not shared, and was often looked-down on, by those in the majority of the country, who lived in more conservative areas and who, often, economically could not afford the grand life of partying Berliners. In California it is the same. Except for a few urban areas, the state is full of very conservative folks, and for them, like for those in the cities (and in the rest of the world) this COVID19 era has been devastating. Well, and the fires for Californians have been too.

Even in this cool college town where I live, which is lovely and quiet and inspiring, the painfully empty streets, movie theaters, restaurants, shops (think of all those unemployed people) is (still) staggering. In mid-March last year, right after lockdown, I took several phone videos of the deserted street in our town and the campus, but I could not bring myself to share them, since I knew that so many others here on Tumblr were experiencing the same desolation in many different ways. (I figured: “Why add to the sorrow we are living, almost globally?”) I was overwhelmed by the emptiness of the major (well, major for a small town of around 65,000 people) street where I live and the empty bicycle trails and street on campus. And by empty, I mean that even now, I see maybe 3 cyclists per hour, and very little car traffic. Remember, this is a bicycle town; I do not own a car, doing most all my errands on my bike with its 2 fordable baskets in the rear.

And now, over a year later, that same heavy, oppressive emptiness persists. And no, I am not used to it. And yes, I traveled over the last year, but I found the same suffocating blanket of emptiness in each city I visited, even in Las Vegas. It was unnerving. As a matter of fact, last year when I drove to San Francisco 2 months after lockdown for my birthday, I wound up getting depressed and disoriented, in a city where I lived for almost 7 years. Driving back home across the Golden Gate Bridge with tears of sadness in my eyes on my birthday was not what I expected. However, I did get some solid photos of the malaise that hung thick in the air, a malaise that physically took up the space that once was taken up by crowds of people.

Now, I am also very aware that my situation is unique. (Not a fan of the word exceptional, since it can mean both unique and special, and I do not see my situation as special.) My life situation is very unique in that I have a job I love and I work with a great team of characters. We get work done and we have fun, share about our lives. My job is often, especially since COVID19 first got noticed in early 2020, stressful and demands my colleagues and I learn (and sometimes then teach) lots of new technology and that we adapt to the vagaries of the technology gods, which are sometimes unfriendly and unresponsive. And a big part of my job is trying to figure out how to get the technology gods to like us again and grace us with their gifts. (I never realized, until now, with this discussion, that the troubleshooting that is a big part of my job is creative and probably fuels my photographic creativity. Who knew?) Yet, as a group, my colleagues and I support each other. And I am fortunate to count my closest colleague, Steve, as a friend. We have been a great emotional support to each other over the years and now through this COVID19 era. And I recently was reminded (as if I needed reminding) just how unique my work situation is because I participated in a committee that was going over responses to a UC Davis-wide survey exploring levels of employee satisfaction. My 2 colleagues who were also on that committee and I did not have the complaints that others from other departments shared. We work well together, have supportive management that share what is going on and include us (as mush as possible) in the decision making process. And as a department, we get stuff done.

Possibly the best example of how blessedly unique my situation is is what happened this morning when I was talking (yes, on ZOOM) with my immediate supervisor. We discussed the work related stuff, including how at around 10:30 pm the night before I figured something out about an online tool integration I had never done before that I knew was easy but I did not see as easy until I reread the overly complicated instructions a couple of times and just figured out how and where to cut and paste the lines of code (it was that easy, just fucking cut and paste some lines of JSON code) that got the fucking thing to work. Then we talked about his dealing with his young children returning to school and how “normal” now is not “normal” from before and how disruptive the whole thing has been, yet since we work in a supportive atmosphere (and are both salaried), he was able to deal and keep living.

Then, and you are gonna love this, I shared about my original COVID19 question post and the responses and pretty much said to him what I am sharing here.

We talked for a little over an hour. That kind of rapport is rare, for any job, anywhere.

And then there is another way my situation is unique. In some ways, previous “bad things” were actually a preparation for this era of physical distance and uncertainty. In mid-2019, from July to August, first because of my work related bowling concussion and then an antibiotic resistant infection, I was bedridden for about 5 weeks and then had several absences because of concussion issues, like sudden and extreme anger flare ups, nausea, headaches. But however bad I thought that concussion and infection were, the concussion induced forgetfulness and my desire to sharpen my mind and nurture and nourish it have lead me to become, in my old age, organized. I now often take notes of important stuff, add work and personal dates and notes to my Outlook calendar, and even know what day it is, which bugs my colleagues who often find they have no idea what day and/or date it is. Yep, unique, but the bad concussion shit got me to be organized in ways that I was never able to be before, no matter what I tried. This time, I just fucking get organized, without thinking about it too much. And if I fuck up with my being organized, like I did the other day for work, I admit it, fix it, and move on.

Preparation for isolation (and unexpected natural threats) came by way of the 2018 Northern California (the region where I live) fires that year, which caused the campus to shut down for about a week. (As my friend Steve called it, the smoking break.) And for work, my colleagues and I faced a couple of long term, emergency technical outages that impacted all of the UC Davis faculty, one of them for over a month. Pretty much on a professional and personal level, I was, if not ready, at least getting used to the WTF of whatever life decides to surprise me with. (And lets not forget the really bad fire last September, seen in this video I posted of ash “snow” falling. We did not have to shut down the campus because there was no one there anyway.)

Another aspect of this last year, and one that has been present in my life for a few years now, is the BLM movement and the brutal police violence against Black people in this country. As someone who was a teaching assistant and taught in African American Studies and worked closely with students of color on campus in a student run organization, I was and am still devastated, in part because I know, from hearing so many personal accounts, the pain many of my friends, former colleagues, and former students, are still facing and how overwhelmed they felt and still feel. I understand, if as an outsider, their emotional exhaustion. This has been going on for a while, plus add the years of anti-immigrant hate against the Latinx in the US and the rising tide of violent hate against Asians, and yes, it has been sorrowful. Heartbreaking. And I have, in several ways, including my photography, tried to capture the sorrow and resilience of US people of color. It hurts, almost physically, that many people of color are just tired of talking and dealing with the hate.

So, yes, my situation is unique, but with its own emotionally draining weight. And yes, I am extremely grateful. This leads to the other 2 comments in Reply:

kkomppa

Thank you for sharing, Fern. Very interesting. Like you, I would say my output hasn’t changed much. However, I have sought locations deeper in the wilderness. This has been fulfilling.

schwarzkaeppchen

Really interesting thoughts. We live in strange times, but creativity and motivation comes and goes for so many different reasons. My photography has changed a lot. I used to work as a photographer at events and took portraits for fun... Now I'm officially a portrait photographer.

Both of these comments point to another unique aspect of my life situation: For some of us, our photography and how we do it, has not changed much, and if it has, that has been a part of our overall experience with this art form we love so much.

For me, because of my depressive tendencies, the Zen of photography, at least the way I do it, is therapeutic. And I do not use the  term “Zen” lightly here, because my spiritual life has helped me come to terms with the WTF surprises that are pretty much life, if at times the WTF of it is more impactful, as it is during this COVID19 era. And that is part of what I was trying to share with my original post: Before this period of isolation and disorientation, I was already coming to grips with the gospel truth that “creativity and motivation comes and goes for so many different reasons.” as @schwarzkaeppchen​ said. In no way do I diminish the anguish flared up by these bleak times that impact so many around the world. And really, when you think about it, bleak times have been a norm, at least here in the US, since late 2016, though, of course, lockdowns and physical distance make it all worse. But, at least for me, I try to learn from the bleak times, even if I abhor going through them. And when dealing with the highs and lows of creative energy, at least for me, I have a calm certainty that photography is part of my life and I do not have to worry, since I only love it more each day. And the other side to my certainty is that if someday my love of photography fades, some other treasure of creativity will replace it.

Let’s be real, because of photography. I think about stuff like this and get to have discussions with so many great Tumblr original photographers.

And I am grateful for it, and no, this is not unique to my life situation. I know many of us love being here and sharing the good, the bad, the confounding.

Please think about joining @tvoom and me for InConverversation this month. It has been a long time since we talked, and this COVID19 era will be our topic.

I am grateful for all y’all.

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [1.3]

Masterlist

A/N: I’m in a really good mood today and found the motivation to write! Super fluff ahead!!

When Eva woke up, not having remembered falling asleep, she let the light seep in behind her eyelids, floating shapes dancing in her vision before she even thought about opening her eyes again.

She was surrounded by a cloud of warmth, a thick cologne which she had grown too attached to for her own good and his hand was in her hair, tangling and untangling the curls, brushing gently as if distracted by something else, but wanting her to know he was there nonetheless.

She slowly opened her eyes, readjusting to her own living room, the memory of being on the sofa with him before she'd drifted off slowly coming back to her. She glanced down at her lap, his lap, then followed the brightness of his phone in his hand as he typed, closed and opened another app with his free hand, "Rem?"

He flinched, unaware that she'd woken because she was so peaceful, so still. "Yeah?"

"Am I your lock screen?"

Eva stared down at the picture that glowed through the oncoming dark, half confused, half endeared by the silent gesture and the meaning it held.

"Oh, shit," Remington giggled nervously, his cheeks already a flushed pink as he pulled back slightly to look at her, "You weren't supposed to see that, Eva,"

"When did you take this?" she pushed. The girl she looked at seemed so different somehow, so unaware of what was coming, but the laughter and happiness radiated off the screen and it could've only been the company she was with, the ease, the delicate carefree comfort he brought her.

Remington swallowed, "The album party..."

Eva nodded, "This was before the patio?"

"Before the patio. Still only seems like yesterday, you know?"

She smiled with endearment, "Yeah. How long has it been, a month?"

"About that, I think," he smiled back at her, the light reaching his eyes. "I only changed it the other day... now that I know that we're... together... you just looked so pretty. I know you weren't feeling too good, but you were glowing to me," He stroked his fingers through her hair lovingly again. "It's just -- my favorite picture of my favorite girl,"

Eva felt her heart leap in her chest and leant to press her lips to his without second guessing it, the familiarity of kissing him, of being able to kiss him still yet to settle as reality.

He moved his lips with hers eagerly, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, drawing her breath from her lungs effortlessly. She tasted so sweet, so addictive that he knew he'd never have enough.

"You know that picture we took in the bathroom last week?" she whispered against his lips.

"Yeah,"

"We should take more like that. I don't take a lot of pictures of myself, but I'd like more of us,"

"I'd like that, Eva... I'd like that very much,"

The clicking of spokes echoed through the tunnel, the lights above flickering over the girls' heads as they whizzed towards the light at the opening. Eva and Shy were neck and neck as they pedalled on their bikes, giggling and urging the other to hurry so they could beat the guys as they closely followed one their skateboards. Of course, they were proudly repping the new skateboard that would soon be out on the merch market. 

"C'mon! C'mon! They're right behind us!"

Eva was unsure how a competition between the bike and skateboard arose, but she was too caught up in the thrill to care. She gripped the leather-worn handles of her yellow bike tightly, flying out of the street tunnel beside Shy. Pepper and Pluto sat in their baskets at the handlebars, too enthralled with the wind whipping over their faces to care about each other.

Remington had to wonder to himself why he didn't just take his car to the park; his own ego assuring him that he and Emerson could totally beat the girls there. Maybe if he was on a bike, then he may have had a chance. The skateboard was utterly useless in this situation as the girls became smaller and smaller in the distance.

"Hurry the fuck up, Emerson!"

"The boards aren't motorized!"

The girls came to the park quickly after, dismounting and coming to stop under a shady tree. Shy put Pepper down in the long grass and she immediately went bounding around, excited to explore and sniff all the new smells. Pluto took a look around the open park, glaring in dismay as to why he wasn't at home and decided to settle into the roots of the tree. Pepper then came trotting over to Pluto, in her excitement tumbling through the grass and rolling into Pluto. The tabby glared at the pomeranian and batted her away with his tail.

Though Eva was almost certain they were in the middle of nowhere, no other cars or people in sight for miles, she was more than happy to set up their picnic. She whipped a blanket over the grass and Shy began to pull food and drinks from her backpack. She looked out across the street, just able to get a glimpse of the guys coming their way.

"Maybe their next board should be electric," she grinned.

"And give them a fair chance?" Eva shook her head, "Where's the fun in that?"

Remington and Emerson finally made it to the open park, their legs sore and shoes scuffed from kicking at the ground over and over. They grabbed their board and jogged to meet the girls under the tree.

"Next time... we're taking the car," Remington huffed.

"It was your stupid idea to race, anyway," Emerson grumbled.

"But when I come up with a stupid idea, you can talk me out of it,"

The girls smiled coyly at the guys, "What took you so long?" Eva asked.

They sat down with the girls and took a moment to collect themselves.  Surrounded by tall green grass and inhaling crisp air which made them feel distinctively far from home in the city, they were heading up to a small bank. The heat was palpable already, but the linen material of Eva's white sundress which stopped just above her knees, the hems frilly and delicate, provided a welcome breeze. She shifted to her knees as she helped Shy set up the food they brought.

Remington laid back in the grass, admiring the way the light dazzled between the gaps in the branches, then angled his face again to admire Eva, how effortlessly pretty and ethereal she looked amongst the natural landscape, "Did I mention how beautiful you look in that dress?" he muttered.

Eva lifted her head, looking down at her outfit then blushing at him, "A few times, yeah,"

"Just had to drive the point home," he grinned.

Emerson couldn't help but roll his eyes at his brother's sweet talk, "You guys are gross," he chided playfully.

"Look who's calling the kettle black," Shy chuckled, tossing a grape at the drummer. Emerson tried to catch it in his mouth but it bounced across his cheek and fell into the grass. He was quick to grab it before Pepper or Pluto could.

Remington pulled some of the drinks from his own bag, canned spiked sodas and juices. He grabbed a Nude seltzer and popped it open, unprepared for the fizz and carbonated shower that sprayed over him and the blanket briefly. The others giggled at him and Eva took a napkin to wipe some of the soda from his cheek.

"Thanks," he muttered bashfully.

The four kids shared in vegetable chips and vegan BLTs, with some fruit and two-bite brownies for their dessert. Pluto and Pepper had the opportunity to snack on some pieces of apple and banana. Eva was surprised to see her tabby not trying to start a fight with Pepper.

"You can never go wrong with brownies," she said, popping the little bite of goodness into her mouth.

Shy hummed in agreement, "I wanted to bring the whipped cream too, but I couldn't find it," she said.

Remington and Eva glanced at each other warily, wondering if they knew where the whipped cream actually went. Remington quickly cleared his throat.

"Uh -- I used the rest last weekend," he said, "We made chocolate pudding,"

"Yeah," Eva nodded quickly, "Rem's a secret gourmet,"

Emerson cocked an eyebrow, "Since when?"

"Since Eva," Remington grinned with pride.

The boys had brought out a soccer ball and decided on a quick match in the grass, with Pepper running between their legs to join in the fun. The girls had a different idea, however. Eva needed a new photograph to post along side a piece for her blog, and she asked if Shy would be willing to model. Of course, Shy was more than happy to oblige her.

They picked a small bouquet of daffodils that were growing just a few feet from the tree. The young model kneeled next to the winding roots, tossing her head back and clutching the vibrant yellow bouquet to her chest, her dark brown almond eyes staring into Eva's soul through her phone lens. Shy was easily one of the most strikingly beautiful women Eva had come across, and what made it better was her heart was practically made of gold.

"Wow," Eva breathed as she stared at the photo, "Emerson! I think I'm love with your girlfriend!" Shy bursted into giggles.

Emerson scoffed, "It's okay, I don't blame you!" he called back.

"How'd the picture turn out?" Shy asked, coming to take a look for herself, "Nice! You into photography, too?"

"It's an amateur hobby. I get most of my stuff from Pinterest," she replied.

"You ever think of modelling yourself?" she asked the young writer.

Eva shook her head quickly, blushing, "Me? Oh -- gosh, no!"

"Why not? You're fucking gorgeous. Not to mention so many girls would kill to have your naturally full lips," Shy said.

"I appreciate that. But I think I'm just more comfortable behind the camera, you know?" Eva replied.

Shy smiled and nodded, "I get it. But... if you ever change your mind, I'm expanding my business to a clothing line and I could use some cute models in the future,"

Eva blushed at the idea. Her, a model? Sure, she was confident in her body and what she wore, but she hadn't done a lot in terms of putting her actual face out into the digital media world. It might be fun, though?

"... I'll think about it,"

Sharp grass sliced at Eva's shins as she jogged through the plain, her fingers intertwined with his, the warm palm of his hand so familiar that she would have followed him anywhere. Looking up at the high tree tops, the bright blue sky and the sun peeking through, flooding their picnic spot behind them in a golden glow. Remington wasn't all too sure where he was taking her, he just wanted a minute to have Eva to himself.

The colours were vibrant, rich green tree tops, his pastel pink hair losing its sharp spike and falling over his face, complimenting his pale skin so gorgeously as he turned around while pulling her along. The melodic tone of his voice only drew her in further, she could barely keep up, her sneakers dragging on the ground as she followed Remington, kicking up tiny stones and branches.

"Where are we going?" her voice carried with the wind.

"I don't know," Remington shrugged, smiling gleefully at her, "But that's part of the fun, isn't it?"

She chuckled, "So help me God you get us lost, Remington,"

"We won't get lost," he flashed her that heart-wrenching smile that had her falling head over heels for him all over again. The way her fingers were wound around his made his skin tingle, and his breath hitched in his throat when he decided to stop, spun around and twirled her into a nearby tree, pinning her against his chest. His wild eyes flashed with excitement before he closed the space between them and pressed a deep kiss to her lips.

Her own lips parting, she moaned into his mouth, instantly desperate for more. His hands moved instinctively to hold her hips and she inhaled sharply when she felt the bark indent her skin, her arm wrapping slowly around his neck, her other hand now letting go of his to move slowly into his hair, her nails scratching lightly at the back of his neck, tugging gently on his soft pinky/brown locks as her lips moved eagerly with his.

"You dragged me out here to fuck, then?" she drawled amusedly, her voice nothing but a hint, her tone needy, already eager for more as his calloused fingertips dug into the material of her dress clinging to her hips.

"Have you seen yourself in that dress, darling?" he rasped, his lips were red, his chest flushed, eyes half-open, yet fixated on her flawless features. The glint of mischief in her eyes, the clear determination, everything about her excited him to a new level he never knew he could have, "You're something out of my dream,"

"How original," she chided, squealing briefly when he lifted her by her thighs and kissed her again. Her legs came to wrap around his torso, humming softly, only his hands on the tree keeping her off the ground. She was weak for the way his fingers stroked her skin tenderly yet held her so possessively that she knew she wouldn't have been able to pull away and deny him even if she wanted.

And his lips were on her neck in an instant, driving her wild as he licked and bit, not abashed about leaving a mark. She tilted her head back until she bumped against the tree, her stormy blue eyes slipping shut. The only thing she could feel was a cool breeze ghosting over the bare skin of her legs, his warm hands squeezing her thighs, and his chapped lips ravaging over her neck and chest like she was his final meal.

Her eyes fell open for a minute, mesmerized by the sun peaking through the treetops above, reaching them even in their spot of seclusion. The branches danced and swayed in the wind, and Eva had a brief thought slip through her mind.

"Remington," Eva gasped, pushing at his chest lightly so he'd pull away.

"Mhmm?" he looked up at her with dark, lustful eyes.

"... Can you climb this tree?" the bottom branches were low enough for him to grab a hold of, and it had dawned on her that she'd never seen him climb anything, despite how much he bragged about it.

Remington took a wistful glance at the branches, smiling easily, "Is that a question or a request?"

"Well, I've never seen you climb," she shrugged back.

"Piece of cake," he set her back on her feet, but she leaned against the tree for a moment longer so she could collect herself.

Remington took a few steps, like he was gearing up to run a track race. With Eva standing well out of the way, he took three long steps before he leapt up and grabbed the first branch. The bark on that particular spot was weak and he stumbled to the ground, "Shit!"

"Jesus!" Eva gasped, "Okay, don't do it if it's gonna' cost a trip to the ER,"

"It's okay," he assured her, rubbing his palms on his jeans to take the sting out, "Just a fluke,"

He backed up and tried again, this time gripping the branch tightly and pulling himself up. Eva stood back in awe, his forearms clenched tightly and the veins in his biceps popped, but he showed little overall effort as he maneuvered his way to sit on the branch.

"See? Piece of cake," he simpered.

Eva crossed her arms over her chest, "How's the view?"

Remington smiled down at her, "Pretty fantastic, not gonna' lie. Care to join me?"

"I would love to, but I don't possess any upper body strength, whatsoever," she said.

"That's no problem," he jumped back down and stood behind her, gripping her hips tightly "Do you trust me?"

Eva glanced at the branch warily, standing over her head at a good eight feet. Her fingertips couldn't even brush the bark if she stood on her toes. But she looked to Remington, nodding slowly. He counted down from three before he hoisted her up and Eva quickly grabbed the branch, heaving herself to sit at the spot where the branch met the trunk. Remington hopped up right after, pausing briefly as the wood made a lowly creak, but he relaxed when they were still in the air.

"Piece of cake," Eva mocked.

"Yeah, 'cause I did all the heavy lifting," he nudged her gently, "Literally,"

"I didn't ask you to lift me up here" she pouted.

"But it's more fun with you up here," he lifted his head and caught her lips in a kiss before she retort in any way, holding her in his arms and deepening their kiss.

She hummed softly, parting her lips and cupping his face into her hands, unable to pay attention to anything beyond Remington's lips moving hungrily with hers, his body pressed up against her.

There was a brief moment when Eva forgot where she was as she went to plant her hand behind her, only instead of a solid ground her fingers brushed thin air and she jolted, breaking their kiss and staring down at the ground.

"Fuck," It didn't seem all the far down from the grass, but up here she felt like she was miles up.

Remington chuckled, "You okay?" and she nodded, pink tinting her cheeks. He pulled her tighter into his embrace, willfully ensuring that she wasn't going anywhere, "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you,"

The sun eventually began to settle into the horizon, maybe it was four or five o'clock now? Eva was tired but happy as she sat against the tree trunk at their picnic spot, Remington's head in her lap and she threaded her fingers through his pink hair and they conversed amongst themselves. And then her attention was captured when she heard a sultry request.

"What poem are you gonna' use with the picture, Eva?" Emerson suddenly asked. Eva was taken aback for a moment, her tongue suddenly running dry.

"Erm -- j-just a new thing I wrote a while back," she said, "I kept meaning to put it up, but it always needed some tweaking,"

Remington glanced up at her, "... Can we hear it?"

"Yeah," Shy nodded, hope glimmering in her dark eyes.

Eva relented faster then she usually did, perhaps because she knew they would continue to bother her about it until she would just buck up and read it. And she knew Remington would never make her do anything she wasn't comfortable with. Besides, they had all read the proses she had posted already, what actual difference would it make for her to read aloud?

"Okay..."

She grabbed her bag and fished out her notebook, only having to flip to the first few pages. She settled back against the tree trunk. She inhaled to gather herself as her eyes scanned the words she had written only a few months back. Funny, how her writing looked so different compared to how she wrote now. The emotion was different...

"I thought you were so mature when I met you

because we were 18 and you liked pistachio ice cream

and you smoked weed.

And I thought, "what are the chances you'd like someone like me?"

And you never did."

Despite Eva's misgivings, she had a natural storytelling voice. Calm and soothing, Remington had quickly fallen in love with the sound. There was an eternal softness in her voice, a magic that transformed every word she spoke into something more, something special. It relaxed Remington more than he thought possible. His heart was full, content.

"And eight months ago, seven years later,

I met someone who spends his summers in Long Beach, NYC

and studies law as a hobby

and I thought, "he's so accomplished, why would he ever like me?"

And it turns out he never actually did either,

at least not enough to make it real."

Emerson hugged Shy tightly, resting his head on her shoulder as they were both hanging on every word. Her fingers splayed through the grass, twisting, tugging blade by blade surely the same way these characters had to Eva's subject.

"Then I got drunk one night and I texted him

and I asked him "why I wasn't good enough?"

and he said that I was.

He liked me all along, I just refused to see it.

I was the one who decided I wasn't enough.

Sometimes we actually can't see things that are so obviously right in front of us

because we feel we don't deserve them.

And all I could think about was how different my life would have been

if I realized that at the ice cream parlor seven years ago,"

#palaye royale #Palaye Royale imagine #Palaye Royale fic #remington leith #Remington Leith imagine #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #palaye positivity #emo boys #fluff #summer love #boy bands #band imagines #band imagine blog #band blog #poetry #original story #original female character

[darkblueboxs]

Ursa Major

i.e. the beardrew fic 🐻😉

Read here or on AO3 *

“What brings you to town?” The lodge manager flashes Neil an easy smile as he holds the cabin key in one hand. They clink together just out of Neil’s reach, as though he won’t relinquish them until Neil has provided a satisfactory answer.

“Business,” Neil answers shortly, and reaches for the keys.

“Let me know if you want to squeeze a little pleasure in, too.” The manager, whose name badge reading Nicky is almost lost amongst an array of rainbow pin-badges, winks exaggeratedly. Neil keeps his expression carefully blank as he all but pries the keys from him. “Andrew will show you which cabin is yours. He’s chopping wood out back.”

Neil steps out onto the back porch of the reception building, takes one look at the guy ripping logs apart with his bare hands, and decides that he can find it himself. He tries to avert his eyes, but the man stops to watch him pass, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He looks like such a stereotypical woodsman that Neil wonders for a second if he walked straight out of a Brawny advert, muscles flexing as he heaves a lump of wood half his size onto the log pile, several days’ worth of stubble dusting his jawline gold and a glowing worker’s tan defying the encroaching winter. He’s so stocky that Neil almost misses the fact that the man is somehow shorter than him, and for a moment his brain short-circuits as he tries to match his impossible presence to his impossible height.

Andrew – because this must be Andrew – barely spares Neil’s scars a second glance, eyes catching instead on the camera swinging around Neil’s neck. Neil’s hands go to it automatically – the device is worth more than his life – but he stills as Andrew drops the log with an earth-shaking thud. “Point that thing at me and I’ll break it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Neil takes a step back, holding his hands in the air as though proving himself unarmed. “Sorry.”

“Whatever.” He turns back to his work, and without looking at him, adds “Yours is the last on the left.”

Neil makes no effort to hide his relief as he turns and heads up towards the row of log cabins, stumbling over exposed tree roots and pushing branches out of the way where the trees have begun encroaching on the dirt path. The place is quiet, which suits Neil perfectly; he didn’t pick wildlife photography because of his love for human company, after all. Of the dozen or so suites clustered around the central building, only two or three appear to be occupied, muddy hiking gear drying on doorsteps, BMWs with kayaks and bike racks strapped to the roofs parked down at the car park below. Neil chose the single bus that runs back and forth to the town across the lake once a day over risking a car rental on the worn dirt track; for better or for worse, he’s trapped there for the night.

Not that he expects to finish his assignment in the span of a day, but old instincts cry out for getaway options. He and his mother spent months in secluded mountain ranges like this one, but they were as much a threat as they were protection. It was easier to hear of visitors as soon as they arrived in the area, but harder to blend in amongst non-existent crowds.

He dumps his rucksack on his bed – he hasn’t broken the habit of travelling light quite yet – and takes in the neat little cabin (cosier than he expected, like it leapt out of a rustic furniture catalogue) before grabbing his kit and heading out into the hills.

He loses track of time quicker than usual, as he always does when he’s in new places, busy taking in the lay of the land, figuring out which trails are worth his time and which are too packed with litter and foot traffic to be of any use. The vistas are breath-taking; glittering pearl lakes studded throughout the endless verdant valleys, mountain ranges that draw across the swirling skyline like theatre curtains. Landscape photos aren’t Neil’s strong suit, but he snaps a few anyway, just for himself. They never had photos on the run, nothing that could be used as evidence, no footprints left in their wake. Neil likes having the mementos now, thin slips of glossy film that prove that he was alive, he was there, that he was real.

Sunset has bathed the woods in rich oranges as he makes his way back to his cabin, legs aching pleasantly with the memory of a good day’s exploration. There’s a packet of instant noodles waiting in his bag and a kettle in his cabin, but the smells drifting from the eatery in the central building convince Neil to forgo solitude for an hour and cough up for a real home-cooked meal.

Either Andrew has shaved since this morning or he has an identical twin; either way, the man who serves him chunky soup and bread does so with the barest pretences of politeness. Neil ignores the chatter of the other guests and staff as much as possible, flicking through the images on his digital display as he chews through a freshly baked roll. Neil’s twin theory is proven correct when Andrew sweeps into the dining room just as dessert is being brought out, windswept and scowling. Neil watches as he begins arranging kindling in the hearth, and soon the room is glowing with dancing light. Andrew stares into the flames, and the flickering glow carves deep shadows into his features, as though his face is transformed by the light. Neil doesn’t do portraits, but if he did, it would be perfect.

He snaps his gaze away as Andrew looks up, unfortunately catching the eye of the man at the next table.

“Photography, huh?” he says, grinning. He’s muscular too. Neil wonders if there’s something in the water here. “Got any good ones?”

Neil hands him the camera in lieu of answering, trying not to twitch his fingers as the stranger handles his most valuable possession.

“Oh, shit. These are seriously good, like, professional standard. Is this what you do for a living?” He hands the camera back and offers a hand with it. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Neil. Yeah, I work for National Parks Magazine.”

Matt whistles. “Fancy.”

“I guess.”

“Well, I’m no expert, but those look great to me. What is it, a tourism piece?”

“Oh, no, these were just for me. I do wildlife photography.”

“Plenty of that out here. I come down most weekends, usually see a few hawks, eagles too. We get lots of bird spotters in the Spring.”

“That’s great,” says Neil, “But not what I need for this assignment.”

“How mysterious.” Matt leans his chin on his hand. “Tell me more, Mister Bond.”

“I’m looking for bears, actually.”

There’s a clatter from across the room that cuts off Matt’s reaction as Andrew’s twin drops a stack of plates.

“Did I hear you say bears?” Nicky appears at Neil’s shoulder as if from nowhere. Neil fights back the impulse to bolt. “Mine is working at the reception desk if you want me to introduce you.”

Matt snorts. “Not that kind of bear, Nicky.”

“I heard there were grizzlies up here,” Neil says. “What do you mean, there’s a bear in the reception?”

“Oh, that’s adorable. No, I just meant my boyfriend. Though he gets a bit grizzly before his first cup of coffee most mornings-”

“There aren’t any bears here,” interrupts another voice, and Neil needs to learn to stop jumping if all the staff are going to sneak up on him like this. He turns to see Andrew’s brother wiping coffee stains from his sleeves. “You might as well leave.”

“Aaron,” Nicky says, “It’s fine, he’s a photographer, he isn’t here to hunt or anything-”

“Pretty fucked up face for a nature photographer.”

“Hey-!”

“It’s fine,” Neil cuts off Matt’s objection. “The scars were my father’s doing. He loved hunting. Me, not so much.”

The group falls quiet, which is the usual reaction his explanation gets. He has never gotten used to the awkward silences that his past invariably invokes, even when he leaves out the years of running, capture, his mother’s slow and terrible death at his father’s hands, his last-minute escape, the months of FBI interrogations and his eventual release. His father had deer heads mounted in his study and Neil remembers vividly the glassy, dead eyes that seemed to watch his every move. No, Neil is not a fan of hunting; he has spent far too long being the prey.

It’s at that moment that Andrew looks up from the fireplace, and Neil can tell from his expression that he has been listening. There’s a strange understanding which has no place on this stranger’s face, and for a moment Neil feels as though he’s stuck in the amber gaze like a fly caught in a honey trap.

“Why bears?” Matt says, and his words are like a hook pulling him from a lake. Neil forces air back into his lungs and turns back to the group. Nicky’s expression has softened, eyes still on Neil’s burns, while Aaron has sunk back into disdain. “Surely there’s less dangerous things to photograph.”

“They’re not dangerous if you’re careful,” Neil replies patiently. “Treat them with respect and they’ll do the same. Besides, I like bears.”

“I hear that,” says Nicky. Aaron pops him in the back of the head, but he waves him off, undeterred. “You should talk to Andrew. He might be able to help you-” There’s a muffled thud which sounds suspiciously like Aaron aiming a kick at Nicky’s shins out of Neil’s line of sight. “-or not, you know, whatever,” he finishes lamely.

Neil glances furtively over at Andrew, who has gone back to staring into the hearth. “It’s fine,” he says, wondering why his mouth feels so dry all of a sudden. “I’m used to finding my own way.”

Desert finished and cleared away, Neil sits with Matt on the couches that occupy the other portion of the communal area along with rows of bookshelves and a desktop computer that looks as though it hasn’t been touched since the nineties. Matt flicks through more of Neil’s photos, stopping on occasion to gasp or croon, while Neil accustoms himself to trusting Matt with his camera. The coffee table is stacked high with leaflets on hiking trails which Neil sets himself to memorising as well as pamphlets on good camping etiquette and forest fire prevention. When Aaron returns and announces that the main lodge is closing for the night by abruptly flicking the lights off, Neil is surprised to realise how late it is already. The fire Andrew started in the hearth has collapsed into flaky grey embers, and when Neil steps out onto the porch the thick smell of smoke clings to his clothes.

Neil and Matt part ways for the night, but only after Matt has extracted a promise from Neil that he will let him show him some of his favourite trails the next day.

Neil thinks he may be unconscious before his head even hits the pillow, and the rustle of the forest follows him into his sleep. In his dreams, wild creatures circle his bed, close, curious, watching, waiting.

He spends most of the weekend letting Matt show him his favourite routes that weave up and down the mountain peaks. Neil wouldn’t usually tolerate so much company, but it’s clear from Matt’s eager nature that he likes having someone to talk to, and his girlfriend, he explains, is on a work placement out of state until next month. Neil is surprised to discover that he doesn’t mind Matt’s presence, and at Matt’s insistence he takes several shots of Matt posing with the valley at his back, which Neil promises to email to him for his girlfriend.

Their hike isn’t all sightseeing, however; Neil pays close attention to any tracks and prints that could point him in the direction of bears, making a note on his map of everything he spots in hope of discerning a pattern. He’s surprised to see a lot of marks close to the popular footpaths, and centred around the lodge, too. Bears usually avoid humans unless driven from their own habitat. Neil wonders if the owners have been less than careful with the bins, encouraging raiders into the foothills scavenging for food.

He spends his evenings in the main lodge, where Matt draws him into conversation with the staff and other regulars. Nicky joins them whenever he isn’t working, and will drag Aaron over when their breaks coincide. Kevin, who is renting one of the upstairs rooms in the central lodge, will occasionally be persuaded to look up from his laptop, upon which he is typing meticulous notes about conservation of historically significant ruins in the area, a topic which Neil pretends to understand on the one occasion that Kevin tries to explain it to him. Andrew, on the other hand, shows no further interest in Neil following their first encounter. Other than occasional odd jobs around the cabins, Neil still isn’t clear on what he actually does, if anything. He seems to spend most of his days out in the wilderness, although Neil and Matt never pass him on any of their walks. Neil almost asks Nicky, but thinks better of it, sensing that such a query would be met with more glee than he is comfortable with.

On Sunday, Matt packs his gear into the back of his pickup and rolls his way back towards the main road, promising to return the following weekend. Neil waves him off, surprised by how quickly the quiet chases away the hum of the engine. He distracts himself from the returning solitude by taking himself off the marked trails and deeper into the wilderness, where the trees grow thick enough to block out the sky and the trickle of springs leads him into sludgy banks that threaten to suck his boots from his feet.

Eventually the earth flattens out as Neil reaches the valley floor, and the springs pool into a small lake that winks at Neil through the trees. Neil finds an embankment to set up on, and is so absorbed in fidgeting with his lenses that he misses the faint crack of branches breaking underfoot.

A shadow looms suddenly in front of him. Neil looks up, and goes still, breath caught in his throat.

The bear hasn’t noticed him yet. He – which he must be, going by the size – is reared up on his hind legs, eight feet tall at least, nose twitching. Neil would normally be jumping at such a stroke of luck, but the shocking bright blond of the bear’s fur stills his fingers on the shutter. He would say polar bear if he didn’t know better, but he does, and they’re about a million miles too far south for that to make sense. So maybe it’s the surprising colour, or the surprise of being so lucky as to just stumble across him, but some combination of the two causes Neil to do something incredibly stupid.

He opens his mouth.

“Oh, you are beautiful.”

The bear goes still. Then he turns, hazel eyes fixing on Neil.

Neil suddenly feels very, very small. Rule one of tracking bears – don’t surprise them. Weirdly, though, this bear doesn’t react in typical bear-like fashion. There is no reflexive snarling, no intimidation, no panic. Just the faintest twitch of his ears, a huff of… irritation?

“Sorry,” Neil says automatically, then winces, because he is talking to the bear now, for god’s sake-

Then again, it isn’t like he’s doing any harm. “You are just adorable. I hope you know that you are so cute. Look at those chubby cheeks!”

And, okay, maybe he’s using the same voice he uses to talk to stray cats, but in his defence, how often does he get the chance to baby-talk a bear?!

The bear just sort of stares at him, which is… odd, probably, but as long as he isn’t snapping Neil like a toothpick Neil isn’t too concerned. The gaze is piercing, like the bear is seeing right through him, and it’s disconcerting enough that Neil almost loses his grip on the camera.

Speaking of which…

Click.

The bear… pulls a face. Neil is about to apologise again, but the words die in his mouth when he drops onto his front paws with a thud that shakes straight through the earth. The urge to run seizes Neil suddenly, hand-in-hand with a familiar burst of adrenaline, and for a moment he’s twelve years old, tripping over his own feet as his mother yanks him through the dark with heart-stopping urgency.

You can’t run from bears, is the thing.

Slowly, Neil pushes himself up the bank, leaning heavy on his arms because he doesn’t trust his legs to support him. The bear just…watches. No, glares.

All at once, the fear that seized him so suddenly is gone, and Neil lets out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” he says, because it seems rude, almost, to do otherwise. He taps his camera. “You were amazing.”

He scrambles up the bank and back into the woods, heart thudding in time with his footsteps.

Back at the cabin, he plugs his camera into his laptop with shaking fingers. He doesn’t stop to check the photo preview on the camera’s digital display, wants to see it blown up on his laptop screen in full jpeg glory.

It’s been a while since he backed up all his pictures, and as the loading bar trickles towards 100%, Neil’s stomach starts to growl. Grumbling, Neil leaves his computer to finish compiling and heads down to the main lodge in search of food.

It’s midweek, so the dining room is emptier than usual, although Neil spots Andrew in his usual place by the fireside almost immediately. They’ve been successfully ignoring each other since the day of Neil’s arrival, but the day’s events spur him to take a seat at Andrew’s side. “Nicky said you know about bears.”

Andrew flicks a scrap of newspaper into the flames. “Nicky says a lot of things.”

“I saw…” Neil winces. This is going to sound insane. “He looked like a polar bear.”

Andrew huffs, although it’s hard to say whether in scorn or amusement. “You saw a Kermode bear. They’re a subspecies of the American black bear.”

“You see a lot of them here?”

“No.”

It isn’t that Neil thinks Andrew is lying, not exactly, but there’s something he isn’t saying. Neil knows the shape of a secret, how it weighs in one’s chest, and Andrew is keeping something big in there, bristling beneath his skin.

“He was beautiful,” Neil says. “The most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew replies, and this time Neil swears he can see the bristling. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? I’m a photographer. Finding beauty is my job.”

“Your job is to take pictures of shit and persuade people to pay you for it. Beauty is a construct.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Exactly.”

“But not in your eye?” Neil guesses. Andrew’s brow creases in irritation. He dismisses Neil’s comment.

“What are you going to do now that you have found your precious bear?”

Neil shrugs. “Onto the next assignment. Wherever that is.”

“Sounds like a strange life.”

“I’m used to it.”

Aaron clatters into the dining room, grinding their conversation to a halt. His irritation turns to an open glare when he sees Neil at Andrew’s side, so Neil moves off to take his usual seat.

After dinner he calls his editor with an update, slouched in one of the communal couches and watching as Aaron and Nicky squabble over a game of pool.

“Neil, I’m telling you, there’s no way you saw a Kermode bear.” Robin says as paper rustles furiously on the other end of the line. “You’re on the wrong side of the continent.”

“But I did. I wish you could have seen him. He was so… calm.”

“Neil,” Robin says, “Are you sure?”

“I have the picture to prove it. I’ll send it over as soon as I’m back in my cabin. Is this, like, a big deal? Do you think there’s some kind of undiscovered subspecies, or… I don’t know, this seems like the kind of thing bear scientists would care about.”

Nicky and Aaron’s bickering suddenly falls silent. Neil doesn’t bother looking up to see why, not when Robin is snorting on the other end of the line. “Bear scientists.”

“I don’t know what they’re called. I’m just the dumbass who takes the photos.”

“Maybe they’ll name it after you. The Josten bear.”

Neil winces. “Poor bear.”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting at my desk. But I swear, if this is another prank or something-”

“I would never,” Neil says innocently. “I know you find my pranks un-bear-able.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Robin says, and promptly hangs up.

He’s eager to deliver on his promise as soon as possible, but Nicky catches him on his way to the door. Aaron disappeared at some point while Neil was on the phone, which is the only reason he accepts Nicky’s offer of a drink on the house, even if he won’t be persuaded from his soft drink of choice.

“That sounded like a big deal,” Nicky says, gesturing at Neil’s phone while not meeting his eyes. Once again, Neil’s neck prickles with the sense that something is being kept from him.

“Apparently I’ve found a bear species a million miles from where it should be,” Neil says. “It could be a big deal for you, too. Researchers coming to the area means more business for you, right?”

“Wow, yeah, sure.” Nicky’s smile is as pasty as it is wide. “Brilliant.”

“Speaking of,” says Neil. “I’ll be checking out a few days early. If you see Matt, can you tell him I’m sorry I missed him?”

“Sure,” says Nicky, although Neil isn’t sure he’s really listening. Neil glances at the amber liquid swirling in the bottom of Nicky’s glass and wonders if it’s stronger than it looks.

The temperature has dropped sharply in the time it took Neil to eat his dinner, and as he trudges back uphill to his cabin on weary legs the wind cuts through his light gear like a blade. His cabin windows spill orange on the path, a lamp left on, dumb, wasteful, isn’t he always complaining about light pollution-?

Neil stops dead a foot from his cabin door. He knows, knows, knows, that someone has been in since he last was there. The lodge offered daily cleaning services, but Neil had opted out for the duration of his stay, uneasy about strangers having access to his belongings even now that he has nothing left to hide. He wants to believe that they made a mistake in the cleaning schedule, but the same gut instinct telling him someone has been in his cabin tells him that it was no accident. Something is wrong.

Neil pushes the door open with the lightest press of his fingers. Adrenaline hums through him, old instincts reawakening as he prepares to be attacked.

The cabin is empty. No, not empty; the furniture, his clothes, phone charger, hiking gear, all still there…

But no laptop. And no camera.

Neil swears viciously. Before he knows it, he’s back at the central lodge, even though all the lights are out and they’re clearly closed for the night. Neil’s hand hovers over the bell at the front desk as the haze of his panic and fury lifts. They’re in the middle of nowhere, meaning the thief was either another lodger or a member of staff. Any accusations he makes won’t go anywhere.

Neil thinks of Aaron disappearing after his phone call, and instead of ringing the bell he clenches his hand into a fist.

The staff and permanent lodgers live over the main building, and although Neil has never seen the upper floor he can tell which windows are theirs by the glow on the other side of the curtains. The walls are made of thick, horizontal tree trunks that make for easy grips. Neil barely has his foot lodged against the first rivulet when he is caught in amber torchlight.

“Can I help you?” Andrew says rhetorically.

Neil drops back to the ground, teeth grinding together. If Andrew’s brother has resorted to a life of crime, there’s no way his twin hasn’t noticed. “Just looking for my things.”

“You won’t find them up there.” Andrew’s eyes flick up. “That’s Nicky and Eric’s room. I can only imagine what horrors would await you.”

“Which is Aaron’s?”

“You won’t find anything in his, either.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Neil snaps. Andrew’s expression is infuriatingly impassive, and Neil knows that arguing any longer will be as productive as shouting at a brick wall. “Tell your cousin I won’t be checking out early after all. It turns out I have more work to do.”

Andrew clicks the torch off, plunging them both into sudden darkness. “I’m not your messenger boy.” Even in the dark, Neil can feel heavy hazel eyes burning into him.

“I don’t care.” Neil storms back off to his cabin, not waiting for a response. He sends Robin an apologetic text and drops onto his bed. Half-formed plans buzz around his mind like flies, but when he eventually falls asleep, it’s with the memory of a ghostly-white bear looking into his very soul. * Thanks for reading! Chapter two is on its way. <3

#andreil #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #my fic

[itsjackgilbert]

Situation Comedy

INSCRUTABLE MUSIC-VIDEO GENIUS MAKES MOVIE. IT'S VERY GOOD. INSCRUTABLE FILMMAKER DOES MAGAZINE INTERVIEW. IT'S VERY BIZARRE. A VERY SMALL GLIMPSE INTO THE INSULAR WORLD OF SPIKE JONZE, WHERE MAKING AWESOMELY STRANGE FILMS, WEARING FAKE PENISES, AND GETTING BEAT UP (SORT OF) ALL ARE PART OF THE SCENERY

BY ZEV BOROW

"He came to visit me once and when he first arrived I got a phone call that I had to come pick him up because his car had been impounded because he'd been chased by, like, ten cops on bikes after he drove his car onto these little fairgrounds and did a bunch of doughnuts. So, then I had to drive him around all weekend." — Three Kings director David O. Russell

"Actors are more consistent. They tend to land their tricks." — filmmaker Spike Jonze, on who is easier to direct, actors or skaters.

"He wanted his brother to be in Three Kings, so he shot an audition tape with his brother doing the Sharon Stone role in Basic Instinct, crossing and uncrossing his legs. It was the weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen." — David O. Russell

I meet Spike Jonze at the production offices of his new movie, Being John Malkovich, which is a bizarre comedy about a love triangle between three people who find a secret portal into John Malkovich's head behind a file cabinet in an office building where the ceilings are four feet high. John Cusack and Cameron Diaz and Catherine Keener are in it. So is John Malkovich. It's really good and weird and funny, though not always in that order. Spike Jonze directed it.

Jonze is 29 years old and sort of famous for directing some of the best music videos ever made: the Beastie Boys' "Sabotage"; Fatboy Slim's "Praise You"; Weezer's "Buddy Holly"; Björk's "It's Oh So Quiet"; and other really good ones, too. He's also made some excellent commercials and two interesting short films. However, mostly because of the exceedingly cool videos he's done for, mostly, exceedingly cool people, Jonze has also become famous for being exceedingly cool. A wide and deep selection of the hippest people alive dig Jonze. They are his friends. This past July Jonze married actress, filmmaker, and fellow sort-of-famous person Sofia Coppola. Tom Waits sang at their wedding. Tom fucking Waits.

Jonze is small and wiry, with the body and demeanor of a skateboarder, which he is. He is relaxed, unfailingly polite, and has a voice suggesting a 15-year-old boy. When we meet he is wearing a T-shirt and scuffed-up $350 Marc Jacobs shoes. He tells me he's supposed to meet with Knox, an as-yet-unknown guitar player, to discuss ideas for his video and invites me along. But first we go to buy a big bag of cat food for his cat.

Jonze says Knox plays "sort of country-funkabilly-Prince-like music...really beautiful stuff." A friend gave him a tape, he says, and he fell in love with it. We get lost trying to find Knox's house.

When we finally arrive, Knox says he was asleep because Jonze was supposed to arrive hours ago. Jonze says he's sorry, that it must have been his assistant's fault. Knox is tall, with short, dark hair styled vaguely pompadour-ish. His apartment is small. Neil Young in on the CD player. An acoustic guitar rests in the corner.

"I'm the only one in the band, so I do the whole gig," Knox says. "My old man was a guitarist and my mother was, like...well, she was a capable pianist, not great. I'm from Tenness–Knoxville–that's why I go by Knox. My mother ahd a baby two years before me, a little boy, and it died at birth, and I am, like, the copy of that kid. And my little brother almost died at birth 'cause of me, so it's kind of all cyclical. But I'm still tweaking it. So, uh, what kind of ideas do you have?"

Jonze talks about making a video that's not very commercial, about something that's cool in and of itself.

Knox: "I just don't want it to be cute. Don't take this as an affront, but some of your videos are...cute. The 'Buddy Holly' thing was little fucking cute. I was thinking more of an early John Cugar-type of thing. Like 'Jack and Diane.' Maybe with some of the words on the bottom of the screen."

Jonze: "Uh, cool.... But it’s also cool to do something maybe not as literal.” He asks Knox if he wants to be in the video. Knox says maybe just his face, as a child.

Jonze says he could come over with a video camera and they could try some stuff out.

Knox: “Like what?”

Jonze: “Well, I don’t want to just throw stuff out.”

Knox: “Well, I’m not going to steal your stuff.”

Jonze laughs, sort of. There is an awkward silence.

Jonze: “How about a video with Xeroxes, just as a cool medium?”

Knox: “Yeah, well, that sounds schticky. Xeroxes are schticky.”

Jonze tries to say something about form. Knox says he likes “the Jazzercize” video Jonze did.

Jonze: “‘Praise you.’ Cool.”

Knox turns toward me and says he doesn’t think Spike looks very into it. Jonze says he doesn’t want to do anything he’s done already. He asks Knox if he saw the video he did for Sean Lennon.

Knox: “Nah. That guy’s too fuckin’ avant garde for me.”

Jonze: “No, I’m not saying that. It’s just I don’t want to make something silly out of your song, but at the same time....” He trails off.

There’s a tense silence, then Knox turns to me and asks if I have any ideas for videos. I tell him I don’t. Knox says “fuck,” loudly.

Jonze: “Look, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, and if you don’t really like my stuff maybe we shouldn’t work together. I like working with people who are....”

Knox: “Yeah, well...fuck.... Well, if you come up with some ideas, any ideas, call, but I just...shit.”

Jonze: “I should go.”

Jonze gets up. Knox begins to pace. Then he screams, “Fuck!” and throws a small wooden chair Jonze had been sitting on against the wall. It shatters.

Jonze: “Dude, chill.”

Knox: “I think you better leave!”

Jonze: “I was just....”

Knox: “Just fucking leave!”

Then Knox pushes Jonze into a wall, hard. I think to myself: Spike Jonze is about to get his ass kicked. Then, like a panther (or jaguar), Jonze jumps at Knox. They hit the floor. Jonze is on top of Knox, throwing punches at his head. After about 15 seconds, I pull them apart. Knox gets up and screams, “Wait right fucking there!” and runs into a back room. Jonze looks at me and says, “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” and runs out the door, fast.

Knox jumps out from the back room, glowering and holding a baseball bat.

DRIVING AWAY, JONZE MUSES ABOUT HOW “HECTIC” things got with Knox. He repeatedly pushes his face toward the rearview mirror and asks if I think his eye looks swollen. It doesn’t. He says nothing like that has ever happened to him before, except once “with Everlast, but it never got physical.” We pull into a 7-Eleven and he gets a juice and some Advil.

I try to ask some more questions about the movie. “I’m apprehensive about talking about it at all,” he says, “because I feel like it’s going to cloud someone’s opinion. You think about all the movies you had preconceived notions about, about all the ones you read stuff about until you were sick of them before you even saw them.

SPIKE JONZE’S REAL NAME IS ADAM SPIEGEL. He isn’t interested in talking about why, or when, he started going by Spike Jonze, or how much it has to do with Spike Jones, the 1940s band leader, but it’s probably related to the fact he grew up hanging out with a lot of competitive BMX bikers similarly fond of pseudonyms and alter egos. He was raised in Bethesda, Maryland, a well-heeled suburb of Washington, D.C., where his mother enjoyed photography and his father enjoyed being the scion of an extremely successful family-owned catalog company. Jonze is the middle child (younger brother; older sister) and was into skateboarding, photography, lots of Dischord-era punk rock, and, most of all, BMX.

In the mid-’80s, BMXing’s popularity was exploding, and Jonze was spending much of his time at Rockville BMX, a legendary retail and mail-order BMX shop in nearby Rockville, Maryland. At age 15, he accompanied the Haro pro-BMX team on a summer tour of the U.S., serving as part-time roadie, contest announcer, T-shirt salesperson, and using an old 35-millimeter camera, team photographer. By the time he was 16, he was writing and taking pictures for skate and bike magazines. At 17, immediately after finishing high school, he moved to Torrance, California, to work at Freestylin’, the sport’s preeminent glossy. There, he met Mark Lewman and Andy Jenkins, two kindred spirits.

“We were all living together in this apartment across the street from the magazine’s offices, in the Valley, which was like the epicenter of the skateboarding and BMX world,” says Lewman, who was 18 at the time and is now a creative director at Lambesis, a San Diego–based advertising agency that deciphers youth culture. “We’d skate to work, ride ramps, listen to Black Flag and Eric B. and Rakim, and get into adventures drinking Night Train, being weird, and stomping around downtown L.A.”

They’d also make zines. First, in 1991, Homeboy, then, two years later, Dirt. Clever and funny, they became popular with the 25-and-under, proto-extreme-sport, punk/rap-inclined hipster set. During this time, Jonze also started getting hired to take photos for magazines such as Details and Interview. And he began filming skateboarding videos, including one particular deft collaboration with ‘80s skate god Mark Gonzales titled Blind Skateboard Video.

One night, backstage at a Sonic Youth concert, Gonzales gave a copy of that tape to his friend Kim Gordon, who dug it so much that she asked Tamra Davis–who had just directed her first film, Gun Crazy, and had yet to become the wife of Beastie Boy Mike D.–to work with Jonze on shooting some skateboarding segments for Sonic Youth’s video for the song “100%.” He was 21.

Jonze has always lived in something of a rarefied world inhabited by bikers, skaters, emerging rock icons, and movie stars. Even so, he notes, he first met the Beastie Boys through his sister. She and Adam Yauch met in traffic school. The Beasties and Jonze share an appreciation for the absurd. Yauch and Jonze used to do things like rent police uniforms so they could direct traffic in Manhattan.

A few short years after “100%,” Jonze was established as America’s preeminent director of unusual music videos. This fact seemed to bore him. In 1998′s Fatboy Slim “Praise You” video, the one with the dancers in front of Mann’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, Jonze credited the direction to Richard Koufey and the Torrance Community Dancers. To this day, Jonze denies having been a part of it. Earlier this year, a typed letter arrived at the Spin offices vehemently demanding Spin retract its report that Jonze directed the video. It was signed Richard Koufey and included a detailed résumé for Koufey that stated he was a dancer in the “Thriller” video, the “Love Shack” video, the film Dirty Dancing, and something called “Dancextravaganza” at the opening of a Dellamo Fashion Center.

IN ADDITION TO BEING JOHN MALKOVICH, Jonze has another movie coming out, one in which he acts. It’s called Three Kings and was written and directed by David O’Russell. The two met when Jonze hired Russell to help him write a script for Harold and the Purple Crayon, which was to be a partially animated adaption of the children’s book, and Jonze’s feature-film debut, but never made it into production. Jonze costars in Three Kings with George Clooney, Ice Cube, and Mark Wahlberg. They play four U.S. soldiers who try to steal a secret cache of Kuwaiti gold at the end of the Gulf War. It’s a different, very sharp war-genre picture. Jonze plays a redneck private who is the sidekick of Wahlberg’s more seasoned soldier.

“I’d never really acted before,” Jonze says. “A few little things with friends, but nothing serious. And it’s not like I really want to get into acting. But David was really into me doing it, and Mark was especially supportive. In some ways I feel like I had no right to do it. But it was a lot of fun.”

Russell recalls Jonze’s commitment to the project. “He stayed in character a lot on set, and I think he eventually regretted it because Mark started beating the shit out of him as if Spike was really his tagalong sidekick. We tried telling Mark to go easy on him, but he was in character too. I think Spike was upset that that was happening.

AMONG THOSE IMMERSED IN THE CULT of Spike Jonze, the Weird Al prank is infamous. As partially recounted in an issue of the Beastie Boys’ zine, Grand Royal, Mike D. and Russell Simins, the drummer for Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, interviewed by Weird Al. During the interview, they got the conversation to come around to the Beatles. Precisely at that moment, they had Sean Lennon and Yoko Ono walk by and staged something weird and funny. No one at Grand Royal can remember exactly what happened, but it included Spike Jonze dressed up as a waiter.

I didn’t know of the Weird Al prank until weeks after meeting Jonze. As such, I spent a good portion of my evening immediately following the Knox vs. Jonze incident breathlessly telling friends all about their fight, until a friend, a longtime skater, looked at me and matter-of-factly said: “He staged it.”

Two days after the fight I go to meet Jonze for lunch, and, even though I’m not sure, I tell him I now that the afternoon with Knox was staged. Jonze demurs. “That would be gnarly” he says. “Maybe we should come back to this topic after lunch.

We pull into a Carl’s Jr. Things between us are slightly tense. I keep pressing him on the issue as we walk into the restaurant. Jonze doesn’t say anything until he’s just about to order at the counter, then he says we should walk outside. I follow him into the parking lot toward a parked black sedan. There is a guy in dark sunglasses sitting there, sipping on a Coke.

“Dude, it’s off,” Jonze says. “We’re busted.”

Jonze then reveals that he’d “planned something” for right there, right then, at the Carl’s Jr. We all had back inside the restaurant, where Jonze begins walking around the seating area and tapping on what appear to be lonely Carl’s Jr. diners on the shoulder. There are four of them, strategically placed; two have video cameras hidden on them, on has a regular camera. Two of them, including the guy from the car, who is Jeff Tremaine, the art director of the skateboarding magazine Big Brother, are wearing hidden microphones.

“This was going to be an all-out assault,” Tremaine says. “I was going to walk by and bump into Spike and my drink was going to fall all over me. And then I was going to get all jacked at Spike and knock some shit on him and get into a fight.”

“I was actually going to take a punch this time,” Jonze says, “but I was also going to bite down on some blood pellets.” He shows me two small capsules of fake blood. “I wanted the whole article to be about how I keep getting my ass kicked.”

“I was going to knock over the salad bar,” Tremaine says. “We were going to have the whole thing on tape. I twas going to be a turkey shoot, like Kennedy.”

“You are all extremely fucked up,” I tell them.

Jonze says he started planning for it late last night and tells everyone he’s sorry he didn’t go through with it. Tremaine tells Jonze that he was excited to punch him. Then, everyone tells me some stories of previous pranks, the best of which is described as simply the Hard-On One. It goes something like this:

The guy who played Knox yesterday–a friend of Jonze’s who also pulls stunts like getting himself hit by a car (for a Big Brother photo shoot) and shooting himself with a gun while wearing a bulletproof vest (for fun)–puts on a pair of flimsy gym shorts, out of which sticks a large, fake rubber penis. Then, he goes out and gets into a pickup basketball game. Next, he walks into a guitar store, where, when a salesman hands him a cord to plug in, the salesman is pulled toward the fake rubber penis. After that, he makes a quick stop at a karate studio, from which he is quickly removed. Finally, he goes to get measured for a tux, where, according to Jonze, the tailor exclaims [in a thick Indian accent], “What? You always run around with your dick sticking out?”

“It’s amazing,” Jonze says. “We’ve got the whole thing on tape.”

After Carl’s Jr., Spike lobbies me to concoct a wild, made-up story with him, one I could submit in lieu of the article. He’s got some funny, clever ideas for it, too.

“SPIKE DIDN’T GROW UP WATCHING A TON OF FILMS or even TV,” says Kim Gordon, who has known Spike ever since he worked on “100%.” “So he’s not tied to any sense of history image-wise, the way most people are. He just has a real instinctual feel for what people like. And he’s willing to try absolutely anything.”

“I think he kind of looks at everything like it’s a chance to take a golf cart and make it go 60 miles per hour,” says his old friend Lewman. “It’s always been about having a really good time.” Even so, by all accounts Jonze is meticulous, tireless even, whether it concerns a feature film, or taking down a Carl’s Jr. salad bar. His willingness to go to almost any lengths to maintain the integrity of any project–no matter how seemingly small, trivial, or twisted–is nothing short of spectacular. It is probably the one quality that best portends him making very good movies for a long time. A vast portion of Jonze’s creative energies are consumed by these tiny, hysterical performances that will never make any money, that are solely for the benefit of himself and his like-minded friends.

“But it’s not about being weird for weird’s sake,” Lewman says. “I mean, Malkovich is a movie that, at its heart, is about something everyone can relate to–desperately wanting to be someone else.... I think a lot of how [Jonze] looks at the world might come from skating and biking. You do that as a kid and you don’t look at things normally. You look at a hockey rink and see a place to skateboard. You look at a bench as a thing to do tricks off of.”

I SEE JONZE ONE MORE TIME. HE MAKES IT OBVIOUS he’d rather I not write about the Knox and Carl’s Jr. pranks. Further, he mostly turns off my tape recorder any time I start to ask him anything. He tells me he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t want to come off as a guy who is lucky enough to make cool movies with big stars but is all petulant about talking to the press. He tells me again how anything he says as far as explanation of his own work is less interesting than someone’s own interpretation of his, or any, movie. About an hour passes. I ask him to name some of his favorite movies and filmmakers.

“I like stuff that is unpredictable in terms of tone,” he says. “I like Tim Burton, The World According to Garp, Being There, all the Coen brothers’ stuff. I feel really lucky to even have the opportunity to try to make those kinds of movies.”

I ask about his movie, about what Malkovich was like.

“He’s just amazing. Really genuinely eccentric. He heard about the script and contacted us, loved the idea. It was weird because he plays himself in the movie, but it’s not really him, it’s the script’s idea of him. Whenever I see him do the Dance of Despair and Disillusionment, I’m like, this guy is my hero.”

The Dance of Despair and Disillusionment is reason alone to see Being John Malkovich. In the movie, John Cusack plays a puppeteer who enters the body of John Malkovich and forces him to give up acting for puppeteering. At one point, Malkovich acts out the dance he wants to be his ultimate master-puppeteer work, the Dance of Despair and Disillusionment. Just out of the shower, he acts it out in a towel. David Fincher, the director of Seven and Fight Club, fellow former music-video director, and close friend of Jonze, calls it “up there with Butch and Sundance jumping off the cliff, as far as greatest movie moments ever go.”

I try to get Jonze to talk about other things, videos, his commercial work. (Jonze often shoots commercials, the most recent being Lee Jeans’ “Buddy Lee” spots.) He won’t. A few days later, we talk on the phone. He asks how I’ve decided to “handle” the article, says he knows I’ll write “something good.” The next day, I call him back, ask him to clear up some factual stuff, dates he worked on things, how he first met certain people. He’s not into it. But, before we get off the phone, he does answer one question.

Me: Where did the idea for the “Sabotage” video come from?

Jonze: “Australia.”

#spike jonze #spin magazine

[hobotalesaus]

Episode 3: A Hesitating Pulse Is Good Company

I still remember the first time I came to Melbourne; I was about 18. Everything was foreign and weird and busy and sunny. ‘People are strange, when you're a stranger. Faces look ugly, when you're alone.’ I ended up in Collingwood, another planet to me back then. I found solace in a corner pub. The porch light was on and it was the closest thing to home as I could find. 

Living in the big smoke isn't for everyone, but certain people just fucking thrive. Jay is one of those people. Totally sober in the spot he lives, figuratively speaking. When I first met the bloke, he showed me through his place in his moccasins (yeah I remember mate) and pointed out different pieces of art, memorabilia, just stuff. The stuff that we fill our spaces with because we love looking at it and it's a puzzle of what makes us, ‘us’. This was the shit that he loves and you could see it straight away. Outside, there was this faint buzz of the city, with a heartbeat and tyre noise and the smell of god knows what. Maybe a police siren or some shit. It reminded me of a song, with the line "A hesitating pulse is good company". If I was to sum up Collingwood, especially in that house on that day, it would be with that line. "A hesitating pulse is good company". 

Firstly, Jay is a bloody good bloke. My old man would always tell me the best way to approach somebody is like this: If you think you're a good fella, I do too, until you prove me wrong. Something tells me that Jay hasn't proven anyone wrong. 

Knowing this about him, we approached Jay recently about doing a story and he was more than happy to go with it, which actually sort of posed a problem; he's got so many fucking things on the go, and is equally good at all of them, that we were hard pressed to make room for it all. But we'll give it a red hot crack anyway. 

Born in the early 90s, Jay spent most of his time as a young fella riding BMX like most of us did. Outside til dark, jumping kerbs, ruining your shoes by putting them in between the forks and the front tyre. Yeah we all did it. "How do you keep ruining your shoes so quickly??" the words rang out across the house and you knew you were about to get whooped. Street Sharks on the telly, poster of Matt Hoffman on the bedroom wall. How good was that? Then the natural transition (as if that isn't the best fucking pun I've ever heard) to skateboarding. "The first skate video I ever saw was a FLIP SORRY part. That got me so pumped up to go skate, the whole soundtrack and attitude was surreal! Skateboarding basically consumed my life from then all the way up til now," he says, and yeah, it fucking shows. "I tell you what, I had a few Margera decks growing up. But Geoff Rowley stood out for me, and still influences me for sure, even to this day."

There's always been this weird connection between skating and motorcycles; we're not talking your $40,000 BMW touring bike or your Hyabusa. We're talking about Triumphs, Harleys, chopped up Honda's. Making noise and pissing people off. Literally giving the finger to anyone who gives you that greasy look. "I got into motorcycles when I was about 21 or 22, after a trip to the US. All I'd ever wanted to do was go to the U.S and skate all the spots I'd seen in the videos. I had organized with a friend from Geroa (check a map) to head over; his old lady owned a condo in Oceanside, Cali. They were kind enough to invite me over to stay." 

“We're talking about Triumphs, Harleys, chopped up Honda's. Making noise and pissing people off. Literally giving the finger to anyone who gives you that greasy look”

"I took some photos of that chopper on this 35mm Minolta 201 I got for $30 on eBay.”

"So there we are at a skate park in California, and a mate of Ray's rolled up on this bad-ass cone Shovel chopper that he built himself. I didn't grow up around parents or a cool uncle who rode motorcycles, so when I was confronted with this dirty, leaky machine, I was fascinated. No foot pegs, looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the 80s. We were in the car on highway, watching him haul ass, weaving in and out of lanes, skateboard strapped to the sissy bar. That was it for me" he says, and you know that you had the same moment at some point in your life where you went "Yep, that's what I'm all about". He continues, "I took some photos of that chopper on this 35mm Minolta 201 I got for $30 on eBay. Turned out the mechanism to eject the film was broken so I lost it all. Still have the memories though. I came home to Australia and maybe a month later I went and bought a 2016 Sporty 48; because what the fuck do I know about building old motorcycles?" But who the fuck cares what it is right, as long as it's not a street bike. 

This leads us into another jack of all trades moment with Jay; photography. "Sometimes when I'm feeling frisky, I whip out the old Nikon D700. I take 6 photos or maybe 30, and sometimes 1 will come out good. I'm not a photographer, I just take photos sometimes.", which is pretty much enough to sum it up. "I'm stoked with a whole bunch of photos I've taken, and that's all that fuckin' matters." Too right bloke. 

"Sometimes when I'm feeling frisky, I whip out the old Nikon D700. I take 6 photos or maybe 30, and sometimes 1 will come out good. I'm not a photographer, I just take photos sometimes."

"Sometimes I paint, sometimes I get angsty sitting there for long periods of time trying to figure out colour blending and all the rest. I did the Knucklehead painting and that's pretty much where that ends." I was actually lucky enough to grab said Knucklehead painting, which takes pride of place in my lounge room. It's a wicked, dusty, rusty painting that tells you that the motor is as old as sin. Just how we like it. "I can't draw to save my life, but I spent what felt like 3 months working on it here and there." That led us to a pretty significant point in the story, with what I guess I'm trying to capture with these interviews. "Expressing yourself is a great way to be heard; you can tell a story through an action, a photo, a drawing..whatever. And without self expression, the world is a pretty boring place."  

“I was actually lucky enough to grab said Knucklehead painting, which takes pride of place in my lounge room”

So, as far as the nitty gritty, I think a lot of us have seen Jay's scoot by now. That 48 Sporty we mentioned earlier was written off "trying to pull a wheelie leaving work", which is a pretty standard outcome I reckon. So the white beast is a 72 Sporty, which was stripped down and and built back up by David at Primal Garage, with some work being done by Sean at Bar-None Moto. He cut the rear fender struts, and had some solid bar machined up to look like suspension, but it is actually hard-tailed. He also lifted the tank a little, modified the seat pan that Sean made, fit a new rear fender so it tucked nicely around the tire. He also freshened up the bike by re-painting the tins pearl white, with champagne stripes fading to silver. He also chucked the Leviathan cross on the tank at my request. He finished it all off with a set of bad ass up sweeps! Sean smashed out new bars, sissybar, license plate/ brake light bracket, and gave Dave a good start on the king/queen seat pan. Now I have a sweet ass looking bike that I’ve barely ridden this year. Covid has been a struggle", he says, and those of you in Victoria can attest to the fact that this year has been a total write off. Not being able to get out, hit some pubs, roll the swag out beside the bike and sleep in the dirt; that's our lockdown. "I’ve gone damn near everywhere on that bike, I love it to bits!" 

“He cut the rear fender struts, and had some solid bar machined up to look like suspension, but it is actually hard-tailed.”

There aren’t too many ways to describe riding a motorcycle to somebody who hasn't done it. And there's a difference again between riding in total comfort, heated grips, perfect riding position, had vitamins this morning, has a go-pro strapped to his head, has every supply under the sun in his bags, middle aged dentist on a touring bike. I'm talking about being stripped down of all fancy equipment, burning your legs, can't hear anything, welts on your face, hot, cold, numb fingers, sore arse, no fuel left, phone is dead, you're still 50kms from where you think the camp spot is but you know what? You could keep riding for another 1000kms because fuck me, this is what it's about. 

“..total comfort, heated grips, perfect riding position, had vitamins this morning, has a go-pro strapped to his head, has every supply under the sun in his bags, middle aged dentist on a touring bike.”

The smell of a campfire, the taste of a bug on your teeth, the spine shattering crack from a pothole on your hardtail, losing your house keys somewhere in the last 2 days riding, unpeeling yourself from the bike and finally being able to stretch your hips as the locals stare. "Passing out in the dirt, waking up in the rain. Skateboarding was my first love, but riding motorcycles is one big adventure, and the best one I've been on in years." says Jay, as I think we all for a moment realize that from now on, whenever anyone asks "Hey, lets skip town for a night on the bikes", you're going to say yes regardless, for fear of never being able to do it again. 

"Passing out in the dirt, waking up in the rain. Skateboarding was my first love, but riding motorcycles is one big adventure, and the best one I've been on in years."

If our readers are anything like us, and I think they are, living in the city is doable if there's an escape in between the chaos. "Pre-Covid, my girlfriend (Asti) and our dog (Luna) and I would head up into the mountains every other weekend. Find a cool spot to park and just walk around for awhile, explore. We could let Luna off lead and she loved it. I like shooting photos in the forest. Nature is the best". 

"Camping holds a special place in my heart. I love the smell of a campfire, endless banter between mates, NO RECEPTION. Not showering for awhile is also a guilty pleasure. We've all had our fair share of wet-wipe showers". I'll be honest, as long as there's water near by, that's good enough for me. Winter or not. Which reminds me, little tip for painting the town brown in the bush; dig two little holes for your heels, stick a log or the shovel in the ground, hang onto it and lean back. Opens up the bowels. (You'll thank me I reckon). 

’’We've all had our fair share of wet-wipe showers"

Everyone has a favorite camping story. I think as time has gone on, they don’t stand out as much as they used to, they're all great. Even when you ended up broken down in the rain, lost, hungry, hungover. Still better than a night in the city if you ask me. 

"My favorite camp spot was something not easily forgotten.  My girlfriend and I tripped out to Wilson’s Promontory one weekend. We paid to spend the night in the camp site which was basically a grass car park with no fires allowed and we decided that it just wouldn’t fly with us. We packed a couple of backpacks with the tent, sleeping mat, sleeping bags etc. We hiked a trail for an hour or so, scouting a suitable place to set up shop along the way. We eventually decided to veer off the trail, and head down through the shrub toward the ocean. We ended up finding the most insane spot! On top of a cliff, a nice flat piece of land on some moss covered rocks. Looking over the ocean. We were even graced with a sunset, right over the water, directly in front of us. Romantic as fuck, it was amazing. Golden hour blew us away. Not a single person in sight, but us. We got a little fire going and just marveled at what we found and where we were. That was the best camp spot for sure. If it were possible to accompany that with motorcycles, shit. I could have died right there and then."

‘’Even when you ended up broken down in the rain, lost, hungry, hungover. Still better than a night in the city if you ask me’’

“We packed a couple of backpacks with the tent, sleeping mat, sleeping bags etc. We hiked a trail for an hour or so, scouting a suitable place to set up shop along the way.”

I reckon that's a pretty good image to leave this story on. I think there's something special about people who can find solace in nothing, in no-one, just being content with what's happening at that moment in time. A sunset, setting off a car alarm with your pipes, burning away from a servo with a full tank of fuel. The big picture is made up of a million little pictures.

We always ask people what their life motto is; what they stand by. Jay gave us this. "Do more of what makes you happy. Whatever it is.”

Thanks bloke, it's been a time and a half. First beer is on me once the wall comes down.

"Do more of what makes you happy. Whatever it is."

All photos by Jay except for top photo by Sean (Bar-None Moto). 

#harley davidson #photography #camping #motorcycles #choppers #skateboard #skating

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 19

Author’s notes: I’m back again, sluts, with a more Dante-filled chapter. Dont worry, V will be back soon

Chapter 19

(Your POV)

Chasing after Dante was, shockingly, easier than expected.

He left a convenient trail of dead demons in his wake on top of motorcycle track marks. You were moving at high speeds now, your tendrils carrying you in a blur around broken buildings and roots. You remembered now, just how fast you truly were. The power of the Void was precise and calculated, it was like having several sets of arms and hands to stabilize you and launch your body towards your destinations.

Things were definitely more chaotic here, walls of flesh and tunnels of debris weaving between the tree’s roots. Where the hell was Dante headed? He wasn’t going directly toward the tree, but more off to the side. You wracked your brain, trying to imagine what was on this half of the craters but unsure of what he was going for.

The only thing you could imagine that way was the very same house V had pointed out to you, his childhood home. But why would Dante be going there? It didn’t really make any sense. The landscape was so trash, and you literally knew nothing about Dante to even try and discern his motives.

Still, you gave chase, keeping your eyes peeled for Griffon along the way. You had no idea how far along the bird was, but you would feel better if you at least had him near you. This area was definitely not the safest to be traveling in, not that there was a single demon to be had. Lucky for you, because you didn’t want to waste any unnecessary time. 

Other things were still rattling in your skull.

Your mind was still racing, heart hurting as you thought of V back with Trish. You had said something so deeply personally to him, then bounced before having to face his reaction. It was...both exhilarating and terrifying. You most certainly didn’t regret saying it to him...it needed to be said at some point. Nor did you blame him for not saying it back, especially since you never gave him the chance to. You were more easily attached than he, more prone to deep emotion. Mind you...V’s feelings toward you were never doubted, but he deserved time to think about it without you there clouding his thought. But his well-being never left your mind, worry clawing at you deep in your skin with each passing minute.

You prayed he would be alright. You wouldn’t be gone from him too long, that you were certain of.

It was unfortunate that you were already traveling alone for an hour, practically bouncing your way over each hurdle and area as fast as you could. Through a cavern under a statue, through areas Dante had already opened. This was getting ridiculous. Why was every path painstakingly extra? All of this foolery wasn't need at the bottom of a god damn tree, that was for sure. But it made sense that things would be far more fucked up at the Qliphoth base where it had been the longest, festering like a disease. You just didn’t have to like it, that was all.

More traveling, more panic, more worrying. But you were getting closer, you were sure. Especially so when you saw Griffon’s familiar blue feathers in the air ahead of you.

Thank god. Traveling by yourself was going to make you go absolutely insane.

“Griffon...!” You yelled, making the bird halt a bit and whip his head around to look at you. He looked shocked, his beak popping open when you extended your tendrils, gently wrapping them around him and pulling him to your chest as you leap into the air. You were faster than he was anyway.

“Toots?!” He squawked, tucked against you kind of how a child would be, “What the hell are you doing here?! Why aren’t you with Shakespeare?!”

Just the mention of it made you wince, flinching a bit as you recalled the poet left alone, his assistance cut in half now that you and Griffon were gone.

“He told me to go after Dante...!” You said in a clearly worried tone, unhappiness in your expression as you maneuvered him and yourself around more broken building pieces, “And he wouldn’t take no for an answer!”

Griffon let out an annoyed huff at that, his feathers puffing out against your chest, “What a fucking dumbass. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

He was most certainly preaching to the choir.

“I tried to tell him...he wouldn’t listen to me,” You mumbled, pressing your chin to the top of Griffon’s head as you finally entered open air. Thank god, no more tunnels, “I didn’t want to go in the first place, I’m worried about him.”

Griffon went a bit quiet at that, which was unusual for him. You tried to steady your eyes forward, keeping track of the small amounts of energy you were exerting. Not much, nothing that impacted your ability to heal. Moving with the tendrils required practically nothing, something your body stayed accustomed to. Like riding a bike.

Though traveling without V felt...bad, lonely despite the fact that Griffon was with you. As much as you loved and adored the bird, there was a Void he couldn’t fill, so to speak. One shaped like a tall, lanky poet in sandals. You knew it sounded silly; you had been away for just an hour. But it was less of missing him and more than painful, overwhelming fear that something bad would happen to him. Your protective streak would never leave, and it was practically clinging to your back now.

You traveled a couple moments in silence still, Griffon's lack of speech only a small worry in the back of your mind.

When he spoke, it seemed heavily reluctant.

“Ahh, fuck,” He muttered, beak tilted down and talons flexing a bit as he struggled with his words, “I think I need to apologize to you, and I’m really shitty at apologies.”

You blinked in surprise at that, wrapping an arm around him to brace him as you skidding over the ground, narrowly missing some shattered trees and debris. The terrain was hard to get through here.

“For what?” You asked quietly, landing on your feet and settling on a brisk jog as you made your way up a hill.

He paused again, making confusion prickle at the back of your mind as he took another moment to gather his words.

“F...for not warning you about Shakespeare,” He mumbled, unable to meet your eyes as his feathers puffed out a bit more. Like he wanted to hide, “You didn’t deserve to find out that way, like that and shit. I knew he was going to start falling apart but I half hoped his dumb ass would make it up the tree before that.”

That made your feet falter, heart thudding painfully once it clicked what Griffon was apologizing about. You had forgotten the look Griffon had worn those few times you had spoken, that knowing expression. You realized pretty quick that he knew, so that wasn’t a shock. But...his guilt was. He sounded unhappy with himself, unhappy with his choice of omission to you. What were you supposed to say? Part of you felt like you should be upset, but...there was too much at stake, too much to worry about other than that.

“It’s...okay.” You replied hesitantly, unable to formulate your own feelings.

“The fuck it is...!” Griffon squawked angrily, whipping around to snap his beak by your ear, “You need to start standing up for yourself, girlie...! I knew how you felt but I still didn’t say shit! You should be mad about that, damn it!”

He...had a point in there, somewhere. But you had the feeling he wanted you to be mad just to help ease his guilt

“I...I know...” You mumbled, leaning your head back to avoid his angry snapping, “But you’re my friend...and I don’t like being upset with you about something that doesn’t matter, not now.”

Griffon let out a pained groan at that, leaning his head back dramatically and exposing the lighter colored feathers on his throat.

“Fuck, now I feel worse,” He hissed, sounding half way exasperated and half was frustrated, “I tell you I withheld shit from you and you say we’re friends and wanna smooch and make up...!”

That kind of made you smile, just seeing his over-dramatic display of suffering. You could tell Griffon was trying, in his own asshole-ish way. You doubted the bird had to ever apologize for anything before in his life, nor did you think he ever wanted to. It made you feel a bit better about everything, as if it somehow confirmed Griffon actually did care.

So you leaned forward, giving him a small kiss on his head and making him scrunch up a bit. Huffy as always, but you didn’t care.

“There,” You replied, starting forward again and setting his grumbling form on your shoulders, “I kissed, we made up. Deal?”

He let out another annoyed sound, but he looked secretly pleased. He was a lot easier to read than V was, that was for sure.

“Still,” He muttered, tone sounding hesitant and quiet as he continued hurriedly, “You should know toots, about Shakespeare—”

But you weren’t paying attention.

You spotted Dante’s form as soon as you crested the hill. With that silvery-white hair he was easy to see, along with his red jacket and giant god damn sword. He didn’t seem to notice you or the bird, strolling leisurely toward...the house. The one V had shown you before, his childhood home. You had been correct in your assumptions, this was indeed Dante’s destination, but...why? There of all places, a crumbling mansion now that you were seeing it up close. A portrait was hanging in the crumbling foyer still, dirtied and sullied by time.  

You could barely make out the face of a woman, who you assumed to be V’s mother. Maybe? There looked to be a man in the photo, sitting with the family but his face was blackened by a past fire. With the woman was...two children? At least what you could make out—the portrait seemed so old, especially for a day and age of photography and technology. Maybe their mother had it done custom? Or maybe the portrait wasn’t of them at all, maybe it was some random painting the family kept hanging in their foyer because it looked nice. But that didn’t feel right either, especially since both boys had white hair.  

Two boys with white hair. Did V have a brother? He never admitted it, never mentioned it. But you looked at Dante, eyeing his own white locks as about a thousand questions traveled through you. Were...Dante and V related? Hell, Nero had white hair too. And that seemed like a pretty unique genetic trait. The more you thought about it, the less it made sense. V was super young still, like around the same age as Nero, whereas Dante looked to be in his forties at most. The boys in the portrait seemed to be twins, at least they looked pretty similar in age.

Ancestors maybe? This was a mess.  

Regardless, you had something to do here.

“Dante...!” You yelled, cutting off whatever Griffon was going to say as you started running closer, “Wait...!”

The Devil hunter paused at the sound of your voice, turning slightly so side eye you and the bird as you caught up to him. He looked bemused, albeit exasperated to see you. Despite all the demons he obviously had to fight to get here, he was free of scratches or wounds of any kind. Either he was a great fighter, or he had some seriously great healing skill. Or both.  

“You just don’t give up the chase, do you?” He commented, turning and crossing his arms over his chest.

He definitely didn't seem happy that you and V were prone to not listening to him, that was for sure. It was hard for you to care in that moment, especially after following his trail for so long.

You mimicked the pose, letting out a heavy sigh as you replied, “No I don’t, not after chasing you for this damn long.”  

It was about to hit the two-hour mark, and you weren’t happy about it in the slightest bit. Giving chase definitely wasn’t your favorite thing, and it was beginning to rain again to top it all off. You were willing to drag Dante back kicking and screaming if you had to. But...your Foresight did not like that. At all.

The moment the thought entered your head, it sent a warning jolt through your body, making you grunt a bit and touch your abdomen. What the hell, you weren’t supposed to stop Dante from leaving? Then why had your Foresight not told you that before you came all the way here? It made no sense. It made no sense. You couldn’t remember a mission where the power had been this indecisive, this inconsistent.

It was starting to piss you off.

Dante’s voice jarred you from the cascading anger at your own body, the man seeming oblivious to your internal conflict.

“Why are you following me anyway?” He asked, shaking some of the water droplets from his hair and turning his gaze away. He sounded overly nonchalant, tone ever lazy and bemused, “You seemed pretty friendly with that poet back there, so why come after me?”

You let out a low sigh, feeling incredibly strung out as you replied, “Because V asked me to. You shouldn’t be going up the tree alone anyway, not with how dangerous it is.”

You were trying really hard to figure out Dante, what kind of person he was. What made him tick. He seemingly showed no reaction to your words, other than tilting his head back to look at you again. His eyes confused you—they were wise somehow, on a face that seemed anything but. You felt like the Devil hunter was searching your face, sizing you up with a single glance. It made you a bit uncomfortable, that sensation of your secrets hiding on your spine returning once more.

“Someone has to stop the kid from killing himself,” He replied simply, turning to walk forward into the derelict mansion again, “Dontcha think?”

You reached out a hand, grabbing his arm to halt him as you protested, “Yeah but these things would be easier if we all stayed together...!” You were willing to bet Dante was the reason the group split up so damn much, it was driving you up a wall. Why was it so hard for everyone to just work together to reach a common goal?

Your Foresight didn’t like you touching Dante, not one bit. Or maybe it didn’t like you stopping him? Either way, it made a jolt of pain shoot up your abdomen to your chest, making you wince. Dante seemed to not notice, either that or he didn’t show any sign of it. Instead, he sighed, looking somewhat annoyed now as he looked at you. Impertinence was there behind that smirk, his brow slightly furrowed.

“And just what do you gain out of this, Miss Priestess?” He asked, raising a brow in your direction. The name made you jolt, remembering that Dante was not as oblivious as he seemed.

He knew what you were, and that was another concern you had.

“What do you mean?” You asked warily, frowning at the overly chipper tone he used. It definitely sounded close to taunting, at least to your ears.

Dante put his hands on his hips, rain water dripping over those white locks and causing them to stick to his rugged face.  

“I know your kind,” He said simply, shrugging his shoulders and eyeing you with a bit of a smirk in his expression. That tone was condescending, taunting as he let out a light laugh, “What does the boss upstairs want out of this world? To lay a claim if everything falls apart? To snatch the fruit that tree is gonna grow?”

The boss upstairs...he must have meant the Deity. Who was less “upstairs” and more in between everything. Still, what he was saying struck a chord of annoyance with you, especially since it sounded pretty damn accusatory.

You blinked in confusion, holding up your hands as you replied indignantly, “I  don't know what you're implying, but my Deity doesn’t want anything...!”

Dante scoffed lightly at that, inclining his head as he replied, “Every ‘Deity’ wants somethin’.”

He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right either. And worse, he was bringing all your doubting back, all the horrible thoughts that refused to leave you. Anxiety was bubbling up again, threatening to choke you like bile rising in your throat. Already volatile, you felt like a bomb getting ready to tick off. You definitly had your doubts about your Deity, questions that were going unanswered and no sign of your master at all to guide you. It was already maddening and breaking you down, so Dante’s implications were both unneeded and unwanted.

Griffon had been with you long enough to sense your moods, eyes darting between you and Dante as he said in a warning tone, “Dante, you’d better lay off.”

Dante turned, pointing a single, warning finger at Griffon’s avian features as he replied, "Flock off, feather face.”

You fought another sigh. Things were only getting more out of hand, but it was under your skin now. An itch you couldn’t ignore.

“You don’t know a damn thing about what my Deity wants," You told him, feeling even more unhappy that you had come to find him. What the hell was even the point, wasting time like this? "I have better things to do than sitting here arguing with you...!”

V was still alone, and he was crumbling. Your Foresight was telling you not to stop Dante, or else. So why bother staying here letting him shit talk things he didn’t understand? You half turned your body again, ready to summon your tendrils outward to bounce away. If Dante wanted to do things on his own and get himself killed, he could be stubborn all he wanted. You would focus on the people that mattered. Like V, Nero, Lady, Nico.  

But the devil hunter wasn’t done.

He let out a low hum, his tone almost pleasant and conversational as he added, “So tell me. What do you serve to gain by using Mister Poet back there?”

Your blood ran cold. Very very cold.

“...Excuse me?” You whispered, blinking in shock and not understanding exactly what he was implying as you turned back to look at his face.

He shrugged his shoulders again, crossing his arms as his blue eyes locked with yours.

“You heard me,” He replied, his expression taking on a more serious look as he continued, “You seem chummy with V, but I know your type. You’d do the same for anyone if it meant getting what your big bad God wants.”

Your mouth popped open in shock.

Indignation, anger, and pain all ripped through you. It became pretty god damn clear what he was implying, and it stung like nothing else. He thought you were using V, pretending to care about him just to succeed in your mission. You were determined to get close to people at first, but romance was never something you would fake for results. Hell, you didn’t fake liking anyone if it wasn’t genuine. To have him look you in the face and accuse you of such a thing made your blood boil and eyes burn.

You could not cry, not now.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me...!” You replied, tone low and promising violence as you balled up your fists, “I’m not using V for anything...!”

“’Ya see, that’s where I don’t believe you,” Dante clicked his tongue, turning away from you and starting for the house again, “You priestess types are all the same. Though screwing a dying man to get what you want is pretty harsh, all things considered. Gotta give him something in return for using him, right?”

You had enough.

Your tendrils whipped out in the next instant, grabbing every part of Dante you could reach and slamming him to the ground. You were shocked, he put up no resistance at all in the face of your rage. He didn’t even look surprised when you whipped him around, your own face filled with so many emotions you weren’t sure what to focus on. Anger, pain, fear, more anger.

Your day had been an avalanche of misery after a night of some of the only happiness you had tasted in such a long time. The man you cared about was dying, and you sure didn’t fucking appreciate Dante’s harsh words when things were so dire. How he even knew about you having sex with V, you didn’t know. Maybe he guessed. But his guesses were unwanted.

Your hand cracked against his face in a fluid motion, making him let out a grunt but he was still smirking lightly. It all happened so fast. Grabbing him, flipping him, hitting him. It felt less than a second. But you didn’t care.

How dare he. How dare he imply that you would give yourself to V for the sake of doing what your Deity wanted? You weren’t a whore to sell yourself to people at a God’s bidding. V was everything, and he mattered to you more than the mission itself. Hell, you didn’t know there was something wrong with him at the time, something that would mean his death. And knowing so now was agonizing, breaking you down and leaving you in a state of non-stop dread. V made you happy, and things that made you happy always ended up snatched away.

Your eyes turned black with your rage, hair raising slightly and tendrils twitching sporadically. Your Foresight was screaming at you, telling you to stop and let him go. Agonizing, making your limbs weak and tendrils uncontrollable. That tipped you off pretty fast that Dante wasn’t fighting back on purpose--he could easily escape in the state you were in right at that moment. You were fighting your own body, your own rage just to be able to make a point to the Devil Hunter.

You hated how emotional you were, but that was only par for the course as you gripped Dante’s coat and yanked him up.

“Don’t you presume to know a damn thing about me...!” You hissed, eyes burning with tears that slid down your cheeks against your will. God damn it. God damn it, “You don’t know anything about what I feel about him, or how much he means to me...!”

Dante stayed quiet, staring at you with a neutral expression as your aching hands began to shake.  

Griffon was squawking in alarm, his talons gripping your shoulders and trying to haul you back as he screeched, “Not a good idea, toots...! Back off, he isn’t worth it...!”

You didn’t care. And you wouldn’t be swayed.

“If I had my way I wouldn’t even be here talking to you...!” Your voice was growing hoarse now with your tears, panting breaths leaving you as the pain continued, “He has no one else but me in this fucking hell, no one else who cares! Yet I came after you because he asked me to and you...you...”

To disregard what you felt so heavily, what tore you up inside. Brush it off like it was dust settling on his shoulders. It stung far too much.

How were you expected to change anything when it felt like everything wanted to stop you?

“I love him.” You whispered, head slumping on your shoulders as you finally released Dante, sitting back on your legs as the pain finally subsided. You couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t see anything but rain dripping from your locks. But it didn’t matter, you didn’t feel like you were talking to him now anyway. He was of little consequence, all things considered.

“I love him and he’s dying. And that’s not fair.”

Nothing ever is. That’s why you sold your soul, isn’t it?

Dante was quiet for a couple more seconds, letting out a hefty sigh as he sat up. Your tendrils dropped away from him, returning back to your body as the Void power simmered to a dull roar. You didn’t know what to say now, what to feel after such an outburst. You weren’t used to losing your cool and lashing out like that.

Perhaps you were learning a lot of new things about yourself with everything that was going on. That feeling came back, the feeling of wanting to go home but having no home to go to. V felt like home to you, and losing him would break you more than you realized. What were you supposed to do? You could barely handle things now, when he wasn’t even gone. Holding onto hope was hard, but you were trying.

Much to your shock, you felt Dante place a hand on your hair, giving you a comforting pat on the head. You blinked, breath catching at the action. It felt like something a dad should do, something you certainly didn’t expect from the demon hunter.

“I’ve learned all I needed to know,” He said simply, rising to his feet and extending a hand to you, “Sorry about how harsh I was, but sometimes that’s the best way to learn someone’s true intentions.”

You blinked more, looking at his hand then up at him. He was smiling again, but there was a concerned look in his eyes once they met yours. You were so confused, and it definitely showed on your face.

“You...were trying to get a reaction from me?” You whispered, tone still raw and eyes going back to normal now that your power was settling, “But...why?”

Dante let out a light sigh, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.

“Some servants of higher ups can be skeevy,” He huffed, rubbing his cheek you had struck and wearing a bit of a bemused smile, “Hard to disbelieve you when you react like that. You’ve got a mean right hook on you, kid.”

So...all that was a test to see if you felt how you truly said you did? You hesitantly took his free hand, wiping your eyes with your other. You were settling down now, but you still weren’t happy with how Dante went about doing it. But...he was right to mistrust the servants of gods—you had met a few less than savory ones yourself. They tended not to like people like you, who obeyed the beings that existed in between spaces. Trickery and deceit was at its finest when it came to working alongside priests and priestesses from other pantheons, especially ones specifically aligned with the notorious “good” and “evil” gods. Such alignments were bullshit, both sides would throw you under the bus to reach their goal.

You weren’t like that.

“Sorry...” You muttered to Dante, releasing his hand once he helped you up, “But...I haven’t had the best day today, and you really didn’t help.” You weren’t having the best existence, to be honest.  

“People show their true colors when pressed to a wall,” Dante rolled his shoulders a bit, testing his muscles after you had flung him around. You knew damn well he held back on purpose. Had he actually retaliated against you when you attacked...He would have wiped the floor with you, “Consider us even now. No hard feelings.”

You nodded, but you weren’t sure how else to reply. Griffon landed on your shoulders again, letting out a relieved sigh as he looked between you and the demon hunter. You were willing to bet that little situation had certainly ruffled his feathers, that was for sure.

Dante seemed a tad bit amused by how the bird acted around you, but that amusement faded when he let out another hefty sigh.

“This isn’t your fight, kid,” Dante told you, face turning a bit serious before he went to turn away, “Go back to the poet and make sure he's alright. Shit still has time to work out—I've been surprised before.”

You blinked at that, taking a few steps after him as he entered the house. It was crumbling apart, decaying around the edges where it looked like fire struck. What the hell had happened that day, when V was a child? You could see just hints of a happy life here, beneath the soot and decay. It made you ache, seeing something so lived in now an empty husk resting on the edge of the world. Dante didn’t seem oblivious to it, staring around at the mansion's remains with something akin to wistfulness. Like he was remembering something. But...why? Especially when V had said this was his childhood home?

There were so many things you didn’t know.

“Dante...?” You said hesitantly, hanging back as he turned and gazed at the former home, “What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer your question, turning back and looking at the portrait you saw earlier.

“A demonic power was activated in me once,” He said, pulling out what looked to be a broken sword from behind his coat. It seemed to be demonic in origin too, the blade snapped off and leaving only jagged edges behind, “When Vergil lovingly jammed this through my chest.”

...Vergil?

Who was Vergil?

You blinked in confusion, looking at Griffon with a questioning stare. That name felt...strange. It elicited a strange twinge up your spine. Familiar, but also not. Had someone mentioned the name before this? You...couldn’t remember. You had hoped Griffon would bring some clarity. But the bird was staring at Dante, water dripping from his sapphire feathers.

“I always wondered...why did my father give me the Rebellion?” Dante muttered, his voice barely audible to you as he palmed the sword in hand.

Was it named the Rebellion...? People in this word seemed big on naming swords, and it was confusing for you to keep up with. And better yet, who was Dante’s father? It seemed heavily relevant, at least to him in his own little world.

Griffon let out a confused sound too, hopping off your shoulders so he could fly over to Dante and circle him, “Okay, what are you muttering?” He asked, eyeing the demon hunter warily. He kept further than an arms length, making sure he wasn’t grabbed again.

Dante let out a light, breathy chuckle, sounding pretty rueful as he looked at Griffon. Completely ignoring his question, mind you.

“Over the years I’ve been stabbed and jabbed by a number of things,” He commented, lifting the hilt of the broken blade and staring at it with a faraway look, “But who would have guessed...”

You were completely unprepared when he flipped it around, stabbing the remainder of the blade hard into his abdomen.

Shock and panic filled you, eyes wide as the Demon hunter stumbled back, letting out a pained grunt as some of his own blood pattered onto the wet floor. What in the world was he doing?! You couldn’t even open your mouth to ask, absolutely stunned into silence as Dante panted, obviously in pain from stabbing himself. Just when you thought you had the demon hunter figured out, he completely scrambled your opinions of him all over again. Dante was an enigma, one you were afraid had just mortally fucking wounded himself when you all needed him the most. What the hell was going on?

Things were getting way too insane.

Griffon was, luckily, more composed than you. He echoed exactly what you were thinking...with his own flare.

“Have you lost your mind?!” He shrieked, flapping wildly as he hovered around the bent-over demon hunter, “There’s a demon to destroy...! Kill yourself later—I'll help...!”

Your mouth opened as well, letting out a shocked whisper of, “Dante...!”

But something was happening.

Dante was panting, teeth grinding in agony as he lifted his head. His hands were still clutching the sword, impaled into his body like it was nothing.

“If the Yamato can separate man from devil,” He gritted out, seeming oblivious to both of you, “Then what about the Rebellion?”

He twisted the blade harder into his flesh, letting out an agonized grunt as the sword began to glow. Brighter and brighter like fire, disintegrating into his body. Absorbed into it. That fire spread out in spider-webbing energy trails over him, all the way to his back where the Devil Sword Sparda rested. You stared in shock and awe, taking a few steps back while Dante stood, panting as his energy grew and grew, until the air was crackling with it.

What the hell was happening? The Devil sword began to disintegrate too, sucked into Dante’s glowing form until it was gone completely. Your Void sense rolled and toiled in warning, signaling you to get the fuck out of the way before something bad happened.  

Signaling to you that Dante was doing something downright fucking amazing. Dangerously amazing.

But Griffon wasn’t aware, staring at Dante with the same shock and awe you felt.

“Wow...” He said in a low tone, flapping his wings to keep him hovering in air as he rasped, “You are...absorbing the Sparda...!”

You felt the energy cultivate around Dante’s form, telling you plain and clear it was time to move. Your tendrils shot out, grabbing Griffon and yanking him to your chest just as you dipped behind a wall to shield you both.  Energy crackled out in the next instant, sending out a shock wave that rumbled through the Earth and the structure still standing against the rain. The Void power spiked, hating the sensation of an opposing energy type as it practically wrapped around the entire area. You panted lightly, rain dripping down your face and hair as you held a startled bird against you, both of you peeking out to see what happened.

Boy, were you absolutely stunned.

In the place of Dante was what could only equate to a demon. Sharp claws, fire licking parts of his glowing body with spikes and horns. It looked like he was armored, any trace of the familiar demon-hunters face now gone. You blinked, staring in shock as he turned slightly to look at you, his face completely different. Sharp teeth, flaming eyes...it was terrifying and incredible, you weren’t sure what to think, what to say, what to do. Dante was a half demon, that had already been explained to you. But no one had mentioned Dante being able to take on a demonic form, not unless this was new and unique to him stabbing himself and absorbing the Devil Sword Sparda?

At least you knew not to touch Dante in this form. Your Void power was pretty firm on that, and the power of Sparda certainly didn’t like you either.

Regardless, you stared at Dante’s panting, growling for. Unable to move an inch as he turned away. He bent his knees, leathery wings stretching out in a telltale sign of him getting ready to fly. You ducked back behind the debris to avoid the shock wave from that, wood and rocks flying out when he shot off from the ground, into the sky. You gasped, stepping out with water dripping into your eyes as you stared at him spiraling up toward the top of the Qliphoth. Holy shit. There was no way you could follow that, not now after running all the way here.

But Griffon could.

You released the bird, feeling him push off against you and shoot into the sky after Dante. Slower, panting in annoyance as he did so.

“Go back to Shakespeare!” He yelled down to you, not stopping as he arced into the sky. Pretty gracefully, in your opinion, “You get his sorry ass to the tree! We’ll meet you there...!”  

You nodded once, activating your tendrils again as you yelled back at him, “Be safe, Griffon...!”

He didn’t respond, but then again you weren’t sticking around to hear it anyway.  

You had a bad feeling that shit was about to go down, energy bursting out of you as your tendrils whipped out again, bringing you in the direction of V. You activated your senses, eyes turning black to search out the whale oil you knew he had. Everything was swirling in your head now, the day’s events certainly startling and a lot to handle. But you kept moving, able to tell where V was right away and making haste to get there. He wasn’t where you left him, probably moving forward with Trish once she woke up. You hoped the poor woman could find clothes; nothing would suck more than walking around in just a blanket.

You also prayed she would be able to help V in your absence. It would take less time to get to them than it did Dante, so there was that at least. They were headed for the base of the tree, and those paths intersected at some point.  

You gritted your teeth, feeling the energy inside toil harder and faster now that you were free from having to chase Dante. You felt like you were exceeding your limits more, still growing now that things were so dire. Ready for anything, at least. You wanted to return to V, wanted to make sure he was safe and not crumbling again. Griffon was a smart bird, but you worried for him too, heading up the Qliphoth to chase after Dante. What were you supposed to feel in that moment? You didn’t want to go numb to it all, but you felt like you had no choice.

There was so much going on. So much to do. So much at stake. But still, you pressed onward, heart-pounding as you sought to be reunited with your poet once more.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136193/chapters/43974313

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Tagged: @nightshadow4713 @slightlylunatic @silentwhispofhope @just-call-me-no-name @efiicitia @raveninthevoid

#devil may cry v #devil may cry #dmc v #dmc5 #dmcv #V dmc #V x reader #v x self insert #fanfic #chapter 19 #Ebony and Ivory #ebony and ivory chapter 19

[fine-wolfhard]

Loverboy | Richie Tozier Imagine

Author’s Note: While me and many others are still buzzed from the release of stranger things season two and flooded my feed with Mike Wheeler, I didn’t want my other favourite 80′s brunette to be forgotten. Many thanks for the feedback and support I got after my first writing (which you can read here), without it I doubt I would have any motivation to continue writing. xx

Summary: Richie offers to model for an peers’ photography project for the payment, but looses focus on his original goal once he meets the girl behind the camera | Self Insert, Female Reader, Richie Character Focused, Fluff

Word Count: 1933

-

Richie didn’t pay attention to the never-ending collection of posters and printouts decorating the corkboards throughout his school. Not only were most outdated and irrelevant, many of the events they advertised made him feel like more of an outcast then he already did.

The worst to him were the attempted hype for the school dances. While he would much rather spend his Friday night with his friends or at the arcade, he didn’t feel like the other kids who wanted to spend a few nights a year with their hands awkwardly on the waist of their crush with currently popular songs playing too loudly.

But a small part of him wanted to go to the badly named Derry Disco because it was what everyone did; and he hated the idea of being left out. But regardless of his distaste for the waste of paper, his attention was draw to a notice within the disorganized mess.

MALE MODEL NEEDED

Any boys interested and willing to have me take photos of them to use in my photography assignment, call the number below. Will be paid. Only contact if you’re cute x

906-2721

Richie didn’t have much if any of an interest in modelling, excluding the ladies within the Playboy magazine he’d taken from his father and kept hidden between his bed and mattress. What did interest him was the mention of money he would receive just by having his photo taken.

While the amount was unspecific, he’d be lying if five dollars would satisfy him. His miniscule allowance his parents provided weekly made him choose between lunch and the arcade often; and he was ashamed of how often he’d skipped over eating.

Taking the pen from his breast pocket he wrote the seven digits on his inner wrist, knowing that the message would get smudged by the sweat on his palms. He thought he’d give the person a call since he had no problem having his photo taken on the rare occasions it was, and knew any extra money would be worth it even if the product was embarrassing.

Although he did worry whoever’s number it was wouldn’t find him ‘cute’ enough, even though it was what Beverly referred to him as whenever he rambled until his words became indistinguishable when talking about his obsessions.

-

After a short phone call in which he was surprised to find the photographer wasn’t only in the year above him but was also a girl he was pleased with himself when she asked to meet. The introduction between the two was as limited as just learning each other’s names, but Richie couldn’t help but feel his cheeks heating up when he realised he would be spending time one on one with a girl.

Ignored the feeling as quickly as it came, assuming a girl who was a photography probably chose so since they didn’t look good in front of a camera. It was presumptuous and rude of him to think, but it was a nicer thought then the possibility of making a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl.

The two organised to meet in the woods behind her house since it gave Richie a private place to change. After getting the address and biting back a ground of irritation as he realised it was on the other side of town and he had to meet her their earlier then he woke up on weekends, he instead told her he was looking forward to meeting her and finding his good side.

She laughed at him, but his face was red once she hung up after telling him she was sure he didn’t have a good side as both would be perfect. The throw away compliment stuck with the brunette as he realised she felt the need to compliment his appearance despite the fact she’d never seen his face before.

-

The next morning was spent with Richie showering until he used all the hot water, choosing between his two favourite button ups and practically inhaling his toast and a cup of the coffee leftover from his parents’ breakfast. Despite the speed he thought he put into his actions, by the end of the bike ride he was half an hour late.

Richie thought his first impression was ruined before it had even begun because of his laziness. He’d had an issue with first impressions when meeting people his whole life, especially the kids from his school. He had tried making friends with the people sitting next to him in class but whenever they saw Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier all they could see was a loser.

They wouldn’t even try and get to know him, even when he tried to hold back his impulsive and loud personality traits when around them. The only reason he was lucky enough to befriend the losers gang was because when they saw him they saw another kid pushed to the side with a sharp tongue. And maybe he wasn’t going to be more than that.

After knocking on the front door and not receiving an immediate response, a shout to come around the back from behind the house directed him to use the side gate. Each step he tried to plan out his apology, knowing if he just said what he was thinking his mouth would talk before he’d decided what to say.

But the level headedness he had faded quickly when he saw her. It was cliché and he knew it, but he felt frozen as his heard began to beat against his sternum. His skin felt hot yet somehow cold and a feeling that could only be described as love at first sight pulsing through his veins.

He briefly remembered Stan describing a similar feeling the day he met Mike, but Richie was sure this was the first time anyone had felt this because he wasn’t sure he was going to even survive. A bright flash and click bring him back from his daze.

“So, you come to your first shoot late, and don’t even say hello to me? You sounded politer on the phone, Tozier.”

He doesn’t realise he’d spent a few seconds staring until she started the conversation with a level of sass, although her smiled proved she didn’t really mind he was star struck in fact she was enjoying it. Standing with one hand holding a camera and the other a polaroid. It doesn’t click in his mind what of until she brings it down to eye level and studies it.

“Has anyone told you you’ve got big eyes? Can’t tell if it’s the glasses though, whatever the reason they are something else. Your ‘holy shit, what the fuck’ expression makes me think this is a keeper.”

She holds the photo out to Richie and asks his opinion. Taking the photo from her hands and noting the heat left on them from hers, he looks over the photo. With the afternoon sun from above causing his curls to leave patterns of shadows across his forehead, slightly rosy cheeks and lips puckered in a perfect ‘o’ the level of innocence and pure wonder captured in the photo shocked him.

“The first of many keepers I’m sure, now take of that tacky shirt and change into this, we need to use our valuable time and if your record so far says anything you need to run.”

Richie nods and takes the pile and followers her into the house.

-

“Can you, not do that?”

“Do what?”

“Smile so hard it looks creepy.”

“It doesn’t look creepy, it looks happy.”

“Bullshit, you look like some kinda fucked up clown.”

“As if I look like a clown; they’re terrifying. I look hot.”

Despite the fact he was aware that he should be focusing on posing and looking ‘blissfully innocent’ as she’d described, Richie was spending most of the photoshoot trying to make her laugh. He felt comfortable around her despite the fact they’d known each other a short three hours and still didn’t know anything more then she was a photographer with a level of confidence that trumped his trashmouth.

While the combo of denim overalls over an oversized white sweater isn’t one he’d buy for himself, he couldn’t help but feel good in it. Slightly dorky, but comfortably so. It also helped that she’d continued her habit of complimenting him, including his ‘adorable hair’, ‘button nose’ and ‘gorgeous eyes.’”

He hadn’t ever thought of those qualities being positives on him, as he thought they made him look like a little girl. But hearing someone he idolized reaffirm their worth he didn’t feel as insecure in how he looked after each photo was taken.

While most of the time was spent with back and forth banter between the two, by the end of the session she seemed satisfied with the collection of polaroids. The two didn’t realise that the once cloudless sky and become overcast and a cold breeze was brought along with it. She used her radio to listen to the weather forecast as Richie held his arms close and hoped the sun would return so he could spend a few more hours with her.

“News lady says we’re in for a storm. I wouldn’t wanna risk you biking home because you won’t be halfway there before it starts raining. My parents will be home in an hour or so, they can give you a life home. As long as that’s okay with you?” She asks, the comedic tone vacant from her voice and is replaced by one of genuine care.

He nods quickly and followers her inside to the lounge room. As she works on starting the fire Richie lays the polaroids across the coffee table and traces his fingers over the vinyl. He can’t pin point his favourite yet, because each photo was beautiful.

In some he’s laughing, in others he looks sombre. He feels proud that he doesn’t always look like a nerd, and can look fucking cool. The couch dips and he looks up quickly to see her sitting next to him, close enough their knees are touching, and it feels hotter then the flames growing across from the two.

“I am so glad I found you. You’ve got the face of a child, but your eyes carry so much emotion, have you gone through something bad before? Something that made you grow up faster than you wanted to?”

Richie sees flashes, screams of his friends echo in his ears and a laugh that sends chills up his spine whispers in his ears. But when he opens his eyes and sees hers his mind goes blank.

“I don’t know, getting a lotta pussy has changed me.” He jokes knowing full well the most pussy he’s gotten is babysitting the neighbour’s cat. She laughs before turning back to the photographs. She bits her lip as her eyes scan across them in a rush. “I think this one is my favourite.”

She picks up the first photo she took of his star struck expression when her first saw her. She grabs a near by felt-tip pen and quickly writes on the bottom of the white frame before showing him.

Loverboy, 1989

“It’s cute, probably cause it isn’t staged. Would it be weird if I put it up in my room since I’ve only know you for half a day?”

And suddenly he’s smiling. Smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. Because he got to spend his afternoon with a girl who didn’t see him as a nerd, or a trash mouth. She saw him as something different. Something special. Someone worth remembering.

  -

Feedback + criticism please. Let me know if you’re interested in a part two where they formally get together, or attend the mentioned Derry Disco. I’ve never gotten an ask, it would mean the world to me to get some follower interaction. xx

#richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie #writing #it #it 2017 #it imagine #it 2017 imagine #richie x female reader #richie x reader #richie tozier imagines #richie tozier fanfic #richie tozier fanfiction

[processbmxmag]

WHAT’S GOOD?! SEAN MORR

By Rich Hirsch

What’s good Sean? Thanks for taking the time to answer a few questions... How have you been holding up through the lockdown?

Hey what’s up Rich. No problem thank you for having me. I have been holding up pretty good during the lockdown. A little stir crazy here and there but it could be worse.

That good to hear, I hit you up today to gain a little insight on your photography as well as your Pro riding career.

What came first for you bikes or cameras?

Bikes came way before, I started out when I was little kid.

I got my first bmx like 10 or so but had a mountain bike before that.

Haha same man I ripped a little 20” mtb and pretended it was a bmx before I could convince my parents to get me one.

Do you remember what your first BMX bike was?

Yea it was a chrome Royce union from toys r us. Soon followed by a haro NyQuist backtrail

Oh those backtrails were pretty sick when they dropped

What about your first camera?

Haha yea that green color way was my shit. NyQuist was also my favorite rider at the time so it was a no brainer for me. My first camera was a little Pentax zx60 film camera.

What were the steps from getting this first camera to deciding to go to school for photography?

It happened around the same time in when I was about 16/17. I was interested in photography from bmx magazines and stuff and my school had a program where you could leave for most of the day and go to training at the local college for whatever career path you were interested in. I signed up for photography and got my first camera for that class.

It’s crazy to think of what an impact magazines made on us all when we were younger, this is how I got interested in a lot of what I still do today as well.

What was your first paid photo gig after you graduated?

Yea it is, and I think about if I would have even got into it without those magazines. After high school I had a summer job at the park district that I had every summer for years with a few of my really good friends so I was just doing that and riding and shooting photos for fun. I was riding a lot of trails at the time so I would always be back in the woods with my camera just shooting whatever. BMX was really in the front of my mind around that time so the idea of getting paid photo jobs wasn’t even a thought. I was starting freshman year of college that fall and all I wanted to do was get that out of the way everyday so I could ride and kick it with friends.

When did your riding take a more serious turn?

Well I started racing when I was about 12 and was on a race team for a few years. They took that shit pretty serious and I wasn’t really feeling it after a while. That whole time I was learning to ride skateparks and stuff and luckily met this dude a few years older than me who rode and took me under his wing. I was def the little annoying kid but learned a lot about bmx so quick and it always felt kinda serious haha. I would ride whatever little contest I could and convince my parents to let me go to Louisville park back when that place was insane. It consumed my entire life and all I really cared about for a long time. It got way more serious when I moved to California my sophomore year of college.

Yeah it’s kinda funny how serious you can take it at first when there’s all that new info to consume and tricks to learn I remember it feeling limitless.

Did you have any sponsors yet when you moved out to California? How did that all come about to the point where you were making a little money off it?

No I didn’t have any sponsors when I moved out here. I was just riding, going to school and whatever. My bike got jacked and my good friend Miles Simone hooked me up with a Federal so that was my first free bike but obviously not a sponsorship. I was riding a ton and filming videos with my friend Shane. STLN BMX got ahold of me through him and then I started getting stuff from them. I was like 20/21 and started getting a little money from them a year of so later.

Nice it’s funny how it works out so differently but so similar for most people. One friend is connected then your around and it just kinda happens.

Were you living off riding at any point or working as well through that?

When I first got hooked up I was living in Santa Barbara and working at a bike shop. That town is expensive as fuck so I always worked when I lived there. After a while I moved to Long Beach and was living off riding for a little bit but it wasn’t much fun scraping by so I would usually do stuff on the side and eventually got back into photography.

That’s dope, that stolen team was a real moment. Did you start getting photo gigs in BMX or outside?

Yea it was fun times for sure during that time with them. I got started in photo gigs outside of bmx. I was still interested in it while living in Santa Barbara but was just focused on riding and that sort of thing. One of my best friends and roommate in SB was a photographer and eventually both ended up in LA area. He started working for this photo company and convinced me to do gigs for them. It was a photo booth style company that evolved into other types of photography, and that really got my mind thinking that way again and made me really take photography seriously again.

At what point did you realize you wanted to make that your “day job”?

Pretty much right away. Although the photography didn’t start out desirable I knew In my head it was a great building block that I could work off for a while. Eventually I worked my way up and good stuff started coming.

I remember seeing you around at this point and you were still riding pretty heavily and even had a few popular signature products out. What caused the move from the Pro rider life?

Yea , I was still fully riding for STLN but I could see the writing on the wall. I see a lot dudes done with riding and confused about their next step. I decided early I’m not gonna let that happened and I slowly started working on the transition out during my last few years with them.

I can respect that for sure man but you don’t seem like you’ve really slowed down riding, I see you out all the time still. Do you look at it different now when you’re riding at all? Like weigh out out if it’s worth it to hit the rail before a shoot?

Thanks man. Yea the point for me was never to slow down riding on a personal level. I still ride all the time and expect myself to keep progressing as long as I’m healthy. I actually fucked up my ankle really bad before a big shoot a couple years ago though and that really bothered me a bit. That shoot was 14hrs and one of the worst days of my life. I won’t do anything crazy bmx wise on the same day of big job anymore. I think about the risk vs reward a bit more these day but for the most part it’s business as usual.

Speaking of risk vs. reward... Haven’t you’ve recently taken the plunge and started your own photo business?

Yea. I just started a wedding photography business this past December. It’s been a wild first year with corona and all but I’m still really siked about everything.

Congratulations on that man always hyped to see the bmx family make moves. Where can people check out your work or book a zoom wedding shoot haha?

Thanks man! It was a long time in the making, hyped to get it off the ground. It’s called The OWL Weddings and you can check it out and book your wedding on the front page of The knot & WeddingWire, www.theowlweddings.com, or insta @theowlweddings

Was there anything you learned through your time focused on BMX that helped your progression in photography?

Yes there are a lot of lessons i learned through bmx that I apply to photography everyday. Mostly centered around self motivation and work ethic. Nothing much easy comes quick and all those years of bmx helped me learn so much about myself and having patience. BMX taught me to not take anything for granted.

With the statements you made recently regarding your experiences as a a black BMX and the obvious lack of black representation in BMX how have you found the photography industry by comparison?

Like many industries in the past month or so people have had to look in the mirror and that’s no different for the photo industry. Huge brands have been called out for their lack of diversity in front of and behind the lens. I’ve showed up to a shoot more than once and someone was surprised I was the lead photographer. I’ve also had black people come up to me at a big shoot to tell me how siked they are to see me shining. Even since all of this stuff has happened a few more doors have opened for me in the wedding industry and just hope it continues on that path.

Cool I thinks that’s a wrap... Thanks again for taking the time out to chat and hopefully inspire others to pursue their passions. See ya at the park in the morning, sorry for taking your whole day with all the back and forth!

Thanks for having me and no problem at all. It was great talking with you!

#bmx

[anavoliselenu]

Relese me chapter 12

“Your father did nothing?” The anger in Stark’s voice is palpable.

“I don’t know my dad. They divorced when I was a baby. He lives somewhere in Europe now. I almost told my grandfather once, but I never quite worked up the courage before he died.”

“That horrific bitch.” He spits out the word, and though I completely agree, I can feel social niceties rising to my lips, as if I have to find excuses for my mother.

I tamp them down. “My sister tried to help.” I smile as I remember the way Ashley used to shine a light under the crack in my door and read me stories until I got sleepy. At least until our mother found out.

“She didn’t have to have her beauty sleep, too?”

“She didn’t win enough, so my mom eventually quit entering her in pageants.” The freedom had given Ashley time. It had given her back her life. I had adored my big sister, who’d always been my guardian angel, but I’d been incredibly jealous, too. I used to think she was the lucky one.

And then she’d killed herself.

I shiver. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I say.

He doesn’t acknowledge my words, but after a moment he speaks again. “I thought I knew a bit about photography, but I guess I know less than I thought. I always assumed some light was allowed in.”

I glance sideways at him, grateful for his discretion. He’s stepped away from my personal issues with the dark, but kept the thread of our original conversation. “At a certain point in the process, yes,” I say, letting my fears and memories fade under the weight of a subject I love. “And a red or amber safelight is common when making black and white prints because most of the papers are sensitive only to blue or blue-green light. But if you’re working with color like I usually do, then the prints need to be kept in total darkness until they’re properly fixed.”

I shrug. “It’s really not a big deal. Access to a darkroom is expensive and doing your own developing eats up a lot of time. One of these days I’ll get a digital camera, but in the meantime, I send my film out and get back a contact sheet along with all the pictures on disk. Then I sit down and play with the images in my native environment.”

“The computer?” he asks, grinning.

“Ever since I got my first one at age ten,” I confirm. I don’t tell him that the computer was my escape. I could turn it on and tell my mother I was doing homework, then lose myself in games and later in writing my own code. For a week or so, I’d even used the screen as a nightlight, but my mother caught on. My mother never missed a thing.

“Doing photographic work on the computer is like holding magic in your hand,” I say. “I mean, I could take a picture of you and then find stock footage of the surface of the moon and make it look like you’re standing in space.” I grin wickedly. “Or I could put your head on the body of monkey.”

“I’m not sure that would show me off to my best advantage.”

I have to agree. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“That’s one of the apps you have for sale, isn’t it?” he asks.

I blink, surprised he knows about that. I’ve designed, coded, and am selling three smartphone apps across various platforms. I designed them while I was at UT, though not for any particular class. Turns out there’s actually a market for apps that allow you to paste a headshot onto a provided stock animal photo, then share the new image across various social media.

“How did you know about that?” I ask. That app is reasonably popular, but it’s not bringing in so much money that it would be on Stark’s radar.

“I make it a point to know everything I can about the things I care about.” He’s looking at me as he speaks, and there’s no mistaking that he means me and not the app. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Justin never misses a thing, either.

I smile, feeling flattered but also exposed. I can’t help but wonder what other things he knows about me. How deep has he looked? Considering the resources at Justin Stark’s disposal, he could have looked pretty damn deep, and that truism gives me pause.

If he notices my mood this time, he ignores it. “I’ve always thought of science as magic, too,” he says, returning to the thread of our conversation. “Though not just computer science.”

“I was pretty impressed with your questions during the pitch,” I say. His questions had covered the technical aspects of the software design as well as the anatomical components, reflecting an understanding of both tech and basic anatomy. “What did you study in college?”

“I didn’t go to college,” he says. “For that matter, I didn’t go to school. I had private tutors from the time I was ten. My coach insisted, and my father agreed.”

An unfamiliar edge sharpens his voice, and although I want to know more, it’s clear I’ve stumbled upon a sore subject. “So, do you know much about photography?” I ask, grappling for a shift in the conversation. I remember the photos in his reception area. “Did you take the pictures outside your office?”

“I know just enough to be dangerous,” he says lightly, and I’m glad of the change in mood. “And no. I tried to find photos that represent my hobbies. Those are done by a local photographer. He has a studio in Santa Monica, actually.”

“He’s very skilled. His use of contrast and perspective is stunning.”

“I agree, and I’m flattered you thought I might be the photographer.”

I shift in my seat to look at him better. “Well, you are a remarkably talented man. And very full of surprises.”

His decadent grin is pure Justin, promising more surprises to come, and I feel an answering tingle between my thighs.

I drop my eyes and clear my throat. “Your hobbies, huh? So there were photographs of the ocean, some mountains, redwoods, and a bike tire. I’m guessing sailing, skiing, I have no idea, and biking.”

“Not bad. The ocean represents diving and the trees are for hiking. Other than that, you got it right. Any of those appeal to you, Ms. Fairchild?”

“All of them,” I admit. “Although I’ve never tried diving. Not many opportunities in Texas.”

“California has excellent diving,” he says. “Though a wetsuit is a bit cumbersome. I much prefer the warmer waters of the Caribbean. There,” he says, pointing out the window.

It takes me a second to switch gears, but then I see that he’s pointing to Santa Barbara.

“I’ll need to put her into the landing pattern soon, but why don’t you take control for a bit.”

“What?” I clear my throat and try that again without squeaking. “I’m sorry, but what?”

“It’s easy,” he says, releasing his hold on the wheel. He reaches over and takes my hand. The contact burns through me—why do I feel this man’s every touch so intensely? Right then, I wish I didn’t, because he’s putting my hands on the wheel and I’m supposed to keep this plane in the air, and he’s making it really hard to concentrate.

“Oh, fuck,” I say as he lets go of my hand. “Shit, Stark! What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re doing it. Just keep her steady. Push in, we descend. Pull out, we climb. Go ahead, pull out gently.”

I do nothing.

He laughs. “Go on. Give it a try.”

This time I do, and then gasp with pleasure as the plane responds to my command.

“I like that sound,” Justin says. “I think I need to hear that sound on the ground.” He puts his thumb on my cheek and strokes it softly. This time, I try very hard not to make a sound. “There you go, baby. Okay, steady it out.”

His hand grazes down my neck and rests on my shoulder. He squeezes it lightly. “Good job.”

My breathing is coming fast, and I’m not sure if it’s the exhilaration from the flight or from the man. “I am flying,” I say. “I am really flying.”

“Yes,” he says. “And you will again.”

We’re the only guests on the terrace dining area at the Santa Barbara Pearl Hotel on Bank Street. We’re just a few blocks from the ocean, and from where we sit, we can see the pier at Stearns Wharf and, in the distance, the Channel Islands rising like sea creatures from the water.

I’m sipping a white chocolate martini, and I’m pleasantly full after a lunch of raw oysters and stuffed salmon. “This is amazing,” I say. “How did you find this place?”

“It wasn’t difficult,” he says. “I own the hotel.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised. “Is there anything you don’t own, Mr. Stark?”

He reaches out and takes my hand. “At the moment, everything I want is mine.”

I take a sip of the martini to hide my reaction.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Fairchild. I take very good care of the things I own.”

My cheeks flush, and I’m suddenly very aware of my body, especially the parts below my waist. I savor the feeling, because the truth is that I’m a little afraid he’s going to want to back out of our deal once he gets a full view of the condition of the merchandise.

A man in a tailored suit steps onto the terrace and approaches us. He’s carrying a white shopping bag, which he hands to Justin. “This just arrived for you, Mr. Stark.”

“Thank you, Richard.”

As Richard leaves, Justin passes me the bag. “I believe this is for you.”

“Really?” I put the bag in my lap, peer into it, and gasp. It’s a Leica, shiny and new.

I look to Justin and see his wide, delighted grin. “You like? It’s digital. Top of the line.”

“It’s wonderful.” I laugh. “You’re amazing, Mr. Stark. You just blink and things happen.”

“A bit more than a blink, but it was worth the extra effort. How else will you get shots of the beach today?”

I stand and walk to the edge of the terrace. “I can see the ocean from here, but not much of the beach.”

“The view will be better when we’re walking on it.”

I lift my foot and show off my pumps with the two-inch heels. “I don’t think I’m dressed for the occasion.”

The ankle bracelet sparkles in the sun. He runs his finger over it, the heat from his skin radiating over mine.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“Beauty for beauty,” he replies. “The emeralds match your eyes.”

I smile, delighted. “I’m feeling showered with gifts lately.”

“Good. You deserve to be. And that’s not a gift,” he says, brushing his finger over the bracelet. “It’s a bond … and a promise.” He’s looking right at me as he speaks, and my cheeks heat with a blush.

“I don’t want to miss walking on the beach with you,” I admit. My words come out a whisper. “I can go barefoot.”

He chuckles. “You could. But have you looked under the camera box?”

“Under?” I go back to the table and pull out the box. Sure enough, there’s something else there, wrapped in blue tissue paper. I look at him, but his expression gives nothing away. Slowly, I pull out the tissue paper. Whatever’s hidden is flat and firm. I peel back the paper until I reveal a pair of black flip-flops. I look up at Justin and grin.

“For walking on the beach,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“Anything you want. Anything you need.”

“Not everything can be bought,” I say.

“No,” he agrees, and he’s looking hard at me. “But I stand by my promise.”

His words twist deliciously inside me, and I’m saved from answering by our waiter’s entrance. We return to the table for coffee and a chocolate lava cake that is so perfect I wish I’d let Justin order two instead of insisting that I only wanted a few bites.

“What else did you do this weekend?” I ask him.

“I worked.”

“Earn another billion?”

“Not quite, but the time was profitable. And you?”

“Laundry,” I admit. “And we went dancing Saturday night.”

“We?”

“Ollie,” I say. “And my roommate, Jamie.”

His expression is tense. Is that jealousy? I think maybe it is, and I’m just petty or vain or something enough to be a little bit glad of that.

“Shall I take you dancing this week?”

“I’d like that,” I say.

“Where did you go with Jamie and Ollie?”

“Westerfield’s,” I tell him. “It’s that new place on Sunset close to the St. Regis.”

“Mmm.” He looks thoughtful. I’m guessing that loud clubs aren’t his thing.

“Too wild for you?” I ask. “That harsh beat? Those bright lights?” I know he’s only thirty, but he usually seems so much older. I wonder if he belongs to a ballroom dancing club. Surely they have those in Los Angeles. I consider the idea, thinking of all the movies I’ve watched with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Yeah, I could handle dancing like that in Justin’s arms.

“Did you like Westerfield’s?”

“I did. But, you know, I just left college, and Austin has a lot of clubs. So the loud music and the heavy beat don’t really—” I stop, suddenly aware of the amused expression on his face. I feel my shoulders slope as I figure it out. “You own the place, don’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Hotels. Clubs. What happened to your little technology empire?”

“Empires are often widespread,” he says. “I believe there’s strength in having a varied portfolio. And my empire is not little at all.”

“I pegged you wrong,” I admit.

“Did you?”

“I was picturing us as Fred and Ginger. When you take me dancing, I mean. But I’m okay with a nasty little bump and grind, too.” I give him my most flirtatious smile and am shocked at myself for doing so. I blame it on the martini. Well, the martini and the man.

He smiles enigmatically, then stands and crosses the terrace. I see him fiddling with something on the wall. A moment later, I hear music. It’s “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” one of my favorite Astaire and Rogers numbers. He returns to me with his hand out. “Ms. Fairchild, may I have this dance?”

My throat constricts and my pulse races wildly as he pulls me up and into his arms. I’m not a good dancer, but with Justin leading I feel like I’m floating. We glide over the terrace, his hand on my back as light as a feather. And when the music ends, he pulls me close and bends me backward, smiling down at me with devilish intent.

I’m breathless, my chest rising and falling in his arms. His lips hover over mine, and I find myself unable to think of anything but the way his lips would feel pressed against mine. The touch of his mouth. Of his tongue.

“Is there something on your mind, Ms. Fairchild?”

“No.”

He lifts an eyebrow, and I hear his voice in my head. No lies.

“I just—I was just wondering.”

“Wondering what?” He eases me up, and our bodies are pressed close. Hips touching. My breasts against his chest, my hard nipples revealing my arousal. “Tell me,” he whispers, his lips grazing my ear and making me shiver with desire.

“I was wondering if you were going to kiss me.”

He turns his head slowly, then looks me in the eye. I want to lose myself in the heat I see there, and my lips part in anticipation of a kiss.

“No,” he says, and then he takes a single step away from me.

I blink, confused. No?

His smile is wicked. “No,” he repeats. And that’s when I understand. He’s punishing me for pulling back in his office. “Our week begins when you arrive for your first sitting.”

“Tonight?” I ask.

“At six.”

I nod, disappointed but excited.

His hand slides down the curve of my ass over the thin material of my skirt. “And, Selena,” he adds, “don’t bother wearing underwear. You really won’t need any.”

I swallow and realize I’m already wet with anticipation.

Oh. Fucking. My.

18

I hang the Leica around my neck, but we leave the rest of our stuff with Richard and exit the back door of the hotel, following a path that takes us past the pool, an outdoor dining area, and then the tennis courts. Two couples are playing doubles, laughing and teasing each other as they miss most every stroke.

“Not a lot of hotels have courts,” I say. “Was that your idea?”

“The courts were here when I bought the place,” Justin says. It may be my imagination, but I think he’s begun to walk faster. I, however, am slowing down. There’s a bench just off the courts, and I pause there, my hands on the backrest. I’m looking at the players, but I’m imagining Justin on the court. His legs taut and tanned. His broad shoulders and strong arms. His jaw tight with determination.

After a moment, I feel him come up behind me. “We should go,” he says. “I want to show you the wharf, and I need to be back in the office by three.”

“Oh. Sure. I forgot.” I take his hand and we continue walking, leaving the hotel grounds and then strolling past the charming stucco houses on Mason Street.

“Do you miss it?” I ask, as we turn right off Mason into a small, green park. Ahead of us is the beach and the Pacific Ocean, shining blue-green in the afternoon sun. “Tennis, I mean.”

“No.” His answer is flat, without any hesitation or guile. Even so, I don’t quite believe him, and I say nothing, hoping that he will elaborate. After a few more moments, he does. “At first, I loved it. But after a while, the fun went out of the game. There was too much baggage.”

“The competition?” I ask. “Maybe you could get the fun back if you just played. I’m terrible, but we could hit a ball around sometime.”

“I don’t play anymore,” he says. His tone is hard and firm, and doesn’t mirror my light suggestion at all.

“Okay.” I lift a shoulder in a casual shrug. It’s obvious I’ve touched a nerve, and I’m not quite sure how to get the flirtatious, laughing Justin back. “I’m sorry.”

He looks at me sideways, then exhales, as if in frustration. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” He smiles, and I see the ice starting to melt, revealing nice underneath. “It’s just that I’m done with tennis. Like you’re done with pageants. You don’t compete anymore, do you?”

I laugh. “Hell no. But there’s a difference. I never thought it was fun.” Dammit, I should have kept my mouth shut. I don’t want him icing over again.

But he’s not icy at all. He’s looking at me with interest. “Never?”

“Never,” I say. “Well, maybe when I was little I liked the dressing up. I honestly don’t remember. But, no, I don’t think I liked it even then. I can’t remember feeling like anything other than my mother’s personal Barbie doll.”

“And dolls don’t have a life of their own,” he says.

“No, they don’t,” I say, pleased that he understands so well. “Did your parents push you to play?” I’m edging up against a sore point, but I want to get to know this man better.

We’ve reached the end of the park, and he takes my hand as we cross Cabrillo Boulevard. We reach the beach and walk in silence toward the surf. I’ve pretty much decided that I’m not going to get an answer when Justin finally speaks.

“At first I liked it. Loved it, actually. I was so damn young, but even then I loved the precision and the timing. And the power. Damn, I could hit that ball. It was a crappy year—my mother was sick—and I took out all my frustration on the court.”

I nodded. I got that. When I was younger, I lost myself in the computer or behind a camera. It was only when that stopped being enough that I started cutting. Somehow, everyone finds a way to cope. I think of Ashley and bite back a frown. They find a way—or they don’t.

“I started staying after school and the gym teacher coached me, but pretty soon he said that I’d blown past him. My dad worked in a factory and I knew that we couldn’t afford a coach, but that was okay. I was a kid, only eight, and I just wanted to play for fun.”

“What changed?”

“The teacher knew my mom was sick and that we couldn’t afford lessons. He mentioned me to a friend, and before I knew it this local pro was working with me, free of charge. I loved it, especially when I started winning tournaments. You might have noticed that I’m slightly competitive.”

“You? I’m flabbergasted.” I take off my flip-flops and dangle them from my fingers so that I can kick my toes in the surf. Justin is already barefoot, having left his shoes with Richard at the hotel. I don’t think many men could walk barefoot on a beach in a tailored suit and look damned sexy doing it, but Justin does. It was like a reflection of his confidence. That whatever he wanted, he would simply take.

Like me.

Pleasure trills up my spine, and I smile. Despite its rather crappy beginning, this is turning out to be an exceptional day.

There are a few people on the beach, but it’s a weekday and not very crowded. Even so, the sand has been picked clean, and I can’t find one decent shell, just bits and pieces, but the ripples that the water leaves as it surges in and out are beautiful in their precision. I drop the shoes so that I can take the lens cap off and focus, wanting a shot that includes the ridged sand and the white froth of the waves.

Justin waits until the shutter clicks, then hooks his arms around my waist. I feel the light pressure of his chin against my head. “Will you tell me the rest?” I ask. “What changed for you?”

“Success,” he says darkly.

I turn in his arms. “I don’t understand.”

“I got good enough to attract a bastard of a professional coach.” His tone is so low and biting it gives me chills. “He made a deal with my father—he’d train me for a percentage of my prize money.”

I nodded; his first professional coach had been in the Wikipedia article I’d read. They’d worked together from the time Justin was nine until he was fourteen. That’s when his coach had committed suicide. Apparently he was cheating on his wife.

I can’t help but think of Ashley, and I don’t want to raise those kinds of ghosts for Justin. Instead, I ask, “Did competing make it shift from fun to work?”

Justin’s face darkens and the change is so quick and so dramatic that I actually look up to see if something overhead cast a real shadow. But it is just him. Just the reflection of his own emotions. “I don’t mind hard work,” he says flatly. “But everything changed when I was nine.” There’s a harshness in his voice that I don’t understand. It occurs to me that he hasn’t answered my question.

“What happened?”

“I told my father I wanted to quit, but I was already earning prize money, and he said no.”

I squeeze his hand. Once again, he’s evaded my question, but I don’t press. How can I when evasion is an art I know well?

“I tried to get out again about a year later. I was playing all over the country by then, internationally, too. I was missing so damn much school that my dad just hired tutors. I focused mostly on science, and I loved it. I read everything I could on every subject, from astronomy to physics to biology. And fiction. Man, I ate up sci-fi novels. I even secretly applied to a private science academy. They not only accepted me, they offered me a full scholarship.”

I lick my lips. I’ve figured out where this is going. How could I not see the way the story was developing? We are so alike, he and I. Our childhoods ripped from us and driven by the whims of a parent. “Your parents said no.”

“My father did,” Justin says. “My mother had died a year earlier. It was—” He draws in a breath, then reaches down to collect my shoes. We start walking down the beach again, heading for the massive pier that makes up Stearns Wharf. “I was ripped up the year she died. Numb. I let it all out on the court. All the anger, the betrayal.” His jaw is tight with the memory. “Hell, it’s probably why I played so damn good.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and my words sound hollow. “I knew you were attracted to the sciences. All anyone has to do is look at the businesses you’re in. But I never realized it was a lifelong fascination.”

“Why would you?”

I tilt my head up to eye him. “You’re not exactly a blank slate, Mr. Stark. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re something of a celebrity. You’ve even got a Wikipedia page. But there’s nothing on it about turning down a scholarship to a science academy.”

His mouth tightens into a thin line. “I’ve worked hard to keep my past off the Internet and away from the press.”

I think about what Evelyn said about Justin learning to control the press at a young age. Apparently, she was right. I wonder what other bits and pieces of his life Justin Stark has kept close to the vest.

I lift the camera and look through the viewfinder, aiming it first at the sea, and then at Justin, who puts up his hands as if to ward me off. I laugh and snap a few images in quick succession. “Bad girl,” he says, and I laugh more.

“You bought the camera,” I say. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Oh, no,” he says, and he’s laughing now, too. I dance backward as he lunges for me. I’m happy to see him smiling again and the melancholy of visiting the past fading from his eyes. I lift the camera and take another set of shots.

“And she keeps piling on the punishment,” he says, following his words with a tsk-tsk noise.

I let the camera hang from its strap as I raise my hands in mock surrender. “I’m a free agent today, remember.”

His grin is positively devilish. “I may not be allowed to act on it,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep a list for future reference.”

“Oh, really?” I snap another picture of him. “If I’m going to be punished anyway, it might as well be worth it.”

His expression is all heat and promise. “I assure you I’ll be very thorough.”

“Of course, I don’t think you’re being very equitable. I mean, fair is fair. You’re going to have a portrait of me. I think I should have some photos of you.”

“Nice try,” he says. “But the punishment stands.”

I ease in close to him and slide my arm around his neck. Only the bulk of the camera is keeping us apart, and I’m suddenly enveloped in the heat of him. I lift myself up on my tiptoes so that I can whisper in his ear. “What would you say if I told you I was looking forward to it?”

He stands completely still, but as I ease back, I see a single muscle in his cheek twitch. It’s not much, but it’s enough. I’ve surprised Justin Stark. More than that, I’ve turned him on.

With a light laugh, I skip back, overflowing with feminine self-satisfaction.

We’ve reached the wharf, but we don’t go out onto it. Instead, we turn around and head back down the beach toward Bath Street and the hotel. As we walk, I take a few snaps of the Channel Islands, then manage to get an excellent shot of two seagulls flying so close together they look like one creature. We’ve almost returned back the length of the beach when Justin settles on a bench. I think I see a sand dollar and squat in the sand in front of him.

“I’m looking forward to tonight, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, his voice ripe with quiet urgency. He’s looking right at me, and I see the heat in his eyes that has become familiar to me. “It’s hard to be so close to something so precious and know you don’t yet possess it.”

“Possess?” I repeat.

His grin is slow and confident. “Possess. Have. Hold. Enjoy. Control. Dominate. Pick your verb, Ms. Fairchild. I intend to explore so very many of them.”

ar���/