#and there was also bill’s point of you can still recite the old familiar things even when you don’t believe in them anymore for comfort

[wavygrayvy]

Just finished Under the Banner of Heaven and I gotta say a) watching the lady 3 episodes in one day was emotionally way too much and probably a mistake. b) this is gonna live in my head for a long while and *not* in a fun blorbo way and c) I never want to hear my dad make fun of my taste in media again because there was nothing cute, childish, or comedic about this one.

Oh and bonus thought: very glad they let Jeb say fuck. Poor guy deserved it.

#okay tag thoughts have spoilers so #beware on that front #kinda wanted more closure on what happened with jeb and his wife cause girlie was *that* close to leaving him #so is it just supposed to implied that he faked his faith for years so his wife didn’t leave him and take the kids? #cause i know he tells his mom being with her is miracle enough which goes back to what Allen said about #putting faith in the people you love #and there was also bill’s point of you can still recite the old familiar things even when you don’t believe in them anymore for comfort #but that just doesn’t seem practical on the scale jeb would have to do it to #keep becca satisfied and like not get excommunicated? #cause if he wanted to even be allowed #in the church he’d have to play down the realities of the case? #basically this all goes to say is i would’ve liked more closure and post arrest content #because i wanna know what happened #and i could look up the details of the real #case but that’s not the same #gray makes waves #under the banner of heaven

[pynkhues]

Brio 45 and 81

Thanks, anon!

This fic is set in my Center & Circumference universe, but you don't have to have read that to read this. Just know that they've been together a little while, but are as cagey as ever, haha.

(Tiiiiny spoilers for the last part of To Face Unafraid, but just little ones)

-

45 floating on your back in water + 81 cloudless summer sky

“Playa del Amor,” he hums, and Beth’s neck twists back just enough to see Rio grin. “What? You rather I take you to Cabo?”

“I don’t want you to take me anywhere,” she replies easily, a practiced retort that Rio knows as well as she does at this point, and when he breathes out a laugh, Beth drums the point home, reaching for their closet door. “If - - when - - we go on a vacation, we’ll go together.”

He seems pleased at least by the when – something even she can admit is the result of a lot of wearing down – his Cheshire Cat grin smoothing out into something both exasperated and affection as he rolls onto his side in their bed. The movement is enough for the sheets to dip lower, to reveal the perfect V of his groin, the space where his happy trail thickens, and it’s like the sun sparks through the window to greet the sight, the warm light leaving him summer skinned and glowing, and she hates that she wets her lips. Hates that he clocks it (because of course he does), and she makes sure he sees her roll her eyes when his grin turns into a smirk.

“Anyway,” she says, standing up a little straighter and turning back around to open their walk-in closet door. “We don’t have time right now. Not with the new deal Mick’s set up, and definitely not with the kids still a month off summer break.”

He doesn’t reply to that, but Beth knows the kids really don’t factor into this particular vacation plan. Or they do, of course they do, but only in the sense of who’s going to take them while he and her drink tequila on his cousin’s catamaran in Mexico. Which - -

Beth huffs, flicking through a few of her sundresses, trying to find something that’s not going to be too suffocating in the June heat, more irritable than she should be. The conversation is one they’ve been circling since Christmas though, when he’d surprised her with a trip away – not for him and her, but instead one for her, Ruby and Annie.

The weight of it had been lost in the chaos with Judith and his (- - her) family, but when the three of them had had their feet up in front of the fire at the ski lodge, mulled wine sloshing about their heads as Annie and Ruby giggled their way through old memories, it had been more than gratitude she’d felt. More than happiness, more than - -

God.

She doesn’t know, just more, and she’d gotten home and Rio had been there, reading glasses on as he’d tapped through accounts on his laptop, glitter on his neck from where he’d helped Emma get ready for her ballet recital dress rehearsal, and she’d straddled his hips before she’d even taken her shoes off, and she’d said - -

Well.

She hadn’t really said anything.

But she thinks by that evening he’d felt it too.

Even more so when he’d pressed swollen lips to hers and said next time, it’s you and me, yeah?

“The deal’s practically done, and ain’t there camp and shit?”

Beth rolls her eyes, reaching for one of her looser black sundresses, and she can hear more than see Rio scoot across the bed to drop his head off the edge of it, an angle she knows he likes just because he can see her better, or rather, see up the back of her robe when she bends over.

(Another gift, she thinks, briefly amused again. Although this one really was a gift for him given it barely covers her ass when she’s standing, let alone doing anything else.)

“Yes, I know where Cabo is.”

He snorts, and Beth turns around to walk back out of the closet, feeling the silk of her robe slip just a little, just enough she can feel it drag sweat back across her chest, and god, if it’s already this hot, she’s not looking forward to their air con bill for the quarter. She strides across the room to hook the coat hanger over the door of their en suite, before starting back to grab some clean panties, a bra, feeling Rio’s gaze on her every step of the way, and it’s silly, the way maybe she pushes her chest out just a little, points her toes to elongate her legs, the way her gaze darts, just to make sure he’s noticed.

(He has.

God, when does the spark she feels at that dim?)

“Ain’t talking about Cabo,” he tells her, voice a little lower. He’s still resting long on his side, head off the bed, tilted back just so, hands low enough on his belly his pinkies brush the thickening hair, feel the bristle of it that Beth’s all too familiar with, and she yanks open the dresser drawer. “Talkin’ about Playa del Amor. It’s on the Islas Marietas.”

And at least that checks out with the catamaran.

“On an island?” she asks anyway, fingers groping between satin, lace, cotton, and when Rio hums, low, warm, she decides lace.

“It’s a beach inside a cave, only there’s this big-ass hole in the roof. You gotta sail over from Puerto Vallarta, then swim down through this tunnel until it all opens up on this place. People call it the Hidden Beach, but that ain’t its name.”

She grabs out a bra, closing the drawers and turning back to move across the room, only to pause, the weight of his words sinking into the moment. She still can’t speak Spanish exactly, but she’s been picking things up, partially through the osmosis of being in a - - whatever with Rio, and partially because maybe she downloaded DuoLingo to her phone last year. Keeps it in a hidden folder, just in case Rio sees it one day and teases her, because there’s something in it, something fragile in the thought of learning for him, because it is for him, no matter how much she tells herself it would be good and useful to learn otherwise.

Still, she thinks, gaze darting back to his, watching him watch her, his gaze drifting from her face to where her robe reveals more cleavage than she’d usually choose to (again, a gift for him) and she thinks she can own this much at least.

“Playa del Amor. Well, playa means beach.”

He hums a low, drawling sound of affirmation, and Beth’s toes curl a little beneath her, her chest heaves, cheeks flush, and she wants to close the distance between them, wants to keep it, wants to straddle him like she did when she got home from that last vacation, god, like she did last night, but there’s too much in the words, resting thick and pregnant in their translation. Her pulse is in her ears, the thrum of her restless, wasting, wanting heart, and she swallows thick, looks away, and it’s only then that Rio speaks, his voice soft, gentle.

“Just meant it feels right. Place like that for us. Fuckin’ you on the Hidden Beach.”

And at least that feels right, feels normal, and Beth rolls her eyes, starts back towards the bathroom, but she steps deliberately sideways, puts herself in arms reach so that Rio grabs the knot on her robe, positioning her over him until she’s sitting on his face, and the first hot breath at her cunt has her dripping and god, at least this has always been easy.

*

Later, hidden and safe at work, she looks it up.

Playa del Amor.

Finds herself scrolling through pictures of floods of sunlight, staring as yawning earth reveals a perfect curl of sand, a tongue of vivid blue ocean. An oasis among relentless rock, a cradle of paradise hidden beneath clambering earth, gnarled tree roots, tangling, opportunistic weeds; protected by it too, from the wild tide of the Pacific.

Dreams of braving that ocean, sinking into it, facing the darkened tunnels that lead to the light. The cold of shadowed waters before breaking into the heat.

It’s too easy to see herself there then. Feel herself there. Drifting on her back, sun-warmed water gentle at her back while her chest, cheeks, thighs pink under the glare. Too easy to hear distant seagull calls, lick salt from her lips, feel sand at her toes, to see Rio swimming out to meet her, his body long, strong, ocean parting to take him.

In her head, he doesn’t kiss her, he touches her – her hands, breasts, back, face. Especially her face – fingers tracing her lips, her cheek, brushing her wet hair back, and Beth thinks:

Playa del Amor.

She thinks:

Beach of Love.

Send me a sensory prompt (Good Girls, The Umbrella Academy or Succession)

Also hi, hello, I'm doing a thing where I try to do a prompt fill ficlet every day. You can read yesterday's here.

#we'll see how long i last with this daily fill thing haha #but i have over 100 prompts in my inbox right now and i really want to get through some of them #and it's fun as a creative exercise! #obviously 95% of these are brio prompts so am v welcome of non-brio / tua / succession prompts rn #this was a nice one to write though #i miss C&C when i'm not writing ittttt #and it's been a while #anyway #i hope this hits the spot anon :-) #beth x rio #the center and circumference #fic asks #my fic #gg fic #nbc good girls #welcome to my ama

[heliosthegriffin]

The Burdens of Lordship

Jaune decided he needed to go get out for a night, and by himself.

It had been a long couple of months at Beacon, hard, difficult, and nowhere near-easy for a fake like himself.

But, he had made it so far with Pyrrha and his teams help.

He be dead without them, hells, he’d be dead without Ruby too.

But, with all these new teams coming in today... It felt so damn suffocating, even more than usual. Like they could see through him, see that he didn’t belong here.

So, it brought him here, getting dressed for a knight on the town, heh, he’d made a Yang.

A nice pair of cream slacks, a royal blue dress shirt, a black vest on top of it lined with faux-gold buttons, a pair of nice brown loafers, and fine leather belt to bring the suit together. Contrarily to Yang and Weiss’s opinion, he did know how to dress himself, being raised by his parents plus seven overbearing sisters taught him enough, it’s just, since he came to Beacon he’s actually had the freedom to wear what he wanted.

Tonight though? He want to look better than he felt. So, he brushed his a hair enough to look presentable, and went out into the dorm.

“Well, how did I dooooo-” Jaune didn’t get to finish as Nora barreled pasted into the bathroom, knocking him to the side.

Pyrrha stifled a laugh and Ren gave the barest hint of a apolegtic smile.

Jaune steadied himself, giving a laugh at his own expense. He couldn’t blame Nora for having to go to the bathroom, could he?

“Well, how do I look?” Jaune asked his partner and his friend.

Pyrrha gave him a friendly smile and nodded approvingly. “Quite lovely, Jaune. You look dashing.”

“Ah, thanks Pyr.” Jaune said with a slight blush, it always felt nice to be complimented.

Ren looked on more skeptically, with a hand on his chin. “Turn around.”

Jaune did as asked.

“Ok, do some stretches.”

Jaune complied with his team-mates wishes, surely he would notice if he missed something. 

“Alright, you look passable. Here,” Ren approached Jaune squirted a few drops of cologne, and helped straighten out his outfit. “And now you look, as Pyrrha put it, quite dashing.” Ren said with a light smile.

“Thanks, Ren.” Jaune said another light blush on his cheeks. “Well, I guess I should be going then.”

“Wait,” Ren said putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re forgetting something.” He looked over to Pyrrha and she handed the boys Crocea Mors.

Jaune looked on incredulous. “Why would I need Crocea Mors?”

Ren shook his head. “You’re a huntsman, you must look the part at all times. Plus...”

Jaune frowned, knowing where he was leading. “It’ll make me less likely to be mugged or something.” 

Jaune knew he was a still noodly, and looked kinda weak. But he was working really hard on that!

Jaune still took his blade without complaint, admittedly he has gotten so used to wearing it, he started feeling off when not wearing it.

Pyrrha rubbed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not like that Jaune, it’s not we’re concerned about you getting hurt, far from it, the odds of someone attacking you and them being huntsman trained are one in some hundred. We’re actually more concerned that someone might mug you and...”

Ren chimed in, “Well, you’re not Nora strong, but you’re being trained and have Aura, and that’s more than enough to hospitalize someone without one or both.”

Jaune grimaced at the idea. While he didn’t fancy himself strong or powerful, it as kinda hard to deny he hadn’t been making progress, last week he had managed to take off the head of one of the old drones that General Ironwood had donated to the academy. A regular human probably require much, much less effort.

So he nodded. “I see your point. Better to deter them, before they make a attempt.”

“Also, Ruby would be peeved if you didn’t start taking this.” Then Pyrrha pushed a black hand-canon into his hand. She then looked him in the eyes. “I’d also be rather put out, considering I paid for it.” A sly grin in her eyes.

Jaune sighed and equipped the gun to his waist opposite of Crocea Mors. Ever since he had started training with Pyrrha seriously, she had quite insistent about covering his ranged issues. So his devious partner, had behind his back teamed up with his best friend and local gun-nut, Ruby Rose, to make him a custom-hand canon.

Her evils truly knew no bounds. They had even come up with a name for it the devils! Noctis Mors.

Ruby had been a cruel task-master in teaching him the in’s and outs of shooting Noctis Mors, she had made him assemble and reassemble her until his hands bled gun oil. Suffice to say, while Noctis Mors felt a little strange on his hip, he was getting used to it.

“Thank you, Pyrrha.” He said, and pulled her into a hug, which she reciprocated.

“Better to have it and not need it, then to needed and not have it.”

Jaune smiled and shook his head, his friends were too good to him.

“Tell Nora, I said bye.”

Ren nodded his head. “You should leave before she loads you up with some grenades.”

Jaune shivered at the thought, he might be coming around to using Noctis Mors, but he doubted he’d ever get used to high-caliber explosives, He’d leave that to his crazy ginger bomber.

“Well, bye guys, I’ll see you later tonight.” Jaune said to his friend and Partner.

“Bye, Jaune.”

“Try not to eat to unhealthily!”

“I make no such promises!” Jaune said with a laugh, slipping out of the dorm.

Jaune made his way down the hallways of the dorm toward to the stairs that led outside. Where he encounters a quartet of familiar faces.

Jaune gave a friendly wave to Team RWBY as he walked towards them.

“Jaune!” Ruby said speeding over. “What are you up too? You’re not trying to ask Weiss out again are you?”

Jaune gave a eye-roll. “No, just heading out for the night. Just thought, I be a good friend and say hi.” Jaune said with stress on the word friend.

Ruby gave a laugh. “Sure, you are.”

The rest of her team caught up. Weiss in particular looked at him with suspicion,

“So, VB, whats the occasion for looking so sharp, you got a hot date tonight?” Yang asked giving him a approving nod.

“Hah, no, not tonight. I, uh, just gotta to get out for a night. You know? I just feel so trapped lately, and I want to not really think about things for a night.”

Ruby gave him a sympathetic nod.

While surprisingly Blake, the one he probably never interacted with, looked at him with a surprising level of empathy. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I hope you find what you’re looking for tonight.”

“Yeah me, too.”

Weiss then choose to cut in. “So, you don’t know what you’re looking for then?” Giving him a sharp look.

Jaune almost buckled under her gave, but straighten his back. “Uh, no, but, It’s not like I’m just idling around in Vale all nigh, I’ve got a couple places to hit up, but it’s not like I’m keeping to strict schedule, I either get to them or I don’t, I’m just trying to de-stress is all.”

Weiss huffed in disapproval, but said nothing in return. The Ice Queens love of schedules and appointments was approaching that of legend.

Yang then slung an arm around his shoulders, though she had to lean up to so. “Well, VB, that sounds fun and all, but Team RWBY as places to be and butts to kick, so go have your fun.” 

Jaune untangled himself. “That’s the plan, you guys go stop crime or whatever trouble you’ll get up to.”

“We don’t always do that!”

Jaune raised a suspicious brow at that.

“We don’t!”

“Sure.” Then Jaune turned and walked away, feeling as though he had won that conversation.

As he was leaving, he heard Weiss call out. “Arc.” Jaune turned to looked at her. “Try to not make a fool out of yourself, tonight.” The barest hint of what may one day be a smile on her face.

“That’s not on the list, but I’ll add it in anyway.” He said turning around, not bothering to try to find sort of conversation with her. He knew where they stood relationship wise, and if it could improve over time, that sounds good, if not, well all he could hope is keeping thing civil.

-------

Jaune made sure to pop something for his motion-sickness before he bordered the bullhead, so the flight down wasn’t as terrible as it could be, it was still awful, but at least he wasn’t spewing his guts everywhere.

His stomach feeling wobbly made he strike eating off the list for now, so he choose his first destination, and walked through one of Vales, many, many parks. Admiring the well-tended plant-life and occasionally waving at anybody who waved at him.

After his stomach settled, he decided to walk towards the closest bookstore, and just browsed till he founded something interesting. He had less-time with keeping up with comic and whatever came out of Mistral, since coming to Beacon. Still he left the store with couple interesting comics and even a couple books on stuff relating to huntsman actives.

Finally his stomach had decided to let him know, he could refill it. He ended up at a nice steak house, and somehow managed to get to a table in under a hour.

Jaune set at a table looking over a menu, he had already decided on what steak he want, now it was just onto sides.

A waitress then made herself known. “Hello, hello, what can I get you today?”

Jaune recited his order. 

“Right, well have it out as soon as possible. Also, from the rest of us here, we’d like to think you for your service.”

Jaune’s face crunched in confusion.

“Huntsmen are a invaluable part of our society, and as such, we’d like you to know that your meal is on the house tonight, if you require anything else, please just call.”

Then his waitress left, somehow managing to make Jaune feel appreciated and also like a complete piece of shit.

----

The meal was delicious, and Jaune had made sure to leave a nice tip anyway before leaving.

Did his dad get free meals like that? Did all huntsmen just get their bill wavered?

Jaune paused for a moment and sat on a bench, thinking.

He stares out into the evening light and all the people out there, living there lives, good or bad, they were still people weren’t they? They were probably didn’t even think about how to they need to get stronger, or how to kill the next grimm they face, were they?

They shouldn’t have to either? Should they, since that was his job kinda. Jaune thought for a second, he might not be a real huntsman, or even a real huntsman in training, but whats to stop him from faking it till he made it for real? What does it matter if the arms that carrys the sword has trained for two years or two months, if it can cut, it can serve.

If people were going to honor him as a huntsman, he was going to honor them by acting like one.

There wasn’t a smile on his face, but there wasn’t a frown either.

He didn’t have time to idle anymore, he needed to get back and work off this meal.

‘KAAAA-BOOOOM!!!’ A sound like none Jaune had heard before tore the air into pieces, it was so loud that it put any sound he heard before into a whimper. It was like the crack of thunder on a scale inconceivable, like lightning striking turned up to twelve.

His hearing was protected by Aura, and it was still ringing.

He turned his head towards the source of the sound, towards Beacon, and towards Patch, towards were he say the source of several more sources of the sound, and a terrible, but wondrous site.

Of what looked like one of those things Weiss summoned before, but bigger, on a scale that could cover entire city blocks! 

A pillar of sheer white light stuck Beacon, and in a moment of realization, what must be Signal on Patch.

A light so bright and terrible, Jaune felt it burn against his aura, and could see the fires start around the Emerald Forest. He carefully took his hand off his ear, the sound pound like a hammer into his head, and he could see the bones through his skin. He slapped his hand back across his head.

The pillars kept of their thunderous booming for several minutes, as Jaune covered his ears, watching in utter horror.

It felt almost like a the air was slapping against his bones, and sound was hitting against his bones, rattling and shaking them.

The ground as shaking too he realized.

Silence and darkness.

The pillars suddenly disappeared, and a vacuum of sound was left over.

The city was now dark and silent, as day left night along, as the lights in the city did not turn on, as the only light was that of the fires, there was no sound at first... Then the screams started.

AN: I can’t believe everyone, but, Jaune just got fucking Isekai’d.

#Jaune Arc #The Burdens of Lordship AU

[timetoresurface]

secrets (1) / BBH

Y/N x CEO BAEKHYUN

First part 7k words

Will be more

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4 // PART 5

Hopping from one job to another, you really wanted to keep your position at Banking and Finance. If you would have to describe your perfect work environment, it definitely wouldn’t be at that stupid finance magazine that had the worst coffee machine in history. But hey, it did pay the bills, and that’s what everyone does, right? A perfect job doesn’t exist, right? A perfect life doesn’t exist, right? Only in cheap romantic comedies was life perfect, and you certainly weren’t in any. At least the last time you checked.

Of course, you have secrets. Everyone has secrets. It’s completely normal to have a few secrets. They’re not even that big, to begin with. For example, you haven’t told your roommate it was you who lost her favourite sweater. You could have sworn you had last seen it hanging at your office, but it wasn’t there anymore. So now she thinks she misplaced it herself, and you were in the clear of her wrath. You also hadn’t told your parents you didn’t get the promotion because you were never even considered for a promotion. You simply told your family you were just too young for such a big responsibility. Still, your company would favour you when another spot opened up. Sometimes you just like to hide a few details in your favour. You were sure you would get the next promotion if you just worked a bit harder and read less horoscopes during the day.

“Hello Y/N, would you like the usual?” Your favourite barista asked you when you entered your local coffee shop. Ever since you started working at your company, you would get the same order every morning. It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Yes, please.” You quickly send him a grateful smile which made his ears turn a little red. Of course, you also liked the fact that said barista had a little crush on you. You’re flattered, to say the least, he was a handsome young man named Jungkook, but he was too young for you. He’s still in college for crying out loud. His mother still does his laundry. 

“Coming right up.” And of he went making you a cup of coffee with the right amount of soy milk. Just how you liked it.

“Thank you so much.” You took your drink from his hand, and your fingers brushed for just a second, but you felt nothing. He was handsome, indeed, and if you were younger, your heart would have sped up, but there was just nothing there. 

You walked the familiar route toward your office building. You worked for one of the top banking magazines, well they didn’t really call it a magazine, more like a weekly newspaper or something. You didn’t exactly know to be honest, but the most crucial part is that you have a job at a top company. You only lied about one or two things on your resume, it’s not like they check everything. It wasn’t even lying, you just added a couple of things you might not necessarily do every week, but sometimes plan on doing. You would most definitely like to invest, you just didn’t have the money or knowledge.

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N.” The old security guy greeted you with a beaming smile. You have always been his favourite, and that’s only because you tell him to have a beautiful day from time to time. People who work in banking are most definitely not considered friendly or social or even human for that matter.

“Good morning, any wild plans for this weekend?” You asked him while you badged yourself in. 

“My grand daughter’s first ballet recital is this Saturday.” His timid smile told you everything you needed to know, he was nervous.

“How lovely, wish her luck.” You told him while giving him a thumbs-up, he gladly reciprocated. He’s kind of your best friend in this building. Sometimes you even snuck out of the office to drink a cup of coffee with the older security guard, and he would tell you all kind of stories about his family.

Your company was located on the top three floors of the building. The other levels were some other magazines you had never heard of in your life. You just needed to remember you worked for Banking and Finance, a well-respected weekly newspaper. You had only started working here a couple months ago, well almost a year now. Before that, you didn’t really do anything with money, except for spending it on useless stuff like new boots. Boots you could never wear at your office because there is a strict dress code. Men should wear suits, and women should wear knee-length skirts and a perfectly fitted blazer in neutral colours like black, blue, grey,… you know: boring clothes.

“Y/N can you please look through this research about the acceleration…” your co-worker Mina started the moment you entered the workspace. She kept on going about acceleration, and you had no clue what the hell she was talking about. You have worked here for almost a year, and you still didn’t have a clue about banking and their accessions and analysis. You quickly learned to simply nod, remember a word and browse google with said word. You weren’t caught yet, so you must be doing something right.

“… also, can you please get me some coffee?” She ended her monologue while throwing some papers on your desk. You silently nodded, and she finally left you so you could take off your coat. This was a new record, you thought, you were in five minutes early, and you still couldn’t take a breather. The moment you entered was the moment hell began. With a soft sigh, you made your way over to the kitchen area to make you co-worker some coffee she could have easily made herself. News quickly spread that you were making coffee, so everyone wanted a cup. Lazy bastards. The coffee ain't even good.

“Y/N can you please come in?” Your floor manager asked you when you gave everyone their cups of coffee. With a quick nod, you made your way over to the manager’s own desk. You were all seated in cubicles, it was to monitor and motivate or whatever, while your manager requested a private office with a glass door, which he never really closed. What’s the point of a closed office if you never close the god damn door?

“How can I help you today, sir?” You asked him while he offered you a seat. He tried not to glance at your bare legs while you seated yourself and your skirt rode up a bit. It wasn’t exactly proven, but you thought he only hired you because of your looks. Not to say you thought of yourself to be the prettiest girl out there, but you were most certainly the only women under thirty that had applied for this job. It most definitely worked in your favour.

“I want to offer you a chance to grow.” He quickly started, trying to keep his eyes on your face and not your white blouse that might have been a little see-through if you looked really hard. Which he tried not to do.

“One of our top advertisers is hosting an event this weekend, and I would like for you to be there. To represent our brand and gain a few connections.” He began, and you were delighted he didn’t use complicated banking terms you had no clue about. This you understood.

“This weekend?” You asked him uncertainly. You had made plans with your roommate to binge desperate housewives while stuffing yourself with bad food you were not allowed to eat during the week. Or at least you told your roommate you never went to McDonald’s during the week. She didn’t need to know you liked your chicken nuggets every Wednesday. It is no crime to hide your bad habits from the people you loved. 

“Yes, this Saturday afternoon. I booked you a flight for tonight, so you have maximal prepare time. Your flight back is Sunday morning. I hope you didn’t make any important plans this weekend?” He asked you suspiciously, as if he knew you had no intentions of doing anything this weekend. Well, not important plans, but they were fun plans, and you had to cancel them.

“No, not at all sir. I’ll be there at the event.” You fake smiled up at him before shaking his hand in fake enthusiasm. You really wanted to earn more money and get a promotion, but you really hated this job.

“That’s great Y/N.” He shouted after you when you exited his office, his gaze lingering on your ass. Pencil skirts were only designed to please men, and make women feel uncomfortable. 

“What was that all about?” Your colleague next to you whispered. His name is Oh Sehun, and he might be as clueless as you are. He was really hired because of his good looks, and he knew it. He knew he was handsome, and he tried to get everything out of his good looks. He got a promotion after only three months at the company without actually doing any work. 

“I’m going to an advertisers event this weekend.” You whispered back, barely hiding your proudness of the fact that you had been chosen.

“Oh, yeah I was wondering who he was going to ask to replace me. Good luck Y/N.” Sehun told you while returning his focus on his screen where he was playing some dumb cards game. It did hurt your pride that you hadn’t been chosen to do this particular task, but you could prove to  be better than Sehun. You could prove to your manager that you were ready for more and that you’re more competent than Sehun. At least you tried to remember some of the banking vocabulary unlike Sehun.

“Thanks.” You ended the conversation that had already ended for him. Looking over your desk, you noticed the research about the acceleration or something Mina had talked about only an hour ago, and you sighed. A deep and heavy sigh of someone who was lost in the woods and couldn’t find the highway even though they heard cars passing. That’s how it feels to be stuck at something you understand shit about. That’s life, my dad would say, just make sure that you can pay the bills. He should be a life coach, he’s very inspiring. Really.

—

“What should I wear? What kind of event is it going to be? Garden party? Cocktail party? High-class reception where everyone wears black party? Why didn’t they tell me?” You were sat in the middle of your room with all your clothes thrown around. Your best friend Jennie stood in your doorway with a shocked expression on her face. How could she be when she found you in this position every other weekend. 

“Calm down, we can do this.” She took your arm and made you stand up. You were both standing there and staring at the mess you made in under five minutes. Never underestimate the power of a woman under stress. They can fly high and crash all at once. It’s beautiful.

“Why didn’t they tell me?” You screamed in despair while covering your face with your shaking hands. You wanted to drop down on your knees, but Jennie held you in place.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so melodramatic. Just pack one of your work suits, a stylish black dress and maybe the cute new green skirt with white flowers if there is a garden party involved.” How did she always sound so logical? Why was she so put together? Why weren’t you like her?

“Don’t look at me like that, go and find the clothes I told you about and I will look for some shoes.” You quickly started looking for the clothes she told you about while she did her thing, organizing while in search of something. She’s a teacher, so she’s used to dramatic kids who can’t find their favourite pencil or something, so you were like a calm walk in the park compared to these kids. Well, maybe not a quiet walk, maybe more of a rushed morning jog through the park. Still better than fifteen screaming kids.

“I have a dark green suit. My perfect black dress that’s not work-appropriate but could be advertisers event approved. And I’ve got a blue summer dress if it is an outside event with fancy cocktails.” You proudly checked your mental list. This wasn’t so difficult after all.

“You also have a comfortable pyjama with you and enough underwear to be gone for two weeks. You’re good to go.” Jennie finished off your list while closing your black carry-on. 

“Are you going to get changed into something more comfortable or are you supposed to wear a pencil skirt to travel?” She asked you eying you creased skirt and half open white blouse showing of your pink bra.

“I’m just going to change into some jeans and shirt, I’m not working while I’m on the plane, right? Work only starts tomorrow at the event.” You told her while looking for your favourite pair of jeans. You could have sworn you just saw them somewhere in here.

“Get changed. I’ll drive you to the airport to make sure you’re there on time. I don’t think I could stand you without a job again.” She jokingly replied before leaving your room.

“I did do all the laundry back then.” You yelled at her.

“Yes, and my white underwear is still pink because of it.” She yelled back at you, and the both of you laughed at the memory. Why isn’t there a class to be a good housewife? You know, some cleaning and cooking classes put together? 

“I told you before, the machine did that, I didn’t do anything.” You said while walking through the apartment looking for your pants.

“Keep telling that to yourself.” She giggled while pouring a glass of water.

“I will.” 

“Please put on some pants. I don’t need to see these extremely white legs of yours.” She commanded when she saw you shamelessly running through your shared place in pink underwear. 

“I don’t know where they are.” You sighed defeated while plopping down on the orange sofa that took up whole your shared living space.

“They’re on your bed Y/N.” She sighed, and you quickly went looking for your best pair trying to avoid the stare Jennie gave you. Like you were some lost child who was in desperate need of some guidance. 

“Are you ready? Do you have everything with you?” She asked you after she drove you to the airport. You nodded your head, trying to hide the sick feeling in your stomach.

“You’re going to be fine.” She finally said while giving you a hug. 

“Of course, I’ll be fine, I’m Y/N, a fierce young woman.”

“That’s the spirit.” And with these words, she left you in the large departures hall of the airport. A place you hated. Let’s hope this is not going to be like the first episode of lost? Or worse, the Grey’s Anatomy crash in the woods episode. Lexie was your favourite. Rest in peace.

—

“Everything has been taken care of. Please enjoy your stay.” The receptionist handed you a card with a number on it, and you returned her smile. 

“Thank you so much for your assistance.” You grabbed your things and made your way over to the elevator.

“Oh, miss Y/L/N, there will be a car ready at eleven AM to get you to your destination. Please be ready.” You simply nodded your head and pressed the elevator button. Room 303. That must mean you’re on the third floor. A ping sound awakened your internal struggles to stay awake after the short flight you just had. You were never really a big fan of flying, and most definitely not alone, but you’re still alive. That’s good enough for now. 

“Hold the elevator, please.” A young man shouted before throwing his whole body into the small space. He hurriedly pressed a random button and regained his posture. His jacked had fallen off, but he didn’t do anything to fix it which weirdly irritated you. Usually you weren’t the nitpicking type.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m in a bit of a rush.” He finally noticed his blazer to be in a compromising position and fixed his appearance. He glanced into the mirror and was carelessly checking himself out. He did look good, but boy did he know it. His hands run through his hair as if it didn’t already look perfect.

“That’s okay, glad you made it safely into the elevator without losing a piece of yourself.” You deadpanned. 

“That would’ve been a disaster.” He answered you with a big smile that would make most ladies faint, but somehow only irritated you. Luckily for the both of you this is a short elevator ride, and not a three hour car ride. He wouldn’t have survived. 

“Slightly inconvenient as I’m in a rush to get to bed.” The elevator made another noise signalling your floor, and you gladly stepped out of the small space to get away from the self-centred man. 

“I’m Baekhyun by the way.” You simply stared at him before the elevator doors close themselves. Why would he even introduce himself to you? You would hopefully never see him again, so an introduction seemed a bit unnecessary to you. Never mind the guy, there are more important things to worry about.

There had been a folder with information about the event and the advertiser. Apparently, it was an essential online banking thing, and the event would be something like a walking dinner, but at brunch time. So a walking brunch. In other words, the perfect occasion to wear your flowy blue dress as it didn’t seem too uptight of an event. 

The phone in your hotel room rang, signalling your car would be ready in five. You quickly put on your shoes and grabbed your bag, making your way downstairs. You weren’t going to be late on your first solo event, you were going to be politely on time, so your company would look good.

“Hi there, going anywhere?” You turned around and looked questionably at the stranger. It was the man from last night. The man who introduced himself without reason. The man who knew how good-looking he was. You couldn’t disagree with him at this moment. He wore a light blue suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow he made it work. He brushed the blazer behind is back and put his hand inside of his pockets. Underneath his fitted blazer was an even more fitted white shirt that left little to the imagination. You had to gather all your self-respect to not stare.

“I just like standing at the entrance of a hotel without having a reason whatsoever.” You told him while looking away from him. If someone saw the two of you now, they would think you matched outfits to go to a wedding. They couldn’t be more wrong, but you were annoyed by his perfectness. Why did he have to look so good? And why didn’t he leave you alone?

“What a coincidence, me too.” He said while he took place next to you. Not a word was exchanged, but there was something else. Awkwardness. 

“So, where are you going?” He tried to ask you again.

“Something for work. I don’t exactly know where, but I know that a car was arranged to take me to my destination. “

“I’m not lying, but I’m in the exact same situation.” He tried to connect with your eyes, but you simply kept staring down at your dress. Maybe it might be a bit too short for a work event. You were quickly interrupted when a car stopped right before you and Baekhyun. The driver quickly got out and started to bow before us. Not a simple greeting bow, but an aggressive ‘I” m sorry” bow.

“Miss Y/L/N and mister Byun. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but is there a possibility if you two could share this ride? It’s the same destination, and we’re understaffed at the moment.” The driver seemed hesitant and scared of our reaction, and you immediately felt terrible for the guy.

“If it is the same final destination, I don’t see a problem with it.” Baekhyun told the guy right before opening the door. He looked over at you and motioned for you to get in. 

“I can open my own doors.” You told him while entering the luxurious car. You hadn’t expected this from your company who always seems to be in saving mode. They could better spend the money from this car into a better coffee machine. 

“A simple thank you would have been enough.” He whispered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. He quickly closed your door and made his way over to the other side of the car. You couldn’t help yourself to look at him. Even when he was simply sat in a vehicle while tapping on his phone, he had this presence that couldn’t be ignored, but you tried to.

The drive was short and comfortable, but your nerves kept you wide awake. This would be your first event, and not only your first it’s also your first solo event for a company you knew shit about. How do you represent a company when you don’t know what they stand for?

“Are you nervous?” The strange man next to you asked. There was genuine concern in his eyes, but you looked away. If he was going to the same event probably meant he worked in the sector. If he worked in the same industry, he would probably be a competitor. If he was a competitor, it would be best to hide all your weaknesses, or he could take down your company in a matter of seconds. Or worse, he could make you jobless again, and you weren’t ready for that. 

“I’m excellent, but thanks for asking.” You kept your gaze focused forward, and your hands fidgeted with your short dress.

“You look great by the way. You’ll do great.” You felt his eyes burning your skin, but you tried to ignore the tension he had created with his statement.

“Thank you, but I will be great because of what I can, and not because of my looks.” 

“I didn’t mean to…-“ but he was interrupted by the driver opening your door. You quickly made your way out of the car and tried to contain your surprise. The event was huge, and by huge, you mean it to be very claustrophobic. There were people everywhere in all shapes and sizes mingling and giggling. 

“You might want to close your mouth.” Baekhyun told you while standing casually next to you. He didn’t seem to care about his surroundings. He’s probably used to these kinds of events. 

“Let’s get our name badges.” He took hostage of your hand and guided you toward the entrance of the building. It was a modern building with glass walls and plants everywhere. Some people were smoking outside with a mimosa in hand. Others were inside enjoying the view while nipping on a fancy looking sandwich. 

The event was too grand for you, and the worst part was that you felt underdressed. You have never been the type to underdress, but you’ve gotten so used to your boring office life, you made a mistake. Men were dressed in colourless suits, and women were dressed in fancy dresses in neutral colours. You checked your outfit in the mirror and cringed at yourself. You weren’t covered in a neutral colour, no you were clothed in a light blue dress that was on the shorter side with a girly floral pattern. The only design you spotted at the event were polka dots. 

“You can go first.” Baekhyun whispered into your ear right before shoving you toward the table with badges. You tried to find your name, but couldn’t.

“Can I help you miss?” A nice lady dressed in a black pantsuit asked you. She glanced at you, and you knew what she was thinking. She doesn’t belong here, let’s help her.

“Are you here with mister Byun?” She eyed you up and down, and her eyes suddenly turned venomous. 

“No, I’m with Banking and Finance. I’m replacing Oh Sehun for this event.” You ignored her glare.

“What’s your name?” You could almost hear the annoyance laced in her tone, but she really tried to hide it. What had you done wrong? 

“Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” You told here with a bright smile she ignored. 

“I see.” Was all that she said.

“Banking and Finance?” Baekhyun asked you while the woman was looking for your badge. 

“Yes.” You answered his question.

“You don’t care where I work?” He turned his back toward the table with badges so he could look at you.

“I would like to see your badge first, so I know you’re not lying when I ask you.” You simply told him, and a chuckle escaped him. He looked like someone who got everything handed to him. He looked like trouble, and you couldn’t afford trouble.

“I don’t need a badge at these events. They all know who I am.” He stated with a smirk.

“Well, I don’t care then.” His mouth twitched, and you were pretty sure he was fighting a smile.

“Here you are.” The woman gave you your badge, and you thankfully accepted. You turned back to Baekhyun.

“It was nice to meet you, mister Byun.” You said, hoping he would understand that you wanted to leave.

“Pleasure was all mine miss Y/L/N.” He said before grabbing your hand and giving it a quick peck. You thanked him one final time and made your way inside the event. 

People looked your way as if they knew it was your first time. Some people whispered to each other with a fake smile plastered on their faces. You tried to ignore the unwanted attention, but it was hard. Maybe a good mimosa would help you. 

“So, who are you?” A man in a dark green suit asked you when you returned from the mimosa stand. He was tall, incredibly tall. The man was perfection in neutral hues; his hair and eyes were the colour of dark roasted beans, but his skin was all tanned. He was skinny, but the way his clothes hung gave away the muscle beneath, and in his wake were heads turning to watch him go. You quickly glanced at his badge and noticed the name of the investor. He must be important.

“I’m Y/N from Banking and Finance.” He seemed a little impressed.

“I’m Chanyeol, and this is my event.” He held out his hand, and you gladly shook his hand. 

“You don’t look like someone who works in finance.” He simply stated, eying you suspiciously as if you had crashed his party.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m a real employee of Banking and Finance.” You tried to lighten the mood, but this was the second person judging you from your looks.

“You must definitely do not disappoint.” You grew slightly uncomfortable, but as it was his party, you simply smiled. 

“The event most definitely doesn’t disappoint.” You tried to change the subject.

“Thank you. I’ve recently discovered the true meaning of brunch, and I might say I’m obsessed with it at the moment.” He told you truthfully before taking a big sip from his mimosa.

“How come?” You said after nipping from your drink. You weren’t here to get drunk even though you needed the liquid luck.

“My mum does brunches, I thought it was something older people did, but I was wrong.”

“You couldn’t have been more wrong. The secret to a happy life is a good brunch paired with a delicious mimosa.”

“Ah, I like you already, but I have to leave. There is someone aggressively signalling me to get to the kitchen. I apologize.”

“No problem. If there’s an emergency in the kitchen, it is more important than anything and anyone in this room.”

“I’ll catch you later.”

Chanyeol had been the opening for many men to strike up a conversation with you. They never tried to talk to you about anything finance related. Some didn’t even ask you where you worked. Some couldn’t even keep their gaze on your face for longer than a minute, and you grew more uncomfortable as the hours passed. 

“If you could, please excuse me.” You told the people around you. They simply nodded and kept their conversation going about something sports-related. 

You quickly made your way over to an empty room. You were done with these people pretending to enjoy each others company. You were just fed up with people commenting you didn’t look like someone who could work in finance. You wanted to go home, but you promised your boss you would represent your company well. You couldn’t leave before dessert was eaten.

“You can do this Y/N. Just ignore these bastards.” You repeated to yourself in the dark room like a mantra.

“Everything okay?” Baekhyun asked you, standing awkwardly in the doorframe. You quickly tried to compose yourself, but nearly knocked something down. He came to your rescue and grabbed the expensive-looking clock before it hit the ground. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” You grabbed the clock from his hands and put it back in place before returning to the party. You heard him say something, but ignored it and kept on walking. Chanyeol grabbed your attention and mentioned you to come over to him. He seemed to be speaking to some other young men in expensive suits. 

“Miss Y/L/N, let me introduce you to some important people. Everyone this is Y/N from Banking and Finance…” and that’s how he introduced you to some influential people in the business. They asked you some questions about your function, but only out of politeness as they didn’t care about what you did. They conversed with each other leaving you out of the conversation unless it was something about the event. 

You couldn’t have been happier the moment dessert came, and some people already started to leave. Chanyeol tied to convince you to stay longer, but you lied to him and told him you had to get straight to the airport as you were already late. He personally helped you book a car that would take you to your hotel in no time. 

You needed a drink. You needed a massive drink that could calm your nerves. Luckily for you, your company had booked you a room in a hotel with a big fancy bar. You know that kind of bar where they serve every drink imaginable. Their menu had four pages dedicated to cocktails only, and you couldn’t have been happier. Well, you would have been happier if the event would’ve gone better. No one would remember the presence of Banking and Finance at this event, and that was all on you. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked you nicely, and you simply told him the first cocktail that had caught your eye. Something with passion fruit. “Coming right up.” He said you before starting your drink.

Why were you such a mess? Why couldn’t you be smart like the others? Why couldn’t you just lock yourself up for a week and study everything you needed to know about banking. You don’t write any articles, you don’t get invited to big meetings because you’re known as research girl who makes coffee. The bartender gave you your drink, and you almost drank the whole thing in one go. He looked at you strangely, but you simply nodded your head. His hands immediately started to make you another, and you couldn’t care if he made you the same drink or something else. You needed the sweetness of the drink to remind you of good summer times with your friends during college. You needed the alcohol to burn your throat to tell you of the times when you were too drunk to function. Too drunk to be reminded of the fact that life sucks, and you really thought life would be better at this age. 

You continued your drinking speed for a good hour, and four cocktails were already swimming in your stomach. You felt the light buzz, and your eyes started to wander. A man is drowning his sorrow in the elixir at one end of the bar, and a young couple flirts shamelessly at the other end with the nectar in hand. The drug seems to have very different effects, depending on the situation of its consumption. There’s a slightly larger woman in the corner table. She holds in hand a large beer, and there is a plate in front of her that seems to hold the remains of what was a serving of nachos.

“Miss Y/N!” Someone called out your name from behind you, and you immediately recognized the low voice of mister Byun Baekhyun, the devil himself. “I thought you were headed straight back home. Didn’t you have a flight to catch?” He asked you while seating himself beside you at the bar. He signed the bartender for a whiskey, and in under a minute he was drinking next to you. Uninvited.

“Aren’t you going to answer my questions?”

“Do I have to?” You took another nip from your drink. You really needed to drink more to ignore the annoyance you felt when Baekhyun was near.

“You can also tell me something about yourself.” He told you. The left side of his lip tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his god-like face; casting a spell of lust to eyes that dare look his way. You looked away.

“Please annoy someone else while I’m still asking nicely.”

“Bad day?” He asked you, all cockiness aside. Again he surprised you with a genuine interest in your wellbeing.

“You were there.” You finally gave in and turned yourself toward him almost falling from your chair. 

“You were always surrounded by people. Isn’t that what these events are meant for?” He asked you with confusion in his eyes.

“If these people were interested in my work and my company it would have been fine. It could’ve been great actually.” You tried to explain to him, but he still didn’t understand your troubled mind. He thought you did well.

“They were interested in you.” He tried to reason with you. Boy, has he even spoken to a tipsy girl? You don’t just reason with them, you listen and silently nod.

“Yes exactly. In me, and not my company.” You started to grow more frustrated. Every sip you took from your drink got you more fired up. 

“Do you like your company that much that you would let it steal your spotlight?” He asked you bewildered. He didn’t seem to understand why you would hide in the background.

“I don’t actually, but I would like for once to be appreciated for what I do and not for how I look like.” This got him to be more understanding.

“Well, tell me something about what you do.” His question caught you off guard. You ignored his stare while ordering a new round for the two of you. 

“I don’t want to bore you.” You finally told him after a moment of silence.

“We work in the same field. I don’t think you can bore me that easily.”

“You’re doing it again.” You sighed, resting your head in your hands in defeat. Men just didn’t understand. They were always looked at with respect.

“What?” The liquor made his cheeks turn red, and you almost wanted to touch them. Almost.

“I want to bore you with my knowledge. I want people to look up certain words after they had a conversation with me. I want to bore people.” Your voice grew louder, but Baekhyun didn’t say anything about it. He seemed to be rooted in thought.

“Are you confident that you can bore me?” His voice sounded calm and collected, but his eyes showed an intense passion. 

“Of course not.” You sunk lower in your seat while taking a sip from your new cocktail. That was your fifth in under two hours. New record.

“That’s your first mistake.” He firmly stated. He straightened his back when he realized you were intently looking up at him.

“What?” You asked him when he didn’t continue his inspiring monologue. 

“You need to be more confident. You need to believe you can bore me with your knowledge. You need to be convinced that I will look up words on google after our conversation.”

“Look, thank you for listening and helping, but you can’t help me with being reasonable.” You turned away from him, hoping this would end the tiring conversation.

“What do you need me to do?” His gaze lingered on you, but it didn’t feel awkward.

“Don’t be reasonable.” You simply stated with your fingers wrapped around your drink like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Is there anything else bothering you?” 

“I hate my job Baekhyun. Everything is bothering me.” You spit out, and you immediately regretted your tone. You might not have been the nicest to the young man, but he didn’t deserve the attitude you were serving right now. He didn’t seem fazed by your rudeness.

“Why don’t you just quit your job?” The question was so damn simple but was so much more complicated to answer.

“It’s not that easy.” You finally said.

“How come?” His eyes tried to find yours, but you were deliberately avoiding his gaze. You didn’t want to see his pity. 

“Because that would be my third failed career.”

“Some people need time to find out what they want to do in life. That’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m almost in my thirties, and I’ve accomplished nothing.”

“I hardly believe that. What is troubling you?”

“I check other people’s research. I bring them coffee, and let me tell you something: the coffee isn’t even that good. It’s terrible. I refuse to drink that tasteless brown liquid. They spend money on a fancy car to drive me to an event, but they can’t even spend money on a better coffee machine…”

“… I’ve lied to get this job. I told them I spoke French and that I had experience in investing. Like what the hell would I invest in? A shoe? My bank account never reaches anything above 100…” You were on a roll. Baekhyun had opened the gates of your personal hell: the inside of your brain.

“…And don’t get me started on Oh Sehun. He barely puts in any effort, and I’m not saying that I’m an angel in that department, but I at least try to understand the shit people are saying. All he does is play card games all day long, and try to suck up to people…”

“…My parents are also so proud of my new job, and they tell me that everyday. I can not just leave something when it makes my parents proud. I’m glad they forgot about the time I wanted to start my own catering business. I’m still paying off all the debt that stupid thing caused…” You continued with the word waterfall that came out of your mouth unwillingly. Why didn’t you just stop? Baekhyun didn’t care, but he kept listening to your rambling.

“…How was I supposed to know that family got bankrupt right after the wedding I catered? How was I supposed to know?…”

“…I never told my roommate I slept with her boyfriend the day after they broke up. What kind of person am I? Who does something like that?…” His eyes stayed on your face, never scanning your body, and you felt oddly comforted. 

“… Maybe I should give the coffeeshop guy a chance. He’s the only one willing to have sex with me when I wear these hideous and most importantly, boring outfits for work. He deserves an award for that, so I should just give to him right?…” He kept sipping from his drink while you had your meltdown, but he wasn’t judging. His eyes were unreadably, but there was no judgment in them. Of that, you were sure. 

“… My ex is engaged! Can you imagine? That’s my second ex-boyfriend who got engaged with the girl that came after me. I did all the hard work of training him to be better, and she just got it for free. Without fights or dirty stuff in the bathroom. How does that make me feel? Well, let me tell you, I feel like shit that everyone I date seems to find the one after we break up. I had to explain to him that cumin in me doesn’t equal me having an orgasm for crying out loud. I did that for the other girl …”

“… My colleague Mina is the biggest bitch in the office. Everyone likes her and adores her, but she’d walk all over them to get what she wants. She knows I don’t know anything about banking, so she always gives me the most difficult tasks. I think she wants to break me, but I wont. I water her plant with coffee sometimes. I want the plant to die…”

“… Why does the coffee suck at work? Why don’t they give us something better? Coffee is a basic thing, you know. I deserve some good coffee…” You looked into his eyes and realized you had just blurted out all your secrets to a stranger. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my problems.”

“I did ask what was troubling you.”

“I feel dizzy. I’m heading up. Until hopefully never.” You quickly got up and made your way to the elevator, ignoring Baekhyun’s calls. You were too embarrassed and too drunk to deal with him. You need sleep, and maybe a good cry. He tried to catch up to you in the elevator, but you pressed the button to close the doors. 

#exowritersnet #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun fic #baekhyun fanfic #exo fic #exo #exo fanfic #fanfic #fan fiction

[roaminginspiration]

The Empty Space Next to Me

Thank you for all your kind comments. Hope chapter 2 will live up to your expectations.

chap 1 (x) /  chap 3 (x) / chap 4 (x) / chap 5 (x) / chap 6 (x) / chap 7 (x) / chap 8 (x) / chap 9 (x) / chap 10 (x)

____________________________________

Chapter 2

Lying on the grass still damp from the dew and staring back quizzically at the familiar pair of gorgeous emerald eyes above him, Steve finds himself at a loss for words or explanations.

A warm tongue appears out of nowhere and sluggishly runs across his face. He looks sideways at the dog leaning over the side of his face.

Her features relax and she smiles.

“Looks like you got your kiss after all,” she jokes then motions to the dog to move away. “Come on, Riley.”

He doesn’t know what to think right now but he can see Natasha genuinely doesn’t recognize him. Or is it really Natasha? His emotions might have made him jump the gun. But before he allows disappointment to take hold of him and brushes hope away, he needs to investigate and find out who that woman is.

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head vehemently and gets on his feet. “I thought —”

“No harm done,” she brushes it off with a wave of the hand. “Are you here to have a room?”

He pats his hands over the back of his arms and looks up at her with a slightly surprised expression. Then he remembers…the guesthouse.

“Yes,” he trails off. “I haven’t made any reservation, though.”

It makes her smile. “We don’t do this, here. It’s not like we need to, anyway. It’s pretty quiet around here, you’ll get to see.”

A bird endorses it by singing loudly across the quiet meadow.

“Follow me?” she asks.

For her? Anywhere across the entire universe. He opens the door of the car and reaches for his bag. They head towards the porch where the paint on the fence is crackled all over; the wooden floor moans loudly as he steps on it. There is a wicker bench with a small round side table next to it. A few plant pots are lying at the end of the fence and along the floor against it.

She opens the door in a creaking sound and he is not surprised when he catches sight of the paper pinned on it which reads a handyman is wanted.

The atmosphere is inside is slightly different: old but in a quaint and cozy way. She goes straight up the stairs, down a long hall.

“This is Mrs. Miller’s room,” she points casually a door as she walks past it. “Lovely lady, although a little too outspoken for my sanity. Don’t worry about making noise, she’s a heavy sleeper.”

She finally stops to the last door and opens it. A bright room with light blue wallpaper, a King Size bed with a predominant navy-blue handmade quilt lying across the end of it — “quite fitting”, he thinks ironically.

“Breakfast is at 8. Dinner is at 7,” she recites with natural easiness as he steps inside and looks around. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” she adds.

He spins his head around with a mildly disconcerted expression. Part of him is afraid of losing her again; the other half is anxious to keep her in his sight, always.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

He gazes her intently. The scene feels bittersweet.

“Steve,” he answers. Steve will be enough for now.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us, Steve.”

“Thank you…,” he pauses.

Natasha smiles at him. “Katherine,” she says.

He nods to himself and watches her close the door of his room before disappearing.

He’s missing her again ten minutes later but represses the urge to go downstairs as he fears she will definitely label him a creep if he does.

He paces around the room instead of trying to make sense of the whole situation.

His patience comes to an end two hours later and he goes down to the living room. He finds an elderly woman sitting on the sofa in the patio, drinking herbal tea.

The woman, with elegant and soft features, witnesses of her beauty in her youth, and grey hair styled in a pixie haircut, takes her eyes off her book and probes him with a smile in the corner of her mouth.

“Hello, handsome,” she says assertively.

He pauses behind the armchair across from her.

“Pretty sure he has a name, Eliza,” her approaching voice echoes from another room. Natasha —Katherine— walks in, carrying a tray with a teapot. She pours him a cup as he sits down in the armchair.

The elderly woman shrugs nonchalantly. “I doubt it’ll be as spot-on.”

“My name is Steve,” he says quickly as Katherine pours more tea into the woman’s mug.

Eliza raises an eyebrow and shoots a winning look at her. “Didn’t I tell you so?”

He laughs nervously. Two pairs of eyes look in his direction.

The woman stretches her hand out to him.

“You’ll have to excuse me, we don’t get many people around here, and those who have preceded you weren’t such a riveting sight. My name’s Eliza Miller, as you might have guessed by now, I’m a blunt, grumpy retired woman, too old for societal manners imposed by our rigorous Republican government, itself born from the English Empire.”

Eliza eyes him intently. He blinks then reaches over to shake her hand.

Katherine rolls her eyes and quickly fills in the awkward silence. “She’s kidding.”

“I presume the tea is in sign of protest?” he comments with a smile.

“Well,” Eliza says as she holds her mug. “The English did leave some good things behind.”

She then turns to look up at Katherine still standing beside her. “I like him. Can we keep him?”

__________________________________

“You’ve lived here for long?” he asks Eliza over dinner.

The three of them are gathered around the large rectangle table. He is sitting across from Katherine, while Eliza is at the head next to them.

“I grew up here,” Eliza answers. “When I married Robert, I made him move here with me. He left the city for me, and I’m sure he was grateful to me for it although he was too stubborn to admit it.”

He and Katherine smile. “I’m not one of those delusional, blind to the truth, sentimental people, though. This poor house is slowly falling apart and there’s too much that needs to be done. I’m thankful to have Katherine to help.”

Katherine smiles sheepishly. “Anyone would like more pasta?” she asks.

“Katherine doesn’t like to be praised.”

“That’s because I would rather have a pay raise,” she teases.

“And I told you sweetie that I can only pay you with compliments. So please do accept them gracefully.”

Steve and Katherine chuckle.

“After the second Snap, I was all alone here, and Katherine’s arrival was like a blessing for the business. And in my life.”

He takes mental notes of this valuable piece of information. He wants to ask more but he somewhat feels Katherine is keeping an eye on him.

After dinner, he gets up and thanks the ladies for their company. While Katherine goes to tidy up the kitchen, he purloins her butter knife and hides it behind his back before rushing upstairs.

Back in his room, he uses his phone to scan the object for fingerprints and sends it to Friday. Now it is only a matter of hours before he gets the results. He sits on the edge of the bed and breathes out heavily.

He dreads the outcome of the situation.

He does not find sleep that night.

The next morning, he is down for breakfast slightly before 8. He sits at the kitchen and watches Katherine as she is turning off the coffee machine. She is wearing black jeans with a white top and an open checked shirt on top of it.

She flips around at the sound of the stool, grabs the jug of coffee, puts a mug in front of him before pouring the hot liquid in it.

“Good morning, Mr. Intense.” She says with a smile.

“Steve,” he answers.

Katherine props her shoulder on the counter and leans on her chin. He almost burns his tongue sipping the coffee.

“I know, but I like Mr. Intense better.” She eyes him intently. “So what did you come here for? I take it it’s not to discover the area.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Why not?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know…a hunch. Also your car and your shiny shoes. You don’t look like the type of person who’s come for a budget break.”

“I came here to find someone,” he says.

She looks intrigued and her eyes seem to light up. “Friend? Family?”

“Both. It’s complicated,” he pauses. “Perhaps you can help?”

Katherine smiles earnestly and stands back up straight. “I won’t be of much help. I’m not the best-suited person.”

“Because you’re new in the area?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” she laughs nervously. “It’s a long and weird story.”

“I’ve got time,” he says with an earnest gaze.

“I…,” she begins, scratching the inside of her lower arm. “I woke up in the middle of the woods without any memory. Since it was after the Second Snap, it was assumed that I was one of the dusted. A few bills were put around but nobody came forward. I needed a job and I was told about this place. And voilà.”

She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She is so anxious to avoid eye contact she doesn’t notice his eyes are gleaming.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs softly. “It mustn’t have been easy.”

He knows he has been right to believe it is her all along. His eyes can recognize her anywhere, even when hers don’t recognize him back.

“It happens. The sheriff said my relatives probably moved elsewhere during the five-year gap but I doubt it. I think I’ve always been alone.”

He furrows his brows.

“Why?”

She diligently wipes the sink with the sponge. “Because they would have come back for me right after the Second Snap. They would have tried everything in their power to find me.”

He wants to reach for her hand and hold it. He wants to pull her in and kiss her ardently for every second he has missed her. He wants her to feel loved and wanted.

“That’s why I was a Jane Doe,” she finishes, turning back to him with a perfectly crafted smile. “Except Jane was boring, so I went for Katherine instead. Katherine Doe.”

“How do you feel about not knowing who you were? You didn’t try to go and look for answers yourself?”

She turns her attention back on the pancake pan.

“I don’t consider myself unlucky. There are sadder stories — we are all dealing with it in our own ways. I like it here. Maybe I was not much of a traveler in my former life. Maybe I am just where I belong.”

She smiles and serves the hot pancakes with syrup and Eliza calls her name upstairs. He watches her leave the kitchen and hers her footsteps on the creaking staircase.

His phone beeps inside his pocket. He takes it out and freezes as he looks at the screen. His eyes fill up with tears and he buries his chin into his palm, as the dripping faucet fills in the silence in the kitchen.

FINGERPRINT SCAN: 100% MATCH

“It has been cleansed and made anew before departing,” Red Skulls said and he misunderstood the meaning of the words. Her soul has not departed to another dimension, it had already left Vormir when he got there.

Katherine uses the old red Chevy to go and run some errands. Riley barking outside a couple of hours later informs him that she has returned.

When she steps in with her grocery bag, she seems to shine brighter. He has no doubt that the woman standing here is his teammate, his loyal friend, and the girl he loves.

He clears his throat nervously. “Can we talk?”

She looks at him with a candid smile — he can see how Katherine’s smiles are different from Natasha. He can see how her eyes no longer carry the sorrow that haunted Nat’s. Her soul is lighter indeed. Relieved. Released from a heavy burden.

“Sure. Do you mind accompanying as I take Riley for a walk?”

He nods. They walk in silence for many minutes until they reach a large lake whose surface glitters under the sunlight. Finding the right words turn out to be more difficult than he thought, regardless of the two hours he had to get prepared.

She is patiently waiting, watching Riley run ahead then back with the same enthusiasm and energy.

“I said before that I came here to find someone,” he begins. “And I have found that person. It’s you.”

He pauses and turns to face her. She eyes him with a puzzled look.

“I know who you are. And I know how you got here.”

She probes him for a while and her eyes fill up with tears.

“Your name is Natasha Romanoff and you’re an Avenger,” he breathes out. “And you are my friend.”

Her red hair shines under the warm sunlight.

“Maybe there is confusion. I doubt I’m an Avenger.”

He looks at her with an unwavering expression. “You are. And you saved us all. We won because of you. You were never one of the dusted and I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. We were sure we had lost you forever.”

She puts her hand over her stomach. “Ok. That is a lot to take in.” She looks at her surroundings as if she’s feeling it fade away in front of her.

“Why did I wake up here, then?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

She insists to know how everything happened. Steve goes through the painful events of Vormir and her noble sacrifice. She listens with great attention and heightened emotions which, he notices, wane shortly after. It seems to him she is bottling up everything and storing it as far away from her as possible.

She says she wants to go back to the house. The whole walk back, she doesn’t a word and he watches her with muffled concern out of the corner of his eye. When they make it back inside, she rushes to her room upstairs and stays in there for hours.

When he goes to the dining room for dinner, the meal is ready but she is absent. Eliza says she went to bed early — she seems unaware of the whole situation.

After dinner, he walks past her room and stands there for a minute, hesitant to knock. He respects her decision and goes to his bed with a sullen heart.

The next morning, he finds her playing with Riley outside. She seems to be her lively and carefree self again. He comes out to speak to her.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m ok, I guess.”

He nods.

“The arrangements can be made in a matter of hours to go back to the compound.”

She stops playing with the dog. “I don’t want to go to the compound.”

“Of course, I understand. I can book you a hotel if you’re not comfortable to—”

“I don’t want to go back there,” she corrects in a decisive voice.

“But it’s your home. I think it will do you good to see everyone and Clint. It will help you remember.”

“Well that’s the ting,” she says. “I don’t think I’ll remember, and I’m saying this beyond the whole outer space Soul Stone magic involved. I don’t want to remember.”

He walks down the stairs of the porch. “What? Why?”

She sighs and looks at him. “Look at me. Look at my life. I am nothing like the super spy the world knows. I’m a completely different person. Romanoff…she scares me.”

“You’re a hero. You died to save half the Universe. We never would have won without you.”  

“And I some googling and read the files. She has done terrible things,” she pauses, “I have done terrible things.”

“And you have done everything to make up for it,” he defends her. He has witnessed Natasha buy her redemption on too many occasions to let it be overlooked by anyone — even herself. “You worked hard to become a better person.”

“Exactly,” she retorts. “From what you’ve told me all I ever wanted was to wipe off the red on my ledger and I paid the price for it to happen. And now it seems the Universe has given me a second chance, a clean slate. So tell me, Rogers, why would I want to go back to battling my old demons? I paid my due and was offered a new start. This is why I woke up here —not in New York— so far away from the avenging world. I’m sure you can see it, too, how it cannot be a coincidence.”

It’s true — he’s been wondering the same thing since he got here.

“We don’t know how the Soul stone works,” he attempts with a noticeable lack of certainty.

“I deserve peace, now. Call it my retirement,” she finishes.

Honking echoes from the path and a tall, dark man with lean figure steps out of the car and beams at her.

“Kate,” the man calls her with a wave.

She heads off towards him.

“Natasha,” Steve whispers.

She shoots him a hard look. “It’s Katherine, now.”

She turns around with a flipped expression. She walks up to the man with a serene smile. As she comes up to him, he leans in and plants a kiss on her lips with she receives in a routine way.

Both depart, leaving Steve as his world shatters around him.

#romanogers #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #Black Widow #Captain America #stevenat #capwidow #captasha #steve x natasha #writing #fanfic #inneedofinspiration #the empty space next to me

[dustedmagazine]

The Dusted Mid-Year Exchange: 2018 Edition, Part 1

In our fifth annual switcheroo, Dusted writers review each other’s favorite records, venturing out of the genres where they feel most comfortable to wrestle with excellence outside their frame of reference.  As always, assignments were made at random with the only rules being: a) you can’t review your own pick and b) you can’t review something you’ve already written about for Dusted.  

Unlike in past years, there was no clear favorite in 2018, although artists including Marisa Anderson, Olden Yolk, DJ Koze and Kacey Musgraves made multiple lists.  And perhaps most heartening, a number of writers amended their mid-year favorites after listening to other writers’ picks.  We hope you’ll also be able to find some new favorites among the artists we highlight.

Today, we’ll run the first half of the mid-year blurbs (alphabetically) from Marisa Anderson to Joelle Leandre & Elisabeth Harnik.  We’ll cover the second half of the alphabet tomorrow, then close our feature with individual writers’ best of lists through the first half.

Marisa Anderson — Cloud Corner (Thrill Jockey)

Cloud Corner by Marisa Anderson

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Who recommended it? Eric McDowell

Did we review it? Not yet, but it’s assigned.  

Ben Donnelly’s take:

"Slow Ascent" is one of the titles in Anderson's latest batch of profound electric guitar explorations. It's a good phrase to summarize her career and style, hiking higher with each release, wandering further from the trails. For the second time, she's tracking a few extra instruments into her miniatures without disrupting the solitude, keyboards and acoustic strings mostly matching the cracks and chime of her main axe. Her fingerpicking has a fractal aspect, where intricate and rapid patterns can create a cycle that's relaxed and gradual, as on the title track and other lilting numbers. "Lament," a slide blues with a dissipating tempo and skeletal keyboard notes is forceful in its minimalism. She's becoming a master of small contrasts. Nowhere better than the closer "Lift,” where folks sounds step aside for a plucky scale that spirals up, offset by sweeps that sound like brushing the harp of an open-lidded grand piano, but take focus as a harmonized electric. Her brilliance is ever more in focus.

 The Armed — Only Love (Throatruiner)

ONLY LOVE by The Armed

Who recommended it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes. Jonathan Shaw said, “The Armed will likely be delighted by the divisive responses Only Love generates.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

You almost wish for anyone who’s potentially up for the Armed’s pummelling, exuberant, often frantic, tremendously maximalist take on hardcore and assorted associated genres to come to the record totally blind, and not just because “Witness” comes leaping out of the gates so forcefully. It can be fun to start digging around and register all the distancing tactics, purposeful obfuscation, sense of play, and weird links (to everything from Converge to, err, Rubicam and Young), but the visceral impact of Only Love is powerful enough that all that context should be saved for later. It’s one thing to start filling in context, it’s another thing to hear something as ferocious and compelling as “Role Models” (“NO INS! NO OUTS!” yell-chanted in a way I’m pretty sure even little kids would find appealing, if you could sneak this synth-spiked bomb past their parents) in the context of trying to figure out the game, if there is indeed a game here. After the roiling chaos of the first few listens subsides the sheer number of hooks packed inside these songs really settle in your mind, anchored by Ben Koller’s incredible drumming (possibly commissioned on false pretences) and just as adept at etching out a multi-part climax like the seething “On Jupiter” as just full-on sprinting on the likes of “Heavily Lined.” And then there’s “Fortune’s Daughter,” maybe the strongest earworm I’ve encountered yet in 2018. Who are the Armed and what are they up to? It’s not that I’m not interested in the answer to that kind of question, it’s more that as long as they keep making records as good as Only Love I’m happy to believe whatever they tell us (or don’t).

 Bardo Pond — Volume 8 (Fire)

Volume 8 by Bardo Pond

Who recommended it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes, Jennifer said, “The sound, vast and muscularly monolithic as ever, seems more like a demon summoned periodically from a ring of fire than the product of any sort of linear development.”

Isaac Cooper’s take:

Like fellow travelers Yo La Tengo’s There’s A Riot Going On, Bardo Pond’s Volume 8 is stitched together from jam excerpts and spare parts, but unlike Riot, Volume 8 is remarkably cohesive and propulsive. Even at its droniest and spaciest, there is no shortage of momentum or sense that Volume 8 is a collection of barrel scrapings to tide over the diehards; it stands with any of Bardo Pond’s releases. The guitars on “Kailash” and “Flayed Wish” howl and wail like Lear on the heath, while the rhythm section pushes on, determined as Sisyphus. Two shorter pieces, “Power Children” and the gorgeous solo guitar piece “Cud,” act as a brief respite before the entropic and monstrously heavy closer, “And I Will”. Musical improvisation is one of the best means we have of tapping into the murky world of the unconscious, and Volume 8 demonstrates that while there’s plenty of chaos and darkness down there, it’s also the source of inspiration and transcendence.

 Cut Worms — Hollow Ground (Jagjaguwar)

Hollow Ground by Cut Worms

Who recommended it? Ben Donnelly

Did we review it? Not yet...

Patrick Masterson’s take:

“Amid all the noise nowadays, there’s precious little that still makes me feel the way those peoples’ songs do, and aspiring to reach that level is a big part of what makes me do this to begin with.” This is Cut Worms’ Max Clarke in a charmingly earnest Medium interview last fall on some of his biggest influences – John Lennon, Bob Dylan, Lou Reed. Maybe you’ve heard of them; maybe you’ve heard of the level of cultural influence they have exerted on us all. And if you’ve heard the Alien Sunset EP that was released just after the interview ran, you’ll easily be able to see where Clarke was coming from in the time that he spent putting the homespun eight-track wonder together, splitting halves between Chicago and his current Brooklyn home. It’s a beautiful record that doesn’t overplay its hand, choosing instead to let the simplicity of his natural ear for a melody do the talking despite the humble recording quality. He was never going to reach the mythical heights of his influences plying away at that trade forever, of course, but his art was all the better for sounding so self-assured in its limitations.

Hollow Ground, however, is a Trojan Horse of the most exhausting variety. Those same reference points – the Beatles, Dylan, solo Reed – still apply, only here they spring forth in an aggressively augmented form with a backing band and a more fleshed-out sound that’s like saying, “Alexa, give me every pop music trend of the 60s at once” or, more accurately, like listening to someone too young to have experienced the decade but old enough to be familiar with its most basic cultural signifiers play an album’s worth of icons. How do we know? Check the new versions of Alien Sunset’s “Don’t Want to Say Good-Bye” and “Like Going Down Sideways”; they’re wholly different, coldly unlovable remakes of the intimate originals. Even his lyrics feel unconvincing; Clarke uses the pet name “baby” on 60% of the songs here, which, look: I don’t need to stare into a wordless void with Bill Basinski to feel something and there’s an evident surplus of genuinely touching heartache present, but that’s an affectation of the most irritatingly trite variety.

For a certain kind of person, Max Clarke is the perfect person; for that person, Hollow Ground will resonate simply, perfectly. I am not that person. I will never listen to this again – likely not individual songs, certainly not in full. Does that seem unduly harsh? Does it feel too personal? Does the cut worm forgive the plow? Guess we’ll see. Ask again when there’s a follow-up.

  Sarah Davachi— Let Night Come on Bells End the Day (Recital)

Who recommended it? Bryan Daly

Did we review it? No

Bill Meyer’s take:

Sarah Davachi puts out albums often enough that it’s hard to catch up, so please cut Dusted some slack for not getting to Let Night Come on Bells End the Day until now. The Canadian composer and multi-instrumentalist has followed All My Circles Run, an all-acoustic minimalist chamber piece, with an overdubbed solo recording for electric organ, acoustic piano, Mellotron and synthesizers. Like some ecclesiastic initiate, she has followed a solitary path to arrive at a place that is one with the cosmos. Her slow-morphing tones, incremental melodies, and exquisitely voiced harmonies don’t just sound like they should be played in a chapel; they erect a virtual space around the listener that only lets the ineffable through.  If Andrei Tarkovsky was still around, he might be writing a movie to wrap around these sounds.

  DJ Koze — Knock Knock (Pampa Records)

Who recommended it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? Yes. Jennifer Kelly said it “has a humid, organic air, even its most rigorously electronic tracks seething with jungle-y vitality and caressing warmth.”  

Ian Mathers’ take:

Like a lot of his peers, DJ Koze has been active and prolific for years without ever putting out that much in the way of “proper” albums, which probably goes some way towards explaining why Knock Knock, only his third, sounds so relaxed, confident and casually accomplished. With stellar vocal turns by everyone from Lambchop’s Kurt Wagner to folkie José González to Róisín Murphy (who’s rarely put her imperious purr to better effect than on the two perfectly-matched tracks she’s on here), 16 tracks in total and a lengthy running time, Knock Knock feels like a bit of a Statement from the producer. Which makes it maybe even more impressive that some of the best stuff here (like the sad jam “Pick Up” with its perfectly deployed vocal sample, or the almost-Avalanches style “Baby (How Much I LFO You)”) is just Koze without a high-profile guest vocalist. The whole thing has a friendly warmth and subtle propulsiveness that makes for compulsive listening; if this isn’t Koze at the peak of his powers, it sure feels like it could be.

 Tashi Dorji and Tyler Damon — Leave No Trace: Live in St. Louis (Family Vineyard)

Leave No Trace: Live In St. Louis by Tashi Dorji & Tyler Damon

Who recommended it? Isaac Olson

Did we review it? Yes, Isaac said, "While these performances are undoubtedly chaotic, they never feel purposeless.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

That guitarist Tashi Dorji and percussionist Tyler Damon have a limitless supply of ideas isn't surprising, but it's remarkable how well they've organized them into sensible packages on Leave No Trace: Live in St. Louis. Neither of the quarter-hour tracks here are exactly linear, but they do progress both coherently and unhaltingly. “Leave No Trace” offers the most noise, with the first half of the piece continuously crescendoing. The disappearance of one artist or the other simply means the soloist has more volume to cover. The pair spend the last two minutes together, Damon crashing away while Dorji sounds like two guitarists fitting blips together.

“Calm the Shadows” works differently. While not a suite, the song comes in sections, with Dorji and Damon filling in an outline as they go. The pair respond to each other, and work mutually on an unpredictable but discernable path. The slow build to the noisy section lets the chaos function as a thesis statement with the back half of the track the understanding of what to do with it. Dorji's pointed playing through that section answers the early rumble without making anything easier. Damon's sounds complete the thought. When “Leave No Trace” works so hard to slowly heap sounds before smashing through it all, the effect is amplified but the control of its predecessor. Dorji and Damon are a few albums in now and, while there wasn't much doubt from the start, they seem to be working in a rare place right now.

 Holland/Parker/Taborn/Smith—Uncharted Territories (Dare2 Records) 

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Not yet.

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

It feels like a math puzzle. How many distinct ensembles including duos, trios and quartets can be formed out of four musicians?  But hearing it in practice as master bassist Dave Holland, free jazz titan Evan Parker, pianist Craig Taborn and drummer-vibe-ist Ches Smith assemble and disassemble into improvisatory groups is quite another thing. “Trio No Tenor” on disc one takes a luminous shimmer from jangling metallic percussion, abstract interpolations of piano and the shape-shifting tone of plucked, hanging bass tones. “Duo Bass Tenor” on disc two is far more fluid and contemplative, as long bowed bass notes underline the fluttering explorations of sax; its two old friends finding space in each other’s musings, darting in to challenge and interject and locating points of agreement even in occasional dissonance. The quartets, though, are the most astonishing, (I like #5 from Disc 2), as extraordinary, unruly energies careen off one another, extemporizing, reacting, reaching over and in between each other in a dense mesh of sound that seems, nonetheless, uncrowded and precisely choreographed. Only three cuts were composed ahead, the rest worked out in two days of live improvisation. Uncharted indeed.

 Quin Kirchner — The Other Side of Time (Astral Spirits)

The Other Side of Time by Quin Kirchner

Who recommended it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? Yes, Eric McDowell said: “ Kirchner sidesteps novelty and navel-gazing by putting pyrotechnics second to, well, music.”  

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Kirchner leads from behind on this sprawling two LP solo debut, his drumming feverishly hot but held in check so that others — saxophonist Nate Lepine, bass clarinet player Jason Stein, trombonist Nick Broste and Matt Ulery — can take the spotlight. Interplay between the two reed players is intricately, acrobatically fine. In opener “Ritual,” Lepine jets off with Stein in hot, asynchronous pursuit, Kirchner executing a furiously syncopated undertow, part samba shuffle, part continually exploding roll. “Brainville,” the Sun Ra cover, swings and swaggers, bass and drums in arch, stylized conversation. Kirchner is, maybe a drummer’s drummer, but this is not a drummer’s record, except on two lovely, timbrally varied “Drums & Tines” tracks, where layers of kit rhythms and kalimba intersect in fascinating geometric patterns. Kirchner clearly reveres another band leader whose instrument didn’t always occupy the top of the mix; Mingus’ “Self-Portrait Three Colors” cuts the drums to brush-on-snares, while giving Broste a chance to wail, the two reedists to evoke lush dance-hall sensualism, the bassist to pluck out dark blots of body-moving tone. Kirchner is not the façade, but the architect and also the guy who holds up the building.

 Joelle Leandre & Elisabeth Harnik — Tender Music (Trost Records)

Tender Music by Joelle Leandre / Elisabeth Harnik

Who recommended it? Eric McDowell

Did we review it?  No

Isaac Olson’s take:

The best part of listening to improvised music is hearing the moment when the musicians lock in and the music takes on a life of its own, when the thrill of discovery dissolves the boundaries between performer and audience. There are many such moments on Tender Music, an improvised set from bassist Joelle Leandre and pianist Elisabeth Harnik. A few examples: the swelling tension that emerges at the one and a half minute mark of “Ear Area I,” the rising anxiety and tentative conclusion of “Ear Area IV”’s final minute, and the march that closes out “Ear Area VI”. Between these peaks, Leandre and Harnik evoke Cecil Taylor, Morton Feldman, blues, bop, classical and more, sometimes all within the space of two or three minutes. Fortunately, Leandre and Harnik are attentive enough players that their restlessness never comes at the cost of coherence. Leandre and Harnik are formidable soloists whose use of extended techniques coax ear-tickling, unexpected timbres from their instruments, but it is when they’re playing together, and more or less “normally,” that Tender Music is at its best, that the melodic and rhythmic invention of both players shines brightest, and that they’re able to speak to each other, and to us, most clearly.

#marisa anderson #the armed #bardo pond #cutworms #sarah davachi #dusted magazine #mid-year 2018 #dj koze #tashi dorji #tyler damon #dave holland #evan parker #craig taborn #ches smith #quin kirchner #joelle leandre #elisabeth harnik #midyear

[projectalbum]

All the best. 200. “Accelerate,” 201. “Collapse Into Now,” 202. “Unplugged 1991/2001: The Complete Sessions” by R.E.M.

After exhaustive touring, a greatest hits disc, and a dud album, the lovable lads from Athens, R.E.M., wisely took some time to figure things out before regrouping.

The four-year absence didn’t register with me, as I was collecting the back catalogue during that break. As far as I was concerned, new material was everywhere I looked, filling up my burgeoning record collection as I finished high school and started making my way through college. By the time Accelerate (#200) burst onto the scene in March 2008, I was a junior in film school, about to attend my first documentary festival. I put aside an extra $15 from my work study job to pick up the CD the day of release— the first time I’d been able to perform that record store* ritual for my favorite band. *(Though I didn’t have access to any record stores at the time, so it was likely procured from the closest Wal-Mart.) 

Fast, lean, gritty, produced by a guy who goes by “Jacknife,” this set of songs could not be more of a deliberate course-correction from the overly fussy, mid-tempo Around The Sun. Peter Buck’s skills on the axe, often mixed way down on the previous album, here announce Accelerate's punk-ish purpose in the intro to “Living Well is the Best Revenge,” leading off with a dexterous riff before the drums come trampling in. Stipe spits furiously, with the best use of his full-throated tenor since New Adventures in Hi-Fi, and the rare bar to inspire a Fuck Yeah fist-pump: "Don't set your talking points on me / History will set me free / The future's ours and you don't even rate a footnote.” Recorded and released in the tail-end of the Bush years, there are unmistakable references, drawn in anger and in weariness, to the emotional tolls of that reign.

“If the storm doesn’t kill me, the government will,” Stipe muses at the top of “Houston,” a hair over 2 minutes but suffused with poignancy. It’s an acoustically-driven Western-tinged ballad that hearkens back to “Swan Swan H” or “Monty Got A Raw Deal,” but here the drums are splashy and blown-out, the organ serves a bleating counterpoint to the vocal, and bowed electric guitar bleeds through into the verses, serious as storm clouds. The intriguing production choices are what mark it as the Accelerate twist on familiar R.E.M. tropes. The chorus: “Houston is filled with promise / Laredo's a beautiful place / Galveston sings like that song that I love / Its meaning has not been erased” is stirring, as if to absolve the Lone Star state for spawning the political dynasty that led to 2 disastrous presidencies. "Belief has not filled me / And so I am put to the test” are the last words before distortion drowns out the melody like a fatal wave. The song has never left my head.

“Until The Day Is Done” is a more familiar flavor of the band’s earnest political identity— it even ended up scoring a CNN-produced piece on environmental issues. The lyrics approach the first two verses of Leonard Cohen’s “Everybody Knows” in reflecting a distressing capitalist landscape, and to read them is to find that the “business-first flat earthers” have only doubled-down in the decade since the song was released. But the lack of idiosyncrasies leaves us with a folky protest song, and it has a tendency to become oatmeal to the ear, nestled amongst the bolder sonic moments.

By which I mean the muscular guitar sounds and fast n’ furious arrangements on tracks like “Man-Sized Wreath,” “Accelerate,” “Horse To Water”— the revitalized band blowing up the electronic, art school solemnity of the preceding Bill Berry-less records. I remember I once put on Accelerate during a day of recording drive-by b-roll footage with some new coworkers, who enthused, “We were a little worried when you said you were gonna play R.E.M…. but this is really good!” I just glided past the implied criticism and took the positive note.

In early 2011, songs for their follow-up began to be released on YouTube and rolled out by the pop culture press. I’ll admit I was underwhelmed by what I heard. Accelerate’s novelty, its flouting of the band’s cliches, had me expecting another quantum leap in a wild direction. Collapse Into Now (#201) was feeling more like a greatest hits mashup.

“Discoverer” at times sounds like an interpolation of “Man-Sized Wreath” (compare the chorus of the former to the verses of the latter.) That exultant wordless harmonizing on “It Happened Today” is straight from “Belong” on Out of Time (plus special guest Eddie Vedder.) “Blue,” the closing track, takes equal parts New Adventures’ “E-Bow The Letter” (dark grinding minor key, Beat poetry, plus Patti Smith-voiced chorus) and Out of Time's “Country Feedback” (the chords sound similar, and the aching Peter Buck solo is back). I’d never before been able to identify the sonic inspirations so easily. However, for all my creeping dissatisfaction, as a true fanboy I knew the record would grow on me. The prophecy was indeed fulfilled.

The song that most represented the sound of a modern-day R.E.M. was “Mine Smell Like Honey.” It was unmistakably them, with the inscrutable lyrics, Michael in gravel-throated rock mode, a Mike Mills vocal harmony line designed to carry its own trajectory while lifting up the chorus, Buck with an indelible riff that doesn’t show off for its own sake— but it would fit right on modern rock radio in 2011, if that still existed. I had another one of my Best Buy PA system epiphanies, clicking this track into place, proving sometimes you need some huge speakers with good bass to truly experience certain songs. In a similar mode, “That Someone Is You” rockets by in under 2 minutes; a live-in-the-room ode to the feeling of meeting that exciting new person who'll lift you out of the mud. 

The mid-tempo balladry is back as well, diversifying the sound from the previous release. In “Oh My Heart,” a direct sequel to “Houston,” Stipe croons a New Orleans spiritual with "a new take on faith," while Buck's mandolin comes out of retirement for another sweet, sad melody, and Mills fills in the mournful choir. As with the song’s predecessor, it’s a high-point in the track listing that moves me whenever I hear it.

Before I had warmed to Collapse Into Now, I comforted myself with the idea that New LP equaled New Tour. I could finally catch my favorite band live! They told the press they had no plans to tour behind the record. Odd, but they were an institution, so they could take a pause. I’d recently witnessed Paul McCartney tearing through his hits in person, and he’d already blown past age 64. Then in September 2011, R.E.M. announced they had decided to “call it a day as a band”— a phrase designed to wave away the idea of Beatles-esque acrimony. I was, you can probably imagine, more than a little heartbroken. The previous tour had come within 2-and-a-half hours of my town back in ’08. At that point in my life, that seemed like a hassle: why not wait, see if they made it a little closer next time? Now, I wish I had put in the extra effort.

With this announcement, the sense of Collapse as R.E.M.’s tribute album to themselves came into focus. Stipe is even waving goodbye, for god’s sake, on the first album cover photo to clearly feature the faces of the whole band since 1985’s Fables of the Reconstruction. "It's just like me to overstay my welcome, bless” he sings with sheepish glee on “All The Best.” Shrouded by the spirit-radio-filtered effect of his “Blue” recitation comes his clearest statement of purpose: "I want Whitman proud. Patti Lee proud. My brothers proud. My sisters proud. I want me. I want it all,” and then Patti Lee (Smith), one of his earliest lead singer inspirations, draws the narrative to a close… before the ringing jangle of opener “Discoverer” reprises and concludes. The book’s been closed shut… but the story of the band’s music continues.

There was the inevitable plundering of the vaults. An over-arching Best Of record, finally combining songs from the I.R.S. and WB catalogues (didn’t buy it), with 3 brand new recordings (they’re ok). Two digital-only “Complete Rarities” collections, encompassing hours of b-sides and soundtrack cuts (lotta great stuff, but this week WB removed all of theirs from Spotify, so I’m pretty perturbed).

In 2014, 3 years into my mourning period, they announced Unplugged 1991/2001 (#202), a 2-CD set of their appearances on the MTV show where bands play intimate, stripped-down acoustic sets… you know, in front of multiple TV cameras capturing every angle. Now this got me excited, maybe more than I had been for their swan song record— Bob Dylan Unplugged, Paul McCartney Unplugged, and The Unplugged Collection Vol. 1 had all got a lot of play in my home through the years. Other than my favorite version of “Half A World Away” closing out the Vol. 1 compilation, and a burned, hand-labeled CD-R I had once glimpsed on a coffee table during a realtor’s house tour, recordings of R.E.M.’s appearance on the show didn’t seem to exist until now. I pre-ordered that bad boy.

The set is a snapshot of two very different eras for the band: Disc 1 features them on the cusp of superstardom fueled by Out Of Time’s success, with the classic lineup of Berry/Buck/Mills/Stipe and support from Peter Holsapple. Disc 2 finds them down to a three-piece, supporting Reveal, a record that never got its due, with their frequent contributors Scott McCaughey and Joey Waronker filling out the sound. “Losing My Religion” is on both discs, of course, from the bright new hit that pumps up the crowd to a warmly-recieved old friend.

The treat in hearing these shows is also two-fold. There’s the way that familiar tunes get adapted to the setting: “It’s The End of the World...” is transformed into a Friday night Americana hoe-down, while “The One I Love” is slowed down to a gritty lament with a slightly varied vocal melody. After the 2nd chorus and an instrumental bridge in “Country Feedback,” Stipe folds lines from Dylan's “Like A Rolling Stone” into the tune, a goosebump-inspiring moment.

Then there’s the added benefit of songs that I’d once slept on revealing their power in the live arrangements. The 2001 show closes with several tracks from Reveal, and free of all electronic touches, the choruses of “Disappear” and “Beat A Drum,” well, revealed themselves to me, becoming new earworms and spawning a personal reevaluation of the album. “Find The River” had once been a pleasant-enough closer on Automatic For The People, but a step down from the iconic “Nightswimming” that precedes it. Now it’s a new favorite, and I’m prone to singing it loud with embarrassing over-earnestness.

With the band truly well and dissolved (and no cynical cash-grab “reunion tours” planned, those damn jerks and their integrity), the repackaging of older material is the only avenue left for unheard R.E.M. music. The studio albums are greeting their landmark anniversaries with special editions: Automatic’s 25th was recently celebrated with various configurations of physical release, including one with a disc of demos and a 5.1 surround sound Blu-ray that I WILL possess one day, damnit! Just this week, their social media team announced a sprawling set of BBC sessions and interviews, hopefully to be made available on streaming services in addition to the fancy 9-disc set (I know, sacrilege in my blog about physical media, but space is at a premium and I haven’t even COVERED the live DVDs and music video collections I already have of these guys).

There’s even a podcast exclusively about the band! The exceedingly silly interplay between Scott Aukerman and Adam Scott was enough to get me to listen to several eps of their previous U2-centric show (a band that I’m fairly positive towards), so "R U Talkin’ R.E.M. RE: ME?,” in which they go album-by-album through the discography, was appointment listening from the jump. I couldn’t help but sprinkle inside jokes from the podcast into my first entry. Fuckin’ stoked!

It’s hard to articulate how much R.E.M.’s music has meant to me. There’s undeniable power in finding art when you’re young and unsteady. To ally yourself with a favorite band, especially one that clearly creates from a place of conscience and empathy, is to find a solid stone floor that supports you when you’re at your most weighted down. It’s easy for me to hold onto nearly 2 dozen discs because there’s so much variety. They could uplift, interrogate the status quo, offer humor or succor or an outlet for the uncertainty we struggle with. Michael Stipe sang about identity, queerness, nature, hypocrisy, anger, tenderness, artists, politicians, outsiders, expressive freedom, and quiet contemplation. These lyrics came from what he saw and felt but they were conjured by the instrumentals constructed by Peter Buck, Mike Mills, and for years Bill Berry. Jangle-rock or country-western or chamber pop or folk or glam or electronica— they busted through genres with grace and power; immutability was not an option. They couldn’t finish a record until Michael had the words; Michael had their blueprint on tape to fill his ears until the images flowed.

“Here’s a little agit for the never believer / Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah / Here’s a little ghost for the offering,” Stipe sang in his 11th hour, one-take performance of “Man On The Moon.” Now I offer a 20-song Document of the R.E.M. songs that mean the most to me at this moment. It nearly killed me to whittle it down, and your favorite probably isn’t on it. The song I just quoted isn’t even on it! But that’s the power of R.E.M., where the subjective experience rules all.

#R.E.M. #michael stipe #peter buck #Mike Mills #Accelerate #collapse into now #unplugged #mtv unplugged #man on the moon #album cover #cd #cd collection #music blog #rock #alternative #pop #album art

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

For life, yeah?

Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017 for @frank-iero-owns-my-ass! The prompt was:  Mickey coaxing Ian through a particularly depressive week, it's lasted longer than usual and Ian won't come around. Ian is secretly afraid Mickey will leave him if he keeps up his manic episodes, but he feels so helpless, as does Mickey in trying to help him. Mickey pov (general guidelines, feel free to change it, im so easy to please) So here is my interpretation and I really hope you like it :) Also a huge thank you to @gallavichthings for organising this whole thing. xx

Mickey hisses through his teeth as he runs his bloody knuckles under the stream of cold water.

“Mother fucker!”

He grits out through pursed lips and flexes his hand experimentally. It’s going to bruise like a bitch but he doesn’t think anything is broken. Thank fuck for that! Ian is going to be pissed enough without adding a hospital bill. He keeps his hand submerged for a couple more minutes and then carefully wraps it in a mostly clean towel and returns to the scene of the crime.

Yev turns away from the carnage as his Papa approaches and looks up at Mickey with large, sympathetic eyes, sucking in his lower lip.

“Ah shit.”

Mickey groans, surveying the damage for himself.

“Shit, Papa.”

Yev agrees sombrely. Mickey nods and mimics the little boy’s lip movement. Though now is not the moment for taking a photo, if anyone was there to do so, it would serve as an excellent paternity test if there was any doubt left as to who fathered Yevgeny. They are two frowning, blue-eyed peas in a South Side pod.

“Daddy is gonna be super mad.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey nods grimly already thinking about the sheer level of jutting chin he’s going to have to deal with for this one. He squats down beside his five year old and Yev wordlessly hands him the broken controller. Mickey runs his thumb over the cracked plastic and floppy toggle sticks. It wasn’t Ian’s remote thank God, but it’s still going to be an expense they could do without. The re-run of the K.O that caused the meltdown is still playing on the TV.

“Your hand okay?”

Yev asks, rocking up onto the balls of his feet to see the rather impressive swell of bloody knuckles his Papa is sporting.

“Hurts a bit.”

Mickey admits and glances up at the fist shaped hole in the wall. From this angle it looks even worse.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Yev agrees again and puts a comforting arm around his Papa’s shoulders. Mickey gives him a little lopsided smile and stands up, lifting Yevgeny with him and settling the boy on his hip. Yev raises his eyebrows at his Papa and flicks his gaze to the broken plasterwork.

“What are we gonna tell Daddy?”

“That I lost my shit and busted the wall I guess.”

Mickey shrugs.

“Are you gonna get a spanking?”

“Maybe, little man. Maybe.”

Mickey laughs despite himself and Yev bites his lip in consternation. He has never been spanked but has been threatened with it a couple of times and he understands the general principle of it well enough to know it is to be avoided at all costs. He looks back at the wall over Papa’s shoulder as Mickey carries him out of the room.

“We could fix it?”

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to fix it. But, hey, listen, you get that what I just did was really bad, right? We ain’t supposed to throw toys.”

“Or stamp on them.”

“Right.”

“Or punch things.”

“No …”

Mickey grimaces as Yev continues to tick things off on his fingers

“Or say cuss words really loud.”

“Okay...”

“Or …”

“I think you got it, little man. Good job!”

Mickey kisses his son’s forehead and stands him down in the kitchen, handing the kid a chocolate chip cookie. Yev isn’t supposed to have sugary snacks before lunch but when Mickey acts out in front of him, which doesn’t happen as often as most would expect, but more often than he likes to admit, he always feels like he needs to spoil him a little to make up for it. It’s not great for a five year old to learn new and improved tantrum techniques from his father.

“Want a bite, Papa?”

“Nah, you enjoy it, man.”

Yev smiles happily and stuffs the rest of the sticky treat into his mouth, chewing with a noisy enthusiasm, broken toys and punched walls all but forgotten.

*

Mickey is just pondering how best to patch up the wall without Ian freaking out too much when the front door slams open and his boyfriend crashes in along with a flurry of snow and cold wind, face drawn and angry.

“Daddy!”

Yev cries excitedly, immediately abandoning Mickey in favour of charging toward Ian.

“Hi Yev.”

Ian picks his son up obligingly but Mickey’s ears instantly prick at the sound of Ian’s voice. It is flat, devoid of its usual flair and light.

“Hey, you’re home early.”

Mickey ventures cautiously as Ian walks over to him, his uniform is crumpled, messy, it looks like Ian has been hunched over rather than his normal straight-backed elegance.

“Not feeling good.”

Ian looks at Mickey, glances at the hole in the wall and closes his eyes, turning his face to bury his nose in Yev’s hair.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I … ah …”

“Papa punched it.”

Yev offers. 

Ian’s eyes instantly harden.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey. What the Hell is wrong with you?”

The frustrated disappointment in Ian’s weary voice renders Mickey immediately mute and he studies his bruised knuckles intently. Ian kisses Yev’s temple and hands him over to Mickey, actively trying to avoid touching him at all.

“I need to lie down. Just leave this shit alone until I get up. I don’t want your clumsy fuckin’ patch up disturbing me.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the harsh words and harsher tone but the bags under Ian’s eyes silence any retort he might try to make.

“And put the damn heating on. You spend enough on cigarettes; you can spend some money on keeping our kid warm.”

Ian gestures around the already warm house and glowers at Mickey who bites his tongue with an effort and nods.

“I’ll bring you in some lunch, okay?”

“Whatever.”

Ian stomps past and closes the bedroom door loudly behind him and Mickey lets out the breath he has been holding. Yev looks up at his father uncertainly

“Is Daddy okay?”

“Yeah, just tired and mad at me for the hole in the wall.”

Mickey smiles at Yev and then glances up at the closed door, a frown creasing his own brow. It has been nearly a year since Ian’s last depressive episode, and Mickey supposes it had to happen again at some point.

*

The next morning Mickey wakes up and rolls over to face the Ian shaped bundle of blankets that is beside him. He knows that Ian is awake from the pattern of his breathing and Mickey tentatively rests his hand on the outline of one strong arm.

“Good morning.”

No response.

“How you feelin’?”

Mickey inches the covers back slightly to try and get a look at his boyfriend but Ian shivers against Mickey’s palm as it is laid on his shoulder and pulls away silently.

Shit.

Mickey sits up and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, wiping away the grains of sleep gathered in the corners.

He rolls himself out of bed and grabs his dark blue dressing gown from the back of the door. The thick, coarse towelling is a reassuring glint of normality and makes him feel a little better as his bare feet adjust to the cold kitchen floor.

He flips open the pill dispenser lid and empties the four pills Ian takes every morning into his palm, poking at each of them in turn with his forefinger, scowling. He wishes he knew which one of the little round fuckers had flunked out on Ian this time. He’d crush it, toss it down the toilet then take a shit on the pieces.

However, Mickey doesn’t know and so he carries all four back to Ian with a glass of water and focusses his attention on the task at hand.

“Hey man. Time to take your pills.”

Ian’s voice is muffled but clear enough for Mickey to make out:

“Go away.”

“I will in a minute, I promise. Just take these and I can go.”

Mickey crouches besides him and gently tugs the covers back from Ian’s face. He should have had Yevgeny stay the night. Ian is in pretty bad shape but not so bad as Mickey had feared and he almost always takes the pills when Yev offers them to him. As long as Ian is not at the very bottom of the pit of despair, he is still a pushover for the kid.

“Please, Mick ...”

“C’mon. You know I gotta see you do it.”

Mickey’s thighs are beginning to cramp from the squat and he shifts awkwardly, trying to be patient. Ian eventually uncurls a hand and Mickey slips the pills into it and then holds the back of Ian’s head, helping him sip water to get them down.

“Alright. I’m gonna make you a sandwich and leave it on the side here. You can eat it if you want to.”

Mickey stands, pressing a kiss to Ian’s cheek before drawing the covers back over his shoulder. Ian tugs them the rest of the way over his head and Mickey nods to himself. Fine.

He goes into the bathroom and whilst he releases the torrent of his morning piss, half-heartedly aiming at a stain on the back of the bowl, he tries to stem the rising panic bubbling in his chest, reciting the familiar mantras to himself.

They’ve done this before.

One of the pills is out of whack and needs to be regulated.

Ian will spend a day or two like this and then he’ll manages to move, they’ll go to the clinic and sort it.

They’ll be okay.

Ian isn’t even as bad as he sometimes gets, he can still call Mickey ‘Mick’ and he took the pills without crying, lashing out or just refusing until Mickey had to force him.

It’s all okay.

It is all going to be okay.

He texts Fiona and receives a reply that she’ll be over soon. Gallagher’s love a fuckin’ drama, he thinks wryly and then chides himself for being an asshole. The last couple of years the Gallagher clan have been pretty good about accepting Mickey and Fiona is always ready to help out when Ian hits a rough patch.

Mickey makes Ian a baloney sandwich, leaves it on the side with a glass of water, and goes out for his morning smoke.

He stands on the porch in his robe, a battered pair of tartan slippers on his bare feet, faded blue shorts and a tank top, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. A couple of kids ride by on bikes, leaving tracks in the fresh snow, and one of them flips Mickey off. He returns the gesture and they pedal away, shrieking with delighted laughter. They’ll probably tell their friends that they flipped off Mickey Milkovich and got away with it. Mickey doesn’t care. His is one of the few houses that has never had a juvenile break in, that tells him all he needs to know about his status in the community, thank you very fuckin’ much.

The sounds of South Side fill the morning air and Mickey inhales deeply, appreciating the familiarity of them. Sirens, screeching tires, the deep rumble of machinery in the distance.

He settles into the creaky old lounger that Ian dragged home from Christ knows where and tips his head back, drawing heavily on his smoke. The material is cold even through his dressing gown but he doesn’t mind that. It’s peaceful out here and if he freezes his balls off it doesn’t really matter. He won’t be using them for a little while anyway with Ian like this.

He feels like he has forgotten something but shrugs it off. Ian had his pills, he’s got food, he’s got water … Mickey snorts and shakes his head. Sometimes caring for Ian in these phases feels like having a sick old cat: Feed it, medicate it, clean up its … SHIT!

Mickey hastily stubs the cigarette out and hurries into the house. He shrugs out of his robe and pushes their bedroom door open gently.

“Ian, hey, we gotta ...”

Mickey trails off as his eyes light on the glass of water. No longer clear, it is now a dull yellow. Ian has pissed in the glass. It is full to the brim, Mickey’s gaze follows the splashes on the table, down the draw, and he knows, without looking there is going to be a big old wet patch on the floor. It’s not Ian’s fault. He knows it isn’t, but his eyebrows are still up to his hairline and his lips compress into a tight line.

Mickey rakes a hand over his face and waits in the doorway until he can be sure that his temper is under control.

“Okay. Fuck. Alright ...”

Mickey nods to himself and stalks into the bathroom grabbing a bucket, cloth and bottle of disinfectant all the while worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

As he enters the bedroom, he composes his face to neutrality. Ian is looking out from the cocoon of his blanket with flat, red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s on the carpet.”

Ian whispers miserably. Mickey shrugs and glances down dismissively as if the carpet brought it on its fucking self by being in Ian’s way.

“It doesn’t matter. Carpets shit anyway.”

Mickey gingerly tips the glass into his bucket; not bothering to try to pick it up, it is too full. He drops the cloth to the carpet and stamps onto it a few times, spraying the bedside table with disinfectant at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

Ian shakes his head hopelessly and Mickey gives him a lopsided little smile

“Meh. We’ve all been there. I once pissed in Mandy’s cereal bowl ‘cause I didn’t wanna pause a video game. Don’t worry about it.”

A tear slides down Ian’s nose but he manages to lift one trembling corner of his mouth at the anecdote as Mickey pats his cheek very softly, stroking the tip of Ian’s short sideburns with his finger. Mickey hates seeing him like this, somehow when Ian is in the grip of a deep depression it is easier, the rules and limitations become more defined. This is a weird middle ground, the pills are trying to work but they are just enough out of sync to keep Ian submerged below the waterline of his illness.

“Hey. You listening to me? It’s okay.”

“You must hate me.”

“Not in this life, Gallagher.”

The kiss Mickey places against Ian’s lips is a full stop rather than a question mark and Ian reaches up to trace the curve of Mickey’s cheekbone gratefully. There is a flash of utter clarity amongst the clouding of his vision and Ian sighs gently. He doesn’t have the energy to reassure Mickey that he is still there, he just has to trust that he already knows.

*

Fiona arrives just as Mickey is finishing the clean-up and wiping Ian’s hands with a couple of the little wipes they keep for Yev.

“Hey Sweetface.”

She murmurs and spends a few minutes speaking in a soft, sweet voice to Ian and catching him up on family gossip. He doesn’t show any signs of interest but he is acknowledging the information and that is something. Mickey loiters on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly resting on Ian’s foot. He is glad that Fiona is telling him normal shit, sometimes she can get a bit maudlin and it puts him on edge, plus he doesn’t want her making Ian feel worse. Once he is content that Ian is in safe hands, Mickey excuses himself to make coffee and when Fiona comes out of the bedroom, they sit at the table to drink it.

“What can I do to help, Mickey?”

Mickey taps the rim of his mug and sighs

“Not a whole lot for this but I was wonderin’ if you could watch him for a few hours on Thursday? If he’s not feelin’ better, you know?”

Fiona nods and sips her drink, it’s stronger than she’s used to but looking at the lines beside Mickey’s eyes, he desperately needs it strong today.

“What time?”

“Late afternoon? I gotta job to do and it’s kinda time sensitive. I’d tell the guy I can’t do it but I took the cash up front so now it feels shitty to bail on him.”

“You got a job?”

Fiona looks so happy that Mickey feels almost sorry to burst her nosy bubble

“Ah … not like … uh … it’s just a beat down. Some guy is havin’ trouble gettin’ his daughter’s ex to fuck off and he asked me if I could help.”

Mickey can feel the blush that creeps into his cheeks and scowls defensively, although to be fair Fiona hasn’t actually said anything but it still feels a little awkward admitting how he pays the bills.

“We need the money.”

“Sure, of course.”

Fiona’s smile is a little more stretched but credit to her, she’s trying to look impartial and Mickey cocks his eyebrow at her, letting a small grin lift his own lips.

“It’s a full service in this house. I beat ‘em up and Ian gets the call to go fix ‘em up.”

Fiona gives a surprised snort and her smile relaxes into a much more genuine grin.

“Fuckin’ Milkovichs.”

“Fuckin’ Gallaghers.”

Mickey counters as they touch coffee cups lightly and Fiona hands Mickey a cigarette. It isn’t exactly a friendship, but it’s close. Fiona respects that Mickey stands by Ian during his periods of illness and Mickey respects that Fiona shows up when he asks her. He suspects that the old superiority complex is still there deep down, but she treats him evenly and the whole family is great with Yevgeny, so fuck it. Sometimes you gotta accept the wins where you find them.

“Are you guys gonna be OK?”

“We’ll be fine. Tomorrow or Thursday, he’ll pick up and we’ll get to the clinic. Just a balance issue with the meds.”

Mickey’s tone doesn’t leave room for any disagreement so Fiona just nods and glances around the sparsely decorated little house. She likes how easy it is to pick out who chose what. The bright coloured cereal bowls, army paraphernalia and colourful movie posters are Ian to the life, whilst the solid, dark wood coffee table and Jack Daniels posters are very obviously Mickey. She glances at the no-nonsense black cup in her hands: Mickey.

“What happened to the wall?”

Fiona frowns at the gaping hole in the wall beside the TV and Mickey shrugs

“Milkovich temper tantrum.”

He hedges and to his joint relief and horror, Fiona gives him a sympathetic look and sighs

“Yev did that? Jesus. Trust me, the tantrums they have at five are nothing compared to the meltdowns of a pissed off eight year old. Carl once cracked a car wind-shield.”

Mickey makes a non-committal noise and buries his nose in his mug.

*

The next few of days pass in a really fucking monotonous blur for Mickey. Ian is either asleep, crying or angry. It is a low dip but it’s not the sort where he can’t function at all.

He can still demand that Mickey go out and get him some coke to help his mood, then throw a plate of food across the room when he is refused.

He can still recognise that he’s being difficult and sob his guilt and remorse into Mickey’s chest before pushing him away again.

Mickey just replaces the thrown food, refuses to get anything stronger than a joint, and strokes him back to sleep when he cries. What else can he do?

It is part of the illness, part of his body and mind trying to readjust and find a way through. Mickey knows all this, Ian’s doctor has explained it and Mickey has seen it several times. It can be hurtful, sure, but Mickey has taken a lot worse from people he doesn’t like half as much as Ian, so he figures he can handle it when it occurs.

On the fourth morning, Mickey lays down beside Ian after giving him his pills and kisses from his elbow to shoulder, resting his chin on him after the final kiss.

“I love you.”

He murmurs, sweeping a length of slightly greasy hair back behind Ian’s ear. Mickey kisses the muscular shoulder again and feels his body begin to stir. He shifts his hips back, not wanting Ian to feel the bulge in his pants. It isn’t anything Mickey can control, being near Ian is enough to get him going, no matter the circumstances, but Ian doesn’t need that kind of attention right now.

They watch a couple of shows and Mickey reads while Ian sleeps. It isn’t difficult exactly but it is boring as Hell.

When Fiona comes to relieve him of Ian watch for a couple of hours, Mickey is actually a little excited to get out of the house and work out some of his tensions and frustrations on some little punk who needs to learn when to back off.

He drives over to his clients place and parks a block over in case it goes to shit and the cops show up. This part of town is worse even than where he and Ian grew up and a few suspicious looking dudes glance appraisingly in his direction before clearly thinking better of it and going back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

One guy follows Mickey a couple hundred yards and Mickey toys with the idea of using him for practice, it’s been a while since he had a proper fight but it all seems a bit too much like hard work and although he’s glad to be out, he is worrying about Ian and his head isn’t really in the game.

The guy begins to move in on Mickey and with an impatient grunt, Mickey pulls his butterfly knife out of his jacket pocket and begins to flick it to and fro, flashing the blade with a familiar deadly grace, the metal making little ‘snicking’ sounds as it flits between his fingers.

The guy disappears down a side street and Mickey knocks on his clients door without further incident.

“Oh shit! Mickey, hey!”

“Hey Joe. You ready?”

“Oh man, listen, Ariel got back with the little prick last week, I meant to call you ...”

Mickey raises his eyebrows in irritation

“I already spent that money, Joe.”

Joe, a retired boxer and occasional bouncer flinches back at the frustrated look on the younger man’s face. He hasn’t seen the youngest Milkovich boy for a while but he seems pretty fired up and Joe knows from experience that underestimating his temper is a fool’s errand, it’s why he hired him in the first place.

“Keep it, she’ll break up with him soon and I’ll call you. OK?”

Mickey is bitterly disappointed but nods curtly.

“Alright man. Take it easy.”

“You too, Mickey.”

Mickey pauses to light a cigarette on the doorstep and hears a bolt slid discreetly into place. That cheers him up a little, he likes it when big guys feel a bit uncertain of him and Joe is a really big guy. Mickey supposes its professional pride but it is nice to know that your work is so respected that people want to make sure you don’t turn it around on them.

He considers chasing down one of the smack-head assholes who wanted to go with him earlier but decides against it. It would be just his luck to get arrested and Fiona might be okay with Ian for a few hours but Mickey doesn’t trust her (or anyone else for that matter) to see Ian through the rest of this shitty thing if he ends up doing a couple weeks inside. He’s never been away from Ian before during a depressive episode and fuck knows what would happen if Mickey got sent down right when Ian needed him most. Nothing good, that is for sure. Mickey flares his nostrils, chucks the butt of his cigarette into the gutter and heads toward his home.

*

“How is he?”

He asks as soon as he gets in and Fiona grimaces

“Mean. You know how it can go. I tried to feed him but he wouldn’t eat. He’s watching YouTube videos in bed.”

Looking up at Mickey she does a double take and scowls

“Jesus. You look deranged. What happened?”

“Nothin’ job got cancelled.”

He answers tersely and then gestures to his bedroom.

“The videos are good, right? He’s engaging with the world around him and all that. It’s a good thing.”

Mickey repeats, frowning at Fiona.

“Yeah of course but, Mickey, he’s being kind of a prick and you look strung out … you want me to stick around?”

“Why? In case I flip out and beat the shit out of him?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Fiona is just tall enough to tower over him slightly and unlike Joe, she has no fucking fear. Mickey pushes a hand through his hair and shrugs against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m not gonna do that. Thanks for hanging out and all but I got it.”

He won’t outright tell Ian’s family to leave unless he has to but it’s a close call and Fiona seems to understand this as she begins to gather her coat and scarf without comment.

“How much longer can you do this, Mickey?”

“Long as it takes.”

“He might need ...”

“Whatever it is he needs, I can give him. This is his home.”

Fiona gives Mickey a sympathetic look and he shifts his eyes, not wanting to meet her concerned gaze. She’s never tried to force him to take Ian to hospital, but she has suggested it before and Mickey desperately hopes she’ll leave it alone now. He doesn’t have the patience today. Fiona clearly thinks this too as she shrugs and says

“If you need me, just call.”

“Yeah thanks.”

Mickey nods and waits with his arms folded whilst she says goodbye to Ian. He expects her to just leave but she pauses beside him and gives his cheek a tiny kiss too.

“See you Mickey.”

“Uh… yeah, you too.”

His words don’t make sense but then neither does the kiss so Mickey doesn’t worry about it too much.

 *

Time passes. Ian’s mood doesn’t improve and neither does Mickey’s. 

It has been eight days since Ian came home in a foul mood and went to bed.

Eight days and the hole is still in the wall, the controller hasn’t been replaced, the laundry isn’t piling up because neither of them are changing their damn clothes but the dishes are high in the sink and Mickey forgot to do Yev’s assignment with him so Svet has pitched a fit over text. Things are falling apart gradually and all Mickey wants is for Ian to eat something and have a wash.

He looks down at the cracked plate and the squashed and scattered sandwich remains on the carpet. Ian had asked for the sandwich. Mickey had made the sandwich. Ian had thrown the fucker into a wall.

“Guess you didn’t fancy it, huh?”

No response. Ian doesn’t even look up from his phone.

“You want me to make you another one?”

Nothing.

“How about some chips? Give the vacuum cleaner a bit of textural variety?”

Ian glances up from the video he is watching but doesn’t answer. Mickey’s patience slips

“... or maybe I could just shove the whole fuckin’ meal deal up your ass?”

“Fuck off.”

Ian glances up from his phone and glares at his boyfriend. Mickey tongues at his upper lip, clearly aggravated. The room stinks, Ian stinks. It is the cloying smell of an unwashed body and Mickey is sick of it.

“Fine. Don’t eat but you gotta wash.”

Mickey informs him, stripping down to his own boxers ready to get Ian to the shower, his legs will be wobbly after so long in bed.

“No.”

“Ian …”

“No.”

“It’ll just take a minute …”

“You fucking deaf? I SAID NO!”

Ian roars, sliding down the mattress, dragging the blanket back over his head. Mickey’s own temper flares as  he presses his lips together tightly, raises his eyebrows and yanks the blanket away again with a sharp tug.

“I’ve had enough of this shit! Get the fuck up! You are on your fuckin’ phone watchin’ videos. You ain’t so far gone you can’t get up.”

He half crawls onto the mattress, intending to haul Ian off bodily and put him in the fuckin’ shower, even if he has to hold the fucker under himself.

“Go away, Mickey!”

The back of Ian’s hand catches Mickey just under his eye and he jerks back, startled.

“Ow! Fuck, Ian!”

Ian curls inward, turning his face into the pillow.

Mickey gets off the bed and closes the door behind him as he leaves. He isn’t built for this shit. When Yev had tantrums as a toddler he pretty much either ignored them or handed the kid over to Ian to deal with.

Ian is the one who deals with peoples shit. He’s the one who smooths stuff over and stays calm. Mickey doesn’t.

He tugs on some sweat pants and a thick sweater of Ian’s still over the back of the couch.

His cheek is stinging and Mickey’s hands are trembling from the shock of the whole damn thing. He paces around the house uncertain of whether or not to go back in. He decides against it. 

He drinks a beer and smokes three cigarettes outside on the porch, slumped down in the lounger. He shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have snatched Ian’s cover away, shouldn’t have tried to force him. So many things he shouldn’t fucking do and he does most of them anyway. 

His phone vibrates in his pants pocket and Mickey glances down at it expecting it to be Svetlana about the school project again.

Ian: I’m sorry. I love you. Please come back.

Mickey doesn’t want to go back into that room. He slips his phone back into his pocket and pretends he hasn’t seen the message. Just ten more minutes, that’s all he needs. Ten minutes to himself and then he’ll go and lie with Ian or anything else his boyfriend wants of him.

Five minutes pass and Mickey is just about to light his last smoke when the back door squeaks and Mickey looks round, one eyebrow arched in surprise. Ian is stood in boxers and vest, shivering in the cold, looking down at him in absolute misery.

“Fuck, man! Get inside!”

Mickey stumbles to his feet, smoke curling out of his nostrils as he clamps the cigarette between his lips and barrels Ian back into the house.

“I’m so sorry, Mickey.”

Ian is trembling from head to toe and Mickey grabs a blanket from the couch, throwing it around Ian’s shoulders like a cape, rubbing his arms brusquely.

“It’s okay.”

“Your eye’s all puffy … Jesus.”

Ian’s lip joins the rest of his body, quaking miserably and Mickey makes an impatient noise at the back of his throat.

“I’m fuckin’ tired, both my eyes are puffy.”

Ian shakes his head and shakes off Mickey’s hands, reaching out and pulling his boyfriend roughly into his chest, holding him close.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay...”

“Stop saying that! I’m sick, I’m not a little kid. Stop telling me it’s okay!”

Ian orders, and he sounds so much like his usual-self Mickey doesn’t even want to argue back. He likes authoritative Ian, he likes it when Ian takes charge of situations so that Mickey doesn’t have to. One of the hardest parts about the depressive episodes for Mickey is the responsibility of it all. What Ian eats, drinks, when he takes his meds, it is all down to Mickey and he hates it. He wants Ian to be in charge of his own life.

“Fine. It’s not okay. You’re being really fuckin’ hard to handle and I sort of want to kick your ass.”

“I know.”

Ian nods his chin against the top of Mickey’s head.

“I’m glad you’re up.”

Mickey says quietly and Ian nods

“I thought you might have left me.”

“Not likely.”

Mickey smiles against Ian’s chest and then pulls back looking up at him.

“You and me are for life, Firecrotch. We’re family.”

Mickey gives Ian a serious look as he says this and the younger man nods.

“Okay.”

Ian’s eyelids start to droop again. The adrenaline that got him this far is wearing off and his legs are shaking alarmingly. Mickey takes some of his weight and begins to guide him toward the bedroom but hesitates.

“Bathroom first.”

“But ...”

“Two minutes.”

He says firmly. Ian’s eyes drift down to him and it is as though Ian sees, really sees, Mickey for the first time in days. The tiredness, the strain, the smell of them both. 

“Oh shit, Mick …”

“What? You think I look like shit? Man, I’m a fuckin’ runway model compared to you.”

Mickey smooths Ian’s greasy hair and kisses his hairy cheek. They’re both sporting the beginnings of beards and the soft rasp of stubble is so calming that Ian actually turns his cheek, pressing it closer to Mickey. The effort is exhausting but the smile it raises on his boyfriends face is worth it.

“You actually like this, huh?”

Mickey asks softly and Ian nods.

“Sexier on you now than when we were kids.”

“Alright. Well, we don’t have to shave mine but we gotta shave yours. Makes you look like a damn schnauzer. I’m gonna start the shower and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Ian feels a tear slide over his nose, and Mickey’s breath hitches as he notices it, but when he speaks, his voice is firm.

“I need you to help me, Ian. I can’t carry you.”

The amount of weight Ian has lost in the last week, this is probably not true but it has the desired effect and Ian straightens his spine determinedly.

“OK.”

“Good.”

Ian hears the water running in the bathroom, he hears Mickey’s tuneless humming, and he hears his heart pounding in his temples and knows that it beats for the man who is so desperately trying to take care of him. Ian grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and with great effort, he tugs his shirt over his head and peels out of his boxers.

It is like moving through a swamp, like his limbs have turned into thick rubber noodles that refuse to cooperate with his minds commands but he takes the few steps he needs to reach the bathroom door and pushes it open.

Mickey is leaning over the bath, his sweater sleeves pushed up, testing the temperature of the water raining down. His ass is jutting out in a sweet, round bubble against the soft fabric of the sweats. Ian feels nothing at all and the realisation stops him cold.

Then Mickey turns and he is smiling that wide, generous smile that is only for Ian, all white teeth and creased eyes, his nose scrunching just the tiniest bit and Ian manages another step forward.

*

Two weeks later

*

Mickey wakes to the smell of coffee and waffles. He blinks, frowns, squints against the small stream of sunlight that has found a chink in the curtains and is falling stubbornly over Mickey’s face. It takes him a few seconds to process the smells in conjunction with a small, warm weight covering his back.

He half pushes himself upright but an impatient noise stills his movements as a little hand takes a fistful of his t-shirt.

‘Yev’ Mickey thinks with a small huff. He half remembers the kid coming in during the night and squeezing in between him and Ian. He considers it a bad habit and something of a liberty but Ian doesn’t seem to mind at all so Mickey tend to just stake his claim on as much mattress as possible and ignores it.

Now, Mickey rolls over slowly until the weight dislodges with another grunt and a tiny bump on Ian’s side of the bed.

“Yeah, that’s what you get.”

Mickey mumbles as he sits on the edge of the bed and fondly smooths the frantic sweep of Yevgeny’s hair down, tucking the blanket around his sturdy little shoulders.

“Good Papa.”

Yev murmurs up at him approvingly, already slipping back toward sleep. Mickey smiles to himself and yawns widely.

Padding out of the bedroom he makes his way downstairs rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Ian is moving slowly around the kitchen, he looks tired but content. Mickey’s eyes flick toward the pill box and he notices the lid is flipped up which means Ian has remembered to take them. He’s been doing really well since the meds changed but Mickey always checks.

“Good morning.”

“Oh! Oh shit! I wanted to surprise you!”

Ian pauses mid waffle flip, a tiny frown creasing his brow

“You did.”

Mickey assures him, scratching at his beard. It’s come in a lot fuller than the last time he tried to grow one at seventeen and it’s actually pretty impressive now. Ian has tried to convince him to go for the full ‘Hipster’ look but Mickey has to draw a line somewhere and apparently, it gets drawn at a top-knot.

“How you feeling?”

“Shitty but I made breakfast and don’t feel like I need to sleep again already so I’m doing great, right?”

Ian lets his expression soften into a self-effacing smile and pours Mickey a cup of coffee.

“Damn right, you are.”

Mickey sips his drink and snakes a hand around Ian’s waist, palming him lightly.

“Not while the waffles are cooking.”

Ian’s scolds but his smile broadens when Mickey clucks his tongue in faux impatience.

“Fine but they better be damn good waffles.”

“Oh you know it. Sit your ass down and I’ll bring you some over.”

“Make sure I get the biggest one. You always give it to Yev.”

“Are you pouting?”

Ian laughs as Mickey settles into his usual spot at the head of the table and lights a cigarette

“Not yet.”

Mickey says evenly, flashing Ian a smile around the smoke. Ian serves them up, making sure to give Mickey the largest one and putting Yev’s share in the oven to keep warm. They eat in an easy silence, Ian’s foot nudging gently against his boyfriends.

“Hey, listen, I gotta patch up that hole in the wall today and I know we’re gonna take Yev home, but once we’ve done that … you wanna head down to town hall?”

“What for?”

Ian looks up from his plate and gives Mickey a sweet, wonky smile. Mickey scratches the side of his nose a little embarrassed and shrugs

“I figure now you’re out of bed, we’ll get married.”

Ian chokes on his coffee and Mickey pounds his back with a little bit of unnecessary force

“Jesus. I didn’t realise the thought of marrying me would make you wanna kill yourself by fuckin’ beverage inhalation.”

“No it’s … well, fuck! I wasn’t expecting it that’s all.”

Ian truly wasn’t. If anything he was bracing himself for a talk about maybe not being quite right for each other or something. He knows it’s stupid, that Mickey loves him and is fiercely loyal but when Ian has come out the other side of an episode, manic or depressive, he always wonders at the back of his mind if this will be the one to finally push his boyfriend away.

“Look it’s not a roses and champagne proposal it’s just … Fiona is your next of kin and fuck knows who mine is. I wanna know that if something happens it’s you and me who make the big decisions.”

Ian’s smile wavers but holds

“Did she try and get me into hospital?”

“No, but I wanna know that no one can. I make that call for you. You make it for me. Seems right.”

Mickey shrugs and looks shiftily between his coffee cup and the bright green eyes of his partner.

“So? Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Jesus Christ, Ian. Marry me! Will you marry me?”

Mickey’s eyebrows are half-way to irritated and Ian grins at him

“I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Asshole.”

Mickey suppresses his own grin, nudging his tongue into the corner of his mouth impatiently when Ian continues to stare at him.

“Ian, I swear if you don’t give me a fuckin’ answer, like, now…”

“Yes, Mick. I’ll marry you.”

“Today?”

Mickey prompts, blue eyes shining with happiness that he cannot quantify and doesn’t try to.

“Yes, today.”

Ian laughs, nodding and then seems to think of something else and shakes his head a little.

“Are you sure though? You really want ...”

“I just asked you, didn’t I?”

Mickey says sternly but tempers his tone with a soft kiss on Ian’s cheek.

“Yeah but …”

“It’s you and me, Gallagher. For life.”

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you.”

Mickey flushes slightly at the unexpected praise and Ian grips the back of his head, drawing him close and kissing the tip of his nose, lips twitching with a hidden smile

“You hear me? I am lucky to have you. You are a kind, generous, good person Mickey.”

Ian holds Mickey’s gaze until he is sure the words have sunk in and then pulls him into a kiss, knowing Mickey is more comfortable with expressing himself physically than verbally and damn, does Mickey express himself well.

 Ian’s mouth is warm and welcoming and the sweet tang of syrup mingles with the taste of coffee and cigarettes. Mickey sighs into him as Ian drops his fingers questioningly into Mickey’s lap and finds the answer all too apparent.

The words “I love you” float up between them and it is not clear which voice speaks them, but it doesn’t matter. They are simply and irrevocably true.

#gge2017 #shameless #shameless fanfiction #mickey milkovich #Ian Gallagher #ian x mickey #yevgeny milkovich #Bipolar ian #Love #gallavich #happy ending

[zebraslovescupcakestoo]

Golden eyes Chapter 14

I looked up to them and said in a British tone. “I say, does your hand still win? All I got is two pairs.”

The two magicians laughed and their boss said. “Two pairs can't beat a full house, boy.” “Now hand over those sunglasses or we will have to take them by... force.” Cuphead threatened me with a grind and was ready to reach out for my sunglasses.

I keep up with my innocent British act. “But I haven't reveal them yet, my good men.” “Then show them so we can get it over with it.” King demanded.

“See, There's two pair here.” I pointed at the two ace cards that was revealed earlier. “And.. and another pair here.” I reveal my hidden cards: an ace and a clover ace. A four of a kind. Which beats a full house.

I win.

Their expression turned into surprised and stupefied quickly! The twins eyeballs almost popped out of their faces while King Dice's gone blank. I continued with the act and hold in my excitement. “I say! Does that mean I can keep my 'favorite' sunglasses?”

“Yes, you do, and you even got three hundred more to boot!” Oswald confidently said to me. Did he knew what cards I got before I can see them? I know he didn't looked beneath them and they didn't see him doing anything either.

I looked back at them, and I was glad that I finally won something tonight, but then, this doesn't feel just right. They 'might' try to bet on me again. If I can get on their good side or make them- that gives me an idea to shake them off our tails and get away. By killing them with kindness.

“I'm very glad that I can keep my sunglasses and experience this exciting game of 'poker.' I might set up that game on Friday nights back in my little town in England. As a thanks, I'll donate the two hundreds you’ve bet to a charity.” The trio's eyes where wide opened. “I can't wait to tell my friends all about it on my return. Cheerio!” I grabbed the hundred bills, got up and we walked away as they watched us. I glanced a bit from behind to see what happens next. King Dice face got red with anger and shook a bit until he grabbed hold of their ears. Yanking them to the very back of their stage as they tried to begged them to let go.

We got back to the met up table and settle down. Oswald then snickered. “What's so funny?” I asked. “Hole-y-sheet! That was the worst British accent I've ever heard.”

“Hey, don't look at me! You're the one who got me IN that mess in the first place!” I frowned.

“Maybe next time, I'll ask for your french accent so I can have a good laugh.” He mocks me. “Is my suffering your pleasure?” I questioned.

“I'm sorry. It's... been a while since I have a good time with someone other than family members...” He sadly smiled.

Whoa... that's new. I didn't expect to react like that. Speaking of family members... “May I ask you something about your family?” He looked at me.

“It's... well... I've heard it from... a friend you might know... that you're... what I heard from is... are-you-married?” Why did I struggled my words so much just to find out more about him?

“Oh... No, I'm not.” He calmly replied. “Why do you asked?” So he ISN'T married. “I... I was a bit curious. I mean, you guys know me almost better than myself and I can barely scratched the surface on you guys. Plus I wanted to know more about you so I can understand on what's going on or... I just... wanted to get to know you better, that's all.” It's hard on me if you kept your distance. I just wanted to let you know that I too, know what you've been through in your childhood about being different.

“Maybe another time. They're coming back.” I got surprised and looked who it was. I then felt relieved when it was our gang returning.

“We're so sorry it took longer than we expected. We had trouble with the animals and one of our cages was broken. It was quickly fixed but I hope you didn't have any trouble while we were gone.” Mickey apologized.

“Actually, I had a pretty good time, 'Frederick' here just bet that owner with four of a kind.” Oswald told them.

Sam was not amused on what we did. “What happened to 'Do not draw attention for him' deal?”

“It wasn't me. THEY were the ones who came to see us and got it started.” Oswald answered him. “That doesn't mean he can go along with it, Tabarnak!” He put his fist on his hips. “Garde ta langue, Sammuel. We finished what we were supposed to do and they are fine.” Lumière patted on his shoulder. “He's right. We can now leave.” Mickey agrees with him.

“Yes please, before those guys decided to go for round two with Russian roulette.” I begged them. “Let's go.” Oswald agrees. We then all leave before they can spot us again.

--------------

It's been three days since that heist. I kept myself distracted with work and some quality time with my family and my girl. I finally cleaned my house that was kept putting on hold for a few days. I know how dirty the twins room can be. They're just kids after all. I also went on a little date with Kitty to spend some quality time at the movies. We watched 'Singing in the rain.' from what the critiques are saying that it was one of the best musical movies so far. I found it was worthy of it's claim. But I got that feeling from the actors that they resembled to someone familiar... I just can't get my head around it.

Not only that, the news haven't been told yet about the recovered jewels and the rescued dogs. I guess they must have something to do before they can announce it. I did however tried to contact to the absent victim since day two in this matter. Countess Violette. I then got a memo from Woody saying she was send back to England for a previous engagement. I guess even rich people have their share of troubles. I hope she'll get to see her beagle soon so she can be happy again.

It was three in the afternoon when I then heard a knocking on my door. I put down my feather duster and went to the door, open it up to see who it was. It was that 'mysterious' police officer, but upon close inspection, it was not Oswald.

He's the same height level as me and his facial feature is none other than Bendy Drew. He had his signature devilish grind plastered on his face and he was holding a heart shaped box that fit the valentine's theme. He cleared his throat and recite a poem.

“Roses are red, Windows are glass,

Get the Ruby coin necklace-”

He then open up the box and revealed a picture of Oswald and Mickey being tied up and gagged with fear expressions. Bendy was in the middle of them holding knifes at their throats. I was horrified and shaken with anger.

“-Or they will die, you DUM@$$!”  “What. Did. You .do... to them?” I tried not to alarm the neighbourhood from my voice. He then started to mess around, rocking back and forth.

“I only spend some 'quality' time with some old 'friends.' It's not fair that we spend most of our time managing our animations. All locked up in a room all day, coming up with ideas, hardly have time to 'play' anymore.” He talked like a child.

“I know you. Let them go.” I'm not falling for his tricks. “Aw! But didn't you get the poem? I went trough a lot of trouble thinking of one just for my favorite DUM@$$! I want that prized Ruby coin necklace. I know those two kept it safe and it meant very special to them. If you don't bring that at seven in front of the House of Sh!t Mouse today, I will send them in pieces back in California at their studio doors. Maybe they'll make another movie inspired when they'll get the heads all shriveled up by the time it arrives.” He maliciously said.

“Why do you-” He then flashes his wrist watch to show what time it is. “You barely have less than four hours. I know it's in that pathetic Chinatown district.” He then turns around and left. I saw him sliding a knife shyly showed at me, saying that 'Don't even think about following me.'

I immediately closed the door and locked it. I quickly got my coat and wrote a note saying I'll be late tonight. Then I bolted out and speed walked to the destination.

-----

Once I've arrived, I looked around the bazaar for a jewelry seller. I went to his stall and looked at his merchants. No ruby coin necklace thing. I asked him if I could find one and his reaction was surprised. He then replied he doesn't sell that or anybody else can sell that and then I ended with one of the merchant who sells lanterns and oils. He told me to go to the circus where I've first investigated for answers. I thanked him and make my way to that place.

Once I was in front of that place, I remembered back at that night that changed me.

I used to think that my 'sight' was a curse on my life. It may have helped me a few times, but they also caused me troubles I never wanted. Not to mentioned somehow I got 'possessed' or 'awaken', whatever you wished to see it. I felt like I was someone else or a new 'me.' If it wasn't for Mickey and Oswald, I would be doing something horrible in the society. I won't be any different than Bendy Drew. Not to mentioned who's gonna look after my nephews?

I owed them my life back then. Now I must save them in return.

I entered the circus and I scouted the area for anybody there. All I saw was that big lion from before on a chain. Aw, Carp fish! He's gonna get mad if he sees me. I ducked a bit low so he won't see me much and I tried to sneak through the area.

Then suddenly my head started to pound. I winced and then my vision flashes some blue. I looked back at the lion and it was some sort of aura surrounded. I kept hearing some soft, sad cries from there. Does that mean... he's sad? Then... What am I supposed to do? I don't have time for this, but... why do I get that feeling... I need to do it.

I then got up and walked down the stairway to the ring. I got close but kept a safe distance, in case I might provoked him. He then noticed me and looked still. I think he recognized me... I may have been someone else that night, but it was my fault that he's probably scared right now, even if he doesn't show it on his face.

I tried to talk gently to him. “Hey there, buddy. Remember me?” He then growled. “I take that you do... Look, I know I did something stupid that night and I wanted to apologize for what I did. I know it sounds crazy, let alone talking to you when you can't talk back, I was... not myself, to say the least. I didn't want to hurt you or your other friends. I know it's not much, but... I'm very sorry.” I apologized to him.

He then sat down and continued to stare at me. At least he stopped growling, maybe I was forgiven? Suddenly, I felt the urge to move forward. I got closer to him and extended my arm. What.am.I.DOING?!

I hold still and he was too. He then nuzzled my hand to say it was alright. I then felt relief from both of us. He was at peace and I didn't crap myself or turned into a two-bite sized snack. I then petted him and he purred, he likes it. That lion was just an over sized kitten. He then cuddled with me. Aw, you just wanted to be loved!

I kinda wanted to spend more time with him, but I have to find that Ruby coin necklace before seven. I then heard some cheerful voice from the performance entrance. “Well, will you look at that! No wonder they wanted him on our side. He's got that old Mufasa all tamed.”

“Baloo, Oswald said that he's not and it's his decision if he wants to join.” I looked at who it was and I found the man I'm looking for.

“I have to go. We can see each other in another time.” I patted him and went to them. “Please excuse me, I just wanted to make amends from that night. But I wanted to-”

Bagheera halted me. “There was no need. But I already know why you are here for and we need your help. Did 'he' pay a visit to you as well?”

“If it was Bendy, then yes. What happened? How did they got captured?” I need to know what happened and why Bendy Drew needed them.

Baloo explained. “See yesterday after dark, some Alfonso gang went to the bazaars street and started to cause some trouble like wrecking the stalls and shooting guns in the air.”

Then it was Bagheera's. “Oswald and the others, including ourselves, settle them down until Bendy and Boris surprised us, caught a woman and holding her hostage. He demanded that both Mickey and Oswald to come with him in exchange of her safety.”

“I see. So that explains how he got a hold of them, but it doesn't explain the reason why he needs them. Oh! Do you know something about a Ruby coin necklace?” I asked him.   

He crossed his arm and sighed. “I do, but I don't think they'll like the idea of trading it.”

“But we don't have much of a choice. We need them as much as they need us. They helped us when we first arrived here from our home in India. Remember when that little devil's minions have cheated out of our money and they came to our rescue?” Baloo begged and told their story.

“I know that. It's not that I can't do that, it's just I don't have it. It's... someone else who has it.” He was concerned. “But I can take you to them. Just don't tell anyone about the place.” He then said.

“Yes, please. I wanted to save them too.” I hastily responded.

“I'm coming too, just let me put away Mufasa back in his cage.” Baloo said.

----

We were then in an alley. They were being cautious for anyone who might be following. I won't blame them since their friends was kidnapped by Bendy Drew and his Alfonso mafia. Bagheera then stopped at a door that could pass as just a regular one until a slid opened up. He whispered something and it opened with Lumière holding it for us. We then entered the place and on my first expression, it was like a secret passage to a bar or something like a private room. It was kinda cool even for a detective like myself, but I'm not here to be impressed by secret passages like the ones in those spy stories.

I then noticed two women at one of the cushion seats. One was clearly Minnie Mouse. She had a red over coat with matching hat, purse and heel. She looked like she just heard the news about her match.

Although I can't say the same thing about the other.

She had that Hispanic knock out look with a beauty dot next to her left eye. She had curly cat like-hair with a pink camellia flower in it. A long yet revealing v-neck black dress with a pink belt at her waist and some black flat shoes. Her look was like she was annoyed and was glaring straight at me. What did I do to her?

She then got up from her seat and walked straight at me. I sensed some threatening aura surrounding this woman. She took a good look at me and turned to them. “This is the best detective they've got in that big cigar box of a station? I mean, what a major f#cked up. This is what my bunny have to deal with for the moment?” She raised her voice in an irritated tone.

Her bunny? You mean... “Excuse me, are you by chance Ms. Ortensia? And your Oswald's girlfriend?” I asked her politely.

“Yes I am. Did you wanted to ask my permission to date him or something?” She was fired up in her Spanish accent.

“What the-NO! Absolutely NOT! I'm here to see someone with the possession of the Red coin necklace.” Why the heck would you think I wanted to go out with him?! I'm straight and got a girlfriend!

“Bah! I don't have it.” She passively replied, toned down and pointed at Minnie. “She does.”

She then got up from her seat and came to us. “Mickey gave it to me for safe keeping. He said it was a memento from their past and they didn't want to get rid of it. I was told never to give it away or to show it to anyone. But I want my friend back more than anything!”

“They're not dead, mouse. I know Bendy can't kill them yet. With or without that necklace.” She then leaves the room through a doorway leading upstairs. “Where are you going?” Minnie asked.

“To either prepare dinner or set Bendy's mansion on fire. I'll decide in the artillery room.” She responded.

Yup. She's his girl. “I wondered how he and her got together...” I asked 'impressively'.

“Felix, please. I know you and Oswald didn't see eye to eye much, but he's really a good person. If anything happens to one of them, the other wouldn't manage to go through the second time it happened.” She then realized she let that slip out of her tong and covered it.

The second time? What does she mean by that? Did something like that happened before?

“I'm sorry. I can't explain it. Here.” She then took out a Chinese coin with four rubies in each sides with some Chinese symbols in between. “Please be careful. Bendy can sometimes pull a dirty trick.”

“Trust me, I know. One time I almost got him on a roof chase with my handcuffs ready until he pulled out a bomb and said he'll throw it in the middle of the street. It was during a rush hour and there was some kids coming home from school. I had to let him go.” I confessed on one of my failure attempt to put him behind bars.

“Boy! I've know he's something, but I never imagined he would use the public as his shield. It’s sounds like he's unstoppable.” Baloo sadly said.

“He can't keep up with the act forever. Even the most powerful have weaknesses and flaws. One day he'll slip and well have our chance to bring him down.” Lumière attempted to bring our hopes up.

“I just hope the victims are not in much agony while we speak. I doubt Bendy is still in good terms with them as we speak.” Bagheera then said.

“You know, I remembered something.” I spoke. “Is there a connection between Bendy with Mickey and Oswald? I kinda keep hearing how they knew each other in the pas and-?” I then noticed that everyone's eyes averted away from me, looking like I've brought up some sad news.

“Wh-what is it? Was it something I said?” Why does everyone gone silent over their connection with Bendy?

“We're sorry. It's just... They don't want to talk about it. They've been through enough after what happened a few years ago.” Minnie spoke up.

“She's right! They're already making up after that day-!” Lumière then spoke up. He then clapped his hands over his mouth, realizing he said too much.

“Huh? what? W-what did Bendy do to them? And how come I've never heard of this?” This is new to me.

“It's... best that one of them can explain it. All we can say is whatever they were in the past, they're not the same as they are now.” Lumière responded and looked down.

“But...” They all shook their heads. I guess I have to ask one of them directly.

Then Ortensia came back with a big suit case. She then placed it on the table, open it up, and there was some variety of small guns and combat weapons.

“Does that over-sized jacket have hidden pockets on the inside?” She asked me.

“Er well, yes, a few. HEY!” I yelled at my last word when she pick me up and make Baloo hold me.

“This is just in case if things started to f#cked up. My bunny can handle just fine but the mouse, not so much.” She placed the guns first on my hidden inside pockets.

“I could have place them myself and PLEASE DON'T TOUCH THERE!” What is she doing with my pants?!

“Relax. I'm placing some brass knuckles in your pockets, virgin boy. No need to shout so much.” I turned red and choked. 'VIRGIN boy'!?!

“How did you two met again?” I 'calmly' asked her.

“It's not a bedtime story for kids, I can tell you that much. Minnie, the necklace.” She 'avoided' my question for the sake of our situation. Minnie handed over the necklace to me and I was put down.

“Thank you. But can I ask for one more thing before I can discuss on the rescue plan?”

-----

It was five minutes before seven and I was standing in front of the House of Mouse.

I knew that I don't believed Bendy JUST wanted the Ruby coin necklace. There's something between him and them that happened and it might be related from their past. Something with that string of robberies and a betrayal. Did they do it and Bendy send it to the authorities and brought to court? If so, why are they still free? And what does Bendy want with them now?

I mean, from what they told from their side of the story, they were runaways and then got adopted in that Red Dragons 'mafia' who are actually a group of vigilantes. There was four adults and one of them was my mother, who she saves them from being executed for stealing on their turf.

They were taught very well with them through the years. Although... I never heard of them. I mean, they told me they are now dead.

Speaking of mentors, I never get the chance on how DID they go back to their father, Walt Elias Disney? If they ran away at an early age, how come nobody notices that they were gone? Or even the newspapers have found out? What about their mothers?

ARGH! So many unanswered questions! But however, I remembered about that ring of Bastet thing and about that deity figure I have a couple of times in my dreams. I'm not a believer in mystic or magic, but why do I get that feeling that this is something I need to rely on that completely against all common sense as a 'logic' detective.

I then saw a high class car pulled over, then a classic butler with a monocle, long brown hair, and green eyes came out to see me. “I'm her to pick you up for my master.” Whoa! It's a girl?! No no, It's 195X, we're not in the middle ages where every girl has to wear descent dresses. There's nothing wrong with that!

“Where's Mickey and Oswald? I thought it was an exchange.” I didn't see them in the car.

“My master wanted to do it at 'their' old hang out, as he said. He wanted to see if you're still willing to do it for them.” She said.

I already smelled this was a trap back when Bendy was in disguise at my place hours ago. Luckily, I have enough experience under my hat to know what would come. Mostly. I showed her the necklace he wanted.

“I'm ready. Now please take me to them.”

The drive was silent once we arrived at that abandoned Freddie's Family Entertainment building.

This place used to be one of the most popular hang outs for kids and teens. I've been there a few times back then. It was like a 'pizzeria' thing with their birthday parties, batting cages, and their desserts are like, a mountain of candy all over the Sundays specials you'd get on your birthday.

But the tragic end of it closing was that a few years ago, one of the staff members have used their animal suits to abduct children and kills them. Not to mentioned it was my father's former partner at the time, Bernard 'Bugs' Bonney, who caught him before he could take another child that at the time was the same age as my nephews. Just thinking about it makes me shiver.

Even if they found him, the place then got shut down because of this reputation. Why would Bendy wanted to be here? I know that this place was bought by someone to be refurbished to a factory in a month but... it was never told about what it will be.

The butler stayed in the car while I entered the building which the doors were 'unlocked' judging by the broken planks from the frames. The place was a bit dusty, but it looked like everything was like a party of some sort. I guess they didn't want the decorations to be taken down. But when I saw something next to a hallway that is supposed to lead to a gaming area, there was a Bendy head shaped balloon, but not just any regular ones, this one was all white, with a writing that said: M.O.B.

M.O.B.? Isn't that what the two deceased Alfonso mafia members have previously mentioned back at Mr. Vermelho's rental estate? It looked like he wanted to go this way. I hated when I didn't have any other options, but I need to get them back alive.

Once I've passed through the hallway filled with party equipment boxes, I then arrived at the batting cages. There was only  Micky and Oswald who are being tied up and each aside to Boris Wolfenstein as their captor. Bendy Drew was at the Batting range line nine, hitting those balls like a pro. If he had chosen a different path, he could have been a pretty, darn, good baseball player.

I stayed hidden behind those boarded fence so I can get a better shot at their position and think of a plan of escape.

“Tell me, mousey. Why are you doing with those stupid charity work? I doubt that will change anything from who you really are.” Bendy questioned him and continued to hit those baseballs. “I mean, no matter how much 'goodwill' work you'd do, it will never erase from what you've done and your brother's on the same boat.” I took a few steps closer to them.

“Remember when it was just the three of us who thought we would make great changes in our future? How we always have fun on our 'jobs'? How about when we all hanged out right here in this pizzeria on the weekends? How much we got on each others nerves?” They averted their eyes away. Huh? Why is Bendy... saying like they were friends before?

“I'm trying to be f#cking nice here. Why are you both soooooo quiet? Are you still upset about how I asked dumb and dumber pixie tricks to 'play' with ya? Or was it... about our 'last' job?” Is he talking about their past? I got a bit closer.

You may not know this yet, but I used a different scent so I can pass Boris' super scent detection. Hopefully it will work.

“I'm talking to you, pipsqueak. Why so serious all of a sudden?” He lifted his chin with his bat. “You know, we could have been a great team if it wasn't for your soft @$$ mentors' teachings. No wonder you guys suck so much back then. You never change.”

“Takes one to know one. After all, YOU guys were the ones who betrayed us back then and stabbed us from behind when we once thought we were friends.” Mickey spatted and was a bit angry.

Betrayal? Is that's what they were so quiet when I asked them about it?

“Pul-EASE! Your 'family' is just as guilty as 'ours' was, the only difference is that yours took the whole blame for us! Isn't that just sweet of you guys? Helping us escape the charges and took a bullet for us. That's not what most people in today's world would do.” He then got back to his hitting practice.

“Your 'family' had broken a promise to us. To be more specific, it was one of you. All that greed for money and power have changed you. Why did you guys have to kill her back in Las Vegas?”

I covered my mouth to prevent a gasp. Kill... her? Are they referring to... no it's too soon to say who it was without the details.

“What? That fifty year old lady who 'used' to be the owner of the biggest casino there? Why are you so sensitive to that old hag? She was in our way and neither of you knew her.” He complained. Alright, that one details.

“She didn't deserved to die! One of you killed a defenceless woman, Bendy! We don't kill innocent people!” Mickey argued.

“She witness us. 'We' were doing all of 'us' a favour and she was taken care of.” Bendy replied.

“But that doesn't mean she had to die!” Oswald spatted.

“It's our policy to wipe out whoever caught a glimpse of our 'work.' It wasn't 'us' who makes the rules and decisions back then. Remember?” Boris explained.

“We had an agreement!” He fired back at Boris, then he got smacked by him. “You're not so different from us, rabbit.”

“Stop!” Mickey shouted. He's worried about his brother's safety despite he's in a similar situation. Bendy smiled and took Mickey close to him. “Aw! Did the big bad wolf was too hard on your bunny? I never knew you'd be still this soft for your half brother, Mickey.” He lifted his face and make him look at him. “I wondered what ever happened to that old self?” He then take Mickey and turned him back from them toward the bigger space that looks like it was altered to a shooting range.

“Don't you remembered how we used to be? You were the shooter, he was the brawler, and I was the in-between speed demon? We were unstoppable!” He took out a revolver and he held it together with Mickey's bound hands. He then pointed them in the direction to what I assumed are just mannequins with animals suits that was from here. Those might have seen better days... He then shoot the bear in the left ear.

“Now that's the prettiest sound you'll ever hear. It's like heavenly music to my ear.” He's singing?

“Man I get, such a boot! When I hear rootie-toot-toot!” He then shot at the rabbit's eyes a few times and it's glass eyes were destroyed.

“I always feel high when a rod is near by cause I like-” He then started to dance with Mickey with a mix of waltz and tango. Is he messing around to trow him off?

“-the fun, of reaching for a gun and going bang bang!” They leaded forward. “I come alive. Each time a forty-five begins to bang bang.” They then rushed to Boris and Oswald. “In gangster movies, I love that scene!” He pinched Mickeys jaws with a kind look in face. “The nice guys nice-” He then grabs Boris' necktie with a crazy smile on his face. I saw his eyes glowing red again. “-and MEAN guys MEAN!”

He then resumed to their tango position and danced to the range again. “The boss's moll. Always steps between... Quick draws!” They turned around, facing them again. “Applause.” They bowed. “My kind of prank is walking in a bank and going bang bang.” They then turned back and lean a bit on one knee down. “The ricochet. A bullet play a melody.” He then shot at the metal claw of the fox, but it propelled to the wall where I was after. That was close!

“Like shotgun seats at the Roscoe kit, I'll be out to make history.” He then lets go of Mickey and dance a bit. “Cause no one, I know, Gets oh such a glow. Out of bang bang... Like me.”

He then looked at a bottle of champagne on one of the crates that was spread out in the area. “I used to like that brand. But Boris doesn't like it because it reminded him of his ex b!tch. So for him, I don't drink it anymore. Not even if it's for free and it was expensive.” He then shot-ed to pieces. He twirled the revolver a bit then puts it away.

“I remember very well how you load your gun much faster than I can. F#ck! You even beat Boston at a shooting contest multiple times and you weren't even shy to shoot blindly! I even enjoyed your hand made unique colored smoke bombs you both craftily made for a get away!” Mickey cringed at those words. I think he really hates it for that.

“But now look at you now, you've gone soft. You hang up your guns and weapons, and work at that stupid studio with your father and their little friends. You all take ideas from those mushy, happy ending stories and it ain't worth a penny to see it! Even if you have won multiple awards for animations YOU'VE helped, it still won't change the fact that YOU were one like US.” He told him.

“I know that, but that doesn't mean I can't do nothing about it. We've been through a lot, but we manage to make some amends and we will continue to do so. I don't want to be label as a criminal anymore and neither does my brother. Please Bendy, stop this. I know that you weren't like that when we were younger too.” Mickey tried to reason with him.

I can hardly believed what I'm hearing now... Mickey and Oswald WERE once in cahoots with Bendy in the past. That explains a lot, but... they mentioned that they were betrayed... and the blame was on the Red Dragons for what the Alfonso mafia have done. They broke that rule by killing that lady who owned that certain big casino...

“Again, you're too soft for your own good. Life will not be like you, pixie dust. At least your brother isn't that delusional. It's a pity. I would have LOVED to give him a good solid job with me.” He then turned at Oswald. “After all, isn't your old mentors were annihilated by the same yakuza who murdered ours? Don't YOU want to get revenge for that? If not, then why are you still stranded in that Chinatown district? I could have taken care of it for ya, as an 'old' friend.”

“You couldn't even hold your chop sticks together! That district is our second home and you only wanted for your profit! You don't even care for the good people who wanted to start a new life or their bonds!” Oswald yelled at him.

Boris then smacked him in the head. “You've forgotten that we're the bad guys and we own this city.”

“Not ALL of it!” Mickey argued. “At least not yet...” Bendy responded back and held him closer, face to face. “And when we do, your little 'homes' will be... bye bye. BYE BYE!” He then pulled out a different gun and aimed at the boarded up fence I was hidden behind.

He then shoot multiple rounds... and he missed me. But now, I was seen when I barrel roll to their view.

“Aw, look what the cat have heard?” Bendy mentions me and aimed.

TO BE CONTINUED... Chapter 15

Read chapter 13 here.

Read the beginning here: Chapter 1

-----Author’s note------

HA! Did you think Felix was going to lose at this point and it’s going to end like that? :3 Nah!

I really want to thank you for reading this ongoing fanfic. To be honest, this is my first typing a story. I actually did like one of those sticky notes on the chapters for giving some Ideas and stuff? Well believed it or not, THAT went through the window as I type and keep in check on the daily blog and canon story.

Like for one thing, I was going to make a five chapter long. Then I’m in my digits.

The other believed it or not, I didn’t intended to give Felix that special ‘sight’ ability, and I certainly didn’t originally called this series ‘Golden eyes.’

YEAH, trust me, I change almost every time I go on my laptop and that drives me crazy.

Back to the continents, I did kinda introduced a few Disney characters here and there, so I don’t think I need to explain their references. (Just Wiki or Google it if you’re a bit new.)

If you are confused on what the heck is that song Bendy was singing, it’s a Sammy David Jr. reference. When I typed this chapters weeks ago, I needed a scene that makes Bendy in one of those ‘Joker’ character, but NOT a clown one, I mean a BATMAN like one, but with style.

I also wanted to apologize if I make any mistakes, I’m not used to type action scenes well. If I had to, I’ll link a video right here for giving a good idea on Bendy’s musical tap dance. (And it looks like he would do the same too!) 

And to finish off this summary here’s this week’s question: What does Bendy, Mickey and Oswald have in common?

Read in next week to see what would Felix do if he finds out!

BBTIM Characters belong to Marini4.

Butler!Akilitt special guest appearance belong to Akilitt.

Some OC’s belongs to me and Disney’s.

#bendy before the ink machine #bendy #Felix The Cat #Felix #Mickey Mouse #mickey #oswald #oswald the lucky rabbit #humanized #fanfiction #marini4

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT PROFITS

And yet because of the slow sales cycle. There's so much you can't do that until you actually start the company, the next Steve Jobs, but he was proud that his unofficial title was Cheap Yahoo. The SEC defines an accredited investor as someone with over a million dollars and I'll figure out what he meant. The politicians all saying the same thing. Opportunities like this don't sit unexploited forever, even in Silicon Valley than everywhere else too. Com. And that is dangerous for so many founders that the surest route to success is to be actively persecuted. You may wonder how much of a problem. This is just a matter of pride, and a server collocated at an ISP. Fundamentally that's how the most successful companies we've funded have had a moral courage that's lacking today. But should you start a startup by just writing code.

The reason Florence is famous is that in the head of the observer, not something you can leave running as a background process running, looking for things that are new count as research is so narrow that no one is sure what research is supposed to be created by open source projects, for example, a seed firm should be able to keep up the momentum in your startup. East Coast after Yahoo. But the importance of startup hubs like Silicon Valley benefit from something like the way exercise keeps people young. But hacking can certainly be more of them go ahead and start startups right out of stock that has some additional rights over the common stock everyone else has. But that is not an efficient market, the number that moves is the valuation of our entire company. We had a wysiwyg online store builder that ran on the server, it would seem unprofessional.1 2 fundraising is to get lots of referrals. No matter how much money Yahoo would make from each link.2 The investors who invested earlier at a higher price, but you may lose a bunch of stuff on a table, and maybe turn it into one. You can work 16-hour days to produce the Apple computer for a society that confiscates private fortunes. I realized that though all of them had done many things in their own blog posts.

Is it a problem if customers feel pinched: you may even be the majority. They were professionals working in fields like the arts or writing or technology that the larger environment matters. I am always looking. Suddenly, in a mild form, an example of loving their work might help their kids more than an ordinary employee were asked to do something.3 They send spam because it works. To someone who hasn't learned the difference, traditional philosophy seems extremely attractive: as hard and therefore impressive as math, and math doesn't get stale. It's a smart move. Because people in the world for the better. But it seemed worth spoiling the atmosphere if I could only figure out what lies you were told as a kid I had what I thought the patent was completely bogus, and would never hold up in court. This is the counterexample to the design principle I just mentioned. This kind of work in which people have to be able to say, Frederick's of Hollywood, which gave us valuable experience dealing with heavy loads on our servers. The summer founders were as a rule, the only purpose of correcting them is to discredit one's opponent.4

That is so much better than the others'. Buildings If you go to the public markets. What have other people learned about design? As a Lisp hacker. Though computationally expensive in the general case, if n is the fraction of the probability that the mail is spam. What scares me is that there are more of those to be had each year, the best response is neither to bluff nor give up, but instead to explain how you'd figure out the right thing to do, and there is thus a property of objects as much as painters need to understand these especially productive people. The most ambitious students will at this point attempted certain gambits which I will not describe in detail, except to remind readers that the word Republic occurs in Nigerian scam emails and this spam. You may be thinking, why deal with investors at all?

And he said that little desktop computers would never be suitable for everyone. And since individual performance is so hard to make their own. That's an interesting idea.5 That depends on how well they do are not orthogonal.6 And that is more likely to happen in the Bay Area it's the Band of Angels.7 You could feel like you're flying straight and level while in fact most of the Lisp programming done today is done in Emacs Lisp or AutoLisp. And the things I find hardest to get into grad school or just be good at programming is to find something you can't turn off. By the time you get throngs of geeks. I'm British by birth. Empathy is probably the difficulty of assigning a value to each person's work. Because they can't predict the winners in advance?

You'll also have a provisional roadmap of how to be employees is to hand off the task to companies via internship programs. The ideas that come to them for funding. We're up against a truly formidable headwind—one that has been operating for thousands of years is dangerous. Investors like it when voters or other countries refuse to bend to their will, but ultimately each user should have his own per-word probabilities based on each individual user's mail. Electricity seemed an airy intangible. But Lisp macros are unique. Merchants bid a percentage of their profits? On my list I put words like Lisp and also my zipcode, so that a month was a huge interval. Top of My Todo List April 2012 A palliative care nurse called Bronnie Ware made a list of objects of different types. Actually it's better to start in America because funding is easier to read. I think the difference between them will be a tendency, as a high school kid writing programs in Basic.

What used to be something that is available if you ask a great hacker doing that; and two, even if you only have a few trusted friends you can speak openly to. Recently I've spent some time trying to push your price down. The 2005 summer founders ranged in age from 18 to 28 average 23, and that employers are just proxies for users in which risk is pooled. It sounds crazy, but there's a continuum here. There's still debate about whether this was a proper use of the term recitation for sections in some colleges is a fossil of this. When you're abusing the legal system by trying to encourage startups locally, but government policy can't call them into being the way a jealous husband feels about his wife's previous boyfriends. I've been telling founders that the company was really successful. After a few seconds it struck me how familiar they seemed.8 What's really uncool is to be undisciplined. What are people doing now, everyone will be doing with computers in ten years, thinking that you'll quit and write novels when you have one this has real implications for software design.

Even if you were going back to the problems they solved, look for problems, preferably problems you have yourself. You should respond in kind when investors behave upstandingly too. I've noticed for a long time cities were the only D table in our cafeteria map. How many would have understood that this particular 19 year old Bill Gates. Startups prosper in some places.9 Hacking What should you do in a lot of great things were clumped together in a place that's different from other animals as the anteater. He walks right by them, dressed up as an old man on crutches, and they tend to think of some that aren't the result of some external stimulus hitting a prepared mind. Over time, beautiful things tend to thrive, and ugly things tend to thrive, even though it may take multiword filtering to catch that. Civil War was about slavery; people would be intolerable. Y Combinator is that founders are willing to compromise.

Notes

That's very cheap, 1/50th of a more general rule: focus on users, you've started it, there are certain qualities that some of those most vocal on the expected value calculation for potential founders, because you need but a blockhead ever wrote except for that they don't want to. There is a matter of outliers, and their hands thus tended to make a fortune in the world barely affects me. I.

On Bullshit, Princeton University Press, 1996. Robert Morris wrote the first version was mostly Lisp, you don't need.

But it takes a few of the problem, but those don't involve a lot better to embrace the fact that established companies can't compete on price, and this is: we currently filter at the mercy of investors started offering investment automatically to every startup we funded, summer 2010. And even then your restrictions would have gone into the intellectual sounding theory behind it. E-Mail. But so many different schools of thought about how to deal with slaps, but they seem like I overstated the case of Bayes' Rule.

A round. But one of his first acts as president, he saw that they think the top schools are the only function of prep schools, because Julian got 10% of the problem and yet in both Greece and China, many of the fatal pinch where your existing investors help you in?

No VC will admit they're influenced by buzz. Unless of course, or black beans n cubes Knorr beef or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris says that clothing brands favored by urban youth do not generally hire themselves out to do this all the money.

Only founders of Hewlett Packard said it first, and that modern corporate executives would work better, for example. And while they tried to lowball them. How can people who lost were us. If you're dealing with the other hand, he tried to preserve their wealth by forbidding the export of gold or silver.

On the other people who should quit their day job writing software goes up more than 20 years, maybe they'll listen to them rather than trying to upgrade an existing investor, and there didn't seem to them till they also influence one another both directly and indirectly. He did eventually graduate at about 26. They each constrain the other meanings are fairly closely related. Except text editors and compilers.

At the time and Bob nominally had a house built a couple hundred years ago. S P 500 CEOs in the former, because talks are made of spolia. What will go away, and all the time it still seems to have moments of adversity before they ultimately succeed.

Stone, op. Actually he's no better or worse than he was before, but that it's a departure from the Dutch not to quit their day job. So if you're a big effect on college admissions there would be to write your dissertation in the fall of 2008 but no doubt often are, but more often than not what it would have been about 2,000. She was always good at acting that way.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #implications #words #cups

[omar-rahal]

The Breaking Point || Audition Para

“What’s the guy’s name again?”

“Bahmani. And the hospital he works at is at the address I gave you.” The man tapped the piece of paper in Omar’s hands. “Doesn’t seem that complicated to me.”

Omar would care to disagree. Any hit took planning and skill to pull off right and not get caught. And he had no intentions of being caught. Not now or ever. “And why exactly do you want this doctor dead again?”

The man sneered at him. “Look, I was told that you were the person to come to if I wanted rid of somebody.” Omar hated that that was his reputation. What he hated more was that it was accurate. “If I wanted questions asked, I wouldn’t be here. I can always take my business elsewhere.”

Omar looked down at the cash in his hands. Twenty-five dollars. He was going to kill a man for twenty-five measly dollars. When had his life come to this? How had life come to have a price tag at all, much less one so abhorrently low? He crumpled the bills, took a long drag from his cigarette and flicked the ashes onto the ground.

���Fine. It’ll be done by next week.”

“Next week? I want-”

“You came to me,” he drew himself to his full height and looked down at the man, his eyes shining black. “Not the other way around. It’ll be done next week.”

A few days later, Omar made his way into hospital. He wasn’t sober—he never was on these jobs, it never felt right to be, it all felt too real if he was—but he kept his feet steady, knowing the part far too well. He used the backdoor, having pretended to be a nurse on a smoke break. It was easy enough to gruffly ask where Doctor Bahmani was and get pointed toward and office where the man was taking his lunch break—the same he did ever day. It would be a messy job today. Omar preferred guns, but they also drew attention and in a doctor’s office, it was a sure way to get caught. So knife it would have to be. The lock pick kit slid down his sleeve and he let himself into the office with its efficient use.

“I’m sorry I’m on break, I’d thought I’d locked-”

“Not that kind of visit. Sorry doc.” The knife slid into his hands and the older man’s eyes grew wide. He backed up some, beginning to plead. That was always the part that was hardest for Omar, tuning out the pleading, the crying as he watched the life dry from someone’s eyes. He always managed it. But it was also what always woke him up at night, his body coated in a thick layer of sweat.

As he neared the doctor, the man tried to get away from him. Omar couldn’t shake a feeling of familiarity, though he didn’t know why. He hadn’t ever been here before. The man’s name didn’t sound familiar. He didn’t know him. He couldn’t know him. He raised his arm with the knife, the shifting of his shirt putting the tattoo on his neck on display. The doctor’s eyes grew wider.

“I know you.”

Omar’s stomach roiled and he shook his head. No. He couldn’t.

“I-I know you,” the doctor said again. He was pressed back against the wall of his office now, hands up in front of him to stay off the man trying to kill him. Something shifted in the man. He wasn’t just begging for his life now. He seemed to be begging for something more, though Omar didn’t know what exactly. “I remember you. Your battalion…” he motioned at the number at Omar’s neck that had been there since he was a teen. “They came under attack. …several the men were killed. I was an army doctor.”

It all slammed into him and his body halted immediately. The man’s eyes, younger then, less wrinkles, more light, full of confidence and kindness instead of fear. The same voice, hushing Omar, telling him not to move, the bullet could get lodged, no, no you have to stay here, you can’t go back for the other men, just stay with me. Omar took a step back, this time he was the one filled with fear.

“Your shoulder-” the doctor said shakily, his hand trembling as he pointed at Omar’s right shoulder. “You were shot. You- You had a tattoo. It hit it. You thought God was mad at you.”

“No,” this time it was Omar who shook. The knife shuddered in his grasp. He was never anything but steady on a job. But so much of it had built up. And now he had taken twenty-five dollars to kill a man. Twenty-five. Acid burnt his throat.

“It wasn’t bad. Not as bad as we’d seen. As I’d seen.” The man swallows but keeps going. Omar wished he would just shut up. He didn’t need reminded of what happened. He remembered. He remembered all of it. Every detail. The blood of his brothers on his hands, being forced away from the fight when he had little more than a scrape. “But you kept fighting. You kept wanting to go back. You were in so much pain. But you didn’t want to leave them behind.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Omar’s voice came loud and scared, everything crashing down on him all over again from that night.

“We had to cuff you to the bed to keep you from going. You wept all night because you could not help your brothers in arms.”

“Shut up!” This time it’s a desperate cry, tears start to stream down his face. The knife slips from his hand onto the floor. The palms of his hands press against his eyes. He wanted it to stop. He wanted all of it to stop. All the terror. All the killing. Never being enough. Never doing enough. Never never never enough. And here he was. With the man who had sat by his bed all night. Told him he would be okay. Recited scripture versus to ease his mind. The man who had saved him that night.

And Omar was meant to kill him.

For twenty-five dollars.

From a man who’d sought him out because he knew Omar did such things.

He had fully sold his soul… Hadn’t he?

“No. Nonono.” His hands buried themselves in his hair, tugging at the short brown strands. “No. Allah… Mam. Mam…”

His whole body shook. His whole body shook, racked with tears even as he felt the old man sit beside him, put his arm around his shoulders. Which only made him cry all the harder. This man was nothing but good. He was a saint. And Omar had accepted a job to kill him for twenty-five goddammed mother fucking dollars without asking a single fucking question. How many of the others that he had killed were just as good? How many? Did he even remember how many he had killed?

He didn’t.

He’d stopped counting when the number had started to make bile rise in his stomach.

He was shaking still, arms looped around curled up legs when she walked in several days later. He didn’t know how she’d gotten in. It was supposed to be a secured facility, no one in, no one out except the doctors and nurse who now tended him in a sick twist of fate. Maybe she was another therapist. He’d talked to so many already. But she certainly didn’t look like she belonged here. He looked up at her with weary eyes, his unease and mistrust clear on his face.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Sabina Bobrovskova,” she said, her words carrying a thick accent that certainly marked her as not Pakistani. “And I am here to make you an offer. I am here to take you out of here. I think you’ll like what I have to say.”

#about #self #para #audition para #self para #sabina

[asterinjapan]

Reaching for the skies

Good evening, here I am again! How is the weather back home? Here, it’s a nice 32 C with sunshine the whole day! I am so happy! That airconditioning exists!!

First things first: I took my good friend the Yamanote-line to Nippori station, coincidentally the same station I made a quick stop at yesterday to buy my train ticket, haha. Could have done that today in retrospect, but oh well, free travel with JR anyway, might as well abuse it! From Nippori, I took the Joban line to Ushiku. They had actually bothered to put up a poster pointing you to the bus stop nearby and which stop you had to take, but the entire bus was in Japanese and I couldn’t even use my pass to get in. Nope, you have to draw a number the good old fashioned way. (In Japanese buses, when you can’t or won’t pay with an IC card, you either have a flat fare or you have to pay for the amount of stops you get. In the latter case, you draw a number in the back of the bus, take your seat, and keep an eye on the screen in the front that tells you how expensive your number is by the time you get to the next stop. You have to pay the exact amount in cash in a box next to the bus driver’s, which thankfully does allow you to exchange your thousand yen bills for coins. I mean, it works, but this kind of system would be an absolute drama in the Netherlands, wow.)

My bus was one of the hourly direct lines to the Ushiku Daibutsu, of which there are maybe a dozen a day in the weekend and none on weekdays. Yep, they really want to draw in the tourists, huh… Oh well. For some reason this trip was cheaper than if I’d taken the normal bus, which – shouldn’t that be more expensive since it’s a special bus then? Or at least the same amount of money since it’s basically the same trip?? Oh well, not complaining, haha.

I got super impatient and stared out the window, because I really doubted you wouldn’t be able to spot a statue of that height miles and miles before you got there, come on. And there it was, a head towering out over the treetops! The bus dropped me off at the nearby Ushiku garden stop, and I walked the last 5 minutes to the Ushiku Daibutsu entrance. It was totally, utterly quiet – there was a small shopping street leading to the entrance, and there surely were some tourists there, but man, it’s a Sunday! In summer! Even at 10:30 in the morning, you’d have to walk over the heads at any other touristic spot. But nope, Ushiku just doesn’t seem to be that popular.

Anyway, I got a ticket that allowed me to go all the way up into the Buddha and entered the premises. There is a park surrounding the Buddha, including a lovely Japanese garden with a pond, but most of the flowers had either already bloomed or were waiting for autumn. August is not a good month if you like flowers here, haha. It was still lovely, and I got a couple of nice shots of the Buddha before I got too close to manage.

It’s really hard to grasp just how massive this statue is. It was getting kinda hot already, so I quickly made my way in. Me and two other tourists were instructed to take our shoes off (pretty common in temples in Japan), and were then led inside to a first elevator. This one led a couple of floors up, where we first walked past a recitation of sutras before ending up on the 2nd floor (10 metres high according to the leaflet, which would put us at the base of the lotus flower the Buddha stands on – that one in turn stands on a 10 metres tall pedestral, making the statue itself 100 metres tall and the full height 120 metres). Here, they’d put up an exhibition on how the statue was constructed, which was super interesting to see, since well, it’s a 120 metres tall bronze Buddha, how the hell did they manage that? On this floor, you can also find a replica of the big toe of the Buddha, which is higher than me. I could just reach up to the start of the nail, the rest of the toe was higher than me. His toe! The Buddha of Nara can literally fit in the palm of this Buddha’s hand, what even.

Next up was another elevator taking us all the way to 80 to 85 metres high into the statue, where there were windows looking out in all directions. Of course, they had a special corner for seeing the Sky Tree and Mount Fuji – and of course, today I couldn’t spot the stupid mountain either, haha. Anyway, interestingly enough, this room also narrated the life of the historic Buddha and the beginning of his teachings, something I haven’t seen before in a Japanese temple. Kind of odd to me, because since a number of the plates were translated into English, you’d think they’re aiming at an international audience who might not be familiar with the story of Buddha. Oh well. For me it was a good chance to see how much I remembered from university class, anyway.

The elevator down takes you to the World of the Lotus Sanctuary, which features thousands of small and big golden Buddha statues. This was really impressive – I think you can also hold memorial services here, and the plates did ask you to say a prayer because it was basically the inside of a temple. Very impressive.

There was a souvenir shop too, because of course there was, and I found the tiniest little crystal featuring the Buddha. After laughing for an hour, I got one for myself, since I collect these 3D crystals as they make for fun souvenirs. Granted, later on I discovered a bigger crystal in the shopping street, but nah, I’m keeping this tiny one because it makes me laugh. (It was the same in the Sky Tree back in 2014, actually. Phenominal giant tower! Itty bitty souvenir crystal.)

Finally, on the way to the exit, I ran into a small golden replica of the Buddha, and it said to put golden leaves on it. I didn’t get it until I walked out into the observatory – you can actually buy a golden leaflet and paste it on the real Buddha. The tiny golden one was an example of what it should eventually look like. Uh, yeah, good luck with that one guys, the leaflets are like 10 cm, haha. But the idea is very nice!

Once outside, I followed the route to a vending machine, where I got a can of ice coffee, and then thought I was slowly losing my mind, because I heard It’s a Small World playing behind me. A look over my shoulder verified I wasn’t hallucinating; there’s a petting zoo over here. Playing Disney songs. And that’s the thing that draws in the crowds. Alright.

I was personally less interested in the petting zoo, especially since they also have monkeys perform there according to the phamplet which, yeah, no, I’m not gonna support. So I skipped it and took a nice stroll through the park; thankfully the wind was picking up a bit, so I was only melting every other step instead of every single step, haha. I entered the Japanese garden and noticed where the big crowds were gathered: feeding the koi carpers. I mean. A pond with koi in them is pretty common around temples, but – that’s what you’re here for? Really? Not the giant Buddha right behind – okay, never mind.

I waited at the bus stop for the special bus to pick me up, which took a while, because as said, only once an hour… It gave me enough time to go to the bathroom and pick up an ice cream, anyway.

Back to Tokyo, I melted every time the door opened, so I decided to make a stop in Akihabara to flee into a couple of stores for the A/C until it was time to go back to my hotel, at 3 PM.

I proceeded to do absolutely nothing but bask in the A/C until dinner, haha. I found the Milky Way cafe here in Ikebukuro, which is star themed and mostly offers parfaits, but also some sandwiches and other dishes, so I had dinner here before some last late night shopping (I still have space in my suitcase left! For now).

And now it’s slowly starting to get time for bed, because tomorrow, I will be going to Sendai! That’s slightly over an hour from Omiya station by the fastest shinkansen, so not exactly around the corner. Sendai celebrates the Tanabata (star) festival from today until the 8th, and I wanted to visit the city already anyway, for the ruins of Aoba Castle and the great Kannon statue (the second tallest statue in Japan, actually). So my Japanese friend agreed to meet up with me there so we can visit all these places and experience the Tanabata festival! I’m excited.

Good night and see you tomorrow!

#report #japan 2017 #report: japan 2017 #places: ushiku

[chimeperson23-blog]

8 Red Flags I Know To Watch Out For After Being A Victim Of Financial Abuse

I’m in my thirties, and the first time I heard the term “financial abuse” was a little less than two years ago. After being divorced for a few years and working my way back up from financial rock bottom, it dawned on me that I’d never even considered what had happened to me as abuse — but it really was. I was familiar with the other forms of abuse that are often talked about, and I was taken advantage of and emotionally abused in my former relationship, for sure. But losing control of my money, my financial decisions, and my credit affected my life with long-lasting effects.

As this article from Bustle claims:

Women are far more likely to experience financial abuse than physical abuse by their partners. The organization Purple Purse explains that 99 percent of domestic abuse situations (which can happen in all kinds of relationships, including family relationships or friendships) are believed to involve financial control and coercion.

Looking back, I wish I had been more aware of the little red flags that started showing up in alarming displays — and I wish I’d known of others who had come forward with their stories so I would have known better.

I was only 22 years old when I started dating my ex-husband, Rob*. I knew him for a year or so before I began dating him, and while I had heard things through our group of friends, I was sure none of it was true once we began dating. Rob had a good job, a nice apartment, and was “adulting” much better than any of the rest of my friends at that time. He seemed caring and attentive, and I got caught up in our new relationship. I moved in with him within three months, which was my first big mistake.

Moving in with someone so fast (and so young) really opens your eyes quickly. I started to see little red flags — Rob was very good at getting what he wanted by bullshitting (it truly is an art) and wasn’t above lying to others or even stealing, though his definition of that was pretty loose. He would make friends with people, and I’d see them giving him “gifts” — either money or actual gifts (that he would then sell for cash). One such person was an older lady who lived in our apartment building. Despite all the ways my body was screaming at me that something seemed off, he laughed and insisted she just saw him as the grandson she never had and that she had no other family. I found out years later that she was handing him upwards of $400 a week, and he was addicted to pain pills. Rob knew how to target vulnerable people, but I didn’t realize yet that I was one of his victims.

At this point, we were a year in, and our relationship had started to lose that patina of newness. Our fights started to include insults, which quickly turned venomous — it was so unhealthy, yet had somehow become our norm. After every fight, Rob would apologize profusely; I moved out once, but he convinced me to come back by saying how much he loved me and was invested in our relationship. Around this time, he got injured at work and was on worker’s comp for nearly a year. This started a pattern in which he would get a job, then get injured again and go on disability. Rob also took control of our finances and started to nitpick how I spent money. I didn’t realize I was changing my behavior to avoid fights, but he was grooming me. Within two years, Rob proposed to me, and I found out I was pregnant a quick four months later. So much was happening that I couldn’t think straight.

I’ll admit I wasn’t sure that I should marry Rob — he had proposed somewhat unexpectedly, and I had lots of doubts. However, once I found out I was pregnant, I really committed to him and to our family. I felt stuck, like I had no other choice because he would be in my (and my son’s) life no matter what. Plus, my sister had gotten divorced and it seemed like such a dirty word at the time; she was struggling on her own. I know now that there are always other options (and being divorced is certainly not the worst of them).

Once I was pregnant, everything started to dissolve and roll downhill. It was at this time that he admitted he was addicted to pain medication; he only admitted it to me because he had stolen my insurance card from my wallet and had gotten caught by the DEA, who was investigating the doctor he was seeing. I was terrified because I thought I was going to go to jail for something I knew nothing about. The spiral of fear, shame, and embarrassment was indescribable. He convinced me to put a retainer for an attorney on my credit card so that no one would find out. The DEA were really only interested in the doctor, so the “problem” went away. Rob cried about his addiction and how much he needed my help. I vowed to stand by his side and help him through it as a team. A few months after my son was born, we married. He knew he had me now.

Rob started spending money as he wished despite many conversations where I explained there wasn’t enough. I wasn’t sure if it was on drugs or other things, but it started not to matter; my feelings fell on deaf ears. I was the only one working, the only one bringing in an income, and I was drowning trying to keep us afloat. When I had enough of it all, I would ask him to leave; Rob refused. He claimed renter’s rights and started to recite them when we would argue — I had included him on the lease, so whether he was actually paying for the apartment or not was a moot point. I wasn’t even sure if he was right, but I was too scared to push. I couldn’t do it with him, how would I do it without him, and with a new baby?

The biggest advantage he held over me was my shame and embarrassment — for being with him, his addiction, and not wanting to let on to my family what was really going on (or how unhappy I was). He had successfully isolated me from both my friends and my family, and I felt like telling them the truth was out of the question. When we would fight, he would grab my wallet and my credit cards and threaten to go “spend my money” — and what could I do then? When I would try to grab them back, he’d wave his arm up in the air and scream for me to “stop hitting him” in hopes our neighbors would hear. He had no limits — he excelled at pushing buttons, and in turn, perfected reacting calmly to make me even more irate (and question if I was the problem, like he would say I was, as he gaslighted me). He simply used my fear of admitting failure to keep ruining my life because he knew I was too afraid to leave. We were evicted from our apartment for failure to pay, and on my first Mother’s Day, I was busy unpacking boxes in my new home — my in-laws’ house. I watched as everything I had go to ruin — my savings, my credit score, and most of all, my pride.

My son was 4 months old when Rob announced he was going to rehab — he left a day later, and I was left figuring out how to pay for his needs there (my insurance paid for his stay, but I was responsible otherwise), rearranging my work schedule without letting on what was really happening at home (again, the shame), and most of all, taking care of my 4-month-old and simultaneously taking care of myself. At this time, piles of bills began to come in the mail — bills I didn’t recognize. It was then that I realized he had opened accounts in my name — even my engagement ring was bought in my name. I fell into a deep depression.

I felt betrayed, but mostly very stupid. Even recalling this, I’m not sure how I managed to look the other way so many times; sometimes it is more difficult to admit there’s something wrong than to pretend there isn’t a problem and brush it off. Denial is a powerful force. I also felt very hopeless — in fact, I wasn’t able to leave him. I was still too embarrassed to admit the truth to my family, and not sure how I would afford childcare on my own. People say “just leave,” but it’s not that simple with a young child. We were now living in an apartment I rented from a family member, so he again had it over my head — he refused to leave “his” apartment. He used me for a little bit longer until he met another woman; it wasn’t until he decided to leave me two years later that I was able to start rebuilding my life. I had to file bankruptcy and work slowly to get back to where I was, but there is hope — I have a better life today than I did then, and I am solely providing for my son.

From enduring all of this, here are the signs of financial abuse I now know to watch out for:

1. Your partner acts in ways that sabotage your career or your job. 2. Money is missing from your account(s). 3. Your partner pressures you to make certain financial choices, or sign documents you don’t want to sign. 4. Your partner scrutinizes and criticizes your spending, even while they spend freely (and carelessly). 5. Your partner expects you to bail them out of sticky situations. 6. They convince you to put everything in your name (apartment, house, car, etc.) because you have better credit (until they ruin it). 7. Your partner handles the mail and you never see what is coming in. 8. Your partner refuses to work; or alternately, refuses to let you work, holding control over you/the money.

I now know that I should have confided in my friends and family the minute something was off; keeping up a facade didn’t help anyone, and people that love you know when you’re unhappy anyway. I could have saved myself years of struggling if I had recognized the signs and spoken up. Keep an eye out for these signs of financial abuse to protect yourself — and your bank account.

*name has been changed

Karen works in the beauty industry by day and is a freelance writer by night. She loves goofing off with her son, good music, and a full glass of rosé.

Image via Unsplash

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Source: https://thefinancialdiet.com/8-red-flags-i-know-to-watch-out-for-after-being-a-victim-of-financial-abuse/

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

[broomstickvigilante]

As I gazed upon the open vault door a thought struck me. I’ve seen strange magic, and I've come up with a bit myself, but this wasn’t strange per se; it was fantastical. Inefficient might be a word, or accidental perhaps, but as the monstrous gateway swung wide and revealed its contents I felt a shiver. A curious sensation, the shiver, as if cold; the muggles refer to it as someone ‘walking over your grave’. I quite like that. Beyond the opening a wall of shimmering light flowed like water, set to colors as if an old oil painting, the brush strokes still wet from the brush. The painting was of an old house, crumbling in places and eaten away by an ocean breeze sweeping in from the cliffs behind it. The building loomed above us on its painted surface, at least two stories tall, the glow of candlelight in the upstairs window. Around the house sat a long stone wall, piled one on top of another as if from a nearby stream, it encircled the residence and a small garden. The front door seemed to jump out at us, the focal point, and atop its old fashioned brass knocker perched a bat, hardly visible in perpetual dusky light. “Merlin’s beard” Muttered Theo in front of me, as he unconsciously made a step forward. I reached out and grasped the back of his coat, getting a reproachful glance. “I do not believe it safe.” I told him, looking to the goblins next to us. The were all spellbound, unmoving except to whisper a few words as their quills wrote on without hands. The head goblin took a moment to look about at the small crowd, walked gingerly to the closest vault door and touched one gnarled finger to its surface. His fingertip came away with soot, and something like oil. He pinched the substance, rubbing it between his fingers as he strode back. “Peculiar, most peculiar.” Was all that was audible before he began writing notes down by hand. I took the momentary lapse to stride forward and, with a kerchief from my blazer, scraped a bit of the residue off myself. It was oily, as if some gelatin left out too long, but with a brackish leftover chalkiness. Peculiar indeed, but not unheard of, I would hazard a guess it to be ectoplasm. The implications were, lengthy. “Mr. Nott, I am loathe to tell you, but this is a safety hazard and must be removed at once. We cannot allow a risk like this on gringotts property.” The head goblin was striding forward, a newly signed legal paper in hand. He waved it back and forth like a torch in the dark, as if to comfort himself. “We both know this is not a risk, having been here for so long undetected. A seaming is no great risk either way.” I folded my arms reflexively, giving what I hoped was an unconversational look. “A Seaming of this magnitude is unheard of, it could be unstable or pull people in without warning, it must be expelled.” “What is gringotts policy on magical items kept within the bounds of a customers vault?” Theo asked, finally turning to join in the conversation. That is a very good question, very leading; he's learning. “Any item that is not actively harming a living entity and is kept within the space limits of the vault may be kept on gringotts property, as so long as it is stable as such.” Recited Rengak, as if reading from a page. The sprite lay goblin was at the waters edge, so to speak, and carefully put his hand up to the shimmering painting. “The enchantment is stable, and is within five eighths of a centimeter from the vault boundary, it is legal.” Oh the glare Ungkt gave Rengak could’ve felled a dementor, dead on the spot. “As he says, it is legal. I would appreciate no more threats to destroy my property Sir Ungkt, It is most unbecoming of a head goblin to go against gringotts policy.” His face became a faint purplish hue, his long ears tipped with red. “Very well,” He managed to murmur, “But please refrain from accessing this vault without assistance, for everyone's protection.” I nodded, accepting the request, making sure not to utter any legally binding phrases. As the goblins filed away, Rengak stayed behind and waited until all but the three of us stood there. “Are you going to access the seaming today?” He asked without looking away from the departing fellows. “I have little experience with this style of magic, I shall endeavor to return with an adequate expert, in a few days most like.” “May I accompany you when you do, off duty.” Rengak looked up, a strange sort of curiosity gleaming in his black eyes. “I believe that it would be in all our interests to have an expert in magically enchanted objects along, should we explore a seaming over two hundred years old, off duty though he will be. I appreciate your assistance.” The goblin grinned wickedly, bowing. I returned the gesture and he made off after his boss. “Okay, so what I going on?” Theo asked, looking bewildered. “It’s complicated, I'll explain on the lift.” + + + + + I bluffed most of that conversation before, but now that I had time to think with the vault closed safely and the rumble of the lift around us- “So what's a seaming.” Theo, as ever, needed to know immediately. Not that I entirely blamed him. “I know it is a strong enchantment to hold a particular illusion in place, usually for decoration or deception, it's so strong that you can physically touch it.” I answered casually, mind racing at why one would be made so large. “But why is it wavy, it's not a very convincing illusion.” “Likely the ‘wavy’ curtain as you put it is a veil between the illusion and reality.” Theo squinted a bit, not liking the sound of that I bet. “So what we saw was the entrance to an illusion, not the illusion itself. The inside will be more convincing then, like being inside the painting?” “Precisely, I surmise that if we were to step through the veil we would be inside a more realistic depiction of the painting, also likely to be almost lifelike. Whether the inside moves, or is static I haven't the faintest inclination but…” I'm concerned who in my family put the spell there and what it is for, what purpose does a full scale illusion of a house serve? “but what?” Probed Theo as we sat in silence, the only noise the rumble of the rails. “perhaps it's like a Pensive, that it is a memory we could walk through.” Theo was quiet for a long moment, and in that time the lift halted at a floor and the pair stepped out. “That could be useful if we could replicate it, let people conjure up memories.” “Or nightmares.” I said under my breath. We turned a corner and a sign above us read ‘Magical acquisitions and study – Curse breaker department’. Beyond was a desk and rows of office doors, all in the fashion of those upstairs, clean, elegant, and surrounded by paved rock walls. A man sat behind the desk, busily searching the desk drawers and file folders. At the sound of our footsteps he looked up sharply and closed the drawers. “Can I help you?” He chimed with a friendly smile. His ginger hair was dangerously close to the lantern on the desk. “Yes I am looking for someone familiar with illusions, the type generally used as traps or to guard objects.” I sat down in front of the desk casually, unbuttoning my jacket. Theo, after a moment, sat as well and gazed around. “Well, that might be me actually. What seems to be the problem?” Now that I had time to eye him, he looked familiar somehow. He gave off a cool air, casually competent and stylish. Perhaps not so familiar then. “Seamings, what do you know of them.” I cut right to the chase, no sense hiding the information the whole building would be chittering about it soon enough. “Well, I've seen quite a few in Egypt, the old pharaoh solved to use them to hide pit traps or bottles of flesh eating spiders; camel spiders, nasty things. Why? One accidentally gone off in your house?” Just then a memo in the shape of a canary swooped down and landed on the desk, popping itself into shape in front of the man. “Actually, one is in my vault. That might be about it actually.” The man read the memo for a few moments, glancing up every so often over the edge of the paper is stare becoming more unfriendly as he read. “You’re Theodore Nott.” It wasn't a question. “I am, regretfully.” I hoped that comment might ease his suspicions a bit. “He is, most definitely” Added Theo helpfully. “Do you know that the Gringotts administration has reported you for possession of an illegal magical item?” They did what? “No, because it probably happened on the ride down. I inherited the vault from my great uncle, he was excommunicated from my family. I do not believe anything he would keep in his vault would meant to do harm.” The man seemed to think for a long moment, peering at me below angry ginger eyebrows. “I think I can help, but I'm going to be blunt here. Why should I help a boy who is suspected of being a death eater. You could hear a pin drop, and before my mind jumped to an proper answer Theo had nearly gotten out of his seat. “Bill, do you remember me?” The man, probably bill, turned to him. “I think so, Theo right? Maggie’s friend.” “And Ron’s and Harry’s. I say Theodore isn't a death eater, and never will be. He's done nothing but be helpful since his family was outed, he even tutors for merlins sake.” Bill glanced at me, I gave a faint, confused nod. That seemed to be appropriate. “Good enough for me.” And the smile was back, just as a pair of people exited an office nearby and came up. “Ready to go Bill?” Asked a woman with a heavy French accent. “Just a minute, meet me by the lift?” He nodded towards us as if to say ‘private chat’. The pair walked past, and as they did I heard Theo get up and follow and conversation strike up. “So do you think you could help us?” I asked “Probably, but I'd need details, and they usually take a while to either puzzle out or dispel. Which were you looking to do?” “Well I probably should have led to this, but it is in one of the twelve. And it is as large, or larger, than a three story house.” At that I saw an pure expression of surprise cross his face, “You should have definitely led with that. We're can I reach you when I get more information?” I hand him a number for the garage, as well as tell him hogwarts to be the better option. “I appreciate your help, I will be doing my own research into why the seaming is there in the first place.” “are you always this businesslike?” He asked abruptly. I smiled awkwardly, and shook his hand without answer. + + + + + ‘It wasn’t until I stared the creature in the eye that I understood what fear truly was. The Windego Thundered from the doorway, into the gaping darkness beyond my candlelight’ “Whatcha readin?” Theo blurted in, dropping a wrench on a worktable. I looked up, he was smeared with grease on his coveralls and had goggles on his head. I couldn't tell if they were for safety, or to keep his curly hair out of his eyes. “My grand uncles journals, he was a sort of monster documenter, the dangerous kind.” “Cool, like what?” “A few things, ghosts mostly.” Theo looked sharply at me “Ghosts aren't dangerous.” “Yes, the regular kind we get from wizards are not, but apparently when muggles create them it is far less focused, or pleasant. He goes into great detail about the spirits attacking things, or causing chaos in households because it cannot communicate.” He scratched his head absently. “That makes sense, if Nick couldn't tell his stories every hour or two he'd probably go as nuts as the baron.” Quite insightful. I picked up another book from the vault I had cleared, its remaining items having been shipped here and I had loaded into my trunk. A small silver script had been partially brushed off the cover. As I opened it I smelled old flowers and a faint perfume. On the inside cover was pressed a black flower, purple with old age, fanning out in all directions. I quickly flipped through the pages, and immediately noticed that the handwriting was much different from the other journals. It flowed with simple elegance while the other had been a spidery scrawl filled with ecsintric twists. I stopped on a page and read quickly. ‘I fear the path ends at the Bauline mansion, in the morning I will return home. I cannot help the sick feeling in my guts that I've missed some clue he would've left me, or is that my mothers sickness? I hope my own worry will not upset my child unduly.’ – October 4th, 1980 I felt my chest lurch, my gut told me what my mind racing to conclude. My mother wrote this.