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penny00dreadful · 1 year

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Can't start another WIP she said, bitch she fuckin LIED. Personal Assistant Steve to Rockstar Eddie snippet. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 AO3

Smoke curled lazily above them in the slightly chilly night air. Neither of them had bothered to put any clothes back on but they were still warm enough from previous activities so it didn’t really matter.

The guy, Jake? John? James? J- Julian! That was it. Julian was standing next to him just out of arms reach now that the horny haze between the two of them had worn off.

Eddie supposed that was to be expected.

The poor guy probably had no idea if he was about to be booted unceremoniously out of a rockstars luxury hotel room after crashing together under a fog of uppers and thumping music at the after party before they both had quickly fumbled their way into Eddie's bed for the night.

He had no idea if fuckin' security or some shit was going to burst through the door and drag him out half or fully naked now that Eddie was done with him.

And it probably hadn't helped that they had been walked in on, they'd barely been in the room a minute before Steve came looking for him, talking a mile a minute about tour schedules and pre-approved interview questions before he'd realised he was looking at Eddie practically humping the guy against a wall.

They'd stopped when Steve walked in obviously but it had been pretty clear what they were doing and Steve, ever the professional had just rolled his eyes and told Eddie he'd be back in the morning.

Julian clearly had no idea if he was safe here now that the deed was done but Eddie wasn't an asshole. He could be a bit callous all right but he wasn't opposed to his hook-ups hanging around for a little bit if they seemed like cool enough people. And the guy seemed nice enough so he didn’t mind letting him stick around.

Julian sighed a little heavily and ran a hand through his muddy blonde hair. “I feel kinda bad now.”

Eddie turned his eyes over to him. “About what? The sex?” He pulled in a drag from his cigarette.

“No!” Julian answered quickly. “No, the sex was great, really. I mean about your... Your assistant? Probably not the easiest thing for him to see.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie shook his head. “Steve’s seen much worse, believe me. The stories that man could tell.” He laughed. “It's not the first time he's walked in and it probably won’t be the last but he’s practically immune to it at this stage. He’s dragged me by the hair out of celebrity drug dens, parties… he’s pulled me out of more orgy piles than I can count so you know… no skin off his back. ”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

“What then?”

Julian grimaced and glanced down with a look somewhere between guilty and sad. “You really don’t see it?”

Eddie ashed out his cigarette, shrugging and headed back inside. He wanted to get back into bed, his feet were cold and his body was aching from the show he’d just performed. Honestly he could do with as much sleep as humanly possible but he hadn't any idea what the guy was talking about. He'd meant what he'd said, Steve had seen him in just about every position it was possible for a person to be in pre-sex, mid-sex and post-sex. This was nothing new to him.

Julian followed him back inside and hovered awkwardly at the end of the bed, trying to pick his words and unsure if he should be picking his clothes back up from the floor or getting back into bed.

Eddie pulled the corner of the covers back. “I’m not going to kick you out, you can stay if you want or you can go. Up to you.”

Julian bit his lip but crawled in regardless, lying down to face Eddie. The darkness of the room and the way the two of them were lying facing towards each other felt like some kind of confessional.

“He’s clearly in love with you, dude.”

Eddie couldn’t help the full on belly laugh that came out of his mouth. “Steve?!” He asked incredulously. “No way, man. He’s my P.A. and one of my closest friends. Plus the guy is straight as an arrow. Your gaydar must be off or something.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well… I mean… look at him!”

Steve was… he was the straightest looking man around. All business suits, perfectly styled hair, slightly out of date glasses and ex-jock charisma and physique.

Julian didn’t answer, just cocked an eyebrow at him.

Eddie huffed. “Yeah, okay, I’m stereotyping but like… he fucks women.”

“You fuck women.”

“Rarely.”

“But you still do.”

“Okay… but… he… listen I know Steve, alright? The guy isn’t in love with me.”

Julian shrugged. “I dunno, man. I’m not trying to be an ass, I swear but it was very obvious… to me I guess.” He sighed again then muttered “Maybe I’m just very familiar with that look.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah." He tucked his hands under his head. "See it every time I look in the mirror.”

“Oh. Well shit. Who’re you breaking your heart over?”

“My best friend. Danny.”

Eddie hummed, rolling onto his stomach and shoving his arms under his pillow, rubbing his cheek against the fabric. “Tell me about him.”

Julian broke into a wide but bashful smile, so bright it was practically lighting up the dark room though it was sharply undercut with just a hint of melancholy.

“He’s the most loving, giving person I’ve ever met. He’d only just turned eighteen when both his parents died and out of nowhere he’s got three younger siblings that are now in his care and the guy barely knew how to look out for himself, you know? He once tried to microwave an egg to cook it. But he really stepped up. He grew up. Like, can you imagine being eighteen and having to go to parent-teacher meetings when you’d only just left school yourself and trying to teach his kid brother how to shave or talk his sisters through puberty… he’s just so… you know?”

Eddie wasn’t really sure he did know. This Danny person made him think of Steve, serial adopter of anyone even remotely younger than him. Sometimes older than him, if Eddie was to count himself. The kind of person who seemed to make it their life's mission to take care of others. He could see the appeal of Best-Friend-Danny, honestly. Steve probably had better hair though. He always had better hair.

“And Danny’s straight?”

“No.” Julian frowned. “He’s not. And I don’t know if that makes things worse. Because he could choose me. But he never has. Over and over and over again, he hasn’t chosen me. He probably never will. And I need him in my life. So I’ve learned to deal with just friends. It’ll... It'll be good enough.”

“Fuck, that’s heavy. I’m sorry man, sounds like it sucks.”

“It does suck. Sucks dick and balls, actually.”

Eddie allowed himself a little giggle at that but the whole situation had wound itself around his brain. Not for the first time he was forced to remember that there are other people out there, other people like him and other people nothing like him who use music, use sex, use drugs and drink and anything else they can get their hands on just to alter their minds for a few hours. Just to forget and get away from it all. Unfortunately this poor guy seemed stuck in the kind of tragedy poets have been writing about for hundreds of years.

They didn’t share any more words, both dropping off to sleep fairly quickly, lost in their own thoughts.

The next morning they shuffled around each other, lazy and easy now that any post-sex awkwardness had left, grumbling and sore from the show, the various substances they’d ingested, the after party and the sex from the night before.

They took turns in the hotel room's quite frankly obscenely fancy shower.

Julian slowly pulled his clothes back on, wincing whenever he had to bend his back while Eddie made it easy on himself, just throwing on his usual ancient and ratty lounging clothes.

The things Julian had said to him the night before were all but forgotten. Because it wasn't even something that was worth considering in Eddie's mind.

Steve? In love with him?

It was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard in his life. Steve was like some kind of clean cut poster boy for straightness.

Even if he wasn't straight they'd just be downright incompatible in every other sense of the word. He was punctual, a morning person, he exercised for fun, he watched sports, he was a bitch and he was always so put together.

Eddie... Eddie was none of those things.

Maybe he could be a bit of a bitch.

Sometimes.

Plus, even if it was true and that was a big if, Eddie wasn't in love with him back, so like...

Nothing would ever come of it anyway.

Just before Julian left, Eddie beckoned him back over.

The kiss wasn’t romantic, or heated. If anything it was downright platonic, like closing the book on their short story together.

“For luck.” Eddie smiled and patted him lightly on the chest, watching as Julian turned and left the room, his own small smile on his face.

It was nearly a half an hour later and Eddie was really getting into whatever episode of Real Housewives he’d stumbled upon, he wasn't sure, when Steve walked through the door, carrying a large and violently pink strawberry frappuccino with him.

Eddie made greedy, grabby hands at it from his lounged position on the bed. “You’re a saint.” He said, snatching it up.

“I’m aware.” Steve replied with a dry tone, hands on his hips.

Eddie gulped back two bitingly cold mouthfuls. “No, seriously, you’re the best thing to ever happen to me I swear to god." He gulped down another mouthful, ignoring the sharp throb in his teeth. "You gonna watch?” He gestured to the tv. “I think we’re a few episodes behind.”

Steve scoffed. “While I’d love nothing more than to sit on your dirty sex sheets, I have an actual job to do. Y’know, I have to organise your whole damn life-”

“Excuse you, I have an actual job too!”

“Drugs are not an actual job, Eds.”

“Tell that to a pharmacist.”

“Whatever. Drink your disgusting sugar and cream concoction and try not to get into too much trouble today. We're back on the tour bus at 6am sharp!” Steve started slowly backing towards the door, pointing at him. “And do not watch ahead from the last episode we saw together. We’re catching up on it over the weekend.”

“Can’t make any promises.”

Steve’s hands were back on his hips again and Eddie smiled around his straw.

“You’re the bane of my fucking existence, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

Something flashed across Steve’s face, there and gone before it ever settled. A tightening of his mouth, a clench in his jaw, a pinch in his brows, there and gone. Maybe if Julian had never said anything, Eddie wouldn’t have noticed. Maybe if the thought hadn’t been primed he wouldn’t have seen it.

How many times had he not seen it before?

Steve rolled his eyes, as bitchy as ever. “I’ll be back with the car in an hour. Try to look somewhat human by then, please?” He didn’t wait for an answer, turning on his heel and slamming the door behind him.

Well…

It was probably nothing…

Right?

Part 2 out now! Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 AO3

#steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #eddie x steve #fanfic #steddie fic #penny00dreadful #stranger things fic #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar eddie #personal assistant steve #personal assistant steve harrington #modern au #somebody to love

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rottenpumpkin13 · 6 months

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You know what…let’s fucking go there!

Genesis gets everything he wants AU

Sephiroth, by some unseen twist of fate, has some kind of physical collapse due to overexposure to mako and ends up incapacitated on the field during a key battle in Wutai. He fails, becoming useless, and Genesis is the one to win the great victory. He gets all the glory for the first time ever.

When they get home, Sephiroth is gone. Restricted to R&D, physically unable to perform as he once did, and Genesis becomes the new hero of Shinra. His face is everywhere, people are saying he was the one that surpassed Sephiroth. PR is going wild with interviews and propaganda. The President awards Genesis in front of screaming crowds. All the young boys now want to be like the daring and fiery Phoenix of Wutai.

Genesis Rhapsodos becomes the new face of SOLDIER and the legendary victor of the Wutai War.

He got everything he dreamed of. He is the hero at last.

But did it satisfy him?

Glory had a distinct taste for everyone, and all the most discerning SOLDIERs knew it. Angeal would’ve said it tasted like metal, the type that pricks your tongue when your mouth is full of blood; the type you have to spit out before you swallow it and it settles in your stomach as an addiction.

Sephiroth could go on and on about how insipid it was, oftentimes repeating himself as he told his friends just how flavorless his conquests were. Sephiroth couldn’t tell if it was a case of overconsumption that led to the lackluster feeling in his mouth, or if he simply never liked the taste of it at all.

It didn’t matter to Genesis, who always took everything Sephiroth told him with a spoonful of salt. He had an idea of glory that would’ve prodded one's hunger and left you salivating just at the thought of it. In his mind, glory was sweet, delectable, and downright sinful.

His insatiable hunger for glory didn’t help his case. Genesis Rhapsodos was born hungry and lived life intent on satisfying his stomach at all costs, no matter who he had to step over to fill it.

Then, there came a day when glory finally forced itself down his throat.

And it tasted like the ashes of the dead.

The battlefield was enveloped in chaos, a symphony of clashing swords permeating the air. It buzzed with the hum of thundering spells. Genesis fought with unparalleled ferocity, his rapier burning brightly with the glow of the flames.

Up ahead, Sephiroth cut through the enemy ranks with his usual immaculate precision.

But Genesis was not blind, and he had known Sephiroth long enough to notice it—Sephiroth's movements, once fluid, grew sluggish as sweat clung to his brow.

Then, it happened.

Sephiroth staggered, Masamune slipping from his grasp. The weight of the blade seemed too much for his weakened form. His strength gave way. He collapsed to his knees, crumbling like a doll to the muddy ground.

Genesis never did understand the force that propelled him forward that day. He was like an animal, slicing through enemies with pure rage and fear biting his skin, aiming to protect Sephiroth from his attackers.

The following month, the streets of Midgar were wrought with the roaring cheers of a crowd, a sea of faces adorning banners and posters of a russet-haired hero. Genesis stood atop a grand podium with a gold medal around his neck, placed there by the president himself.

He was the face of SOLDIER now, the Phoenix of Wutai.

The exploding fireworks never penetrated the barrier between the vainglorious display outside and the desolation in Genesis' mind. It was quiet there. He only ever brought himself out when he needed to force a smile or answer a question.

Though bathed in brilliance and splendor, Genesis felt naked before the abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

Sephiroth was confined to a bed somewhere in the R & D's medical wing. And Genesis would once again trade places with him in a heartbeat.

Director Lazard's voice droned on, detailing Genesis's packed schedule for the upcoming week. Interviews with various media outlets, appearances at high-profile events, and promotional activities—all designed to solidify Genesis's status as the new face of SOLDIER.

"...And then there's the gala on Thursday night. The President himself will be there, and it's crucial that you make a lasting impression," Lazard finished, expecting some form of acknowledgment from the younger man.

Genesis was indifferent, his attention fixated on the PHS in his hands. He absentmindedly drummed his fingers against the polished conference table, his mind anywhere but there.

Lazard cleared his throat and tried again.

"Genesis, this is a crucial time for your public image. You're the pride of Shinra now, and we need you to embrace that role fully," Lazard spoke.

“Yes.” Genesis glanced up, his gaze distant. “I understand.”

He kept his attention fixated on the subtle vibrations of his device. The screen illuminated with a message from Angeal.

Go. Now.

Without a word, Genesis rose abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. The papers Lazard had carefully arranged slid haphazardly across the table.

He rushed down the hallway, not caring about decorum for even a second, en route to the medical wing.

With a swipe of his key card, Genesis entered the suffocating environment, quickly finding the hallways where Sephiroth's room was located.

Angeal stood guard outside the door. “Be quick. They could come back any moment,” he told his friend, opening the door with a stolen key card.

The green light on the door panel blinked, indicating permission to enter. With each step into the brightly lit room, Genesis felt the pit in his stomach open wider.

He had expected the scent of antiseptic to reach him first, the metallic scent of blood, even. So his surprise was marked by the strong smell of mako permeating the air like a suffocating cloud.

Sephiroth lay on a medical bed, a shell of the man he once was. The soft beeping of monitors and machinery surrounded him.

Genesis' fist shook. He dug them into the side of his leg in hopes of stopping them entirely. But it was no use, the sound of his immediate, choked cries was enough to convince him to break down.

He wanted Sephiroth to open his eyes, to tease him for crying, to get up and tower over him as he once did, to laugh at his jokes, to talk to him, to be there because he was his friend.

Genesis stood beside Sephiroth's unconscious form. The memories of that day on the battlefield flashed vividly in his mind. He reached out, guiding his trembling fingers to Sephiroth's pale face.

Gently, he brushed a stray strand of silver hair from his friend’s eyes. He was cold to the touch, but Genesis still traced his finger down Sephiroth's arm, slowly taking his hand in his.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Please come back soon.”

The constant whir of the medical equipment was abruptly disrupted by urgent beeping. Genesis's eyes widened as he turned towards the monitor, the once steady lines now spiking violently.

A knot tightened in his chest, a blend of anxiety and guilt settling in.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall. Genesis flinched and jumped back as Hojo's voice cut through the tense air.

“Get out! I told you not to come back here! Now look at what you've done!”

A flurry of medical staff rushed in behind him. The room was active with urgency as they flew into action.

Genesis stumbled out of the room, the words seemingly ripped out from his chest. He could only watch with his mouth hanging open as the constant beep of the heart monitor became accompanied by a shrill alarm echoing through the corridor.

The last he could remember was Angeal wrapping one arm around him, guiding him away from the scene.

Three months flew by, each week a slap to the face for those who found disquiet in the quick passage of time. Genesis’ name echoed through the halls of Shinra, adorned posters throughout the city, and was celebrated in news broadcasts. Yet, with every accolade, the emptiness within him turned into a pit of solitude.

Angeal was far too consumed by his protegé. Zack became the center of Angeal's attention, an energetic student-turned-loyal companion.

Genesis watched from the sidelines as the bond between mentor and protegé flourished. He no longer had the energy for jealousy and accusatory fingers.

Some said he had the heat of his glory to keep him warm. Genesis often compared it to the flames of hell slowly roasting him into a prized turkey ready to be carved and served at the grand feast of judgment day.

The labs became his daily battle. Genesis's persistent requests to see Sephiroth were met with firm rejection. Hojo had erected barriers that had become more and more impossible to breach.

Yet, he went back. Each day, driven by a stubborn hope that defied reason and logic. At least he could say he tried, that he had never given up on Sephiroth.

Curiously, that all shifted one evening when Angeal and Genesis were informed of a peculiar happening within the Shinra building.

“He's DEAD?” One SOLDIER spat, rising higher in his seat.

All eyes were on Lazard at the front of the room. He looked exasperated, the glow of his tablet reflecting off the glasses which were quickly slipping down his nose.

“How?” Echoed another voice—Zack.

Genesis sat adjacent to Lazard, across from Angeal where the two proceeded to share the same, dumbfounded expression.

Lazard cleared his throat—for the sixth time, Genesis noticed—before continuing. “He was found unresponsive this morning in the hallway outside his office. His skull appeared to have been cracked, and all signs right now are pointing to an accident.”

“Some accident,” Angeal mumbled, his eyes wide.

“Tell me about it,” a Second-Class SOLDIER sneered. “Ah, anyway. It's not like the bastard will be missed.”

Lazard shot him a warning look. “Please show some compassion.”

Genesis scoffed, crossing his arms. “Compassion for Professor Hojo. It'd be more reasonable to ask us to pull our teeth out one by one to pay the ferryman.”

Lazard ignored him. “Dr. Hollander will be taking over the R&D department temporarily—”

“Goddess save our souls,” Genesis cut in.

Lazard ignored both Genesis and the subsequent laughter from the others.

“And he has asked me to assure you all that Sephiroth will be in good hands—”

“Hollander is of the amputate-your-arm-if-you-break-it variety,” Genesis said smoothly, sliding out of his seat. “So if Sephiroth’s cure lies in the hands of medieval medicine, I'm sure he'll be up and about it in no time.”

With that, he stepped out of the room, taking all the spite and sarcasm in the room with him.

Hojo was dead, a glorifying piece of information Genesis wished he could share with Sephiroth, if only the man was awake.

He signed, turning down the hallway that led to his office. Somehow, he had a feeling that Sephiroth already knew—somehow.

A few weeks went by. The early morning sunlight filtered through the office windows as Genesis headed to the conference room. He yawned, swirling the half-filled coffee cup in his hand as he swiped his key card to open the door.

He expected another monotonous day. However, what met his eyes left him frozen in disbelief.

There, sitting at the conference table, was Sephiroth.

The coffee cup slid through his fingers, splattering all over the floor.

The shock radiated through Genesis, rendering him momentarily speechless.

Sephiroth was paler than before, his skin almost translucent. He had thinned out a bit, and the dark circles under his eyes were telling of the poor sleep the man had suffered from.

But despite the physical toll, Sephiroth's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. His predatory grin sent a shiver down Genesis' spine. It was a smile that spoke of something beyond the realm of mortal comprehension.

That was the thing that overrode Genesis' joy and killed his relief upon impact.

Because Genesis knew Sephiroth.

And this was not him.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #crisis core #sephiroth #zack fair #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #writing

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animehouse-moe · 1 year

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Choujin X Volume 2: Awkward Positioning

I'm trying really hard to like this story, I am. There's some parts that I really adore and love to see in the work. But alongside that, there's a lot of Tokyo Ghoul baggage attached to Choujin X, and a handful of questionable choices in how it's presented. So, is it worth holding on to hope?

That's a really hard thing to answer, and I think just because of my fondness for Tokyo Ghoul I'm still here. However, I'm not going to pretend that Choujin X is the second coming of Ishida. With that in mind, I want to dip into the negatives to start (I promise there'll be positives on the other side).

So, I'll start with what's holding it back: Tokyo Ghoul. I understand Ishida's a monster man through and through, and I'll even say that Choujin as a concept is far more broad that Ghouls. But, it's still that meek and underpowered main character, and still pieces that it clings to from those days. Take Yamato Mori, a safe haven for Choujin within the city. Not exactly a concept that sparks the thoughts of originality or "uniqueness" within readers.

Not all of it is very explicit or completely lifted from Ishida's work on Tokyo Ghoul, but I certainly found myself passively comparing Coujin X to it. Simple things like, "hey this feels similar", "oh, didn't TG:Re do something like this?". I don't think it's a deal breaker for everyone, but I for one really wanted to see Ishida break out of his shell with the creative freedom he's got with Choujin X, and it just feels like that's held back by its likeness to his prior work.

In terms of fresh stuff, it feels like Ishida is struggling with striking a solid pacing for his story. Some things are dragged out and taken very slowly (which I can appreciate), and then the next second they skip right over it. Take this, for example, Tokio and Ely are enrolled in a 40 day Choujin course, which comprises most of the volume. After the fight against Shiozaki, they get their Choujin cards. You know, the fight sequence that they weren't supposed to be a part of. I would have at least thought they'd have a follow up evaluation considering the fact that they used full beastification and fought against a Choujin in a chaos state.

Now, you might think, "well, isn't that a little too slow?", and you'd be right. That is, if a solid chunk of this volume wasn't about the little details and interactions coming from their 40 day Choujin course. They watch a video, they do an interview, and a few other small things, but the line is drawn at actually exploring, experiencing, and understanding their powers. It just seems so, odd to me, when in the presence of a professional and private organization that aims to assist and combat violent or chaos state Choujins.

Following this piece up (off the top of my head), Shiozaki and Tokio. I really like a lot of what Shiozaki is putting down, but with Tokio in the mix it gets muddy and rushed. Tokio's watching of Shiozaki's high school highlights feels hamfisted at the point that it's placed in the story, while Ishida had a perfect place to stuff it, that I think would have worked even better. Tokio's awkward discussion with Shiozaki at the bus stop.

Following this scene, Shiozaki goes home to his younger brother and sister, who live in their run down and empty home, before heading out to rob a bank. Spoiler, but Shiozaki's whole point in this story is giving up what he loved doing because of who he'd become, and having to find ways to grow up and make ends meet for his siblings.

I just feel like, alongside sentiment like that, Tokio's moment of innocence and admiration for Shiozaki's talent would come off as more dissonant and natural, than it being shown at a convenient time for the story. Now, I wouldn't go as far as saying there's lots of this kind of jumbled approach, but I also wouldn't say that it's a one off thing with the story. It's slightly disappointing as the content is solid, and just a bit of shuffling around can really bring out the best in it.

Last of the negatives: the scope of the world. A private organization exists for Choujins, and violent and evil Choujins roam the streets and take an active part in crime. If Choujins are an understood piece of society, that people accept, where are they in public settings? Considering the presentation and approach to the existence of Choujins, you'd expect celebrities and heroes, and privately hired defense contractors or security for higher profile places. But they don't seem to be there. It's not something you'll really recognize at first because of the story, but if you take a moment to stop and think, it feels like a rather gaping hole, no?

Anyways, we're finally out the other end of the negative. Time to start with the positive!

I really enjoy that Ishida's endeavoring to tackle poverty and class divides with Choujin X. There's a lot of great moments to it, I just wish that some of them could be a bit more subtle or nuanced in their approach.

In terms of good though, I'll start with Ely. Her simple idea that money will solve all problems is both accurate and a good line to take with someone at that age, and her understanding of it is well suited too.

Later on though, that naivete is washed away by the reality of the world. Money is able to fix almost everything, almost. It's a really solid line to take with a younger and more malleable character, and it's approached in a way that doesn't immediately correlate "money" and "poverty" with one another. It's a really nice and simple appeal that dives deeper than the words that joins it.

Similarly, we've got Shiozaki. A bit more literal, since he's able to understand the importance and value of money as he's directly supporting his siblings. Regardless, this spread of him pitching at Koshien is a really solid personification of his character and desires.

And the last little bit I'll share is of the hand lackeys that drag Shiozaki down. He wants to make an earnest living, he wants to be a good person that can provide for his siblings. It's when the greed of those around him grows to be too much, that he's sucked in. They bring him down, and while it's a bit of a hot topic, it is something that's commented on in poorer communities wherein someone has the ability to make it out and others from within will attempt to drag them down out of jealousy and greed.

Moving forward once more, I think the combat's solid. I wouldn't say it's been anything groundbreaking, or as awe inspiring as from titles like Soloist In A Cage, but it's no slouch and doesn't attempt to give the bare minimum. I will say though, that a lot of the "great" stuff is saved up for specific moments rather than being something that's dispersed throughout.

And lastly, the teasing of the direction of the story is interesting. There's a lot going on for sure, but there's also a good few ideas sticking out of it. How that soot guy gave his powers to Ely, how close he is to whatever that being is, what the tower really is, and so on and so forth.

So, I would say Choujin X is far from terrible, and maybe even bad, but I wouldn't put it all that far on the opposite end of the spectrum. Ishida is Ishida, so the art's gonna be outstanding, but the rest of what can make for a good series seems somewhat up in the air at this point in time. I really want to like, I really do, but it feels like one of those things where I just find more and more holes and points of confusion with. So, here's hoping volume 3 can mark a turning point for Choujin X

#choujin x #tokio kurohara #ely otta #超人X #sui ishida #manga review #anime and manga #manga

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archenemyintellegence · 1 year

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(8/4/2023) Everyday Tarot

I am interested in this deck because it seems that everyone got one, and I want to bond with people 😂 It's super affordable and I am interested to get a mini tarot deck too, so it's a perfect deck to add to my collection.

The quality is amazing for such a low price. The cards are sturdy and feel smooth to touch. It's not a deck that will be worn after a few uses, despite the cheap price. They also have a golden edge that looks gorgeous.

The image on the cards are minimalistic. It looks very clean and simple but really pleasing, and also full of necessary details. The purple used gives an elegant feel for the deck. The gold used in this deck is absolutely beautiful. It's not yucky muddy yellow and it also not super shiny cheap looking gold. The booklet is super informative and there are easy 3-cards spread suggestions, making sure that you can do a reading with it even when it's your first time. Also, the King of Wands in this deck feels super handsome and idk why (he doesn't even have a face smh 🥴) He makes me understand the heat of the Wands' suit 😃 Overall, I feel that this deck is so worth it.

I bought this deck expecting that the messages will be gentle and motivating, after seeing readings others did with the deck. However, my deck is totally not the case. (I should've known this when I feel the rage in the deck tho 💀) The energy from my deck is masculine, full of Swords energy. He will not sugarcoat things. He tells the facts, even though if it's unpleasant. He will not suggest the person to work things out if it's a "stupid" idea. His message definitely leans more towards logical thinking instead of being motivational. Although it's not the vibe that I expected, I feel that it makes sense because almost all the people in the deck are faceless. Emotions are not depicted in the images. Only necessary information is on them, and this matches the vibe of my deck.

His message will definitely offend someone, but he is not giving those messages out of spite. He does this because he cares about the person and want the best for them. I use this deck to ask questions that I want clear answers. Also, the message from this deck is super easy to read. They are really straightforward. No motivational messages. No deep life lessons. Just necessary information. One time, I was woke up by my sister to do a reading for their friend and I managed to give an on-point reading for her, while being emm... half awake lol 🥴

At last, I want to share that I saw a pale male soldier (?) after doing the deck interview for this deck. His appearance is similar to Viego in LoL. He is a thin, young man with almost platinum blonde hair. He wears a silver armor and has a long sword with him. He feels scary and even intimidating at first, but it seems that he's just sad. He looks very ghostly but I don't feel that he's malicious. I feel like he's the spirit of this deck, so I use he/him pronouns for this deck. I believe that there's spirit in everything, but I've never seen an entity so clearly when I got a tarot deck. It's a special experience. It seems that he's been through some shit before, which explains why his message is so direct. He wants people to get out of suffering asap, even when the most effective path is painful.

I never seen him clearly again after that, but I feel his presence is still here. Sometimes when I miss something during the reading, he will remind me. Also there are so many little things showing that he's here with me when I use the deck. I think him showing himself to me the first time I use the deck is just his way to say hello and introduce himself 🥴

#text #tarot #tarot deck #everyday tarot

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hexxalite-hecate · 2 years

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I see Cullen x Amell or Cullen x Surana a lot in the Cullen tags, I'm a Cullen x Lavellan shipper and I haven't played Origins, what is the deal with him and the mage warden? Some people say he was obsessed and stalked her, I don't wanna believe that bc I love him but I'm confused about what's canon. I know some people hc they had a relationship but I can't seem to get a straight answer what actually happened in canon? Sorry for random ask 🦁

Hi! I love asks ❤️ And this is a good question!

From what I've seen, this topic can get a bit spicy because people have opinions on Cullen's history with Amell/Surana (hereby referred to as f!mage because I'm lazy). I'm active on the Dragon Age subreddits and I've had a lot of discussions with people who genuinely believe that Cullen is an abusive, stalking rapist, and Bioware did a lazy retcon on his history to turn him into a whitebread vanilla love interest for DAI.

I’ll put my cards on the table: Amell was my first playthrough and subsequently canon Warden, I got attached to Cullen early on, and I love me a bit of Cullen x f!mage fic and art, though my preference is post-Inquisition reunion. I don't agree he’s been retconned from an abusive stalker into a poor little meow meow (and I'll be going into a detailed breakdown of why in a minute). HOWEVER, despite my personal bias I’m going to try and present information fairly so people can draw their own conclusions, and I can definitely see how the less flattering opinions of Cullen wrt f!mage ended up being formed.

There are several explanations for the, ahem, strong views on Cullen’s relationship with f!mage during their time at Kinloch Hold, some entirely reasonable and some less reasonable. Some examples of the range I’ve encountered:

1. People have difficulty emotionally separating the character of Cullen from his VA, who holds some utterly loathsome alt-right stances and has historically used the character to try and spread those disgusting views. (Can't really blame anyone for this, fuck that guy.)

2. People haven't actually played through Origins as f!mage and only have second-hand knowledge of his canon interactions, going off hearsay that gets escalated and distorted like a Thedosian game of telephone. Well, lucky for you I gathered every single interaction between them into this post, so now you have the facts to make an informed decision.

3. Information from abandoned writing concepts and dev interviews often conflicts with what’s actually presented in the game itself, muddying the waters with regard to Cullen’s character vision. (This one is genuinely complicated, but I'll try and present everything fairly for your consideration.)

4. A lot of fans understandably started disliking Cullen based on the choices he makes and the viewpoints he espouses in DA2. This doesn't directly affect his relationship with f!mage at the Tower, since all their interactions happened before that point. However, some people argue that his behaviour during DA2 indicates tendencies that he would have had from the beginning, including during their time at Kinloch Hold together. It also affects his post-Circle opinions of her, which is relevant to whether or not he could be termed as obsessive. This, too, is complicated, and I'll try to be as fair and unbiased as possible.

I'm going to tackle your ask by breaking it down into two main parts. Firstly, what is the canon evidence of exactly how involved Cullen and f!mage were at the Ferelden Circle? And secondly, what canon evidence is there that this involvement was characterised by obsessive/predatory/stalker behaviour, and in what way does that behaviour develop through later games?

Buckle up, this turned out long.

1. What canon evidence is there of f!mage and Cullen’s relationship at Kinloch Hold?

Let's take this from the beginning, based directly on what f!mage encounters in the game. On waking from your Harrowing, you are immediately greeted by this ambient conversation from two gossiping apprentices:

If you walk around spam clicking other apprentices, one will also volunteer this information:

So, we are immediately given evidence that whoever Cullen is, his feelings for you are obvious enough to be a general subject of gossip. Interesting! But it doesn’t say anything about your character’s feelings for him. Are we in a forbidden relationship? Or is my character only just finding out about this? Would she react with ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) or ಠ_ಠ? Ok, let's go talk to the guy himself and find out what the deal is.

(Forgive the cut and pasted dialogue; I just centred it over his head so I don’t have to post full size screenshots.)

Straight away, we can see that Cullen is a stuttering, bumbling wreck. He stumbles over his words and clumsily tries to make conversation. We are presented with a range of options in response to his greeting:

As you can see from these options, f!mage seems to know who Cullen is. There’s no “Uh, who are you again?” dialogue. However, she doesn’t appear to know him very well. They’re unfamiliar enough that when he tries to compliment her, he has to obfuscate:

If they had any sort of relationship, whether simple friendship or more, Cullen wouldn’t need to hide that he’s familiar with an apparently key part of her personality - that she’s confident. To me, that reads that they’ve hardly interacted outside the occasional nod in the hallways, or at the very most a brief conversation.

I suppose you could argue that they’ve been having purely physical trysts that account for them having a ‘relationship’ without him knowing her personality very well, but his bumbling awkwardness seems utterly contradictory to that theory. And then, as the nail in the coffin, we get this:

F!mage can suggest such a tryst herself, picking up on his attraction and showing reciprocation. Cullen reacts first with confusion, then stunned realisation... then absolute rejection.

Then he automatically ends the conversation and literally runs away from you.

Despite his obvious attraction - described as love, no less, by random NPCs - he doesn’t even entertain the idea of acting on his desires. We’ll come back to this conversation in the second part, because Cullen’s language reveals a lot about why he rejects you. But for now, the important thing is that he does, and nothing about this exchange indicates that there have been previous, non-rejected encounters.

So, the definitive answer to the question did Cullen and f!mage have a romantic or sexual relationship at the Tower?

No. Through their canon interactions, we can deduce that they were both aware of the other’s existence, and f!mage’s opinion of him is anything from dismissive to neutral to flirty depending on your dialogue choices. However, these canon interactions completely contradict the idea of them having any kind of established romantic or sexual relationship - or even just friendship, given Cullen’s hasty “or so I’ve heard” correction, or f!mage’s offer that “we should get to know each other”. Obviously players can headcanon anything they like - I’m partial to friends with mutual unspoken crushes - but it’s not canon.

So that’s that. Now on to the second, less clear-cut, messier question...

2. Did Cullen ever behave in an obsessive/predatory/stalkerish way towards f!mage?

Oh man. There is a LOT of ground to cover here.

Let’s take this in chronological order. Firstly, let’s examine their actual relationship at Kinloch Hold, using all the canon evidence above. It’s clear from their interactions that this relationship - such as it is - is weighted more towards one side. Cullen’s feelings are so obvious that everyone and their dog is gossiping about them. It’s also evident through your conversation with him that he and f!mage don’t actually know each other very well, so regardless of whether or not your character chooses to shock him by actually showing interest in return, Cullen’s feelings up until that point must have been born of watching and admiring her from afar. So yes, there’s scope to interpret such behaviour anywhere on the spectrum from youthful crush to obsessive, and there isn’t much primary source information to confirm one way or the other. But predatory? I don’t believe the canon information supports that Cullen ever behaved in a predatory way towards f!mage during her apprenticeship in the Ferelden Circle, and here’s why.

To set the scene, we have already been shown that Cullen is young and idealistic. He’s 19, and very clearly inexperienced in terms of navigating social situations. (F!Mage’s age is flexible, but since Harrowings are not generally taken until 18/19, she and Cullen are either contemporaries or f!mage is actually older than him, which neutralises that particular facet of imbalance). Every writing choice made for Cullen during the mage origin intro highlights that he is simply naïve, unable to conceal his crush and unaware of how revealing his statements are. Look at this; he can’t even stop telling on himself while he’s actually talking to you, let alone with anyone else:

These are very stark writing choices which make the character of Cullen seem as awkward, bumbling, nonthreatening and - dare I say it - cute as possible. This was intended to be endearing. Take a look at the VO direction for Cullen’s voice acting, taken from this post of @soularia discussing the same topic:

Sincere and sweet is the clincher for me. There’s no way to reconcile that with predatory. Even if you personally disagree that the overall effect was endearing rather than creepy, the directorial intent was clearly to evoke the former.

However, even if Cullen’s attentions at the Ferelden Circle can be characterised as an innocent crush, the next hurdle to clear is the inherent imbalance of power between Templar and mage, which is one of the major issues people have with his romantic fixation. Despite his youth and inexperience, Cullen is still in a position of authority over f!mage, and as such any relationship between them would be inherently exploitative. But as you can see from his rejection dialogue, the person who is most cognizant and serious about that imbalance is Cullen himself. When Cullen turns f!mage down, the language he uses is very revealing - he doesn’t say “No, we’ll get in trouble” or even “No, your kind and mine shouldn’t mix” (which you might expect from his stance in DA2). He says “it would be really inappropriate.” You’re offering him everything he wants on a silver platter, and he won’t take it because he’s the one who’s concerned about power imbalances. That speaks of responsibility and duty of care, not predation. If his behaviour was narratively intended to be read as predatory, this would have been the perfect place to hammer that point home. You could even do it in a soft-touch morally grey way - “oh we shouldn’t, but I just can’t help it!” But instead, pains are taken to ensure the player sees Cullen acting in a respectful and principled manner.

So it’s perfectly understandable for fans to dislike the Cullen/f!mage dynamic because of the inherent power balance. However, I think it’s unfair to term Cullen himself as predatory because of it. The imbalance is not of his making, and despite his feelings, he does the exact opposite of exploiting it.

I think it’s interesting that Cullen isn’t present alongside the other Templars in the scene outside the repository when f!mage and Jowan are confronted by Greagoir and Irving, and as such we have no chance to see what side he would pick in that scenario. If you pursue the relevant dialogue options during your earlier conversation, he regretfully declares that should you have been possessed by a demon during your Harrowing, he would have followed protocol and helped the rest of the Templars put you down, despite his personal feelings on the matter:

Ouch. This tracks with the ‘duty first’ mentality that causes him to reject your proposition, even though it’s presumably all he dreams about. This topic of conversation makes Cullen visibly uncomfortable in both voice and mannerisms - because it’s fucked up and he seems painfully aware of that - and he moves on as soon as possible. But I think it’s interesting to note that in the one situation where his devotion to duty could have been proven - at the confrontation outside the repository - Cullen is conspicuously absent. It’s possible there’s nothing narratively meaningful about his exclusion from this scene, but part of me wonders whether it was intentionally kept ambiguous whether he really would have been able to attack f!mage if Greagoir ordered him to. This one is up for individual interpretation, however, and I’m aware that it’s another major reason the Cullen x f!mage pairing leaves a sour taste in some fans’ mouths. If nothing else, it’s consistent with his character presentation so far.

(As an aside, it’s interesting to note that the one time we do see Cullen presented with this choice - in the final act of DA2 - he chooses to stand with Hawke against the rest of the Templars. And that’s during his worst phase of mage prejudice. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.)

Cullen and f!mage next cross paths where all the non-mage PCs meet him for the first time: during the Broken Circle quest, where he’s been tortured, starved, assaulted and abused for days by a Desire Demon wearing the shape of none other than f!mage. This is where we get definitive proof of Cullen’s feelings, in the form of a delirious confession:

(NB: the fact that one of your dialogue options here is basically “so who the fuck were you, again?” is both hilarious and sad. Poor Cullen.)

There’s some epic Greek-tragedy-cum-extreme-Catholic-guilt here, and let me tell you this shit was like catnip to the angst sluts when DAO first came out. You have to understand that female players were typically NOT catered to in the gaming scene of 2009, especially in terms of fanservice, and having this himbo pour out his agonised forbidden desire for your character hit a LOT of people’s targets. There’s a reason Cullen was a breakout favourite. (I’m aware that mores have changed since then and this particular trope might be recieved less favourably in a more recent game. This was 2009. We had to take what we could get.)

Anyhow, regardless of all this, Cullen insists that the ordeal he’s been subjected to has destroyed whatever tender boyish regard he may once have nurtured, and says some pretty jaded and upsetting things to back it up:

What we’re seeing here is the genesis of Cullen’s radicalisation, which is hale and flourishing by DA2. I won’t go into detail about this here because it’s getting off topic, but one interesting thing to note is a line which serves as evidence against the theory that Cullen held his DA2-era radical opinions before his ordeal at the Tower:

This seems to indicate that prior to Uldred’s rebellion, Cullen was a mage sympathiser in the mould of Ser Thrask. (This was later confimed in a messageboard comment by his writer - we’ll get to that bit later.) Food for thought - however, we’re straying from our intended path.

The fact that the easiest way for the Desire Demon to break Cullen is to use his feelings for f!mage is very telling. Remember, Desire Demons are not simply about sex, despite how much boob-fondling Bioware insisted on programming into their models. The Desire Demon who possessed Connor in Redcliffe played on his wish for his father to be healed. Cullen could have had plenty of things for the demon to work with - he might have been hungry to prove himself as a devoted Templar, or conversely been dissatisfied with his life choices and yearned to see more the world - but no, it’s his feelings for f!mage that the demon focuses on like a laser beam. This trick, again? Cullen says when you find him outside the Harrowing Chamber. Still here? But that’s always worked before! I close my eyes, but when I open them you are still here! “Again”; “always” - this was more than once. The demon has been using the f!mage doppelganger technique over and over. Such insistence on this tactic by the demon - who can see directly into Cullen’s head - seems to indicate that Cullen’s feelings have moved beyond mere crush into something potent enough to be used to break his spirit entirely. How might Cullen have been affected in the time between f!mage leaving the Tower with Duncan, and miraculously returning as the prodigal daughter during Broken Circle? Remember, the news from Ostagar was that everyone but Loghain’s unit was dead. Until her reappearance in Broken Circle, Cullen was likely under the impression that his crush had died a horrific and violent death at the hands of monsters. What does that do to a lovelorn teenager? Well, it’s possible that grief and lack of a healthy emotional outlet turned those innocent feelings into an obsession. As we’ll see later, Cullen makes some curious remarks indicating that he has pedastalised f!mage in his memories. But this is moving into the realm of speculation again, and we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

This scene marks the end of Cullen and f!mage’s canon interactions in the Ferelden Circle. Despite being present during the post-battle discussion with Greagoir (and Irving, if he survives), Cullen does not address f!mage again directly, and this is his last on-screen appearance in DAO. However, he is one of the few characters who returns in all three games. So what can we glean about Cullen’s ongoing feelings from his appearances in the later instalments of the DA series?

Let’s look at Cullen’s attitude towards Amell/Surana post-Origins - how long can you nurse a crush before it becomes unhealthy?

Before we move on from DAO, let’s squeeze in a last little bit of piping hot tea from our favourite Kinloch Hold gossip girls:

This takes place during your return to the Tower in the expansion Witch Hunt, set roughly two years after the Blight. Apparently Cullen’s crush was such a juicy topic that it’s still being brought up, even though neither of he nor f!mage have been at the Ferelden Circle for literal years now. However, the question of whether he’s still holding that torch doesn’t get an answer from Kristen Bell over there, and since Cullen himself isn’t present to confirm or deny it, there’s no further information to be had here. To get the update from the lion’s mouth, we need to spin on to DA2.

There’s a lot to be said about Cullen’s decisions, viewpoints and state of mind during DA2, and I could write an entire separate post about the toxic behaviour that can result from extreme trauma, PTSD and radicalisation (and probably will; just give me a week with my psychotherapy textbooks and I’ll post another thesis-length meta). While Cullen’s fragile and toxic state of mind during DA2 does have a bearing on this discussion, I’m going to try and keep things focused on the topic of the ask, just to stop this post from tipping over into magnum opus territory.

The comment Cullen makes to Hawke in DA2 is specifically directed towards f!Amell, since you can only trigger it by bringing up Hawke’s family connection to the Hero of Ferelden - but we can reasonably assume he’d have the same opinion of Surana if asked. When congratulating Hawke on restoring the status of the Amells in Kirkwall, Cullen will make this statement, entirely unprompted and unsolicited:

This is completely contradictory to every sentiment Cullen expresses regarding mages for the entirety of DA2, and entirely conflicts with the manner of his parting with Amell after the Broken Circle quest. He’s been tortured, abused, traumatised and radicalised, and he spends the 7 years of DA2 unequivocally paying it forward. Every word he speaks about mages in this game is about damage control, and how their human rights must be balanced with the dangers they present to society. Whether you agree with this or not (I don’t, obviously), it’s inescapably part of his ideology in Kirkwall. Arguably the starkest and hardest-to-handwave nadir of his character arc is when he insists to Hawke that “mages aren’t people like you and me”. Cullen can’t see past his fear and trauma to even consider mages human.

And yet this comment about Amell, a mage who was (unwittingly and unwillingly) central to the abuse he endured? No caveats at all. Not “she was special, for a mage”. He doesn’t mention the fevered accusations he threw at her in the wake of the disaster at the Tower, when he claimed he was beyond caring what she thought of him, and accused her of dooming them all with her ‘compassion’ if she chose to spare the mages. There are no qualifiers to his wistful statement, and it remains the same regardless of what story choices you made in DAO - Amell could have left the village of Redcliffe to burn, killed a ten year old boy, joined a crime syndicate and robbed Denerim blind, defiled the Urn of Sacred Ashes and been an honest-to-god blood mage, and Cullen’s still reminiscing like she’s a milkmaid he had a summer fling with. He completely disregards the complex and negative circumstances in which they parted, and explicitly separates her from other mages (because she’s not like them, apparently).

Now, you could argue that Cullen has simply accepted that his torture by a Desire Demon hiding behind a lifesize Amell cutout was not in fact the real Amell’s fault, that he regrets his hasty chastisement of her, and has peaceably and healthily decided to move on without malice. But his baseline indictment of literally every other mage ever is not compatible with this reading. He can’t healthily and fondly reminisce about Amell while also hating and fearing all other mages. You could argue that Cullen’s use of “special” and “never met her like again” could simply refer to her saintly status as Hero of Ferelden, but keep in mind that this dialogue is only in the game to be an easter egg for Amell DAO players. The writers were explicitly throwing a bone to existing Cullen fans, who at this point were overwhelmingly mage origin players who’d experienced Cullen crushing on their character and got attached to him as a result. In this orchestrated context, Cullen’s reminiscences are intentionally and directly linked to his romantic feelings, and his mental separation of her from mages et al actually denote that Cullen has put Amell on a pedestal, and is idolising his memories of her.

Considering the context and implications of this exchange, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for players to infer at this point that Cullen has unrealistic and possibly obsessive tendencies towards the mage Warden.

That’s the only mention of f!mage we get in DA2, despite the wealth of character insight the game gives us into Cullen’s 7-year annus horribilis. But what about during DAI, after Cullen has undergone his so-called ‘retcon’ into an acceptable human being? How does he feel about f!mage a full 10 years after their last canon interaction, now he’s left the Tempalr order and been deradicalised of his least palatable opinions?

Yet again, the writers are generous with the bones they throw to those original mage Warden DAO players. We, as Inquisitor, get the opportunity to probe Cullen when the topic of the Hero of Ferelden comes up. Not having managed to play through DAI with the correct worldstate yet, I have none of my own dialogue screenshots on hand, and will have to direct you to a youtube video of the exchange (keep in mind that this conversation is with a ROMANCED Inquisitor):

Inquisitor: If you don’t mind my asking... the Hero of Ferelden was a Circle mage. Did you know her?

Cullen: I attended her Harrowing, actually. She was a lovely woman.

Inquisitor: ...“Lovely?”

Cullen: There was some... youthful infatuation on my part. A feeling I had forsaken until recently.

Inquisitor: You never acted on it?

Cullen: She was one of my charges. Even if she felt the same, it would have been... inappropriate. I saw her once, after she became a Warden. She freed the Tower during the Blight - I would be dead or mad if not for her. I was in a sorry state when she found me. The things I said were... unkind. Untoward. I regret them now. I wish she knew that.

This exchange is a cornucopia of hidden gems. Cullen’s tone is wistful, fond, a little sad. In general, I really do agree that Cullen sounds like he has a sane and stable handle on his historic trauma by this point in the series, and his evaluation of the way he and f!mage parted is self-aware and fair. His use of the words infatuation and inappropriate echo his language from DAO and give legitimacy and consistency to his character arc. But it does amuse me that he’s still throwing out unsolicited compliments like “she was a lovely woman”, and to his CURRENT GIRLFRIEND at that. And what’s this about “a feeling I had forsaken until recently”? Is he actually implying that he’s had no romantic feelings for anyone between f!mage stealing his heart and getting together with the Inquisitor? No dates? No relationships? Not even any interest in anyone else at all for 10 freaking years? That’s really not helping the ‘not obsessive’ meter. It’s also eerily similar to his pedestalling “never met her like again” comment from DA2.

Then we have a snippet of banter around the War Table which only occurs if you imported a worldstate where Leliana romanced the f!mage Warden. Again, I will have to rely on the kindness of others and direct you to a video that isn’t mine:

Cullen: So you and, er...

Leliana: Yes?

Cullen: Was she - I mean, did she ever...

Leliana: Are you asking for details?

Cullen: I-ah - no! That would be... inappropriate.

Of course, f!mage is never mentioned by name, but by the use of the running joke inappropriate coupled with Cullen’s stuttering, stumbling speech which echoes his earliest DAO introduction, it’s clear what we’re meant to infer. Did she ever... what? Ask about Cullen? Bring him up? Discuss her memories of the Tower? Want to see him again? Bioware knew exactly what they were doing with this snippet. Those who know, know. Those who don’t, don’t. But it does indicate that even though 10 years have passed, Cullen is still preoccupied with f!mage, and is noticeably concerned about her opinion of him. As before, he reacts appropriately (heh) by dropping the subject... but he just couldn’t help but ask, the same way he couldn’t help but tell on himself all those years ago.

(Of course, if f!mage died fighting the Archdemon in your particular canon, it adds a different and very sad facet to his wistful musings. Cullen’s last memory of her would be that terrible interaction after the disaster at the Tower, and consequently there will never be a chance for him to gain closure, leaving him full of grief and regret. That sort of thing can really mess a person up - and incidentally, it’s much easier to pedastalise a dead person than a living one. No wonder he was too traumatised to love again for a decade. Honestly this possibility is just tragic.)

This juncture seems the opportune place to bring up the controversial subject of decanonised or canon-adjacent material, which often paints a darker interpretation of Cullen. Sheryl Chee, who wrote for Cullen in DAO, made the following statements about her vision of the character in a messageboard discussion with fans after DAO’s release (relevant comments on pages 2 - 7):

I’d say he starts out tragically oppressed with some tendencies towards creepy stalker (I think you’d have to be, to be a templar). He ends up, I believe, completely broken mentally and emotionally and hates both himself and the femMagePC. I think nothing, not even love, can redeem him. He’s too far gone. Of course, that’s not canon, it’s just my take on it, and I revel in the angst and the pain.

Despite Sheryl’s own assertion that her comments aren’t canon, obviously opinions from the writer herself hold a lot of weight, and it’s important to realise that this quote was a strong influence on fandom’s divided opinions on Cullen. If this was where Sheryl was coming from during development, however, I do feel like something must have got a little lost in translation between her initial writing of the character and Cullen’s VO direction and in-game depiction. Maybe it’s my bias, and you’re free to draw your own conclusions based on the facts presented, but in my opinion her description bears no resemblance to the Cullen we actually experience, in-game, during the mage origin of DAO. You can’t claim that a romance between Cullen and f!mage would be “very quick, very violent, and only undertaken as a way to get her out of his system” alongside a voice acting direction that describes him as “sincere and sweet”. Make your mind up! No wonder people got mixed messages and everyone’s arguing with each other!

Sheryl’s further posts regarding the matter also contradict herself:

I did imagine him to be a young, fairly normal kid torn between his hormones and his duty. Like a more serious Alistair. Later on we decided we needed a templar survivor in the post-Uldred tower, and since people seem to enjoy it when they see people from their past, I decided to make it Cullen. In the beginning, he is sympathetic to the mages, but he comes away very changed by the things Uldred and the demons do to him.

As for the creepy stalker tendencies--er... I think that may have been started by David Gaider's little Cullen Romance snippet. I never imagined him as a creepy stalker.

Given this clarification, I feel we ought to take her initial comments with a sizeable grain of salt - but people do use these quotes to justify the darker reading of Cullen, so I think it’s important to note that not even Sheryl herself was serious or consistent about it.

I think the problem here is that there was undoubtedly some playing around with Cullen’s trajectory in the writers room, and those aborted arcs have been set free on the internet and absorbed into people’s interpretation of the main canon (not helped by Cullen’s legitimate spiral into radicalisation during DA2). Sheryl Chee’s darker vision was echoed in the infamous (and latterly decanonised as ‘false rumours’) DAO epilogue that claims Cullen had a psychotic break and slaughtered three apprentices:

The young templar Cullen never quite recovered from his ordeal. After months of attempting to convince his superiors that the tower was still a danger, he finally snapped and killed three apprentices before being stopped by his fellow templars. Eventually, Cullen escaped from prison, a madman and a threat to any mage he encountered.

Again, it was decanonised. But again, it does add fuel to the fire.

Then we have a datamined line of voice acting from DAI here (timestamp 1:57) which has Leliana angrily reacting to a messenger bringing news of what appears to be Cullen nagging for details about the mage Warden, similar to their earlier and much more restrained War Table banter. No names are mentioned, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume we’re covering the same old ground here:

Leliana: I thought this obsession was over! Has he been drinking?

Agent: I don’t know; I’m just the messenger.

Leliana: Tell him to drop it! I am not going to discuss what she was like!

Welp, she actually uses the word obsession. Again, this was presumably cut for a reason, and I guess it’s because it didn’t gel with Cullen’s deradicalised and softer character trajectory.

However, these abandoned arcs do indicate that there was a lot of concept-stage (and even development stage) flirting with the darker depictions of Cullen, and that’s undoubtedly where the arguments stem from. A lot of these concepts have filtered into the fandom consciousness, especially now DAO is a 12-year-old game that not everyone wants to actually play to see for themselves what’s true and what’s false. In that respect, I really can’t fault anyone for using these secondary-source snippets in their character interpretation of Cullen, since you could argue there’s plenty of evidence in the actual gameplay that dovetails with it.

So, my answer to the ask? No, it’s canon that there was no discernable relationship between Cullen and f!mage at the Tower, regardless of whether your character flirts with him, and his behaviour during that time indicates responsibility more than predation. As to whether Cullen exhibits obsessive behaviour to the female mage Warden after their separation? Well... this one’s trickier. I think it’s clear that whatever feelings he once held were exploited and warped through severe trauma and abuse, and that he did unrealistically romanticise his memory of her while he was going through his most fragile mental period in DA2. However, I think it’s also clear that his grasp of the situation is far more realistic and grounded by the time DAI rolls around, though he still holds a harmless torch for an old flame.

Those are my conclusions, though. My parting words are that it’s up to your own interpretation. You now have all the facts, canon, canon-adjacent or decanonised, and you can conclude from them what you wish.

Typical. Four and a half thousand words just to say that.

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ilovejevsjeans · 3 years

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Why Daniel Ricciardo's not panicking about his slow start with McLaren

Ricciardo is one of F1's best overtakers, a winner of seven races since 2014 and a driver considered to be a title contender just waiting for a car to match. When he arrived at McLaren this year it was seen as sink or swim time for his new teammate, Lando Norris, alongside one of the most respected in the business.

The results on track have been the reverse of what most would have predicted. Ricciardo has looked fairly ordinary alongside Norris from the outside. After 10 races, Ricciardo is ninth in the championship with one top-five finish to his name. On the flip side, Norris is third, with three podium finishes and all but two races in the top five.

Norris' incredible form has muddied this picture for Ricciardo somewhat. Results are a big part of the story in F1, but not the whole story. Aside from a crash in qualifying at the Azerbaijan Grand Prix, Ricciardo has not made any huge mistakes with his new team. As the summer break grew closer, he felt he was cutting the gap to Norris -- a gap most glaring during qualifying, often leaving Ricciardo with too much to do come race day -- and that a big result was on the horizon. That opportunity presented itself at the Hungarian Grand Prix on Aug. 1 but Ricciardo was spun around in the first-corner chaos. Before being hit, it was Ricciardo, not eventual race winner Esteban Ocon, who looked likely to come out of Turn 1 behind Lewis Hamilton.

Ricciardo is clearly not letting the frustration get the better of him. He's now passed the 10-year anniversary of his F1 debut and feels that experience has helped him navigate through the difficult start.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely trying... I want all the glory today," Ricciardo joked in a recent interview with ESPN and selected other media when asked about his start with McLaren.

"But I guess the experience tells me that it's definitely a process. With the age and wisdom and probably maturity comes some composure than say, when I was younger, expecting the world from everything and it wasn't happening, then yeah, I probably would have thrown a few tantrums by now and lost it mentally, so to speak.

"So that's where being here for a while now kinda helps take a breath, step back, go through it and understand that there's a reason why things aren't great right now. I need to find some answers as opposed to just throw my hands up and walk away from it all."

Frustration was a recurring theme while talking to Ricciardo -- or rather, how to stop frustration boiling over into something more damaging. The Australian driver said perspective about the nature of F1 has been important in not letting himself overthink his current situation.

"I would say it's definitely been more challenging than previous experiences," he said. "I think more challenging just because it has taken more time.

"I sit here today like still not there yet. Or not where I want to be. I think with experience and probably maturity and a bit of wisdom, it's not always easy, but it's like sometimes you do just need a little bit of patience and big picture stuff.

"I think if it was, 'I expect it to come on day one'... it shouldn't be that easy. No matter how good I think am, it shouldn't be that easy!

"It's just a bit of perspective. And yeah, I appreciate, there's 20 of us doing it in the world.

"This is like, obviously a very high level that we're trying to perform at. I think that as well, obviously I'm just trying to get used to it, and just not let frustration carry on into anything negative. Obviously like frustration can be there like an hour or two after a race, or a qualifying. But yeah, just moving on from that, and trying to be efficient and productive, and keep morale and everything pushing in the right way with the team."

Ricciardo is in a perfect environment to ride this current wave. McLaren was a cagey and awkward environment just a few years ago when it laboured through Formula One with its competitive Honda engine. The arrival of team boss Andreas Seidl, installed by CEO Zak Brown, has marked a clear change in both performance and mindset. The atmosphere now is markedly different.

Ricciardo said this calm approach suits his own outlook.

"I am not the guy to walk into the engineering room and throw a chair around," he said. "I don't think that's going to do well.

"I don't think it will help me get a message across. And for the team to continue to support me, I need to show like faith in them and I need to support them through that as well. I think if I start just swearing, cursing and throwing my hands up then in my head I'm like OK, are they gonna start questioning me? Like, have I lost it?

"Am I just not paying attention anymore and just blaming everything? I'm definitely not one to point a lot of fingers but I try to do it productively and maybe just use my experience as well.

He added: "Everything within the team at the moment is I want to say near perfect. The only thing that's really not there is the on track results yet, or at least consistently.

"But environment, morale, everything they're trying to do to help me give me as much as I can, the debriefs, kind of all the homework we're doing away from the track... I honestly can't ask for more from what they're trying to do to help me." (X)

#daniel ricciardo #dan #articles #that last but aimed at people saying he isnt doing enough away from the track #you have no fucking clue #stop bitching about it

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

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Male drider x reader (sfw) - Part One

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

It’s Wednesday, so that means it’s ‘new’ story time. This one has been up on Patreon for a week already, and Part Two has gone live today already.

Content: Female reader takes up a job as an archivist in a creepy old house and is surprised to find that 'the master' refuses to be seen at all... Very much ‘Beauty and the Beast’ inspired, if you will. Cameos from Sarrigan Silkfoot and Damien the orc chocolatier (Tumblr links). Wordcount: 2464

EDIT: my favourite comment from patrons on part two has been ‘cranky spooder’

WANTED: Librarian to take on an extensive, re-cataloguing project in a large, private collection. Diverse collection includes books, clay and stone tablets, scrolls, parchments, and various other media. Applicant must be willing to live on-site in a relatively remote location, and archival qualifications preferred, though demonstrable experience may suffice. Board and lodging will be provided throughout the duration of the project. It is anticipated that it should take between four to six months. More details to be supplied to the candidate following a successful interview.

---

You stared at the strange advert in the paper and let your teeth sink slowly into your lip, a frown playing across your forehead. This was… honestly right up your street in terms of experience and qualifications. In that moment, sitting at the table in your favourite coffee shop in Starfall Springs while a summer rain shower hammered down outside, you wanted to wave that advertisement in the face of everyone who’d said a postgraduate qualification in archive and records management would render you essentially bankrupt and completely unemployable. If this was anything to go by, they were only half wrong. You were practically bankrupt. Well, up to your eyeballs in student loans at least.

“Fuck it,” you hissed under your breath, ripping out the advert and getting out your phone. There was no email contact, but there was a number, and you saved it to your contacts in case you lost the little shred of newspaper, and decided to call as soon as you got home.

The phone wasn’t exactly your preferred method of communication, but it was all you had, so after psyching yourself up, you punched in the numbers and paced about, waiting for someone to answer.

Abruptly, the dial tone cut off, and a crackling on the other end of the line announced that someone had picked up. “Hello…? I’m… I’m calling about the archivist’s role advertised in the Starfall Chronicle… I was hoping for a bit more information.”

“Oh,” came a reedy, thin voice. “Your qualifications?”

You told them and then waited for them to speak.

“Hmm. And your experience?”

You swallowed. “I… I helped the Starfall Museum in transferring their computer system from the manual catalogues…” you said, suddenly feeling like this was the interview already.

“Mmm. So your experience is not extensive then.”

It wasn’t a question, and you ground your teeth.

“Just how am I supposed to get this vast acreage of mythical experience if no one hires anyone without it? I can get you three stunning references from the museum curators and staff, as well as from my professors at university,” you said hotly. And instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry,” you added hastily. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Yes you did,” they chuckled, voice husky and fragile. “And you’re perfectly right. I think you might do well at this in fact.”

“I… what?”

Another soft snort. “What information would you like to know then?”

“Where is it, for a start?”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and you’d just been on the point of asking if they were still there when they spoke again. “There’s an old estate to the north of Starfall Springs.”

You frowned. You’d heard rumours as a child growing up here that there was some mad old nightmare creature who lived in the woods on the slopes of Starfall Mountain and came down into the town on the new moon snatched naughty children from their beds, but you'd long dismissed it as nonsense to make kids behave. Still, it sent a tingle of apprehension down your spine.

“I’ve heard something of it,” you said carefully. “Not much.”

“Widowsweb Court,” the person said with reticence. “The estate dates back centuries, and the collection is in need of some care and attention. If you would be willing to live on the estate in your own, self-contained apartment, with meals provided in the kitchens of the main house should you wish it, then I think you sound like the right person for the role.”

“When would you want me to start?”

In the end, it took you less than a month to get everything organised.

On the evening of your departure, you and your friends celebrated on Temple Meadow, the huge swathe of public park surrounding the town’s religious building, and as you lay back on the blanket, staring up at the sky and surrounded by friends, you saw a shooting star sear through the canopy of glimmering stars above.

Sarrigan Silkfoot and his partner lay curled up nearby, and Damien, the huge orc from the chocolaterie in town, had tucked his own partner’s head against the crook of his colossal shoulder. A thought occurred to you as you watched Sarrigan toss his head back and laugh at a joke whispered in his ear, and you sat up.

“Sarrigan?”

“Mm?” he hummed, laughter still dancing in his eight red eyes.

“I know you don’t talk much about your family, but do you know of any other estates around here?” You hadn’t mentioned exactly where the job was, just that it wasn’t in Starfall Springs itself.

“Why d’you ask?”

“The place I’m going to for this job is called Widowsweb Court, but the library said it’s been abandoned for years, and I couldn’t find much about it on the internet either.”

He went still at the mention of its name. “Widowsweb you say?”

You nodded and realised you had the attention of everyone in your small group.

Sarrigan straightened and tucked a strand of his long, black hair behind a tapering ear. “It used to be part of the Silkfoot family holdings… way, way back,” he began, gesturing with his hand. “But about four hundred years or so ago, there was a disagreement between the then patriarch of the family and the dowager, his mother. He essentially annexed the property and disowned the entire estate. He could have sold it, but apparently he felt just guilty enough not to turf her out onto the street…”

“Why? I mean, what did she do?”

Sarrigan shrugged. “No idea. Knowing my family, it probably had something to do with anti-human sentiments…” he winked at you and added, “We really didn’t like your kind invading these parts…”

“We’re not exactly a majority round here,” his partner said, thwacking him in the belly with the back of a hand.

“True,” he said before turning back to you. “But you’re saying someone actually lives there?”

Damien leaned across and grinned, “Could be a long-lost relative, Sarrigan!”

“Well, whoever my employer is, they have a huge collection to reorganise, so I’m in.”

“You don’t even know the name of the person who’s paying you?” Damien gawped.

You shook your head. “A Mr. Ambleside is taking care of that. He’s apparently employed to keep the estate running and such… He’s the one who interviewed me.”

“Ambleside is an old family name from these parts,” Sarrigan said thoughtfully. “Well, you make sure you keep in touch, hmm?”

“Will do,” you nodded.

The only problem was, you discovered after Damien had dropped you off and fussed endlessly over you outside the tumble-down gates of the estate, that there was no phone reception way out here. Not even a single, sputtering bar.

As the tail lights of Damien’s truck disappeared, you pushed the iron gates open, the hinges screeching in protest loud enough that you thought your arrival would be announced all the way back down into Starfall, a two hour drive away.

Heaving your huge suitcase into your hand, you began to struggle down the driveway. Overgrown, potholed, and muddy, the road was barely even a road after the recent rain.

Ancient, thick-boled trees hung over the drive, branches meeting in the middle like lovers fingers interlaced, and after half a mile of walking, you stopped, exhausted, and sat on your suitcase. You’d made it out of the small, gnarled copse that bordered the edge of the estate, but the parklands that lay beyond seemed to stretch for miles. The thought of hauling your sizable suitcase all that way made you feel faint, especially in the stifling sun. There was at least a cooling breeze that lifted your hair and caressed your skin, but honestly, it was hopeless.

Eventually, after perhaps a quarter of an hour of sitting there, getting warmer and thirstier, and growing no less exhausted, you caught sight of a movement on the driveway. Squinting, you made out a horse and cart, and sitting atop the driver’s bench, a figure with a wide-brimmed hat on their head.

The closer they got, the more you were able to make out, and when they were perhaps fifty yards away, you stood up. They looked to be an elderly firbolg, with warm-brown skin and flaming red hair and beard.

The horse was an elderly, bony looking thing, and the cart just as rickety, but the firbolg drew to a halt beside you and barked your name in a familiar voice.

“Mr. Ambleside?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he said. “You’re early.”

“A little, yes.”

“Well, climb in. Do you need a hand with your bag?”

You looked at it, and then at the height of the cart bed. “If you wouldn't mind?”

He nodded and climbed carefully down. You weren’t sure how old firbolgs got, but he didn’t exactly look young. Having said that, he hauled your bag into the back like it weighed nothing at all and then helped you up to sit beside him on the bench before turning the cart around and heading back up the driveway.

The house itself was nestled in a clump of massive elm trees, masked from view until almost the last moment. “I’ll show you to the cottage, and then you can come up to the house for some refreshments. You’ll start work tomorrow at nine.”

You nodded, not wanting to rock the proverbial boat. “Is it just you and… er… your - our - employer here then?” you ventured after a few minutes of silence with only the rumbling of the cart for background noise.

He shrugged. “My boy works here in the grounds too, and there’s Chiara who tends to the household. Other than that, yes. And the master, of course.”

“Will I be meeting him?” you asked.

Mr. Ambleside looked positively scandalised. “Oh heavens no!” he gasped.

“Right. I see. He’s… unwell?”

That drew a deep scowl from the firbolg’s thick, heavy brows. “No,” he said, but it sounded like he was buying time. “No, he’s not unwell. He just… prefers a solitary life. You are to enter through the back door to the kitchens, proceed up the route to the library that I will show you, and return the same way when you’re done, is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” you said, wondering just what you’d got yourself into.

“If you need to use a telephone at any time, you may use the landline in my office.”

That news came as a huge relief, and you clung to it as you were shown the slightly dusty stable-house apartment just across the courtyard from the main house. Widowsweb Court was a massive country pile, with filigree stonework and steeply pitched, slate-tiled roofs, and it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a horror movie.

Your first week passed without incident. You assessed the vast, rambling collection, and saw immediately that it would definitely take much, much longer than the six months for which you’d been contracted to get to grips with it and get it into a decent order. Even if you had a team of ten strong people to help you, there was no way you could reorganise all the shelves in the cavernous library. It was as large and as varied as any national archives, and contained books and scrolls on everything from ancient magic to the development of medicine in various countries across the world.

Travel journals were rammed in next to tomes on mathematics, poetry beside animal husbandry, and gemology beside botany. There was no scheme to it, and after two weeks, you nearly had a complete breakdown.

Covered in dust and suddenly vastly overwhelmed by the looming, dark bookshelves, you simply sat down on the floorboards and let your head fall forwards into your hands. This was a gargantuan effort for one person to tackle alone.

Something rattled in the stacks and you gasped, sitting up straight, heart hammering. “Hello?”

Silence followed, but after only another few seconds, you heard a skittering of limbs and the slam of a door. Except, there was only one doorway to the library, and it was behind you.

Standing somewhat shakily, you swiped your tears away and paced steadily along the floorboards towards the source of the noise. When you found nothing but dusty stacks and silent books, you swallowed and turned away.

At supper that night, you ate with Mr. Ambleside and his son, Naril, who was perhaps a year or two younger than you, and looked very much like his father. Noticing your pensive expression, he leaned over and asked in his softly-articulated purr if everything was alright. “You look… I don’t know… Did something happen?”

You sighed, nudging food listlessly around your plate. “I was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the project today…” you said. “And… I heard a noise in the library that startled me, that’s all.”

The two of them exchanged looks and then Mr. Ambleside said, “That was probably the master…”

“But I thought…” you began, though you hardly knew what you thought about the mysterious person who supposedly ran the estate, pulling all the strings from a hidden room in the old house and never revealing himself to anyone.

“Why do you think he wanted the collection organised?” Mr. Ambleside chuckled into his potatoes. “He’s an avid reader, but doesn’t have the patience to do it himself. Plus, he doesn’t see too well any more.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “All those books, and… that seems so cruel… Is he very old?”

Naril shook his head. “No, he’s maybe ten years or so older than us? Chiara reads to him in the evenings if his eyes get tired, and —”

“—Naril, that’s enough,” Mr. Ambleside barked, and Naril’s fluffy ears tucked right back against his head. “We do not gossip about the master.”

“Sorry, father,” he said, shooting you a look that conveyed a fair bit. ‘If you want to know more, ask me when he’s not around’ it said.

For another week, your recataloguing was left undisturbed by noises, but after four weeks of being at Widowsweb Court, you encountered ‘the master’ for the first time, and he was nothing like you’d thought he would be, though perhaps the name of the place should have given it away.

Part Two --->

To be continued next Wednesday... Part Two is currently up on Patreon so you can read it right now on the Pixies and Goblins Tier.

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier!

Currently I’m also running a CYOA for all tiers, with episodes releasing every Friday.

#exophilia #drider #drider x reader #male drider x reader #monster boyfriend #beauty and the beast inspired #firbolg

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firstfrostfall · 3 years

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A Cold Lament - Chapter Two

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Somehow, Anna had collected quite a bit of jewelry in her twenty-three years of living. She never necessarily went out of her way for it- it would just find its way to her. She was enamored by shiny things. You know, the things that glimmered when you held them in the sunlight the right way. Stones, sea glass, gems. Really whatever she could get her hands on. But she was especially fond of sea glass. She always loved sea glass.

It started off with small things at first, like sea glass, when she was a little girl. Because of this love, Magpie was the nickname her grandmother had given her.

Her grandmother would say things like, be careful, you’ll cut your hands on the sea glass, my little Magpie.

When she got older, more so into her teenage years, she would be gifted with various pieces of jewelry for her birthday or other special occasions. Each piece was beautiful, surely. She couldn’t deny the appeal that came with a pair of diamond earrings, those certainly caught in the light well, but she would’ve been just as happy with a particularly glossy stone from a rocky beach. Jewelry, or whatever stone it was, didn’t have to be expensive, she just liked how they glinted in the light. Like a magpie. She felt quite silly about it.

Nevertheless, she preferred sea glass to anything.

Growing up, she kept her entire collection in an ornately carved hope chest at the foot of her bed. There was no organization, no rhyme or reason for the placement of any of it. Of course, she kept the most expensive pieces tucked away in a separate gaudy jewelry box, nested in swaths of black velvet. The hope chest, on the other hand, was entirely in disarray. Anna liked it that way. It was her big box of things.

She brought the hope chest with her when she went to live with her aunt. It was a nightmare to travel with, surely, but it was hers. For the past year it remained at the foot of the bed she shared with her five other cousins. Living with her aunt and cousins under one tiny roof was an adjustment for her. It was different. The war changed a lot.

The war changed everything.

A family torn apart, and a girl sent packing off to her aunt’s home in an unfamiliar factory city hours from the only home she ever knew.

Anna remembered the day vividly. It was in the middle of summer, 1917, and the trip was dreadfully rainy. She traveled by train and cab to get to Birmingham.

When she eventually arrived at her aunt’s doorstep, she was soaked. The brim of her hat drooped under the weight of the rainwater. She knew her aunt was barely scraping by, she had so much on her plate already, she didn’t need the additional burden of a niece added to that roster. Her aunt had five children of her own, a husband away at war- but Anna had nowhere else to go.

So she stood there, surrounded by luggage and suitcases and trunks full of whatever she had left, waiting for her to answer her pleading knocks. When her aunt did open the door, she quickly ushered her niece in and helped her get settled with all of her belongings.

A few weeks later, word reached them that her uncle died in France. Her aunt was frantic after receiving the news, and understandably so. Not only had she lost her husband, but another source of income for the family. There was no one coming home to work in a factory.

Anna began selling whatever items she could to make extra money to cover the cost of a sixth mouth to feed. She sold dresses, silver hairpins, and combs, shoes, miscellaneous books. She sold almost anything and everything. Her belongings were finite, however, and soon enough, she had sold as much as she could.

Except for her jewelry, except for the hope chest.

She had accumulated enough valuables in the chest to scrounge up a few months rent for her own flat. A shabby little place, not too far from where her aunt lived. She even had a little extra money leftover to tuck away for her family, just enough to help them get by for a little while longer. There would be more space at her aunt’s house now that she was gone, too. More room for her cousins in their bed, one less mouth to feed, one less body to clothe.

It pained Anna to look at the chest. It pained her even more to open it. Almost everything she had collected was gone. Of course, she kept a few things, the items that were the most precious to her. An opal ring, a pair of diamond earrings, a golden bracelet, a jar full of sea glass. Each unrelated, but with their own meaning.

There was no point in moping around about it. She could spend another twenty-three years collecting more shiny things.

She was learning to make do with what she had.

Of course, now with her own expenses, she was also learning that her money was finite as well. This made her aunt worry for her terribly.

Finding a job had been difficult, to say the least. She spent hours reading through newspaper after newspaper, clipping away at any job advertisement that she thought she could even remotely qualify for. Most of the time, she wouldn’t receive an interview or would be flat-out rejected on the spot.

It was discouraging- but made sense to her. She really was just a girl, from a village barely anyone had ever heard of before, with a resume that was, to put it plainly, terrible. She never held a job before, and her only experience came from a few accounting courses from a couple of summers back. Truthfully, the courses were something to pass the time, to keep her from boredom while the days were long and hot. She never expected to actually need those skills.

One morning, however, there was a series of frantic knocks at her door. It was no one other than her aunt, giddy and exclaiming that she may have found her a steady job.

“I have a friend from church who can help you,” Her aunt said. “She set up an interview for tomorrow, three o’clock. You’ll be speaking with her nephew. She’ll pick you up from the house. She’s a good woman.”

Anna hugged her aunt tightly at the news, a wave of relief washing over her. Until, she realized, that she wasn’t sure what exactly she was interviewing for. That was when the panic started to settle in.

But alas, when fortune drops something valuable on your lap, it’s best not to question it.

That was where she found herself currently, a few days after the interview, staring at her reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror while she got ready for her first day. She was brushing through her hair, smoothing out the curls from the rollers she had slept in. The wan morning light made it a soft auburn that curled down past her collarbones.

She had been ready for work since dawn, and truthfully, even before then. She had a hard time sleeping and chalked it up to be a culmination of nerves for the day ahead of her, and the fact that her flat didn’t feel like a home just yet. In time, she hoped it would.

All throughout the night, the floors creaked, and the pipes hissed. She barely had any furniture, except for a wire bed frame and a hand-me-down mattress she had gotten a deal on. She was also pretty sure that the lock on the front door was broken, so she propped up a chair against the knob and hoped for the best.

Despite all of this, for better or worse, this place was her own. It eased the burden on her aunt.

Anna stood by the window while tucking her cream blouse into the waist of her maroon skirt. She spent the better part of her morning ironing out her clothes, desperately trying to ensure that the linen was fine and creaseless. Her iron was one of the things she couldn’t part with. At the very least, she could look her best with it. Or at least try to.

She glanced at the window one last time before slipping her shoes on by the front door, watching as tiny flurries of snow began to fall onto the city below. She smiled.

It was early this year.

Anna promptly knocked on the door to The Garrison at nine o’clock that same morning. The snow was still falling, each flake thick enough to catch in her hair, a contrast of white on red, but soft enough that it would not stick to the ground, instead, it melted on contact with the muddy pavement. Harry, the barkeep, answered the door.

“Miss Caldwell, good morning.” He took a step to the side so she could enter. His face and nose were flushed red, he must’ve arrived not too long ago himself.

“And to you, Mr. Fenton.” She smiled, her breath turning into clouds as she spoke. “Quite the weather we’re having.”

“I’ll say,” He closed the door behind her and turned the lock. “Haven’t seen snow this early since I was a boy.”

“It’s good luck,” She replied while shrugging her coat off. “They say an early snow brings good fortune.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when my toes are freezing off in the morning,” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Follow me, you can leave your things in the back room.”

Once Anna was settled, she stood behind the bar with her own apron tied around her waist, (already stained, mind you) given to her by Harry. The remainder of the morning was another lesson in “making do” for her. The pub wouldn’t be officially open until noon, so this extra time beforehand was for her to get a feel for everything. To put it plainly, it was additional time to practice.

No matter how hard she tried to mask her nerves and keep her composure, it was like she had two left feet. Spilling drinks, forgetting the difference between vodka and gin, pouring a pint incorrectly, and causing the foam to rise over the rim of the glass.

Despite the extra time she had spent on her appearance, smoothing out any wrinkles on her skirt, curling her hair, and flashing a smile at all times- she couldn’t have felt any more out of place, and painfully unprepared. There was so much on the line for her. She had her own place and an aunt who needed financial help. She would keep trying, she didn’t have any other choice.

Harry was kind to her, and as patient as he could be, but it became quite obvious that she was a terrible bartender. Embarrassingly so. Terrible enough that he insisted that she just watch him for the rest of their shift, assuring her that it was for the best.

“It will be a slow night,” He said, wiping down the remnants of the third pint she had spilled. “A good way for you to learn the ropes. Nice and easy.”

Anna nodded, accepting her wounded pride. In the late afternoon and early evening, business was slow. It was quiet, a few patrons here and there ordering a drink or two. She was able to observe Harry interacting with the regulars and took mental notes of what people seemed to like. She thought it was quite pleasant.

Until it wasn’t a slow night.

Evidently, there was a football game earlier in the day, and all of the men came trailing in afterward. The pub became boisterous and loud. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

“Just work on collecting the empty glasses,” Harry motioned with his head to the cluttered tables from across the bar. “I’ll take care of everything up here.”

Anna nodded, typing the apron around her waist tighter. She weaved through the crowds, deftly trying to avoid any leering gazes or comments. Of course, she made quite a few spills, and mentally kicked herself for being so clumsy, for letting her composure waver. In the beginning, she was slow going back and forth from table to bar, but eventually, she was able to get into a rhythm.

She placed the last few glasses on the bartop, exhaling heavily. The pub was finally empty. She glanced down at her blouse. This morning, the linen was freshly pressed and the color of cream, but this evening, however, it was stained with splotches of beer and other liquors. She frowned.

It was late.

Harry wiped a forearm across his brow. “You did well.”

“You’re very kind,” Anna wiped her hands on her apron, shaking her head. “I did terribly.”

He laughed, quite loudly.

“I’ll finish cleaning up here,” He nodded. “You go catch a breath in the back.”

“No, no, let me help with the clean-up. I made most of the mess.”

“You had a long enough day today, and you’ll have a longer one tomorrow.” He smiled, waving her off with his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

Anna walked into the back room and sighed, collapsing onto a chair. She held her face in her hands. Her body ached, her feet especially, and her head throbbed. But more than anything, she was embarrassed. She was tired and wanted to weep. It was silly. Her first day of work and she wanted to cry. She swallowed sharply and stood up, untying the apron from her waist and tossing it over the back of the chair.

There was no point in crying, she would make do.

When she stepped back into the main room, Harry wasn’t alone anymore. It was the man who she spoke to a few days before, Mr. Shelby, standing by the bar with a glass in front of him. A cigarette dangled between two fingers, the smoke curling in the hazy lights above the bar. He didn’t notice her at first, and if he did, he didn’t make it known.

It wasn’t until Harry cleared his throat, that he tilted his head toward her.

Anna glanced down at her beer-stained blouse and grimaced. She certainly felt like a mess, she could only imagine what she looked like. With a sheepish smile, she combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed it all over one shoulder.

“Miss Caldwell,” He nodded.

“Good evening, Mr. Shelby,” She smiled, folding her coat over her forearm.

“Heading home?” He turned away from her.

“Yes, just about.”

“Mrs. Gray instructed me to walk her home on these late nights,” Harry quickly interjected. She could've sworn Mr. Shelby scoffed at that.

“Ah, waiting on me then?” The other man raised an eyebrow.

“No, no, of course not Mr. Shelby.” Harry’s voice wavered. Anna noticed his eyes widening, like he was nervous, almost.

“I’m sure you’re both tired,” He finished the rest of his drink in one swig, and then fully turned to her. “First day, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Anna could feel her face flushing. A disastrous first day, she thought. “Harry was an excellent teacher.” She could see Harry beaming at that comment.

“Ah,” Mr. Shelby nodded, stacking a few coins beside his empty glass. He placed his cap on his head and tipped the brim to the barkeep, “Goodnight.” He paused for a moment, and then he tilted his head toward Anna. “And to you, Miss Caldwell.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Shelby,” She smiled, her cheeks growing warm. “Thank you again, for this opportunity.”

He hummed in response, shrugging on his coat as he walked to the door.

By the time Harry and Anna had locked up the pub and were outside, Mr. Shelby was halfway down the street. She watched as he walked away, unable to tear her attention away from his retreating form.

As if on cue, it started snowing again. The little white flecks looked more like the ashes that spewed from the factory chimneys.

“This way, Miss.” Harry’s voice interrupted her musings. She blushed, feeling silly for mooning over a man she hardly knew.

Just as she was about to look away, she saw Mr. Shelby stop short. Anna’s heart skipped a beat when he turned around and looked at her from over his shoulder.

All was and quiet and cold.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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qingxin-s · 3 years

Text

༉₊˚✧ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ : ʜᴀᴡᴋꜱ x ꜰ.ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

synopsis: she was a journalist, adamant on gaining information about the heroes she adored so much. he was a up and coming hero. could i make it anymore obvious?

word count: 2,742

genre: slow burn, strangers to lovers

warning(s): cussing, slight mention of attempted assault, not proof-read, reuploaded from my old account

Closing her door with a click, she let out a sigh- a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in. Today had been…rough to say the least. Her only day off work in 3 months and she had to spend it chasing up reports from her employees, reading through them and then the cherry on top: having to buy a fresh set of clothes because a truck decided to speed past her, straight through a muddy puddle.

A meow sounded through her apartment, the clicking of claws on her tiled floor echoing. At least someone was happy to see her.

“Yes, I’m back” She mumbled as she crouched to the floor, running her hands through her cats silky fur. Instead of taking the route her friends took, settling down with a partner and maybe even having kids, she decided that work was more her thing. Meaning life was pretty simple for (Y/N)- simple, but lonely. All she had was her cat, Minx, but she managed to convince herself that was enough.

She stumbled into her kitchen, the time on her clock reading 11:35 pm. Damn, she didn’t even realize she was out for that long. It was too late for her to cook a full meal now- it would require too much effort. So instead, she settled on some chicken ramen and called it a night.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

“Work you stupid thing” The girl hissed as she slapped her computer screen, the loading bar almost taunting her. She really wasn’t in the mood for this today. First her day off was stolen from her, then she got drenched in puddle water and then…she was called into work at 6am.

Why she went into this line of work was beyond her. She enjoyed it at first, but slowly she lost passion for it- and passion was important in a job like this. She was a reporter, a very well renowned one at that. You’d tune into your local news channel and see her name in block capitals. And her specialty? Heroes.

She was notorious for being pushy, stopping at nothing to get the interviews she desired. Hell, she even managed to score one with Endeavour.

“Ma'am, I’m really sorry to bother you but can you check this article for me?” One of her employees asked shyly, breaking her from her train of thought. It was her intern, Izuku, stood with a thick stack of paper tucked between his arms. He was young, much younger than any other intern she had hired before. But he had spirit- and that’s all that mattered.

“You’re not bothering me at all, in fact you saved me from breaking my computer” She smiled, happily taking the stack from his arms. In all honesty, he was one of her favourite employees she had. Young, intelligent, actually excited to do his job. She cleared her throat as she skimmed over the paper, taking in every detail.

“Hawks, huh? He’s very new to the hero world right?” (Y/N) hummed as she flicked through the pages, and he nodded his emerald haired head eagerly.

“Yep! He’s gained a lot of attention recently, and when I reached out to him- he said he’d be more than happy to do an interview!” He exclaimed, and she couldn’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. Grabbing her f/c coat from the back of her chair, she began walking- beckoning for him to follow her.

“C'mon then, kid. Let’s go meet him”

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

Turns out, Hawks was very happy to do an interview with her agency. He agreed to meet up with them in a local café, and as they were waiting she spotted Izuku chewing his nails anxiously.

“You nervous?” (Y/N) asked as she took a sip of her coffee, and he smiled at her sheepishly. She completely understood, she was nervous when she conducted her first ever interview. But she believed in him. She reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze.

“You’ve got this” She grinned, and he exhaled. The door bell chimed and he stood up immediately, the hero they were waiting on walking in. He looked young- maybe around her age- and he carried himself in a very odd manner. Blonde, unkept hair that fell around his stubbly face. Large crimson wings that sprouted from his back. She didn’t even notice she was staring until Izuku cleared his throat.

“T-thank you so much for coming!” He greeted nervously, eagerly shaking the heroes’ hand. Hawks sent him a smile as he sat beside him, scratching the back of his head.

“Of course. Anything for your bosses agency” He grinned, and their eyes met for a split second. His bosses agency? So he knew who she was? He had read some of her works? They held the eye contact, his golden orbs softening- and she quickly looked away. Maybe this new hero was more interesting that she thought.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

The sky had turned gold when they had finally finished up, it’s soft glow bathing them as they stepped out of the café. The interview had gone surprisingly well considering how little experience her intern had. He was evidentially anxious as he asked the first few questions, but that melted away very quickly. And after ordering him a taxi home, she was left alone with the hero in question.

“Thank you so much for doing that, Hawks. He was so excited when he came into my office earlier” The h/c haired girl smiled as she did up the buttons to her coat, but she still shivered. It had quickly turned cold, the breeze assaulting her as it blew through her. Hawks chuckled quietly as he ran a hand through his messy locks.

“It was my pleasure. The kid seems really into it” He smiled, and she nodded her head in agreement. Before she could say anything else, the phone on his belt pinged- and he rolled his eyes in response.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this. But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around” He winked and in a split second, he was gone. What did he mean…he’d see her around?

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

A few weeks had passed since their initial interview with the winged hero, and in that time his popularity had grown massively. He was on the cover of local newspapers, he was featured in adverts for food products, he even had fangirls.

Speaking of, even they loved Izuku’s interview. Critics praised it for being so professional, so well put together. Which of course, made the boy beam. And has a treat, she decided to take him out for some ramen.

“This is so good!” He hummed happily with a mouthful of noodles, making her laugh. Her head was buzzing a little from the beer she had drunk to accompany her food, she could feel her face flush because of it.

“I’m glad, you deserved it” She grinned, and he shoved more food into his mouth in reply. Leaning back slightly in her seat she sighed, swirling the contents of her drink around in her glass. Since the interview, she just couldn’t help but think of Hawks. He was just so…so captivating. The door of the ramen shop creaked open, but she couldn’t be bothered to look up and see who it was.

“Can I get some chicken ramen, please?” A familiar voice sounded, and she heard her intern slam his chopsticks down onto the wooden table.

“Hey, you okay?” She quickly asked, his face bright red as he pointed towards the doorway. In all his glory stood Hawks, his gloved hands shoved into his pant pockets as he waited for his order- and Izuku jumped up from the table to go greet him. They exchanged a few words before the hero looked over at their table, smirking slightly- and they both walked over.

“Good evening” Hawks greeted, sliding into the seat beside Izuku, who was beaming. She smiled slightly as she put her drink down on the table, stretching slightly.

“Chicken ramen, huh? Not what I expected” She grinned as she nodded to his wings, earning a chuckle from him. (Y/N) was never any good at small talk, so she was happy to see that her small joke received a good response.

“Hey, I’m a hawk. There’s a difference” He teased back, leaning in his seat to get more comfortable. All whilst her intern looked between the two with a grin on his face. He had finished his bowl, and he seemed content.

“Thank you so much again for the interview! It did really well, so (Y/N) treated me to ramen!” He beamed, and Hawks smirked at her slightly. He folded his arms over his chest in a comfortable gesture.

“Oh yeah, she sounds like a great boss” The blonde replied, sending her a wink. Damn…so smooth. The waiter quickly brought over his bowl of ramen, and he quickly tucked in.

“Hey, Izuku, when do you need to be back home?” (Y/N) asked suddenly as she plucked up her bag from the seat beside her- and the green haired boy hummed in response, thinking carefully. The rest of the customers chatted happily amongst themselves, filling the shop in a comfortable atmosphere.

“Any time really!” He finally answered, and she smiled at how excitable she was. Pulling out her purse, she pulled out 5,000¥ and placed it on the table- enough to pay for all 3 of their meals and leave a tip for the workers. She beckoned for Izuku to follow her and before they could leave, she looked over her shoulder.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around” She winked, leaving Hawks with a pink face.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

The office had quickly turned dark since the rest of her workers left and when she checked her computer clock- she was shocked to discover that it was 11pm. So she gathered her things, threw her coat over her shoulder and turned off the office lights. It was cold and wet when she stepped outside, so she shivered and wasted no time making her way home.

Cars whirred past her as she walked across the wet pavement, willing her body to go faster. She just wanted to get home to her warm cat, warm bed and cold leftovers in her fridge. As she walked, she couldn’t help but notice the second pair of footsteps quickly approaching behind her.

‘It’s just nothing, you’re fine (Y/N)’ She thought to herself as she clutched her housekeys in her pocket. But as the footsteps sped up she knew that wasn’t the case. A hand suddenly smacked onto her shoulder and spun her around, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“Hey, pretty lady” The stranger slurred, and she could smell the alcohol on their breath- making her shrink away even more. They leaned closer towards her and she quickly shoved them off, breaking into a sprint whilst they were distracted. Her chest heaved as she ran, contracting as she gasped for breath. One minute she was on her feet, the next- she felt herself falling.

She had tripped on a stray crack in the pavement, and she landed on the wet ground with a large thump. As she tried to scramble to her feet she could see the stranger gaining on her, their face contorted in anger.

“You bitch! You’re gonna pay for that!” They yelled, but before they could reach her- she felt herself being picked up, and she was pressed against something warm. The wind harshly whipped her h/c locks around her face, but she didn’t dare open her eyes. And before she knew it, tears began leaking down her face- staining her cheeks.

“Hey. It’s okay, you’re okay” She heard him coo as they landed on a nearby rooftop, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Her chest continued to heave as she tried her best to steady her breathing, all whilst Hawks rubbed her back gently.

“Let’s get you home” He whispered as he placed a kiss on top of her head, and all she could do was nod.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

Keigo yawned as he stretched his arms, his legs up on the desk. He had barely slept last night after returning the journalist home. All he could think about was the possible outcomes if he had been late. Would she have gotten hurt? Would she even still be alive? But he didn’t want to think so negatively, so he shook his blonde head- as if to shake the thoughts from his mind. A knock sounded on the door, and he perked his head up.

“Yeah?” He called, signaling for the person to enter and they did. It was one of the agencies assistances, and in their hands was a large cup of coffee and a takeaway bowl of chicken ramen. An odd combination, but one he loved.

“These were left at the desk for you, sir. With a note” The assistant explained as they placed the items down in front of him before hurrying off. He plucked the note up with careful fingers, his face quickly heating up as he skimmed through it.

Hawks,

Thank you for last night, I really appreciate it. I don’t know how to properly express my gratitude, so I thought maybe you’d appreciate these.

Also, I booked a table for us tonight. At the same ramen shop as before. I hope to see you there.

Thank you

- (Y/N) x

“You smooth, smooth journalist” Keigo grinned as he took a sip from the coffee, shaking his head once more.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

(Y/N) tapped her foot anxiously as she stood waiting outside the small store. An hour had passed since their designated time slot, and she couldn’t help but feel sad. Maybe last night was just a one off. He was a hero after all, it was his duty to save people in need. He was probably too busy for her. As she was about to turn and leave with her head hung low, she heard heavy footsteps.

“I’m sorry I’m so late! There was this guy running around stealing handbags, and I couldn’t keep up!” Hawks exclaimed as he ran up to her, and she couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. He was holding a bouquet of roses in his hands, his usually messy hair slick back in a tidy manner.

“These are for you” He beamed as he handed them to her, and she happily accepted them. She even went as far as to stand on her tip toes and place a kiss on his freshly shaven face.

“Shall we go inside, Hawks?” She grinned, and his hand hovered over the spot she had kissed. He quickly recovered however, wrapping an arm around her waist as he opened the door for her with his other hand.

“Call me keigo”

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

The battle that ensued was deadly, it had her on edge. Keigo insisted on her staying out of it, he couldn’t bare to see her get hurt. But she wouldn’t take that for an answer, so she hung back with the medics and the other students. She wanted to be there for him- she wanted to help in anyway she could. (Y/N) knew her quirk wasn’t particularly strong, so did he.

One minute all was calm as they awaited news from what was happening on the battlefield. The next, chaos ensued- and medics filled the scene.

“(Y/N)! Get back!” She heard Tokoyami yell as a stretcher was maneuvered around everyone and finally placed on the dusty ground. They had never really spoken much before, she only knew of him due to the fact that Keigo had taken him under his wing and taught him everything he knew. And as she approached the stretcher, she understood why.

Lying there was Keigo…her love. Covered in bandages and burns peaking through in the places his skin was exposed.

“What happened to him?!” She cried as she rushed towards him, even though Tokoyami tried so desperately to hold her back. His heart hurt as he watched the scene, he knew how much Hawks meant to her.

“He…he got caught up in Dabi’s fire blast. His wings- they’re gone! They may never grow back!” He yelped as he struggled to keep hold of her, even Dark Shadow was trying his best to keep her contained. But she broke free from his embrace and she rushed towards the stretcher. Keigo’s eyes fluttered open slightly, looking around as best as he could. Until he spotted her. Her h/c hair bellowing behind her as she rushed towards him, her e/c hues filled with tears. And like an angel emerging from the heavens, she came to him- crouching beside him with her eyebrows knitted in concern.

“You’re okay now, it’s okay” She whispered, and that was all he needed.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #hawks mha #hawks bnha #hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo tamaki x reader #anime #oneshot #fanfic #x reader

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champhangman · 4 years

Text

No Other

Title: No Other Characters: Nick Jackson x OFC Part: One of ? Summary: I don't know the loneliness you've known. I don't hear the frosty words echo inside. Word Count: 4,750 Warnings: n/a A/N: An extremely loud ‘thank you’ to @adampage and @cowboyshit for listening to me complain about the lack of Nick fics, and helping me create something that’s cohesive from the ideas that I blathered endlessly about late at night. Y’all are my biggest supporters, I hope you realize that. (Side note: when I mentioned I was doing a Nick fic, Emi went ballistic, because we all know she lurves him.)

Tagging: @adampage / @cowboyshit / @baysexuality / @lilmisswhiskeygypsy / @bigpixiefoot / @mindofasagittaruis / @kalliravenne / @sadlittlecountess / @baronsbelleevangeline / @brie-mode-activated / @xbreezymeadowsx / @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch / @allizoneme / @heelsamizayn / @what-does-mine-say / @waywardwrestlewritingwaif / @drewshoneybadger / and @merchfreak because I know Alma loves some Nick

One

"Why do we plan stuff for so early in the morning?" Matt rubbed his face with one hand and groaned. "I'm going to get coffee, you want anything?"

"Yeah, the usual," Nick answered. The lobby was filled with people. Groups of women all wearing the same bright shade of pink. Men in suits. Teenagers in blazers, looking bored as they shuffled along behind two stressed-looking adults. "What time is the interview for the social media thing?"

"Thirty minutes." His brother rolled his shoulders and yawned. "You gonna sit in?"

It wasn't his turn. He almost pointed it out, to remind Matt that they, Cody, and Kenny took turns sitting in on interviews for staff in the company. Sometimes it would be two or three of them. Occasionally they all slipped in to meet a potential new employee. They didn't have to do it. But they did, because they wanted to make sure new employees would fit in and expand the familial bond they felt with everyone. But Matt already knew all that. Sighing, Nick shrugged. "Sure."

"Cool. I'll be back. We're doing it in the ballroom on the second floor. Dylan's meeting me there."

"Ballroom?" Nick chuckled. "Are we that damn fancy now?"

"God, I hope not," Matt muttered. "Just how it worked out today. A bunch of conventions going on, y'know? I'll meet you there."

He watched his brother head across the lobby then headed for the stairs. Halfway up, he stopped and backed up against the wall as a stampede of women in pink rushed past him going the opposite way. Nodding and smiling in greeting, he breathed a sigh of relief when they were gone, the wave of perfume staying behind while their excited chatter and giggling echoed.

As it began to fade, he grew aware of piano music. He moved away from the stairs and saw a grand piano at the far end of the carpeted, ornately embellished area. A woman sat before it, head bowed as she played. A small placard identified the space as the grand foyer, and he was acutely aware of his less-than grand attire as he strolled between mirrored pillars beneath gleaming chandeliers. He saw the entrance to the ballroom and leaned inside, but there was no sign of Dylan or the interviewee.

He turned to watch the woman at the piano. Try as he might, he couldn't place the sentimental tune. Melodious, it rose and fell in tempo. She didn't bang the keys to evoke the strength of the tune. She stroked them tenderly, fingers moving fluidly to coax beautiful sounds from the instrument.

Nick rested his shoulder on the nearby pillar, watching her. He admired the almost loverlike movements of her fingers along the keys. Her eyes were closed, he saw, and he wondered if she thought of someone while she wrought the bittersweet melody. A former lover, he supposed, judging it too melancholy to be a joyful love song. Dark hair fell from behind her ear, shielding her profile from his view.

The tempo slowed. Elegant fingers barely touched the keys to bring forth soft notes. They danced, ending with a chord that seemed to echo in his heart. Then they began again. Deep, low sounds that resounded around him, fading into soft, higher notes, ending on a gentle chord.

"That was beautiful," he said into the sudden silence after making sure she had finished.

She whirled, dark hair catching the light as it fanned around her head. "Oh," she gasped, pushing to her feet with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was listening."

"Don't apologize. It was amazing." Nick pushed away from the pillar and crossed

"I'm sure they don't want me touching the piano. But I couldn't resist." Her fingers grazed the polished surface reverently. "It's a Fazioli."

She said the name almost worshipfully. Nick saw her love for the topic clearly in her eyes. "I'm not familiar with piano brands, is a Fazioli better than others?"

"It has a clearer tone. Sometimes a Steinway can be a bit muddy, especially with a complex piece. Of course, I learned on a Steinway, so they'll always have a special place in my heart, muddy tones or not." She gave a happy, reminiscent sigh. "And naturally it's all down to the individual which brand they prefer, but I like the Fazioli myself."

"Do you have one?"

"God no." She laughed, a sound as musical and rich as her piano playing. "It wouldn't fit in my apartment, and one costs about as much as Lamborghini. Which is a little out of my budget."

"You live in the area?"

"Yeah. Up until the first of the year I was based in Tampa." Her green eyes clouded slightly, but the shadow was gone in a blink. "I needed a change. Which is why I'm here today…"

"Looking for a piano gig?" he asked with a grin.

"God no," she breathed. "I couldn't play in front of people."

"I'm people," Nick pointed out.

"That's different. I didn't know you were listening. And you're just one person. Okay, there were a few people going up the stairs but they weren't sitting or standing watching me. I can play in front of a few friends or my family, but not in front of people. You know?"

"I know," he said with a nod. "What was the song you were playing?"

"It was—" Her lips twisted into a grimace. "I don't know."

"Original?" he asked, impressed.

"No! I'm not able to compose," she laughed. "I… This is going to sound incredibly conceited but I can pick up a song after listening to it once. Sometimes it takes two or three times if it's an intricate song. But, um, I heard this one on Spotify on my way over, and I wanted to see if I could play it."

Nick was still impressed. He'd only met a couple of people who had that ability, and it took them at least three listens before they could play a song without difficulty. "That's amazing. Why aren't you in music?"

"I tried, but the stage fright said no." She smiled up at him. "I'm sorry for blathering on about pianos and music—"

"No, no, it's fine," he assured. "It's obviously important to you."

"Are you in music?"

"Ah, no. I'm in wrestling."

"No way." She laughed again, cheeks tinging a delicate shade of pink. "Oh god, no way."

"Yes way," he promised, confusion setting in when she laughed harder. "What?"

"Oh my god. You're one of the Jacksons, aren't you?" She stopped laughing. "I thought you looked familiar. If I can be perfectly honest, I've never really watched wrestling but after I put in my application, I realized I should know the product I'm trying to be a part of…"

The dots connected and Nick began to chuckle. "You're here for the interview?"

"Yes… Oh my god." She gave a tiny, embarrassed, laugh. "And I just spent fifteen minutes rambling about pianos. I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson."

"Nick," he corrected.

"Nick." She smiled. "You won't hold any of that against me during the interview, will you?"

"Of course not. We try to encourage passions, Miss…" He didn't know her name. He didn't even know how many interviews there were going to be. He just hoped her skills leveled with her personality. She would be a good fit, he thought.

"Jasmine Burke," she supplied. She extended her hand.

He took it in his for a shake. Felt her elegant fingers press against his palm. "Great to meet you, Miss Burke."

"Jasmine. Or Jazz. Jazzy." She squeezed his hand and her smile softened. "I answer to almost anything."

He felt as though something had slid into place. "Jasmine."

***

Jasmine liked him. There weren't many people she'd met who didn't mind when she gushed about music or pianos. Even her own mother, who had turned her passion for music into a career, sometimes rolled her eyes when Jasmine dissected a song over dinner. Not only had he let her ramble on, he'd listened. And had understood. Had asked questions that made her blathering last longer. No one did that. They either pretended to listen while waiting for a chance to change the subject or they just cut in and talked about something they thought more important.

But this man hadn't. He hadn't said a thing about himself until she'd asked.

She wasn't used to that.

It was probably inappropriate to think of his eyes as beautiful. He was her potential new boss. But they were beautiful. A wonderful shade of bright, deep blue, they sparkled with the sunlight coming through the windows. Potential new boss or not, the man's eyes were mesmerizing.

He released her hand and she lowered it. "Will you be doing the interview?"

"No, not officially. That's Dylan, our head of social media. But me and Matt will be sitting in."

Oh, wonderful. She felt her palms start to sweat with anxiety and, as inconspicuously as possible, brushed them against her slacks. She had the troubling notion that she would get distracted if Nick were there. Because she could feel herself being drawn to him. And she couldn't afford for that to happen.

God, she really couldn't let that happen.

Not again.

"We try to not be assholes," Nick promised.

"Dylan slept through his alarm and is gonna be late, which means I hauled ass for no reason," a voice announced.

Jasmine turned to see the source of the voice and saw a man approaching from the direction of the elevator. Holding a Starbucks cup in each hand, his face held a sour expression until he noticed her, then he quickly pasted on what she considered a public relations smile.

Nick sighed and kept his voice low. "Let me rephrase that. I try not to be an asshole. But him? He's a natural at it."

She choked on a laugh when the other man glared at Nick. He thrust the cup of iced coffee at Nick, then offered a true, charming smile.

"Don't listen to him."

"You don't even know what I said," Nick muttered, taking a sip of his iced coffee.

"I know you, so it couldn't have been nice."

"This is my brother, Matt." Nick looked to the man. "This is Jasmine Burke."

Matt's dark eyes flicked from her to Nick and back again. His smile was as welcoming and warm as his brother's while they shook hands. "Hi, nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she murmured.

He took a slow sip from his Starbucks cup. Again his eyes moved from her to Nick repeatedly, finally settling on his brother. His eyebrows lifted slowly.

Jasmine could tell she was watching them communicate silently. They looked at each other for a long moment, their expressions shifting a few times. Raised eyebrows. Pursed lips. A faint shake of Matt's head. Nick's eyes narrowing slightly, then his head tilting in her direction. Matt's eyes swiveled to her and she unconsciously straightened her posture, a bit unnerved by the lingering eye contact he maintained before looking back at his brother.

"Offer her the job," Nick said softly.

"What?" Jasmine gasped. Neither of them paid any attention to her, though.

Matt tilted his head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Nick nodded firmly.

Matt rubbed the back of his neck. Confusion was etched on his face. "We still have to interview her."

Nick looked at Jasmine and his lips slid into a smile. "Nah, we don't."

"Well. Um, okay," Matt dragged the word out, still obviously bewildered. But he was smiling when he turned to her. "Welcome to AEW, I guess, Miss Burke."

"Jasmine," she corrected. "Or Jazz is fine, too."

"Jazzy?" He grinned.

"Of course." She looked to Nick. "But you still should interview me."

"We don't need to. You'll fit right in."

Jasmine snorted. "You mean there are frequently discussions about the merits of different brands of piano?"

He chuckled. "There will be now."

"You don't even know if I'm qualified," she pointed out.

With a sigh, he nudged Matt. "Is she qualified?"

"Obviously," Matt scoffed. "Otherwise we wouldn't be doing the interview."

"But you're not doing the interview," Jasmine said.

"Apparently Nick already did," he muttered, earning an elbow jab in his side.

"But you don't know if I know anything about social media," she said, unable to believe she was going to be offered the job.

"It's social media. Just throw some tweets out, do a few Instagram stories." Matt shrugged. "A twelve-year-old could do it."

"There's so much more to it than that. There are trends to keep up with, audience engagement, algorithms to study and learn, researching new platforms—" Jasmine cut off when she saw they were both grinning at her. Releasing a sigh, she twisted her hands. "Sorry."

"You know social media. You're qualified. Are you trying to talk us out of offering you the job?" Nick asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"No," she promised quickly. "I want the job. And I really kind of need it."

"Why?" This from Matt, who was studying her intently again.

"I've got this strange addiction to eating," she said without thinking. "And I don't think my landlord will let my looks and personality cover the rent."

Matt's head fell back as he began to laugh. "That's it, I'm sold. Nick's right. You'll fit right in. Welcome aboard, Jazzy."

"Really?" she asked softly.

"Really. Come on, let's go pretend I've been interviewing you before Dylan gets here, and I'll introduce him to you." Matt gestured to the ballroom.

She should thank them. But she knew if she opened her mouth she would begin blathering again, so she nodded. Turning to get her bag, she smiled in surprise to see Nick picking it up. She took it from him. Let herself look into his eyes for a few seconds. Then, hearing Matt still talking as he headed into the ballroom, she forced her eyes to break contact. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"You coming?" Matt called.

"See? Natural," Nick whispered as he and Jasmine followed his brother.

Laughing, she stepped into the ballroom and glanced around. It was just as grand as the foyer, and although all but one table and a few chairs were stacked in neat lines at the far end, she could easily imagine it set up for a wedding reception or a glittering gala. There was a faint hint of new paint, and the floor beneath her feet looked freshly polished.

Matt and Nick drew her into a conversation about wrestling, obviously testing her knowledge. Which, she was sad to admit, was lacking. She had watched some episodes of Dynamite and had even checked out the competition, but she knew so little she had a feeling she would be spending hours watching matches and promos, if only to learn the terminology. Her lack of knowledge didn't seem to bother them, though, and she appreciated Nick's assurance that she would pick up what she needed to know in no time.

Matt asked for her resumé and she reached into her bag for the packet she'd brought, panicking slightly when she dragged out a broken crayon with it. It fell to the floor and rolled, stopping at Nick's bright red sneaker. Frozen, she stared at it, managing to recover when Nick bent to retrieve it. "Sorry," she muttered, handing the packet to Matt. She looked down at the piece of yellow crayon when Nick dropped it into her hand, then stuffed it into her bag. "…My niece uses my bags for her teaching supplies."

"What does she teach?" Nick asked with a chuckle.

"Depends on the students. If it's her stuffed animals, they're learning about dinosaurs. If it's her dinosaurs, she's teaching colors and foods." This was easy. She could do this. "Yesterday she had a group class, so things got hectic."

"Did her dinosaurs start eating the stuffed animals?"

Matt snorted on a laugh but didn't look up from his studying of her resumé.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But no it was her stuffed duck that started all the trouble. He's a stubborn meanie and was bullying the velociraptor. The stuffed animals joined forces and tried to massacre the dinosaurs. Pandemonium. Crayons, papers, and feathers all over the living room." Jasmine sighed as she recalled the mess that had taken an hour to clean up. She was certain there were still feathers she and Beatrice hadn't gotten. She'd found three in her purse that morning. And, surprisingly, she didn't mind when Nick began to laugh.

"Feathers?" Matt looked up, grinning. "Feathers?"

"One of my old pillows," she explained, rolling her eyes. "I think she said the stegosaurus used it as a shield?"

"Your niece sounds hilarious." Nick sat back, still chuckling.

"She is. She's also the cutest kid in my world, so she gets away with everything."

"Does she get that from you?" Matt asked sweetly.

Jasmine pressed her lips together to keep from laughing when the comment earned another jab from Nick. "No. My guilty conscience always kicks in and I admit to what I did so I can suffer the consequences and get it over with. Plus if I'm wrong I like to own up to it and use it as a learning opportunity."

Matt sighed, flicking the folder closed. "That's good. We don't like bullshit. Well, unless we're the ones dishing it out."

"Do you dish it out often?" She gave him a small smile.

"Only when it's needed," he answered after a moment.

"Every other day?" she guessed.

"At least," Nick sighed.

***

The production meeting ran longer than planned. Nick couldn't be upset, though, because current storylines had been hashed out further, some extending well into the next quarter. New ideas had been tossed around. Stretching out his legs, he yawned as Matt dropped into the seat next to him.

A thick folder landed on his lap. Nick grunted and sat up straight, catching it before it could slide to the floor. "What the hell?"

"Your social media girl's resumé," Matt explained. "Go ahead, take a look."

"Is it bad?" Nick asked, eyeing the folder warily. Weren't resumés supposed to be just a few pages? He opened the folder and flipped through the pages. Glancing up, he saw Kenny and Cody moving to sit near he and his brother.

"What's that?" Cody asked.

"Resumé for the new girl." Matt sat back and propped his ankle on the opposite knee. "She's way overqualified."

Nick skimmed the cover letter. Jasmine sold herself as passionate about expanding company engagement through social media, and he saw a few words about pursuing a love for technology when she needed to change careers. His eyes slid to the last paragraph, then the swirling signature at the bottom. Passing the page to Cody, he saw a list of schools, colleges, and universities. He blinked in surprise at the degrees attained and looked to his brother.

"Right?" Matt shook his head. "She's got a law degree."

"Why's she in social media if she's got a law degree?" Cody asked, reaching to take the next page.

"Maybe she hated law," Kenny suggested.

"Maybe, but who would hate the money she could make practicing?" Matt pointed out.

"She passed the bar," Cody said in an impressed tone. When Matt looked at him, he shrugged. "Megha mentioned that less than sixty percent pass on their first go."

Nick's eyes scanned the page in front of him. Her most recent work had been for area restaurants and night clubs. Flicking to the next page, he furrowed his brow when he noticed a three-month absence in her timeline. Then he remembered her saying she had left Miami at the first of the year. Before that, she had worked in the same place for five years. He followed the timeline and noted she had started as an intern before moving into paralegal work, then finally as a junior partner.

"I looked them up," Matt said when Nick handed that page to Cody.

"Shady?" he asked.

Matt shook his head. "One of the top firms in Miami. They handled that case a couple years ago. Remember? The woman that caught her husband cheating and dismembered him?"

There was a quartet of shudders, and Nick muttered a curse as he remembered just how the woman had begun dismembering her husband's body. He turned his attention back to Jasmine's resumé, flicking through the page and growing more impressed with each one. She was overqualified.

"I'm stumped," Matt said with a sigh. "I searched her online, thinking I'd find where she got disbarred or something, but there's only old articles about her cases."

"Maybe she didn't like it," Nick offered, echoing Kenny's earlier statement. "You met her. Does she strike you as the type to enjoy defending murderers and rapists?"

"No," his brother allowed. "But why change it up completely? Why leave a career where she had to be making six figures?"

"She wanted a change?" Kenny offered, accepting the resumé from Cody and settling in to read.

"Her references were practically glowing." Cody folded his hands behind his head. "So she couldn't have gotten into something shady and been fired."

"I don't think it's as big a deal as you're making it out to be," Nick said after a moment. "People change careers all the time."

"I know, I know." Matt shrugged. "It's just a mystery. Why would she leave that and come to work for… Well, us?"

"Are we that bad?" Cody grunted.

"No, but c'mon… She's gonna be making peanuts here."

"You're acting like there's a bunch of secrecy. She probably got burned out and needed something different. It happens." Nick shook his head again.

"You're being very defensive," Matt said, tilting his head. "Why?"

"I'm not being defensive."

His brother held up one finger as though he'd won a point. "Now you're in denial."

"How can I be in denial when I'm not being defensive?"

"Now you're being defensive about being in denial over being defensive," Matt pointed out.

Nick opened his mouth to argue. Brow furrowing, he tried to untangle his brother's reasoning. That proved to be impossible, though, so all he could manage was, "Huh?"

Matt ignored him, looking to Cody and Kenny. "He's got a boner for Jazzy."

"I don't have – Don't you dare say I'm in denial," he warned.

"Please," Matt scoffed. "You gave her the job without knowing if she was capable of doing it."

"Oh?" Kenny looked to Nick. "Is that so?"

"I could tell she would fit in with – And she – I don't have to defend myself," Nick decided. "And I don't have a boner for her."

"What's she look like?" Cody's voice was deceptively casual.

"She's hot," Matt announced. And, when they all looked at him, he shrugged. "What? She is. Right, Nick?"

"I didn't notice," he ground out.

Silence. Three disbelieving expressions.

Nick rolled his eyes. "I didn't."

The silence lengthened.

"She's okay I guess?" he offered.

"She's okay," Matt mocked.

"Her looks don't even matter," Nick said, growing weary of the conversation. "She's an employee."

"So's Brandi, and Cody bangs her regularly," his brother retorted. "And you just said her looks don't matter because she's an employee. Which means that if she wasn't, you'd—"

"I'm going to work on BTE," Nick announced, getting to his feet. "You're giving me a headache."

"Because I'm right," Matt muttered.

"You always think you are."

"Because I usually am."

"You'd think I'd be used to this by now," Cody said to no one in particular. "And yet, I'm still amazed that they bicker like kids."

"We're not bickering," Nick said. At the exact same time as Matt. Looking to his brother, he tried to fight the urge to laugh.

Matt's eyes widened and he gave his head a little shake, and they both began to snicker.

"When does she start?" Kenny asked after their laughter had subsided.

"Next week." Matt tossed the folder to Cody. "Which means Nick's got five days to get his boner under control."

Nick turned at the door. "I don't—"

"Have a boner for her, " Matt finished, rolling his eyes. "Maybe if you keep saying it enough, it'll come true."

***

Jasmine climbed out of the car and reached inside for her backpack. Balancing her cup of coffee in one hand, she approached the entrance, trying to fish the temporary pass she'd been given after meeting Dylan from her bag. She grunted in frustration when the lanyard caught on something and yanked, lurching to a stop as a small plastic dinosaur flew from her bag.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" she cried, watching the toy bounce across the pavement.

"That's not nice. His mother's been dead for millions of years."

"I could be talking about his father," she countered, glancing up from the pair of brightly colored sneakers that walked up to the toy.

Nick bent to pick it up, smiling as she headed towards him. "Does your niece know you curse at her toys when she's not around?"

"You remembered my niece?" Jasmine murmured in surprise.

"Hard to forget a girl that has wars between dinosaurs and stuffed animals. Is this one a deserter?" he asked, turning the toy over between his fingers. "He doesn't look like he's seen battle."

"Shows how much you know. Brontosauruses are thought to have been a relatively peaceful species, but they could definitely do damage if threatened." Putting the lanyard around her neck, she enjoyed his soft chuckle. And let herself get another look at his eyes. "To answer your question, though, he wasn't present for the battle. He's been living in my bag for two weeks."

"Prisoner of war?"

"Hiding out because he hates the stegosaurus," she explained. And, as much fun as she was having talking to him, she held out her hand. "I should get inside and get to work."

"I'll walk with you," he said.

She almost asked why. Then she decided that he was just being nice. The adjective rolled off him in every way, from his easygoing posture to his warm smile. To him remembering her niece.

"How is your niece?"

"Fine. A little grumpy that I have to leave for a few days a week, but I think she understands." She tried not to think of the tears she'd seen in those big brown eyes, or the ones she'd shed after closing the door of the babysitter's apartment.

"You two are close, huh?" he asked, reaching to hold the door open for her.

"Very close," she confirmed.

"Does she watch the show?"

"She's watched some with me." Jasmine showed her pass to the security guard just inside the door, then paused, wondering which way she was supposed to go. "She really likes… The two men with the masks? You and Matt had a match with them last week."

"Lucha Brothers," Nick supplied with a grin. "They're pretty great. C'mon, I'll show you the social media room."

Grateful, she followed him along seemingly endless corridors. She knew she would eventually learn her way around backstage, but at the moment she wondered if she should ask for a map.

"Oh, before I forget, you left your copy of the contract when you met with Cody last week," he said, turning a corner. "It's in the EVP office, make sure you get it, okay?"

"Right." She hadn't meant to leave it behind but had found the company's lawyer's assessing look a little unnerving. It wasn't until she had gotten home and looked closely at the woman's card that she remembered their meeting years before. She wondered if she remembered how they met, or if she were just trying to figure out how she knew her name or face. "I'm not usually forgetful."

Nick's smile was understanding as he stopped outside an open door. "No worries. Here you go. I'll see you later?"

He would? Why? Jasmine nodded, though, and peered into the room to see Dylan plugging up a computer. He looked up and greeted her with a wave, and she looked back to Nick. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Have a good first day, Jasmine."

She hesitated in the doorway for a few seconds while he headed away. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had forgotten something. Finally shrugging the notion away, she entered the room and set her bags down, ready to get to work.

It was an hour before she remembered that Nick hadn't given her the toy back.

#nick jackson fanfiction #nick jackson imagine #aew fanfiction #my fics #multipart:NO #asfasdasflkjlj #time to go into hiding

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againstshame · 4 years

Text

A small interview with autistic author Sarah Kurchak

She’s celebrating the release of her memoir, I Overcame My Autism and All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder, this week (actually a while ago but has anything this year happened on schedule? Better late than never, right?) I offered to interview her for this blog, and she agreed!

I wanted to talk about her book on this blog because one of the big topics this book deals with is the self-annihilating impulse that we talked about in this post, the shame-related desire to remake yourself into a fundamentally different (non-disabled) person. Kurchak describes her book as a cautionary tale about how harmful putting on an act like that can be.

[ID: cover of the book, a photo of Sarah Kurchak, with pink-dyed hair and a black shirt.]

Please give a brief summary of the book.

I Overcame My Autism And All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder is a collection of moderately connected essays that use moments from my life as a minimally successful late diagnosed autistic person to highlight bigger issues that face many autistic people. Basically, I didn’t want to write my own story and leave it at that. Nor did I think my life was interesting enough to merit an entire book. But I seem to have a facility for writing about autism in a way that intrigues non-autistic people, so I wanted to see if I could use that talent for the greater good in book form.

My basic and slightly muddied thesis is that my life is decent enough, but it hasn’t been without hardships, and that some of those hardships could have been remedied with better services for autistic people, and greater acceptance and understanding. And if someone like me, who has had a number of advantages in life, is struggling as much as I am, how much harder is it for so many other autistic people? And how much more are we currently failing them?

What's this book's origin story? How did you end up writing this memoir rather than some other book, and how did you find your publisher?

“It’s in the book!” feels like such a dick answer to me. But if anyone is interested in a longer (or, arguably, too long) explanation for how I wound up getting an agent, writing this book, and finding a publisher for it, you can find it in the introduction. Along with references to Cronenberg’s The Brood and Balloon Okada.

The short version is that an agent liked a story that I’d published in a literary outlet, and asked if I wanted to write a book. I tried to talk her into repping a novella about slash fiction and pro wrestling that I wrote in my early twenties. Somehow that did not put her off and she gently guided me toward non-fiction ideas. I’d had the title in mind for years at that point, so I threw that out. Then I started to flesh out what kind of book I’d put under it. I still don’t think it’s a proper memoir, but that word’s on the cover, so I guess it is?

(I realize how lucky I am to have found myself in this unlikely situation. But I always feel the need to point out that it took me 18 years of professional writing to find this “overnight” “success.”)

What's one thing you wish you had known about or had access to when you were younger and undiagnosed?

I wish that I could have grown up with a more wholistic idea of myself. When I excelled in school but struggled on the playground, a lot of well-meaning adults who were just trying to help a suffering child get through the day started to tell me that the other kids were jealous of me because I was smart, and that’s why I was being bullied and couldn’t make friends. And that’s a very easy narrative to cling to when you’re a scared and lonely child who is desperate for any sense of self-worth.

It helped me survive school, but I don’t think it benefitted me at all in the long run. It took me a long time to come to terms with how ableist and racist the very concept of intelligence is. I’d grown up thinking it was the only thing I had going for me! I didn’t want to give it up! I wish I could have figured out how harmful the concept was much earlier in life and established a sense of self that was more aware of — and cool with — my strengths and weakness. And more rooted in the idea that my worth came from the fact that I was a human being, and not because I was ostensibly “special” in some way.

A while ago I did an event on this blog where people sent in examples of fiction that helped them feel better about being neurodivergent or disabled, stories that showed them what their future could look like or made them feel less alone. Was there a story that did that for you?

Community premiered a few months after I was diagnosed and I can’t even begin to put into words how much Abed helped me during those early years. And how meaningful Abed and Troy’s friendship was.

Strangely, even though there is nothing at all autistic coded about her, and not a lot I’d consider neurodivergent about her, George in Dead Like Me really spoke to me, too. I think I was just really into the idea of someone getting a late start in life where they could make up for what they hadn’t done before, even if they could never really go back to what their original life was. (This is the only way in which I’d ever view my diagnosis as analogous to death, by the way. It was really quite a positive and helpful experience!)

And a bonus special interest question: Was there a specific match, storyline, or wrestler that made you into a wrestling fan instead of a casual viewer? What was it that caught your attention?

It was Chris Jericho.

In late 2000, I decided to try watching wrestling. I had always hated it, but my new boyfriend (now my husband) was really into it. And he seemed to have good taste otherwise, so I figured I should at least try to understand what the hell had gone wrong with him on this one thing. So I tuned into Raw, and there was this little lippy Canadian causing all sorts of shit. And that was it! All I wanted to do was watch this bratty asshole with a sharp tongue and a hair trigger crying reflex antagonize his opponents and then get flustered if and when things didn’t work out properly. And that’s exactly what I did for about 18 years. Even when I lost interest in wrestling in general, I still loved Jericho.

But it ended as suddenly as it began. Jericho attacked Tetsuya Naito in New Japan in 2018. Other members of LIJ jumped in to protect him. There was a split second where I thought Jericho was going to hit Hiromu Takahashi. And I involuntarily squealed “DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM” at my laptop screen. Friendship ended with Jericho. Hiromu Takahashi is my best wrestler now. (Well, one of the best, at least. Tetsuya Endo forever.)

#autism #actuallyautistic #sarah kurchak #I overcame my autism and all I got was this lousy anxiety disorder #shame #self hatred #internalized ableism #anxiety #social anxiety #masking #masking feels

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onisiondrama · 3 years

Text

Onision on Kermit and Friends - Summary Part 2

((Edit: Sorry! I feel like I should have put a warning! A homophobic guest briefly shows up on the stream. If you want to skip that part, skip the first bullet.))

New fan comes on. James points out the fan's name says "Trumpster." The fan compliments his comedy. There is a pause. The fan asks how he's doing and James says "fine." The fan asks if the popularity was addicting when he was more popular. James says he's a work-a-holic. The fan says to prevent men from raping children they should go back to the Jesus days when they didn't allow gay people around children. He says you check by looking at their buttholes. He calls it "butt-hole challenge." He asks if James would pass that challenge. James asks if this is homophobic. He says he has a very gay only fans. He asks if the fan thinks your butt turns into Utah after you have gay sex. The fan says your booty hole will be like a can of coke. (I am so lost right now.) James says you push poop out of your butt every day and it doesn't make your butt like the grand canyon so he doesn't think gay men would have a gaping butt. He says it's a straight man myth.

Andy asks if James thinks he (Andy) is gay. James says he thought he was because that's how people portray him. Andy says he's not.

A guy comes on and starts ranting for a while. James uses his Onision Youtube account to say "What even is this" The guy is still ranting and James holds up a paper that says "WTF?"

The co-host comes back and says she was trying to be funny when she said the transgender thing. James says the documentary implied he made people turn out that way and that's not a thing.

The host asks if he feels he has no control when anyone can make a documentary about you. He says yeah, he feels powerless when a multi million dollar company portrays him as the next Charles Manson. She asks if it affects him emotionally. He says he's only sad for Kai, not himself. He says since 2007 he's said he would rather have 10 fans that genuinely like him than a million that don't really care. He says on his Discord he has a few people who genuinely want to be there so the rest doesn't affect him. He says when people were wrong about the meltdown videos being real, he knew they were wrong so why should that make him feel awful. He says it does present real life challenges.

The host announces Andy needs a bike to get around and needs money for pizza. She asks if Onision's offer for a bike was real. James says yes if he's willing to pick it up, but he's far away so he doesn't know if it's worth the trip.

The next gust comes on and says he looks like he's on with Jim Morrison right now. The host James this guy had 85 million views on a single video. The guy says he had 150. The host wants James to give feedback. They play the video. James asks if the goal is laughs or views. The guy says he just did it to annoy people. James says it's a funny idea and it was witty and he never would have thought of that. The host asks James if he should make more videos on a frequent basis. James says when he began they were not as good as that. The guest says the videos take a lot of time to make and he knows you need to make a lot. James says if it takes longer to make, people tend to notice how much effort you put into. He says he noticed when he puts in more effort or follows a trend it pays off.

Billy The Fridge joins. The host asks if Billy has a question for James. Billy says James followed him back on twitter that week, then James blocked him. James points out the last tweet Billy made about him from February. Billy said he made a joke tweet. Keemstar said Youtube is 16 years old and Billy said something about Onision and the age of consent. Billy says he thought it was funny and he asks James if it hurt him. James says his first thought was "what a dishonest prick" because everyone knows for a fact he isn't remotely interested in 16 year olds, but considering the position that he's in and that coming from someone he considered a friend was deeply annoying. Billy says he's sorry and he thought it was funny. James sarcastically says it's super funny to disown your friend the moment a bunch of dishonest people lie about them after he rejected them. Billy says he didn't disown him the moment- James says he was the first of his friends to be like "uh don't cancel me."

James says they had a text conversation where he described in depth how horrible of a friend Billy was because he didn't defend him and Billy's response was "yeah I know." Billy agrees, but says he defended him for years but one of his biggest defenses was that Sarah said nothing was going on between them, but when it came out it muddied two years of defense he had. James asks when what occurred? Billy says when it came out that he had sex with Sarah. James asks under what arrangement did that happen? Billy says Sarah came out and told the internet.

James says people don't know how it began. He says after he told her he couldn't do this with her, she said twice "I'm sorry for raping you guys." He says he spoke to her this January and admitted again that she said that. He says she leaves that out of every discussion because it doesn't go along with the "Onision is a psychopath" narrative. Billy agrees. James says it started through sexual extortion where somebody said "I could destroy your life if I wanted to" then later said "I'm only going to sign this agreement in which I won't say horrible things about you if you sleep with me." He says that's the arrangement she proposed to him. He says if he was interested in 16 year-olds why didn't he sleep with her when she was 16? Why did he tell her to get away from him and kick her out for being inappropriate with him 2 times? He called her names. She swore she was never groomed as an adult. She sexually extorted them, got what she wanted, got rejected when he freaked out, she apologizes, goes home, he makes a video about people with BPD, then she goes "ape" on him. He says she said in a live stream she never gave him a reason not to trust her, but now she can't do it anymore. He says this is why he knows this person isn't trustworthy because they would take something innocent and frame it a different way to fall in line with he obviously corrupt Chris Hansen.

He says during the call with Sarah, he asked if anyone was paid for the interviews and she said no. He asked if anyone made money because they were involved in the show and she said "uhh I can't legally answer that question." Billy laughs and says he got a contract from them. He says they were trying to fly out to sit down and interview him and he stopped responding because he could see the set up. He says they were struggling to keep the show together and they didn't have enough people to talk. He said he talked to the producer for an hour and a half of the phone and it didn't add up to him. He asks, what would he say anyway? James jokingly says he tried to fuck Billy so many times. Billy says he literally humped him on camera and everyone says he tried to rape him, but it was a joke.

Billy says they always joke and that's why he said the 16 thing. James says he was hitting him while he was down. Billy says James is always down. James says in the last 10 years he was the #67 most subscribed on Youtube, so he wouldn't say that was down. Billy says it's down when those videos of Shiloh come out and make him look like a psycho predator. James says actually everyone hated Shiloh for the longest time but they have selective memory.

The host asks if they could be friends again. Billy says he doesn't know if Onision wants to be friends with him and he doesn't know how they could go back with what happened. He says what happened with Sarah was why he had to step away from him. James interrupts him and says he became a white knight for women and didn't think if it was true. Billy said all he said was to listen to the girls. James asks why didn't he tell people to listen to evidence or to the person who has receipts? Billy says why not listen to all the people who want you in jail and you're not there? Billy says obviously James didn't do anything illegal.

Billy says the reason it was best to distance himself was because time and time again there were friends they had they James ghosted and made them feel worthless. James asks who? Billy says he's not going to name names. He says the last one had been at James' house for months, then James ghosted her when all this went down. James says the texts are on his website. Billy says he knows he posted them publicly and she felt like she was worthless. James says she publicly attacked them and acted like he and Kai should be in prison. James goes off about how great Kai is and keeps talking over Billy. James says apparently everyone is on good terms now and are friends again. He says they apologized because they threw Kai under the bus because they were ghosted. He said she was ghosted because the best friend Kai ever had just went public and tried to make them look awful so Kai was dealing with a trust complex. He just had his heart ripped out. Billy says that's why that person responded poorly, they had their heart ripped out by Kai's heart being ripped out. James says so Billy had one example and they have since resolved their differences and are on some of the best terms he's seen now.

Billy says there was another person who had a falling out with James who he heard went to lunch with James after. He says that was nice he made up with them.

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beautifulletdownfics · 4 years

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Twenty Good Reasons :: Part Four

Hello! Welcome to the ‘Someday, Someday’ sequel! I hope you’ll enjoy your time here! Before you start, make sure you check out the Harry & Nina Chronology page to catch up on a few of the drabbles and novellas that slot in the gap between ‘Someday, Someday’ and ‘Twenty Good Reasons’. As always, please don’t be strangers, posting into the void is a terrifying thing! Love K x

Harry

We had a bad week after New York.

I posted a photo of Nina on Instagram when we went out for dinner the night after her interview. She thought it went well and came out with a big smile on her face, so I suggested treating ourselves while we were in the city. We went to the prestigious restaurant, The View, on the forty-seventh floor of The Empire State building and there was something about the soft lighting and the glow off the window that made Nina look absolutely gorgeous. So, I took a photo of her and explained it to the world with only a red, heart emoji.

I didn’t even think about the fact her engagement ring was in plain sight.

The fancy decor around us and the decadent looking dessert in front of Nina had everyone thinking I’d proposed that evening. In actual fact we had been engaged for almost a month and the real proposal involved muddy wellies, and dark chocolate digestives and tea as the celebratory meal. But by the time we were back in the apartment we were staying, the internet was alight with the ‘announcement’ of our engagement.

And it was fine, in a sense, because we hadn’t been hiding the fact we were engaged. Our families and our friends knew, and it was news that we weren’t going to be able to keep to ourselves forever. We had hoped for it to trickle out calmly. Perhaps it was both Nina and myself proving we were in denial a bit, that we didn’t want a big, public fuss to be made. Really though, the reality was that no matter how it was revealed, news that we were getting married was going to be made a fuss of.

So we got back to the apartment, took a few deep breaths and then started getting used to the idea of people knowing. Nina turned off her phone, and I talked to a publicist about them releasing the statement we wrote the week after we were first engaged, the one we wrote in preparation for the news coming out

Then, we made a pot of tea and watched an episode of America’s Next Top Model before bed.

The following evening though, things got a little bit hairy when it came to getting into JFK for a flight back home.

It seemed that because everybody knew we were in New York, even more paps were camped outside the airport knowing at some stage one or both of us would be heading back to the UK. And it was just their luck that we were going home together. Upon later reflection, I was glad it wasn’t just Nina on her own.

I knew as soon as we were out of the car to get into the terminal building that Nina wasn't okay. Her grip on my hand was a little too tight to just be so we didn't get separated in the crowd. I could feel the tips of her nails pressing into the skin above my knuckles and her palm was completely rigid in mine.

She didn't cry until we were in the first class lounge, and even then it wasn't until I had settled her on one of the couches and gone off to get us refreshments at the bar. We spent the next twenty minutes in the closest cuddle position appropriate in a private place and Nina sobbed into my chest while we waited for our flight to board. I knew they weren't tears of regret, but ones of fear and apprehension because she was about to get a whole lot of attention for the next little while. Attention she had managed in small doses over the years, but there would be nothing like what was to come.

The next thing happened when we walked in the door at home.

Nina turned on her phone after the flight and there was a missed call and voicemail message from the job interview. She called them back straight away with shaking hands after we had a quick discussion about what the time over there would be.

She sat down on the sofa as soon as someone answered on the other end, I sat on top of the coffee table in front of her, our knees bumping together. I reached out for her free hand when she said she was fine with being put on hold as her call was directed to the correct person.

I became clear pretty quickly than Nina didn’t get the job. From the way her eyebrows drew together and her voice became her small, quiet one I knew what was being said to her was hurting. I felt an awful form of guilt, or something equally as horrific, watching the person I cherished most in the world getting kicked when she was already down. I wanted to take the phone off her instead of having to keep listening to Nina with her chin bravely up, thanking them for seeing her and considering her at all. In that moment, I didn’t dare let myself entertain the fact I might actually be to blame by being openly against the whole thing.

We didn't really talk about it until the next morning. I was keeping an eye on her but not pushing Nina to talk. I could tell the difference now—after more than four years together—between when Nina was processing, and when she was shutting down. And this time she needed to process.

When we did talk though, I could see the forced optimism behind her words—that she knew this wasn't the end of the world—but I could also see that in that moment she was still disappointed and upset. And because I didn't know what the best thing to do would be, I let her stay in that place.

It was at breakfast on our first Saturday morning home together that Nina declared bravely, “I’m okay, you know, Harry? I can tell you’ve been worried about me, but I’m okay, really.”

I carefully turned around to her, holding out the frying pan and scooping a spoonful of eggs onto her plate. She had been sitting, hand juicing oranges into little glasses for our breakfast, while I was in charge of the cooking of the hot foods. A few pieces of egg fell off the side of the plate and it was second nature for Nina to quickly scoop it up with her fingers and drop it onto the toast.

“I know you’re okay,” I said, almost sounding absentminded, but really I was distracting myself with our breakfast while my mind whirled through ways to keep everything okay, “I’m just …”

“You’re waiting for a breakdown,” She accused calmly, when I looked up at her she had a loving, gentle smile on her face.

It killed me, “Neens.”

“Really, I should be offended you have so little faith in my emotional state,” She joked, but it was an evil, self-loathing humour.

“Don’t,” I said darkly, “That’s not funny.”

She moved around the counter to put the juicer into the sink, her palm brushing around my side as she went, “Humour is a coping mechanism.”

“I know,” I replied quickly, turning around so I could keep watching her move, “Just tell me what’s going on in your head.”

Nina lent back against the sink, her legs looking longer than ever when she wore the little running shorts that had become Saturday’s uniform, “I didn’t get the job,” She shrugged, “There’s a bit of mess in my head, but I know there’ll be something else for me, some other job.”

My thoughts tripped on the mess in her head, “What’s the mess?”

Or you could write the damn symphony, I thought to myself.

“Just … You know, that I’m not good enough,” Nina gave nothing away on her face, which made it worse, “Or I’m not as good as I think I am. I’m self centred, stupid, facetious, undeserving.”

My gut instinct was to tell her to stop talking about herself like that, to stop thinking about herself like that, but I knew I needed to validate her feelings. I just hated that I knew exactly where that voice echoed from.

“That’s a load of fucking bullshit, Nina.” I began carefully, “You know you’ve worked hard, you know you have a boat load of talent.”

“I do,” She nodded, “Just hurts is all.”

It was her small sniff that got me, “C’mere.”

Nina stepped forward heavily, shoulders slumping the closer to me she got, “We’ll laugh about this later on.”

When she was pressed against my chest I pulled her against me as tightly as I could, “I could never laugh about a time when you think you’re any of those things you just told me.”

I felt Nina’s sigh all down my body, “Can we do something together today?”

With one more tight squeeze I let her go slowly, “Anything you like.”

*********

We didn’t do this nearly enough.

We packed a picnic rug into the back of the Rover and stopped off at our closest high street in Highgate. Nina picked all the food from the deli while I went into a cafe across the street to get take away coffees for us both. We met back at the car and it was then only a few minutes to get up to the furthest east side of Hampstead Heath, which somewhere along the line had become our favourite spot.

The walk wasn’t far to the big, old tree that we liked best. Nina lay out the blanket, half in the shade and half in the sun. I smiled to myself when she claimed the shaded spot and blurted out a pun to her that earned me a kick in the bum as I lowered myself down in the sunshine.

We chatted while we ate until we ended up lying side by side with empty containers littering the space around us. Nina’s head rested on my shoulder and my arm wound around her easily, her fingers looping through mine over her chest.

“What would happen if we slept out here?”

I hummed in thought at Nina’s question, grin cracking my eyes open despite the glare, “Probably not a lot. It’d get really cold and we would regret it, I imagine.”

Her voice sounded sleepy and drawn out, but happy, “I loved camping as a kid. We should try it at home, then if it sucks we can just go inside.”

“Solid plan,” I agreed.

Nina let out a long sigh then, her shoulders tensed with it and when she took the breath back it caught at the back of her throat, “I was going to say we should try it next weekend but with all the snow it’s likely we wouldn’t make it through the night.”

I ran my hand up and down her arm, “I’m not sure why you’re so nervous about going.”

“It’ll be fine,” She decided bravely, “I know that. And once we’re there it will be great to have everyone together for a bit.”

“Ah,” I caught onto the detail of what she’d said, even if Nina herself hadn’t meant to, “You’re nervous about the getting there bit.”

Nina sighed and rolled over onto her tummy beside me, “I didn’t enjoy coming back from New York last week.”

“Neither did I, Neens.”

“It’s alright,” She diverged bravely, “Plenty of time for sleeping in the garden after.”

After tour is what she meant, but we both knew it didn’t work to make plans for a time so far away. It was better to concentrate your time and energy on making things good at that time, instead of how we could fix things months later.

“We could try this week,” I humoured her, pressing my smiling lips to her temple, “But I’m not sure you’d look particularly cute frostbitten.”

“Don’t you have a hero complex?” She asked through a smile, “If I had frostbite you could save me.”

I shook my head, “Nope, I don’t find the thought of you injured at all appealing. No.”

She whacked my chest and I cracked into a grin at her laugh, “You’re the one who gets injured anyway, aren’t you?” Nina teased, “At least this time you have to be on your best behaviour before New York.”

“What?” I scoffed cheekily, “I could do an eight month tour with a broken leg. What are you implying?”

“Your leg definitely wouldn’t be in a cast for eight months, idiot.”

The time suddenly struck me; eight months.

Nina watched my face carefully as I’m sure my happy demeanour crumbled right before her eyes. I’d been home in London off the Asian leg for seven weeks and by next weekend, there would be another five months of shows ahead of me before a break and then three more.

“H,” She whispered quietly, swallowing thickly herself.

“Eight months is a long time,” I brought my lips together and pulled myself to be sitting up. Nina scrambled to do the same.

“We’re starting off happy, right?” She quoted myself back to me. “I know I stomped about a bit about Canada but it really is a lovely idea, Harry. Everyone’s so excited.”

Hiring a chateau at a Canadian sky village and having both our families away for a week’s holiday had been my idea. An attempt to somehow disguise the start of another leg of the world tour behind the thrill of all being together in a new, beautiful place. Nina and I loved the snow, and we loved Canada. I thought if maybe we were all looking forward to the holiday, we might not dread the beginning of another long period of separation.

“I feel like I’ve been on tour the whole time we’ve been together,” I admitted.

“You mean my fiancé has had a steady, reliable job that he’s passionate about? Yeah, sounds right,” Nina smiled; always the optimistic peacemaker, always diplomatic in her responses. Too much like me.

“You can be mad, you know?” I told her, not completely buying her playful bit.

She smiled again, it was soft and warmed her whole appearance from the inside out, “I don’t want to be mad, Harry. I’d much rather miss you while I have to and look forward to a time, years down the track, when you’re trying desperately to convince our kids you used to be cool.”

I felt a zap of something magnificent down my spine, something happy and safe and wonderful.

“And naturally, you’d be arguing on affirmative for that.”

“One hundred percent,” She responded. “Little Pippa and Scott, we’ll have them convinced.”

I let my body fall back against the picnic rug, covering my face with my forearm and letting out a resounding groan, “Those are not the names of our kids!”

Nina giggled and let out a squawk when I blindly reached for her waist and pulled her back down beside me again, “Those are perfectly reasonable names!”

“Pippa,” I said the name with as much distaste as I could muster, “Is a great name for a cat, not a child. Not to mention the fact that’s almost exactly how people in New Zealand say ‘pepper’.”

“What about Scott?” Nina asked through a laugh, already knowing full well my dislike for the name.

“You’re mean,” I told her, “Not at all sympathetic to my childhood trauma.”

“You were an adorable child, Harry,” Nina pulled herself up to press her lips against mine in a steadying kiss, “Kind—inside and out—right to the core.”

Scott was the name of the grade one bully at my school. At some point over the years, my mother had divulged onto Nina stories about a much younger version of myself trying desperately to ‘save’ the schoolyard bully. It was my mum’s fault too, all those life lessons about the people who needed friendship the most were probably those being mean to you. I tried to make Scott O’Conner like me, I tried to make everyone else like him as well.

It had been a summer weekend, I remember that much. Nina and I were staying with Mum for a few days and it was gloriously warm the entire time. The very first night Nina and I had a conversation in bed, one that I’d been desperate to have but unsure how to broach; to know what Nina thought about having children. We were just coming up to our first anniversary.

I hadn’t wanted to be presumptuous and just assume that, like most other people, she would want to have kids one day. I really hoped that was the case though, I’ve always wanted children. Nina was so loving and caring, I couldn’t imagine her not being a mother one day.

The conversation beneath the duvet had taken us well into the small hours of the morning though, because with my question came a heartbreaking response. It had been a sobering moment in our relationship, and one that, looking back, I could see I’d really stepped up. It was a moment you recognise the adult version of the you that you walk around as everyday; not really thinking too much about things until all of a sudden you have to deal with the responsibility side of things.

“Harry,” The Nina lying on her back in the middle of Hampstead Heath beside me interrupted my thoughts, “What were you thinking about?”

I turned on my side to talk to her, “That first time we spoke about having kids, when we were in Cheshire at Mum’s.”

She bit her lip and I knew she understood exactly the time I was referring to, “Seems like worlds away, yeah?”

I frowned, “Do you feel differently?”

“No,” Nina shook her head, “I just meant that lots has happened since then, that’s all. That was a non-hypothetical hypothetical time, you know? Like, now we’re engaged and that would’ve been what …” She paused to think, “Three and a half years ago … I mean, now … Now it’s—

—It’s going to be me,” I finished, knowing it likely wasn’t what she was going to say, but that didn’t make it any less relevant, or true, “I’m the one you’ll have kids with.”

I trained my eyes onto Nina to watch her next move. She let out a long breath and reached her hand out for one of mine, “When we get there.” She said as some kind of mantra, “Worrying about it now won’t help.”

I leant in and kissed her lips slowly, “You’re … We’re doing everything right for now. Stay healthy. Stay on top of everything now.”

She nodded feebly.

The ‘everything’ was Nina’s depression.

Nina’s depression that I had found out that night in Cheshire haunted her in more ways than I was initially aware.

I knew everyday was a battle for her, and I had been around long enough to know it was unreasonable to expect it was one that we could win everyday. But I hadn’t realised that Nina’s depression had her looking forward to possible events in her future with unease.

Post natal depression, she had told me, was considerably more likely for her.

In a moment of true, absolute honesty she told me she was afraid of having children. She was scared that she wouldn’t be able to be the mother they would deserve, and just as importantly, the mother she wanted to be.

Right from the very beginning of knowing her, I’ve never been good at handling Nina when she was crying. I never knew what to do, never knew if it was one of those times it was appropriate to let her cry or if I needed to find away to make her stop. Her sadness made me nervous because in the back of my mind was the fear I might lose her to it.

But in Cheshire that night I could do nothing but cry with her. Because it was devastating, one of those things you don’t think about until you come face to face with someone who lives it as a reality every day.

And even though, at that stage, we hadn’t been together all that long it was utterly shattering, to hear Nina confess she wanted to be a mother but was terrified to do so. And it was shattering in a beautiful way as well, because there was already such a respect for parenthood, and a consideration for life that didn’t exist yet.

“Harry,” Nina called me back again, “You’ve got pre-tour distracted mind.”

“Sorry,” I shook my head at myself. “We should get on home, shouldn’t we? If we’re going to pack tonight.”

“Yeah,” Nina agreed easily, but I knew from the look in her eye she was worried about whatever had taken my mind away from her in that moment.

I took the back of her neck in the palm of my hand and pulled her forehead up against mine, “I love you.”

She scrunched her nose up at me, “I love you too, let’s get married.”

I shrugged, feigning mild disinterest, “Sure, why not?”

*******

The following evening Nina, my mum, Gemma, Laykn and I were on a flight from Heathrow to Vancouver. Nina’s parents were flying from Manchester and would arrive in a few hours before the rest of us. From there it was an hour drive to the Whistler ski resort. If everything went to plan we would all be together in just over twelve hours.

It was chilly in London, although I knew the weather we were going into would be even colder. I loved the feeling that dressing for winter gave, a warmth and snuggly one that had me wriggling my toes in my boots and happy to be sitting with Gemma as we waited in the British Airways First Class lounge.

“You’re going to break a bone this trip, aren’t you?” She sighed dramatically next to me, settling down again after I had dropped a scalding cup of coffee down my leg during a competition with Laykn to see who could balance a cup on their knee for the longest. My poor mother had leapt up to apologise to the staff profusely for the mess and Nina gave me a threatening glare from her spot sitting talking to her brother.

“I’d say at least a minor sprain.”

We were quiet again for a few moments when I felt her take in a charged, suggestive breath of air, “Is everything alright?” She asked quickly, “I mean … Are you and Nina good? You seem … You seem fake,” Gemma finally admitted, a hint of sadness in her tone, “But you’re both trying really hard not to be.”

I hadn’t expected anyone else to notice, but that was a silly thing for me to have thought, especially when we were about to spend the next week with our families.

I considered my words and then calmly turned around to face her, “We’re good. And Nina’s good as well … I’m just not very good at leaving. It’s the same old guilt that I don’t think either of us knows how to deal with, and … A fear that we’ll be next, you know?”

“Next?” Gemma asked curiously, our words whispered comfortably between us. My big sister had always been a safe place.

“I guess the longer you’re together the more of your friends you see breakup,” I explained, “And, I mean, Tim—from my band—and his girlfriend Alexis got together long before Nina and I did. They broke up just before I came over for Nina’s performance and … It’s rattled us.”

“Yeah but even people who are married forty years have to start somewhere, H,” She responded prudently, “You can’t measure you and Nina against other people.”

“I know,” I replied gently, “But … I guess them breaking up has shaken me. I really looked up to Tim in that sense, how he’d kept his relationship going after so many years doing what we do. I always figured if Tim could do it, so could I.”

“You still can, Harry.”

“No!” I backtracked quickly, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I know that, and I will. I’m keeping Nina and I together, and I don’t care what I have to give up for it. But … I guess Tim and Alexis breaking up has been,” I tried to think of the right sounding word and failed, “Like, sort of humbling? In the sense that you get hit in the face with the fact the people around you aren’t invisible, and neither are you.”

“Is that why you …” Gemma shook her head and then fell silent, “Don’t worry.”

“Is that why I what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her slightly and trying to read where she might be headed.

She cast her eyes down and pulled at the rings on her finger, “Did you see the article on the Juice website about how your proposal was—

—That article was a load of horse-shit that got taken down,” I returned angrily, “Don’t think so lowly of me.”

“I don’t!” She defended, “And I love Nina, you know I do, H. But what I’m saying is that it looks—

—It doesn’t matter what it looks like, Gem,” I hissed, looking around to make sure no one else had cottoned on to our heated exchange. Only our Mum was watching us uneasily, “It only matters how it is, and as someone who knows how it is I can’t believe you’d even try to have this conversation. Or that you’d consider something written on a fucking gossip rag before what you know of your own brother.”

I stood up and went to leave her.

“Harry!”

I turned back around briefly to tell her just one more thing, “Next time keep what you read in your free time to yourself, Gemma. I proposed to Nina because I want to marry her. And you already knew that, so stop reading shit that’ll rot your brain.”

I let out a long breath of frustration, trying to shake the bubbling feeling that came from arguing with my sister. Nina didn’t see me coming, and kept talking to Laykn next to her even when I picked up her hand and started pulling her to her feet.

“Hey!” She yelped, breaking eye contact with her brother and pushing her other hand against my chest, “I was talking, Harry, don’t be rude.”

“You can keep talking,” I mumbled, switching our spots and taking the seat that she had been in, “C’mon,” I coaxed, now gently leading her to sit on my lap, “You won’t even notice I’m here.”

They settled back into their conversation and Nina relaxed in my arms as I wound them around her middle, settling my cheek against her back and looking at my Mum.

“Gemma’s got a guilty look on her face, H,” She whispered my way, concern on her features as she reached out to push my hair out of my face.

I briefly looked across to see my sister looking at her lap, not engaged in conversation with anyone.

“Yeah,” I said carefully, “Well, she deserves it right now, Mum.”

“Harry,” She scolded me lightly.

“She does, Mum,” I insisted, leaning closer to urge out the next words, “She knows better than to pay attention to anything the paper’s are saying about me. And I’d give her a lot more than a guilty look if Nina ever caught wind of it from her, I tell you what.”

Mum was frowning at me harshly, her eyes wide in disbelief, “What did she say?”

I shook my head, “I’m awarding her the courtesy of not taking it any further and moving on from what she implied, if it comes up again though …” I let out another sigh, “It won’t come up again.”

******

Over the years, I found myself developing unique and invaluable relationships with each member of Nina’s family. And my relationship with her mother was similar to that which I shared with my own, there was the playful exterior with a startling ability to get soul-crushingly honest, very quickly.

Today though, in this moment, it was merely fun that glimmered in her eyes beside me, “You should’ve assigned the rooms.”

I scratched at the back of my aching neck, Nina sleeping on my shoulder had me sitting in a funny position the whole flight over, “Yeah, someone’s going to end up concussed from the sound of it.”

Nina, Gemma and Laykn were thundering around our chalet for the week, yelling out and bickering over who would sleep where and what the best features of the place were. It was an impressive house; five bedrooms, four bathrooms, three living areas, a huge kitchen, an indoor pool and fully stocked library. Online Nina and I had gushed over the wooden finishes and beautiful furnishings and in real life I found myself even more impressed.

“This is quite the house,” Mae breathed out and when I looked down at her there was a weariness mixed with her appreciation. I didn’t know what to make of it.

For a second I wondered if this was all a bit much, but I was steadfast in the belief that this was a good idea. A family holiday was exactly what I wanted before I left again, this was the foundation I wanted for tour and these were the people I wanted to make the most of for these last few days.

Just as I was about to try and express something of that sentiment to Nina’s mother, Nina herself appeared at the top of the stairs. Her hair was handing down around her face as she leant over the banister around the platform above the main, downstairs living area.

“Harry! I got us the room with the big windows! The one we liked on the website? Laykn was up there but I won the rock off.”

Her happiness made me laugh, and I felt Mae’s hand on my back in gentle encouragement to go with her daughter, “Go team! What’s the balcony view like?”

Nina held out her hand down the stairs toward me, “Come see.”

We passed Nina’s dad in the master bedroom, and Gemma and Laykn in another arguing their way around who would have it but Nina’s hand in mine was steady and firm, pulling me where she was going without a falter in her step.

I’ll happily follow this woman the rest of my life.

“Oh,” I nodded as soon as we climbed the stairs into our room, “Yeah, this is ace, isn’t it?”

“Feel how comfy the bed is,” Nina encouraged, letting go of my hand and instead wrapping her fingers around my hips to lead me in the right direction.

I flopped down, face first, on the mattress and let out a groan when the tight muscles in my back all started to loosen up painfully, “Fuck, this is good.”

I felt the bed dip down as Nina climbed up on it as well, her knees pressed into my side and I felt her fingers at the base of my neck, massaging slowly, “Sorry I slept on you the whole flight. Will I leave you to nap until dinner?”

“No,” I moved and rolled onto my side, “If I sleep now the jet lag will be even more funky. I think just a shower and fresh clothes will be good. Then we should go into town and find somewhere to eat.”

“I thought we were going to get a big grocery delivery and have those ‘family cooking sessions’ you love so much,” Nina laughed musically above me

I scoffed playfully and waved her idea away with a lazy hand through the air between us, “Nobody cooks on the first night, silly. I want to eat a moose tonight.”

Nina held my gaze skeptically, working hard to keep her lips tight while I wriggled my eyebrows at her, “You’re not funny,” She deadpanned eventually.

“Because everything in Canada has a picture of a moose on it?” I continued with the same lame joke.

“Yes, I know,” Nina wasn’t doing well at pretending she didn’t find me endearing.

“Just getting into that Canadian spirit!” I said overly cheerfully.

“I’m sure it’s all the locals do, Harry, all day.”

Eventually Nina and I untangled ourselves from each other after I tackled her into the bed just to get her laughing. I showered and found her curled into a corner spot on the downstairs sofa, surrounded by everyone else. Laykn let out a loud cry of support when I suggested we all venture out for a meal together.

And it was that first night spent eating, drinking wine and laughing together that formed the precedent for our week together.

A week of lazy, slow mornings followed by snow walks, afternoon naps and evenings cooking meals together. Nina and I had our moments alone out in the spa or going for strolls after dinner when everyone else was comatose from eating. Our parents went on antiquing day trips to near by towns, stopping more than necessary for coffee and cake breaks. Laykn spent his days going to the nearest slopes, usually taking one of us with him; a few days he managed to get Nina, Gemma and myself to go along although we were more of a hinderance for not being particularly winter sports savvy. Other times Nina and Gemma would disappear with our mother’s to explore the local shops and I’d find myself drinking beers with Laykn and Nina’s dad at the house.

Always though, there was everyone around the dinner table together at night, talking back and forth between everyone’s lives. There was the renovations my mum was doing on her house house, or Nina’s parent’s trip they were planning to Asia, Laykn’s study, Gemma’s boyfriend, Nina’s work, and my music.

It was a safe place to talk about it all, even the emerging record burning a hole in my mind. Because all the times it came up, or one of them would ask to hear a little bit of it, I knew the reaction was always loving, always supportive (for the right reasons) and always proud. Even if I didn’t know when or how it could work, to have the unwavering support of these people.

*******

“Harry?”

I let my eyes flick from my phone screen to Nina beside me in bed, the brightness of the screen and darkness of the room having me squinting to make out her features, “What’s up?”

“Your work phone is buzzing.”

It was then that the vibrating against the wooden bedside table registered to me, “Oh.”

I pulled myself up into a sitting position, dragging some of the duvet off Nina’s chest which had her sluggishly sitting up as well. She leaned over and turned on the lamp but I’d managed to fumble the ringing phone into my hand. I was quick to swipe to answer and extract myself out of bed to take the call, a heavy panic rising to my throat as soon as I saw what number was calling.

“Sorry,” I mouthed back at a confused looking Nina as I yanked open the balcony door and slipped out into the cold. “Hello?” I said down the phone.

“Harry, mate, I know you’re on holiday with your family right now. And I hate doing this to you—

“—What’s happened?” I demanded quickly, bracing a hand again the frozen railing and trying not to think of the last time I got a call like this.

“We think it’s happened again, mate.”

#1dff #one direction #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fan fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles stories #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #hina #fic:twenty good reasons

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pickledchickenetti · 4 years

Text

Without a Crystal Ball’s alleged Derick Dillard interview

I don’t know how trustworthy I consider this woman given her claims of interviews often seem to back out of appearing on camera at the last minute, but here’s a recap of what she claims she’s been told by Derick. Sorry for the length and the change of tense midway through. This video is mind-numbing.

She claims she wanted to be able to do this with Derick speaking himself but instead she’s going to summarize their conversations via email and Twitter DMs. She reached out to Derick in response to comments he made in Dec/Jan about Counting On and JB/the Duggars. She plugs her earlier video talking about his tweets, then summarizes the events since Joshgate 1.0.

Her summary of Joshgate 1.0 honestly made me pretty uncomfortable. She tiptoes around the subject of what happened, and almost seems like she things the Duggars were victimized by In Touch getting them cancelled. She uses this to pivot to Jill being a victim (of In Touch, she says she was a “target” of Josh), and talks about the Megyn Kelly interview, calling it “awkward”. According to “Derick”, while 19 Kids and Counting ceased, the contract with Jim Bob did not stop or change. Then she explains what Counting On is, and repeats Derick’s claim from twitter that they were never paid. She makes it sound like their wedding and Israel’s birth were part of the show in which “their names were part of the title”, even though in reality those events were both part of 19KAC. She repeats his twitter claims that JB was the only one getting paid and told them they had donated their time to part of the “mission work” of the family.

She talks about Israel’s birth and repeats Derick’s since-deleted tweets about TLC refusing to pay any of the hospital costs. She continues to muddy the timeline, making it sound like Israel’s birth special was a part of Jill & Jessa: Counting On. Then she reiterates how Derick’s story has never changed over the years, which is blatantly false considering how many times he has contradicted himself in the same month even.

Then she moves on to comments Derick has made on instagram (so far I haven’t heard this woman say anything that we haven’t already seen on social media or reasonably extrapolated). She says that “Derick” said that “Jill had not wanted to film Counting On after the release of the information that had identified her as one of her brother’s victims. He said that she was forced to film by the threat or under the guise of legal action, that she was required by a contract to film.” Finally, as he said on twitter, they decided that filming was too hard on them and they decided not to continue.

Now she appears to actually be pulling up the “messages” from Derick, so I guess all of that was acting like she was saying something new when she wasn’t. I don’t like this woman’s video style at all.

She asked Derick what are some of the misconceptions “that the family, or the public, I’d say the public has about him”. “He got really candid here. He said when it comes to modesty, which is a big part of the Duggars’ show about how women wear skirts, they have long hair, and making sure that they dress without showing a lot of skin... He wrote, ‘I don’t think it’s wrong for girls to wear pants, get piercings, or have short hair. I will encourage my kids, girls or boys, to identify their passions and pursue them even if that requires higher education.’

He said one of the most prevailing misconceptions about him is that he does not like individuals that are in the LGBTQ+. He said ‘Regarding those misconceptions I love all people, including LGBTQ+. My little brother, our fraternity, in our fraternity in college, he is gay. And I still continue to keep up with him, and he is my friend. He’s also publicly noted on twitter, at the same time, that he does like all people, and he does not discriminate. Although he has made tweets in the past about Jazz that has prompted so much of that response by the public.

Then one of the other misconceptions is that Derick and Jill are against drinking because Jim and Michelle do not drink. He said, on alcohol, he said, ‘I don’t think it’s a sin to drink alcohol, but it’s still illegal under the age of 21, so I will always encourage my kids not to break the law, and they will have to decide where they stand on it after that. However I don’t believe it’s appropriate to drink to drunkenness. The Bible is pretty clear about that.’ But when I asked him, does that mean you have consumed alcohol, he said, ‘I have.’ He didn’t say whether or not Jill has, and I would say, based on the fact that he did not answer, I’m guessing Jill might have not...”

Then she shifted to briefly explaining IBLP, which has “questionable teachings” and a homeschool curriculum. She says that Bill Gothard “is not a God, but he claims to be one on TV.” (Can anyone else fact check this? I’ve never even seen him on TV yet alone claiming he’s a god.) She talks about his lawsuit for “a variety of inappropriate conduct” and how that resulted in him being forced out of IBLP. She asked Derick about IBLP and he said he didn’t know much about them but that they teach extra-biblical precepts as truth and he considers that harmful. His example of them being wrong was modesty. Allegedly “Derick” said, “Some stuff with the ILBP [sic] is definitely harmful, but we don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater. The Bible is our ultimate authority. God’s word has been around infinitely longer than Bill Gothard and God isn’t worried about needing defense. What people need to realize is that times change but God doesn’t.” He says it’s okay to “be relevant” in somethings while maintaining your faith. He allegedly says that IBLP has too many rules and too many rules are unhealthy. She then literally says that “now we know” that Derick and his family aren’t following IBLP and “there’s some tea”, as if anyone assumed that Jill Dillard with her shorts and nose ring was still a member of IBLP.

Onto public school and Israel’s enrollment. “Derick” claims they considered both public and homeschooling and there was no specific reason they picked public school, just what felt right.

Next, courting, where she says Derick continued with the party line that they chose not to hold hands, hug, etc. on their own, not because of Duggar rules. She acknowledges the possibility that Jill didn’t decide those things, they were just “indoctrinated into her”, but she didn’t get into that with Derick.

“Now to the juicy stuff that all of you guys are here for.” I literally can’t stand this woman and for whatever reason her saying that just pissed me off more.

She didn’t discuss any of the Jazz stuff with him, but she let him know that “someone” made her video with Amy come down. (Not sure how these things are supposed to be related?) She asked if this was something Derick had experienced, with threats of being sued. She says that Derick said he wished Amy could speak to what she wants to, but “Amy is controlled by other people, and we weren’t even allowed to be the first to announce our own life events. Our marriage, expecting our baby, our genders of our children, our births, not by our own choice.” Apparently that gives this woman “a lot of insight”, but I’m not really sure what she thinks it gave her insight on. Obviously all of these people are under contracts and have no control. She says that “Derick” said if he had to do it all over again he’d have made his own announcements even if he’d have gotten in trouble. She says that Derick that plugged his blog and said that more info will come out over time as he “feels more comfortable”, but that they’re still recovering over the last few years and that Jill is still in the middle of a lawsuit over releasing info to InTouch.

“Now to get to the estrangement,” she asked him what made him finally speak out about it. She says the Duggars are following her channel but when SHE mentioned that they weren’t interacting much with the Dillards they “suddenly” wished Derick a happy birthday. (Literally everyone was commenting on that and you can’t “suddenly” wish someone a happy birthday.) She thinks her video made them invite Jinger to that Panera and Target day the day before because she said something about it and also Homeland Security is investigating Josh. (Also Derick announced that they weren’t allowed at the house.) “Derick” says it’s not true that they don’t want to be around Jill’s family at all but there are some people they don’t get along with or feel comfortable around. Supposedly he commented because he didn’t want rumors to be taken as truth.

Now she’s circling back to Jill being “forced” to film. “Derick” says they’ve been seeing a licensed counselor and it helps. The book Boundaries by Dr. Henry Cloud and their counseling have both really helped. Then she repeats a bunch of her earlier opinions. She says that she things Joshgate 1.0 was the fault of JB and Michelle, not the police, and that a lot of people have let Jill down.

Apparently she and Derick then touched on his “advocacy for children” but he’d go more into that later. She mentions he’s in law school but that he wouldn’t say why. She thinks it’s in it to protect others.

“Finally” she asked “Derick” how they plan to raise their children differently. “Derick” said, “Neither of us are bitter about how we were raised.” Now she’s recapping much of what she already said once again. She says that “Derick has been pretty vocal that they do use birth control,” which he really has not at all been. He’s made like maybe two vague comments possibly suggesting that? More recapping of what she already said, with a bit more of her opinions of what she thinks they want even though supposedly Derick answered her questions. She (or “Derick”, she’s starting to blur lines here) says it’s important not trust social media as the only thing you know about someone as it isn’t always 100% accurate.

Now she’s plugging their blog and social media. She’s thanking Derick for his candor and trust and she looks forward to hearing from him again in the future.

Good God this woman is annoying. That was hard to get through.

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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years

Text

A Kiss from the Afterlife

Rocker!Billy Hargrove x Holloway!Reader

Word Count: 3,989

Warnings: death mention!, alcohol, swearing, angst

Author’s note: I haven’t written in awhile, hope you guys still like me and my stuff, I like this story a lot personally

Tag List: @carolimedanvers @hotstuffhargrove @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @hawkeyeharrington @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @spidey-pal @mickmoon @buckybarneshairpullingkink @marvelismylifffe @baebee35

The assignment was clear. It was stupid, but it was clear. A fluff piece for the Indianapolis Tribune, reviewing local Indiana bands for state pride or some shit. It felt totally out of your element. You should be reviewing the latest new wave flash in the pan or whatever Michael Jackson single had been dropped and hit high enough on the top one hundred to pay attention to, which was almost every single. Much more important work than some garage bands going to open mic nights on the weekend and would break up in a month over a girl who everyone else would call their Yoko Ono.

This wasn’t worth your time.

But what Chris said go. Chris, your editor, was working under the assumption that fluff pieces about local work get more local readers. A sort of self-flagellation for a crappy state. So, you did as little research as possible to find three up and coming acts from around greater Indianapolis, finding three of the most boring seeming hair metal bands that might get successful, and found gigs to watch.

You promised yourself that you weren’t going farther than Gary, but Chris insisted on you going down to Carmel, apparently the band there was really popular and missing them would get too many letters to the editor. You begrudgingly agreed, but only because Carmel was just far enough from Hawkins to keep your mind at bay. You found solace knowing that the band would probably be the worst. Amateur bands with really good names always failed, it was the rule. Good bands got good names later.

And Crown of Thorns was a really good band name.

You’d found a slew of fans to interview in Carmel, according to them they were like Guns n’ Roses had a baby with Madonna’s Like a Prayer video-all religious imagery and hard rock sensibility. Sounded too good to be true. No garage band was that good. You wondered what they actually liked. Usually, the intense fans were either friends with or fucking the band members; groupies don’t just appear they start as girlfriends and boyfriends and buddies from high school looking for free booze. You don’t how many ex-girlfriends, boyfriends, and friends you’d talk to for your interviews for the dumb piece.

You wondered how many ex-girlfriends you’d interviewed for the preamble for Crown of Thorns. All their fans seemed to be women, at least the ones who wanted to be interviewed were. It was strange, usually there was a couple beer bros wandering around looking to talk about how some band so fucking awesome or whatever.

Still, you didn’t bother to question it. There was one perk of this assignment and that was not having to work the awful nine to five in stuffy professional attire. Well worn jeans and a baggy tee shirt beat blazers and heels any day of the damn week. You wandered into the venue late that night, the bar called The Muddy Duck which looked as terrible as its name was; you made a note to describe the place as kindly as you could.

The bar was dim and awful. It stunk of beer spilled hours ago and puke. So much puke. The place smelt so bad you wondered if they filled the walls with the stuff instead of insulation. The floor was sticky under your boots and people kept bumping against you. The band hadn’t even come onstage and someone had already spilt a drink on you, sticky liquid trailing down your back and making your skin crawling involuntarily. Some sloppy girl muttered “Sorry…” dropping her sugar crusted martini glass on the counter before stumbling off. You pulled the drenched material off your back before pushing your way to the front. The crappy lights above the milk crates the place was calling a stage had flashed on and the entire room fell into a hush. You pulled out your notepad, jabbing your pencil behind your ear.

Three hulking men took the stage, each scruffier than the last, most hunched over with their instruments strung around their backs; bass guitar and guitar and drumsticks shoved as far away from their person as possible. They all looked as if they didn’t want to be seen, you wrote that down, noting their homemade band merchandise and stringy unkempt hair.

Then, the crowd cheered. The forth member was climbing the steps, fluffy mullet bouncing with each of his steps. He turned to the audience, throwing up the horns in a dramatic pose, hands held in a ‘v’ over his head and head tipped back up at the ceiling. The ring of feminine screams washed over your ears, causing you to throw your hands over your ears, trying to save your ear drums from their squeals.

An elbow jabbed into your ribs, bringing your attention to a spiky looking Siouxie Sioux knockoff who was smirking down at you “If you can’t handle that, you aren’t going to be able to handle this show.” She said, her voice carrying over the sound of the crowd.

“Thanks for the tip.” You called back, writing down the quote, making a note to find her before you left, to get one good interview out of this mess.

The drummer had taken his seat, the guitarists pulling their instruments to the front of them. The singer took the microphone in his hands like it was his lover, his eyes scanning the scene. They met yours for the briefest of moments and recognition hit you like a freight train.

Billy god damn Hargrove. You wanted to die.

Of course you had to interview Hargrove. Of course he had his own shitty hair metal band even though it was 19 god damn 91 and hair metal was dying off like flies on fly paper. Of course he was trying to fuck the audience with his eyes. You prayed he didn’t recognize you. You prayed you could get through this interview without any spill ups. You just wanted to disappear from Hawkins bullshit and the people who made it awful. Billy Hargrove made it awful.

Billy Hargrove destroyed your family.

Heather was your little sister, your bratty baby sister who stole your clothes and destroyed your makeup and followed you around helplessly. She was your stuck up, immature, callus, popularity obsessed sister. She was a kid. You left Hawkins to go to college, to get away from your fighting parents and your mother’s slow descent into alcoholism. You went into journalism because it was the only thing you could relate to your father about and you wanted that praise. You stayed away from your family when you could, the mess growing too big for you to tackle. You tried to keep up with Heather, but she didn’t want check in from her older sister. She was too old for a babysitter, to be babied by her older sibling. She stopped answering your calls, so you stopped calling.

And then, she was gone. They were gone. Lost to some stupid fire in a stupid mall. Your whole family, just gone. There were a handful of survivors, and you didn’t blame them, but in your heart one person shouldn’t have been saved. And that was Hargrove. Why did the universe save a philandering womanizer with a penchant for bullying get to live when your baby sister had to die? How was that fair? If you’d ever fully believed in God, you lost your faith in them the day you found out about your sister.

And you never forgave Hawkins. You turned your back on the place, sold your family home and the newspaper, packed up what was important and gave the rest to Goodwill. Life wasn’t in Hawkins anymore, it was anywhere else. Indianapolis didn’t feel far enough yet, but it held a decent paying job and a life away from what hurt you. A small change did more than enough to feel free of the ghosts chasing you from a joint grave plot.

The intro to their first song blared from the lead guitarist’s amp, filling the room with screeching metallic notes, far too fast to be the start of a song. You waited for the crash of cymbals or the mellow sound of the bass or even a note from Hargrove. The song opened with a minute long solo. You absolutely hated that, it stunk of the seventies psychedelic rock your older cousins would blast in the basement during Christmas parties, all claiming to be Satanists and against the holiday until their parents let them each have a beer. The sound left a sour taste in your mouth.

What didn’t help was the pure, wordless wail Hargrove let out as the guitar cut out. The audience was deathly silent, on the edge of their seats waiting for something. What it was, you weren’t sure, but you watched his hands as he adjusted his grip and pulled himself in close, his lips almost touching its centre, his icy blue eyes lowering to meet the gaze of the room again.

“I watched the blood pour from your eyes…” he crooned out, his eyelashes fluttering as if he’d sung something romantic. His voice wasn’t strong, but the way he held the microphone. There was a phrase for it; a term…it was on the tip of your tongue. It found you by the end of the song, which seemed to solely about watching the one you love fall out of love with you, which dark imagery.

As the room applauded, you found your mind again, his stupid stare and the way he held the audience in the palm of his hand. Frank Sinatra syndrome. You might have made up the term, but it made too much sense. Sinatra was a dreamboat in the forties and an emotional singer who owned a room and the hearts of his fan base, a majority of which were women. It said that in the cramped, warm venues of his early career of the late twenties and early thirties that you could smell the pheromones coming off the girls in the room. It seemed Billy Hargrove had found a way to do the same. He had the whole room wrapped around his little finger.

Now it made sense why you’d only been able to find women who were interested in the band, no straight man would ever be interested in them. And no gay man would get caught by reporters looking for a story, too dangerous. Now it made sense why the bar was so shit and the girls here were so hot-straight girls would go anywhere for a peak at a hottie like Hargrove, you remembered how the girls chased him in high school, how desperate they were for just a peak at him in his gym clothes or shirtless at the pool.

Billy Hargrove still had a way with the girls.

They managed four more songs, only one a cover, which impressed you a fair bit. The amount of kids you’d listen to play AC/DC and Metallica and Motley Crue in the week alone was enough to make you hate any song with an electric guitar in it. Hearing original songs, albeit trite drivel about love and losing girls and sex under God’s eye, was almost a breath of fresh air. Almost. If it hadn’t been Hargrove, it would’ve been completely worth the trip down.

But you had to deal with Hargrove.

His performance ended and the crowd erupted into uproarious applause as the group shuffled off the stage, save Hargrove who jumped off the front of the stage, landing directly in front of you.

“You the chick from the Indianapolis Tribune?” he asked, looking you over with a lazy look, half-hearted in both its intention and its purpose.

You tucked your pencil behind your ear, looking at him in pure annoyance “You see anyone else taking notes?” you asked. Billy chuckled drily, running a hand through his sweaty looking hair, pulling a black hair elastic off his right wrist, right above the black leather cuff he had on both his wrists, and pulling his tangled curls off the back of his neck.

“The boys are at the bar, come over when you want an actual interview instead of bitching.” He replied shortly, stalking off as a small hoard of girls followed behind him. He already had groupies. Oh my fucking god.

You took a deep breath, swallowed your pride, and walked over to the bar, ordering yourself a beer before pulling up a stool. Billy smirked slightly as he saw you turn to the group. He slung an arm over a girl in a tight leather skirt, causing the other girls to walk off; apparently, Hargrove had made his choice for the night and the other girls accepted it without verbal complaint to him.

“Guys, this is the chick from the newspaper.” He grabbed his brown bottle off the sticky rail and pulled it to his lips, taking a long sip, his eyes never leaving you.

“Hi, Y/N Holloway, I just have a couple of questions for you guys and then I’ll get out of your way.” You smiled. You watched out of the corner of your eye as your last name caused recognition flashed in his baby blues. In that moment, he knew you. Well, he knew your family. And he became a wallflower. You asked your simple questions, which were mostly about how they met and what their goals were, which the drummer declared to be ‘world domination’ while elbowing Billy in the abs, as if he would’ve laughed. He didn’t. In fact he didn’t speak at all; he just sort of stared at you, mouth open just a little, just enough to show the shock he felt. That was a confidence boost, knowing you could still shock.

You finished the interview with a sweet smile, tucking your notepad into your heavy black bag and hopped off your stool, grabbing your beer as you went. “Alright, best of look boys, see you in the papers.” You said with a wave, walking into the crowd. You had to find that spiky goth, she seemed to know more than anyone else in that room.

You found her in the corner of the room at a tiny table, fingers laced with a tiny mousy looking girl with short ash brown hair and a lazy looking smile. When you walked up, she dropped her hand out of the spiky girl’s, who simply smiled at you.

“What’s up, Holloway?” she asked, turning to fully look at you.

You furrowed your brow “You know me?”

She chuckled “Fellow Hawkins escapees don’t show up so close to hell that often, although I know you don’t recognize me. Samantha Baker.” She held out her hand for you to shake. After hearing her name, you did recognize her as the school’s only sullen goth.

“Hey,” you shook her hand, turning to address the little mouse. She seemed oddly familiar “Aren’t you Neil Buckley’s little sister? Robin right?” you asked with a grin. Neil Buckley was your first boyfriend; you spent most of your afternoons in freshman year at his house. Robin nodded, choosing to pull the cherry off her mixed drink and popped it in her mouth, pulling the red stem off and knotted it with fingers.

You turned your attention back to Samantha with a genuine grin “Look, I’m here doing a piece on local bands, specifically Hargrove’s group. You seem to know a bit about these crowds, can I get a couple quotes from you?” you asked, pulling your pad from your back pocket.

“Grab a seat, I’ll tell you anything you want.” Samantha chuckled once again.

“Sammy, what’s she want?” a strong, angry voice asked from behind you as you pulled out the high stool. You knew it was Hargrove, but you didn’t turn around.

“A couple quotes about the crazy girls who stalk you around.” She replied “You care?”

“I wanna listen and make sure you don’t say shit about me.” He muttered, grabbing an empty chair from a nearby table and pulling it close to yours. The blonde he’d been with before was gone now, to your surprise, and he was pouting in the chair next to you.

“The only thing I have to say about you is that you don’t write your own music.” Samantha replied with a shrug that made Robin roll her eyes.

“Who does?” you asked, pulling your pencil out from behind your ear.

Samantha’s chest puffed out proudly “I do. I’m their lyricist and composer.” You jotted that down fast, making a mental note to credit her for anything you liked in their music.

“Why don’t you just perform this stuff yourself then? There’s an open market for angry, gothic girl rock, much wider than the boy’s market.” You asked.

“Yeah, I can’t do what Hargrove can do to a crowd.” Samantha replied, watching as Hargrove puffed up with pride again.

“Specifically to the girls, that man can turn even the most devoted wife or girlfriend to cheat on their husbands.” Robin added with a smirk. There was clearly a story there, but you didn’t try to pull it out of them, letting sit on the surface of their knowing smiles.

“You gotta understand, these girls-they aren’t here for the music, they’re here for him. They can’t get enough.” Samantha explained, smacking him in the chest as she gestured to him. Samantha might have had too many drinks.

“So it’s just like high school again?” you chuckled, leaning your elbows on the table. You smiled at him, against your initial thinking. Sure, he was still a cocky fuck, but he wasn’t being an absolute ass now that he knew who were.

“Except, now all his songs are apologies to like three girls,” Samantha said “Instead of sex songs about whoever he’s with that week.”

You furrowed your brow “And who are these three girls?”

“Oh, that’s easy: the first one is me, his truest love thus far, a gold star lesbian,” Samantha held up fingers as she counted them off “His mom, gone but never forgotten, and Heather Holloway.”

Your mouth went dry as you between the trio. Robin looked to you apologetically as she took the martini glass from her hand. “You’ve had enough, sweetie.” She muttered.

You didn’t feel like you knew what to say, but words came tumbling out of your mouth. “What gives you the right to use my baby sister as your fucking muse? Her death isn’t something to write fucking songs about.” You snapped. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating, you were so upset.

“I didn’t know you didn’t-Hargrove you told me that she knew that she was the only one who knew.” Samantha sobered up fast, looking at Hargrove with blown out brown eyes.

“Of course you’re still a liar, Hargrove.” You scoffed, pushing yourself off the stool. You were done with this interview, screw this town and the band and any of the other ‘Hawkins escapees’ out there looking to market off your family’s pain. You pushed your way out of the awful bar and into the dark night. It had begun to rain and the air was humid. Well, there goes your hair, the rain and humidity would ruin it. You crossed your arms over your chest, protecting your bare skin from the cold rain giving you goose bumps.

“Y/N, wait a second, alright?” You turned to see Hargrove running up behind you. You wiped your face, ready to blame rain for your running mascara.

“What do you have to say now?” you bit out, slicking your wet hair back from your face.

“Look I thought Heather had told you…” he muttered.

“How the hell was she supposed to tell me about your band? She’s fucking dead.” You wiped your nose angrily, rolling your eyes at your own tears.

“No, not about the band, about…us.” He tried again and you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy sighed, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. He looked away from you into the dark streets. There wasn’t a cab in sight. “I loved your sister. We were…seeing each other. Sort of. We weren’t official, but we were going to be. I was gonna ask her and then so much shit went down, you don’t even know the half of it. And then…she was gone.”

You didn’t know that. Heather hadn’t told you any of that. You wondered if it was in the diary from that summer. You had all her diaries bundled together in your apartment, you’d never read them; it felt too invasive to her privacy, even from beyond the grave.

“I lost my whole family, I lost my baby sister…” you muttered to yourself, unsure what else to say.

“I know and I’m sorry. But I lost her too.” Billy replied, placing firm hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. For the first time, he looked like a man, not a teenage boy imitating adulthood. He looked strong and as if he knew who he was. He looked handsome, although that be the beer and raw emotion talking.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t know.” You muttered “You must miss her…”

“Yeah, sometimes…when something reminds me of her.” He replied “Like you, you remind me so much of her. Can I show you one song? It’s the one that means the most to me.” You nodded at his request and let him drag you back into the bar. He put you near the front of the stage and grabbed his guitarist, taking the microphone back into his hands.

“Hey, sorry everyone, I’m gonna do one last song. We’ve got a reporter here from the Indiana Tribune, gotta show off our best stuff, ya know?” the audience laughed at his week attempt at a joke as his bassist brought up two chairs for Billy and the guitar guy, whose name you’d forgotten.

The song itself was sweet enough, about a girl with big doe eyes and hair that always smelt like chlorine. It was totally your sister; if they’d played that first you would’ve been just as furious as you were outside, except you wouldn’t have finished the interview. This time around, you listened. You smiled at the line about her lavender perfume and how it was so strong it made you dizzy and held your breath at every chorus as he wailed “You’re all gone, you’re all gone…” with his hands holding the microphone for death life. It didn’t feel like a love song, but a dirge to a long gone muse, never forgotten and screaming from the depths of one’s soul, begging to be remembered, to be put into art. You never liked to think about your sister that way, but deep within your heart you knew this was how she wanted to be remembered. She wanted to be a model, a soap star and spokesperson. She wanted to be remembered for her beauty, to be admired. Being the muse of a budding artist would be good enough for her, she would’ve loved that.

You clapped when it was done. You let Billy pull you away from the crowd. You let him kiss you like he would’ve your sister, the lingering smell of lavender and vanilla on your skin a reminder to both of you of her. You let him hold you. It was nice to be held. It was nice for him to get to say goodbye.

You knew you looked strange to the groupies and bar goers, but he needed this. And in a way, so did you. You held him like he was your father, like you were hugging him for the last time. You didn’t like that your mind associated the two men, but you let it. You both said goodbye to your ghosts.

And were left with strangers in their places.

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