#getting those pre-publishing nerves

[infamous-if]

last update before the chapter drops! it will be split into two parts, mostly because i did a last minute change of the second part and i'd rather not wait even longer to drop it. the first part is about 65k words.

the first part is definitely the 'character driven' part while the second part is the musical/music/competition-orientated part, which i think is a great way to split it (at least in my eyes). we also finally get G and Vic in all their glory so im excited!

hopefully everyone enjoys it ! :))))

#mini #update #WOO! #getting those pre-publishing nerves

[little-worm-grant]

Spicy Steven: Rainy Day

Steven Grant x You (Fem!Reader)

1,864 words / 18+ only, no minors

Masterlist.

If you like what you see, leave a like or reblog and follow me ♥

Summary: What if Steven got all embarrassed he couldn’t last?! It's far too easy to wind him up. But maybe you both girlbossed a little too close to the sun this time. Less plot, more smut.

Notes: Please be kind. First time publicly publishing smut. I was looking at my tame + wholesome masterlist thinking I should write something new for Steven. Then this filth was forced upon my innocent little swiss-cheese brain. You can take my keyboard away from me now. I’m sorry. But also you’re welcome.

Warnings: soft domme fem!reader, submissive Steven kind of but not totally??, teasing, fluff/praise, masturbation, piv sex, unprotected sex, premature ejaculation, creampie, cum play

You were lying naked on his bed. Rain pouring outside had caused you to stay over his place a few hours more. One thing led to another. You’d barely teased him but Steven was already crawling up your body. Kissing all the spots he’d missed going down. Tilting your head to catch sight of his thickened cock swinging between each movement. Your legs shift to squeeze against him in anticipation. You knew what was coming next and you couldn’t wait another second.

He was like some over-eager puppy given the okay to come up for air. That talented mouth of his became over-stimulation at this point. You once asked him what he thought about when he went down on you, expecting him to say something daft that would stop him from making a mess of the sheets. Instead, he told you he’d been writing how he felt about you in hieroglyphics. The sucking is just a bonus because he loved the taste of you. He didn’t need to do much to get your pussy to flutter. He never did make you work for it. If only he knew the power he held over you, he’d be downright dangerous.

Ever since the first time you’d gotten intimate with each of them, Steven was the only one to never tell you no. You sometimes worried you’d do something he wouldn’t like and he might not tell you as you cuddled together afterwards. When he looked back at you with those bold expressive eyes, it told you everything you needed to know. You realized all you wanted to do was take good care of him.

Steven clumsily crawled up to meet your lips. The taste of you on his tongue. His body shifted and an arm slithers between the two of you. A moment later, you feel him stroking his head across your soaked folds. Guiding himself home. You’ve been suffering through his fingers and his mouth already. More than ready to feel him fully.

When he takes a second too long for your patience, you order him to lie back.

Flipping positions. You help him down the last part of the way with a push and a smile. His cock had slipped out somewhere in the movements. Not a problem. You were up on your knees over him. Steven lay back, looking both entirely surprised to be there and not letting his focus up for what came next.

You reach down and give him a few exploratory pumps. Being gentle, starting from the head where most of the pre-cum and your fluids had accumulated. You use just your middle finger and thumb to smear it over his thick spongy head, dragging it down to the bundle of nerves to play with. Gentle back-and-forth motions. Steven jerked with his whole body. Quickly throwing his lip into a bite to hold back the noise. He wasn’t fooling anyone. You still heard it. Came out more like a whine.

“Pretty boy. How about another moan for me?” You coo. He looked back at you like a wounded animal. Those curls on his face framed him just right for the compliment.

“This ain’t on. You’ve been bloody teasing me all night.” He shook his head. His hands palmed at the bedsheets on either side of him. Even after all this time, he still never seemed to know what to do with his hands. Adorable.

You look away from him. Watching the rain beat down on the windows. Pretending not to know he’s there while you continue to stroke. He could tell you to stop if he wanted, but you both knew he wasn’t about to do that. Instead, he squirmed and tolerated it for as long as he could before his words managed to find the tip of his tongue.

“Please? I don’t want to be the twat that jizzes on himself because my girl’s stunning but she’s an absolute menace.”

Shuffling up a little more you stop stroking and kept your hand still around him. “Oh, I’m a menace, am I?” Offering a gentle squeeze. Steven squirmed without trying to move away, looking like he was about to burst then and there. His cheeks turn a lovely shade of red as he nodded and scrambled to find a comeback to say.

“Uh-huh. Yup- The kind that looks at a beautiful sunrise and tells it to buggar off for a few more hours sleep.”

“No-one needs to be making anything at that time my business. What’s that got to do with me being a menace?”

“It’s got everything to do with-“

You lined yourself up while he rambled. Sinking down on him without warning. Finding a way to shut him up. You slid down far as you could tolerate before you needed to slow down the last part of the way. The stretch tingled. You catch a stuttered breath in your throat.

“Oh- oh god.” He spluttered out. Hands flying away from the bedsheets to grip at your thighs, as if searching for some kind of stability. There was none. Him holding you like that wasn’t going to stop you. Hips wiggled slowly from side to side to fit yourself snugly onto him.

You grind down and start slow. Finding that pace you liked where his cock would hit the spot just right. Small noises came from him. Breathier ones from you. You’d barely started rocking against him before you felt him shudder. His eyes were rolled back and you felt his cock pumping a hot mess deep inside you.

Game over.

Steven held you a little tighter before releasing his grip. Face going pale. Surprising himself. “Shit- I am so so sorry.” He looked as mortified as he sounded. Hands coming up to cover his face he groaned.

You laugh lightly and shake your head at him. Stopping immediately to lower yourself down onto him to rest. Leaning down to bring your face in closer to his. Hands moved on his, guiding them away from his face to hold down against the pillow. Boy looked like he could use a hug. Instead, you squeeze his hands in yours. Rubbing your nose against his.

“Aw no, baby, don’t feel bad. It’s okay. I’m still having fun. You already got me off once, be proud of that.”

You shower his face in peppered kisses. His softer hands stroke up your sides. Could have mistaken him for Marc with all that guilt lining his features. You stroke his knuckles with your thumbs and kiss away his embarrassment once more. A little longer lasting this time.

“I’ll take the blame for that. I’ve been teasing you for ages. Or maybe I’m just that good you can’t control yourself around me.”

You move your hand away from him to pretend to wipe the glitter off your shoulder. Glitter was an inside joke you both shared regularly. That got a laugh out of him and you feel the movement of his softer cock slipping out from inside you. You shifted to the feeling of it. The mess he’d made coming with it. Pooling on his abdomen and leaking down your legs.

“You are so amazing.” He tells you. "Can I touch you?"

Nodding, you bite your lip when his hand wiggles out from under yours and goes down. Feeling his fingers immediately stroke over your used needy hole had you tensing up. You press into his touch. Steven leaned back up to meet your lips. Less desperate this time, more loving. You hear his words murmured against you.

“I feel bad I keep making a mess before you can finish.”

“Don’t be. Just means we need to try again, right?” You say more hopefully, a glint of a smile when you lean back to see him nod without any words. More concentrated on what he was doing to you.

You feel Steven’s fingers leaving you alone. Casting your eyes down to see what he was doing, you watch him scoop up some of the mess from his abdomen then bring it up to stuff back into you. The temperature difference was felt and caused you to shiver. The way his fingers lazily toyed with the cum on your pussy warmed you back up from the inside out.

He brought his other arm up behind his head to be able to watch better. Your hands stayed where they are, pressed into the pillow either side of him. His fingers caught cum drooling down your legs to spread over your pussy. Slow strokes before he’d go find some more, either from around you or inside. You were already wound up from everything, needing that blissful high he could put you into. Hips rocking, chasing his touch. A few more minutes of this had you trembling and him stiff as a rock again. Maybe he did know what to do with his hands after all.

This time. There was no waiting. No holding back. The moment Steven was aligning himself you were sinking down and seeking out that spot with more ferocity than you’d had before. Steven matched your rhythm with coordinated thrusts.

Pushing himself to sit up and catch your nipple in his mouth. He sucked sloppily, then moving up after your mouth. Hand slipped between you both again to play with you. Firmer. More in that way you'd shown him you liked. It was your turn to grip onto him for stability. Swallowing each other's moans and thrusting roughly until you both finished. You first, him following a few thrusts later.

The kisses turned softer. You lay back in bed together and stroked over each others bare skin. Air coming back to your lungs as you both come down from the clouds you were on.

You see him thinking loudly with that familiar distant stare. Off in his own world again. A moment later he was blinking as he snapped back into the moment, focusing back on you. You wait to see who it might be. His expression changed all shy and it made you laugh. Still Steven then.

“What?”

“I was just thinking. We should have more rainy days like this. But like, every day.”

“Yeah? I’d like that.”

“Wouldn’t need to leave if it was every day. This'd be your place too.”

“Is this your way of asking me to move in?”

“That’s uh- I think- I mean, yeah? I guess it is. What do you think?”

“Say it then. Ask me properly.”

“Alright.” He shifted onto his side. His hand in his hair to prop his head up and look down at you. “Will you move in with me?”

Without a beat, you smile and say, “No.” His face contorted up. You soften up your smile and squeeze him. “I need to talk to the others first. Otherwise, yes.”

“Had me for a second then… You flipping menace.” He dove down to tackle you with kisses and playful bites which have you squirming and unable to breathe through the laughter. Pushing back to try and pin him down. Wouldn't matter if it turned into something more. You both had all the time in the world. The perfect way to spend a rainy day.

#steven grant #oscar isaac #moon knight #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x fem!reader #mcu fanfiction #steven grant smut #mcu smut #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfiction #open rp #open starter #stevens pov

[mountymase]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

file one - mason mount

a/n: well, hi! i’d like to say that this isn’t my fave work but i’ve been mostly writing poetry lately and i needed to see if i still had my fanfic mojo. hope you like it nonetheless! 🤍

1.820 words

warnings: real angst, brief mention of anxiety, breakup, bit of fluff, harsh words.

It felt more like a ritual, one that you loved dearly - each morning, Lila, your pup woke you up with cheerful and endless face licks, her tail wiggling in the air, her frantic need to get under the covers with you and cuddle like you always did every morning. Your heart warmed with joy as you silently giggled, an arm tugging the two-year-old basset hound closer making her immediately calm down as a long sigh escaped from her.

There was something else about mornings like these: they brought a feeling of normality to the wild, nonetheless extraordinary routine you jumped into since your first book had been published — not your first piece of promising writing, but the one that turned into a giant success that started taking global proportions within six months, forcing you to travel around the globe on a tour to meet countless and extraordinary people.

And also to sign autographs for most of them.

They were boys and girls, mums, teenagers, middle-aged women, single women, and a bunch in long-lasting relationships. It didn’t matter, your writing reached every single one of them and, somehow, they now all had something in common: how much they loved your book.

All of it was still overwhelming to you, though. Coming from a small town where nothing fascinating used to happen, you’d spend your days writing when you weren’t with your regular group of friends from school. Getting used to the big city once you moved to graduate in journalism was difficult — you missed those peaceful days, watching the sunrise when you went for a morning jog, birds singing, and how comforting silence could be every evening. But you were also grateful for all the opportunities given and how unexpectedly great things turned out to be for you.

Moving to London had never been in your foreseeable future, although visiting England was one of your greatest dreams from a very young age when you used to spend hours listening to The Beatles and Elton John with your dad.

When you got a call from one of Netflix UK executives, telling you they’d like to turn your book into a miniseries, you choked on a large croissant bite. It took you a couple of minutes to put yourself together as the executive patiently waited, a low giggle coming from the other side of the line once you took a deep breath and asked if they were calling the right number.

So, from the afternoons of Penny Lane and Benny and The Jets, you ended up officially living in an extravagant flat located in Mayfair, fully paid for by Netflix UK, and dropped the news of your book being turned into a miniseries, officially, on a morning TV show.

If you didn’t have such an impatient dog, who was now staring at you with her best “feed me, human” glare, you would’ve stayed in bed for the rest of the day. The thought of being live in one of the biggest morning TV shows in England, sharing the screen with another famous guest made you feel immensely intimidated, and vulnerable.

But, from the very beginning, he made you feel safe.

Mason.

He was the other guest that day, invited to share more on his success playing for Chelsea FC and the charity of which he was a patron of. During the break, he noticed how you rubbed your sweaty hands against your jeans and how all your blood seemed to be concentrated in your cheeks - half of it wasn’t just the nervousness, though, it was also because of how intense his gaze was.

Mason’s voice soothed your nerves like magic once he caught your attention during those two minutes, and you were wonderfully calm telling Holly Willoughby about the serie’s pre-production, cast choices, etc.

And as expected, once it was all over, Mason asked if you’d like to go out with him for coffee.

The two of you instantly clicked, like magnets completely drawn into each other, so it was easy and fun being around him. His inner circle wasn’t entirely the nicest, but as you grew closer and became extremely close friends, Mason introduced you to his family and you finally had a mother figure to welcome you with warm embraces since yours was miles away.

You were supposed to be just friends, but the beauty of how well you got along despite each other’s imperfections felt like a glitch in a system that led to something magical. In the end, together, you and Mason discovered that true love can arise from the most unexpected and delightful surprises.

That was 2.190 days ago or, more specifically, six years.

Now, you found yourself facing the diamond ring on your finger, glistening under the moonlight.

Mason broke up with you, for good this time, because you were ruining his life. His words.

You, of all people.

You, who loved him the most.

Him, who was simply your whole world, just as much as you were his.

Still watching the engagement ring on your finger, you tried to remember when your relationship started to crumble. Perhaps, it was right after he returned home from the World Cup, even if it had been just a few months that he proposed. Things started to get difficult for him at Chelsea and he was distant, such a stupid cliche. Classic miscommunication, so finding comfort at your own work was the only thing you could do and you isolated yourself at the cottage you bought in Scotland so you could write in peace - eventually, you fell down the same old cycle of isolating, writing compulsively, and just a few months later having to leave everything behind to promote the book.

A book full of personal poems, this time.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffed when you remembered how Mason spat the words at you.

“How fucking dare you to expose us like this?” He breathed heavily, anger in his eyes like you’ve never seen before. “You never make things easier for me. It’s always all about you,”

You frowned as his words still echoed in the back of your mind - everything you’ve done was always about him, from the moment you two met on that TV show. What was supposed to be a polite talk in the beginning, ended in a heated argument fueled by miscommunication and insecurities and more harsh words from him while you just listened. According to Mason, while he was always including you in his career choices, your commitment to your own career outweighed your commitment to your relationship.

“My career will never betray me,” it was automatic, you didn’t think before saying those words, and you only noticed the damage when Mason’s eyes glistened with tears.

“I would never do that to you, but if that’s what you believe…” Mason sniffed. You watched him shake his head and focus his gaze on the wall - anything not to look at you. “I love you, Y/n. But it’s ruining my life.”

A shy lick on your hand brought you back from painful memories and you were able to smile a bit as Lila watched you with those sleepy eyes.

“It’s just the two of us now,” you mumbled, touching her nose with the tip of your index finger.

Scotland has been your permanent home for the past two weeks since the breakup. You tried to reach him, tried to call him, and even texted his family, but no one replied. Even his friends were gone and it felt like Mason and the life you shared with him were nothing but a dream. The only thing that you still had was the engagement ring, that never left your finger.

Two weeks were also making you realise that, perhaps, Mason was right. You should’ve talked to him, should’ve put him first, and asked how he’d feel instead of making how you felt about everything so public. Even if there were no names, everyone knew that most of those poems were about Mason - the good ones, but mostly, the bad ones where you romanticised all of your struggles.

There was nothing but regret and sorrow for you.

Lila’s lazy and hoarse barking woke you up. At her own speed, she went back and forth from your bedroom to the front door, scratching her nails on it as she was desperate to see who was knocking on your door at three in the damn morning. If you weren’t so sleepy, you’d care more about the marks it was leaving on the wood.

Letting out a loud yawn, you slowly opened the door to find Mason on the other side, puffy eyes and messy hair, with both hands in his pockets.

“You shouldn’t open the door without knowing who it is. Not at this time of the night,” you frowned at his whispered words, not knowing exactly what to say. “Are you going to let me in? It’s cold,”

You quickly nodded, taking a step back so he could walk in and be greeted by Lila. His giggle as the basset hound lazily wiggled her tail made you smile softly - you missed the sound of his giggle. You missed everything about Mason.

“She misses you,” and so do I, you wanted to say. Mason just nodded. “Are you here to take the ring back?”

His sigh was the only sound that filled the room for a few seconds before he let go of Lila to finally look at you. He was a mess, just as much as you.

“No”, Mason replied. A knot formed on your stomach and you suddenly felt the urge to vomit - anxiety always did that to you. “I’m here to take you back.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you also felt a slight anger burn your chest and bring tears to your eyes. Crossing your arms against your chest, you watched Mason carefully as he seemed to wait for an answer - he looked absolutely defeated, but he let out a sigh of relief once his eyes caught the diamond ring still on your finger.

“I thought I was responsible for ruining your life.”

Mason nodded. “But you also put it back together, Y/n.”

His words completely disarmed you - arms fell to the sides of your body, but quickly wrapped around his waist. In Mason’s arms, you silently cried. “I should’ve talked to you, Mase. I’m so sorry,” Mason’s hands traveled up and down your back, comforting you, as his lips found your forehead, then your cheeks and your nose, in soft and gentle kisses.

“I overreacted,” you shook your head, but Mason cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “I did, but I hope you can forgive me.”

“If you can forgive me,”

“We’re both forgiven, then.”

A brief interruption, a slight malfunction

(...)

I thought we had no chance

And that's romance, let's dance.

#mason mount fanfic #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader

[thatrickmcginnis]

RICHARD KERN, TORONTO, 1988

Richard Kern's career has been remarkable to watch from the perspective of someone who met him briefly for a portrait session, after a screening of his films in the backroom club where I usually saw and photographed bands. Kern emerged from New York's East Village with a zine and later a series of films that were aggressively provocative, back when this was still acceptable subject matter for artists. I'd already seen an evening of his films - a program that included Fingered and The Right Side of My Brain - and it was pretty indelible. But we were all edgelords back in those pre-grunge days, and this sort of overtly offensive stuff was celebrated, especially if it offended the right people.

Richard Kern and his colleagues in what got called the Cinema of Transgression - which included filmmakers like Nick Zedd, Jon Moritsugu, Beth B, Kembra Pfahler, David Wojnarowicz and others - were an obvious tributary to the underground and indie rock scene, especially when musicians like Henry Rollins and Lydia Lunch would appear in Kern's films. Their whole "fuck you if you don't like it" aesthetic was a natural fit with bands like the Butthole Surfers, Jesus Lizard, Big Black, Poison Idea, Pussy Galore and so many others. So it was natural that we'd do a feature on Kern for the alternative music monthly I worked for when he showed up to ask questions after an evening of his films, with my friend Tim assigned to write the piece while I got to do the pictures. I showed up with my Mamiya C330 and my flash, umbrella and light stand and photographed Kern simply, sitting on a chair in front of the movie screen on the stage at the Rivoli where I usually saw bands.

What I didn't know at the time was that my Richard Kern portraits would be my last ever job for Nerve magazine, where I'd been developing as a photographer (no pun intended) for over two years. The story Tim and I handed in would be laid out on flats but never saw publication, as money troubles (and some personal ones) unceremoniously ended Nerve magazine after five years. This was effectively the end of my apprenticeship as a photographer; if I wanted to make a living at this, I had to seriously start looking for work at "real" magazines. I'm not sure if anyone ever saw these portraits of Richard Kern; they probably didn't get published anywhere until I posted a few on my old blog several years ago.

With all that in mind I'm still rather pleased with my portraits of Kern: they have a starkness and simplicity I was striving for (what my friend Chris Buck recently referred to as a "clunky honesty"). You didn't have to know that Richard Kern would end up with a career as a celebrated, arty pornographer, but it wouldn't surprise you. He has, in the decades since I took these photos, published over two dozen books with titles like XXModels, Digital Kern, Shot by Kern, New York Girls and Extra High, sometimes for quality imprints like Abrams and Taschen. Even more improbably he has survived the scythe of cancel culture, perhaps by hiding in plain sight.

#portrait #portrait photography #photography #black and white #film photography #photographer #some old pictures i took #richard kern #director #filmmaker #cinema of transgression #mamiya c330 #early work

[the-rainbow-lesbian]

what you said about being impossible to just even co-exist in the same (mostly, but also irl) online spaces as the pronouns in bio crowd if you are ever slightly vocal about your beliefs is so true and yet usually its even worse and more obsessive. you dont even have to say anything, just be neutral to someone who is. i've seen entire friend groups turn on longtime friends because someone didnt hate random women they deemed terfy, people going through entire follow lists and coordinating character assassinations and threats because someone who wasn't even close to them interacted with someone with a twitter or tiktok profile they combed to find out is a radfem or radaligned, even if the girls themselves hadn't said anything remotely on the topic and had been entirely accomodating to their pronoun circus, getting uninvited to stuff because an uwu trans woman who is gonna be there is uncomfy with you there (mostly because they couldn't get with the girl and almost all having been creepy "pre"transition). it's cult shit, you either alienate yourself from everyone who is not in on the circlejerk or get alienated from friends, events, fandoms and entire organizations that are not made by other women who've been ran off aswell and they still have the nerve to claim that this is the echo chamber. that we chose to not listen to anyone else just because we did and but we just didn't agree with their own beliefs who they leave unquestioned and unchallenged. being near those people when you are not in on the delusion is a time bomb to at best get ghosted and at worst get put on blast for more delusional strangers to dogpile you.

you’re so right and thank you for saying it. like I come from a culture dominated by religious beliefs and I’ve seen what it does to freedom of speech and just personal liberty in general, I’ve seen people go to jail for tweets and what they believe in, it leads to people keeping secrets, hiding their identity and becoming two faced because it is necessary to survive, now the situation with gender stuff isn’t exactly identical but we might be heading there, no one expected dumb teenagers talking about their gender identity on tumblr to blow up to what we have right now, like jesus fucking christ

you don’t ever want to live in a society where you can’t have your opinions and beliefs because you are afraid a cowardly mob is going to rob you of your livelihood, that is not healthy or progressive it’s orwellian, and it could easily turn on the people who participate in this mob mentality if they find themselves on the wrong end of the stick. like I still can’t forget when a bunch of homophobic bi women review bombed a gay man’s book with one stars because he expressed frustrations with the fetishization of gay men by women, in the end his book got canceled and his publisher dropped him, now he relapsed and he is religious and calling himself ex-gay. whether you agree with him or not you just don’t fucking do that, it’s not like he was a nazi or expressing genuinely dangerous beliefs, what happened to just yelling at someone and blocking them then moving on with your life? or when an elderly disabled lesbian was deplatformed from speaking at a woman’s event because a bunch of nobodies decided she was a “terf” with absolutely no proof of her supposed transphobia, she is a lesbian and that was all the “proof” they needed

[firebird-inkheart]

Intention vs. Interpretation

pairing: the idea of us (pre-relationship, Bats and Ellen edition, ft. additional characters) word count: 3496 a/n: there are many benefits to being plagued by silly little thoughts

+++++

“If you stare any more intently I am going to assume you’ve been possessed by a dog and ask if you desire a treat.” Deanna peered at her over the edge of the magazine, one thin eyebrow slowly rising. “Or perhaps you are in need of a walk?”

“Oh you’re hilarious.” Ellen angled herself marginally away from her coworker and slumped in her chair. “Now I’ve been possessed by a dead fish. Feel better?”

Deanna’s nose wrinkled. “Fish stink bad enough when they’re alive. If you’re a dead fish I’ll need to call the janitor to come remove you before you irreparably contaminate my workspace.”

“Really feelin’ the love here De.”

“Feel it more quietly then. And stop staring while you’re at it.” With an air of finality she disappeared behind the magazine again.

Groaning, Ellen shrank even lower in her seat. With a pitiful little push she began a lazy revolution. It was a slow day. There hadn’t been many errands to run, the phone calls to take had barely trickled in, there was no extravagant event to prepare for. The only excitement she had to cling on to was this week’s installment of the company’s creative works magazine. To say that she was eager for her friend to finish reading was an understatement.

Deanna sighed and set the magazine on her lap. “Let me guess: Your only experience with being published was a couple short stories or poems in a high school magazine.”

She stopped spinning and righted herself. 

The corners of Deanna’s eyes crinkled, her mouth twitching with the beginnings of a modest smile. “It’s a different ball of nerves, being published in something so uncontrollably public, isn’t it?”

And just like that, the tension, the restless energy, it flowed out of her. It never failed to amaze her just how good Deanna was at disarming others. Cool, collected, measured― Deanna Sterling was an immovable object. Often such stern resoluteness led people to think she was just a frigid bitch, and there were times when that was actually true, but it was only one facet of her. When people weren’t busy being intimidated by her steel spine, they’d find she could be pleasantly understanding and, above all, kind.

Ellen lightly shook out her hand. “Honestly I’m still in shock my submission was accepted on the first try. That doesn’t feel like something that should just happen, you know?”

“Mm, yes, our publishers can get ridiculously anal about what goes into the magazine,” Deanna agreed, nonchalant. “But I believe you’ve potentially brought something striking and fresh that those vultures couldn’t resist. From what I’ve read so far I have to say, you are very....”

The phone rang. They both flinched, though only Ellen had something colorful to say about it, uttering a long string of swears under her breath. Deanna leaned over and examined the blinking light, noting that it was a direct line from the office. Before she picked up the phone, she glanced back, flashing a small but prominently sharper smile, and finished saying:

“Bold.”

A strange mixture of feelings rose with that statement and she couldn’t pin down how it really made her feel. Bold? How good was bold? Was it something to be nervous about? Proud of? Was it an accomplishment or an expectation to forever be held by? The restlessness returned and her hand curled loosely, moving back and forth in an attempt to shake it off. 

“Yes sir, I’ll send her in.”

The phone met the receiver with a heavy click and Deanna smoothly swung back around. Without any preamble, she said, “Mr. Nagel would like to see you.”

Something unpleasant pitted itself in her stomach, turning all other, more uncertain feelings into a single, solid, dense mass. The only outward expression she allowed to note her discomfort was a slight frown.

“Did he say what for?”

Deanna shrugged and waved her off. She picked up the magazine and purposefully covered her face. 

“Just knock and let yourself in.”

Her eyes narrowed. Turning on her heel, she grumbled, “Feelin’ the love De. Feelin’. The. Love.”

Her and Deanna’s station was not far from the big boss’s office, only perhaps a two minute walk if she really dragged her feet. Too soon she was staring down the big, polished wood doors. Sighing, she knocked quietly before letting herself in.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Nagel?”

Ellen kept her back to the door as she pushed it shut, fingers hovering over the cool metal of the handle. She ignored the urge to latch onto it, to be primed to yank the door open and flee back to her colleague’s side and return to the lighthearted pestering and banter.

It wasn’t that Mr. Nagel was menace, but as he was her boss, discomfort was a thing that came naturally while being in his presence. And given how.... Well behaved... he had been last time, to put it perfunctorily, Ellen wasn’t keen on another conversation with him any time soon. 

Mr. Nagel lowered a magazine― the magazine ―he had been reading, laying it out on the deep mahogany face of his desk. The glossy pages reflected the light, black border contrasting against the white body while small, italicized text marked it; a scripted tattoo. Mr. Nagel tapped on a corner of the page. His face was stoic, reserved. So it was the business side of him she was dealing with, then.

“Congratulations on your first submission being a success.” He leaned back in his luxury chair, only a faint twitch of his mouth indicating that he actually meant what he said. “And before you say anything, no, I did nothing to make that happen. I meant what I said before about the work determining the reward on its own.”

She nodded slowly. Was that all? No, it couldn’t be. Why would he call her here just to congratulate her? That could have been an email.

Steepling his fingers beneath his chin, Mr. Nagel looked at her expectantly. “Tell me about the subject of your story. The muse to your inspiration.”

Her mind was spinning, just a little. “My muse?” 

“Yes. You didn’t call your subject by name, but it was clear who you spoke of all the same. I want to know: Why the Batman?” he elucidated.

“Oh. Oh, um, well.” Perhaps it was just her, but the room was starting to feel a little too warm. She rubbed at a spot behind her ear. “Batman is... He’s doing something no one asked him to. He goes out into those streets each night to fight crime in ways that the cops can’t and often won’t. People say he’s fighting a losing battle, or that he’s just another lawless menace out to make things worse; he scares everyone.

“And I’ve seen the menace everyone spoke of; his violence and anger scared me. But I’ve also seen the careful way he held a child, how human it was for him to be uncertain when presented with a fragile little life. He’s so awkward in his concern that it makes him stiff and unapproachable but it’s there. It’s there.”

She paused to catch her breath, to acclimate herself to the euphoric rush in her veins that always appeared the more passionate she became. It was definitely getting warmer now.

Throughout the course of her rambling Mr. Nagel had righted himself to lean over his desk once again, a curious expression overcoming the usual impassiveness. His chin rested on top of crossed fingers, the corners of his mouth occasionally twitching, eyes slightly narrowed as he assessed every little detail. She tried to not let it get to her.

“Batman, he― He is trying to help. He’s just... struggling to define what that actually means to him.” Ellen let out a slow breath and gestured limply at nothing. “And in the meantime he continues to go back out, doing thankless work. I just...”

Mr. Nagel nodded, as if everything she said had brought a blurry image into startling clarity. He glanced down at the magazine, skimming over the page, then nodded again.

“I had found it intriguing and peculiar all at once that you would submit something like this, and now I believe I understand why.” He looked up, rather satisfied with whatever he had deduced. “Love letters are crafts of yearning and unrivaled passion, delicate and deep works that confess the heart’s desires. That you would write one to the masked vigilante is brave and compelling.”

Ellen opened her mouth intent on thanking him for the praise, only to stop short as everything he said fully registered.

“Pardon?”

A love letter? He thought her work was a love letter? To Batman? 

True confusion flitted across his face as he watched her edge towards combusting. A small frown appeared. “It is a love letter, is it not?”

“No!” she practically gasped. “No, it’s― I wrote a letter of gratitude! I wanted to thank him! Batman’s out there, trying to do something right in this messed up place, and no one acknowledges it. He saved my neck once, so I was just.... I was just trying to pay it forward, let him know someone’s in his corner and― and―”

It was her. It was definitely her that was getting warmer, not the room. She was practically boiling at this point, so utterly flustered by the implication― no, the assumption! ―that she had feelings for Batman! Her! Having feelings for―!

She was beginning to feel alarmingly faint.

“I see,” Mr. Nagel said, quite calm. “There was something rather romantic about your prose that I simply assumed that was the intent, forgive me.”

“It― It’s fine.” The words barely managed to find their way out without sounding too strangled. 

It was absolutely surreal to see her boss at a loss. For a moment they merely eyed each other, gauging the situation and how awkward cutting it off would be if they disengaged at that exact moment. And then he bit the bullet.

“Congratulations, again, on your successful submission.” He flipped the magazine closed. “You may go now.”

Without needing to be told twice, and barely remembering to mumble a thanks, Ellen fled the room. She beelined it for her desk, not a hint of grace following her clumsy self as she collapsed into her chair, buried her face in her hands, and groaned.

Deanna said nothing, never one to pry into office affairs, especially ones that concerned the boss. She allowed Ellen to have a moment for her― pity? embarrassment? agony? ―party, before moving on as usual. 

“I finished reading your little, ah, letter.”

Oh. Oh no.

Nervously, she lowered her hands to stare at her coworker. The grin on Deanna’s face was terrifying.

“So your type is tall, dark, and dangerous huh?”

“No!” The denial was too quick and Deanna looked insufferably smug. Ellen wished she could melt out of existence. “I did not write about my feelings for-for Batman! I mean, I did write about some feelings and yes they regarded him, but they were feelings of gratitude! A thank you! I wrote a thank you!”

Foot, meet mouth. Every word was just a little more depth added to the hole she had apparently dug for herself. 

Deanna didn’t appear entirely convinced, though the level of teasing in her tone dialed down significantly as she conceded, “I did catch a lot of thankfulness in the undertones, but your prose was so emphatic that I couldn’t help but interpret it as romantic.”

Damn herself and her stupid need to write such flourished and drawn out prose.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” she protested weakly.

Deanna nodded understandingly. “I know, I know. But you’re going to have to start rolling with the punches on this, because I’m sure I won’t be the only one interpreting your words that way.”

Terrific.

Turning the seat towards the desk, Ellen slumped over. Her forehead hit the cool wood surface with a resigned thunk, followed by a pitiable moan.

Another moment of companionable silence followed as Deanna returned to her work. The soft clack of typing bridged the gap between them. A pleasing little sound that had always been relaxing to her, Ellen started to loosen up some.

A pause, and she glanced at her friend from the corner of her eye. There was a subtle smile pulling at Deanna’s red lips. She snickered. An alarm went off in the back of her mind.

“I never pegged you as one for being into leather.”

“Stop!”

+++++

Bruce stared at the the magazine Alfred had placed before him. Creative Works: Amorevolous, Edition #63. Produced by Nagel Industries. The company Ellen worked for.

He looked up at Alfred, a little confused, a little curious.

“Consume something other than the latest murder mystery for once,” the older man answered rather blithely. “I believe pages 23 and 24 might strike your interest.”

The older man chuckled to himself and promptly wandered off. Bruce squinted at his butler’s receding figure before turning his attention to the magazine once more. Casually, he flipped it open and began skimming the table of contents. What could possibly be so interesting about pages 23 and 24?

For the Guarding Shadow, E. Ritchie....... 23, 24

(He wasn’t sure what stole his breath. The initial anxiety of being acknowledged in any capacity? To be alluded to as his other self? Or was it simply because it was her?)

Swallowing past the strange new lump in his throat, he carefully turned to page 23.

For the guarding shadow who prowls the realm of deep night. For the beating heart concealed beneath the mask. For the fighter, for the brave. 

For you I write.

Dedicate.

Believe.

For you, for you, for you I hope you see.

(And he was lost to the pull of those words.)

+++++

Several hours later the Batman stood on a familiar fire escape, kept to the shadows, away from the warm light peeking from a half curtained window. He had debated (agonized) the merits of coming here, whether it was a good idea or not. Part of him was tied in reluctance, afraid of what might change if he saw her now. (Part of him struggled to break free of that reluctance, to see her in the way she somehow had seen him.)

She sat at her small collapsible table, laptop awake, new word document open and ready. And blank. It had been that way for the last ten or so minutes. Ellen hadn’t moved much either, merely staring at the screen. Was she writing in her head instead? Or were her thoughts preoccupied by something else? (Someone else?)

The lump in his throat had come and gone throughout the day and now it had returned with a vengeance. He swallowed past it, feeling horrendously uncertain as he reached out and lightly tapped on the window.

Ellen jumped. She always did. And when she turned around she looked positively frazzled. In an instant she was on her feet and at the window, pulling it open. Warm air flowed out of the apartment, temporarily easing the biting chill outside.

“Hey,” she murmured, breathless. For brief moment she swayed, head bowing with another winded exhale. (The lightheadedness would pass quickly, as it always did. As she would always tell him. Even so he reached out a hand to steady her― Only to quickly withdraw as she righted herself.)

“You should really give yourself a moment after standing up,” he quietly admonished.

She made a noncommittal sound and slid out onto the fire escape. “So everyone keeps telling me, but I just move without really thinking about it half the time. If it hits bad then I’ll be regretting my decisions after I pick myself off the ground, same as always.”

He frowned. Surely that wasn’t a healthy way to handle things. Not that he had much room to judge given how much Alfred had to nag him to do something as basic as eating.

Ellen leaned against the opposing railing, arms folded snugly across her chest, ankles crossed over one another. She bit her lower lip and ducked her head just enough that she wasn’t looking directly at him. “Pretty sure I already know why you’re here, but uh, what brings you here?”

No more beating around the bush then. 

(The anxiety was an endless ebb and flow welling up within him, but he needed to draw this hard line in the sand.)

“Your letter.”

(That enthralling letter.)

A sharp intake, tension stiffening her shoulders― With one hand she reached up to rub at her eyes before shifting the motion behind her ear. She looked like she wanted to run. (Like she was preparing to take a hit.)

“In hindsight I think I fucked up,” she mumbled, effectively cutting him off before he could do the same to her. He waited quietly for her to continue. 

“I love writing exaggerated prose. It’s what I was known for in high school, what I hope I’ll be known for in this big wide world. Making people feel to think, and think to feel―There’s nothing more satisfying.”

(And she was succeeding, even now. He had done nothing but ruminate on those words since he had read them. Again and again and again. Each time like a hand plunging in his chest, to grasp his heart with foreign heaviness, to make him think even more. Again and again and again.)

“But after today I just―,” she shook her head, “I got so much crap from all my coworkers because they took it to mean that I was― that I was in l-lo―”

Her head turned more towards the shadows but not before he caught sight of bright red splotching her face. She cleared her throat.

“And then it hit me earlier that for all the trouble that letter was causing me, it’s bound to cause you even more. You’re a guy that’s wrapped up in danger, you can’t be bothering yourself with stuff like this when you’ve got a city to look after.”

“So why did you write it then?”

(Why did she make him feel?)

Ellen finally looked at him. “I wrote the letter because you inspired me. And in turn I hoped I could do the same for you.”

He froze. “I... inspired you?”

Had there ever been a time in his life when someone had told him that? He couldn’t recall; not as Bruce Wayne, an heir of tragedy, and definitely not as Batman, menace of the night. 

(It felt... nice.)

A tiny smile appeared on her face. “Yeah, you did.”

“I was under the impression that you weren’t fond of how I operated.” He folded his arms and leaned a little further into the shadows.

“I may have plenty of opinions on your methods, but that doesn’t mean I dislike your intentions.” There was a pause while she debated with herself what to say next. And then, suddenly quiet again, she added, “Or you.”

(And that felt good, too. Really good. The realization startled him.)

“Ellen―” Her name fell so easily off his tongue and all at once he was at a loss for what to say. 

She pushed off the railing and moved a step closer. Softness caressed the timbre of her voice. “You chose a path that gets very lonely; you’re a fighter, you’re brave, but you’re also just one man. You inspired me to write because I wanted to inspire hope in you. To tell you that your work is not nearly as thankless as it may seem.”

For a moment he only dared to breathe. Ever since the night his world had fallen apart he had felt like a failure. Useless. Growing up he had become a bitter, solitary creature constantly at odds with himself; always so angry with what little he could and couldn’t do. And when he donned the mask he had told himself it did not matter if every person were against him, as long as they were afraid he would manage. 

It was exhausting.

(‘For the beating heart concealed behind the mask.’ a traitorous thought whispered to him. And his heart was beating no matter how hard he tried to deny it.)

And he was moving. Away. Away from the warmth, from the light. Away from her and the words which spoke so easily to things he had long since thought died within him. (He could blame it on the city. That he had work to do and no more time to spare. But the truth was much more simple, and simply put, he was scared.)

He hesitated before the drop. 

“Thank you.”

And then he was descending, returning to the night. He paused once his feet hit the ground, daring himself to look up, to look back. Ellen still lingered on the fire escape.

The Batman looked away. As he stalked back into dark’s gaping maw something small took root in his beating heart.

(Something... amorevolous.)

+++++ +++++

a/n:

Amorevolous: affectionate; loving

#scribe's work #the idea of us #haha wow this got longer than i expected it to #me patting bruce every time it's his pov: this sad boy can fit so much yearning inside him #self ship community #self shipping #self shipping community #romantic f/o #f/o; Bruce #{you're moonlight kissed: Ellen Ritchie}

[jackalsinthekitchen]

pop report #1 (1/7/23)

a glance at the US charts as we dance backwards dazed into a brand new year

The Christmas hangover – that vague viral thing where, still disoriented from January’s quick sideways punch, everyone agrees it’s OK to stay festive for a second – is one of the holiday’s loveliest gifts. That it comes with a mutual agreement not to continue certain seasonal obligations, like stressing over cooking or the exchanging of gifts, makes it all the sweeter. It feels in that stupid fun way like we’re all getting away with something. That, even as the calendar gives us its greatest opportunity to feel fresh and absolved – here you go, a whole new year you haven’t fucked up yet – we’ve still put one over on it, by not moving on from something frivolous.

In any case, I don’t know how long it takes the Billboard elves to tabulate whatever it is they tabulate, so it makes sense that the first week of January on the Hot 100 is very late December, though it purports to depict the most popular songs in the country in the exact first seven days of the month (one of which is still happening as the list is published). Most of the new top ten is residual Christmasness; it’s comforting in its way, like looking outside and seeing that the Statue of Liberty is still there (depending). The democracy reflected by these charts so rarely suggests the cynical things about humanity our leaders often do. We like joyful, familiar, apropos things.

Back in the very earliest album chart days, Bing Crosby’s White Christmas used to take the top slot every December. But then there was a long spell where the biggest sellers around the change of the year weren’t thematic. Yet these days, we basically vote on a Greatest Xmas Hits. We bow down to certain idols with a scary (if often explicable) lack of second thought, and Mariah’s “All I Want for Christmas is You”, #1 this week, is one of the most hallowed. The song is a made-to-order rush, retro and timeless at once, with Carey exuberant and irrepressible and commanding the way she is at her best – which is when she’s having a lot of fun, rather than being allowed to emote as indulgently as the contours of her dexterous voice will accommodate.

In a way, the very way she sings – the willful all-melisma approach – has dated, though that voice is so athletic and flexible it also depends a great deal on how it’s recorded. And of course, when the tempo picks up a certain amount she doesn’t have time to lean into that stuff so aggressively. So you forgive her the single’s intro, which is also impressive and soulful and silly and lovely (or some selection of those things) if you have no beef with it. The song has a bit of that tinny, glitzy sonic profile from a certain era of misguided trends. But it mostly just sounds good – it has a force, a brightness and arresting forward motion, and it glistens when the backup chorus spills out around the effortlessly powerful lead vocal.

#2, Brenda Lee’s reliably sexy “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, is from late ’58 – Brenda is the “uh-huh honey” of “Sweet Nothin’s”, so perfectly robbed and repurposed by a pre-fall Kanye for “Bound 2”, and the sheer conceivability that she does indeed say “fuckin’ pie” – she doesn’t, she says pumpkin pie – is tantalizing. The corny backup singers are a sign of the creeping corruption of pop pap into rock ‘n’ roll, but the salacious sax solo counterbalances it with a healthy dose of lusty hostility. This is the best kind of easy listening: a low simmer, pleasant for the lovers and leapers, lonely-hearts and lazyboneses alike. Half a century ago, this was shocking; now it soothes nerves while moving things along in the kitchen.

#3, Bobby Helms’ “Jingle Bell Rock”, is less threatening, but it still has that soupçon of swagger – just enough sultry swing not to ruin the mood the way, say, a sudden switch to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir would. The band is good, especially the guitar, and while the chorus in this case is especially preppy-sounding, if you listen closely, you can tell they’re down to unwind. The message in theholiday trinity occupying win, place and show this week is that we do like even our most sentimental days to rock a little, to shake and move us, to take us on a ride – something other than hitched to poor reined-up horses in the cold for too much money.  We’re here for good times, and whatever the occasion – however we feel about Christianity – we’re ready to dance about, or around, it.

#4 is the ubiquitous “Last Christmas”, another nouveau standard (though I dunno, it’s forty years old). George Michael is an angel now, so we forgive him his sillier capitulations to the epoch at which he peaked. He really made them work – he was alluring and intelligent beyond his haircut, his drum machines, his bolder fashion choices, his partner. The grit and drama he peppers this wounded early valentine with aren’t the instincts of some vapid cherub. He sings like a Freddie Mercury with restraint, ductile and actorly. The holiday song is shockingly universal, even easier to befriend than the love song (both holidays and love reward and cost us), and this song is both kinds!

#5, Burl Ives, “A Holly Jolly Christmas” – we’re verging into corn, but still not there yet. This 1965 smash features a very good acoustic guitar player whose name I can’t find, though I’m admittedly not looking hard enough. Ives’ tone is naturally grandfatherly – unprovocative, but rough enough to go down right. He voices (and looks like) the snowman narrator in the Rankin-Bass Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, an admirably quirky special which I don’t think is very good. I have a small soft spot for the company’s Year Without a Santa Claus, but a much softer spot for the Chuck Jones Grinch and the flawless A Charlie Brown Christmas. I like my Xmas art a little dry, but welcome well-wielded sincerity. I’m no SCROOGE…

#6, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year”, feels like a bit of a sleeper for a standard. It’s one of those pleasant, detail-rich ones that gets lost among the others, e.g. “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”, “Mistletoe and Holly”, “Silver Bells”. When it echoed in my mind I thought it was by Frank Sinatra, and it turns out it is in fact a 1963 recording by Boring Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams. The easy-listening flavor of a protracted moment, Andy Williams is best remembered (this is my suggestion) for a joke in one of the peak seasons of The Simpsons where Bart and his friends are on a road trip and bully Nelson violently demands they stop for a Williams concert. That’s the joke. It’s the juxtaposition of the—

One thing you can say for Williams’ (admittedly peppy) song is it increases the relief of #7, “Feliz Navidad”, a cliché that in the wrong mood can certainly exacerbate some ill will. But it’s usually another sugar rush. Jose Feliciano’s lilting acoustic guitar is always welcome at this velocity, and there’s a lot else happening, down to sweet secret strings sneaking through and tickling the corners of a track one might describe as “tastefully lush” if one were being a little kind. Feliciano could be super silly – listen to his live cover of the Doors’ “Light My Fire”, where he briefly imitates an Irish priest for no reason. But he was also witty, seductive, compelling, a delight. And it’s nice when we break the English barrier the littlest damn bit.

(Spotify keeps switching to “Little Saint Nick”, and while I love the Beach Boys, I want to break a plate.)

Smashing through ceilings as ever, veteran juggernaut Taylor Swift bursts through the Christmas barrier at #8 with, talk about presents, my pick hit of the year, “Anti-Hero”. I consider it the shrewdest melody on her new collection of characteristically good ones, as well as her most interesting vocal on an album that could perhaps use more of that. The lyric is the coup, though, one of those simultaneous self-effacement/fuck yous she flirts with; it could be another tiresome kiss-off to the press or an honest, introspective missive to a lover (or a close circle of friends), and it toes that line like an advanced ballet student. Most of us could at some point stand to call ourselves out, and singing that this way makes it a lot easier to swallow.

Nat ‘King’ Cole was the very first artist with a number one on the Billboard album charts, back in 1945, and his presence at #9 in this week’s list of mostly vintage ornaments is a fair honor. His song (Robert Wells and Mel Tormé’s “The Christmas Song”, the chestnuts-roasting-on-an-open-fire one in the unlikely event that you needed a memory jog) is luxurious and not a little amorous, never over-orchestrated and crooned in that masterfully velvety way that earned this ‘King’ his crown. I think it’s also appropriate to herald here the persistent presence and frequent dominance of Black performers in our culture, going to back to the start of these little charts. Though this ten is color-lite – save for the #1 performer, Carey (depending on how Feliciano identifies).

I can also confirm Mr. Cole’s “Deck the Halls” – track 2 on his Christmas album – is a cringey, frosting-suffocated mess. But I should admit, it evoked a similar reaction to the first time I heard #10, Sam Smith and Kim Petras’ “Unholy”, with its campy introductory choir. When someone means such choices sincerely, as Cole seems to with his “Deck the Halls”, it compounds an offense. But when it’s a bold choice in the name of camp, you have to open your heart and mind past a little reflex revulsion. “Unholy” is a treat, a great deal more fun than Smith usually is; they feed off of Petras’ vibrant sense of outrage. Good for the both of them: a landmark statistic (first out trans and nonbinary performers to hit #1) and a car banger.

The next ten hits are Christmas all the way down, save two – including #11, SZA’s slow-sinking “Kill Bill”, one of those downtempo-insistent hits that sticks with you before you understand why it’s hanging in there. Then it’s the often underrated Ariana Grande’s magic faux-soul up “Santa Tell Me”, and two Phil Spector (boo) triumphs for the Ronettes and Darlene Love (yay) respectively, “Sleigh Ride” and “Christmas”, which is the one, you know the one, the one that keeps going “CHRISTMAAAAAAAS” (“snow’s comin’ down…”). Those songs sandwich Kelly Clarkson’s feebler “Underneath the Tree”. Then there’s yuletide stuff from Bing, Nat (“Deck the Halls”, ugh), Dean, and Frank, plus David Guetta’s melodramatic “Blue” mistake.

The lights have already been taken down for the better part of the album chart. I think the SZA is a slow-grower, but America doesn’t – #1 all three of its charting weeks. However good SOS is, it’s nice when a smart and interesting artist who’s hung in there at just over the radar makes this kind of left-field splash, and with a record you can tell she’s really worked on. Next is Taylor, then the celebrated Michael Bublé’s Christmas album, Metro Boomin’s Heroes and Villains, which I’ve only played once (moody, macho hip-hop), a Nat ‘King’ Cole Xmas (so-so), that Drake/21 Savage album that seems sexist, Bad Bunny’s latest blockbuster, a Phil Spector’s Xmas (classic), a Mariah Xmas (classic?), and Vince Guaraldi/Charlie Brown (absolute classic).

Merry Xmas, everybody. Look to the future now – it’s only just begun.

#xmas #mariahcarey #brendalee #bobbyhelms #georgemichael #burlives #andywilliams #josefeliciano #taylorswift #natkingcole #samsmith #kimpetras #sza #michaelbuble #metroboomin #badbunny #darlenelove #arianagrande #kellyclarkson #charliebrown

[tallmantall]

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth - #Parents Should Discuss #Depression, #Anxiety And Even #Suicide With #Kids: Experts

By Aya Al-Hakim  Global News WATCH: Canada gets set to launch a three-digit #suicidecrisisline – Sep 2, 2022 - #Parents should have proactive conversations around #mentalhealth and #suicide with #kids, some experts suggest, because they say there isn’t enough talk about these issues. According to the Government of Canada website, around 11 people die by #suicide each day, with around 4,000 deaths by #suicide taking place per year. One-third of these deaths are among those 45-59 years old. The government also states that “#suicide is the second leading cause of death among #youth and young #adults (15-34 years).” READ MORE: #Teachers say #socialmedia is ‘hurting’ #students — but their jobs have also gotten harder “If you actually look and dig a little bit deeper into that data, it’s the leading cause of non-accidental death. So, it’s outpacing most other causes of death,” Mark Henick, a #mentalhealthstrategist based in Toronto, said on the Roy Green Show on Nov. 18 — also the day for International Survivors of #Suicide Loss Day (ISOSLD). “More people die by #suicide around the world than murder and war combined. But we talk about those things every day and we still don’t talk enough about #suicide,” he added. CASA House fills gap in #mentalhealthsupport International Survivors of #Suicide Loss Day (ISOSLD) takes place every year in mid-November, where “those who are impacted by #suicide loss can find comfort, remember loved ones, and share stories of loss, healing, and hope” through special events, according to the Canadian Association for #SuicidePrevention’s website. Henick is one of those people who have been impacted, having had #suicidalthoughts when he was 12 years old. “I think when people open up about these kinds of vulnerabilities, about really scary things, like a #kid being suicidal, it really touches a nerve with people… because it’s something that so many of us have actually experienced,” said Henick. READ MORE: #Suicidalthoughts among Canadians significantly higher during #COVID-19: StatCan The most recent findings by Statistics Canada published in May show that the prevalence of #suicidalthoughts among #adults was significantly higher in 2021 than in 2019, before #COVID-19 hit. The occurrence of #suicidalthoughts among #adults in 2021 was 4.2 per cent, which was “significantly higher” than 2.7 per cent in 2019 pre-#pandemic, according to StatCan. Researchers measured the increase by using the 2021 Survey on #COVID-19 and #MentalHealth, conducted between Feb. 1 and May 7, 2021. Telus improves access to #mentalhealthcounselling The Centre for #SuicidePrevention also reports on its website that “#teens are admitted to hospitals for #suicideattempts more than any other age group.” Michael Zwaagstra, a public #highschool #teacher and author, says he’s “not shocked” when hearing these statistics. “We know that #mentalhealth among young people is a major issue… there’s no question that the last two and a half years of dealing with the #COVID #pandemic and all the restrictions from it have been absolutely devastating for young people,” Zwaagstra, who was also a guest on the Roy Green Show, said. “They have borne much of the brunt of the impact. And so, you add that into some of the longer-term issues that we’ve been seeing with young people in #mentalhealth. And unfortunately, it is not shocking that this is becoming an even bigger and bigger problem,” he added. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleOrder your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife:From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com READ MORE: ‘I almost took my life’: why some former church-run #school #students are calling for change As a #teacher, Zwaagstra says has seen #students suffering from #mentalhealthchallenges in his classroom, where it plays out in different ways. “One of the most obvious (signs) is simply not coming to class… and in many cases, #students aren’t coming to class not because they are just choosing to skip, but they really are having #mentalhealthstruggles,” he said. Another sign to look for, Zwaagstra says, is the student’s general demeanor. “We see it in terms of disengagement… especially when a young person has that sense of #hopelessness, where they think that things aren’t going to get better. That’s when you see the most profound impact,” said Zwaagstra. #Men suffering in silence encouraged to talk about #mentalhealth He says there are supports in place at #schools like guidance #counselors who can help, and he hopes that young people can talk to a safe and trusted #adult, like a #parent or #teacher, about what they are going through. Henick says it’s a good thing that there’s more support and awareness surrounding #mentalhealth and #suicide in recent years on a public level, but the problem is that people are still being told that if they’re feeling suicidal, they’ll have to go to the hospital. “That’s a good thing. People should continue to do that, but also recognize the reality of the fact that that’s not enough,” said Henick. READ MORE: More Quebec #teen #girls hospitalized for #suicidalbehavior in 2021 public health says In Quebec, for example, the number of #teenage #girls who visited Quebec hospital emergency rooms after attempting to take their own lives rose by 23 per cent in 2021, according to the province’s public health institute. In a report published in January, the institute said that for every 100,000 #girls aged 15 to 19 in Quebec, 1,630 visited a hospital in 2021 because of #suicidalthoughts and 227 went to a hospital because they had attempted to take their own lives — more than twice the rate among any other age group of either #gender. “(The hospitals) might discharge them with some planning, but that’s nearly not enough. I think #parents need to be taking a more proactive intervention for their kids before it ever gets to that point,” said Henick. He says #parents need to have conversations about #depression, #anxiety, and even #suicide with their #children. “There’s this idea that if you talk to your #kids about #suicide, you’re giving them the idea to do it. That’s a myth. If they’re thinking about it, then they’re already thinking about it,” Henick said. If the #children or #youth show tendencies of #self-harm, Henick says that’s when #parents need to be able to jump in — to connect them with ongoing care that isn’t just a one-time visit to an emergency room but to have them speak with a #counselor or #therapist. “It’s one of the key protective factors. Get them volunteering and get them involved and caring about something and really build a whole wrap-around system of recovery that isn’t just an emergency intervention,” Henick said. If you or someone you know is in crisis and needs help, resources are available. In case of an emergency, please call 911.  The Canadian Association for #SuicidePrevention, #Depression Hurts and #Kids Help Phone [phone] — all offer ways for getting help if you, or someone you know, is suffering from #mentalhealthissues. For a directory of support services in your area, visit the Canadian Association for #SuicidePrevention. Learn more about how to help someone in crisis on the Government of Canada website. Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com Read the full article

[rsnauthor]

This book title caused me headaches

When I published my first novel, I made the cover myself. But even back in 2013 designing your own covers was frowned upon in the indie author community. A self-made cover signposted that you weren't taking your work seriously, you were a chancer, an amateur. But, first book, nerves, imposter syndrome—all fed into my reasons for finding a copyright free image, slapping it into GIMP, and making a fairly artful cover.

Did it suit the genre?

No. Not at all. But I was kidding myself that readers would see past that and adore the story within.

I've progressed, with my imposter syndrome, but not enough. I still don't quite see the value in paying for a custom cover design. What I do instead, is look at pre-made cover sites, and find interesting covers in my genre, and purchase those. I've been pleased with the covers I've got this way for my horror series.

But this does come with some serious limitations.

A creepy cover, no matter how good it is, still needs to fit the story you're writing. It's not an exact science. It doesn't have to fit precisely, but take my cover for Go Back to Sleep. The house is fairly ramshackle. If a ramshackle house doesn't feature in the story, then an invisible contract with the reader has been broken. Do that enough times, and the readers will start to notice, turn away, find the authors who deliver on their promises.

The same promise is made with the title of the book. Titles are tricky things. My approach has been fairly literal. All three of my Dark Corners full novels have titles that feature a thing or piece of dialog from the book. With book 4, I was a little more marketing focused.

My first attempt was to call it The Eastlands Exorcist. The 'Eastlands' referred to the road the protagonist lived on, the 'Exorcist' referring to a fairly tertiary character that would ultimately drive the protagonist onto the main part of the story.

I was delighted with my cleverness with this book title. Besides the very emotiveness, it also served a secondary purpose. Mainly that it would likely show up in search results on Amazon when people used the search term 'exorcist'. Wouldn't it be great if people searching for a book called 'The Exorcist' also found my book to consider?

Well yes, that would be nice but as I was still in the process of writing the thing, I began to realise I'd trapped myself into a corner. There is a promise in this title. A reader is going to expect an exorcism to feature strongly. They might even expect it to have a prolonged explanation of the exorcism process. And yeah, somebody is going to have to get possessed.

This was never part of the plot. The story was actually about a haunting that continued from one house to another that was meant to be a safe haven. I could have written an exorcism in, and actually have half a scene written where that takes place, but that scene required other supporting scenes. And there were severe consequences for the characters. You don't just have a possessed member of the family and have them recover. This is a life-changing event.

And I came to realise that this writing problem was actually a title problem. The title was forcing me to write a story I hadn't planned on writing.

So, I changed the title.

I like this title. It's not very clever. But it is still very marketable. There is a contract with the reader about expectations, and I'm comfortable that the story absolutely fulfils that contract.

Ostfield House is the setting for the 'present' of the book, and this is very definitely a book about a haunting, and not about demons. My exorcist character still exists. He still directs the characters to the terrors of Ostfield House, but he no longer has to hold an exorcism (and to be fair, there's no chance I'd write one anywhere as near as good as Blatty, so I figure I've saved myself some embarrassment there).

The book is a while from being finished. Maybe about 40,000 words away. No doubt I'll have more to say on my progress over the coming posts.

#writers on tumblr #horror #writerslife

[finelinevogue]

could you do some angsty smut please??

oh hell yeah we can. this is going to be 70srockstar!harry with roadie!y/n eekkkk! okay have fun;

Being the girlfriend of the most famous, golden boy rockstar was the craziest rollercoaster you’d ever ride.

For the past 6 months you’ve been touring with the one and only Harry Styles, living your life between helping on tour, drinking endless amounts of wine and smoking a hell of a lot of weed. The job had come past you at the perfect moment. Your dad happened to be best friends with the tour manager, Jeff Azoff, who’d spoken of their being a job opening for a roadie. You were employed to help set up the musical equipment and test out the instruments before the act went on at night, falling in love for the man you roadied for was just an add on. A beautiful bonus.

It was a lot more pressure being Harry’s girlfriend than people thought though. There was so much pressure to act a certain way and present yourself another way. Harry was so idolised and craved by millions and it put pressure on you to be a certain person for him. You loved him so much and you were so scared that he might one day realise that there was so much better than you - at least in your eyes. Someone extroverted. Someone musically talented. Someone who wasn’t a virgin.

Harry had never pressured you into anything sexual unless you were ready. Of course he was notorious for being an above star rating, when it came fo sex - thanks to all the articles published by the many men and women, sometimes both together, he had slept with. The sex reputation went hand-in-hand with his rock-n-roll aesthetic, so that part of him would never change. You’d only been with Harry for 4 of those 6 months, managing to fall for him very quickly, so you wondered just how he was coping without having had sex for that long. He usually had a different person each night to take backstage after his concert to play with how he wanted, hence how he built his reputation, but since you there had been no one.

Sex was such a big thing for Harry though, so you couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Currently, you were sat on his bed on the tour bus reading an article that had been published about your boyfriend last week. Your heart strings tugged as you read one section of the interview.

Interviewer: The new album, tell me about it.

Harry: It’s coming on slowly yeah. Just want this one to be perfect so, taking my time.

Interviewer: What would you say your biggest inspiration is for writing?

Harry: Changed on every project, to be honest man. Sometimes it’s about past relationships. Sometimes it’s about issues i’m going through. A lot of the time it’s about sex!

Interviewer: Yeah, dude, I have noticed that like every other song is about sex. Is that something you’re quite open about?

Harry: I think sex can be either something so beautiful or so passionate. Don’t believe in sad sex! But, um, yeah i’m always really honest lyrically when it comes to the songs about sex and I hope others see it as that too.

Interviewer: No it definitely does! Thanks Harry for your time and, um, keep on having sex so that third album breaks even more records!

Harry: Will do man!

It was easy to understand why you were upset. Harry’s biggest inspiration wasn’t possible for this album, because you were too nervous to let him have you. All of you. You felt a burden, as if you were holding him back from living his life and creating something so amazing. His past two albums had been such hits for songs such as ‘She’ and ‘Only Angel’, which were inspired by the intimate times with past lovers. There would only be sad songs if he wrote an album without any spice.

That’s why as soon as Harry came back on the bus, dressed in shorts and a shirt that was unbuttoned to see his toned chest, you jumped him and kissed him like your life depended on him. He was taken back by surprise, but welcomed your lips nevertheless.

Pulling back he mumbled some words against your lips, “Well this is a nice welcome back gift.” He chuckled at the eagerness of your lips and let his hands roam over your body - from your neck to your waist and over your ass. This man knew what he was doing.

“Harry?” You whispered, stopping your kiss and looking at his beautiful swollen red lips. He was a sight for sore eyes.

“Yeah baby?” He kept himself close to you and you could feel the stiffie that he’d developed pressing against your front.

“Can we… I’m.. If you…”

“What baby? Can tell me anything, y’know that.”

“Wanna have sex with you.” You told him the most simple virgin way ever, your face heating up when you saw him smirking down at you. You’d screwed yourself over here and were getting all shy and embarrassed about it.

“Hey, no. Don’t hide from me,” He drew your face back to his and kept his eyes on yours to provide you some familiar comfort, “you sure?”

“Mhm, yes.” You nodded affirmatively.

“It might hurt a little, okay? First time means that your cute little pussy is going to be really tight. Don’t even know whether you’ll be able to take me.” He taunted you, cupping his hands to your cheeks and brushing his thumbs carefully over your skin to ease your tension.

“I w-will.” You moused out, wanting to be this person for him.

“‘Course you can. You’re my best girl and I know you’ll fit perfectly for me, yeah?” He rhetorically asked pushing you back to the bed and letting you flop there. You watched him as he discarded his clothes, following his lead, until you were both naked in front of each other. You’d been this far before, but this time it felt different. It felt more lustful and exposed and nerve-wracking.

Harry bent down and started to kiss you from your belly upwards, leaving kisses everywhere until he reached your jaw where he bit more than he kisses. He loved seeing his marks being left behind on your skin, proving to everyone that you were his and his alone. His hands found comfort ins kneading and squeezing your breasts like dough, loving the way they were so soft and yet so hard beneath his warm hands. As he found your lips and divulged in your sweet tastes, you slunk your hand down and grabbed ahold of his cock, pumping him a few times to get him primed. You felt the trickles of pre-cum drip from his tip and it only excited you even more.

Taking your lead, Harry pushed one of his hands in between your bodies and started playing with your wet cunt, paying extra attention to your needy clit. He knew you loved it when his fingers got rough, so that’s exactly how he played. His tongue was battling against yours, whilst you both stimulated pleasure to one another. The wet and beautiful sounds filled the room, heightening your arousal - Harry could feel it too, his fingers becoming wetter with every circle and pump of his fingers.

“You ready, baby?” He asked carefully, plucking his lips away from yours with a wet sounding smack. You already looked fucked out and he had barely done anything to you yet.

“Y-yes.” You stumbled, so excited yet so nervous. You were finally going to give Harry what he had been missing for so long and you were also going to let yourself go, and divulge in something new and potentially life-changing.

He leant back and rubbed his own cock for a few strokes, before lining the tip of it with your opening. He teased your entrance, making you bite your lip in anticipation. He smiled down at you and mouthed the words ‘I love you’ without any sounds leaving his lips, before you did the same. The head of his cock started to push in, but you didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did.

“Shit fuck, y’so tight baby. Need you to relax for me, okay?” He asked, pulling away so he could watch your body relax. You closed your eyes and took a deep breathe, reminding yourself that the best way to relax is not to think about the problem itself but oh how you’d feel when the problem’s fixed. You smiled and once Harry could see your shoulders un-tense, he, once again, pushed his cock into your opening. He hissed at the contact, obviously finding it so pleasurable even if it was only minimal contact, but you, you felt so much pain and soreness from absolutely nothing.

You couldn’t do this.

“It should just…” Harry tried a different angle, but your smile had disappeared and your whole range of emotions had resumed to flat and disappointed in yourself. “Maybe if I just..” Harry tried to hold your legs a little wider and guide his cock more firmly into your opening, but each time he couldn’t push past a certain point without your body rejecting him or your facial expressions telling him he should stop.

“St-stop Harry please.” You cried, bringing your hands up to cover your face as you let the tears flow freely. “Please stop.”

“O-okay. Just gonna…” And he slid out as much as he’d managed to get in, which was probably less than an inch. It hurt when he pulled away and your cunt felt like it was on fire. It stung and it didn’t feel right. You felt like a failure and an embarrassment.

You cried into your arms, letting harsh sobs take over your body. You chest felt tight and your eyes stung worse than your cunt did. God, you couldn’t even do one thing for him. You were the reason why he was having a hard time writing at the moment. You were the reason people would be disappointed to hear no sex inspired songs on the album. He might even have to use past experiences as inspiration, which made your heart curl with jealousy. You didn’t feel like you were enough for him, like you would ever be enough for him.

“I’m so sorry Harry,” You sat up from the bed, not wanting to look at him and his disappointed expression as he stay knelt on the bed - cock looking painfully hard still. You scrambled for your t-shirt and your joggers and then walked out of the room, across the bus’ narrow corridor, and into the bathroom.

You looked at yourself in then mirror and were disappointed at what, or who, you saw. Looking back at you was the person who couldn’t even have sex. You couldn’t give Harry what he deserved. You were a failure and it was stamped all over your body. You cried as you looked at yourself, until you couldn’t and you just slid down the wall and onto the floor. You wished for the Earth to just swallow you whole. You couldn’t stand being here when you were clearly broken and useless.

Harry would surely leave you for this. Why would he want to stay with someone who couldn’t even get their boyfriends dick in their pussy? Couldn’t give each other that pleasure? Harry had so many people in the past and surely with you gone he’d have so many people in the future. It would be selfish of you to stay. Harry had needs you completely appreciated that, but it would be just so difficult to let him go when he means so much to you.

There was a quiet knock at the door, which broke you from your cries and self-deprecating. “Y/N? Baby honey? Can I come in, please?”

“S-sorry. Yes of c-course.” You stood up quickly, thinking that he was wanting to be let in to go to the toilet or to have a cold shower go get rid of the hard-on that you’d put there. Too bad you couldn’t have taken it away.

You unlocked the door and shuffled past him, only for him to stop you. He shut the bathroom door behind him, leaving you both infinitely pressed together in the pathway on the bus. He had you pressed you up against the side of the wall and kept his arms at either side of you.

“Sweets—”

“Harry, please don’t say anything. I-I know what you’re thinking and—”

“Yeah? And what am I thinking?” He asked, not moving away from you. You held your cries the best you could and took a deep breathe to continue.

“I’m a disappointment. I-I i’m not good enough. I’m broken.” You choked out, knocking your head back against the wall from frustration.

“Stop it.” Harry ordered firmly, gripping your cheeks in his hands and forcing you to look at him. The look in his eyes was so hard to read, but he looked desperate and worried and hurt. You hated to think that you were the cause of any of those emotions. “Just stop.” Harry’s own eyes were starting to fill with tears too and you brought your own hand up to catch a few of them before they could fall.

“Don’t cry, please.” You begged, keeping your hand pressed to his cheek which he absolutely adored. He loved the feeling of your skin against his. He never wanted to not have it.

“Then don’t say things that hurt me, okay? Hearing you say those things about yourself absolutely breaks m’heart flower. Just because you were a bit too tight to take me today does not mean that you’re a disappointment or you’re a failure or that you’re not good enough. It hurts to think that you’d ever think I would think that, because - fuck -,” Harry pressed his forehead tight against yours and fanned his lips lips over yours. His closeness was everything. “I love you so much it scares me. My feelings for you are so strong and so real. I want your forever and something as trivial as sex is never going to make me want otherwise. Do you get that?”

“B-but the album?” You asked.

“What about the album?”

“I-in the recent magazine interview you said that sex is your biggest i-inspiration. I can’t be that for you.”

“Is that what this is all about? Because you think that my album isn’t coming together because i’m not having sex? Did you miss the part where I said I wanted this one to be perfect and I was taking m’time with it?”

“No.”

“Well I did say that, because it’s for you baby. The whole thing is going to be for you. Every melody. Every lyric. Every song. Just and all for you.” Both of you were silently crying now, absorbed in each others love and adoration for one another.

“I-I didn’t know.”

“Now you do. This album isn’t really for the charts or the awards. It’s for you, m’heart. I love you for a lot more than your body and its’ pleasures.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, taking all his words in and realising how irrationally you’d acted out afterwards.

“For what, sweetheart?”

“For even thinking that you’d be so shallow and cold-hearted.”

“You didn’t think that though, baby. I know you and so I know you didn’t. Your thoughts were based around your own insecurities, not to do with your small-thinking over me.” He explained to you, making you nod and kick your lips.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Well then we don’t deserve each other.”

“But i’ll keep you forever if you’d let me.”

“Looks like we’re together forever then, baby honey.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #finelinevogue #finelinevogue harry styles #harry blurb #harry oneshot #harry styles concept #ask finelinevogue #ask harry styles #anon response #anon #rockstar #harry styles rockstar #finelinevogue blurbs #finelinevogue masterlist #70s!harry #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles first time #harry styles virgin reader

[junicai]

Aria at Award Shows

Iconic Outfits

2020 AAAs NCT Daesang Award  

Peoples’ jaws dropped when they saw Aria sidle up alongside the other 23 boys, strolling out like she owned the building. The heels gave her enough height to be nearly level with Renjun - something she wouldn’t let the boy forget - her hair dyed back to a natural black like it had been during NCT2020 promotions. It was rare that Aria didn’t look slightly apprehensive about stepping out onto a red carpet, but the confidence was rolling off her in waves. As she walked, the slit in the dress seemed to keep on going, trailing up her leg and changing the otherwise classy dress into something that left the innocent bystanders in the first row suffering from a high chance of a heart attack.

tldr; Aria’s hot and people are Noticing.

2019 Show Champion NCT 127 ‘Superhuman’ 

NCT’s second win with Superhuman left a huge divide in nctzens; a rift between those who were ot21 stans and ot22 stans (sans and plus Aria). Up until then, there had been rumors around whether Aria was to leave NCT now that there was a new girl group supposedly debuting under SM. Their management team had refrained from publishing a response - but that only lead fans to create their own speculations and theories. This outfit played perfectly into the growing rumor; with the large circular pendant on Aria’s bracelet having two chrysanthemums etched into the gold. The flower symbolized happy endings and goodbyes, with nctzens taking this as the proof that Aria was truly set to leave NCT in the coming months. 

tldr; nctzens need to learn how to Chill.

2017 M! Countdown NCT 127 ‘Cherry Bomb’

Unfortunately, this era was the cause of a lot of strife for Arizens; the stylists either hit it out of the park and Aria was drop dead stunning - or she ended up looking a little like a bratz doll a toddler had gotten their hands on. Unfortunately for Aria, their first win with ‘Cherry Bomb’ left pictures of her in a plastic, obviously dyed blue skirt and cherry pink hair to match immortalized on the internet forever. 

tldr; arizens hoped that her stylist got fired after this era. the plastic skirt wasn't the worst thing they'd done.

Other Iconic Outfits

Seating Arrangements

Depending on the venue, idols are normally sat on straight rows of chairs and benches, or at round tables. Given the choice, Aria would always prefer to sit at one of the tables, as not only does it give her a chance to not have to worry about her legs being seen while being covered by the tablecloth - if there is one - but it lets her keep everyone sitting near her in her direct line of vision. 

However, should she have to sit in one of the main rows, she’ll normally end up squished beside one of three boys - Donghyuck, Yuta and/or Renjun. Should one of those three be unaviliable, Doyoung and Jeno are usually quick enough to fill in the empty space. 

Donghyuck would always be her first choice, was it not for the boy’s incessant energy that sometimes left her nerves fried before their performance. Most days she adored the company - adored him and his efforts to get her mind off their impending songs with various games and ways to pass the time (they're not allowed play footsie anymore though, because Aria stomped on his foot with her heel once) - but other days she just needed someone to hold her hand and say nothing. That’s where Yuta and Renjun come in.

As Aria’s found out over the years, for all the man’s tactile affection and loud displays of love, Yuta’s highly perceptive to when she needs some silent comfort. Now, she’s not sure if he’s that perceptive to everyone or just her - but either way she’s not complaining. 

With Dream, Renjun is the one she’ll sit with and doodle on the white napkins that are laid out on the table for lord knows what reason. After being bored out of their minds for their first few award shows, Renjun had snuck two black ballpoint pens into the venue in the inside of his red suit jacket. The drawings had become somewhat a tradition, and the best doodle normally is uploaded to bubble shortly after the show has ended. 

All in all, Aria’s normally quite content to sit in the centre of the large group of boys - split over several rows or tables, boisterous and bubbly with energy. The only real downside to it all is the lack of blankets available to protect her modesty once she is seated. 

Most venues split the idols fairly evenly between the boy and girl groups - with blankets being allocated especially for the seating of girl groups. This meant, unfortunately, that when NCT files into their seats and sits down, there is rarely something in the close vicinity that Aria can borrow quickly without causing a fuss.

Sometimes she gets lucky - other female idols might spot her and are normally kind enough to hand over one of their cushions or blankets, content to share with their neighboring member. Occasionally though, Aria has no such luck and is left to either pull down her dress multiple times per minute to cover the prickly feeling over the tops of her legs when she felt like eyes were boring into her, or wait for some kind of break so she could go find a spare covering.

Aria supposed after the third time something like that had happened, her members were getting fed up with it all. 

At first it was their plan B: should some type of cover-up not be available in their immediate vicinity, Johnny or Lucas or Jaehyun - once, even Dejun - or another member who ran hot near-constantly would shrug off their jacket and fold it over Aria’s legs, pulling it up and then lifting her hands to place them in her lap to hold their jacket there. 

Eventually it became their plan A however, now commonplace for Aria to go looking for the member who was wearing multiple layers and who wouldn’t suffer from the loss of their outermost one.  

Iconic Moments 

Twitter: [180821] and people rly say nct doesn’t care abt aria :/

Red carpets were always something to dread, in Aria’s eyes.

The cameras flashing bright enough to blind you, and the knowledge that if she stumbled or - god forbid - fell it would be immortalized forever on Koreaboo’s newest blog post. 

However the worst bit, was always the footwear. High, stiletto heels that left her teetering around on nothing more than her tippy-toes, precariously balanced as she made her way up and down stairs, over carpet and tiled flooring alike. 

Aria was used to wearing heels, but the one’s she performed in were usually fitted with various types of ankle support and a thick heel to give her balance. Wobbling around on a heel the same width of a piece of uncooked spaghetti was not something she’d willingly choose. 

Not to mention the blisters. 

Designer shoes were gifted to the company on a regular basis - shipped over just in time for Aria to slip into the pair before stepping out of the van into the sea of bright flashes and reporters. It always seemed like designers were too pre-occupied with making a shoe look good rather than making them actually wearable. 

The first time Aria had been gifted a set of heels - early 2018 - she made the mistake of assuming that they would be in similar comfort as her performance heels. 

Two hours later and with a wad of bloody tissue stuffed into the back of them, Aria had learnt her lesson. 

From then on, it was commonplace for Aria to bandage her heels before she went out to shows - not quite as heavily as she normally would for a performance, but just enough to stop the skin splitting under the constant abrasion. 

She’d only been caught out badly once - but it was all caught on camera by a fan sitting close by, and spread over twitter like wildfire. 

Aria had limped her way back over to where NCT 127 was sitting, lips pressed together in a tight line and hands clenched in the tight material of the leather trousers she had been given to wear. The trousers stopped a few inches above her ankles, so the red mess of her heels was clearly visible as she hobbled over and sat down with a thud onto the seat. 

Donghyuck placed a hand on Aria’s shoulder, leaning in so that he could see her face behind the curtain of hair that she had let fall to hide her tear-filled eyes from him. 

“Riri?” Donghyuck whispered to her, thumb beginning to rub soothing circles into her arm. “Hey, Riri? What’s going on?” 

Aria only shook her head, gesturing to the pair of torturous heels on her feet.

Donghyuck inhaled sharply when he saw the blood trailing up her leg and soaking into the back of the heel. He turned to his side to elbow Doyoung, grabbing his attention.

“Hyung. Hyung.” He hissed, Doyoung turning around with an over-exaggerated sigh. 

“No, Hyuck, I told you I’m not going to-” Doyoung cut himself off upon seeing Aria’s pain-filled face. “Aria? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” 

Donghyuck slid off his seat onto the ground despite Aria’s protests that the floor wasn’t clean, get up, and explained what had happened to his hyung. Sliding her heel off as slowly as he could to not pull at the skin more, he muttered apologizes to Aria as she inhaled a shaky breath before exhaling it on a small, wet cry. 

“Hyung, did you bring anything for Taeyong-hyung’s shoulder that we could use?” 

“Yeah, yeah I did give me two seconds.” Doyoung bent into the small bag that he had tucked underneath the seat, pulling out a length of bandage that was stowed away in the outermost pocket. 

Donghyuck took it from Doyoung’s hands with a small ‘thank you’, moving to kneel back down in front of Aria and taking her ankle back into his lap.

“Hyuck, no I got it, c’mon the ground isn’t clean-” 

He silenced her with a look. Aria settled back into her chair - defeated - and Donghyuck wrapped the bandage around her heel as quickly but as painlessly as he could manage. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Twitter: [190323] HSHS ARIA IS A CARAT WE’VE WON LADIES N GENTS

Maybe Aria should have been paying more attention to the camera that was slowly panning around the idols, projecting their faces up onto a large screen beside the stage, but she was too engrossed in the current group’s performance. 

“그렇다고 네 맘이 작다는 게 아냐,” Swaying gently side to side and mouthing along to the lyrics, Aria was happy enough to smile along to the song and move her hands in a small mimickery of the choreography she’d taught herself off the group’s dance practice video she’d watched only a few dozen times. 

It wasn’t until Mark poked her in the side that Aria broke out from her own little bubble, twisting her head to look back at him and then up at the screen when he pointed. 

There, her face, staring back at her from the big screen was enough to make her mouth drop open a little bit and her eyes widen. She clapped a hand to her mouth before turning to hide her face in Jaehyun’s shoulder, shaking with embarassed laughter. 

Aria could hear Taeyong’s teasing laugh in return, before a hand came and ruffled the hair on top of her head, that she swatted away.

--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Twitter: [170911] lmao same aria

Aria knew she was there. 

She knew that she was sitting right there and that she was in one of those really skimpy dresses stylists loved to put girls in because apparently female idols don’t deserve modesty and Aria knew that she had a blanket for once and she should share it but oh my god.

It was Chungha.

Aria was going to pass out. 

Taking side glances every few seconds only confirmed the fact that Chungha was pulling down her dress to cover as much of her legs as possible, tucking her ankles together and underneath the seat.

Ok.

Ok, she could do this. 

Aria took a steeling breath, before shifting on her seat to face Chungha on more of a diagonal. She lifted her hand before lowering it slighly, looking away. 

Should she- no ok she’s doing this. 

Without giving herself time to talk herself out of it, Aria moved to rest her hand on Chungha’s arm. The older woman jerked slightly - startled - and Aria was quick to apologize. 

There was no audio in the video uploaded - the original poster having been too far away to capture much - but the two women talked for a moment before Chungha pointed to the blanket and then herself.

Aria nodded emphatically, and Chungha’s face crumpled into something fond, bowing her head in thanks before they unfolded the blanket another time and Chungha scooted an inch closer to Aria so they’d both fit. 

Chungha sent Aria another grateful smile before refocusing on the performances - apparently not noticing, or perhaps choosing not to comment on the rather obvious red tinge that the younger idol’s cheeks had taken on.

#*aria.misc #ew shes so rushed #ill fix her later promise #nct 22nd member #nct 24th member #nct dream 8th member #nct additional member #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #wayv #superm #nct extra member #nct addition #nct additions #kpop additions #ad #nct female oc #nct female member au #nct female member #kpop!oc #kpop #kpop addition

[noel-fielding-web-page]

'Making TV during Covid is like being a hostage'

Noel Fielding on the return of Never Mind The Buzzcocks

As Never Mind The Buzzcocks is rebooted for Sky, returning team captain Noel Fielding reflects on how it – and he – has changed over the years.

What did you think when you heard that they were bringing the show back and wanted you to return as a team captain?

Well, usually I’d be like, ‘Never go backwards. Never go back,’ but I did it for five years and I became really good friends with Phill Jupitus. I love Phill, and we just got on really, really well. So I was half thinking, ‘Should I do this without him?’ I knew he wasn’t doing it. He’s gone back to art school, he’s in Scotland now living his best life.

But the reason I said yes is because I’m such a big fan of Greg Davies and Daisy May Cooper. They’re two of my favourite comedians, they’re two people that really make me laugh. So, I just thought, ‘Well, I know this show and I can’t not do it if those two are doing it, because they’re so good.’

I did Taskmaster, and literally I laughed all the way through it. Greg was cracking me up all the time. I just thought, ‘This is going to be really good. It’s a deadly combination.’

Did you feel any nerves at all sitting back in the captain’s seat?

Not really, but I had to slightly reposition myself mentally, because I suppose when I did it originally, I was much younger. I still feel like I’m 32, even though I’m not. I’m looking forward to the John Cooper Clarke years, where you’re still dressing ridiculously, you’ve got your ski suit on, and your crazy boots, and people go, ‘Oh yeah, it’s him.’

John Cooper Clarke is my hero, he’s still rock and roll, he manages to pull it off. And I saw him on Antiques Road Trip, and I just thought, ‘Well, if you can make Antiques Road Trip cool, that is the coolest thing ever.’

You must miss the social element of the show then?

Yeah, I would love if there was a bit more of a social aspect to it, because I feel like bonding-wise, it’s great if you can all go out and get smashed occasionally, because it just helps.

But I just feel lucky that we can still do television, because of the pandemic, not everyone can do the job they were doing.

You’re up against Daisy, how competitive does it get between  you?

Well, I’ve realised I’m getting thrashed, which is killing me! I think Daisy has a really weird knowledge of Britney type pop music, that I don’t have.

That’s slightly my weak point, is that I’m not big on that kind of pop stuff. I know it, but I just don’t know as much of it.

Daisy seems to know every lyric to every pop act. She knows Bieber lyrics, and stuff like that, which I’m hopeless at. I know Bieber exists, but I know it’s not for me! I think Daisy, so far, has been quite lucky with the guests. She’s had Lauren Laverne, who’s just like an encyclopaedia of music.

But I’ve never been that bothered about winning. I’m always trying to be funny, instead of giving the right answer, or I just have a laugh with my team.

Jamali Maddix floats between both teams, what’s it like having him on the show?

Jamali’s amazing, actually. I’d seen his stand-up and I thought he was really good, but he’s been brilliant on this. He’s quite a good counterpoint to Greg, because he’s coming from such a different angle, of youth, because Greg is always playing the old man card! Jamali is the person that’s going, ‘Right Greg, this is what’s cool. This is what’s happening’, but Greg’s like, ‘I’ve got no fucking clue,’ which is hilarious.

Some people might say that the music scene is not as wild now as it was back in the day. What do you think to that?

I think it’s different. I think that there have been a few guests on who are definitely rock and roll, but in a different way to what was classified as rock and roll, I suppose,. What was quite funny is, there’s a rapper called Aitch, and I don’t know how young he is. He’s very young, 21, 22 maybe. And he was saying that his guilty pleasure was Razorlight, and I was laughing, ‘I used to knock around with Razorlight, wow, my generation are being described as a sort of guilty pleasure!’ It was cracking me up.

The kids are always doing something different, and as you get older, you think, ‘Oh, it’s not as good as my generation,’ but, it probably is, it’s just different. I’m sure I used to say that to my mum and dad. They were very rock and roll, so it was very hard to out-rock and roll my parents. They used to go to see David Bowie, and Led Zeppelin. When I was growing up, the only way I could really rebel was by listening to Adam Ant, and stuff like Duran Duran, which they thought was just pop stuff, because they were the real deal rock and roll.

What’s the vibe of the show this time around?

Well, I feel like because Greg’s in control, it’s a little bit out of control to begin with, and I feel like Daisy’s energy is quite mad as well. And then I’m quite weird! The young pop stars that are coming on, and rappers are going, ‘I was a bit nervous, I thought I was going to get torn to pieces, but actually I really enjoyed that.’

The great thing about Buzzcocks is it’s a place where you can see your favourite bands, or singers, or rappers, or whatever, and you can get to know what they’re like. There are not many programmes where that happens any more.

I feel like we’re giving them space to shine a bit as well. I feel like Greg’s really warm and giggly, but he’s also so funny. Daisy’s a sort of wild card, and I’m quite surreal. And Jamali’s got a whole different thing going on, so I feel like we’re coming at it from loads of different angles.

I feel like the vibe is quite mad tea party. It’s nice, it’s a little bit out of control. I feel like if there were fewer restrictions because of the pandemic, we’d probably be all rolling about together,   where Daisy would be jumping on you, and Greg would be rolling about. I feel like it would be quite a tactile show. One of my big memories of doing Buzzcocks before was being chased around the set by Lorraine Kelly.

I feel like another series would just descend into absolute carnage, definitely. It’s just TV gold, right there.

What have the guests been like?

There’s been some great guests. Obviously, we had Bez and Shaun Ryder, which was fantastic, they’re such a brilliant double-act and such funny characters. There’s been a lot of stuff that we’ve been laughing at, that I’m not sure will make the show. Daisy said to me she really hopes there’s just an extra episode of bloopers and outtakes.

One of the games looks at pre-show rituals, do you have one?

It’s quite difficult now because you’re not allowed to come out of your dressing room until the last minute, so it is like a hostage situation. Then, you do the show, you get bundled into the taxi, and you’re gone. It’s a bit like a dream, it’s like you’ve been kidnapped, and then put in front of a TV audience, done some stuff, shown off for a bit, and then you’re back in the car. You go, ‘Did that happen?’

Apparently, Daisy revealed her obsession with ghosts during filming?

Daisy’s the weirdest person I’ve ever met… She’s so hilarious. I think her cleaner, who came to the show, is a medium as well. You couldn’t really write that, could you?  And, oh my God, she literally loves dancing. She’s always out of her chair, busting moves. I think she’d probably win Strictly if she was ever invited on it. She should definitely do it!

• Never Mind The Buzzcocks returns to Sky Max at 9pm next Tuesday, September 21.

Published: 14 Sep 2021

[x]

#Noel Fielding #Never Mind The Buzzcocks #Info #Interview

[your--isgayrights]

not sure if this is what you had in mind but i was thinking maybe kdj and hsy meeting briefly earlier in life (at 20/22 years old or sth)? maybe having a misunderstanding or an argument over something trivial (like interpretation of a book or who should take the last lemon flavored popsicle in the store) and somehow still managing to reach some recognition or understanding of each other. years later they would forget about each other but still remember that bizarre situation sometimes. i have no idea if that makes any sense but i believe in your writing and massive brain and powerful swag. xoxo

Aaaaah, Exe I'm sorry if this isn't exactly what you asked for... I was just like... what if that time Han Sooyoung and Kim Dokja almost met in the epilogue went a little differently and like... haha...

The first part is basically copied and pasted from that chapter before the twist, so go read that first if you haven't!

Han Su-Yeong staggered and walked closer to Kim Dok-Ja. Several passersby brushing past her looked back in suspicion.

Kim Dok-Ja was now walking down the subway’s steps.

Kim Dok-Ja, with earphones stuck in his ears and reading something on his phone while walking downstairs.

She knew what he was currently reading.

“—!!”

She barely managed to shout, but her voice still didn’t come out. So, she desperately chased after him.

Because of the story you wrote, author-nim, I was able to survive until now. Han Su-Yeong was also able to survive while reading the sole reader’s words.

She managed to write the next part of Yu Jung-Hyeok’s life through them.

She was able to endure her boring and stuffy teen years, the days she never wanted to go back to, thanks to those words.

This train is bound for… She spotted Kim Dok-Ja standing on the platform, waiting for the next train to arrive. A person hiding within the small world crafted out of letters to protect himself was standing right there.

Kim Dok-Ja, who didn’t know anything about the apocalypse about to happen.

Kim Dok-Ja, who’d get to live on the expansive world of the ‘Ways of Survival’.

Kim Dok-Ja, who’d get to meet the protagonist he so longed to become.

Kim Dok-Ja, who’d become the ‘Demon King of Salvation’.

Kim Dok-Ja, who’d sacrifice himself multiple times for the sake of his companions, and as a result, came to the 1863rd turn and met her.

Kim Dok-Ja, who was destined to become the ‘Most Ancient Dream’, the price he paid for loving a certain story too much.

[Your mental state is crumbling!]

[The main body’s ego is regaining its control.]

[Your Fable is being extinguished.]

Her legs grew heavy, and her arms didn’t want to move anymore. Her body was gradually becoming not hers.

Even then, Han Su-Yeong wanted to tell him.

⸢To tell him that he was definitely not at fault for this story being born. And to tell him that the things he was about to experience were not his sins.⸥

Because, her past 13 years existed solely to say those words to him.

⸢To say that, though you have grown up while reading this story, there’s no need for you to become it.⸥

She barely managed to muster up her strength, her arm coiling in on itself and preparing for her one last willful action.

[Your ego will convert into the ‘subconsciousness’.]

As she set her weak, pre-scenario body into that final decisive movement...

The twenty six year old Han Su-yeong who knew nothing of the soon to come apocalypse, woke up thrusting her fist forward into the face of some guy on the subway.

She would've thought she was still dreaming, if it hadn't been for the feeling of his soft cheek slamming against the hard bone of his teeth under the force of her balled up hand.

'What the hell? Why am I doing this?'

Han Su-yeong most likely would have asked herself these things if she had any more time to think before her punch had landed.

She got her answer, though. Despite never asking her question, that reason she was looking for became clear as the man staggered off his balance.

He made a futile attempt to right himself before being knocked to the ground. The phone that he had been holding so close to his face clattering screen-side up onto the concrete of the subway floor.

That was when she saw it.

She only had to read a snippet of the words on that phone screen to come up with an explanation for her own actions at that very moment.

[There are three ways to survive in a ruined world. Now, I have forgotten a few, but one thing is certain. The fact that you who are reading this now will survive.

-Three ways to survive in a ruined world

Author’s words: Thank you so much for reading ‘Ways of Survival’ up to here. I will come back to you with an epilogue!]

'Ways of Survival.' 'Three ways to survive in a ruined world.'

...

Yes, there was no doubt that this guy sat on the subway floor rubbing at his cheek deserved it.

Some latent evil of the world must be working to Han Su-yeong's advantage, because none of the commuter passing by spared her a second glance as she sorted out her own motives. They simply dodged around her and the man she had assaulted moments ago.

If Han Su-yeong had to write some train of thought into their actions, she might imagine these negligent bystanders saw something like an overly dramatic lover's spat. Something personal that they ought not get involved in.

Were it not for the pervasiveness of such a cliche recurrent in physical altercations between men and women, maybe they would see it for what it was. A question of honor between authors.

Because Han Su-yeong was certain that was who this man was. An author who was so shitty that he had created an alt to try and hype up his terrible novel.

That was right... It was years ago now, but Han Su-yeong remembered that unsubstantiated accusation of plagiarism on her first published webnovel, SSSSS-grade Infinite Regressor.

This shitty guy had made an alt account that was so obvious... it was something 'Dok-ja,' like he wasn't even trying to pretend he didn't make it just to pretend to 'read' his own webnovel...

If that didn't prove it, then it was also clear from the comments that he had left on every single chapter. When she was reading them, Han Su-yeong had known that if she were such a bad author that she would have to have just one reader, the words that he wrote represented that perfect amount of reader to author engagement that she would have desired.

But that sort of relationship... it was unrealistic. Han Su-yeong had been an author for something like 13 years now, and she had never had such a relationship in her entire career.

So it was obvious that a reader like that could only be written by an author with those same desires that she held.

And then he even had the nerve to wander out of his self contained fantasy, accusing her superior work of plagiarizing his shitty one just to draw in more views and commenters.

So of course he had a lot of nerve to be rereading his own damn author's note right where she could see hi-

"Can I help you?"

Han Su-yeong felt all of the hot air she had been blowing herself up with to justify her current situation deflate upon hearing that voice of his.

The man she'd injured looked up at her with hollow black eyes. Eyes that perhaps had only seemed bright while being illuminated by a screen.

His voice was mild, too. As if getting punched in the face were something that was merely tiresome to him, instead of something to stir anger or indignity. The reactions that Han Su-yeong had been mentally preparing herself to butt heads with.

Nothing about his reaction seemed to ask Han Su-yeong for her motives. There was no race to find an explanation behind those hollow eyes. No bit lip, straining to come up with a turn of phrase to become an appropriately biting retort.

This guy wasn't an author.

...

Hey...

Why had she punched this guy again?

"Sorry." Han Su-yeong found herself saying, as her body deflated, extended arm going back to her side. "From the behind, you looked like my shitty ex."

She let herself fall into the cliche.

"Ah. I see."

Han Su-yeong hated the guy's expression, just then.

It was one that said, 'Well isn't that just my luck?'

But she couldn't help but watch, as this unlucky guy stood up and picked up his phone, brushing it off instead of himself, as if it were more precious to him than his own body.

And when that Dok-ja turned around, Han Su-yeong only saw his back for a second, before the sight of him was once more swallowed up by the uncaring world of the subway station crowd.

#exe i know you're kind of lowkey evil and didn't read the epilogue all the way through and its ok i love you but im coercing you now ok <3 #Parts that are from the original are in italics they're from 535 #orv spoilers #also i know i usually do the names from the Rainbow Turtle translation but I decided to style match for this one #not beta'd #writing #ficlet #han sooyoung #han suyeong #kim dokja #hsy #kdj #orv #omniscient reader #also xoxoxo exe

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 77

A morning of scheduling in a stop at Freckled Moose Publishing Company had them grinning widely as you mapped out dates for the planned four stops for signings when the book would be ready to be released in August. Sealing for them the firm back half of the two year contract they had once lucked out on that brought them more clients in their affiliation with you. Curiously at the end of the meeting you asked, “Just curious, if I ever wanted to put out a sort of History book could I call you, would that be possible for the company to publish?”

Excitedly the Editor asked, “You’re writing a History book?”

And the other asked, “History on what?”

“Well, I sort of have a notorious ancestor that I’ve been digging into. Found letters from Kings and even a few Popes who tried to sentence them to death,” widening their curious grins. “Granted it’s probably years away from being done.”

The head guy stated, “We would be beyond interested and honored to publish your book whenever it is ready. How’d you find out about your ancestor?”

“I got a letter from the King of Spain who had been researching them out of fun growing up and he saw a portrait in what he’d found and then saw pictures of me and King George and he had to write to me about it and I’ve been a bit hooked digging myself. They’re sort of turned into this legendary person who’s been all over the world through history, which is sort of odd and people may just shout that it’s got to be made up, but there’s official documents for it all.”

“Well we’ve certainly been lacking in our non fiction section of authors so whenever you are ready please do send us a draft or some hint of this intriguing thing.”

“We will,” you said and they showed you down so you could stop at the comic book studio next to hand over the next chunk of storylines that had the guys beaming at the direction you were leading the story from its latest cliff hanger.

“I think it was nice throwing them that bone,” Victor said that had James agree. “You can tell they were bound to try and offer another deal for something when this book was through.”

“At least I know now, they might be inclined to humor a History book from me which borders on a creature like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster.”

“You are neither of those,” James said.

“I’m not tall enough, I know.” You said making the brothers chuckle and shake their heads.

“Well let’s feed your tiny mythical self, Darling.” James said helping you back into the car for the drive home again.

.

Mr Yarbrough’s stop in on Monday did little to calm your nerves at being expected at a new campus the following morning. Sleep somehow attained didn’t feel like it had lasted the full night and more like a sort of jump in time, while not tired all the same it was an odd feeling to have to get up again. Comfortably in a skirt and blouse with cardigan in hand from the house once you were fed and had nursed again snuggly into the car you sat chatting anxiously with James and Victor around you on their joint task to see you off to school pre stop into the comic studio again.

The excitement was palpable from the moment you exited the car with bag in hand to join the hundreds of students who had arrived on this first day of the summer classes that each one you got close to greeted you fondly. Aids in the halls helped to guide the way to where those who hadn’t taken tours were headed. One of whom excitedly guided you to the Art Wing where you found the first of your classes. One on the styles of art mediums and the deeper meanings and symbolism to each of them to further deepen not just your knowledge of pieces of art like the class you had taken but the reasoning behind them and how to recognize various styles. This class usually was paired with another, your next one where it would be continued lessons on the styles and according to the course description would be more of an advanced art class.

The first Professor however froze when he saw you and promptly nodded his head when he noticed you were looking his way as you entered and crossed the room to get to the stadium of seats. “Baroness Howlett, good morning.” His fingers fidgeting around the button on his vest atop his neatly pressed shirt on the man who reminded you a bit of a bird by the slant of his cheeks and chin to match his slim forehead.

“Good morning. Just Howlett is fine. No need to complicate things for another student to teach.”

“I can imagine you will never be just another student,” he said and then added, “As you wish. Mrs Howlett it is.”

“You won’t regret it,” you said and made your way to the second row of seating along the wall to keep out of the way from the other students who filed in, each stuck between their confusion on if they should choose a seat nearby the famous face amongst them or to keep their distance. All the same a cheery group of young ladies chose to settle a few seats away from you in your row who only lured more students to fill the rows in front and behind your chosen seat. Mainly slides and ample discussion upon each piece to get right into the kick of the lessons inside the notebook you had for the class ample notes were taken and eventually you were off to the next class.

A robed woman on the raised platform inside what seemed to be more of an art studio lit both by a wall with windows across the top third and the dangling light fixtures. All to make it the perfect setting for the 30 easels that a man you would take as one who prized himself on his artistic prowess huffed through hanging more large sketch pads on each easel. It wasn’t until the third one he hung up that you took notice of the names scrawled across the backs to name where you stood. And of course you as the shortest of the students who had entered and would enter in the very back you were settled in a stunning move for everyone but the smug Professor who at the snap of his fingers had the woman drop her robe.

“Pick a style of art and interpret what you see. You have an hour, impress me.” From the bar of the easel you lifted the box of Mongol brand colored pencils also with your name on a strip of tape to mark it as yours and opened the case to pull out a grey one.

Basic outlines in dots for the shape of the odd crab like couch that the model was draped across. A yellow set of dots lined the body’s end points before a light green was used to work on a few things behind the couch. For some reason you heard hour and wanted to have the hardest challenge possible so you aimed for pointillism. Not just for difficulty but also an excuse to not be too terribly detailed without aiming for something abstract like Picasso could have dreamed up.

Obviously not much was expected and when the professor who hadn’t so much as said hello just about fell down as you completed a series of smaller dots between larger dots to complete another chunk of the blurry yet clearer scene. It seemed he had already in his made up decision to be distant to each of his students to glance down his nose at their work so far continued on to the next easel in his lap through the room. This was his chosen method and this was just how it was going to go and when the class was through your piece and another had his focus linger as he switched the sketch pads for the next class wondering how the next time he saw you all would fare.

Anatomy and Physiology came next and another look of shock bled into an impressed question from this former Doctor of a Professor who heard you had repaired an artery with just a heated pin that had him agree to speak further on possible difficult cases you had faced in the war that cost him his left foot. While more technical and loaded with all male students to surround your seat up front at his suggestion for a clear line of sight at least he seemed pleased to have a fellow Army Medic to help boost up the usual lower end of his summer grading curve.

Communication came next and seemed a rather simple statistic laced course that was followed by another male centered course of Engineering. And while you were in a skirt the basic schematic sheets offered for you all as tests of intuition on what you could do in a long string of what could come for the rest of the few months you would be studying here with mention of actually constructing something for your exams.

From your last class you couldn’t help but grin at the thought of being able to return home again to your girls. So much so that when you saw James’ back you hastened a few steps to take hold of his suspender strap luring a smirk across his lips in a prompt turn to lower and kiss his bubbly wife no matter how many people could see the display of affection. “I take it you had a good morning?” Victor crooned in the midst of the lip lock and smiled at you when you broke apart to cuddle into James’ chest around your bag and notebooks.

“I did, be glad to get home though.” You said making them smile and guide you into the middle of the front bench seat to make the drive home when you shared your day and heard about the latest on their morning in the comic studio.

.

Wednesday tutoring was followed by on campus classes the following day to finish off the stretch of schooling for the week. All in all not a bad load to bear and one that could easily be laid onto a schedule to manage with ease. Your final hours leading into Friday however had Norma back at home and excited to take you on a family trip for the day to LA.

‘Scudda Hoo! Scudda Hay!’ words that were etched across the covers of magazines and newspapers alike with ample radio mentions. Amongst the hype of the latest Stark film in the works with one of the minor characters in this film word of your touching down with Norma had a sea of cameras there for an explosive amount of press for the film. Right away Norma’s smile was locked in place and she answered questions as best she could on the way to the waiting car and of those already camped outside the home rented for all of you on the beach.

Nice and quiet the moonlit beach had you on the back porch listening to the waves lap once the children had been put down to sleep. Random strolling couples and a few lone teens with telescopes were in your view stealing watch alone together under the rarely seen stars deeper in the cities. “Almost makes you wonder,” Eddie said joining you on the porch as Dawn and Norma started on the nightly facial routine you said you’d join in a moment a few minutes prior. “Just how much we’re missing out on down here with the tiny telescopes we have.”

“I think I’d settle on knowing what heartbeat I’m hearing out in the ocean.”

Eddie chuckled saying, “Probably a shark or a really old turtle.” He nodded his head to lure you inside saying, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up for a short nap then we have to get you ready for the premier and we can all head to the beach after.” Under his arm you were led back inside to wash your face and have Norma’s smile spread at the calming act for her to play specialist to your beauty regimen. Nerves however would have to be set aside as you all laid down with your adoring husbands for the nap to bring you closer to the premier.

Only you and Norma had seats so special care from the others came in help to get the pair of you ready to ease into the car that came to carry you there and back again for the premier. Dolled up to the nines in a wave of flashes you exited the car and stepped aside with hands smoothed down over the skirt of your dress for Norma’s exit after. Down along the carpet you strolled at her side ignoring the waft of your loose curls pulled back on one side the breeze kept blowing about your face and chest no matter how many times you brushed them back. A plot to keep you set apart even more from Norma on her big day who had her every curl secured in place in an elegant bun and while she did her bits of press you stood aside and happily mingled with the other members of the cast who had finished their turns.

Nerves however did not wane and with hold of her hand Norma’s confidence was bolstered enough to settle into your chosen seats for the opening speech from the Producer and Director that was followed by the start of the film. All through up to the minor line that she gave that had her grip tighten on your arm and remain so until the credits rolled and in the rise of the lights a brief after luncheon was called for. Compliments and talks from the heads of 20th Century about her next picture they had lined up for her to audition for once this assumed once off film Stark had wrangled them into allowing her to play a large part of had her a bit deflated when she returned to your side even against the peaceful grin on her face.

“You want me to punch them?” You asked making her giggle and loop her arms around yours again.

“They have another walk on bit for me in a musical comedy with the Marx Brothers they want me to audition for after we get back to New York.”

You nodded and said, “Well I’ll just have to keep writing stories for Stark so he can keep giving you things to sink your teeth into won’t I?” You teased widening her smile. And sweetly you patted your free hand on her arm, “They’ll learn Jeanie, nowhere near just another bombshell blonde they can bop around in the background. Audiences will be gnawing at the bone to get a better look at you. Just the beginning.”

“You are an amazing writer, truly, you should keep it up.”

“I just might, Howard’s last call just about had him asking for one, I can feel it. And with my wild dreams no telling what my head can come up with. Just as long as I don’t have to sing or play in the next one,” you said making her giggle again.

“You singing made that scene. You will see when it comes out.”

“As long as it helps with the press to get more in those seats to see my treasured younger sister,” you said making her giggle with you, “Then I will take a stroll across a scene in whatever film I can to help.”

Playfully her mood shifted and remained upbeat until back at the beach house the pair of you washed your faces and changed into two piece swim suits matching Dawn’s in complimenting bright colors to help carry the babies out to go and play. Across the sand towels were laid inside of a fitted sheet held out by your shoes with a large umbrella set up for the babies to be in the shade with the brothers. Just beside the towels Teddy giggled as you helped him build a sand kingdom with a moat of water Eddie brought from the ocean in a bucket to Norma and Dawn’s gleeful trip into the water.

A curious sound turned your head to the beach making you ask, “What is that?” James’ head turned as you asked, “Do you guys hear that?” And over the wind, the waves, distant chatter of photographers creeping in for pictures and giggles from your sisters in helping their daughters to their first steps into the ocean they too heard the odd sound of shifting sand.

Victor said, “Sounds like a cracking and scraping.”

“There are heart beats,” you said and shifted closer to the source of the sound with Eddie behind you.

“Couldn’t be sea turtles this time of day, could it?” Victor asked James who shrugged.

“It’s cool enough, almost sunset here in an hour.” He replied.

Teddy between you and his dad’s arms poked his head and gasped at the sudden sink of a small circle of sand. Gradual progress was made as you accepted hold of your camera from Victor who had been snapping pictures of the four at the water now on their way back when he called for them. Gasps sounded at the first head and in a gradual flurry of heads and front flipper arms that came into view the first of near to a hundred hatchlings filled the circle of sand around their entrance to this world. “Ooh, got you little guy,” James said in a reach down to bring out the one still in the hole who had gotten stuck on his back to join his siblings all focused on discovering their bearings. “There you go,” he said with a smile lowering it down after you snapped a picture of the duo.

A few random gulls were easily swayed by the bits of your picnic left over thrown a good distance and arms used to shoo them away from the tiny parade to the ocean ending in bittersweet cuddles at the somehow profound loss of these tiny newfound friends now out in the wide unexplainable ocean. Teddy broke the silence asking, “Where’s their Mommy and Daddy?”

Eddie said as he lifted his son in his arms, “They’re out there, Teddy Bear. Don’t you worry, they know where their babies are, bound to have tons of food to make up for the long crawl back to them.”

Victor said, “They lay the eggs on the beach so they’ll be nice and safe until time for them to hatch. Most of the time it happens at night, when it’s nice and cool and most of the birds are away at their nests.”

Eddie said, “Let’s finish up this city of yours, Teddy Bear.” Turning back while you stayed with Norma and Dawn and their girls at the water a few moments to James and Victor’s slip back to the shade across the towels.

James hummed sweetly, “Let’s get you girls back in the shade.” Not much longer you lounged with your head on James’ lap to play with your girls and under a spare towel leaned against his chest feed the three as Victor claimed his proud task of capturing more candid moments of his family then claimed a turn with his Petal in the water as Norma came to lay out beside you. Sure to rival the images that would be splashed over the pages of newspapers and magazines for weeks to come dissecting every moment of this trip and more especially for the newspapers that you couldn’t have possibly been pregnant with three children so recently without having had some sort of surgical procedure to get your figure back.

.

The remainder of your weekend allowed you to steal some time with Victor and his dark room and a private dinner alone with James as a sort of date night on your own after crowded and cramped traveling. Time together was one of his main concerns after having gotten you on your feet and the girls onto a schedule so that in the long run as they grew older and things grew more complicated when the trio were fully mobile and had the chance to let their free will grow. A day both aspired for and anxiety inducing for when they could drive you both apart to keep them contained and only let you find each other at the end of the day to collapse in a joint heap of exhaustion to recharge for the following day.

He had to make certain he wouldn’t let his love for the children you would gift him cloud his daily need to remind you just how deeply he loved and cherished you. He had faced those rough patches with his first wife and hoped to avoid that, knowing how it hurt his son and himself, that was unacceptable to allow to happen again. Not with you. Victor had made it clear there was no chance of this marriage breaking apart, he’d sooner face death than to repeat his former mistakes and hurt his family as he had in the past. And while a dinner alone on a blanket under the stars didn’t seem like much every shift closer to him and grip of his shirt and ample stolen kisses let him know it was amply desired from you as well.

.

Tests with Mr Yarbrough came again on Monday for History, Geography and Religion, which again you aced and after he was amused to hear from Teddy the swarm of turtle hatchlings you backed up with pictures to prove the encounter. Tuesday on campus again came with repeats of the news of turtles that a few relatives from America had mailed pictures of the hatch related part of your beach trip that had your family played as true nature lovers. Excitement had burst with news of the premier and each chance capable questions were asked about the cast members and famous people you had mingled with while there. And Wednesday brought the end of June with more tests at home from your tutor Mr Fenske for Economics, Government, Political Science, and Anthropology, all your major serious subjects with thicker exam packets that the results for the final two would have to be named for you at the following week’s tutoring session.

Thursday came with the final stop on campus that came with buzz from not just fellow students but your family as Sunday was your birthday. A day that began with a family birthday breakfast followed by a party with the whole town that showed up to your home proud to spend the after noon with their dear friends and admire the new girls added to your family. Girls who amongst the toddlers in your family and those of families in town were glad to have the change to increase of children to play with.

Sharp cries however cut short the tries to get an early night’s sleep and with Herc you tried to calm the elder three toddlers who squirmed and writhed in pain against your efforts while James and Victor were sent into a near tailspin of panic and needed to take a long walk outside.

“It’s chicken pox,” you echoed in their minds calming the duo enough to come back inside to find the trio slightly more relaxed after being given some medicine for their fevers and to help them sleep.

And when they entered Victor came over to take hold of his precious Petal from your hold as you answered another call from some of the parents in town to warn of their children who had caught the unfortunate bug. “Come here precious.” He said nestling her slumbering body into his chest to pepper the top of her head with kisses between muttered comments to her every irritated slumbering grumble.

Dawn in her path from the kitchen had a familiar set of pocket journals in hand, “I’ve added chicken pox to the bug books. The triplets are still symptom free?” She asked eyeing Elliot, Sarah and Erich feeding them with the bottles you had pumped in the cooling baths you had made for the sick three.

Erich answered, “No symptoms, sleeping soundly. Jaqi didn’t catch her pox until she was over a year.”

Sarah answered, “It’s from the milk, babies are safe if their mother’s have the antibodies already until they pass their first year.” A fact that calmed James and had him move in to kiss their heads and circle back to comfort Victor as Eddie swayed on his own feet keeping hold of Teddy as he nodded off to his own dose of medicine. Herc after another check of Marigold’s temperature from her armpit had him contently handing her over to Dawn again and accepting the books reading the marked down cases of colic or diarrhea up to the few shots available for infants and even Teddy’s teeth coming in to not miss a single illness of any severity.

“Unfortunately like the common cold our medicines don’t do much to dent this illness. However Erich was able to aid us with how Jaqi reacted to the illness so we have a good idea on how this could unfold. Compared to how mortals experience it fairly easily. There is a ten day window of no to few symptoms then the bumps arrive that baths and ointment can mend.”

Victor said, “I’m not sleeping for two weeks then.”

And you crossed the room to stroke his back, “We’re all here to watch the babies Kitty.”

Victor said, “You need to get some sleep. You calmed my Petal down, thank you.”

“It’s an unsettling wait, but it’s fairly easy to get over, we’ve got plenty of oats and baking soda for the baths and we can make fruit popsicles if they get some in their mouths like Gina’s boys did.”

He simply cuddled more around her and nodded his head to the side urging you to bed, a gesture you sighed and turned to reluctantly head to bed as your girls were being carried back to the nursery to get some sleep.

.

“Here you are my dear,” Edie said pouring your tea in the morning an hour after breakfast that had almost lulled you back to sleep in wait for your tutor. With a smile she watched you unfold from your uncomfortable ball in the armchair of your choice lined up perfectly in a stream of sunlight stating, “Rather a rough night. I shall aid in the baths when the bumps arrive, I apologize for missing the fevers, the most frightful part.”

You shook your head, “Around the Brocks I have seen more pox than I could have dreamed possible. If I couldn’t tell them apart I’d say one of them had caught it twice.” You said making her chuckle in your sip on the tea to help perk you up.

“At least you have tons of practice. In my own youth I was surrounded by ample children myself. Some mothers can be rather frightened with their first child, I was rather at home with Erik’s colic to his worst fits or growth.”

“James handled it rather well compared to what I assumed for the first big illness.”

“Your parents agree, the brothers did bear through the pain rather well. Victor did sleep, more proof there. A few more fevers and I do believe he will calm from his panics.”

After another sip you replied in a soft sigh, “I wish I could do more.”

“You are,” she answered luring your eyes to her. “You aid in mothering his daughter while her mother is away. He is not alone in fatherhood. That is a great comfort more than you realize I would wager.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to come with us?” You said widening her smile.

“My son is strong and shall be safe under your watch. No mother wishes to release their child upon adulthood, and I could wonder how difficult it should be when to release your trio.”

“It’s eighteen years away, I would say, though shockingly my husband has been in my life for six years already. Numbers cannot be a comfort there. Have to let go before I know it. I should probably try to not think about that too often. Might start to make me sad for no reason when I’m back in school and they keep growing while I’m away.”

“They are always growing, away or in front of your eyes. We shall bear it together. You guard my boy and I shall help to guard yours in the summers and winter breaks. My work keeps me rather busy while we are apart.”

Tutoring came rather easily and somehow free of yawns thanks to the tea and a few stolen snacks and let loose a bit of work time that in the library was free of visitors Erik jumped at the chance to claim the seat across from you. Back into his own borrowed textbooks from your courses he wished to sign up for this year he delved with a few questions asked and answered for him until the eventual dip of your head that had him chuckle and scoop you up to carry you to your room for a much needed nap until supper. Another feeding however woke you as your parents settled around you to hold the girls until the trio were nursed by you fully, both who smiled at each drowsy droop of your eyes in slow waking still from the nap then helped to get you up to take a few laps inside your wing to stir your body and mind.

The nap however did fuel a change between you and James, him who required an early trip to bed for his exhausted self that allowed you and Victor, with hold of his daughter still, to get the surprise cake for James ready. Still he refused to leave her to sleep alone and only let her go to steal brief naps in hold of Herc or one of your parents if James was not himself awake. “I am doing better,” Victor said turning your head as you mixed the cake batter to pour into the readied pan for it. “I am, thank you. Nora called earlier about in tears she’s missing it. Comforting her, calming her pain helped to show how much better it feels knowing you’re here for support. I didn’t take to the fever as terribly as I thought I would. Had a hunch I might need to break something, but Herc says Petal’s strong.”

“Just doesn’t seem fair at times,” you said parting his lips as you sniffled and poured the mix into the pan to keep distracted from crying, “Just because I’m here now, why she’s safe and why they weren’t. Why you had to lose two of your babies, why I could heal Teddy but I couldn’t help Ambrose when she lost one of her babies.”

That had him draw you into his chest and kiss your forehead closing his eyes to the tear he felt soak through his shirt when you hugged him as firmly as you could around his hold of his slumbering daughter. “None of that is on you. Herc says my babies are ready to come back to me,” your head tilted back to peer up at him and he nodded, “So if we do have another baby, they would be able to come back, in safer times. So don’t you cry over our past sufferings. Look forward with us. We have days of suffering through oatmeal baths to come yet.” He said making you shake your head and inch back to finish pouring the mixture into the pan you then added to the warmed up oven to bake.

“Funny, very funny. It’s like a lit fuse, now I’ll have to wait a year or more for our girls to catch it as well, no telling how many more babies Dawn would have had by then,” you said making him chuckle. “I would say Jeanie,”

“She has work, we are pacing ourselves on babies. Her figure is important to the company and she hoped to at least have Petal talking full sentences before we tried again without sleeves.”

“At least you have a plan,” you said moving to mix up the icing next. “I was on the pill and we used sleeves, still, triplets. And people say God has no sense of humor.” Making him chuckle. “Hopefully we can wait a few years at least, have me into my graduate courses a good way. Maybe just one that time, or twins if I’m destined to only have multiples, maybe this time I can work in a few pushes in labor.”

“There was nothing wrong about your labor. Two day standoff is nothing to shake a stick at and you know it. Most women would have begged to be knocked out or to be sliced open by the first dawn.”

“I know. I suppose, going against the grain is going to be painful. Missed moments, while I study or, write or, take pictures and work on our comics.”

“It takes a village. We will make time, the girls won’t be left wanting by you or anyone else. Promise,” he said and you nodded again, “You chase those dream degrees of yours and you could do anything, on any schedule. Could even work from home if you got the right deal going. Jimmy and me know, we missed time working on our degrees and licenses, and we got paid more for it and our babies were better taken care of while we had them. You have to lay down the foundation first, can’t just drop a bridge in the middle of the ocean, they don’t float very well.”

“I think I found the next quote for another throw pillow for your parlor,” you said making him smirk your way.

“Looking forward to it.” Cake with breakfast was a welcome surprise and sampled to be saved partly for lunch with you when you had returned home to spend the rest of his birthday exactly how he wished it with the women of his life. That company alone was the greatest gift he could have ever received and ever would.

Pt 78

All –

@sherala007​, @mariannetora​​, @jesgisborne​, @knitastically​, @catthefearless​​, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000​​, @alishlieb​​,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​​

Brother Dearest - @thorinanddwalinsdwarrowdam​​, @swoopswishsward

#James Howlett x oc #Victor Creed x Norma Jeane #Eddie Brock x OC #Venom #Edie and Erik Lehnsherr #Chicken Pox #Old Memories #Marvel #Surprise Birthday Cake