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cardiophileanonymous · 3 years

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Late Night Errands Chapter 1

Mulder x Reader

Summary: The reader is a paralegal preparing to help defend her client on trial in a week. The stress has finally convinced her to go out and get a stethoscope to help calm her down. Little does she know a certain agent was watching her out while she was out late at night, and it makes her a prime suspect in his eyes.

Y/n= your name

Y/f/n Y/l/n= your first and last name

B/f/n= your best friend’s name

...

Y/n slammed the door shut then started to punch the sides of the steering wheel. What in the world was going through her mind? Of course this store wouldn’t have any stethoscopes! Even if it was a pharmacy. People don’t have stuff like that lying around in their homes. Not normal people, anyway. What was she gonna say to the employee when they inevitably asked why she was looking for one? “Oh, I don’t need one, I just want it for my weird-ass heartbeat kink!” Yeah, that was one conversation she didn’t want to have.

She silently stared at the moon for a few brief moments. Why couldn’t she have a normal kink like everyone else? Like feet, maybe. It still would’ve been weird, but dammit, at least she’d be able to find porn of it. The best she could find easily was cardiophilia fanfiction, and even then, it was scarce.

She snuck glances around the parking lot. Nobody in sight. So hopefully, nobody would notice the blush on her face when she brought up an hour long “asmr heartbeat” video for the sake of calming herself down.

She smiled in bliss. When a heartbeat was in the background, it was like everything melted away. She groaned in frustration when she heard a text from her friend, B/f/n.

Don’t forget we’re having lunch tomorrow! I’m taking your mind off that trial if it’s the last thing I do!

She was double pissed now that the stress of last week filled her head. She was a paralegal, and one of her clients was set to go on trial less than a week from now. It was the oddest case she’d ever seen. The case of Bill Brown.

The man had killed exactly one-hundred people in the span of less than half a year. And the details he gave were chilling. They were vivid and graphic. So, he must’ve been a sociopath or something, right? Well he was super remorseful. And upon turning himself in, that’s right, turning himself in, he sobbed for three days straight. What’s strangest was he claimed he didn’t know they happened until the memories came back to him that night.

She wouldn’t have believed it either, if he didn’t point to bodies that hadn’t been found yet. He helped officers uncover at least a quarter of his victims.

It gave everyone working in his defense a headache. Argue innocence and a false confession? He flat out admitted details the public didn’t know. Did they argue insanity? He seemed pretty fucking sane during interviews and psych evaluations. Self defense? Not in a million years.

What got at her was the genuine feeling he was innocent, and that someone, or something, could be out there. The idea of being out there in the city alone with it out and about gave her the creeps.

“Whatever,” she whispered, turning the audio up so she could return to her blissful ignorant state. Where everything melted away. Where she was actually pretty happy with a smile on her face. With that, she began to drive away.

…

All she could think about when she finished getting dressed was the trial. The trial, the trial, the trial. This was gonna be the biggest train wreck she would ever see in her career, and she had only become a paralegal a mere three years ago. She didn’t envy the defense attorneys she was working under.

Her thoughts were interrupted by three knocks at the door. Strange, she wasn’t expecting anyone today, except for B/f/n, and she was always late for everything.

She looked through the peephole to see two people in fancy clothing outside. She opened the door just a crack.

“H-hello…?”

“Y/f/n Y/l/n,” the man asked. Y/n nodded hesitantly. The man speaking held up the badge and the woman behind him did the same. “Agents Mulder and Skully, FBI. We have a few questions about your client. The one who’s set to go on trial next week.”

She turned her head to the side.

“I’m sorry, I think you might be mistaken. I-I’m not an attorney, I’m just a paralegal.”

“Oh, we’re not mistaken. That’s exactly why we wanted to talk to you.”

She looked inside her apartment real quick, then back at them.

“Okay… come on in. Just come in quickly so the cat doesn’t get out. She has a habit of running outside.”

She was internally grateful that her friend talked her into going out for lunch. She would’ve felt embarrassed if she had had to talk to these well dressed professionals in her pajamas. Skully knelt down, petting Y/n’s cat that had just walked up to the two.

“Um… would you like tea or anything? I’m about to make some for myself now.”

Skully lifted up one of her hands while she let the small animal nuzzle into her other one.

“That won’t be necessary. We plan to be out as soon as possible.”

“O-okay… um... I’m guessing you’re here to ask about Bill Brown?”

Mulder nodded.

“That’s correct.”

“I… don’t really understand. He’s set to go on trial less than a week from now. Why is the FBI getting involved? I thought this was settled, more or less.”

“We think he may be the wrong guy. We’re investigating a series of murders strikingly similar to the ones he supposedly committed a year and a half ago. We need to look at some of the previous evidence and cross examine it with the crimes happening now.”

She still seemed unconvinced.

“Why haven’t you gone to my firm? Or better yet, the police? I-I’m sure they have everything on file.”

Mulder shook his head.

“The lawyers won’t speak to us. And the police department doesn’t want to reopen the investigation when they’re so close to closing it. They don’t want to cause panic.”

She nodded. That actually wasn’t that hard a story to believe, considering the people she worked with on a daily basis. She just looked around the room.

“Okay… you might want to rethink my offer about the tea, then. And have a seat. Because this’ll take a long time.”

...

She presented them with a long list of documents. Some images, most legal papers. She pulled out the two things that were most of interest to her, a map of where the killings took place as well as a few images of supposed murder weapons.

“I’m not really sure what you’re looking for, so here's everything, I guess.”

Skully started flipping through the legal papers, reading passages of the man’s confession. Y/n’s cat slipped under Skully’s arms and laid on her lap as she continued to read. Mulder took a keen eye to the map.

“When did these murders take place?”

“Um, September 14th through February 10th, sir.”

“And he moved here the day these murders started, correct?”

“C-c-correct. You… didn’t already know this?”

“Oh I did. I just wanted to make sure you did. Encyclopedic knowledge of a case is the sign of a good paralegal, don’t you think?”

“Oh!” She let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Thanks…”

“Tell me, Y/n. What do you think happened?”

“Well, the evidence clearly shows he’s guilty, so… we are going to be arguing that he did these crimes due to mania and insanity.”

“No, Y/n. What do you really think?”

She looked down, and started to get finicky. She sat up straight.

“I think he’s innocent… and I have a theory about what happened. But… I don’t think anyone would believe me.”

Skully raised an eyebrow.

“Why haven’t you brought it up with any of the defense attorneys?”

She looked away, then back at the both of them.

“You won’t… tell anyone, right? I don’t wanna lose my job because everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

Mulder nodded expectantly.

“Of course not. Now, what did you find?”

She flipped through the papers.

“While they were at his house… they found a lot of these DVDs.” She was somewhat mumbling under her breath. When she pulled out the image she presented it to Mulder. “I’ve looked them up and they’re all from a lesser known hypnotist.”

Mulder read the bottom of the DVD covers.

“Hannah Martin?”

“...yes. I’ve tried to find those specific DVDs myself, on her website or Amazon or whatnot, but, uh, I can’t find them.”

“Why do you find these significant?”

“Um… Skully, was it? May I please have the written interview?”

She handed it to her. Now that her hands were free, Skully began to pet the cat sitting on her legs, who purred in appreciation. She cleared her throat and began to read.

“Bill said ‘I moved to start a new life, I tried to smile every day, I helped my neighbors, I listened to hypnosis videos every night before bed to make me a better person. I did my best to turn my life around… but I guess I was a monster this whole time. Last night, my memories came back to me in my dreams. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…’”

Mulder nodded.

“So you think that the hypnosis videos he watched before bed may have mind controlled or influenced him into committing these crimes overnight?”

Her face began to turn red and a wave of feeling stupid hit her.

“I’m sorry! I know that sounds insane!”

“No, not to me.” She was in awe. He was actually entertaining her insane supernatural idea? “How far have you looked into this Hanna Martin?”

“You have to pay at least five-hundred dollars for her to create a hundred and fifty custom sessions to send to you personally through DVDs. Um, the first alleged murder was one hundred and forty-nine days before the last alleged murder. That day he confessed would be day one hundred and fifty.”

Mulder seemed incredibly interested. He gazed down at the image he was holding.

“Thank you for bringing this information to my attention. Can you please scan this and make a copy for me? I want to see if I can track down these DVDs.”

“O-okay!”

She was a little excited that her idea was being entertained. And, aside from that, this agent was very cute! So he was cute and as conspiracy crazy as she was?! She smiled like a dope when she was no longer being watched, her back to the two. She began making the copy.

“Another question for you, Y/n.”

She gulped. Something about this man saying her name made her stomach drop.

“Y-yeah…?”

“Do you go out at night often?”

The feeling of her stomach dropping was now from fear.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw your car parked outside the local drugstore late last night, any reason for it?”

She swallowed, hard. She was going for ulterior motives, but she was relieved she had something to fall back on.

“I was getting my medication. Um, I can show you if you want proof?”

“There’s no need to. But midnight is fairly late to be running errands like that, don’t you think?”

She breathed in.

“I couldn’t sleep. So I thought I might as well do something productive.”

He nodded. She turned to look at him, but she couldn’t quite read his face. Was he insinuating what she thought he was? Or was this all in her head? If he thought she was involved, he was probably crazy. She just laid out all this evidence to prove her client innocent, and possibly even helped point to the real killer, yet he thought she might be the guilty one?

“Did you happen to purchase anything from this hypnotist?”

“No, I don’t have that kind of money… and besides, i-if I am right, I don’t know if I would want to get anything from her.”

“Mhm.”

Her dopey smile and blush was gone by the time she handed the copied image to Mulder.

“I’m not sure about the legality of this…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it.”

She was a bit angry when they left. B/f/n was a bit confused walking in.

“What happened?”

“Ugh! The stupid FBI is involved in the case now. They wanted to see some stuff.”

She tilted her head to the side and her nose crinkled in disbelief.

“The FBI?”

“I don’t know either! Just… help me pick up these papers. Actually, don’t! I need to make sure they’re all in order before court in a few days!”

She nodded as Y/n began to put everything as they were supposed to be.

“...that guy was kind of cute.”

She sighed.

“I thought that, too. But actually, he’s a dick.”

#cardiophilia #cardiophile #hearts #Mulder #Mulder x reader #x files

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worldsover · 3 years

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Dal Segno ft. Chuu

length ✦ 3570

genres ✧ music making; oral fixation; facefuck; subby!Chuu

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Composition is only fifty percent of the process, you've heard, but it's closer to ten for you. For the importance of a solid melody and chord progression with the right instruments and singer, a song becomes less than the sum of its parts with bad mixing because all that effort goes to waste when you can’t hear something, or when something is too loud, or when a certain je ne sais quoi is wrong. But you do know. You don't have to be a chef to be a food critic but it certainly helps. Avoid muddling the lows as it waters down the soup. Carve space in the highs to prevent too much salt from killing the taste buds. Have at most five sounds at a time or else the flavors clash. Focus on these basic techniques to guide you as repetition wears down your mind. Funny. Repetition legitimizes especially in music yet here you are fatigued by repetition as though you weren't down four cups of black coffee. Repetition legitimizes. “From the sign,” the translation reads. Notation, simply instructing a musician to return to a certain point in a piece. You recognize it as an intro song you wrote years ago.

Glass and foam separate the undersized room. Cheap ramen and dampness in the hot air contribute to the odor. You would keep the fan on, if it were worth the extra time filtering out faint noise from recordings. The only scent that keeps you sane is a slight strawberry flavor lingering in the room. Jiwoo. Your muse. A large clock holds both of its hands near one with the lack of natural light muddling whether it’s AM or PM. Studios were always underground man-caves whether they were discount rooms or the signature workspace of the biggest producers. Here you are in the former. Look down at the Macbook and all the wires, sliders, and knobs. Deep breath. “Take 63,” you say into the cheap control room microphone.

“Not good enough.”

“Again.”

“One more.”

Look up. Jiwoo sucks on a grape lollipop. You stare. Watching her fixated on getting all flavor out of the purple sweet derails your flow state. See, work had a rhythm. Listen, volume up, hotkey to copy this clip, volume down. The obvious innuendo sends you offbeat. That perky butt bending over to get a notebook filled with lyrics entrenches the folds of your brain. She didn’t have to wear that skirt. You’ve seen that skirt already and you wish she weren’t wearing it. Oh, you really wish she weren’t wearing that skirt. Guilt sets in. You’re a trusted coworker, she, a naive girl. It takes a while to find your groove again. Your stare has yet to cease until she finally returns the eye contact with candy still in mouth. Her pink tongue laps to secure all the sugar and red pillows engulf the ever-shrinking circle. Pop. Anyone else and it would be calculated action.

“Oppa." Her voice resounds in your monitor headphones. "I don’t know if these harmonies really make sense. Why did you write the second voice to cross down below the main line? Plus it goes so low."

“To be fair, you wrote both of those melodies and you said you wanted them in the same song. Tell me anywhere else they’d work.”

“Ugh, let’s figure this out later. Next song.“

Dozens of takes later and Jiwoo’s frustration causes her to make mistakes. Sometimes she even tries to start singing with the sucker in her mouth. For the character she plays, you know she’s a professional and that she can be better. Yet hours later, she still could not get the vocal runs right. Incomplete songs bloat your project folder: "Jiwoo - Mania", "Jiwoo - Look Closer", "Jiwoo - Untitled Idea 21". Just a small side project that the company approved during another ample period of break time between comebacks. That’s why the director didn’t even let you use the company’s facilities, instead opting to rent out this cheap closet of a studio. At least no one would be mad about the amount of time you spent recording together.

You shift seats from the leather office chair to the white lovechair, the only two pieces of furniture that fit comfortably in the room. Jiwoo follows suit and leaves the recording booth, really more of a phone booth in square footage, while she huffs and puffs on her candy.

“I’m tired, oppa,” she says.

“Me too, Jiwoo. May I remind you that I’m not getting paid extra for this. Are you gonna focus or what?” your voice just a few cents down, just a bit harsher.

“I, I’m sorry.” A lick anyway. Her meek tone disappears, “Ya! You know how good your royalties are gonna be. Sole producer and all that. Plus, here you are still doing all this work for me." Why were you working so hard on this? "You know, if you just taught me how to use Ableton-”

“Then I’d be out of a job.”

Jiwoo frowns, “Wow, selfish much? You could’ve joined me as a trainee.”

“Nah, no way. Fish dance better.”

“Shut up, oppa. You would’ve easily made it with your, um, musical talent.” She clamps down on the lollipop with her mouth.

“You good? What was that?”

“Let’s," she stands promptly, "get back to recording.”

Crack. Jiwoo bites down on the lollipop and throws the stick in the trash. In ten minutes, she nails the verse she spent hours trying to get right. It'd be really nice to know what catalyzed that rally. You'd ask but driving Jiwoo back to her dorm is quiet as usual.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Make a good impression on someone, anyone, on your first day as a mixing engineer. That’s why you returned to the Blockberry Creative building with an extra bar of Melona in hand. A simple bribery. Light beamed down between two skyscrapers on a short girl with long hair and strands of bangs adorning her forehead. She stood outside the lobby, introducing herself to every passerby. You had to pinch her cheeks, the intrusive thought screamed.

She scurried up to you. “Hi! I’m Kim Jiwoo and I’m going to become an idol!”

Ah, a trainee. You already knew she was destined to become one. Well, not literally, you weren’t in charge of that. But her overflowing charm was impossible to ignore. You had to tease her though, “Are you sure?”

“Hey! What would you know about that, mister?” she said.

You bit down on your mango. “Mister? First of all, I’m only a high school senior,” her lips rounded in surprise, “And second, I’m your new audio guy, and I know for a fact they’re debuting you girls in order of talent.”

“Woooow. Well, I’ll have you know, I have a great voice!” She certainly spoke lyrically. “Wait a minute, I didn’t know they hired people that young.” You pointed at her. “Okay, I’m in high school too. But that’s different, idols start this age.”

“I guess. I’ve been making music ever since I was a kid, and they liked what I had,” you said and Jiwoo nodded in understanding.

She fluttered her eyebrows. “Sooo, is that mango ice cream for me? Oppa?” A little surprised she already called you that, but it sounded right.

“No, I have this unopened strawberry-” Jiwoo snatched the half-eaten cold treat from your hand, and started licking it. Trouble she would be.

You spent many recording sessions together, alone after all the other members left. She cozied up to you because her little musical snippets had to become full-fledged tracks and you helped her out every time.

Something changed over the years however. Your interactions became colder. It felt like you were the only one who she would respond to in a deeper voice. Jiwoo wouldn't pepper you with silly acts or mess around. Maybe she took you more seriously which is how you managed to make more songs together regardless. Then, you stood idly by and watched her debut. Who didn't love her? But when she was with you, you missed the playfulness, the ice cream and her riffing over your playful guitar strums. It turned less of a hobby and more of a job though you never regretted any second with Jiwoo regardless.

Under the Earth's largest natural satellite, you shared a simple meal in black bean noodles. She was still in her hippie outfit from the comeback, and you handed her your jacket since it was cold. You realized, there was something else there that you were too inexperienced to notice. Your bodies' radiation replace the chill in the air, a bubble with just the two of you eating on the grass in a park near your dorm. A cliche slurping on one noodle and Jiwoo pulled away. In embarrassment, like a damn anime character, she hiccuped. Good thing you didn't close your eyes when you leaned in.

“Wanna make an album together?” Jiwoo says.

“Sure.”

You threw away the noodles’ package and escorted her home. That was all you expected anyway. Fine.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“That’s enough!”

Three goddamn weeks. It's been three goddamn weeks and you've barely made any progress.

Barge into the booth, slam the door shut and raise your tone, just below a shout, “I've had it up to here! You know how many of my songs have been mashed together in some unholy quest for your perfection? Just one unknown something is missing and either you start complaining or we move on to the next."

She backs up from the mic to the insulated wall but you continue, paying no heed to her, as you spout your piece to the artificially cold air, "You know how much time I’ve spent outside working on these songs? These are songs I’ve saved up over years. And you trash them like they’re nothing. How do you even manage to record LOONA tracks?”

Regret sinks in. This was your passion project as much as hers. Was it frustration from the recordings? Weeks of the same routine and it took until now for you to give in to your temper.

"It wouldn't even be that bad! If you could just one time, you could be cute or cheerful again with me, or,” Fuck. So stupid. You don’t have to take your friendships for granted like this. You’re lucky enough she treats you as much. “Hold on. Wait, I'm-"

Examine her face. It’s not sour and she hasn’t stormed out or even slapped you.

“No, no. You don’t have to say it. I’m. I’m sorry oppa.” She looks down. “I'm the one messing up after all." Her heartbeat a harsh snare drum. "And you. You're. Different. Looking at you always made me feel some, something funny. Not funny but? Ugh. I wish I could explain it.”

You hold in your confusion.

She blabbers on, “Like, are. Are you mad? I promise you, I,” A nervous breath, ”I like you. Okay?"

Your confusion grows like the length of your silence.

"I’m just acting how I really am with you. Do you want to maybe, I don't know, like," her voice decrescendos, "Um. Punish me?”

Your heart, your brain are deprived of blood as it all rushes down. Did you hear that right? Not an apology, not retribution, but a call to punishment? Misinterpreting her, the consequences would be dire but that damned demure tone for such an erotic request. Was Jiwoo the exact type of slut constructed in your mind? The one that made you feel sinful for even imagining. No, no, there's no way.

Too late. Jiwoo must have noticed the absurd bulge now. It had to be these Adidas pants today. Fuck it. Life can’t be lived fully without risk. Hopefully, the same switch turned in her mind. You remove all ire from your face and say in earnest, “Do you like games?"

She lights up a little. You sigh relieved.

"Let’s try…”, you say, ”Strip recording.” She lights up a little more, so you go on, ”If I mess up anything, the mix, the composition, the arrangement, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Your choice. And every time you mess up-”

Jiwoo unbuttons her denim shorts and brings them down her tight legs.

“D- did I say now?”

However, with her resolve steeled, she continues pulling them. "So what? I did mess up, right?" she says coquettish. Deliberate the turn she makes when she bows down to remove the shorts from her legs, Jiwoo reveals a hint of her innie pussy on that same little ass that ran through your mind earlier. A small trace of her thighs glistens, the only thing reflecting the single lightbulb’s glow in the microphone’s abode. She turns back to face you. "Please. Punish me."

Step closer until Jiwoo backs up to the soundproofing. She’s an eighth note away from your face, flashing her beady eyes and a coy smile, ”Where's your underwear?" A little drop spills out onto the floor, "And why are you so wet, Jiwoo-ah?”

Red on her cheeks, like she only now realized her dishevelment in front of you. “You just… Something about you snapping at me. I don’t get it either. I knew you'd do it, some day, I wanted you to," she mumbles in her best efforts to answer you.

“Have you ever worn underwear to the recordings?”

Those efforts continue to fail.

"Oh, Kim Jiwoo. What do I do with you?" One of your hands grabs her cheek. The other crawls down her back to grab her cheek.

“Oppa… Do I have to say it?”

“I want to hear every." Smack. "Word." Smack. She slips a moan.

“Can you," she says, "can you use my mouth?”

You disguise your long pause as thought, teasing the bare skin of her ass with your exploratory fingers to bide time, but it's an expression of your shock. The interruption helps you come up with a more suitable punishment however.

“How about this then. Every time you mess up, you have to give me a blowjob. Call?”

“Call!” Once more, unprompted, she kneels down in front of you and claws away your track pants. You roll with the punches.

"Oppaa," with an pronounced pop and in a sing-songy rhythm, "I've always wanted to know, if your dick-" It certainly didn't need Jiwoo's dainty hands pulling on your boxers, as it would've sprang out on its own with how like diamond your cock is getting.

"Fuuuck," the first profanity you ever hear her utter, she lilts. "Please. Oppa. Fuck my face?"

After all she said, she could still surprise you. Bring your hips forward and just as you would've her pussy, tease Jiwoo’s lips with the head of your dick. She parts them open, starved, anxious.

Hold her by the chin. "Wait."

She freezes at the command. Again, like foreplay, rub her lips with that head making them turn redder and more plump. You sweep aside her bangs to see her begging eyes. More importantly, slide your dick up to her nude forehead to slap as a first act of retribution. “A-ah!” Jiwoo stutters as you slap her face with your manhood again and again. Bring your cock back down and she's already a mess without you even having entered her mouth. A little drool from her shut lips gently massages your balls while a bit of precum drools from your slit to meet those lips.

Jiwoo mumbles as best as she can with you holding her jaw shut and your dick on her lips, "Please. Please. Shove your dick in me. I need you in my mouth."

You squint your rough eyes to command her.

Muffled still, "Oppa. Please. I. I need to taste you. You just, you're so thick and you're so long and cock is perfect and please I just-" Loosen the grip on her chin to let her envelop the entire tip with her warm lips. "Mmmmm..." the moan resonates a saw wave and your stern resolve fades away on your first entrance into her face but it returns as her teeth rub against you. She quickly readjusts her jaw but it takes multiple attempts of you pulling out and her sucking you back until only silken lips hold your cock's head. Finally. A focused glint in her eyes. She endeavours to keep your tip in her mouth as long as possible.

You were mad at her earlier, weren't you?

Recall this anger and press yourself into her with all your hips' strength, working against the force of her lip's airtight suction. Saliva leaks to betray the seal. Jiwoo's prying tongue explores the underside of your cock but you reach an impasse while she's not even halfway down the shaft. You shove your dick deeper but to no avail and tears roll down her eyes joining the fluids coating her lips. Thus you exit back out. And back in you go to repeat and repeat and slowly increase your rate, becoming rough sex with her diligent mouth. All the positions you’ve imagined fucking her little pussy, you picture using her throat instead. Even in this compact studio, the couch, chair and desk would provide ample support for you to use her in many ways. The dirty thoughts inspire your speed right now. She slurps and gulps at every quick plunge but you realize her moans and rumbles aren't just incoherent reactions. You decelerate.

“Ah, ahhh, ahhhhhh… Ah’ve ahways- Hmph.” She slurs as she tries her hardest to communicate while her airway is blocked.

She slides up your cock to catch some air, “Thought about it- Mmm.”

“Your dick in my mouth and it’s just so pew, fect- Ahhh.” Jiwoo's lips let go gently then her tongue sticks out to lick up your cock and she shows off a trail of spit leading to your tip. A less patient man would’ve jerked himself off right there to grant her eyes and open mouth's unison request to feed on your cum.

Instead you retort, “You think you’ve earned it? Not even halfway down. Going nowhere, just like our recording sessions, huh?”

“Shut up!”

“Oof.” You’re already weak in the knees so Jiwoo's one handed shove sends your tailbone to the floor. Since you’re still dazed by her confounding strength, she takes initiative and kowtows her head into your lap to crawl down your cock with her tiny lips. Fondling your balls, Jiwoo starts from the furthest point she could muster on your shaft up to your cock head. Her tongue follows back and she starts playing under your tip to swirl that tongue around the most sensitive parts until it explores your slit. You buckle and groan. Jiwoo sucks and spits and sucks while she circles only the most minimal twisting motion of her lips on your head. This is the Jiwoo you know. Relentless. Only now your load is her magnus opus.

Her right hand strays downwards and her face on your dick blocks a full view but you can tell that hand is working as intensely as her mouth. As she strokes herself with more vigor, she starts humming a satisfied melody on your tip. In kind, your subtle grunts turn into full-bodied moans. You're a single measure away from your coda so you reach down and pull her off your cock by grabbing her neck.

You glare into her. “Desperate little girl, aren't you?”

Her breath is stilted and she's nearly shaking. “Please…” she sobs, ”You, you want it as bad as I do right?” Of course. “Won't you just cum for me?” Not now. Not when you have putty in your hands.

“You're making a mess. You can't take me all the way down. And I see that it’s not just your saliva coating the floor.” Point to the spot where she kneels, her drool joins a stain growing ever larger with a strand of juice from her pussy flowing as you continue to berate her. Then you point to her hand. Ha. “Were you playing with yourself using my pencil?”

“No… Wait!”

You back off. “Your top’s a mess too. Anyone can tell I just fucked your face.” You take off your black hoodie and give it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our next session.”

“Wait, we didn’t book tomorrow, did we? Also, you can’t just leave me like this! Oppa!”

"I said, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go,“ you remind her, ”Ha Rin’s picking you up. And give me back that pencil.”

She hands it to you, unable to meet your eyes despite hers lusting over your cock. You'll definitely use the alluring musk on it for later to save you from your self-induced blue balls. Exit the booth. Of course she barely waits to use your hoodie the same way since she doesn’t notice you lingering in the room. Instead of hiding the grey long sleeve that soaks her neck, your used sweatshirt covers Jiwoo’s face as her fingers make the mess on the floor larger.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Swear to god I’m not just writing the cutest idols to write for. I mean maybe I am but also this answer from @nsfwtwicecatcher and all the subsequent pictures that I found of Chuu pouting inspired me. Also, this was a longer piece but I kept spinning my tires on it and decided to split it up, so look out for more.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fermata, the aforementioned sequel

#kpop smut #loona smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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wellthatsjustpeachyhuh · 3 years

Note

If you have time, would you consider continuing the villain and civilian (villain x civilian) prompt? Maybe turn it into a snippet? (Ps, your work is amazing)

“Oh, hello precious! C’mere!” The civilian yelped as strong arms gripped them from behind, hoisting them up and into a too-tight embrace. An unknown face burrowed into their neck, nuzzling almost lovingly as the unwilling participant squirmed.

“Mmh...” The voice murmured, sending a shiver down the civilian’s spine. Their eyes darted around nervously, eyeing the henchmen encircling the pair with trepidation. The grip around their middle changed, turning them around and throwing them over their shoulder - gently, mindful.

“How about you come with me pet, doesn’t that sound good?”

No, it did not.

(Since this will be longer, I’ve decided to give them both names, Civilian will be Henry and Villian will be Atlas - both he/him (also thank you so much for the support!!))

“Uh...okay, listen Mr-”

“Just call me Atlas precious! And what do I call you?” The villain purred, pressing his cheek gently to his captive’s side.

“I’m erhm, Henry,” he mumbled back, “look Atlas you can’t just abduct me ya know?” Henry’s voice wobbled slightly, both in fear and from the bobbing of his captor’s brisk pace. Atlas giggled in response, making a quick hand gesture to his nearest henchman to start moving out. The group had caused plenty of damage, enough to keep the heroes busy whilst they all made their escape.

“Well I’ll admit pet I didn’t really plan this,” Atlas began, making a beeline to the getaway car, “but not to worry! I know what I’m doing, you’ll be perfectly fine with me~.” Henry spluttered in disbelief, stuttering through an explanation of no, that isn’t what he meant at all to little success. He wriggled fruitlessly as strong, firm hands gripped him around the waist, lifting Henry up an off the taller man’s shoulder and into the backseat of the car.

“Now why don’t you get comfy, and we can start heading home hmm?”

»»»

The drive back was perhaps the most uncomfortable journey Henry had been on - including The Family Holiday Of 2010™, an event all seven of the participants still shuddered at to this day. Atlas had kept up a running stream of commentary the entirety of the two hour fourteen minute car ride that left Henry with the beginnings of a headache. Early on he’d lost track of where they were as the vehicle sped down roads he’d never visited in the three years he’d lived in the city, which only worsened the pit of anxiety settling in his stomach.

“Oh look precious, we’re here!” Atlas’ bubbly voice broke through Henry’s spiralling thoughts. His head jerked up to see a plain, unassuming garage through the tinted window, however he wasn’t able to take much more in before Atlas was tugging him out the other door. The two others with them, who had been occupying the front seats, also stepped out, flanking their boss and his new...friend. With his free hand the villain pulled out a grey remote and pressed the centre button, opening up the garage.

“In we go Henry, this is gonna be your new home now.” He chirped, lacing fingers with his captive’s unwilling hand. Henry frowned in confusion - this crazy man was going to keep him in a garage? - as he was dragged along to stumble after Atlas. The man led him to what appeared to be a metal locker, although it was far larger than any he’d seen, and allowed one of his men to pull it open. Henry’s eyes widened as the interior was exposed to show what he could only assume was an elevator.

“I’m guessing, ah,” Henry rasped licking his suddenly dry lips but not noticing that Atlas’ own eyes followed the action, “you got some kind of...secret lair?” His voice trailed off as the villain snickered, eyes bright and cheery with a hint of the mania the media always seemed to catch.

“Every good villain has one precious!” He chuckled, herding Henry into the container. The two henchmen followed suit, one closing the door before the other tapped a pattern onto the screen Henry had only just noticed. His stomach swooped as the ground below him moved, subconsciously making him tighten his grip on Atlas’ hand. Atlas cooed as he brought his other hand up to pet Henry’s face gently, ignoring the flinch he received, and place a wet, smacking kiss to the other’s cheek.

“Don’t be scared Henry,” Altas’ voice was low and shaky, as if he could barely contain himself. Henry’s eyes flickered to meet his, the hand still caressing his skin almost scalding, and the usually lurking madness lit up his face almost comically. He was almost grateful for the tight grip when only moments later the elevator jerked to a halt, the henchmen quickly opening the door to show a large room. Wires, machines, and the constant whir of electronics filled the space, overwhelming Henry as his gaze settled on the worst part of all;

It looked like a cage. The thing was well padded, obviously comfortable and surprisingly large, with a relatively muted colour scheme. Regardless, Henry thought, it’s still a cage. He turned back to Atlas, who hadn’t taken it eyes off his prize once, and whose face was now split into a wide, unsettling grin.

“We’ll be having lots of fun!”

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jess-rewatches-prodigalson · 4 years

Text

Episode 12: Internal Affairs

Not going to lie. I know some people hate this episode but it’s one of my favourites.

SPOILERS AHEAD.

0:14 - Sure. Let’s start this episode off by shoving a knife through my heart. Look at Malcolm’s broken little face. :( He knows Gil didn’t deserve that outburst. Gil knows it too - but it still to hear. This episode aired months ago and I think my heart is still trying to heal.

0:20 - Look at Dani’s inner conflict here. She loves both of these doofuses and she can’t decide who to go and comfort.

0:30 - Dani just figured out that Malcolm is hallucinating. She knows what he looks like when he hallucinates from 1x5. Now she’s scared. So is Malcolm. Look at their eyes. Mmmmhmmm. This is good whump.

1:30 - This is Gil being a total dad to Malcolm. He’s already forgiven the idiot for being a jerk last night. Now he’s helping Malcolm put on his tie like Malcolm is 12 years old. You can see that Gil is still a little annoyed with Malcolm but I think it’s probably based out of concern. Gil’s scared because he knows Malcolm isn’t sleeping and he knows Malcolm’s mental health has been spiralling lately. He’s terrified because he knows that Malcolm (unintentionally...sort of) tried to kill himself last night. Gil’s scared that Malcolm is entering active suicidal territory as opposed to his usual passive suicidal territory. Maybe Malcolm’s behaviour is also reminding Gil of a time when Malcolm was suicidal as a teenager? Gil’s probably worried about the investigation too and how Malcolm’s mental state will affect it.

2:21 - Malcolm walks into that interview room and just starts exuding manic energy. Yikes. This boy looks tired, scared, manic, and determined. He needs a nap and a hug. This will not go well.

2:54 - “I’m not sure I have a safe space.” There’s a couple of these types of lines that Malcolm lets slip during this interview. Every one of them scares me because they’re completely true statements that Malcolm would never normally share out loud. Especially since he knows the room is wired and the team is listening. He doesn’t want them to think he’s weak. He doesn’t want Gil to make him stop working. It sheds a light on just how fragile his mental state is and that is just heartbreaking.

3:10 - So everyone knows that Malcolm uses humour as a coping mechanism for his trauma and pain. Good to know. Check out Malcolm’s face right after he says, “What else did they warn you about?”. He looks scared and a little confused. Almost as though he wasn’t entirely aware that he used humour as a coping mechanism and he’s afraid of what else the team might’ve picked up on regarding his mental state. He’s scared that if the team knows too much about what’s going on with him, he won’t be allowed to work anymore.

3:25 - Total side note here. Every time I watch this episode I have to do a double take because for a moment I think Dr. Coppenwrath is played by Marc Evan Jackson (Kevin in Brooklyn-99, Shawn in The Good Place). It’s not, but try telling that to my sleep deprived brain.

3:36 - Soooo was the room wired for everyone’s interview of just Malcolm’s? Because JT just verbally admitted that he’s friends with Malcolm. Does this mean the Malcolm has access to recorded evidence that JT is his friend? This is character development I can get behind. Look how far their relationship has come since the pilot. I’m so proud and so happy.

3:45 - Malcolm was in the hospital for “weeks”. I really want to know exactly how much time has passed since the end of 1x11. Also. How the hell did someone keep him in the hospital that long? The boy seems to like signing himself out of hospitals AMA. AND WHAT HAPPENED TO WATKINS?!?!? and why is no one giving me a scene of the team visiting Malcolm in the hospital?! This is the scene that my heart wants.

4:04 - It physically hurts me to watch Gil say “Watkins tortured you”. Kudos to Lou Diamond Phillips. Gil looks wrecked - almost like he’s trying not to cry. He probably blames himself for the extent of Malcolm’s injuries because he didn’t find Malcolm sooner. He’s probably remembering just how scared he was when he showed up at the Whitly house to find his kid bleeding out from a stab wound (in my headcanon Gil is the first responder on the scene and he finds all three Whitlys upstairs).

4:09 - hahaha that look. Gil is like “you can’t lie to me you little idiot” and Malcolm immediately back peddles. hahaha this is a true father/son moment. I love it.

4:25 - One of the reasons that I love this episode so much is because it makes me feel an array of emotions. I go from worrying about Malcolm’s mental health to laughing at some stupid comment one of the characters makes. I mean seriously : “If Bright was an actual state he’d be Florida.” hahahaha that is iconic.

4:42 - Yep. Malcolm has reached peak mania. He’s ranting about jello with a very manic expression on his face. Which is kind of adorable but also very concerning.

4:47 - OMG. This whole Elsa/Jessica/Dani/Malcolm scene is amazing. Jessica is so extra here and Malcolm is done with it. Really makes me wonder what Jess was like when he was in the hospital. AND look at Malcolm’s broken little face when Jessica mentions his “more unruly nightmares” he’s so embarrassed and ashamed. :( AND DANI. OMG. Every time the camera pans to her she just has this perfect expression on her face like “This whole family is whack. I feel like I’m intruding but also I kind of want to be here because I sort of care about this loser?”

6:44 - I love how the whole team is showing their own personal brand of concern for Malcolm when he shows up at the scene. Malcolm reacts so perfectly to it. He looks a little overwhelmed that they’re all concerned. Like he was only expecting Gil to care.

7:00 - I’ll say it again. Someone needs to show my dude Gil some love. This man needs a break. Look how utterly exhausted he looks when he says “100%”. Ugh. This man worries way too much about his kids.

7:14 - hahaha the look that Gil gives Edrisa here. hahaha he’s so shocked and annoyed that she knows the details of Bright’s injuries because she pulled his medical records. I love it.

7:31 - The way Gil sort of directs Malcolm to the crime scene with his arm concerns me. By the look on JT’s face - it concerns JT too. That arm is a signal of defeat. Gil is resigned to the fact that Malcolm just won’t take care of himself. Gil is too tired to send Malcolm home again especially since he knows that Malcolm won’t rest. So, Gil is giving in because at least this way he can keep an eye on Malcolm. BUT the fact that Gil gives into this is not a good sign for Gil’s mental health. THIS BOY NEEDS A NAP.

7:53 - Check out the way Malcolm’s eyes narrow when Coppenwrath insinuates that Malcolm’s “patients” help him understand himself because he too is a killer. This is a bad therapist move right here.

8:19 - I love that JT teases Malcolm when he’s concerned about him. It’s really sweet. SIDE NOTE - Malcolms shoes are nice. Dang.

8:46 - Check this out. Is Gil even listening to the profile? He’s staring at Malcolm with so much concern that I’m not even sure. While they are at the graveyard Gil does not look at Malcolm with anything but concern. Gil knows that there’s something more than Watkins going on with Malcolm right now.

9:30 - That is a haunting look. Malcolm looks numb. Dissociated.

10:14 - Malcolm almost looks like he’s having fun here? He’s lying through his teeth, living in a manic state but he seems to be enjoying the conversation. So that’s good, I guess?

10:32 - The look Malcolm just gave Coppenwrath is awesome. It’s a look that suggests that Malcolm is profiling the hell out of Coppenwrath right now and what he’s learning is really interesting to him.

10:38 - Is Coppenwrath allowed to know this much about the investigation? I mean, I thought he was evaluating Malcolm’s mental health - not the current case? He doesn’t really need that many details about the case.

10:57 - Awww. Gil going to bat for Malcolm is so sweet. <3 My heart is full.

12:02 - ....why does Gil know so much about the Vosler institute? Previous case? Advertisements? #justcurious

12:20 - Is Malcolm talking about himself here? He’s definitely guilty of a low self-worth and some schizotypal thinking. Has he been tempted by a cult?

13:54 - Is Dani checking Vosler out? I can’t tell if she’s amused that he’s such a bad liar or if she thinks he’s hot.

14:15 - Was Malcolm at the institute at the same time as the rest of the team? Wouldn’t they have seen him?

14:51 - Myers-Briggs is a personality test. How the hell would that identify how much trauma you have? ...but I’m not a doctor so what do I know?

15:30 - I feel like Gil is in an actual therapy session ranting about his dysfunctional, passively suicidal son. Gil looks almost comforted as he vents about how Malcolm can’t sleep. He still looks concerned for Malcolm but he looks less scared and more calm. I feel like this was a good experience for Gil. It’s allowing him to process just how bad Malcolm’s mental state is getting. Maybe we should get Gil a therapist.

15:37 - Things are getting too real again; so Malcolm is deflecting with humour.

15:43 - Again. If Coppenwrath was actually evaluating Malcolm’s mental state he wouldn’t care about Vosler. He wouldn’t keep asking Malcolm to tell him about the case and specifically about Vosler. Coppenwrath is so obviously hiding something. Ugh. It drives me crazy.

16:03 - That was honest. “I want it to go away.” Malcolm looks sincere, a little scared, and a little desperate. It breaks my heart.

16:53 - The fact that Malcolm let Vosler shock him is so upsetting. I know Malcolm is desperate to solve the case like usual. However, this time he’s disregarding his own health just a little too obviously for comfort.

17:15 - Look at how terrified Malcolm is as he gets shocked. Look at how much pain he’s in. Yet, he still finds it in him to glare at Vosler. I’m kind of proud of him?

17:41 - Malcolm is being sincere here. He really, truly doesn’t think he’s vulnerable to Vosler. Malcolm doesn’t seem to have self-awareness to his own low sense of self-worth. He’s so depressed that he doesn’t recognize how bad he’s getting. He’s just desperately trying to get answers and make trauma go away without addressing the side-effects of his trauma. My. Heart. Is. Shattering.

17:52 - This scene is another one of those moments when Malcolm unwittingly reveals a little too much about his mental state. He’s being honest with Coppenwrath when discussing his motivations to solve cases. It’s problematic because he accidentally admits that he values the lives of complete strangers over his own health and well-being. Someone please give Malcolm a hug.

18:43 - Another instance where Malcolm is acting like an amazing, kind, empathetic human. Look at how much compassion he has in his eyes for Andi. He so desperately wants to help Andi and it’s beautiful. Malcolm Bright (a man who is currently suffering in a self-destructive, manic, pain-ridden state) has transformed into a calm, sympathetic, comforting, level-headed guy. It’s amazing. He’s somehow able to shed all of his trauma and poor mental state and become 100% pure, untraumatized Malcolm Whitly. Gorgeous. A++.

21:35 - This. Ugh. Just. Just. It’s freaking perfect. “But I didn’t want to lose him.” Gil you are straight up breaking my heart. Look at how sincere Gil is right now. You can see just how much he adores Malcolm and how desperately Gil wants Malcolm to be happy, healthy, and safe. Ugh. I’m in love with this moment.

22:03 - I love how JT holds Malcolm back in this scene. As soon as Malcolm starts running out to Vosler both Dani and JT look concerned. JT grabs Malcolm but the way he holds Malcolm back is also sort of a hug. It’s not the way JT would hold back a stranger or a suspect. That’s the way you hold back a little brother. <3

22:10 - “She was taken by them”. Malcolm looks terrified here. He looks haunted, suspicious, and confused. It’s heartbreaking. Gil and JT look a little alarmed and concerned too.

22:12 - Gil is looking at Malcolm with pure dad!panic here. He’s watching Malcolm unravel and he looks scared, concerned, and a little angry. I’m mildly shocked that Gil didn’t call Jessica to come and take Malcolm home.

22:34 - “Okay. I wasn’t fine. I’m a mess.” This one hurts. I mean, I’m proud of Malcolm for being at least a little self-aware. This just sucks though. You can see the pain in Malcolm’s eyes when he admits it out loud. Followed by the stubborn look he gives Coppenwrath - the one that’s inviting him to ensue that Malcolm can’t do his job. It’s just heartbreaking to watch. All I can think about is the team’s faces as they listen to Malcolm’s outburst.

22:50 - Coppenwrath gives Malcolm a look here that says, “Damn, you are messed up.”

23:50 - The second someone reveals a personal trauma and/or personal problem Malcolm instantly becomes the most understanding, loving, compassionate human being on the planet. It’s beautiful.

24:28 - Malcolm looks so sad here. My heart is shattering.

24:38 - Wow. Malcolm’s voice is deep here. He sounds really upset. He’s angry and scared. I love it.

24:54 - Gil has soccer trophies in his office. In other scenes we’ve also been able to see that Gil has some signed baseballs in glass cases and some model cars in his office. Gil doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to keep his own sports trophies in his office. Maybe he plays casually in an NYPD league and those are the 16th precinct soccer trophies? BUT here is my true headcanon: Ainsley and/or Malcolm (but I’m feeling that this was more Ainsley’s thing) was really into soccer as a kid. Maybe Gil coached her team? Or he and Jackie took her to all of the games/practices because Jessica had to deal with Martin’s trials? Maybe she gave all of Gil her trophies at some point because she thinks that he deserves them too and he proudly displays them all. The baseballs and cars? Christmas/birthday gifts from Malcolm, Ainsley and/or Jackie over the years. I will die with this theory because it makes me happy.

25:50 - More hints from the writers that there’s something romantic brewing between Jessica and Gil.

26:40 - This whole scene with the deprogrammers is strange. It’s weird that Malcolm is standing next to the couch like some kind of butler. BUT DAMN it is funny when Jessica starts making some not-so-subtle hints about wanting Malcolm to accept his trust fund, settle down, and give her grandchildren. I especially like this because it suggests that Malcolm doesn’t have access to the family money. I assume he pays for things with his salary except for when Jessica buys him things that she insists that he needs (like clothes? food? fancy headboards for his bed?).

27:40 - I love this whole JT, Gil, and Malcolm are tag teaming the interrogation thing. I love that JT and Gil are visibly pissed (because this dude killed someone) and they’re flanking him. I find it interesting that Malcolm is standing so far away - watching, until it’s time to start rambling about his observations. It’s a really great dynamic (I miss Dani though).

28:31 - Look at Malcolm’s face when Coppenwrath mentions the “incident”. He looks sad and guilty. He clearly feels bad for losing it on Gil. Look at the true fear on Dani’s face - she’s terrified at Bright’s mental state. AND GIL. Trying to take some of the responsibility for the incident because he looks sad, and scared for Malcolm too. My heart is so full with all of this whump.

28:48 - Another instance where Malcolm has his own desk. I seriously want to know what the deal is with the desk. Is it his? Does he share it? I want to know. So. Bad.

29:01 - Malcolm’s eyes remind me of the Pepe Sylvia scene in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. He looks like a manic dude riding on the wave of a crazy conspiracy theory. It’s not good. Gil looks like he’s walking on egg shells because he doesn’t know what to say to help Malcolm. That’s almost worse.

30:38 - Edrisa’s little moments in this episode are cute and funny. BUT WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO HER ABOUT THE CASE IF SHE DOESN’T HAVE ALL THE DETAILS? Aren’t you supposed to be talking to her about Malcolm’s mental state?!? Ugh.

31:00 - This exchange between Coppenwrath and Malcolm is great. Malcolm looks sooo upset. The way he bites his lip and stares at the ground to avoid eye contact. The way Coppenwrath lowers himself to enter Malcolm’s line of sight. Malcolm looks on the verge of tears. He’s openly admitting his current biggest problem: what Watkins told him and the hallucinations. Not just to Coppenwrath but to Gil, Dani, and JT too. He just wants a dad who loves him and my heart is shattered. He looks so so wrecked. Somebody hug him. Please.

33:30 - Malcolm isn’t talking about how he’s going to miss his work friends because he thinks going to get fired. He’s talking from the fear that his friends will abandon him when they find out that he’s hallucinating. He’s afraid that they’ll abandon him because they think he’s crazy. He looks so truly sad here. Ugh.

34:33 - Watching Malcolm expose Coppenwrath is upsetting. Usually, Malcolm has a look of determination, desperation, and mild sympathy in his eyes when he talks to a killer. This time - Malcolm just looks vacant, then self-satisfied, then annoyed. It’s different than usual, which is unsettling.

35:50 - Now Coppenwrath looks scared.

36:39 - I’ve never been so proud as the moment that the team steps out from the shadows to support Bright. Right as Coppenwrath is trying to convince Malcolm that the team thinks he’s crazy. My heart is full. Kill me now - I’ll die happy.

36:54 - I love this angle here. It’s not JT or Dani that we can see pulling out their guns. It’s papa Gil. The man who will undoubtedly shoot Coppenwrath if anything happens to Malcolm.

37:00 - Another issue I have. Malcolm doesn’t look scared when there is a gun pointed at his head. He looks alarmed but not scared. More proof of his suicidality. I am not okay.

37:05 - I love the scene where we see JT, Dani, and Gil all pointing guns into the room - desperate to help Malcolm. Look at the panic in Gil’s eyes as he orders a hostage negotiator.

37:37 - Only Malcolm could possibly feel bad for the man with a gun pointing a gun at his head.

38:45 - I do not like how visibly upset Malcolm is in this scene. I mean my whump heart adores it but I also hate it because you know - whump is complicated.

39:23 - That hug was as much for Malcolm as it was for Andi.

39:40 - This is one of my favourite Gil/Malcolm scenes. It’s just wonderful. Gil looks so worried about Malcolm and Malcolm looks a combination of scared and resigned to what Gil is going to ask him. There is something about the way Gil asks “Are you okay?” that just feels like a knife in my heart. Then Malcolm answers truthfully, and I’m pretty sure my heart stopped altogether.

40:00 - Gil looks even sadder (if that’s possible) when Malcolm responds truthfully but he also looks resigned. He’s not surprised by Malcolm’s answer just of how easily he got the truth out of Malcolm.

40:24 - Gil has the absolute perfect response. “Okay.” Because Gil’s done too. Gil is almost as tired as Malcolm and for now Gil’s comforted by the fact that Malcolm is self-aware and being honest with him. For now - that’s enough.

40:44 - GIL YOU NEED A VACATION TOO.....omg. Can we get a Gil+Malcolm joint vacation. Please?!? That would be amazing. Someone write the fic!! Please!!

41:22 - Malcolm can see that Gil is upset. He knows he’s worrying Gil and he still feels guilty about the incident. Malcolm may be a little cracked right now but our boy is a mature adult. Watching Malcolm sincerely apologize to Gil feels like a warm hug. Gil’s little smile is everything. I want to cry happy tears.

42:30 - “I’m a civilian now Sunshine.”....does this imply that sometime between 1x6 (when Gil refers to Malcolm as a civilian on the police radio) and now Malcolm has become an official member of the NYPD?

I. Love. This. Episode. It’s not perfect but the insight to Malcolm is amazing. Thanks for hanging out my dudes.

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altik-0 · 4 years

Text

Personal Revelation

I've spent the last two weeks trying to figure out how to write this post, but my mind has felt like it's tumbling around a washing machine and trying to figure out how to straighten my thoughts into a coherent message has felt impossible. But I'm driving myself crazy continuing to hold off on saying something, so I'm going to just rip off the bandage now, and we can talk in more depth after the cut.

Hi! 👋 I'm Asexual and Aromantic! Let's talk about it.

Where to even start

This month has been a fucking trip.

On the one hand, this has been the fourth month of nearly continuous quarantine for the COVID-19 pandemic. On the other, the end of May was the spark that began a wildfire of protests against police brutality that have swept across the country, including the seemingly milquetoast land of Salt Lake City. I found myself simultaneously figuring out the umpteenth way to keep myself entertained while being in home nearly uninterrupted for over 90 days, while also desperately searching for the courage to exit my home and join the marches against injustice.

And in the background of all of this, it was Pride Month.

On the 12th, a Youtube creator I follow released a video about their experience discovering themselves as non-binary. You should watch it, but what is important for the sake of this post is that the bulk of the video is an asynchronous telling of various moments throughout their life that, in reflection, show them that "[they] were who [they] are now, back then". These moments form a tapestry that tell a story of self discovery, and the result is incredibly powerful.

They released a rough cut about a week earlier for Patreon supporters, and I was immediately transfixed. I watched it three times in a row on the first day it was uploaded. I watched it twice more after the release. Hell, when I pulled this video up now to get the share link I couldn't help but sit and watch through it all over again.

At first I didn't really know why I felt so attached to this piece in particular. Yet still, I spent multiple nights laying awake for hours in what felt like a dreamlike haze at the time. It took three nights like this for me to realize I had spent all this time reflecting on my own past moments, and revisiting them through the lens this video had shared with me.

How I got here

It is September 2005. I am currently at a school dance. I know I am supposed to be finding someone to dance with and enjoy that for some reason, but all I want to do is go home. I might consider mustering up some courage and just asking someone, anyone, to dance, if it weren't for the fact that I still didn't have any friends. Instead, I feel trapped, wandering up and down the side wall, waiting for it to be over so I can finally leave. I stumble across a small group also sitting on the sides; a girl reading manga, and another playing Yu-Gi-Oh! with a boy across from her. I approach: "I didn't realize anyone still played this" They invite me to join, and soon I find myself with genuine friends at school for the first time in years. I never think about asking someone to dance again.

It is the summer of 2017. I am at a bar with some coworkers at the end of the week. I don't drink, but I've opened myself up to joining people for happy hour because it feels like a good way to socialize, and I've genuinely enjoyed getting to know folks. My team lead makes a comment that he feels it's impossible for a man and a woman to ever have a friendly relationship without having some element of sexual tension between them. I rebuff this comment -- initially I feel a sense of feminist frustration at the concept, as if it is implicitly saying that men and women should not work together. As the conversation continues, I realize the real reason I feel so sure this is wrong is because I have never felt this way toward anyone I've worked with.

It is the summer of 2008. I am in church, listening to the new instructor for my Sunday school class shift the discussion towards politics. Since he began, every lesson without fail will eventually derail into right-wing screeds. For him, any issue that is even vaguely left-leaning is a potential avenue for Satan to take hold of you: feminism, activism, even environmentalism. But lately he has had a particular fixation on the topic of gay marriage, and it is beginning to take a toll on my mental health. Being in these classes, hearing a man in a position of authority repeatedly say "it is not that we shouldn't love these people, but we need to still understand that they are committing a sin" has become physically painful to listen to. Of course, I am not queer, just an ally -- I can only imagine how painful this must be for those who are directly affected. I will nearly pass out from exhaustion and anxiety during sacrament meeting a few hours later.

It is February 2020. I am out to lunch with a friend and coworker. I have just recently changed jobs after less than a year, because I was hopelessly miserable at my last one. It should have been a dream job, marrying two of my closest passions, but instead I felt suffocated by being in a world where everyone seemed indifferent towards me at best, or actively hated me at worst. My friend invited me to join this job, and although it is a miserable job, I find solace in being able to go to lunch and have genuine conversations with someone I get along with. He mentions his wife is pregnant, and the stress of tending for his current child while she is resting. I acknowledge the frustration, though somewhat awkwardly since I am still single. "Oh, yeah, I sometimes forget you aren't married yet, haha. Well, don't worry, you'll get to join in on the fun soon enough!" I want to say "I very much doubt that"; instead I say "Well, I guess we'll see." The conversation does not feel so genuine anymore.

It is January 2009. I am watching House M.D. with my dad. We bond a lot while watching tv. We're both avid fans of MST3K, and we are invariably the obnoxious people in a movie theater a few rows down cracking jokes throughout the film. It feels fun and rebellious, even if we're doing it at home where nobody will be annoyed. This episode starts with Foreman and Thirteen waking up together in bed after clearly spending the night together. My dad cracks a joke about how "they're going to get in trouble, since they aren't married!" I quip back "nah, it's not a big deal, they just slept together, haha." My dad pauses the show and turns to me, deadly serious: "Who told you that was okay?!" I am a deer in headlights. I suddenly realize that I meant "slept together" literally, but nobody else uses it that way. I don't understand how I missed that.

It is October 2010. I am at home, speaking with my mother after coming home from school. She has always been a political firebrand, and especially after I left the church and started college the two of us have connected on this a lot. She has just read an article that mentioned the expanded acronym "LGBTQIA", and says she doesn’t know what all the "I" and "A" refer to. I don't yet know what the "I" refers to, but I suggest the "A" is probably for "asexual". She says she hadn't heard of asexuality, though that does make sense. I realize I don't recall hearing about asexuality before either. I don't actually know if anyone identifies like that. It just somehow feels like something that must exist.

It is the spring of 2007. I am at a local game store playing at a Friday Night Magic event for the first time. I suffer from very extreme social anxiety, and I spent the entire week a ball of nervous energy. Despite myself, I have managed to drive myself to the event and register. I have promised myself dozens of times over that I already knew Magic players were people similar to me, so there was no reason to worry. My first match is against someone wearing a frilly dress, cat ears, and tail. She mews at me several times while playing. On the surface I have frozen and only robotically go through motions of playing the game because my anxiety has boiled over to the point that I cannot quite function properly. Inside, I am filled with pure delight at realizing that someone could feel comfortable expressing themselves that openly in a space like this. I eventually become friends with this person who I will later learn is trans -- I had never met a trans person before. I will become close friends with three more trans people, at least two enbies, and countless other queer people over the next decade of playing this wonderful game.

It is November 2019. I am at work, sitting at my desk, feeling completely numb despite starting the day energetic to the point of mania. I've just had an argument with a close friend -- perhaps the closest friend I've ever had -- and it ended... poorly, to put it mildly. So poorly, in fact, that it is safe to say we are just not friends anymore. The reality was that there were always problems between us, and this was a culmination of conflict that never really got effectively resolved. It might not have even been possible to resolve. In the moment, though, I cannot escape the suffocating feeling that I am a failure as a human being; someone who simply does not know how to maintain a relationship. My mind goes through loops of how I could have said something differently to have it end better. The emotional pain will not fully make sense to me until several months later, when I realize this was the closest thing to a break-up that I've ever experienced.

It is January 2012. I am watching House M.D. with my dad again. Since leaving the church, watching shows like this has been a desperate lifeline for our relationship. We don't joke as much anymore. This episode features a side plot with an asexual couple, who House determines is simply impossible, and uses his power of supreme logic to prove the asexuality wasn't real all along. I have heard of asexuality, though I don't know where or when, so I am angry at this. Of course, as an ally. I want to joke with my dad to release some frustration, but he is still in the church, and I don’t think he will empathize. I stay silent, and do not enjoy this episode.

It is December 2019. I am scrolling through a Discord channel I was invited to from one of the leftist creators I follow. This community has been a breath of fresh air in many ways, and one I found surprisingly helpful was an NSFW adult content chat channel where people are open about sex, fetishes, and more. I've considered myself fairly open-minded and sex-positive, but I'm still a virgin at 28 so I've found there is a lot I just don't know about. Today, someone has started a conversation about what qualifies as "taboo" and relating it to kink-shaming. Another member replies, mentioning they are asexual and find the whole notion of taboos being kind of bizarre. My mind reels at seeing someone who identifies as asexual in this chat. Over time I find out there are several other people who identify at least gray-ace in this chat, some who even draw risque artwork for commission. I realize how little I actually understood about what asexuality really was, and begin scouring the internet for articles and wikis on asexuality.

It is April 2010. I am at an Apollo Burger across the street from the local game store where I am playing in a Magic prerelease. My friends I followed over are talking about weekend plans, and one of them makes a joke about doing some chores to butter up his partner to have sex. The joke does not go over my head -- I am straight, and understand sex, even if I am still a virgin -- but I still can't help but think out loud: "You know, I just don't get why people make such a big deal out of sex." The awkwardness and confused looks are suffocating. I drop the topic immediately.

It is June 2020. I have just watched a video from an enby Youtube creator about their experience discovering their own gender identity. Over the next three days I will see every one of these past experiences, along with hundreds of others, flash before my eyes in rapid succession, over and over, until I begin to realize that I haven't allowed myself to truly identify how I do. Every time I asked "am I asexual?" in the past, I would dismiss it because I understood sex and have a sex drive. Once I actually researched asexuality, though, I almost immediately found stories of people who identify as ace and still experience a sex drive. I also discover a lot of stories from aromantic people that sound painfully similar to feelings I hadn't even realized were not the norm. For the first time I begin to realize I may not just be an ally.

So what does this mean

I came to a sense of satisfaction with living alone and single a long time ago. At first this came with a certain level of shame, because I felt like it was only because I was too cowardly to enter the dating scene and try to find a relationship for myself. Over time the impact of the shame diminished, but it never went away; it just became a quiet background noise that I got accustomed to pushing back.

But now that I feel comfortable calling myself "Aromantic", I don't feel any shame. A romantic relationship is simply something I don't need. Instead, I can focus on fostering the kinds of deep relationships that do feed my soul. That will likely be a difficult thing to do -- awkwardly traversing intimacy was something most people worked through as a teenager or young adult, and I'm nearly 30, haha. But it at least feels possible now.

But really the biggest change for me is that I feel like I can be honest and public about who I am in a way I never was before. Simply being open about this piece of my identity somehow feels important if for no other reason than to let other people who felt like I did growing up that they aren't alone.

So... yeah. I'm aroace. And I always have been.

#coming out #aroace #aromantic #asexual #pride #god it's nice to have an emotional post that doesn't need to be tagged as garbage for once

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kar3npage · 5 years

Text

Sewing Scissors and Throwing Knives

Chapter 2 is up! Read from the beginning on ao3 here

What would have happened if Neil stopped playing Exy? If he kept running after his mother died? Neil Josten is working as a janitor at Palmetto State University when he gets the opportunity to work as a fashion designer for an up and coming brand. It's a dream come true, if it wasn't such a public position and if he wasn't still running from his father and the Moriyama's. Aka, the Fashion Designer AU that no one asked for but I couldn't help but write.

After a restless night Neil is sick of thinking about Wymack and his stupid, too good to be true proposal. And he is especially sick of the fact that he knows exactly what he’s going to do. He knew before he even left the university yesterday, but that doesn’t make his choice any better or easier to deal with. The truth it, Neil is exhausted. There is only so long that a human being can go without friendly interaction, and he’s been alone for so long. Every time someone gets too close, he leaves. It was bad enough when he was with his mother, but the past 7 years have been harder than Neil ever thought that they could be. There is a pretty solid chance that Kevin won’t recognize him: Neil’s hair is black and his eyes are a dull brown now, and it’s been so many years that even if his hair and eye colour were the same he doubts that Kevin would have remembered. Although, it was a pretty traumatic event so that might have hammered home some details that would usually be lost to time. And if Kevin does recognize him? Neil figures that he’s been running on borrowed time for a while now. He might as well go out with a bang, and it would be nice to be known as someone with potential. It would be nice to be known at all. So far he’s imagined that his death will be covered up and no one will remember. An unknown body found in the ditch outside of a small American town maybe, or perhaps he will never be found and his name will be forgotten along with his mothers.

The sticky note with Kevin’s number on it that Wymack left on the sketchbook is jarringly orange. It almost makes Neil smile, how it matches the unreasonably bright shade that is on the team jerseys. Neil is standing in the parking lot of a bus station that looks like it’s been around longer than buses have. He’s facing a telephone booth--something that is not easy to find nowadays, but Neil doesn’t want to buy himself a phone just for one call. Plus, this way he is harder to trace. Just in case. Taking a deep breathe, Neil steps into the enclosed space and starts dialing. He holds the phone up to his ear and clutches at his sketchbook like it’s his lifeline. At the moment, it kind of is. The phone of the other end rings, and rings, and rings. Neil is just about to give up and pretend none of this happened when a gruff voice answers the phone. “What?” the voice says, talking over the sound of arguing and faint music in the background. “Is this Kevin Day?” Neil asks after a panicked pause. “Yes. Who is this?” There is murmuring in the background and Neil can barely hear Kevin say ‘no, it’s from a payphone I think’. Neil speaks before he can continue the side conversation. “This is… Neil. Neil Josten. You’re father gave me your number.” “Oh! Oh, you’re the one with the sketchbook.” “Yes.” “Why didn’t you call yesterday?” Neil blinks in surprise. “Wymack said I had until Friday to answer. It’s only Wednesday.”

“Yes, but no one waits for opportunities like this. Everyone wants what I am offering you.” Kevin sounds irritated, or maybe stressed. Neil tries to put this voice together with the smiling picture from the Exy magazines he used to be in. The two do not mesh.

“Well I had to think about it. Is your offer still up or not?” “That’s ridiculous. Why did you have to think about it?” Neil gives him a similar bullshit answer that he gave Wymack yesterday. “I didn’t think I was good enough to work with Kevin Day.” Kevin snorts. “You aren’t. But I still want you to. If you listen to me, do everything I tell you to do, I think that you could be good.” “So the offer still stands?” “You’re in Palmetto? I’ll book your plane ticket. Since I obviously can’t send you the information on this number, I’ll send it to Wymack. It’s up to you to get it.” “So the offer still stands?” Neil says, feeling rather irritable. All this time he was worried about Kevin recognizing him and it turns out that he should be more worried about dealing with Kevins attitude. “Yes. We’re flying you out next week.” The line goes dead and it occurs to Neil that he isn’t actually sure where he’s going yet.

Wymack hadn’t been smug about Neil crawling back for a plane ticket. Instead, he seemed quite pleased about the whole thing. Now that Neil is in the John F. Kennedy airport in New York waiting for one of Kevin’s people to pick him up he is starting to regret every single decision that he’s made since his mothers death. Actually, he’s regretting every decision he’s ever made. Ever. It’s the blank look that draws Neils eye rather than a sign indicating who should pick him up. Neil had done some research this week in between panic attacks, so it’s easy to recognize the man standing in front of him. According to the fashion magazines, Andrew Minyard has been pretty much glued to Kevin’s side since they went to Design school together after Kevin broke his hand and flew the Nest. Andrew is now an infamous addition to the fashion world--his skill with embroidery is often ignored in favour of talking about his tragic past and terrifying demeanour. Now that Neil is seeing him in real life, he can see that Andrew doesn’t look like much at first glance. 5 foot even with pale hair and a blank gaze, Andrew is much more dangerous than he comes across. His time in juvie, a legally required drug induced mania that occurred after nearly beating four men to death with his bare hands, and the assault that ended the drugs during his time in university are all well documented. The only thing that keeps reporters from asking Andrew about these events is the terror that they won’t survive the encounter. “Bags?” Andrew asks once they’ve both looked each other over. “This is it.” Neil says, pointing to his well worn duffle. Andrew shrugs and walks away, assuming that Neil will follow him. Neil follows him.

It’s not until they’re sitting in an obviously expensive car that Andrew speaks again. He’s smoking a cigarette with the window open, the vehicle still parked in the underground parking at the airport. Neil holds himself absolutely still to make sure that Andrew doesn’t notice how badly he wants to get away from the airport. “Kevin says Wymack recruited you,” Andrew says in a bland tone. “I don’t think ‘recruit’ is the right word. I forgot my sketchbook at the court and Wymack kidnapped it. Then sent photos of it to Kevin.” Neil hopes that he could mask some of the disdain at being slightly forced into this opportunity. Andrews glance at him says otherwise. Andrew doesn’t respond to that, just stubs out his cigarette and starts driving. Neil is on high alert throughout the drive, his eyes tracking every sign that they pass. Andrew doesn’t even look at him again until they get to what Neil assumes is the studio. Despite the brand getting more and more popular, the building is bland and unassuming. Neil guesses that this is just an office, that clients wouldn’t normally come here. The area that it’s located in is obviously high end, with the buildings all new and built in modern and stylish ways. The one that Andrew leads them to doesn’t stand out, but the closer they get the more Neil can see how tastefully expensive it is. There are two men standing outside waiting for them when the car pulls over and Neil gets out. Both are significantly taller than Neil. He maps out an escape in his head, hoping that their height would slow them in a fight. Neither seem to notice his hesitation. The shorter one of the two beams and pulls Neil in for a hug, one that he extricates himself from as soon as he can. “Kevin didn’t say you were so attractive! This is seriously going to be so much fun, Kev never lets anyone have any kind of control. Except for Andrew, sometimes, but never over the designs! I’m still in shock that he wanted another designer here, this is crazy,” the man babbles. The taller one beside him looks just as thrilled, but he’s calmer and just offers a hand to shake to Neil. “I’m Matt Boyd, and this is Nicky. Dan wanted to be the one to meet you first,” Matt sends a significant look to Andrew, “but it’s a little hectic right now with a client fitting. You know how it is.” Neil does not, in fact, ‘know how it is’. But he gives a little nod to let Matt know that he’s following. Andrew starts into the building and the others follow him. Neil wonders about the control comment that Nicky made about Kevin allowing Andrew to have some. “Dan, Danielle Wilds, is head seamstress,” Matt explains as they walk. Nicky buts in. “And she keeps us all together when it gets stressful. And she’s Matts girlfriend.” Matt takes over again, a small smile on his face. “I’m lead pattern drafter, Nicky here is in the Marketing department--” “And Andrews cousin,” Nicky sings. Andrew gives him a rude gesture without turning around to look at them. Neil sends a quick glance between the two of them. Where Andrew is pale in every way, with his blond hair and nearly translucent, Nicky is the complete opposite. His tan skin and dark eyes make a stark contrast between the two, and his hair is curly while Andrew’s is straight. Nicky must notice Neil’s confusion because he explains quickly. “I know! Doesn’t look like it, does it? My mom was ‘rescued’ during one of dads missionary trips in Mexico. I got moms colouring.” “Why are you greeting me if you’re in marketing?” Neil asks. Matt laughs at his blunt approach. “Nicky always does, it makes new employees feel a little more at ease. Especially when Andrew picks them up.” Andrew is waiting for them to get to the elevator. If the comment bothers him, he shows no sign of it. Neil clutches his duffle a little closer as they all pile into the elevator. No one mentions it, but Nicky does raise an eyebrow at the ratty bag. “Anyway, I’ll introduce you to everyone else once we get to the floor. Like I said, it’s been a little crazy right now so we won’t be able to ease you into anything.” Matt gives him a sympathetic look, even though this news is a relief for Neil. The less time people have to ask him questions the easier. “What do you do, Andrew?” Neil asks, even though he knows exactly what Andrew does. Andrew gives him a carefully blank look and crosses his arms, one hand on an armband. Neil’s eyes track the movement. It makes sense to have weapons there, since it would make them easy to access. He vows to keep a closer eye on them from now on. After the silence lasts too long Nicky takes over, laughing uncomfortably. “Andrew is an embroiderer and Kevin’s guard dog.” There’s a barely concealed threat in Andrews eyes and Nicky is quiet for the rest of the excruciating elevator ride. It stops on the 14th floor. It takes everything in Neil to get himself to step off of the elevator and away from any possibility of escape. He scans the room to find the emergency exit (in the far right corner) and check the windows. No matter what, he knows that there isn’t an easy way out of this building. Quietly spoken German startles Neil out of his thoughts. He turns around to see Nicky whispering to Andrew. “What was that? Is he going to have a panic attack or something?” Andrew doesn’t answer, but when he sends an assessing gaze towards Neil, he knows that they’re speaking about him. Neil forces his muscles to relax and follows Boyd into the room. After the original alarm, Neil actually looks at the room and how it’s set up. There’s a gently hum of voices and machines that permeate the floor and make it feel almost cozy. The room that they’ve stepped into has a line of industrial sewing machines on one side, each with a dress form sitting beside them. Most of the dress forms are partially dressed with the beginnings of elegant evening gowns. On the wall to the left under the large windows is a row of ironing boards. A man is standing at one of them with a look of bright concentration on his face while he irons what looks to be a cotton gown. Neil has never had the time to properly construct anything-all of his training when it comes to sewing was done in the heat of the moment. He’s much better with hand sewing, a by product of the little chores he had to do when they were on the run. “Knox! Neil is here,” Boyd says to the man. He puts the iron down on the holder and turns around with a thrilled smile. “Hi, I’m Jeremy Knox. I’m the lead tailor. I work mostly menswear, so you won’t see as much of me, but I love to do a good women’s suit as well.” “Who designs menswear?” Neil asks, shaking the enthusiastic blond mans hand. Nicky gives him a strange look. “Um, Allison does. You know, Allison Reynolds? The creator of Alli Rey?” Neil sends him a blank look. His research had focused on Kevin, he hadn’t had the time to pay any attention to the other roles in the company. He’s regretting that already. Matt takes over, sounding more friendly about Neil’s lack of knowledge. “Allison is known for exquisite suits. As her company expanded, she wanted to add in womens wear, and that’s when Kevin joined the crew.” Neil tries to commit every detail of the jobs of each person that he comes across. Matt is patient and good with the other staff. He introduces Neil to everyone without interrupting their work too much, and is quick to move them on to each room. There are two rooms with sewing machines, one of them for mens and one for womens. Another massive room is filled with huge, waist height tables for the pattern drafters. Matt is obviously in his zone there, and he shows Neil the area with pride. There are rooms for fittings and meetings, as well as a cutting room, which they don’t enter but just peak into. The area is filled with offices--one for Nicky and his small crew that work marketing, and one each for Allison and Kevin. There are a few more offices off of this, but since Matt stops at Kevins door, Neil decides to ignore them for the moment. Neil notices Andrew slip into one of the rooms without any of the others noticing. Even though Neil has already spoken to the ex-striker and was perfectly aware that he would be seeing him today, it’s a shock to see him sitting at a desk and yelling into the phone, one cheek tattooed with a queen chess piece. It had been a huge deal when it came out that Kevin had covered up his tattoo. Accusations and rumours were thrown around for months, but when Kevin never released a statement it was eventually forgotten about. Or, at least the topic had gone dormant. They wait in the doorway awkwardly while Kevin finished his heated call. The wall behind his desk is covered in images that look like reference and inspiration photos. One wall is full window and the room is stylishly furnished. When Kevin finally puts down the phone and puts his full attention on the two men hovering in the doorway Neil freezes. This entire journey was stupid, and if Kevin recognizes Neil right now he won’t have a way out. No flash of recognition mars Day’s face, though. Instead, Neil is fixed with a haughty expression. He barely spares a glance for Matt, and Matt eventually leaves after telling Neil that he’ll introduce him to Dan as soon as she’s back from the fitting at the Madison Avenue store. “You don’t look like much,” Kevin says eventually, pinning Neil with an unimpressed look. Neil is fully aware that he’s wearing an old t-shirt and jeans, both a size too big. He feels like trash in this fancy office with shiny furniture. Usually these clothes help him blend in, but here they are making him stick out like a sore thumb. “I don’t think I’m here to look good,” Neil finally replies. Kevin doesn’t look impressed with that answer, and chooses to ignore it. “I’ll send someone to pick up clothes for you. Probably Nicky, he knows the image that we’re trying to portray.” Kevin gets up from his chair and leans against the desk. He is significantly taller than Neil (like most people are), but he stands hunched over like he’s trying to hide himself. He straightens every few minutes, but continues to forget and hunch over again. Neil watches the inner battle with fascination. “As I’m sure you know, the Resort show is coming up fast, which is why things are so hectic around here right now,” Kevin looks put out by the chaos. Neil doesn’t appreciate the assumption that he knows when fashion shows are, since he very much so does not. “Anyway, we’re working on Spring/Summer right now and it needs to be good. We’re getting outside pressure and with the brand getting so much attention right now, we need to keep it up.” “So why did you bring in a rookie?” “You’ve seen the floor,” Kevin says with outright disgust. “We’ll never come up with something groundbreaking the way it is now.” Neil raises an eyebrow and makes a note of how little faith Day has in his own team. That could be a bit of a recipe for disaster. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve brought someone in whose never studied or worked in the industry.” “If you do exactly what I tell you to do, it’s all going to work out.”

Neil spends the rest of the day shadowing Kevin, being grateful he never played Exy with the man, and trying to memorize every single piece of information he’s being given. He’s exhausted by the time Kevin decides that they’re allowed to leave at 8pm, but he knows he can’t let his guard down yet. Just because Kevin hasn’t recognized him yet doesn’t mean that he won’t, and there’s something about Andrew’s vacant stare that’s causing Neil some anxiety. He’s pretty sure that the small blond will be more trouble that Kevin and Nicky combined. Although Nicky is starting to be a big problem. He’s gotten it into his head that if Neil doesn’t look perfect, he’ll lose all acclaim that he’s procured from his years in Marketing. To be fair, the way that Kevin worded his job to buy Neil clothes did make it sound like life or death. Nicky refused to let Neil get a cab to the hotel room he’ll be staying at while they try to find him accommodations, so he’s trapped in the back of the expensive car with a chatting Nicky while a grouchy Kevin sits in the passenger seat and an apathetic Andrew drives. “Don’t worry about anything, we’ll get you measured tomorrow during your lunch break. If Kevin gives you one,” Nicky says, glaring at Kevin before continuing on his tirade. “It’s seriously going to be so easy. You’re gorgeous enough in that trash, but in a suit? No one will survive those sharp cheekbones!” Nicky fans himself. To Neils surprise, Andrew gives Nicky a sharp look through the mirror. “Stop,” he says in German. Nicky takes the dangerous tone in a stride and rapidly changes the topic to talk about an upcoming photoshoot. That sets Kevin off about not having promotional material ready in time, which gives Neil a glorious breather in the conversation. Getting measurements done shouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t be, for most people, but Neil isn’t most people. And he’s pretty sure that he’ll have to disrobe at least a little to get proper measurements. He’s still trying to figure out a way around this when Andrew dumps him at the hotel. Only Nicky says goodnight.

#andreil #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #tfc #aftg fanfic #fanfic #writing #neil josten #kevin day #coach wymack #nicky hemmick #andrew minyard #matt boyd #fashion designer au

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luciferianbuddhism · 5 years

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Luciferianism, what does it mean for you? How would you define it? Greetings

Hello! Well...since you are asking for my definition, I will give it. This does not reflect on my fellow Luciferians. This may end up being a jumbled mess as my definition is like spaghetti, all entangled together.

I think ultimately for me it is seeking a personal transformation to better/change myself. Whether you want to call it enlightenment or gnosis could be questionable. I am heavily influenced by Buddhism and the Bodhisattva plays a bit of an important role just as the concept of Lucifer being a “Light Bringer” is important. If you cannot change yourself how can you help break the cycle? So I see myself as having to be part of the change that I want to see in the world.

So...my Luciferian path focuses on that. So while my focus can be spiritual in a sense it is very focused on the here and now. It has been about developing my sense of self-confidence and learning to care for myself, to appreciate myself. Having that healthy sense of self-esteem, confidence, and such can be really empowering because you need to respect yourself.

None of the ideals or values of Luciferianism (or my Luciferianism) is unique. Free will, personal autonomy, sovereignty, and independence has been a driving factor behind many rebellions and protests through out history. Our ability to be represented fairly, to be divorced, for equal rights to vote, abortion rights, and so much more can be see even to this day. Standing up for that personal autonomy means resistance and not just for us, but for others too. It is what is also being a good Ally is about.

For me part of the way is Buddhism through the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, the Paramis, and such. Even though currently I have put it aside for now as I am forcing myself to study other parts, it still plays a huge part in me maintaining balance and the ability to step back especially when my emotions are volatile. I want to treat everyone with equanimity and I realize my usual value of non-violence can be controversial at times. But I do believe there is a place and time for violence even if some would denounce it. I am not all love and light. Just as I am not vegetarian (though I have one meal a day if not two that is vegetarian or vegan). Violence only solves so much but sometimes it is needed but it does not always break the cycle either.

Part of the resistance aspect and honoring part of what it means to be Luciferian to me is to be a kind of...hmm...I do not want to say activist but I try to speak up. I try to write. I try to be educational at least. I argue and I object. My rows with my uncle who often went on about “blacks and illegals” went down famous with my family. My mother had to beg me to be quiet and I only listened...for her sake for we are going through a very difficult time. Now my Uncle is dead and I am treading carefully with my Mom but I still speak up here and there. (Note: I am careful because as I write this my grandmother who has dementia is dying and on hospice. We are her caretakers as she is at home where she will pass in comfort.) I don’t mind being known as a “devil” or someone who is “difficult” or whatever words people will call me. And I should also say part of resistance can be things like charity, mutual aid, etc. Not everyone can be the “front lines” and there are people who are better as supporters.

Which all of this kind of leads into knowledge, wisdom, learning, critical thinking, skepticism and such. I try to be smart but I can only know so much. I try to be wise but when I am told I am wrong I apologize and learn. I can take criticism and if I really think I am right I will not back down. I am forever learning whether it is political, the physical realm or the spiritual realm...or whatever other subject. I keep an open mind but just because I keep an open mind do not think I will for moment accept the flat earth theory, I do not.

I should also mention responsibility. We are responsible for our own actions and for breaking the cycle or at least doing our best to do so. It is a difficult process. I am also responsible for my mental well being. I have bipolar disorder and that means I am not always capable of doing things depending upon if it is manic or mania. I am responsible for taking my own medicine and I advocate if you have mental health issues and you need to takes meds, take them! I realize to things do happen but its what you do afterwards when you realize it is what is also important. Buck up buttercups, we all make mistakes, we all fail, but we must learn from it and do our best.

Perhaps I should also mention that I highly value self-discovery. You know yourself best. Sit with yourself and learn what you can do, what you can’t do, and when and how you can push the boundaries. You know those couch potato to 5k programs? It can be very much like that. Start with one mile and work your way up till one day you are running 3 miles. If you want to do more you can work your way up but sometimes even though you work your way up you will never be able to run 6 miles, or 13, or 26 miles. You have to do you.

So I guess for me...being a Luciferian is about doing. It’s about action. It’s about becoming more than you are, step by step. It’s about taking care of yourself and others and also...our Earth! We only have one planet! My identity as a Luciferian is wrapped around politics even if I am not always capable of going to a protest. I can write, I can call, I can sign, I can raise awareness about issues. I can be more than I am. I can be a torch bearer. I can help light the way to the future...I am one but we as a whole can be many. One drop of water is one drop, but...it can form a trickle, a stream, a river, that becomes a sea or an ocean.

I hope this helps and answers your question beautifully! Sorry for taking so long!

#asks #luciferian #luciferianism

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teenynyxpersonal · 4 years

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2020 20 questions!

Thank you for the tag @cm-primus! Sorry it took a couple days! 20 random FACTS about yourself that may surprise people.

1. Do you make your bed? -sweating- Like, once a week I REALLY make it, but mostly I just make it nice to sleep in through the week!

2. What’s your favorite number? 24! For my birthday!

3. What’s your job? I work as a school bus driver, since being a teacher is super hard and not nearly as fun as driving a 30k ton death trap filled with children!

4. If you could, would you go back to school? Eh???? I might if I really felt the urge to, but honestly I make a lot of money doing this and I have breaks off its GREAT.

5. Can you parallel park? Heck yeah I can, I can park a bus, I can park a car- Well, I parallel park the bus better than the car tbh BUT I CAN DO IT.

6. A job you had which would surprise people? I was once a secretary/order input person for a very big promotional company, where we printed things from store promotion items to concert promotion items. Things like drink coozies for a Kid Rock concert, Wrestle Mania towelettes and stuff like that. Keychains were a big thing most people did, but we even printed car graphics and had a lot of big name clients. I still have some stuff from that cause we could get extras printed of the designs for free!

7. Do you think aliens are real? Yeah man it only makes sense.

8. Can you drive a manual car? No. Please don’t put me in one.

9. What’s your guilty pleasure? I don’t really get what would be considered, but if it is something like spoiling yourself, then the occasional London Fog at Starbucks? I will never turn down an Iced London Fog. Ever. And I treat myself to one maybe once or twice a month. (I make them at home too.)

10. Tattoos? Yep! I have two actually! One of them is a matching one with my little sister, and the other was one I got when I was still in a coven. I quit it a long while ago, thinking of getting it covered with a black cat!

11. Favorite color? Purple (lilac/lavender) and teal are my faves! They go great together too!

12. Things people do that drive you crazy? I agree, chewing with their mouths open is super cringe and I literally DIE. Other than that though I just hate rude people. I hate people with no concept of personal space or no consideration for others. Music played in public eating places, turning up the TV so loud no one can think, things like that.

13. Any Phobias? Mmmmm, not really, but I can’t touch wet food, I will vomit all over everything you love.

14. Favorite childhood sport? Does climbing trees count? I’ve never been a sport person unless its watching skating lol

15. Do you talk to yourself? Yeah I do. All the time. Sing to myself too.

16. What movie do you adore? It’s kind of hard to pick, there are a lot of great ones. Princess Bride, HP, NGNL Zero are all in my top 5, and Koe no Katachi made me sob like Wolf Children made me sob.

17. Do you like doing puzzles? If I’m feeling up to it, but if not, it isn’t like I hate them, I’m just a lazy person lol

18. Favorite kind of music? I listen to Jpop, Jrock, Video Game soundtracks, things like that. The occasional Pop is okay, but I don’t listen to American Radio. @w@

19. Tea or coffee? Tea for Teeny!!

20. The first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? I was one of those kids who wanted to be a vet until I realized you’d have to kill the animals if you needed to and then I was like ‘okay fine then I guess I’ll do whatever’ lmao

Thank you for the tags!! I’ll tag @kagedokai and @teapots-and-hats if they wanna do it!!

#about me #THANKS!!!#ask meme

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ad-drew · 6 years

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The Shaman Society | An Excerpt, Part 6

Second draft editing continues to go well, chugging along a chapter at a time. I wanted to give another excerpt, but decided to go back a couple of chapters I had initially skipped over so I could share a bit of the lore of this world. Hopefully, some of you find it interesting!

Tagging: @mania-junkie-writes

If you want to be added to my humble tag list, just send me a message and I’ll be happy to do so!

---

Dozens more buildings greeted her, each one in the same traditional design. Rei spun around with her mouth hanging open, staring like an idiot. No freaking way. She hadn’t dropped in on one random home. This was a city. But why? How? She couldn’t have fallen through her grandparents’ closet and landed on the other side of the world, could she?

“I don’t—this is—” Rei’s words stumbled out in stammering fits. The farther they made their way down the street, the more frantic her gaze darted around to take in everything. “What even—?”

Kaito grinned at her. “Welcome to Hinansho, the one and only city of Takama-ga-hara.”

“Takama-go-what?”

“Takama-ga-hara. Shinto teachings describe it as the dwelling place of the kami, but we’ve come to know it as the Spirit World.”

Rei rubbed her eyes. “Hold up. You’re telling me we’re in a different world?”

“Oh yes, my dear girl. Another world, indeed.”

Several individuals appeared around the street corner. The man was bald with dark skin, and the woman pale with a long coil of sleek black hair. The small child following them shared features of each, his skin a lighter brown than his father. All three were dressed in different colored yukata. Kaito offered a bow to greet them on the way by, and they returned in kind before continuing on their way.

“Takama-ga-hara is a realm outside the human world,” said Kaito, waving for Rei to keep up, “but exists alongside it in unison.”

A thousand denials swam through her head. Thoughts of books, and video games, movies, anime—all the different varieties of “other worlds” she’d ever been exposed to. Fiction. Stories. The sorts of things that didn’t happen in real life. “That’s not—I don’t believe it. How does any of this exist?”

The smile never left Kaito’s face. “I wouldn’t concern yourself so much with the ‘how’ as you should with the ‘why.’ This way.”

He led her to another street, this one crowded with multiple groups of people. Some folk simply passed through, going about their business. Others stood talking together, whether on the street itself or in the gardens outside various buildings. One woman knelt alone in one of the gardens, digging through the dirt with a trowel, while a young boy and girl ran circles around her in an audible, giggly game of tag.

A vast mix of different people dotted the crowd. A squat, tan man dressed in khakis leaned against a tree, talking in a thick Australian accent to a woman wearing a sun dress, who replied in a deep drawl. Another woman wore a dazzling blue qipao, and walked hand-in-hand with a copper-skinned woman dressed in white robes and a hijab. A thickly-moustached man wearing a frock coat and a cowboy hat ran by them with a laugh and a wave.

“And why am I here?” Rei said. “What is this place? Who are all these people!”

Kaito returned a wave to the frock-coated man on the way by. “You’re here because of who your parents were, and their parents before them. What they were a part of.”

Rei stared at him, a cold knot lifting into her chest. “What do you know about my parents?”

“They were friends of mine. As were your grandparents.” At the mention of her grandparents, Kaito’s expression sank. “I am sorry to hear of your loss, Rei. They were good people.”

“My grandparents were, yeah.” She shoved past him, continuing down street. Who the hell was this guy to talk about her family like he knew them? “But my parents abandoned me. Couple of no-good deadbeats. Suppose they ran off and left you behind like they did me, huh? Some friends.”

She heard Kaito sigh and shuffle after her to take the lead. “I should explain. This city you see around you, Hinansho, was built by a group of people who strived to make our world—the human world—a safer place, as we continue today.”

“This all sounds mad. You know that, right?” When he didn’t answer, she rolled her eyes and continued, “And what exactly do you keep the world safe from?”

“From evil. Monsters.”

Rei scrunched her brow, following Kaito around another bend in the street. Evil? Monsters? The hell kind of game was this old man playing at?

Around the bend, they stepped into a sprawling park. Dozens of blooming cherry blossom trees surrounded the open waters of a massive lake. A strong gust rushed through the trees, pulling a swirl of blossoms out onto the water’s smooth, mirrored surface. Like a thousand glittering stars, the petals moved across the water, spinning and circling each other in an unending dance. Like stepping into a goddamn fairytale.

A large square platform suspended over the center of the lake, connected to opposite shores by a pair of arching bridges. Pillars at the corners of the platform supported a sloping roof, offering cover from the beating sun of a cloudless blue sky above. Twelve individuals moved across the platform, each paired with another in a swift exchange punches, kicks, and grapples. Curious. Some kind of martial arts sparring session?

The combatants separated from each other and bowed, before squaring off for another go. Flashes of blue light erupted in their palms, and Rei’s jaw plummeted to her shoes. Where there had been nothing, each individual now wielded a different weapon—a variety of swords, clubs, staves, and others among them. The combatants reengaged their sparring. Same intensity as before, only this time with everyone armed to the teeth.

Thin air. The weapons had appeared from thin air. Forget fairytales. She’d fallen into freaking Narnia. Unable to stop the words from tumbling out her mouth, she blurted, “What the fuck is all this?”

“We’re shamans, Rei.” Kaito looked to her. Gone was his smile, replaced by a stern, weighty gaze. The kind of gaze that made you shut up and listen. “And this is The Shaman Society, an organization that for centuries has worked to protect the innocent by hunting and eradicating malevolent supernatural forces.”

“W-what kind of forces?”

Rei couldn’t stop staring at the platform. These so-called shamans had begun performing impossible physical feats. Some moved so fast she could hardly see them. One man leaped what had to be fifteen feet straight into the air like some kind of human grasshopper. In one instance, a woman lifted her opponent over her head with all the effort of hoisting a sack of feathers and threw the man over the platform into the water below. The fallen shaman disappeared with a loud sploosh, only to spring into the sky a moment later and land on the railing, no worse for wear.

“Yōkai, to be specific,” said Kaito. “Creatures borne of the underworld, Yomi-no-kuni, where a person’s soul departs to when they die.”

Rei rubbed her palms furiously against her eyes. “Fuck, okay—yōkai? And these are monsters from another world?”

Kaito nodded. “When a person’s soul departs for Yomi, it may become corrupted during the journey. Yomi feeds this corruption, twisting the soul and changing it into a yōkai. Over time, these yōkai can slip into the human world through occasional rifts. The same thing can happen if a person dies with a powerful will to remain on earth, in which case the soul and spirit are unable to move on. The lingering regrets of the spirit corrupt the soul into a yōkai.”

She pressed her palms harder against her face. Any more, and she’d drive her eyeballs back into her skull. “And lemme guess: they kill people?”

“In order to survive in the human world, a yōkai must periodically feed on the life essence of living beings. How much and how often depends on the individual. Either way, The Shaman Society’s job is to stop them.”

Rei finally pulled her hands away, turning a bewildered stare towards Kaito. “So…souls, spirits? Those are real things?”

“Indeed.” Kaito raised his hands, palms flat towards the sky. A blue glow ignited around his right. “Two different natural forces exist within our bodies. The first is our spiritual energy, or ki. Our ki composes our spirits, which gives us our mind, our individuality, and makes us who we are. This same energy composes the entirety of Takama-ga-hara, giving it tangible form.”

Rei stared at the old man’s hand. There it was, glowing of its own accord with no discernible light source. Sure, totally natural. “Uh huh. Ki. And the other?”

A second glow erupted, this one red, surrounding Kaito’s left hand. “On the other side is our life essence, or chakra, which composes our souls. A soul gives the body its breath, its heart, its energy.”

The burning glow danced like fire in her eyes. “Chakra, sure. A little too Naruto, but go on.”

Kaito clasped both hands together. The blue and red light combined, glowing brighter and shifting into a deep, rich purple. “Bring both these forces together, and you get the gift of life. They create a natural balance between worlds. When a person dies, their energies split, with the soul traveling to Yomi, and the spirit here, to Takama.”

Rei took a step back and raked her fingers through her still-damp hair. Alright, so time to throw everything from tenth grade Biology right out the window. Forget the mitochondria. Life was powered by mystical energies. “So, by killing these yōkai you keep some sort of cosmic balance, or whatever?”

“And save people’s lives in the process. A reward all its own.”

Hollowness rooted in her throat, leaving an acrid, metallic taste on the back of her tongue. “Insane” didn’t even begin to cover this. Souls, spirits, shamans, evil monsters, cosmic balance—made for some cool stories, some fun video games maybe, but real life? No freaking way.

She pinched herself—hard, on the back of her neck, to the point a small drip of blood squeezed between her fingers. The resulting twinge of pain brought a disgruntled gasp to her lips. Shit. Okay, not dreaming. Go fucking figure.

#amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #wip #the shaman society #excerpt

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coreygoestoconcerts · 5 years

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The Best Albums of 2018

Obviously as an avid concert goer, I listen to a great deal of music in my free time too. Here’s a rough list of my favorite albums this year.

ALBUM OF THE YEAR

Vein - Errorzone

Holy hell, what an album. I feel like Vein has tapped into everything I loved growing up and created a really mind-bending, genre-shaping post hardcore album that is going to lead the charge of this brand of music for a while. They just really took my world by storm with this album. Growing up binging on post hardcore, I hadn’t really heard anything this exciting in a long time. Vein took the best elements of bands like Converge and old school Norma Jean and Poison the Well and brought it into the future. I also love their whole aesthetic. The fucked up futuristic surgical imagery and the vaguely post-apocalyptic, cyberpunk lyrics with just enough twisting metaphors to keep you guessing at their true meaning (see: my undying love of At the Drive-In). This thing was just perfect, and it skyrocketed Vein to being one of my favorite bands. Doesn’t hurt that they’re absolutely incredible live too.

OTHER REALLY GREAT ALBUMS

Post Malone - Beerbongs & Bentleys

I loved Post Malone’s debut album so much, but I really had my doubts that he could overcome the perils of fame and fortune to create something equally as great on his second outing. At first, I admit, I was disappointed because Beerbongs & Bentleys does reflect Post’s new lifestyle. He’s not struggling anymore. He is still heartbroken though. After several listens, this one really grew on me. The sound is different than his first album. It’s warmer and less isolated feeling. That being said, almost every track here is a winner and Post really shines as an artist. He successfully dodged the sophomore slump. I hope he keeps it up in the future. I think he’s got a bright one.

Fall Out Boy - MANIA

Like with Post’s album, I had a lot of fears about this one. I’ve been a longtime, diehard Fall Out Boy fan, but after they released what I believe is their best album, American Beauty / American Psycho, and put out some weak lead singles to this one, I felt like their well had run dry. I was openly critical after hearing “Young and Menace.” Yet, that song works much better in the context of the album, and they ended up hitting another home run with MANIA. It isn’t as consistent as American Beauty / American Psycho, and it rarely hits the same highs, but it’s a nice, late career effort from a surprisingly solid band. I do think they should dial it back a bit on the production, maybe go with a more organic sound like their older material or their newest single “Lake Effect Kid,” but MANIA mostly ended up being a great album to me.

Vamachara - Despondent

I wasn’t a huge fan of Vamachara’s earlier EPs, but their debut album was just a relentlessly heavy, crushing metal/hardcore album. These guys came to play with Despondent. This ended up being one of my favorite heavy albums of the year and got a ton of plays. I also got my face busted in their pit when I saw them live, so there’s that. Great stuff here. Some of my favorite gym music too.

Cult Leader - A Patient Man

Another heavy album here, but what surprised me was that the quiet moments really make this album. When Cult Leader is crazy fast and heavy, they are great, but when they show their softer side, that’s where they really shine. It makes the heavier moments stand out so much more, and their lilting melodies just carry me off in a trance sometimes. These guys have been awesome for a long time, but I really think this might be their best effort yet.

Screaming Females - All At Once

After a run of albums I didn’t really love, I never expected Screaming Females to put out their best album ever in 2018, but it really is the peak of their career as of yet. They just managed to take everything that has ever made them great and pack it into one exceedingly awesome record. I jammed the hell out of this one, and I think it really is their most consistent and rewarding one to date. It also features their most solid songwriting and catchiest choruses.

Harm’s Way - Posthuman

Like with Screaming Females, I’m surprised to say that I think Posthuman is probably the best Harm’s Way album yet. Though they alienated a lot of earlier fans with their shift away from pure hardcore and into metal and industrial, I think it’s just a perfect sound for them. I loved this album and I feel like it’s far more unique and enjoyable than their older stuff. Though their older material is great, this one puts them in a category of their own and separates them from the pack. They definitely became one of my favorite bands with this record.

Kanye West - Ye

God, say what you want about Kanye and his insanity, but he is a musical genius. I was mixed going into this one because of his public persona and because of his singles (I did end up loving “Lift Yourself” in all its stupidity though). But it ended up being yet another hit for a rapper who I think has never made a less than stellar record. My only complaint with Ye is that it’s so short, but that seems to be the direction most rappers are going in nowadays, so, whatever.

SOME OTHER COOL ALBUMS

Portrayal of Guilt - Let Pain Be Your Guide

Cardi B - Invasion of Privacy

6ix9ine - DUMMY BOY

Candy - Good to Feel

Jesus Piece - Only Self

Year of the Knife - First State Aggression

Converge - Beautiful Ruin

Sanction - The Infringement of God’s Plan

Sentenced to Burn - The Seven Layers of Skin

Hop Along - Bark Your Head Off, Dog

Various Artists - Black Panther The Album

Slaves - Beautiful Death

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dentalrecordsmusic · 6 years

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Will Wood Interviews Will Wood

I’m going to be honest: I get a lot of press releases and most of them get thrown in the trash. They are, of course, entirely positive information about the given artist and therefore entirely boring. However, when I got a strange (unnecessarily big) package in the mail containing three (3) pieces of glitter, a very small gentlemen’s hat, and the following interview of Will Wood answering questions from himself, I felt it was important enough to pass along to our readers.

AN INTERVIEW WITH WILL WOOD

BY WILL WOOD

In this pre-apocalyptic wasteland of whataboutism and Russian disinformation, it can be difficult to pick all the pyrite from the proverbial pan. That’s an idiom now. In the old days, knowledge was banned and burned and buried in temple ruins and conquered libraries. It was suppressed and scarce and it took a hungry mind and a passion for discovery to shine light onto dark ages. The information age is upon us now – and while we can all tap into a bottomless well of knowledge at any time, we are no better off. The light is already so bright, the sound so deafening, that anything you have to show or say is already washed out in the cacophony. We still know nothing, because while we can see so much, we cannot distinguish illumination from illusion.

That’s what attempting to prepare for an interview with Will Wood taught me. Some information checked out, but everywhere I looked I saw misprints, inconsistencies, lies, theatrical exaggeration, errors, and the constant churning of the rumor mill. I read everything from errors in basic information, to full-blown criminal accusations. For instance, one source claimed they had found he had a home in a town called Glen Ridge, when in reality his P.O. Box is in Glen Rock, and his home is in Egg Harbor. Another source said he once kicked a pregnant woman in the stomach at a Renaissance Faire.

I like to think I prepared as well as anyone could have. Which means I prepared quite poorly. So arriving at the beach outside the B.L. England refinery in Egg Harbor New Jersey where Mr. Wood agreed to meet me had me feeling like a dead man walking. He was standing there in a bright green trench coat and aviator sunglasses, holding a steel briefcase. He greeted me with a firm handshake and a slight bow before sitting right down in the sand and lighting a hand-rolled cigarette.

Q: Do you do drugs?

A: I had a really bad trip on a low dose of antipsychotics recently. Don’t drive until you’ve adjusted to a medication. Almost ran over my own car.

Q: What are your thoughts on the affect social media has had on the arts?

A: I’m fairly certain Mark Zuckerberg technically holds the copyright to all of my intellectual property and he’s a demon lizard. But hey, that’s showbiz.

Q: Is it challenging to be openly queer in the music industry?

A: Nobody cared about my feelings until I put on makeup. I’d wear dresses more often but I’m getting paunchy from too many trips to Golden Corral. I never get my money’s worth but I always try. And the harder I try, the less its worth.

Q: So you came here from North Carolina a few years ago, what was it like making that adjustment?

A: I had to lose the accent because people kept asking me if I played country music.

Q: Do you like working out here?

A: You see that lighthouse? It’s actually a cosmetically enhanced sulfur-scrubber. It reeks of eggs for miles. I work out of a back room at Lee’s Food, which also reeks of eggs. Yes it’s a real place. Probably not for long though.

Q: And you like that?

A: Have you ever tried filing your income taxes on a fold-up card table in an 85 degree spare bedroom while eight staff members shout at each other in Mandarin while trying to make Japanese food to serve in a Korean restaurant and your daughter is running in the back door holding the neckbones of a great blue heron asking you to hold on to it while she tried to find the head?

Q: That sounds like a no.

A: I didn’t say that.

Q: What’s it like trying to raise a child? Is it difficult to juggle family life and work life?

A: Mildred is getting old enough to take care of herself. My partner and I skipped most of the ugly years where they’re too stupid to talk or eat on their own and they scream at you to pull your tit out in the middle of Thompkins Square Park. Then again, lots of people in Thompkins square park will do that to you.

Q: Okay. So. Is it difficult to juggle family life and work life?

A: You just asked me that.

Q: Right, but you-

A: We were going to adopt a little boy and name it Oliver but the orphanage thought we were being funny so they shoved a moody tween at us and lost the paperwork. But let’s not talk about Millie. I don’t like her getting attention from press, I’m sure you can see what that’s doing to Jacob Sartorius and that kid from “It.”

Q: Does press attention bother you personally?

A: Look, this is going to sound like some Sean Spicer shit. But a lot of press out there about me is just plain false. For instance, someone quoted me as liking Billy Joel back in 2015. I said a lot of stuff in 2015 I didn’t mean but I have always been a staunch Elton John man. Even though his lyrics are trash. His lyricist’s lyrics, I mean. He should just write his own, his lyrics can’t be any worse than that walking beard’s drivel.

Q: And… so, the inaccurate reporting- does it bother you?

A: Let me put it to you this way. Imagine if someone said that you liked Uptown Girl without your consent.

Q: You seem to be very critical of other musicians, you’ve been quoted repeatedly as saying “I hate music.” What makes you feel this way?

A: When you hate 99% of something, it’s most efficient and pretty effective to just say you hate that thing. A Nazi who gets along well with 1% of Jews is still a Nazi. Most of the world’s music is painfully banal or no fun to listen to.

Q: What sort of music do you like then?

A: Anything by Green Day. Everyone seems to laugh when I say that but it’s entirely true. Billie Joe Armstrong is my biggest songwriting influence and the world needs to know that.

Q: One of the defining features of mental illness is the manner in which it inhibits “functionality,” but short of suicide as a risk to one’s life its difficult to say if there’s a clearly objective definition of healthy psychoemotional functionality. We can really only work with one’s ability to reconcile their personality with cultural norms, and their own idea as to how comfortable they should feel in their own skin on a regular basis, which is also partially informed through socialization. One can cite psychosis and acute mania as definitive examples of why its necessary to consider various mental and behavioral traits as medical concerns, but its also worth noting that in some cultures throughout history hallucinations and what would appear to be delusional states have been valued and seen as sacred.

Is mental health seen as a medical problem only because social systems with enormous power have designed ways to remove nonconforming or negative natural phenomena through medical intervention, and if so, should we be more distrusting of psychiatry and the ever-changing spectrum of mental health diagnoses? Should we really call them sicknesses?

A: We only see the flu as a medical problem because physical medicine exists. Before the study of pathogens began to arise, it was simply seen and spoken about as a part of nature, and sometimes seen as divine or diabolical intervention – much like the examples of mental illness you gave. All health concerns ultimately amount to levels of social functionality, the individual’s personal experience, their mortality in extreme cases, and the illness’s threat of compromising those things in others. This is everything from cancer to the common cold – the only distinction is that we as a culture identify with our minds in ways we do not our bodies. This is ultimately arbitrary, and a socialized distinction, as the brain is a physical organ, our sensory organs are part of our mind’s subjective experience, and the body is inseparably connected with the brain as one singular organic being.

When one realizes this fully, one could likely start to see that what you are saying is true, but does not challenge the validity of the science itself. It is important to participate in this newer and complicated field of science wisely, and draw your own distinctions between problems that need medical attention and don’t, (only you can tell how much a physical injury hurts) but that does not mean that there cannot objectively be a disease. The importance of considering mental illnesses as diseases and giving diagnoses lies in our ability to communicate and interact with the topic – accurate and mostly agreeable language must be used to classify ideas and phenomenon. It was giving names to certain psychoemotional and behavioral states that first allowed scientists to organize the information necessary to invent life-saving interventions in therapy and medication. Seeing mental well-being as a medical concern the way we see physical well-being is not only accurate, but useful.

Q: Are you getting tired of writing this?

A: Well it’s good character work. World-building.

Q: Is any of what you said true up there?

A: It actually is but since I’ve made up a couple fun little things in interviews or used flowery language in the past a lot of people just assume everything I say is theatrics now. You know?

Q: I guess that makes sense. I’ve made some stuff up in my writing before too, I get it.

A: That wasn’t a question. As a matter of fact, that was an answer so you should be A and I should be Q.

A: That’s stupid. Just because you asked “you know” doesn’t mean we need to switch the only thing that identifies us in the article.

Q: Wait hold up though, my last response was also an answer, so I should still be an A.

A: Wait, so who’s going to be A, and who’s going to be Q?

A: You’re going to be Q now, because you asked who’s going to be Q. You’re the questioner.

Q: Isn’t this going to get confusing?

Q: I’m Q now too because I have to ask you if you have a better idea. Put a question mark on there so I can stay Q, that way people don’t get confused. ? Yeah right there just like that.

A: Why don’t we just use our actual initials, since it’s become less of an interview and more of a conversation? Should I be Q? It’s a response but it’s-

Q: Why didn’t I think of that?

W.W.: Oh, you did think of that.

W.W.: That’s true, I did.

W.W.: You shouldn’t have, it’s as stupid as the switching of Q’s and A’s.

W.W.: That was your idea, so we’re even.

W.W.: First base.

W.W.: THE WILL WOOD AND THE TAPEWORMS THREE YEAR ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION IS HAPPENING MAY 25TH AND 26TH WITH A VERY SPECIAL IN-STUDIO PERFORMANCE BY WILL WOOD AT THE VERY PLACE WWATT’S FIRST ALBUM “EVERYTHING IS A LOT” WAS RECORDED! TICKETS TO NIGHT ONE ARE ALMOST GONE AND VIP PACKAGES & TICKETS TO NIGHT TWO ARE LIMITED TO GO TO WWW.WILLWOODANDTHETAPEWORMS.BIGCARTEL.COM NOW AND SEND ME YOUR MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEYVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Purchase tickets here, or buy them at the door at Backroom Studios.

Catherine Dempsey has no idea how Will Wood got her address. She is scared. You can follow her on Instagram.

#will wood #will wood and the tapeworms #new jersey #punk rock #cabaret punk #interview #catherine dempsey #music news

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randoreviews · 6 years

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LIFE CARE CENTER

As it turns out, there are a lot of old people at assisted living places. From my brief time there, it seems like they just want to chill and take it easy. They’ve already done everything they meant to. They ran their race and had kids or didn’t have kids, had several husbands or wives. It’s pretty fantastic. I was there to visit someone who I’m technically not related to. It’s my dad’s sister’s husband’s aunt. She’s almost ninety. Her and her husband, Uncle Billy (who passed away probably about fifteen years ago), used to have these great Christmas parties every year. My family isn’t Italian, not even the littlest, I’m pretty sure, but this aunt and uncle to my uncle are, and of course they would have these amazing spreads of food. Whole rooms of food. This aunt was such a firecracker. She was a peppy little Italian lady, with always a short haircut. I can’t remember but I bet she used to pinch my cheeks. I got momentarily discouraged when I tried to enter the Life Care Center and the door wouldn’t open. Something’s wrong!, I thought. Then I realized you had to be buzzed in, and there was an elderly volunteer behind the desk working the buzzer. Hurry up already! It’s like when you’re stuck driving behind an old person -- everything was at that speed. I asked where Room 180 was and she pointed down the hall. Walking by the cafeteria, I wondered how much flirting was going on in there. Some old people really go for it, maybe because they were scandalous in their day, or maybe to try to keep themselves young. I hadn’t slept well the night before and everything seemed like a video game. It was also a really hot day, like a lot of these ones we’ve been having recently, and so everything was already a little woozy and slowed down. You know when you’re looking for a room looking for a room looking for a room, then suddenly you find the room and the person you’ve come to see is right there? Suddenly she was right there and my brain automatically said, “Hey friend,” in a bright voice. I mean my mouth said it. She looked up from her wheelchair in front of her bed and she didn’t quite smile. She had been through too much recently to smile. She had fallen and broken her hip and she had broken something else. That’s why she was here. She told me about the pain, how painful it was. That if she’d had a gun at that moment... I sat next to her and we talked for an hour and a half. Of course, key to talking is listening. This aunt likes me for some reason, or as my real aunt tells me, “She looooves you.” I got a lot of people, friends, that got a part of them that hate me because some people love me. That’s human nature. Usually about once every couple months someone will say to me, “Who couldn’t like YOU?” But they say it with a lot of resentment, they can’t help it. It just comes out. I try to use my currency with this aunt to make her feel better, by visiting her. She tells me a lot of people have been by to visit her, because, she tells me, she always used to visit people in these situations. I think I then quoted John Lennon and said, “Well, like John Lennon said, the love you take is equal to the love you make,” which didn’t sound nearly as corny in person... I hope. She said she’d been trying to eat, she’d lost fifteen pounds, was down to ninety pounds after the fall, and she was trying to gain it back. Needing to eat and gain weight -- a woman’s worst fear and also a woman’s dream. A nurse came in with a tray of food, some mashed potatoes with some type of hash, and apple pie with vanilla ice cream. She slowly ate it, as if she was working on something. She didn’t really feel well enough to eat that much, but she tried. She said the food there was so-so, not exactly like the trays of prosciutto and pans of lasagna they had at their parties. Like I said, she had always been kinda little and slight, but now looking at her, my mind couldn’t help thinking of the beautiful women I knew who were currently in their prime, and the curves and suppleness and ampleness in certain places their bodies had, and how full of life and sexuality, which I guess is just life, their bodies were. Usually whenever something is depressing or something bad happens, I immediately start thinking about sexy women, like a balm or something I lean on. I don’t feel like analyzing it too much more than this, but you get it. She asked if I was seeing anyone and I almost said, “No, those bitches can all die! Doing me fucking dirty!” No, I diplomatically and honestly said, “Oh, no, there are some women out there who I care about, but it’s not easy.” Some bullshit like that. She then looked at me and said, “She’s out there. You just haven’t met her yet.” It seemed like wisdom, though I couldn’t be more skeptical. Maybe she was just quoting that Michael Buble song, “Haven’t Met You Yet.” What Italian doesn’t love Buble? I didn’t know this, but she’s an avid Patriots fan. She broke down the whole situation last year of Garoppolo getting traded. “I think it was that Brady felt threatened by this young, handsome QB and thought he was gonna take his job and so Brady had him traded.” I told her I agreed with her and that they should be good again this year and that I wouldn’t be surprised if Brady won one more Super Bowl and called it a career. I told her she had football season to look forward to. She made sure I was a football fan, and I told her I was a Patriots fan and to an unhealthier extent a Michigan Wolverines fan, a mania I had inherited from my father. I told her Brady went to Michigan and that my friend taught Brady and Gisele’s kids tennis closer to Boston, and that I was trying to get a match with Gisele. I think she thought this was funny but she didn’t have enough energy to do more than smile. She talked about her job (long since retired from) as a secretary at a school, and I so easily pictured her in the mix of a lively school environment, dishing with all her coworkers and knowing all the kids. She said that her routine when she worked was she would wake up at 5:30, go to school, then come home and while still in her dress clothes she would take a fifteen minute nap on the couch, perfect amount of time, she said, to power up, and then she would be ready to make dinner for her family. This image of her sleeping on the couch in her dress clothes I thought was fantastic. She said her kids would always have friends over too, there were always friends over, and I said I bet she must have liked that, and she said she did. I asked if she drank coffee, I guess because I think coffee is so great and is such a daily therapy, kind of like thinking about sexy women but different, and she said she did but they hadn’t been giving her any. So I said, “Well, why don’t I come back next Sunday and bring you some really good coffee?” She got as excited as she could. I’m tempted to bring her some coffee and a joint and everything would be cool with her. It’s kind of like my Tuesdays with Morrie but it’s my Sundays with Angie. I don’t think I’ll write any more about this though I plan to see her as many times as she wants. As I tried to open the front door to leave, I found that I was locked in, and then the old lady at the desk buzzed me out with a slow little wave and a smile.

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terrorandtales · 3 years

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Needles, Junkies, Scabies Oh MY...

This one deeply confused and scared the shit out of me… Alrighty, let’s get started. And Scene! Jean Paul and I were driving in the car to head home. The house didn’t look like the one we live in, in our waking life. This one was a bit similar. We had a driveway and still lived in the basement apartment or maybe it wasn’t even our house. The skies were gray and cloudy. The snow had already fallen and we were in a rush to get to this house. We didn’t speak at all in the car. A comfortable silence shared between us, but I could feel the heaviness lingering in the air. I think someone died and we were going to see about it. We pull up to the driveway and get out of the black Tahoe. We walk down the stairs and open the door to the basement. I walk in first, and immediately I feel an eerie chill. The basement apartment is lit up with blue light and the darkness and space are filled with irresistible sadness and loneliness. We walk through an arched open hall with those hanging beads you’d find in a fortune teller’s home. As we walk in the carpeted floors are covered in stains. Crushed beer cans, needles, half-smoked blunts, clutter the floor. Jean Paul’s hand is on the small back guiding me to the stairs up towards the right of the room. There are bongs on the tattered coffee table of all shapes and sizes, burnt spoons, rubber band tourniquets, crushed pills, foil splattered about. Clearly, they didn’t care about cleaning up before having company or they’re brave enough to have this shit sitting out in broad daylight. The house smelt of mildew, old socks, and stale beer. While making our way up the stairs we stepped over a girl lost out of her mind, crazy high off of what her perception of life is. We made it up the stairs and a strung-out woman who I believed used to be beautiful was bent over the kitchen sink snorting white snow into her nostrils. The kitchen was a mess. Dishes piled high, spaghetti sauce splattered on the floor, kitchen counter, and walls. The two babies were sitting in high chairs on the other side of the kitchen table, eating cheerios from little bowls. Immediately my eyes started to water and I began to cry. These small babies looked like me. Cut!! Okay pause… Because now that I’m writing this and reliving this it’s all coming together. When I woke from this terrible dream the other night I thought the children were ours, but it didn’t make any sense that we’d be going to get them from this terrible place. I just now at this moment realized that the children were my brother’s “fake future children” and he was the one that had died of an overdose. Jean Paul and I were traveling to bring the children home with us and raise them as our own. Unfortunately, we must get back to this terror. I’m not ready, but Action...The woman turned around and said something inaudible. She lost her balance and stumbled back towards the kitchen counter knocking off dirty glasses to the floor. She drunkenly waved over setting our attention back to the kids. Almost dismissing us and their existence. She turned around and walked out of the kitchen and down a dark hallway and slammed the bedroom door shut. I couldn’t bring myself to say a word, neither of us could. We looked at each other and proceeded to pick up both babies and take our leave. I picked up the boy who looked so much like my brother when he was that age. JP picked up the baby girl that looked like me. Instead of going through the basement we went out the door near the kitchen counter and made our way down the metal stairs alongside the apartment building. The baby boy in my hands looked up at me lovingly and with sad tearful eyes, I silently vowed to love him and his sister with all of my heart. I thought JP was behind me on the stairs, but he was getting the baby girl bundled up before walking outside. As I was walking towards the car a man wearing a loincloth and an old leather trench coat stepped in front of me cursing and yelling at me. He frightened me. He was saying that I couldn’t leave yet without having a little fun, I yelled for Jean Paul to come out to help me meanwhile trying to keep the baby safe. The crazy man slapped me hard across my face and told me to “Shut the fuck up” His face was leathery and wrinkled. His skin patchy, yellow, and dried. He was so skinny because of the drugs. His teeth stained and spoiled rotten. He had two teeth on the top, a space wide enough to fit a small baby carrot. His mania struck eyes stuck out of his boney face and he towered over me. I saw JP out of the corner of my eye making his way down the stairs trying to be stealthy so he could sneak up behind the man and strike him. I was crying silently and trying my best to keep the baby’s face covered and begging the man to leave us alone. He had a fanny pack on with a bunch of needles hanging out. He took one out and shot himself up, and looked at me with an evil grin, and said, “Your turn bitch!” I screamed and cradled the baby protecting him. Before feeling the needle struck me I saw darkness. (End Scene)

I woke with a start. My chest was extremely tight. The pins and needles in every part of my body turned up by 100%. I couldn’t breathe. I woke up having a panic attack. I had to listen to 4 different meditations that day in order to calm myself and ground myself again. Eventually, I was able to fall back asleep and then the next night terror began. This is a dark fear of mine. I fear for my brother and his well being all of the time. My worst fear for him is to have children because he isn’t in his right mind at all. He doesn’t want to be better or take care of himself. I fear that I’m going to get a call that he’s dead. There’s no way to rewrite this story because if he keeps going down this path this could very well be his fate. I guess this one shall remain the way it is. Now we transition into the second terror which happened after I fell asleep again.

I’m not sure how long it took me to fall asleep and be consumed by this terror, but it seemed to happen almost immediately. Let’s get to it… Action.

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hottaterbot · 4 years

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Typical Day #1 (Bipolar type 1 with meds and in my low moods)

My days typically start off with a groggy walk to the kitchen to grab water. I then wash myself/wake up before grabbing some breakfast. Before I eat I walk to the counter and grab that stupid pill box that I painted to try to make myself feel better. That pill box. It’s so tiny. I literally bought it at dollar tree. No one knows it but, that damned little box is the source of my normalcy. I open up this morning’s slot. Look down at the medication and some vitamins. A 65 mg pill of iron because I have been deficient since the womb. A 1000 mg pill of vitamin C because my immune system is as week as I am. A cursed 200 mg pill of Lamotrigine because I cannot stablilize my own moods.

I am sluggish to get breakfast so I decide to grab some cereal. The wheaties will do. I leave for work. I listen to a podcast on the way in the car ride. I take my place in the parking lot. I walk up to the employees entrance and stop in my tracks before opening the door. I take a deep breath. On the exhale I put on my mask and I open the door to be immediately greeted by joyful and friendly co-workers so excited to see me.

The level of energy always reminds me of these two girls in my middle school. They did everything together. Trust me, I mean EVERYTHING. They planned what classes to sign up for at registration so they would have every class together. I always tried to listen in on them and make sure I didn’t pick any of the classes they picked. They sat next to each other in every class. Some how I always ended up sitting behind them (the picking opposite classes never worked out). They went to the bathroom together. How did I end up in every class with them from 6th on? Simple, I am cursed. Ha. Jokes. Anyway, so these girls spent every waking moment with each other. I have have had two best friends in my life. They never were like this, and both ended messy. Maybe I just don’t understand it, but to be honest, I am not so sure I want to. The three of us rode the same school bus home. On my bus we were assigned 3 to a seat (I don’t actually know how they expected us to fit) so you think I would be safe right? Nope. Guess who got assigned with the best friends! Me. Thankfully I, being a very petite individual, I was never really bothered. To no ones surprise, I also got off on the same stop as them. Like clockwork, they get off the bus and make a big scene about how tragic it was to say goodbye. The next morning was the complete opposite. They would see each other from far away and run at each other like some cheesy romance movie the entire time yelling at the top of their lungs, “BEST FRIENDDDDDD!!!”. The moment the we’re in each other’s arms again and jumping up and down, was the worst part. The screeches. Nails on a chalkboard doesn’t come close to describing this horrible noise. It was this weird high pitched “eeeeeeeee” noise mixed in with very wobbly I missed yous from all the jumping.

Yup, that’s what it feels like walking into work. My mask plays along, definitely not as intense as the middle school girls, but excited. I do care for them, I just feel weird about being excited at the moment. I do my work and it’s time to leave. As I walk out the door towards my car I exhale and put away my mask for tomorrow. My mask hides how numb I feel inside.The drive home involves the second half of my podcast.

I come home to make myself dinner. The instant ramen will do. After that it’s time to workout. I do some yoga and a bit of pilates for an hour or so. Then a shower. Now it’s free time. I will sit on my porch and watch the sunset, read a book, draw, paint, or watch some tv. It’s 8:30 pm. I must not let it get to 9:00pm without paying a visit to my friend the pillbox. I open up the slot for tonight’s pills and out drop two very different pills. The first I take is the everyday multi vitamin pill because my body can’t do it on its own. The second is the one I swallow the most violently. The 100 mg pill of Quetiapine because I am Bipolar.

To those who don’t know what Quetiapine is:

In the words of WedMD, “This medication is used to treat certain mental/mood conditions (such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, sudden episodes of mania or depression associated with bipolar disorder). Quetiapine is known as an anti-psychotic drug (atypical type). It works by helping to restore the balance of certain natural substances (neurotransmitters) in the brain.”

Without this one remarkable pill I would be currently in a much worse state of mind, in more than one way. I don’t like having to take medication to be normal but I guess the end result is worth it. After about an hour or so I will feel dizzy. I know this is the Quetiapine telling me it’s time for bed. I lay down, close my eyes to awaken to another groggy morning. Until my cycle changes.

Until doctors can give me a treatment to erase my bipolar permanently, this is how I will live my life: various vitamin pills and two pills the hold my fragile mind together.

Wanna see a different side of me? Look for #2 :)

#hottaterbot #bipolor #blog post #my feels

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