#really fucking weird to learn I have perfect pitch now that I’m an adult?

[annoyinglibra]

.

#really fucking weird to learn I have perfect pitch now that I’m an adult? #when I was little one of my dads girlfriends told him I have it and like raved about how I’m gifted or smth because she was a piano player #but I didn’t know that I had something like ‘rare’ #also explains why my elementary school & middle school band teachers really liked me #I didn’t know it was particularly impressive to say to my classmate that they accidentally played like. a B flat instead of xyz note and to #show them the proper hand placement #I just thought it meant I was a good student #admittedly I wasn’t great at paying attention to sheet music so I’d make sure I could play it like once through fully and memorize #the sounds. that way I didn’t actually have to read the music and instead could just look in that direction to not get in trouble #maybe I should’ve accepted my middle school band teachers offer to request placement for me in advanced band courses in highschool #like sure I didn’t want to be a band nerd or whatever so I turned her down but I didn’t know like I had something that’s #semi rare. wild. fuck my dad for never relaying it to me that I had it #she talked a lot to me about how impressive I was but she didn’t say perfect pitch to me directly #but I remember overhearing her saying I have some rare gift about pitch which I didn’t understand #because I was like. seven. and wasn’t paying attention.

[translightyagami]

Mikalight Week fic: 24-Hour Gym

a short mikalight fic for, what else, @mikalightweek. wrote it sort of quick? and its not explicit but is very sensual and there’s a lot of body talk and you can basically assume they fuck after the fic (i was TOO LAZY to write the smut). Anyway.

This fic is rated BPBB, for Bench Pressing Bodacious Babes.

Quiet and soft humid air filled the gym. From the window, Teru watched him with his standard issue NPA duffel bag slung over his shoulder, laughing at a text on his phone. When he looked up, they almost met eyes and Teru turned, facing his reflection in the wall-length mirror. His black hair hung in lank strands beside his face; his grey T-shirt collar darkened into a full-leaf of sweat over his front. The gym door bells jingled as he came in, cheeks pink from the mid-winter outside and a wary smile on his face.

Of course, Teru recognized him. Kira. Light. Above the brown trendy haircut floated his full name, the kanji confusing for a minute until – congealed and solidified – the meaning existed. While Light checked in with the sleepy front desk clerk, he talked loud and high-pitched. It was a voice unlike the one Teru heard in the warehouse, the one that told him after the police and that little white haired boy were dead, to go home. To make up an alibi. And to meet him, at this little 24-hour gym, in ten days.

Watching Light’s mirror twin walk to the back lockers, Teru lifted his dumbbells on autopilot – eleven, twelve, twelve, no wait – before setting them down, grabbing the towel he tucked into his jogger’s waistband. Nervous sweat and exertion sweat mixed together, all mopped away by a monogramed hand towel. When he glanced back up, Light was at the rowing machine.

For twenty minutes, they waltzed: Light moved to a machine, doing his reps, while Teru went to a different machine, did his own program. (An unceasing eye for detail made note that Light lifted about ten under Teru’s lowest weight.) Having shed a jacket now that he’d warmed up, Light worked in a loose white tank top that hung low in the sleeve holes. Every so often, when he reached to grasp a bar, his chest swooped in and out of view. Teru caught scar tissue, though never a long enough glimpse to know its shape. He stood from the arm extension machine and walked to the bench press. All the way he felt two sharp eyes peering at him from a leg machine.

Teru set the plates: two 10 kg., and then two 2.5 kg. plates, an unusual though not overwhelmingly larger weight than he lifted on a normal night. Foolish and near school-boylike, he wanted to show off in front of the other man. After setting the weights, he leaned back and rested his head beneath the long metal bar – and waited. The sound of God walking, a long stride with confident footfalls, was familiar in Teru’s ears. Head haloed in florescent, Light bent above the metal bar with arms outstretched.

“Do you need a spotter?” His tone suggested a joke – ha, ha, who else but me – but Teru only heard the question in serious.

“Yes,” he said, and it was then he realized these were the first words he’d spoken to Light in public. How apt, how right, that their exchange be God extending his hands to help Teru carry such a heavy burden. Light hovered his palms just around the silver length, eyes trained on Teru as he wrapped fists at either end and – oh! – lifted. Every rep, staring directly into a brown-eyed microscope, and Teru almost shook, lost his strength, when their hands nearly brushed. He managed ten reps before gently resting the bar back in place. Sweat dripped off his neck and above him, it made gems across Light’s forehead.

“Wow,” Light said. “You’re pretty strong.”

“T-thank you,” Teru cursed his stutter. He didn’t expect the compliment and it made a little flower burst inside his concrete encased heart. The flower only grew the longer Light looked at him, smile just a pink curve, eyes unnervingly genuine. It was a look that fake people in movies gave each other – Teru hated how much he liked to trust it. God had to be genuine – a kingdom of justice would never stand on false ground. Light’s stare trapped him with a weight deeper and heavier than any dumbbell, and when he glanced away, Teru gasped. His breath had flattened in his chest.

Light left first, at midnight, and when Teru went to his own locker at one thirty am, he found a note shoved into the air slits. On the note was a phone number and curt letter L for a signature. He folded it into the smallest triangle he could, having memorized the number, and set the paper beneath his tongue. As Teru packed his things, nodded to the gym employee, walked into a cold and calamitous city sidewalk, the paper poked and scraped the inner wet flesh. Pain in little bites followed him on his walk – each bright moment a moment of God beside him. Do you need a spotter? A question, a divine extended hand. Wow. You’re pretty strong. Strong, a warrior disciple, God’s most beloved. And, at the platform for his train home, he swallowed the dissolving note – communion.

Teru started working out in high school, when a gym teacher suggested a natural physical ability like his could use sculpting and recognized in him a perhaps genetic inability to play on a team. Ever since the first time, he took to the regimentation, the preplanning and trackable results of gym life. Within the walls of his usual club – the membership to which took up an embarrassing but necessary amount of his pay – Teru found ritual. A work out was an offering to the divine in his own body, and now it became religious practice, a modeling of himself into a better tool for Kira’s will.

This late night arrangement became weekly. On Tuesdays, Teru and Light worked out in the same hole-in-the-wall 24-hour gym, just them and one employee. Two owls dancing around the machines, Teru knew both their stares were gobbling each other’s body behaviors like so many tasty mice. He saw in Light a similar high-school athletics resolve, although the way his muscles smoothed rather than fit into shapes spoke more to sports than targeted workouts. Teru resisted his own snobbery in this observation – though he found a dedication to the perfecting of the body rather than to sportsmanship more pleasing. Kira had his reasons, maybe, for choosing athletic pastimes. There too was a certain leanness to Light’s body as well. Even with a layer of more authoritative muscle, he looked vulpine, foxlike in his lithe frame. His posture retained the slight slouch that many people who were slim in their young adult hood had; in fact, Teru only recognized it since he himself trained it out of his own habits a year prior.

And, yet, the flurry of observation – itself a thrill in its artificial intimacy – didn’t compare to those few minutes where Light leaned over, put his elegant hands out, and spotted Teru’s bench press. He took to doing them more often than his usual schedule. Combined with the bigger weights, an unevenness grew in his routine that Teru would never have allowed before. He couldn’t stop himself though. Anything for a few moments close enough to Light to see the split of his lips, the sweat trickling over his flushed cheeks.

On the fourth week, while Teru wiped down the leg press after he used it, Light approached him.

“Hey,” he said. “Isn’t weird how we’re always in this place together, but we’ve never learned each other’s names?”

“Mikami Teru,” Teru said. The tone was straightforward, and his volume normal – and still he imagined how imprudent he sounded. “I don’t usually go to this gym.”

Light narrowed his eyes and shook his head, just enough to say not the plan. Up his back, Teru’s spine stiffened. It was no joy to disappoint Light.

“Well,” Light said, slick voice untwisting the frustration in his gaze and presenting a smile that bordered on pretty. “I’m Yagami Light. I’ve really admired your routine. Maybe sometime we can meet up. I’m no good with workouts, not like you.”

“Oh. Yes.” Teru nodded. Meet up? Before he could ask a clarifying question, Light spoke over his concerns.

“Call me tomorrow,” he said. “I’m free after five.”

He walked away, not leaving a number except the one boiled in Teru’s stomach. No matter how heavy the weights he lifted, no matter the volume of the baby crying on his bus home, all Teru thought of was his phone and tomorrow after five. His palms itched.

He called at five twenty the next day, having rushed home after a meeting went long, and Teru never heard a worse noise than the ringing before Light picked up. On first answering, his tone was unpleasantly gruff, accusatory – a man in the drag of an older, wiser man. It clashed with the smooth youthfulness of Light’s voice in the gym, which only returned when Teru tentatively said his own greeting.

“Oh! Mikami,” Light said, a balm over the scratches left behind by his put-on masculinity. “You’re calling so late. I thought maybe you forgot.”

“No,” Teru said. “Never. I don’t forget important things.”

“Mm,” Light said. Behind his voice was a tapping sound, someone hitting paper with a pen. “I’m honored to be an important thing. Say, I didn’t catch it before, but where did you say you lived?”

Teru sat on a kitchen stool; he’d been standing, impatient, in the breakfast nook as though preparing to run to wherever Kira needed him. But the question set him down – why did Light want to know? And was it safe to say over the phone? Realizing he’d left dead air too long, Teru muttered that he lived further south – about an hour from the 24-hour gym.

“Oh, I see,” Light sounded mildly perturbed to be have been waiting. “I was just thinking, my girlfriend is making cookies and I thought I’d send you some. Do you have an address that’d be good?”

His girlfriend? Teru didn’t press but his stomach sank. However the phrase stung, he listed his apartment address in dutiful detail. In his ear were the soft scratches of Light’s pen writing everything down and, once he finished, Teru coughed. He didn’t want the phone call to end.

“Did you play sports?” His question flowed out in a proper, clear way, and Teru congratulated himself on how normal he sounded. “Maybe in high school?”

Light went quiet and when he spoke again, the words were cold.

“I played tennis,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I only wondered because,” Teru scrambled for something less damning to say, “you’re in such good shape but don’t like to work out. And usually that’s because of sports, I find.”

“Ah,” a low simmer melted Light’s voice. “You like to work out, don’t you, Mikami?”

“Mm,” Teru said. “I enjoy the time to work on my body. Physical fitness is a key to leading a good, worthwhile life.”

“Interesting,” Light said. He tapped his pen before popping his lips. Their wet click was at once disgusting – the body, the spit, the base physicality of it – and alluring – the body, the spit, the parts of Kira blessed by his own inner spirit. “I’ll send those cookies tonight. Expect them at your door around midnight, hm?”

“Oh.” This wasn’t about cookies. “Yes, I’ll look for them then. Thank you, Light. That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m always kind to my friends,” Light said.

At midnight, Teru heard the curt knock of the one he waited for. Standing in the hallway of his apartment building, wrapped in a coat, green sweater and black jeans, was Light. He smiled when Teru gestured for him to come inside – a good, well-raised smile. In a small childish part of himself, Teru wished to return such a pleasant smile. Instead, he nodded and raised his eyebrows as Light pressed a plastic box into his hands.

“I wasn’t lying, before on the phone,” he said, shaking off his coat. “My girlfriend was baking. She insisted I take some to meet my new friend. My recommendation?” Light swung around, coat on his finger and a wryness to his expression. “Toss them. Misa can’t bake.”

“How unfortunate,” Teru said. I’m a passable baker, he thought.

Light walked further into the one-bedroom space. He put his coat onto the black lacquered hat rack’s lower rung, ran a finger across the tight gray rectangle couch, and complimented the large entertainment center Teru built. When he let it slip that, in fact, he’d built it himself, Teru saw a curl of interest in Light’s gaze.

“I’ve always liked building too,” Light said, shrugging. “But never something so well constructed.”

He wandered into the sitting room and looked to his feet, a play-acted shyness. Nothing in his body language bar the glance down suggested timidity. Teru followed, although he knew his own behavior was less confident. Light flicked his eyes up and stilled Teru’s movements.

“I’m proud of your actions,” he said. “How well you served me, served the kingdom Kira hopes to build.”

A tremor worked through Teru and he sat, unable to keep his legs steady. To be acknowledged made him eager and fraught. Without thinking, he bowed his head, and a warm palm pressed over the back of his neck. Light murmured something.

“What did you say?” Teru asked, eyes going blurry the longer he stared at his own lap.

“I said,” Light slid a finger beneath his chin, tipping Teru up and into his line of vision. “Do you think you could bench press me?”

“I,” Teru frowned, his instinct to refuse presenting weakness. He fought past it. “I can try.”

The smile from before – polite, the kind a mother asked for during family pictures, toothless – warped into the brilliant split Teru recognized from the yellow warehouse. Light smiled in high volume, loud and greedy.

“Perfect,” he said. “Let me undress.”

“Undress?” Teru’s resolve wavered and he stood.

Light shrugged, already popping the button of his jeans.

“Won’t you need better traction?” He asked. “My clothes might cause your hand to slip.”

Breathless, Teru watched God strip down to a pair of black briefs. Shirtless, the two pink scars he saw glimpses of before swiped just beneath Light’s nipples, which hardened in the air-conditioning. Mental deduction took Teru up to chest surgery, although he couldn’t pinpoint the reason. As he stared, Light’s eyes took on impatience not unlike when Teru slipped up in the gym.

“Do I not please you?” Light raised his eyebrows, swinging out his hands. “Do you find God wanting in some way, Mikami?”

“No, no,” Teru covered his mouth. “I apologize for the imprudence. I only was curious.”

“Keep curiosity to the cats,” Light said. “Now, lay back and we’ll try this.”

Teru pushed his coffee table to the side and laid himself down on the sitting room rug. Flat on his back, Light leaning over him almost nude, a strange helplessness infected him. No matter what happened next, he had no real choice other than what Light chose for him. It didn’t help that Light’s gaze had an almost lepidopterist’s leer – staring at a captured butterfly and wondering what pins to use on its corpse. Teru shook himself inside; Kira didn’t think of him as a butterfly. He was a servant, a faithful one, and Kira found him strong.

Stretching up his arms, Teru cupped his hands and met Light with his own stare.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “slowly place your waist in my right hand and your thigh in my left.”

Light nodded, walking around to stand next Teru’s shoulder. He bent in a gentle arc and his waist was the first thing to touch against Teru’s palm. In a shift, the confidence of before didn’t echo in Light’s actions now. He was cautious, still leaving one foot on the ground as he laid himself into Teru’s grasp. A muffled groaned left Teru; even with his weight distributed away, Light was still heavy.

“Um,” Light said. “Is it okay to let go?”

The question was human, quiet, and Teru wanted to file it away suddenly. He took a deep breath, wiggled his fingers where they held Light, and nodded.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

Light gasped as he lifted his leg. Balanced between Teru’s straining arms, he hovered untouched by anything but air and the other man. Teru was in pain – not just from the difficulty of holding up an adult man but from how good Light felt. He was warm, soft, and yet at the same time hard, solid muscle beneath the skin. Gritting his teeth, Teru heaved and lowered his armload until Light’s hip was just above his mouth.

He couldn’t help himself; Teru kissed the bare skin. His lips slid just so over goosebumps, tasting hints of salt and body lotion. Even partway through, he wanted to kiss the vulnerable hip again – memorize the flavor of Kira against his mouth. Light trembled and let out his name in a rasp.

“Mikami,” Light whispered. “Fuck.”

No answer occurred to him, so Teru lifted Light back up. As charged as the moment was, a small part of him celebrated being strong enough to, in fact, perform one bench press of another human. Light squirmed in his hands, too much, and without warning, Teru’s grip loosened. God fell out of his palms and landed hard on Teru’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“Ah,” he shouted at the same time Light yelled, “Fuck!” They sat in sore heap. Teru rubbed his hands together, over and over. He’d failed; he let Light fall, hadn’t been strong enough to keep him stable. With trepidation, he glanced toward the other man prepared to see anger in God’s eyes, but instead Light stared back at him with arousal. His eyes were hot, molten, and his movements became languid.

“You’re so strong,” Light said, and now his voice was like nothing Teru ever heard before. There was a wildness mixed in with hunger. Light looked at him, and Teru wanted to be devoured.

“I knew the moment I saw you,” Light crawled up Teru’s aching body, his words like lava poured from his mouth. “You would be my strongest one.”

“I want to be strong for you, God,” Teru let out. “I want to serve you, be your sword.”

“Oh,” Light laughed, and it was an abrupt sound. Teru couldn’t say he liked it but the brightness in Light’s cheeks was good.

“You’ll serve me very well,” Light said, brushing Teru’s hair away from his ear so he could speak into it. His voice burned into the delicate shell. “Mikami.”

“Teru,” his voice came out a little weedy, yet Teru met Light’s hot gaze with his own resolve. “Call me Teru.”

#me me me #subtextual #death note #my fic #mikalightweek #mikalight #mikami teru #light yagami #sorry if mikami is out of character or any other number of complaints a person could hv about this fic! #he's a character i rlly struggle with and i tried to write him with as much humanity as possible! #anyway! enjoy Mikami Bench Pressing a Half-Naked Light

[sobdasha]

i’ve been rereading a lot of my favorite stuff for months now

since I'm lacking in spoons for library trips

And when I was cottoning on to the fact that I have, in fact, been autistic all along, one of the things I realized is that the connecting thread between the kinds of stories and kinds of characters that I like is in fact that they display autistic or autistic-adjacent traits. I had realized this, come up with a lot of examples. I knew this.

Haha yeah as I'm actually rereading the things the evidence is damning that I did not come even close to understanding the full depth of it.

~ Taucris Ithesta is Autistic and Other Adjacent Things re: Leckie's Novels ~

Actually let's start with The Raven Tower because you can't actually argue with me about autistic Siat.

Siat actively avoids eye contact, is """shy""", speaks too softly, has an excellent grasp of humor, likes rocks as a special interest, likes to collect rocks, likes to sort rocks, likes to line up rocks, has one (1) bff to conduct social interactions for her, notices patterns, is good at learning, and is considered disabled by society's standards.

Ughhhhh all that talk about rocks makes me sad all over again that I pitched my rock collection when I moved out (I saved the best fossils, though).

(ETA: I have since bought more rocks because polished gemstones with carvings on them make for great stims, I am very pleased with me)

Okay so now that that's been established, let's talk about Strength and Patience of the Hill.

Because this rock gets me. Originally I figured it was probably, y'know, like with Ancillary Justice Leckie's given me an ace-aro main character and I can identify with that as an ace-aro. But unlike Breq, who very much loves people and wants to take care of them and found family etc, Strength and Patience of the Hill doesn't give much of a shit about people. With some exceptions of people that are it's people, how dare you mess with them, Strength and Patience of the Hill will kick your ass. Although even then I'm not sure Strength and Patience is all that great at taking care of people. Also Strength and Patience of the Hill is very much absorbed in its own selfishness, very much consumed with his own internal world, and I am also a jerk like that so it was very relatable.

(Yes I am using multiple pronouns because one of my many favorite parts of the book signing was watching everyone scramble over pronouns for a rock because "It never came up so I never figured it out" and I'm pretty sure Strength and Patience doesn't even use pronouns because why would you need a gendered pronoun to refer to yourself??? You don't even need a name to refer to yourself, actually I'm pretty sure Strength and Patience doesn't actually consider itself to have a name.)

So it made sense that this rock just really gets me. I know it's bad when the majority of representation for ace-aro characters is stereotypical robots or rocks or aliens (oooh or sentient space rocks wait wAIT now that I've said that I've just realized the Myriad is the definition of a Crystal Gem, pffft) or whatever but honestly I don't care because I just really identify with the robots??? So I really liked it, YMMV.

(It's probably also bad if the trend for autistically-coded characters is just stereotypical robots or rocks or aliens or whatever too but like honestly a big autistic #mood is feeling like you are a robot or an alien or whatever so maybe that's why I'm not offended???)

My point being that Strength and Patience of the Hill displays a lot of autistic traits and is therefore very relatable, in this Ted Talk I will.

Strength and Patience of the Hill processes things slowly. She will come up with the perfect retort and tell you 5 years later with absolutely no context.

It loves daydreaming, staring at things, noticing patterns, and enjoying quiet and solitude. It loves thinking about why things are the way they are. Look I have fantasized about what if I could exist as just a pair of eyeballs and a mind floating around in space, observing things, thinking things, and not having to actually interact with the world, and I'm pretty sure this rock is living that life. (Until y'know it gets told life doesn't work like that.)

Despite his slow processing speed, and taking a while to learn language, Strength and Patience of the Hill is good at learning things, and I feel like it's the kind of sort-of-sideways, context-based accumulation of knowledge that I learn through as well.

Strength and Patience of the Hill has one (1) friend, and through the Myriad it benefits from the fact that the Myriad has an actual social circle, without having to put forth any effort of maintaining friends on its own, which is 100% the way to do it.

Strength and Patience of the Hill tends to attract the other "quirky" kids--that is, my impression is that the people who become his priests tend to be those people who look at the world a little differently, those people on the fringes. Trans people, autistic people, people with other disabilities.

Strength and Patience of the Hill trying to explain the state of affairs in Vastai to Eolo: "Okay so my first memory I can recall is…" No, okay, no, I know, it's just literally how the narrative has to be told, I'm not criticizing, but that doesn't make it any less reminiscent of "autistic person trying to explain a simple thing but starts in with 10 pages of context first to ensure the over-explanation makes sense" (haha that's why I consistently got stuck training endless new hires, I'm literally so bad at it that I'm the best in the department and I hate life).

Difficulty understanding other's feelings/points of view/circumstances (I know it's because he's a rock and a god but that doesn't make it any less relatable), hmmm what else…

Oh right, a typical interaction with Strength and Patience of the Hill:

Person: (gives offering) Strength and Patience: (offering is accepted because the transaction literally occurred, no need to respond) Person: "(asks petition)" Strength and Patience: ... Strength and Patience: wait Strength and Patience: what Strength and Patience: wait was I supposed to do something else Strength and Patience: did you ask something of me? Strength and Patience: I don't understand what you asked????? Strength and Patience: it's been an entire year now it's too awkward Strength and Patience: i'm sure it's. Fine. Strength and Patience: It's fine. (rinse and repeat)

Like I said, this rock gets me.

(Haha I was reading through my notes from the book signing and I found "Strength + Patience doesn't give a shit about balance, Strength + Patience is just selfish, which it manifests as apathy, which is why this rock gets me. All of my best interpersonal traits also spring from not giving a fuck and waiting ppl to go away faster lol" and why is that, oh because ~I'm~ ~autistic~ pfffft)

I started this post a while ago and this was as far as I got and I don't remember if I had more??? Time to talk about Taucris probably!!!

(I'm skipping Ancillary Justice etc for now because I do want to make a post about that but like there's just. So much. In those books. It's masking all the way down. So it can be its own post. One day.)

Because I waited so long I forgot what I was going to write so I'll just grab the book and flip through and comment as I see things.

To start off with: Taucris and adulthood. I've seen other people pick up primarily on the gender aspect of it--that Taucris waited until almost 25 to take her adult name because she she never figured out what her gender was (non- uhhhhhh what's the word for binary when it's three and not two? Non-tri-something Taucris in a society with 3 options but all 3 options are gendered? I'll go with that.) What really resonated for me was that Taucris waited until almost 25 to take her adult name because she never felt like an adult. And I get that ~everyone feels that way~ but I feel like it's Different for Taucris in the same way it's Different for me. Anyway I feel like no matter which aspect you choose, it's probably an autistic vibe.

Also Taucris seems to have a bit of a flat affect? She seems very serious (both in body language and in speech), and kind of intense sometimes when she talks, and Ingray notes how Taucris usually doesn't smile (she smiles with Ingray because Ingray makes her comfortable) and has always been """shy""".

Also Taucris...talks strangely? I am not sure exactly how to explain it. It's not written badly or anything, it's...you know how sometimes you suddenly sit back and look at dialogue and go no one speaks like this and it throws you out of the story because you dropped your suspension of disbelief? Taucris kind of gives me that feeling, and only Taucris. Almost like her speech is a little bit stilted? Awkward? She's very serious and matter of fact and says things like "You've always been so kind to me" with a straight face. But it doesn't feel like a """bad writing""" (quotation marks for subjectivity) thing. But I notice it every time I read her dialogue… I think it's just that Taucris is autistic and awkward and that's how she speaks. Also I think she's adorable.

Police work is Taucris' special interest. So much so that that's the entire reason she became an adult, so she could engage in her special interest better. She's ~weird~ for her single-minded interest and her interest in a job below her ~status~ and she doesn't care, she set her heart on this anyway, volunteering and interning so on.

Oh that was something else I was going to talk about--Taucris mentions feeling like she doesn't have her shit together, not like Ingray (who also doesn't feel she has her shit together. Kind of like "no one really feels like an adult). But Taucris seems quite calm and capable in Planetary Security. I don't know if this is just masking, but...I really hope that she does feel that way in her job. That because it's her special interest, that helps balance out the stress of being alive and simultaneously employed full-time. That because she's been volunteering and interning here so long, she's been familiar with the office and it wasn't a stressful transition. That she acts confident because she feels competent and respected. Taucris may look calm and cool and collected on the outside and be screaming on the inside but I hope she actually feels pretty good on the inside too.

I would also like to say that I like Taucris' nother. Despite what Danach implies, I get the picture from Taucris that e is supportive of Taucris' personality and interests even when e doesn't get it. E indulged her interest in police work, e didn't understand why Taucris wasn't taking an adult name but tried to be patient about it...so I assume that also means that e was understanding of all of Taucris quirks and stims and particularities. E's been a good support system while Taucris' peers have not.

(Except for Ingray, Taucris' one (1) friend.)

I like Taucris' relationship with Deputy Chief Veret too--the way Taucris quietly manages breakfast so e doesn't have to think about it or be put out (this is The Love Language to me, not being inconvenienced, and I feel that this is part of my personality because my personality is autistic, so). I don't know why specifically Taucris does this, but all the reasons I could come up with feel very wholesome. Taucris respects Veret as her boss and as a person. Taucris is empathetic and thoughtful (she doesn't like Danach but she tries to consider and understand where he's coming from; Taucris isn't Hatli but she considers Veret's fasting etc to be valid rather than a choice of superstition). Taucris' situation is different but she knows that it doesn't feel good to be treated as weird, to be sneered at because you don't act the way people expect you to. Taucris, being autistic, maybe has a lot of experience with "perfectly good foods" she won't eat. Taucris strikes me as someone who observes quietly, and considers carefully, and maybe takes a long time to make up her mind but when she moves it's deliberately and not carelessly. Which is, to me, a masking trait.

In the quantum version of this post I was going to write everything so polished and lay out my points so nicely but clearly that didn't happen and I don't know where to end this and I'm sure I didn't even explain things that well so I'll just say, I feel it was very autistic of Taucris in the last chapter to just be like "well IDK what you want from me and rather than expending massive effort trying to suss it out and guessing wrong I'll just be direct: I know you can't talk about what happened so I won't ask you about what happened unless you want me to ask you about what happened in which case you should say so and I will ask but I think maybe you just need to watch a movie with me instead."

#sobdasha fic adjacent #al provenance #the raven tower #HAPPY AUTISM MONTH #look i actually did a thing while it was still april #all my faves are autistic #also is this not showing up in the tags as punishment for my sins or like can I not see it because dumblr

[fierte]

meta about beast's strength when it comes to the different types of intelligences? ( reposted from the old blog )

HERE is a link to the wiki on the theory of multiple intelligences. i’m only going with the first seven, because naturalistic wasn’t added until later.

now, if we’re just counting adam as the beast, then these things get really fucking weird, but for comparison, i’ll do both.

musical-rhythmic & harmonic — this area has to do with sensitivity to sounds, rhythms, tones, & music. people with a high musical intelligence normally have good pitch and may even have absolute pitch, and are able to sing, play musical instruments, & compose music. they have sensitivity to rhythm, pitch, meter, tone, melody or timbre.

as he is nobility, adam likely was trained in at least one musical instrument; likely tutored by maestro cadenza, adam seems the type to learn how to sing, but would quickly become frustrated with musical instruments. playing instruments was not his strong suit, but he was certainly pushed to be ‘perfect’ — that went over well. as the beast, he still retains the ability to sing, although he doesn’t, because can you imagine how loudly that would resonate in the castle that’s a no. he does, however, hum to himself here & there if he needs to keep his mind off of … well, a great deal of everything.

visual-spatial — this area deals with spatial judgment & the ability to visualize with the mind’s eye.

spatial intelligence in psychology also refers to the ability to remember places & ‘landmarks’. he knows where things are, he could navigate the forest & make it back to the castle when others couldn’t ( see maurice, gaston without the mirror, literally everyone tbqh wouldn’t be able to place any proper landmarks ). he maintains this ability at the same level as both adam & as the beast.  

verbal-linguistic — people with high verbal-linguistic intelligence display a facility with words & languages. they are typically good at reading, writing, telling stories & memorizing words along with dates.

as this portrayal does go more from the 2017 concept of adam, the shitty young adult, rather than adam a ten year old child who honestly just practiced stranger danger, he’s incredibly well read & displays an exceptional ability to memorise things from books. adam’s first language is french,  he likely is conversational in english. as the beast, he jokes about how some of the books are in greek, & thus he hasn’t read them all, but he’s capable of reading latin, mostly due to the fact that he was raised catholic & read the bible… a lot ( that got him nowhere tbqh he didn’t listen to it at all ).

logical-mathematical — this area has to do with logic, abstractions, reasoning, numbers & critical thinking. this also has to do with having the capacity to understand the underlying principles of some kind of causal system.

adam has enough skill in this area to understand maths & be capable of sound reasoning; his issue was that he didn’t care, not that he didn’t know. did he know where the tax-payer’s money was going? absolutely. did he know how much things were going to cost? absolutely. did he know he could basically just leave most of the commoners destitute? absolutely, but he sure didn’t give a fuck, then. as the beast, he had no need to worry about this sort of thing, the people of his kingdom forgot about him, so this was something that he neglected during those years. post-curse, he quickly regains his ability in this area, whether from simply being intelligent, or by necessity of being a prince again, is irrelevant.

bodily-kinesthetic — the core elements of the bodily-kinesthetic intelligence are control of one’s bodily motions and the capacity to handle objects skilfully. gross motor skills vs. fine motor skills.

aka exactly what went down the shitter when the curse happened. adam, as a normal sized human being, i mean he’s tall ( 6′2 or so ), adam had no issues getting around the castle & manoeuvring. as the beast, he’s at least 7′ tall if not 8′ & larger in general. fine motor skills went to shit, but he retained gross motor skills, allowing him the coordination for dancing or general movement — honestly, it’s just the fine motor skills that went to shit. after he turns back, though, he’s completely thrown off entirely, as he suddenly has less weight to carry & no longer has to account for horns or tails or whatnot, thus he’s really just in need of some serious help in this regard. given a few years post-curse, he would likely have regained gross motor skills & a good portion of his fine motor skills.

interpersonal — in theory, individuals who have high interpersonal intelligence are characterized by their sensitivity to others’ moods, feelings, temperaments, motivations, & their ability to cooperate in order to work as part of a group.

‘work as part of a group’ ? ‘sensitivity to others’ lol no; when has adam ever been good at this? the goddamn hedonist didn’t care what other people felt, clearly & that’s what got him fucked in the first place. as the beast, he makes improvements in leaps & bounds in this category, both out of necessity & experience. post-curse, he knows how to read others’ moods & temperaments, but still seems to lack the ability to sense motivation, something that really is just left over childish naivety. he’s not really great at working in groups, ever, but he at least puts in effort.  

intrapersonal — this area has to do with introspective and self-reflective capacities. this refers to having a deep understanding of the self; what one’s strengths or weaknesses are, what makes one unique, being able to predict one’s own reactions or emotions.

u h another shit area, because i mean… adam had enough awareness to know that he would react badly to certain situations, but to avoid this, he simply made sure that everyone else did exactly what he wanted them to do. this lead to a… huge inability to introspect, as things would occur spontaneously, much to his own & his servants’ shock. being the beast was his introspective time, where he similarly made leaps & bounds, coming to terms with the things that had happened in the past & desiring to make amends for them. post-curse, he does try to step back from situations to evaluate them & he knows what ruffles him the wrong way, although he lacks the awareness of when a situation is getting too far out of hand — he gets caught up in other things & needs to be reminded here & there to reflect. at least he can reflect at al; that’s a huge improvement from before the curse.

#› the world is changed because you are made of ivory & gold ❞ ❨hc❩ #› behind every exquisite thing that existed‚ there was something tragic ❞ ❨study❩

[pinktatertots99]

🔥 Feelings on the canon ships of Homestuck?

Send Me a 🔥+ a Topic, and I’ll Tell You My Honest Opinion About It

god am i gonna need to go with the sequals too? just og or all ships that’re considered canon by the end? whatever i’ll just go in order in what might be the ‘canon’ ships from all three of these categories. this is gonna be fucking long so anything and everything is under the cut. also i’m SO not gonna add hiveswap that can be its own separate ask. so:

roxygen: it’s a cute ship...but the sequal vers is garbage considering how inconsiderate roxy is to john’s feelings and his house burning down like damn rox this is the guy who sat with ya as ya mourned doom rose’s death give the guy some fuckin time himself.

rosemary: also cute ship...sequal versions are fuckin godawful tho. their barely a thing in meat from wha i can gather and then there’s candy...oh CANDY kanaya deserves better fuck this sense of her sayin she’s over it idc if it was off screen, even then half the cast ate stupid pills during that time so WHY must i be surprised that this is wha happens?

dave/kat: i dun like it. in either universe. meat is just perfect gay bois who have occasional deep talks and literally do nothing else while candy they split up thanks to jade which, geez ya guys must’ve been shit to tell her to fuck off like come on. og hs wise i barely consider them canon if we only get pictures and them just being on equal footing on quadrant talk. not to mention dave implied to be crushing on jade and JOHN not karkat, idk where this couple even came from other then love triangle situation with terezi but like, that’s barely much of a reason to become canon. i’d go with em bein pale/moirails more.

jadedave: i’m guessing candy and meat i thought meat implied they were dating but may aswell. so....it sucks but thats because candy and meat suck, meat dave’s basically cheating on her i didnt hear any implication they broke up and she’s like...chill??? and then there’s candy where she literally forced him and kar to break up and dated after dirk apparently died, i do not like the implications of this whole thing. course candy dave is dead and a robot now so...anyways canon wise dave had a crush on her and if jade does like him i’d hope it’s not cause of davesprite cause despite both being dave’s they were different. it’s cute otherwise.

davepetajade: it’s...cute? i guess? idk i kinda found davepeta a bit...idk overwhelmingly overrated? like i know where their popularity came from but readin the series now after all that hype i dont really see it anyways tho it’s basically davespritejade with nepeta in the mix. and idk nothin implied much of nepeta liking jade, or talkin to her much. and davepetasprite is a mesh of both so idk. it’s a ship with cute fanon works of em hanging with outfits but that’s bout it.

janejake: i hate it. legit. this is disgusting and completely throws out jane’s character. like even in the fixed timeline the talk she had with dirk probably still happened on the god bed’s and how she acknowledged wha she thought was wrong on wantin jake’s kids and so on trickster still happened and how she also realized she might’ve overhyped jake. but lets throw it ALL out the window to force jake in an unhappy marriage in both universes and possibly force him to stay in candy due to having tavvy if i’m reading the implications right. even then jake isn’t good for jane either both got their own needs this ship would’ve been sunked in canon and WAS but the sequals are beyond it so maybe that explains it but it disgusts me.

roseterezi: guess in meat specifically. yeah i kinda dont...care for it, like i still cant tell if rose and kanaya broke up or if she just fucked off without breaking up either one is fucked up on kan’s behalf. even then i just dont care for their kismesis it got brought up once and that was it.

jaderose: candy wise i guess even tho it was a fling. it disgusts me still mostly because of kan’s behalf on bein fucked over and both goin through a ‘surrogation’ process without her notice. like fuck this shit the jaderose fans deserve better.

roxycallie: idk if this one’s canon but it’s heavily implied callie lives with roxy least in candy. it’s cute, cant deny it even in og it was pretty cute, dont really care for candy vers tho but then again maybe their not a couple in it idk what’s canon couples anymore.

johnterezi: literally fucked in meat universe and john has kismesis feelings for her in canon. it’s...interesting, idk tho i feel like it’s one sided on john’s side.

ms paint/spade slick: i cant deny it’s cute, he’d least know how to treat a lady but god i’d hope it wouldnt be his only defining trait with her. also want ms paint to call his bullshit out pls and thanks.

dirkjake: honestly i cant tell if their STILL canon in og or not god forbid the sequals. in general though...i dont. i honestly dont really like em together much. they seem like the type to least stay friends but idk bout another relationship would be a good idea for em. maybe later down the line but otherwise canon wise they need a break.

and now for the canon one timer ships this involves any ships implied, uncomfirmed, ex-relationships, crushes, etc:

arasol: it’s cute, best ship. their quadrant was never confirmed but regardless their cute. sol tho in the sequals deserved better then to get abandoned by aradia goddamn.

fefsol: also cute, i live for both of em bein ass’s together.

erisol: oh boi this one...this was...yeah i cant even deny they wouldnt be too healthy, i like lookin at fanon ways tho for em. canon wise tho yeaaaah no these guys definietly wouldnt work.

gamtav: it’s...cute but boi gamzee needs some help i think.

gamsol: -sollux did imply he either wanted a kismesis or matesprit with him in one of the flashes- again same as gamtav.

aradia/equius: BIG NOPE nope nope nope equi that’s weird wha ya did never do it again thank fuck aradia hasnt been around him since.

karterezi: their actually kinda cute, looking back on em they could’ve worked. stupid doomed timeline bullshit.

daverezi: also kinda cute, idk tho if i got flushed for em tho i get more pale vibes but it was semi-a thing.

kanvris: it’s baaaaad kanaya deserves much better and vriska never seemed much the type for cementing into a relationship.

vristav: even worse, like i’d like to thank fuck tav one up-ed her in the end cause fuck wha he had to go through.

karmeenah: it...could be cute? maybe? only iffy part is the ages, i thought the dancestors were like sixteen tho since the kids said they were teenagers even tho they were at the time about fourteen? idk tho if eighteen is considered an adult in alternia or not tho it’s kinda implied to be? anyways tho it’s just off puttin maybe a bit tho.

meenahvris: it’s kinda cute, it was atleast, idk lookin back it does feel more unhealthy.

rufidama: baaaaaad i love rufi but he’s got some bullshit he needs worked out and damara deserves someone better.

rufihorr: just as bad as above, both deserve someone better or atleast horrus does with some therapy on it rufioh i think should just chill on relationships but it’s so obvious their not meant to be.

mitula: it’s cuuuuuute i cant deny it, ...okay fanon vers is canon is barely anything and tula does give more pale implications for tuna but with how protective she was over damara near him it’s sweet, but god do i wish canon tuna gave more feelings for tula.

kantula: it’s...creepy. like it’s so obvious the vantas bois cant communicate well but kankri’s crush feels almost pressuring on tula when he kept goin about them and goin “oh but we’re totally friends and i’m celibate so it’s okay its whatevs” like kan go to a corner give tula some air to breath.

crotuna: BIG NOPE cronus needs to learn fuckin boundaries thirsty fish bastard.

should i even add cro//eri due to the fact he literally asked an eridan out? regardless gross, ew, no, i’ll take the fanon ampora brothers anyday canon i didnt fuckin need that thx.

porrnea: it was implied to be more of a fling. idk considerin aranea’s track record i cant really say i’d trust her in many flushed quads. and porrim seems the type to have hers open and not a closed off thing so idk they got different cases.

aranea/jake: i cant deny it’s fuckin cute, i’d would’ve loved if they tried to do somethin but aranea was definietly uhhh not a good choice for jake. least she backed off when he didnt wanna be kissed but man yeah, it was cute while it lasted.

kurmeu: i cant deny the idea kur forced himself quiet due to hurting meu hurts me in a sweet way but as of rn them bein ‘pale’ and him mind controllin her when we dunno if she’s alright with this or not is...disturbing.

vristerezi: i am HIGHLY doubtful this is canon considering everything but i guess i gotta cement this. i dont see em as canon in og or sequal wise since vris is still gone in both, even then i dont like, see it, i see it but idk man i like em more pale then pail.

erifef: honestly no. both are much too different for a relationship, kinda glad they uh...got cut short cause honestly even their moirailship wasnt healthy what’s to say a matespritship would? on BOTH sides mind you.

rosejohn: thank karkat’s shipping board. anyways, i think their cute cause fuck it rose is a bi-con to me, canon wise probably wouldnt work but i’ll take fanon.

vriseri: kinda glad they got cut short of their kismesis cause boi eridan deserves a better one with how shit vriska was in breaking up with him.

johnvris: it was cute, i cant deny i’m soft over how the two talked things about vriska’s life and john’s it’s just kinda cute. it’s obvious tho canon wise with wha john went through it wont work out. would’ve loved if they became moirails tho but o well canon is god i guess.

spadePM: i dont like much of their implications, would be an unhealthy relationship regardless considerin spade’s flushed and PM’s pitch, they deserve some therapy and other people.

dadbert/momlonde: their cute i like the implications of em, sad they died though, it was cute while it lasted.

meowrails: may aswell count moirails in this shipping mess. anyways their cute, they gimmie sibling vibes course equius early into it was so...not a good moirail.

kurtuna: i guess it might be cute moirails? idk tho with kurloz’s implications it concerns me.

gamkar: as moirails...karkat was fuckin shit at his job i cant sugarcoat it. i get where it’s from he’s not gam’s lusus and shouldn’t be forced to check on him during his time of gettin high and such, i get they were kids, but god gam kinda deserved a better moirail. and then later on in the series it gets more fucked up between kar gettin stabbed by him and both in a pretty unhealthy moirailationship to the fixed timeline where gamzee is just shut into a fridge and kar doesnt fuckin care, like dude, wow. gamzee was bad yeah but damn, harsh a tad.

terezigam: as a kismesis it’s almost disgustingly unhealthy to me and honestly terezi deserved better and gamzee maaaaybe shouldn’t get a kismesis, ever, unless he can sort his shit out -the sequals tho wont do that lol-

minorly gonna count johndave in this: idk if i can see john reciprocating for dave so dave’s crush on him almost kinda hurts, especially since fixed timeline dave’s john is well, dead and our john is probably still different from his john, has angst but man i kinda dont mind it as a one sides crush it’s nice confirmation of dave bein bi atleast.

nepetajasper/jasprose: i cant see it, it’s disturbing i guess. i like em more as friends but jasprose is probably more creepy bout it.

signless/diciple: i think considerin the implications they were fuckin adorable and deserved the best.

summoner/mindfang: it’s kinda sad considerin its implied mindfang’s love for him might’ve been one sided, they could’ve been cute tho.

orphanor/mindfang: probably sounded like the best kismesis’s until he murdered dolorosa.

dolorosa/mindfang: BIG NOPE i dun like the implications.

condence/orphaner: since it’s implied orphaner had a crush on her, gonna say tho big nope considerin condence is a bitch.

condence/lord english: its hard to decipher their relationship in canon, but to cover all my bases it’s big nope to me somethin bout it makes me uncomfy despite both bein bastards.

#home stuck #hs #the pink one speaks

[werezmastarbucks]

Whitmore Guy - xenomorph

Whitmore Guy masterlist 

word count: 3076

warnings: things get serious

Four days later Y/N decided she should visit Mal and see how he is. Lord knows how he’s going to cope with all this. Elena suggested, in a flare of her classical empathy stroke, to help out with compelling if they find out the guy’s not doing good. Y/N went chilly inside upon imagining a sociopath derived of feelings, forgetting why there’s a whole in his mind.

Before showing up on his doorstep, she dropped by at the shop and bought him some ice cream. She didn’t recall talking about ice cream with Mal, which was strange, but she put all her faith in that bubble gum flavor would do good. It was her favorite, and the two of them had it all similar, plus, Mal was really into chemical, artificial stuff to put in his mouth. A big bucket of bright blue frozen mass held neatly under her arms, she entered the block of flats and got to the fourth floor. Just as she was about to knock on the door, it swung open, so energetically, as usual, like there was a tornado behind it.

Mal let his scruff grow, and now he looked about five years older, and even more handsome. His hands still had dark small cuts from the debris of the table.

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed. Y/N eyed him carefully. The dude was wearing his jean jacket and sweatpants, and he looked smashing, but also, not pale enough. He didn’t even have swollen eyes or grey bruises around them. He looked perfectly healthy, mature, and happy to see her.

“Y/N, are you reading my mind?” he took the ice cream bucket from her and pushed the door, letting her in.

She entered his place with curiosity. Y/N hasn’t been inside yet; should she happen to give him a lift, she usually let him out of the car outside and drove away.

It was messy as hell, like a normal dude’s apartment. The only neatly organized space was kitchen, where all the cutting boards, knives and plates lay in their places, all the ketlery seemingly kept in one color palette.

His room, though, was an expression of his temper. Bed was full of candy packages, and his clothes, his pastel and black hoodies, jeans and t-shirts scattered around the floor. He wasn’t completely mental though: his jackets and coats were hung in the closet, on hangers. The big TV was on, prepped against the wall right opposite his bed; Netflix was paused indicating that he’s been watching Alien.

“This is perfect”, he puffed, pulling his jacket off and throwing in onto a chair. “I was just about to go out for the ice cream, and there you are, like a little fairy, granting my deepest desires”.

He crashed back on bed, his lively black eyes fixated on her. Y/N stood above it, unsure what to do.

“Are you doing okay, Mal?”

He opened his mouth, looking at her, while he lay in his bed, stomach up, like a cat.

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

Two seconds passed until a bulb lit up in the depths of his brain.

“Oh, yes, of course. Martha’s dead. Love of my life is gone and I will never see her again. But I’m fine”.

Y/N took off her leather jacket and threw it on the same chair, to pair it with Mal’s. Thing was, she didn’t mind mess much as long as it wasn’t completely biologically hazardous. Clean kitchen did that for her.

“Care to elaborate? How did you manage to cope with it in four days? I thought you’d need a lot of support, quite frankly”.

She put the bucket on the nighstand and opened it with her nails.

“Do you have a spoon?”

Mal looked down his bed and then put his arm under the pillow, looked around the room and finally spotted a spoon on the stand under the TV. Y/N took it and stabbed the stone-frozen blue stuff. She sat on the bed, thanking heavens that Mal thought to move to give her some space. He took the bucket from her and unpaused the movie.

“You’ve seen this?”

“You kidding?”

She prepped herself against the pillow and sat comfortably.

“I had such a big crush on Sigourney Weaver when it first came out…” there were traces of tenderness in Mal’s voice.

“Repeat that, slower”, Y/N eyed him as he took a spoonful in his mouth.

“Well, obviously, I mean when it came out, like, for me. Don’t pick on my words, I’m mourning”.

“You don’t look like you are”.

“God, you’re lucky you’re cute and bring me food, lady”, Mal shook his head slowly, never looking away from the TV. “Hold on, he’s gonna start feeding now”.

They both allowed all their concentration into the movie. To be honest, Y/N loved that one.

“I love him so much”, she whispered under her breath as the Xenomorph jumped down from the ceiling, sweeping a guy away so fast it was almost like when vampires did it.

“Yeah?” Mal smiled. “You want some?”

Y/N nodded and took the spoon.

“He’s fast, and he’s perfect. He never talks too much, he just feeds and kills, you know. Even Predators admitted that Aliens were the best hunting prey and that they had a kind of respect for them because how awesome they are. Look at him. He’s so stealthy and pitch black, he’s flawless”.

“You wanna fuck a Xenomorph?” he asked with uncertainty.

“I guess I like all things terrible”.

Mal nodded with understanding.

The plot went on as they were slowly consuming ice cream, like a couple of disgruntled schoolchildren, only, they were both way too adult to be dramatic.

“So, what have you been doing here these days?” Y/N took another swing at trying to open him up.

Mal sighed.

“You know, stuff. Cried a little, cooked, ate a lot, slept. Then I remembered our conversation about movies and how you once said that you watch stuff that makes you happy when you’re down”.

“So, you decided to go with Alien”.

“Nah, sorry, monster fucker, but cenobites are my all-time favorites. I started with Hellraiser, yesterday. Rewatched all parts”.

“Damn it”.

“What?”

“I should’ve come yesterday. What are you going to do now?”

“Uh, Alien franchise?” he eyed her with confusion as he shoved the spoon in his mouth. He was eating it like a bear, without even looking, like it was soup. Mal had incredible stomach for sure, made of titan or such.

“No, I mean, you’ll have to return to work eventually. And live on”.

“Come on, it’s been four days. Give me a break. Plus, I don’t have to return to work – I moved in here because of my girlfriend, and now she’s dead, so technically I don’t have to work”.

“Fair enough”.

Y/N shivered at the thought of never seeing him at the college again. After nearly two months of being as thick as thieves she couldn’t imagine going on completely alone in that madhouse.

Was it weird that Mal seemed so indifferent? Yes and no. Y/N learned not to question the weird long time ago. She was surrounded by them. She was just alarmed at what he might do or feel when it finally hits him that Martha is really gone.

She left it alone. Y/N slid down a little, shook her head negatively when Mal tried to feed her; by the end of the first part they were spread on the bed like two starfish. The second chapter of Ripley’s blood freezing adventures began at about Five PM, and Y/N only realized she was almost drifting away when her phone rang.

“Hey”, she hung from Mal’s bed and grabbed her phone. It was Damon.

“Is he alive?”

“Yep”.

“Is he raging?”

“No, everything’s fine”.

She looked around and looked at the guy; the bucket in his hands was half-empty. Her eyebrows went up.

“Although I think he’s a bit suicidal”.

“Cool, hit me up if anything”.

Damon hung up.

“Who was it?”

“Mal, you shouldn’t eat it all at once, you’ll poison yourself”.

“I’m fine. Was it Damon?”

Mal embraced his bucket in case she tries to pull it away from him.

“No”.

His eyes narrowed.

“Why are you lying?”

Y/N clicked her tongue, falling back and crossing her legs.

“Because I don’t want you to think about him”.

Mal stared at her, thinking about something. Y/N looked at the birth mark on his neck and thought to herself that she lost completely. She couldn’t resist it anymore, the urge to be close to him, to hear what he says, gain the little smiles as she mused out loud. Her inner guts warmed up as she looked at this young man, and there was nothing she could do about this unyielding attraction, about the sheer feeling of liberty she experienced under his testing glance.

“You wanna see her pictures?” he asked suddenly.

“I thought you deleted them all”.

“No, I wanted to do it, but…” he shrugged, “you know how it is, I got really soft over the years we’ve been together”.

Y/N ran her hand through her hair.

“Sure”.

He took his phone, putting the bucket between their thighs. Y/N tried to snatch it away, but Mal caught her wrist.

“I’m eating it”.

“Mal, it’s really bad for you”.

“I know what I’m doing, mum”.

The film was going on, but they leaned to each other, looking at the screen of his smartphone. Mal didn’t delete shit, she thought, and discovered, she was angry. For heaven’s sake, Y/N, she thought, the girl’s died four days ago.

“That’s us in Carolina. We rented a little house”.

Martha was standing in the kitchen in a pretty dress, much like one Y/N had herself. But then again, it was a very fashionable model one summer, so a lot of girls had it. Think rationally.

“You travelled a lot?”

“Yeah, well, mainly in America”.

“And you’re from Ohio?”

“Uh-huh”.

Y/N looked at their picture in which they were sitting on the bank of a river.

“Where is it?”

“New Orleans. She loved that city, Martha. Tried to get me to move in there”.

“She’s got a good taste. Architecture in New Orleans is amazing”.

“She was also very much into home interiors. You know, sinks, bath tubs. I’ve never met a person before, who’d be so interested in fucking acrylic”.

Y/N looked up and they met eyes. Mal looked very serious.

“She was also very kind. You couldn’t tell at first, people used to say she was wicked. But compared to me, she was an angel. Maybe not the most people’s person, but she sure was unique”.

He blinked slowly, and his gaze went blank. Uh-oh, Y/N gathered, there it goes. Well, her arms are attached and she’s capable of holding him for as long as he needed.

“Have you ever been in love so hard it annoyed the hell out of you?” he asked.

Y/N tried to think of all the times she has been in love. In truth, she didn’t fall for somebody too often and easily, and the way this black-eyed boy made her feel was rather unusual.

She’s been in love with her classmate, Ashton, for about seven years, in and out. Never approached him. Never let him know. It was a simple teenage crush, with all the teenage drama, while Ashton was dating other girls.

She’s been in love with Damon so helplessly, so fully, it was painful. There was a time in her life when she thought she never needed anything else, that she could grab the whole bunch of the planet and throw it away, just to be with him. But he was unreachable, unimaginable. He was a titan, and she was a girl in a brown dress. She loved him loyally and openly, and he never budged, because Damon Salvatore, to his honor, only loved one woman in his very long life. And it wasn’t Y/N.

“I’ve been hurt”, she said, “and I’ve been rejected, but not annoyed, I don’t think so”.

Mal nodded coyly, his straight thin nose diving down as he looked at his phone laying in her palm.

“I was never supposed to get into that trap. I’m not the kind of person who is capable of…” he winced, as if remembering something, “loving, caring, all the human things. That was always bad for me. I never even had the urge. And then it turned out she was crafted for me, and I hoped, I – for her. All the things I thought I knew were just crashed, my brain couldn’t even cope. You know, Martha had a stamina, because those first months we’ve got together for real I hurt her a lot”.

Y/N stiffened a little.

“I confused everything I felt. I wanted to hold her, and squeezed her so hard she had bruises. I had this eerie feeling like I was crumbling down in pieces, and then realized it was my guards falling down. She completely destroyed the portrait of the person I thought I was”.

“Who did you think you were?”

Mal looked at her and said in such a tone as if it was obvious,

“A mistake”.

There were people at some point so vile that they completely convinced this pretty boy that he was unwanted, that he was supposed to be unmade. How do you fuck your child up so bad? Y/N wanted to ask what mental issues his parents must have had, and then decided she didn’t have the emotional capacity for it.

She considered it a little and then put her hand on Mal’s head, covering his left ear with her palm.

“Look at them”.

They both turned to the screen. There stood a Xenomorph, its jet black skin glistening like oil, slender flexible limbs standing firmly, elongated head and exquisitely made spine, like a handle of a harp.

“He’s perfect. And so are you, Mal”.

He bit his lower lip and suddenly dropped his head, bursting into giggles.

His large hands encircled her waist and pulled her close. Mal smelled like ice cream, and his skin, having its own scent, was warm under his soft shirt. Y/N couldn’t fight him as he sat back on the pillows, cradling her in his arms and putting his chin onto the top of her head.

“I know, Y/N. Now I know, I’m just saying, there was a time when I really believed all that crap my dad fed me. But Martha came along and, grossly, saved my dirty, black, violent soul”.

She put her head on Mal’s shoulder and outstretched her legs, feeling so cozy it threatened to put her to sleep again. Mal sighed, and his chest went up and down, and she rolled her eyes, savoring these moments, because she knew she couldn’t keep going.

“But then, of course, Damon took my girlfriend away”, he added.

She sat up so harshly he lifted both his hands for a second.

“Mal. You know it was someone else, right? She attacked him, but somebody had turned her before, and compelled her to try and kill Damon”.

Mal did it again. A second ago he was as fluffy as a bear, and now there was poison in the very air he exhaled from his nostrils.

“But it was him who ripped her heart out of her chest, right? Or are you going to tell me I should ignore it, too, like I did with her parents?”

“We need to find that… vampire who’s behind all these killings first”.

“I don’t care about them”, Mal waved his hand, “people die every day. In packs. My girl and what Damon did to her – that’s my focus. Are you going to stop me?”

They looked at each other, worms stirring in Y/N’s belly.

“You really don’t understand what’s wrong with this plan, do you?”

“I really think you keep trying to protect him because you still have feelings for him”.

She fell back on the pillows with a swing – and ceiling swayed for a moment. She could feel Mal’s eyes following her, drilling into her face.

“I really don’t”.

“You’re lying to yourself”.

His voice was dry like sand. Then he took the bucket from the stand and continued to eat, as if nothing happened.

By the end of Aliens Y/N fell asleep and woke up again when it was already dark. Mal turned on a night shade, and was still watching movies.

She opened her eyes and adjusted them, staring into the TV while laying on her side. Having completely come to her senses, she sat up, causing Mal to turn his head to her.

“You really blacked out”, he said with deep admiration.

She rubbed her neck and face, feeling even heavier than before.

“Oh god, why did you let me sleep… how long has it been?”

“A movie and a half”.

“I have to go”.

“Okay”.

Her glance travelled around the room and stopped at the empty bucket.

“You mental patient”, she hissed, “you really wanna kill yourself?”

He just smirked.

She got up from the bed, stretching her limbs and back, and yawned.

“You know, I think I will return to work”, Mal said.

“That’s a good idea, Mal. You’ll keep busy and won’t have to think about anything”.

He nodded.

Mal didn’t get up to close the door after her, so she had to “just bang it harder” herself. As she left the building, the warm summer air started to put things in order in her mind.

She drove to her house and was standing in front of the mirror in her room in thirty minutes. Her hand lay on her throat as she was examining herself. She wasn’t going crazy, was she? She remembered putting on her necklace that morning, a pretty one, wrapping tightly around her neck. Now, it wasn’t on her desk, and it wasn’t on her, so? She took off her shirt and checked for any kinds of marks on her skin. There was nothing. All the things with Mal were so intense, so sexual and strange, she couldn’t put her mind to rest. She didn’t know why she didn’t phone him right away, and she didn’t know why she wouldn’t believe his deeply sad eyes even after he showed her their pictures with Martha.

She also didn’t remember ever telling him about the movies that make her feel happy.

#kai parker #kai parker x reader #kai parker imagine #vampire diaries #legacies #whitmore guy

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1974

Under the cut.

Steve Miller Band – “The Joker” -- January 12, 1974

It always throws me when I remember how old this song is. Two years older than me, and yet I associate it with my own mid-20s partying. Okay, my "partying" was pretty mild. One of the things my friends and I often did was go to a dueling piano (really keyboard) bar, and they always played this song. I can taste the rum and Coke now. We had tipsy discussions about what "pompatus" meant. A guy tried to pick one of my friends up with "really love your peaches." Anyway, I love this song, but it's also so embedded into my life that I can't judge it fairly.

Al Wilson – “Show And Tell” -- January 19, 1974

1970s Philly R&B is great music. This is a pretty typical example of the genre; lots of strings, lots of horns, an adult with a voice he uses like an instrument to impart strong emotions. It's a love song, and the lyrics aren't anything spectacular, but they do the job. Very good.

Ringo Starr – “You’re Sixteen” -- January 26, 1974

GAH. Next!

Barbra Streisand – “The Way We Were” -- February 2, 1974

I was tempted to write, "GAH. Next!" here too, but I'm determined to save that kind of thing for songs that have elements to them that I don't want to discuss because of moral issues. That's not this. The problem is: I hate Barbra Streisand. Or I should say I hate her singing; though from what I've seen of her personality, I don't like that either. Every song she sings, she sounds like she's singing to the glory of the greatness of the only person who matters to her in the world: Barbra Streisand. I once read an article that called her singing "masturbatory," but that's not strong enough. It's full-on self-worship. I hate it.

The Love Unlimited Orchestra – “Love’s Theme” -- February 9, 1974

This is Barry White's orchestra, but sadly it's an instrumental, without his glorious voice. It reminds me so much of the Love Boat theme that now I'm wanting to watch it. Absolute kitsch, but as kitsch goes, there's worse.

Terry Jacks – “Seasons In The Sun” -- March 2, 1974

The singer is dying and saying goodbye to everyone. That kind of sentiment may be made to work in pop, I suppose, but I've never heard it done. It belongs in opera. This is schmaltz.

Cher – “Dark Lady” -- March 23, 1974

As one of only a couple dark-haired dark-eyed girls in my quite blonde high school graduating class, people used to call me "exotic." Apparently my high cheekbones had something to do with it too. I was asked where my family was from pretty regularly. I wasn't offended --  more bemused. The answer is "Europe," though I guess the dark hair and eyes are probably by way of France. It's rather tough to say, considering my mother's side of the family has been here since the 16th century (indentured servants), and were not the rich types who stuck to their own ethnicity. Anyway, this is to say that I feel some kinship with Cher, and how drawn she was to songs like "Dark Lady." Though in this case, the "dark lady" is someone Cher's character murders for cheating with her boyfriend. She kills the boyfriend too.

This song is dated ("gypsy music") Las Vegas cheese, and yet I like it. It's wildly melodramatic and fun.

John Denver – “Sunshine On My Shoulders” -- March 30, 1974

Bleeeeeh. I like big melodramatic songs. This is the opposite. Now, I do like small, sweet songs often too. But I just can't with this one. It's too slow, too simple, and feels aggressively, shallowly cheery.

Blue Swede – “Hooked On A Feeling” -- April 6, 1974

I learned from the Todd in the Shadows video about this song that its stupid "ooga chaka" thing was inspired by 1960's "Running Bear." Now I hate it even more! The original of this song is a nice, simple love song. Blue Swede made it shouty and dumb.

Elton John – “Bennie And The Jets” -- April 13, 1974

It's Elton John. Therefore I don't like it. I feel like it's too slow maybe? I feel like most of Elton John's songs are too slow maybe. I don't know. I'm bored.

MFSB & The Three Degrees’ “TSOP (The Sound Of Philadelphia)” -- April 20, 1974

An instrumental disco track. It is one I find danceable, so there's that. Not bad.

Grand Funk – “The Loco-Motion” -- May 4, 1974

A rock cover of The Loco-Motion. Sure, why not. Though this version is not very good. It feels like they slowed it down, and they definitely made it extremely loud. I don't really see a reason for this song to exist.

Ray Stevens – “The Streak” -- May 18, 1974

Streaking was a fad in 1974. This is a comedy song about it. I had never heard it before this, and I hope never to again. It's deeply dumb.

Paul McCartney & Wings – “Band On The Run” -- June 8, 1974

The wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo thing at the beginning of the song sounds neat, but then it goes on too long. That's my feeling about this entire song: It goes on too long. It does change up substantially multiple times throughout, but it's no Bohemian Rhapsody. Bohemian Rhapsody is, imo, perfect. The pacing of "Band on the Run," otoh, is a mess. The second section needs to be a lot longer and the final section needs to be a lot shorter. Paul McCartney needed an editor for this.

Bo Donaldson And The Heywoods – “Billy, Don’t Be A Hero” -- June 15, 1974

A young woman tells her boyfriend to not "be a hero" when he goes off to war (probably the Civil War.) Because she wants him to come home alive. As anyone who knows this kind of song can predict, he decides to be a hero and dies. Cliche and weirdly bouncy for the subject matter. Still, at least songs were acknowledging that dying in war was not a great thing. Unlike the putrescent "Ballad of the Green Berets."

Gordon Lightfoot – “Sundown” -- June 29, 1974

The singer is jealously obsessed with a woman. He knows this isn't a good thing, but he doesn't seem able to -- or be trying to -- move past it. This is about something real; Gordon Lightfoot was obsessively, violently jealous over Cathy Smith, the woman who was later convicted for injecting John Belushi with the heroin that killed him. The lyrics are mean, but the music doesn't go hard at all. Except, compared to the rest of the stuff I've looked at for 1974 so far, the music does sound a lot harder -- it's minor key and there's a distinct bassline. It still feels like a mismatch.

The Hues Corporation – “Rock The Boat” -- July 6, 1974

A disco song I can dance to some. Not entirely. It's a song asking you not to "rock the boat" of your perfect love with the singer. It's incredibly schmaltzy -- schmaltzy disco. Ugh.

George McCrae – “Rock Your Baby” -- July 13, 1974

The singer is telling you, "woman," to take him in your arms and rock him. I.e. fuck him. I have perfect pitch. George McCrae is no Ella Fitzgerald. When he goes to the high note, he does not hit it right, and it's like nails on a chalkboard. I can't listen to this song all the way through.

John Denver – “Annie’s Song” -- July 27, 1974

Ugh, 1974. This is a simplistic love song to John Denver's wife. Not just simple, which is fine, but simplistic, which is not. They divorced years later, and Denver became violent during it. (Denver's the one who brought that to light and he obviously felt terrible about it.) The Stereogum guy was shocked by this. I'm not. For one, celebrity is horrible for people. For another, I can't think of any of Denver's songs that have depth or complexity. Trying to live at the surface is also horrible for people. I do like a lot of simple love songs, but John Denver's songs have always made me go "ick," even when I was a child. I feel like there's nothing in them.

Roberta Flack – “Feel Like Makin’ Love” -- August 10, 1974

The music to this song, with the calm but interesting percussion and romantic guitar, combined with Roberta Flack's whispery vocals, is lovely. It gives me asmr feels and makes me want to lie down and drift off to sleep. So, uh. Not exactly what I consider a sexy song. I do like listening to it, as it's nice and calming, but I don't think that was the intent.

Paper Lace – “The Night Chicago Died” -- August 17, 1974

And I will definitely need some relaxation after this garbage. Okay so, this travesty was by Brits who: 1) Thought there was an East Side of Chicago. That's Lake Michigan. 2) Thought it would be cute to write a song in which Al Capone tried to literally take over Chicago by killing all the cops (he bribed cops, he didn't kill them, and he was a criminal, not an insurrectionary.) 3) Sing "glory be" because they obviously think that's a super American thing to do. "In the land of the dollar bill." WHAT? This song makes me want to punt Paper Lace into the East Side of Chicago.

Paul Anka – “(You’re) Having My Baby” -- August 24, 1974

Notoriously one of the worst pop songs ever. The singer thinks "you" (that makes it worse) are having his baby solely and only because you love him. Monumental narcissism, just completely heinous, plus it's musical glop.

Eric Clapton – “I Shot The Sheriff” -- September 14, 1974

This is not Bob Marley's version. Bob Marley's version is so much better, and it's the one I've heard a lot, so when I turned this one on I was confused for a second.

Barry White – “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe” -- September 21, 1974

Oh thank god. Barry White is one of my favorite singers, and this is one of my favorite songs. This is a sexy love song by a great artist.

Andy Kim – “Rock Me Gently” -- September 28, 1974

Andy Kim's voice sounds incredibly mid-70s. What's with men asking their lovers to rock them this year? The chorus is pretty good, and has a real beat. He's asking his lover to be gentle, and "I have never been loved like this before." That's nice. It's cheese, but it's fine.

Olivia Newton-John – “I Honestly Love You” -- October 5, 1974

A lot of the time when someone says they "honestly" something without prompting, they're lying. So this song sounds weird to me. "I love you/ I honestly love you" -- um, you sure about that? Though the singer has no reason to pretend she loves the person she's singing to, and every reason not to, since they're both with someone else. She just wants to tell you she loves you and leave it at that. Yeah, that's likely. Olivia Newton-John is a good singer, and she's especially good at acting a song. I feel she should have been on Broadway. In any case, while this is a slow soft song in an era with way too many of those, it's one of the better ones. It's not overly slow or particularly goopy.

Billy Preston – “Nothing From Nothing” -- October 19, 1974

If there's such a thing as vaudeville rock, this is it. He doesn't want to be your hero or your highness, so it sounds like he wants an equal relationship. He also says "I'm a soldier in the war on poverty," which makes it sounds like he's saying you have to have money if you want to get with him, but maybe not. He sings "you gotta bring a little something, girl, if you want to be with me," which may or may not be monetary. It's bouncy and all, but Billy Preston's done better.

Dionne Warwick & The Spinners – “Then Came You” -- October 26, 1974

A song about finally finding love. Plenty of good orchestration, a good beat, and of course Dionne Warwick's voice. I like it.

Stevie Wonder – “You Haven’t Done Nothin'” -- November 2, 1974

The "you" in this song is Richard Nixon. Stevie Wonder is one of the most love everyone, let's all come together artists in existence. But here, he was angry. "We would not care to wake up to the nightmare/ That's becoming real life/ But when misled who knows a person's mind/ Can turn as cold as ice." The Republican Party is still Nixon's party -- they love him almost as much as they do Reagan. This song is funky and good and the only reason I don't feel it more is that it's not angry enough.

Bachman-Turner Overdrive – “You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet” -- November 9, 1974

They were goofing around in the studio, and lead singer Randy Bachman wanted to make fun of his brother's stutter. When this song became a hit, Randy was mortified. But even with nasty, juvenile intentions behind it, this song is good. It also sounds happy and not mean at all. It's a rather silly song about first experiencing sex, and it's fun.

John Lennon – “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night” -- November 16, 1974

John Lennon's voice was always kinda nasal, but it's really nasal on this song. Anyway, this song may as well be called "you do you." It's a song that in theory I should not find boring, but in practice I do. I have finally found out why: Elton John helped him with it. It sounds very Elton John-ish. Which means I don't really have anything else to say.

Billy Swan – “I Can Help” -- November 23, 1974

Some old-fashioned rockability is a nice change. The singer sees that the woman needs some help, so "let me help." "I got two strong arms/ Let me help." I immediately think of a romance between a farmhand and a widow woman. "It would sure do me good to do you good." That's a pretty concise description of love. Billy Swain's voice is kinda thin; Elvis did a cover of this, and it's a lot better. Billy Swain's version is sweet and all, but Elvis' is irresistible.

Carl Douglas – “Kung Fu Fighting” -- December 7, 1974

This isn't a song about actual kung fu; it's about kung fu movies. It's a fanboy telling you all about the cool movie he just saw, though not telling you a thing about the plot. Just the "expert timing" and stuff. Trying to analyze "Kung Fu Fighting" feels really silly. It's a rare enjoyable novelty song by an actual musician.

Harry Chapin – “Cat’s In The Cradle” -- December 21, 1974

A cover of this song by Ugly Kid Joe became a hit in 1992. And it was massively overplayed, so I hate this song. This father/son stuff bores me anyway, speaking of overplayed.

Helen Reddy – “Angie Baby” -- December 28, 1974

This song is deeply strange, which is a mark in its favor. It's a story song about a girl who has no friends and had to be taken out of school because she's "a little touched." She lives in a world of make-believe, listening to the radio all the time. A neighbor boy comes along to rape her. But as soon as he walks into her room... "Toward the radio he's bound/ Never to be found." He becomes her "secret lover," trapped in the radio. "It's so nice to be insane/ No one asks you to explain." Is Angie really "insane," or is she a sorceress whose rock n' roll powers everyone looks away from? Both? I'm not sure what I think of this song, but it is interesting, and that's always good.

BEST OF 1974 -- "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe" by Barry White WORST OF 1974 -- "(You're) Having My Baby" by Paul Anka

#billboard number ones

[aion-rsa]

The Teleprompter Interview: Katy Wix ‘My First Screen Crush was King Kong’

https://ift.tt/33I5zd9

“Anchors, rigging, shackles,” lists Katy Wix down the phone, “poop deck, wheelhouse, three sheets to the wind…” The comedian and writer has had a productive year. Filming wrapped on Ghosts series two just as UK lockdown began. Since then, she’s finished one book – Delicacy: A Memoir – due out next April, is pitching another, writing a TV show, and thanks to a new-found obsession with Netflix yacht-based reality show Below Deck, has also managed to acquire an enviable grasp of nautical terminology. 

Wix is an established UK comic actor, with credits across the board, starting with cult hit Time Trumpet and going mainstream as witless, lovable Daisy in BBC mega-sitcom Not Going Out. She’s currently part of Channel 4’s Stath Lets Flats, the hottest comedy around, fresh from multiple Bafta wins. She plays Fergie in royal satire The Windsors, and was among the comedian-contestants in series nine of Taskmaster. In BBC One sitcom Ghosts, Wix plays Mary, a 17th century yokel burned as a witch and now part of the motley group haunting a modern-day stately home. Mary’s distinctive west country accent “just came out”, says Wix. “It’s an insult really, because I can’t claim to do that accent well. It’s sort of a stock noise. The more I do it, the more I think it sounds like Nanny from Count Duckula. Ducky!”

Ghosts series two, which lands as a boxset on BBC iPlayer on Monday September 21st , will give fans more about Mary’s background, says Wix. “I think people will really love it, and then there’ll be another series next year, depending on the big C. Not cancer. The other big C.”

From superyachts to Alan Partridge, The Day Today to Ghostwatch, Anna from This Life to formative sexual fantasies about prehistoric apes… here’s the Katy Wix Teleprompter interview.

Your parents were quite arty, working in dance companies and the theatre. Did your childhood allow for much TV watching?

Oh my god, yes! My routine was: come home from school, watch the tail-end of Fifteen to One, and when I was really young, repeats of The Oprah Winfrey Show. Then it would be The Broom Cupboard, something like Round the Twist, then the sound of the Six O’Clock News and turning over to The Simpsons. I still do it now, if I’m at home and it’s five to six, I’m going to watch The Simpsons, it’s a tradition.

Welsh telly was slightly different to the rest of the country. We have S4C rather than Channel 4. I remember going through the TV listings and seeing what was on normal Channel 4, like The Word, then I’d look at Welsh Channel 4 and it would just be something boring in Welsh at the same time.

Was there a TV show that inspired you to start acting and comedy?

The one I remember the most is Abigail’s Party. Seeing Alison Steadman’s performance made me want to do character acting. It was just a phenomenal, convincing, detailed performance. Years later, I wrote a radio sitcom that she was in. It was one of those absurd moments where you just have to leave your body and look down on yourself to be able to handle it. 

That must happen a lot, you’ve been part of a lot of great comedy casts…

What got me into comedy was Brass Eye and The Day Today. When I was about 15, that’s what changed my brain. It was the first time I’d seen adults being silly and coming up with absurd situations that were my sense of humour. Before that, comedy on TV would always feel like just something your parents would watch but this really felt like it was for us, for me and my friends. It was the same with The Office.

And then you were in This Time with Alan Partridge with Steve Coogan last year.

I was in sixth form when Knowing Me, Knowing You came out and I had it on VHS. Watching people like Rebecca Front and Doon Mackichan… anytime Alan had a guest on the sofa, the level of detail and all the reactions and the tiny little social awkward moments, that made me think I want to do that type of performing. So then, when I got to be in the last Partridge, it was mad. It was phenomenal to be that near to the character and all his tiny micro-expressions. Even the colour of his socks – this weird salmon pink – that was so perfect. Tim [Key] was there as well and we’re old pals, so that made it feel more like, well if Tim can deal with it. But I think even Tim now says he still has times where he has to go into the loo and give himself a moment.

Who or what was your first TV love?

This will sound like a joke, but I swear to God it’s true. It was a running joke in our family that my first crush when I was about four, was King Kong [laughs]. My mum used to tease me about it all the time. It was the combination of brute strength and these massive, soulful, pained eyes – which I still look for in men – that absolutely got me. It was an erotic connection for me. When I look back on it in a Freudian way, it feels like a really obvious, very heterosexual image for a little girl to have, because I wanted to be that woman in the nightie in his massive hairy hand. 

Unusual, yes, but then a lot of people our age cite the fox in the Robin Hood Disney film as their first screen crush.

I do get that. I do get that. What was it about that fox?

He’s rakish. And politically, he was sound too – rob from the rich, give to the poor.

You’re right. And he was really confident too. 

Growing up, which TV character did you idolise?

There are two, a younger one and a slightly later one. When I was 11 or 12, I wanted to be a fashion designer. I would draw outfits all the time in my school books and I had the Usborne Book of Fashion Design and spend hours on it. So I wanted to be Hilary Banks from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air because she just had incredible fashion. She always got boys and she was really cool and confident and wore amazing clothes. She was everything I wanted to be.

Then a little bit later, maybe sixth form or in my early 20s. I wanted to be Anna from This Life, so much and I kind of still do. Because she was tall and really cool and had dark hair and a lot of attitude and wore black a lot and smoked a lot and didn’t give a shit. That was my vibe at university. 

Is there a TV character you’d like to be now? 

Probably still Anna? 

Which TV show gave you nightmares?

The massive one for me, when I was about 11 or 12: Ghostwatch. I went to a friend’s house to watch it and I remember being a bit like ‘yeah right’ watching it, and then when I got home that night, I just cried. I was in the bath, hysterical and my mum had to come in and calm me down. It was horrendous. 

Everyone totally swallowed it at the time, because we were less TV-savvy in 1992. I remember they had a phone-in and someone called in to say ‘There’s a shape in the curtains’, which really fucked me up. The whole Pipes thing. I remember being in my bedroom and seeing a shape of an old man in the curtain all the time. I’ve got really vague memories of Craig Charles being in a park, saying that someone had killed a Labrador. I was thinking about watching it again. I actually don’t know if I dare. 

Read more

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50 best British comedy TV shows on Netflix UK, BBC iPlayer, Amazon Prime, NOW TV, Britbox, All4, UKTV Play

By Louisa Mellor

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Not Going Out: the top 10 episodes

By Philip Lickley

When did you last cry watching television?

Last night. Have you ever seen the show Below Deck? I’m obsessed with it. I’m not massively into reality TV but it’s an American reality show all filmed on superyachts that rich people charter. It’s almost like a perfect sitcom family – you have a different captain every time and the deckhands and then the interior, who do the hotel stuff, and then you have the chef, who’s always a temperamental big personality and then each episode has a different group of insanely rich, usually quite horrible, sexist people with loads of money who get really drunk, that’s the premise. It’s non-stop drama. You’re just watching people fall off boats and have arguments. 

How did it make you cry?

In this episode, there was a girl who’d been really quiet and grumpy and everyone was slagging her off, and then she revealed that she’d got a text that morning saying her estranged father had died, so that’s what set me off. It’s got me through lockdown, it’s so addictive. 

When did you last laugh out loud watching television?

Below Deck, same episode!

All human life is there!

I think it was someone’s malapropism, that’s my favourite thing about reality TV, the way people talk in a kind of Stath-like way and get it wrong.

What was the last TV show you recommended to a friend? 

Below Deck! [Laughs] I’ve just got Lolly [Adefope] onto it, and Adam Drake – he’s a comedian in a sketch show called Goose and does Capital, a podcast with Liam Williams – he’s now devoted. One of my best mates was bemoaning that her boyfriend’s not into reality TV, but boys can watch Below Deck too. It’s got loads of boat stuff in it. Chains and anchors. I’m learning all these terms, like shackles, poop deck, wheelhouse, three sheets to the wind… That’s where the expression ‘in my wheelhouse’ comes from. Three sheets to the wind means you’re sailing off course. 

Which TV show would you bring back from the dead?

Changing Rooms. 

Good call.

I also loved The Late Review. I really loved that.

What’s a TV show you wish more people would watch?

Do you know Iyanla Vanzant? She started off on The Oprah Winfrey Show – I love Oprah so much – and she’s a TV therapist/healer/spiritual. She’s got a show you can only get on American TV called Iyanla: Fix My Life. She just speaks so much wisdom. She spends a week with people who are really traumatised and it’s their healing journey. It’s so moving, it’s so profound. She’s doing incredible work for the human race.

She did an amazing show called, I think, ‘The Myth of the Angry Black Woman’ with a house full of women of colour who all got to talk about this trope that they were angry and how they felt unable to speak without being silenced. She did a show that was rehabilitating people that had come out of prison and women that had been sex workers all their loves, just amazing. 

Which current TV show do you never miss an episode of?

In lockdown, what kept me going was I May Destroy you, obviously, Below Deck, obviously. I also became obsessed with the Japanese Big Brother Terrace House, but it just got pulled because there was a suicide. It was so, so awful. I read an article saying the producers didn’t behave well, so I feel like I can’t like it any more. I love Succession too. I started watching this show on Netflix called Intervention and got totally obsessed with it. Again, it’s maybe ethically a bit dubious. It’s American, obviously, and they’ll film an addict who’s in a really desperate state and then the family kind of trick them, or persuade them to go into a room and then the intervention therapist is there and they’re like ‘Guess what, you’re going to rehab now!’ Anything that’s got human suffering, and then a redemption story in it, I’ll watch. 

Given the power, which TV show would you commission?

I think about this a lot – what if I had a channel? I’d commission the sketch group Sheeps to make tons of series. That’s Liam Williams, Al Roberts and Daran Johnson, and so far they’ve only done live shows, but I would commission them for hours of TV. Colin Hoult doing his character Anna Mann, I’d commission hours of that. Everyone involved in Stath Lets Flats, I’d just say ‘Turn up, pitch and we’ll make it’. There’s a documentary from the 70s that I adore, that I would like to show again, which is John Berger’s Ways of Seeing. It’s one of the most beautiful, gentle documentaries. I feel like that should be on TV. And just whatever Gemma Collins is doing, commission that. 

Also, you know in the 90s, late at night you’d get some weird, bizarre performance art happening on BBC Two? I miss that. The sort of stuff that was on after The Word. And then finally, maybe just all of Peep Show again? 

What’s the most fun you’ve had making television?

Ghosts is where I probably laugh the most because of Lolly [Adefope]. We make each other laugh all the time. When me and Anna [Crilly] did our sketch show on Channel 4, it was incredible. It was stressful but exciting. It was such a nice atmosphere to be with all these gorgeous people that you find funny. 

Stath Lets Flats is like that, because we’re all genuine mates. When people take comedy so seriously I really love it. I love that attention to detail. Jamie [Demetriou] and everyone involved really cares. There’s no ‘that’ll do’ attitude, everyone wants it to be the best it can be. Why not treat comedy as a science that you have to absolutely get right?

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Ghosts series two starts on Monday the 21st of September on BBC One at 8.30pm. All six episodes will be available to stream on BBC iPlayer from then. 

Delicacy: A Memoir by Katy Wix, published by Headline, is available to pre-order now.

The post The Teleprompter Interview: Katy Wix ‘My First Screen Crush was King Kong’ appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/32GM7ya

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[long-bodyswap]

The Relic

Benjamin Michael Monahan, a 37-year-old general contractor, arrived home after a particularly bad day at work at a new construction site. Ben, a big man, stands 6’2” and weighs a solid 200 pounds. He has a burly, muscular body covered in fine brown hair.

He started to tap a cigarette from a pack stashed in his shirt pocket when his son announced dinner was ready.

Ben stared at his 12-year-old son, Brad, a perpetual challenge to a man who sets much store by physical and mental toughness. He surveyed the boy, trying to not make his disapproval too evident.

A skinny kid, Brad stood about 5’3”, weighed only about 100 pounds. He makes good grades, but sometimes Ben wished Brad didn’t lean so far to the nerdy side. He felt some pride in his son’s intelligence, but he knew the kid might have an easier time if he didn’t spent so much time at the books.

He slid the cigarette back into the almost empty pack.

For the moment, Ben only wanted to feel his stomach and put his hard day behind him. After dinner, maybe he could kick back, enjoy a smoke and watch some television.

Brad only wanted to forget the horrible day at school. Not a day goes by without his being picked on by older and bigger kids.

Ben saw that Brad had prepared a meal of chicken and potatoes. He appreciated that Brad didn’t shirk the household duties. Still, he sometimes felt a lingering sense that maybe he shouldn’t push all the domestic duties off on his son.

But, with just the two of them, and with Ben often getting home late from work, Brad preparing meals made perfect sense.

As they eat, Ben noticed Brad kept putting down his fork and picking up an odd piece of jewelry. The object looks like a stone amulet tied around a leather thong.

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

“Oh, it’s an old Indian artifact,” Brad said. “I have to do a report on it for school.”

Ben nodded and reached for his can of beer.

Brad, drinking from a glass of milk, looked toward his dad. “I wish I didn’t have to bother with school. I hate school.”

Ben felt a surge of irritation. He couldn’t help but feel a little upset that Brad has no idea how tough the real world is.

“If you knew what it was like to work a hard job, you’d be thankful for school.”

“Never,” Brad said fervently.

“You just don't know what it is like,” Ben said. “School's a breeze."

“But Dad, I...”

“I don't want to hear any more, Brad,” Ben barked in anger. “Just shut up and eat your dinner.”

“OK...” Brad began, but quickly returned to his basic complaint. “But the kids, Dad, they all pick on me. Just because I'm so short and I have to write a report on this stupid Indian artifact...”

“They pick on you because you have to write a report?” Ben had almost tuned out his son’s whining complaints.

“No, not because of that,” Brad said. I'll bet no one picks on you Dad. You’re such a big, strong guy!”

Ben pushed back his plate and removed a cigarette from the pack. He lit up. "You need to toughen up, Brad," he said after taking his first puff.

“Dad, I'm still a kid...I'm trying...I mean look at this stupid artifact thing...what can I write about it?”

Ben puffed furiously on the cigarette. "That should be the least of your problems,” his voice sounded a little harsh. “Wait until you have to get a job. Then you'll miss writing your little school reports."

Brad picked up the artifact again. “ At least if I were you and had a job I wouldn't have to write stupid reports...”

"You should have to work a job every day like I do," Ben said. He reached and grasped one end of the artifact. "I'd love to have your life again."

At that point, father and son feel a sharp, static shock.

“WHOA Dad...” Brad sounded excited. “Did you feel that?”

“What the hell was that?” Ben asked. He stared at the artifact held in their hands.

“Maybe it was this stupid artifact, Dad,” Brad said. “You think?”

“It's just some old relic, Brad,” Ben said. He kept puffing on his cigarette.

“You sure, Dad? Cause that felt really weird...”

Ben grunted in disgust. “To be honest, I'd think your school could teach you something more important,” he said in a tone of aggravation.

“Like what Dad?”

“Like...what you'll need to know in the real world.”

“What kind of things, Dad?”

“Jesus, Brad! You've got a lot to learn. Take my word for it.” His cigarette is failing to calm him down. That static shock did leave him jittery, he realized.

“Why do you need to smoke, Dad?” Brad asked, changing the topic.

“Uh...I just need it... to relax. It helps me unwind,” Ben said. He didn’t know why he had trouble giving an answer. But, after enjoying his supper after a long day, there was nothing he enjoyed more than puffing on a cigarette or, better yet, a cigar.

He took a long drag and noticed that he isn't exhaling it.

However, when Brad responded with another question, the smoke Ben inhaled is jetting out of his son’s nose and nostrils.

Brad doesn’t notice it at first, but Ben stared hard at his son, watching the smoke drift and thin.

“How does it help you to relax Dad?”

"It just does..." He shook his head, confused. He felt very strange and light-headed. Ben took another drag from his cigarette. He inhaled as normal and again the smoke jetted from his son’s nose and mouth when Brad spoke again, demanding more information on his dad’s need to smoke. Brad still doesn't notice until Ben brings the odd observation to his son’s attention.

“Let’s try a little test,” Ben suggested.

“Are you feeling all right, Dad?”

"No...I mean...what's going on?" Ben saw his son staring intently at him and at the drifting smoke currents.

“What do you mean, Dad?”

Ben rubbed his eyes. "Something's not right," he muttered.

“What’s not right? Why do you keep staring at me in that weird way Dad?”

"How are you feeling, Brad?" Ben asked. He tried to regulate his breathing and slow his racing heartbeat.

“I'm good...only...I don't know...there's like a weird feeling in my chest...doesn't hurt...it's just...I dunno...weird.”

Ben took another puff.

“What is so weird about you smoking a cigarette, Dad?” Brad asked, as the smoke jets out of his nose and mouth. Somehow, he still does not notice the exhalations of smoke.

"The smoke...that's impossible. Brad, don't you see?"

“What...that you smoke...that's not impossible, Dad.” Brad giggled. “Stop fooling with me, Dad, come on...”

Ben leaped up from the table. More smoke streamed from Brad’s mouth and nostrils. "How are you doing that?"

“Doing what, Dad?”

"Maybe I need to lie down..."

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Brad sounded suddenly fearful.

"I feel so...so light...and weak," Ben said.

“Why don't you sit down and finish your smoke, Dad? I’ll clear the table.”

Ben rubbed his eyes again. "Yeah...that might help." He left the kitchen and took a seat in his chair in the living room.

“Feeling better now, Dad?” Brad called from the kitchen.

“I'm not sure. Are you feeling ok now?” He lit up a new cigarette, but his hands are a little unsteady.

“Yeah, of course Dad, I feel...” Now, finally, Brad realized that he is exhaling smoke from his nose and mouth. “I feel!? DAD?!

“I'm ....I'm...” Brad raced from the kitchen into the living room. “Look at me, Dad!”

Brad opened his eyes and looked. His first thought is that he is somehow looking into a mirror.

He is looking at himself.

"Brad?"

“DAD?” He blew smoke out his nose and mouth. “But how? I mean, I don't smoke. You always told me not to…”

Ben felt very dizzy. “What's happened?”

At that moment, the cigarette that was in Ben’s hand appears in his son’s hand. Brad almost involuntarily brought it up to his mouth with his arm — to his mouth!

Brad inhaled. DAD?! I'm...I'm...I'm smoking your cigarette!”

Ben is getting more disoriented as he watch himself from...

“Where am I? Brad!"

His voice! It sounded like Brad's.

“Dad? What is… what 's happ—“ His voice cracked much lower “—ening to me?”

Ben heard his own voice. "Brad, something's happened...to us..."

“Dad! Where’s your beard?”

Ben raised his hand to touch a smooth cheek. "No!"

Brad continued to smoke the cigarette naturally like he has been doing so for years.

Ben ran into the kitchen, to the table, and grabbed the artifact. "It did this to us!"

Ben stared.

"Dad, everything...is bigger!" Brad exclaimed. “Dad, I itch all over! Make it stop!”

At the same time, he continued dragging on the cigarette like it was natural for him to do so.

Ben fumbled with the artifact. His hands…they’re not his big hands. "Did you do something! Think! Brad, what did you do to us?"

“It’s not my fault!” Brad began to cry in his still developing 37-year-old body.

"I sure as hell didn't cause this!" But Ben’s normally loud voice is higher.

As Brad raised his hands to his mouth to continue smoking his dad’s...now his own...cigarette, he felt his beard against his hands.

“Dad! My face. It has got hair all over it...I have a beard! Just like…just like you.”

Ben watched his big hands move across his...or rather his son’s...beard.

In dismay, he ran his hands over his face. “It's so smooth,” he whispered. And, he noticed, he had to look up when he watched Brad touch his beard.

“Daddy, why am I so big?” Brad began to sob. “Make it stop! Please, daddy, do something.”

Ben felt only panic. “Oh fuck! Calm down,” Ben said savagely in his squeaky voice. “Just don't cry.”

Between sobs, his new huge body shook. “I can’t help it,” Brad wailed. “Look at me! I'm...I'm... you!”

Now that his son had voiced the undeniable truth of the situation, Ben almost felt like crying. "And I...I...I'm you!" Ben said. “I have got to have a cigarette.” He ran to the table and took one from his pack.

His small hands trembled as he attempted to light up.

“Are you all right, Dad?”

Brad, in his huge, adult body, continued sobbing.

"Do I look okay! Jesus! What are we going to do?" Ben hated the high-pitched sound of his son’s voice producing the words he spoke.

“Don't yell at me, Dad! Please! I didn't do anything.”

“You had to do something, Brad. Think back. We've got to figure this out."

Ben felt almost afraid to look down at his body. It's so scrawny and under-developed. Hands still shaking, he took a drag on the cigarette he had managed to light. He began to cough violently. He continued coughing for a long time.

His son watched concerned as his father coughed.

“What…the hell?” Ben cried in a strangled voice. He hadn’t expected that. His new 12-year-old lungs were certainly not ready for that.

“I figured it out, Dad. You can't smoke in my body...you'll get busted.”

At the same time, Brad grabbed the cigarette from his father’s hand, put it to his mouth, inhaled deeply and let out a satisfying exhale. “AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Cool,” Brad said. “I can smoke now.”

"Stop that!" Ben ordered. "What are you doing!"

“But Dad...I'm...like...YOU now,” Brad said in a husky, excited voice. “And you smoke, right? Well, I kind of like smoking, too!”

"You're not really me, Brad,” Ben said. “Stop fooling around."

“Sorry,” Brad said. “But can I can smoke some more...it feels really good to me.”

"Stop!" Ben said as he watched Brad, now in his former adult body, take deep puffs.

“Why Dad? It's no fair!”

Ben, in a rage, stepped forward and grabbed Brad’s arm and tried to pull it down. The immediate failure caused him to quickly realize he is too weak to even budge his son’s arm.

“What are you doing, Dad?” Brad asked. “You wanna wrestle or something?”

“What?” Ben asked. “No…”

“I thought you wanted to wrestle with me.”

“No, I don’t,” Ben said as calmly as he could manage. “You may be in my body, but I'm still in charge.”

“ I always let you win, remember?” Brad asked, laughing hard afterwards.

"Brad, take this seriously," Ben pleaded.

“Okay.” Brad took a deep inhale from his cigarette. He began to feel much more comfortable with the cigarette, and he began to thoroughly enjoy the sensation.

Ben tried to grab his son’s arm again, with both hands this time.

“Dad, I thought you said I had to be serious and that you didn't want to wrestle,” Brad said.

“What?” Ben began to back away as his son, now in Ben’s former adult body, advanced on him.

“I'm just doing what you told me.” He made a deep inhalation on his cigarette. “ JEEZ!”

"Put that damn cigarette down!”

“Oh, but Dad!” Brad said. “It's so cool and it feels so good and it tastes so good. Come on. You never let me have any fun.”

"This isn't a time for fun,” Ben insisted. “Where's that artifact?"

“I think you left it in the kitchen,” Brad said.

"Get it! We need to study it!"

“All right, Dad,” Brad said. “Hey, Dad. I'm thirsty. Can I have something to drink when I'm in the kitchen?”

"Sure." Ben answered. He wanted to have a good look at that artifact. There had to be a way to get him back into his adult body.

In the kitchen, Brad reached into the fridge and absent-mindedly pulled out a can of beer, opened it and started drinking it.

Almost as an afterthought, he realized how good it tasted.

“Here's the artifact, Dad,” Brad said, returning to the living room and giving the object to his father. He began to notice now how silly his dad looked in his old body.

“Brad! Put that beer back!”

“Beer? But I don't drink...WHOA...I got a ...got a ...can of beer...and I was drinking it,” Brad said. “Hmmm, it tastes real good. Dad, can I have a little more? Please?”

“No!” Ben exclaimed.

“Jeez! I can't smoke and I can't have a beer when I'm you,” Brad argued. “Why can you do all those things when you were in your adult body?”

“Because it was my adult body,” Ben replied. ���You're still only 12 years old!”

“Yeah, but I’ll be 13 next month,” Brad said. “Dad, don't I have like an adult body? Your body?”

“Yes,” Ben admitted uneasily. “But we need to change that. That weird artifact you brought home must be the key. Where did the school get it?”

“Some of my buddies in the Boy Scouts said they found it on a camping trip near the old Indian burial grounds.”

“Your buds!” Ben screamed. “I thought a teacher gave it to you!”

Brad became evasive. “Ahhh, well, you see Dad... uhhhh..”

“You shouldn't mess with things like that!” Ben shouted in an angry tone.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” To Ben’s dismay, he had to watch his son, now in his huge adult body, begin to sob again. “I didn't find it...and you are saying like this is all my fault.”

“Will you quit crying?” Ben begged. “When will you grow up!”

“I'm only a kid, Dad, and I'm scared. It was cool for a little while to be you, but I don't know all the stuff you do about building stuff...”

Ben watched in horror as his huge, manly body became convulsed with Brad’s frantic sobbing.

“Look...sorry...we don't have to worry about any of that yet,” Ben promised. “We'll get this all cleared up before then!

“When, Dad? I gotta go to school tomorrow?” Brad said. “Unless…” His body convulsed with laughter instead of sobs. “Hey Dad. Can you go to school for me? That would be awesome! You would be like the smartest kid in the class! Come on!”

Ben’s eyes widened. “I am not going back to junior high!”

Brad, not having heard, continued gleefully. “I can call in sick and hang around the house and watch cable all day. So cool!”

“It isn’t going to happen!” Ben insisted.

“Oh, come on, Dad. For one day! Please?”

“No! Aren't you listening to me! I've got to go to work...not go to school.”

Brad grinned. “Dad, how are you gonna do your work in my body?” Brad wanted to know. “ I mean you are kinda scrawny...that’s what you tell me.”

“That's why we need to know more about the artifact,” Ben said, increasingly desperate to keep Brad focused on the immediate problem. “How did you mean to research it?”

“Get online and search the Internet to find out what all that weird writing means that's on it...see on the sides...”

Ben turned over the amulet and stared at some weird symbols. He slapped his forehead in frustration. “Why didn't you mention that earlier?”

“Dad, everything got kinda weird and stuff before...well you know...”

“Maybe we should log online and start looking up sites about that weird Indian relic?” Ben suggested, staring up, unable to shake his awe at his own huge body now occupied so awkwardly by his 12-year-old son.

He took the chair in front of the computer, but found it alarming to notice how large the chair now seemed. He knew that the former adjustments he had made to his seat were high enough to keep his feet from touching the carpet.

And, at the same time, he felt Brad’s huge body leaning in against the back of the chair, reminding him yet again of the drastic change.

He didn’t like the reminder.

He stared at the screen, his mind almost a blank, trying to think of the best way to conduct a search.

”Hey Dad...did you find anything yet...I wanna look...” His son’s excited tone sounded strange being produced with his former adult, husky voice.

“What is that damn thing called anyway? I don't know what to type in the search engine.” Ben hated the shrill sound of his higher voice.

“Uhhh...try Indian artifacts Dad...”

He typed in the suggestion and got several thousand hits. "We've got to narrow down the search!" Ben said in exasperation.

“How we gonna do that huh?”

"I don't know." His voice sounded tired, and he felt a strong craving for another cigarette.

But he didn't need another coughing fit.

“Dad come on... I wanna find out how this stupid thing works...”

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Ben slammed his small fingers down in frustration against the keyboard.

“Jeez chill Dad...You don't wanna break the PC...”

"Ok. ok. Maybe...Brad, do you know the Indian tribe this thing comes from?”

“Uhhh…I think so....maybe....Pete told me when he gave me this thing...”

"Yeah?" Ben craned his neck back and looked up. He felt a tremor of shock to see his huge former body standing, looming practically, behind him. "Think, dammit. What tribe?"

“OK OK don't yell at me Dad...I'm trying my best...I'm scared too you know…”

Ben tried to soften his attitude. "Sorry, I know. But I got the worse part of this deal, believe me!"

“You?” Brad’s voice boomed. “Look at me!”

“But, dammit, I'm only a kid!” Ben protested.

“And I got a beard...and all this hair...and...and....” The words all merged, yet again, into fearful sobbing.

Brad needed several moments to stop sobbing and speak again. “And I'm scared because I don't know how to be a man...”

“But you're an adult! And you may have to start acting like it. You need to quit crying and focus! Okay?" Ben’s squeaky voice sounded, at least to his ears, neither in charge or reassuring.

Sniffling, Brad tried to smile. “Okay, okay, Dad...I'll try.” He blew his nose and smiled.

“All right. What did Pete tell you about the relic?”

“That these Indians helped the first Pilgrims. It’s something with an A... I'm trying to remember...”

“Brad!” Ben shouted shrilly, instantly regretting the irritation in his voice.

“Algonquins!” Brad exclaimed. “That’s it! The Algonquin tribe.”

Ben quickly typed the tribe’s name into the computer and waited for the search to yield results.

“What's it say, Dad? What's it say, huh?”

“Let me look,” Ben snapped as he felt Brad crowd him with his huge, muscular body. "I can do this."

“Okay, jeez!” Brad said.

Ben groaned. “It says there are 15,900 results! We can't wade through all that.”

“What are we gonna do, Dad?” Brad asked. He leaned forward, pressing the front of his huge adult body against his dad’s scrawny back.

“How about some air?” Ben complained.

But, as he pushed his chair back from the keyboard, he turned and saw Brad fumbling with the artifact in his big, beefy hands.

“Be careful with that!” Ben ordered. He made a grab for it.

“Nuh-uh,” Brad said, and he laughed a hearty laugh. He jerked the artifact far out of his father’s current reach. “Don't worry, Dad. I’m a whiz at juggling.” Ben, irritated by his son’s antics, leaped and grabbed for the artifact. He managed to tap the artifact, which knocked the relic out of Brad’s hands.

“Dad!” Brad shrieked. “Get it!”

Ben reached, but his arms proved too short. The relic dropped toward the floor. At the last second, Brad shouted “I got it!” and hurled his 6'2" body on the floor. The relic landed on his back.

“Ouch!” Brad cried out.

Ben felt his small body trembling. “Dammit, Brad!” Ben shouted. “Be more careful.”

He reached down and plucked the relic off his son’s back.

“But it didn't break, Dad...jeez I told you I had it covered.” Brad began to giggle.

“That may be the only way to switch us back,” Ben yelled. “You've got to be more responsible.”

“I'll try, Dad. I am sorry if I get a little...I know sometimes I'm...uhhh...”

"What?"

“I know sometimes I'm a jerk...okay...but I'm just a kid...cut me some slack, Dad,” Brad complained.

“I cut you slack all the time, Brad,” Ben said in a cross tone.

“Yeah, right,” Brad said with a husky tone of sarcasm. “You are always on me about toughening up.”

"Listen, you get away with a lot more than I did when I was your age!" Ben shouted.

Brad laughed. “Well, now you are my age again!”

Ben didn’t want to think of that fact. He stared at the computer screen. "Maybe we ought to get a good night's rest,” he said. “Work fresh on this problem. Or maybe, God, maybe it will just reverse overnight."

“But Dad...I mean...what about school tomorrow? I can't...you can't...”

Ben knows his son is right, but his mind feels so fuzzy he can barely concentrate.

“Oh, come on, Dad, just a little longer? I'm not tired at all...what's wrong with you?”

Ben realized that, normally, it would be past his son’s bedtime.

"Well, I had a hard day at work, and I guess this whole situation is freaking me out."

“You’re freaked?” Brad said in the husky voice that kept Ben so off balance. Brad laughed. “Have you had a good look at me, Dad?”

Ben swallowed. “Yeah, believe me, I am very aware of the situation.”

Brad giggled. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean my Dad is 12 years old now.” He giggled more. “This is just so weird.”

Ben yawned and stretched his arms. They look so skinny over his head.

“What’s the matter, Dad?”

"Let's just get a little rest. We can wake up early and start again.”

“Do I have to go to bed, Dad? I'm not tired. Really!”

Ben felt that he is getting more tired just having the argument. "Yes! You do!"

Ben logged off the computer. He stood and walked toward his room.

“Shoot, Dad, you never let me have any fun! It's not fair,” Brad complained as he lumbered down the hall behind his much shorter father.

Ben heard his son’s big feet padding heavily across the floor behind him. He walked into his bedroom and stopped in some dismay as he sized up the huge king-sized bed in his room.

He heard Brad walk on toward his room.

But, only an instant later, he heard his son’s booming voice calling for him.

Ben rushed to his son’s room. "Yeah? What’s wrong?”

“Dad, I think I'm gonna have a problem sleeping in this bed.” Brad sat on the edge of the twin bed. They heard the box springs groan under his weight.

Ben groaned. "Ok. Maybe we ought to switch rooms. Will that work?"

Brad’s face showed his excitement. “You mean I can sleep in your room? That is way cool, Dad.”

"Well, it makes sense. I guess that bed would be a bit cramped for you now."

Brad got a running start and raced down the hall. “This is gonna be so cool!”

Ben heard the sound of his 200-pound-son leaping up and down on his bed.

“Uh, try not to break the bed, ok son?" Ben asked, looking in on the incredulous scene.

Brad stopped, got off the bed. He looked extremely red-faced. “Sorry, Dad. I got carried away.”

Ben yawned again. "Just get some sleep. Okay?" He felt wearier with each passing moment.

“I'll try, Dad.” He paused, turned and gave his dad a crushing good night hug.

"Sleep well," Ben managed to say when his son released him from the monstrous bear hug. He turned and walked away, still amazed at the strength in his son’s hug.

“You too, Dad. See you in the morning.”

Ben closed the door behind him and stared at his son’s small bed. Actually, as he looked closer, the bed looked rather large now.

A short distance down the hall, Brad closed his door and realized that he is now in his Dad's private domain. His Dad’s bedroom always used to be the only part of the house off limits to Brad.

Brad sat on the edge of his father’s huge king-sized bed. The mattress even felt different from the one in his bedroom.

The novelty of everything made Brad more than a little eager to go "exploring.”

At the same time, just down the hall, Ben looked around at the boyish surroundings of his son’s room. He saw that Brad had a few posters on the wall. He sighed as he slipped off his shirt. Unfortunately, he looked up and found his new reflection in the mirror on the back of the door.

"Damn!” Ben said aloud in his boyish voice. “I'm so scrawny."

907

Brad, on the other hand, found his new body anything but skinny.

He walked over to the mirror on the back of his Dad’s door and took off his dad’s flannel shirt. He left his dad’s T-shirt in place for the moment.

Standing, gazing at the mirror, Brad marveled at all the hair on his new body. He liked the look of the well-defined pecs pressing against the tight T-shirt.

“Whoa! I am a real man!” Brad said. “Cool!”

In the other room, Ben’s reaction to finding himself trapped in his son’s undeveloped body turned out to be much more subdued. He stared at his reflection. His chest looked smooth and completely devoid of hair.

“Hell, I don't even have much of a chest,” Ben whispered aloud.

At the same time, Brad slipped off his T-shirt to fully see his pecs, his abs...his biceps...

"I’m Superman!” Brad exclaimed and began to laugh again. He slid his hands over the hair covering his massive chest.

“This feels so weird. It…” Brad couldn’t help giggling…”tickles.”

Down the hall, in his son’s room, still transfixed with the reflection in the mirror, Ben dared to unbutton his jeans and let them slide down to his ankles.

••••

In his former room, his son, now in Ben’s body, is also doing almost the very same.

Brad saw that he is wearing gray boxer briefs that show off his dad’s — well, now his own — very nice package.”

In his son’s room, Ben has stripped down and is wearing only a pair of white briefs, but there's no outline in them at all.

••••

Meanwhile, Brad is rummaging around his Dad’s room, opening drawers and looking inside the closet. Inside the closet, he made a discovery that excited him.

“Whoa! Dad's leather jacket. So cool. And it probably fits me now!”

Brad slipped the leather jacket onto his huge frame. In the next instant, he dared to tug down his boxer briefs. He looked at himself in the mirror, staring at his huge body dressed in only the leather jacket and the tight boxer briefs.

“I look so cool!” Brad exclaimed.

••••

“I look pathetic,” Ben said to himself as he stared in a mirror. "Oh my God!" His voice is panicky as he realized there's only a little fuzz growing on his crotch.

••••

Brad stood at the mirror and took down the front of his boxer briefs to reveal his father’s — now his — 7" soft cock surrounded by a nest of thick bristly dark pubes.

“WHOOOOOA!” Brad exclaimed.

He hasn’t really seen his dad's cock lately, and now he can even reach down and touch it.

••••

Meantime, Ben pulled down the cotton briefs and stood naked in front of the mirror in Brad’s room. He felt like crying as he stared at the thin, tiny dick.

••••

“Wow! It's so— so—“ Brad struggled for words as he reached down and cupped his cock in one hand. “Big!”

He continued exploring his father’s room, wearing just his Dad’s leather jacket. “My leather jacket now,” Brad said and laughed.

••••

This is the biggest shock yet for Ben. He’s always felt really proud of his endowment. Now, it's all gone. Or might as well be.

But, as he stared down at it, he watched it get hard. It's still little more than a tiny prick, though.

He always knew that Brad appeared to be slow at developing, but he never guessed the kid was, well, still very much a kid.

••••

Brad found himself fond of the feeling as his new, big dick flopped around as he went from drawer to drawer in his father’s room until I come across his Dad’s humidor.

He opened the humidor and smelled the rich scent.

He picked up a cigar and held it in his hand.

It’s the first time he has ever held one before.

It’s nice and big and thick

“Wow! Dad’s cigars! Cool!”

He brought it up to his nose and sniffed it once very briefly and pulled it away again.

Then, more slowly, he put it back to his nose and took a very deep whiff. “Oh, that smells really, really good,” Brad said.

The smell even added to his gradual arousal — a fact that had escaped his attention at first as his cock became semi-hard.

“I wonder…” Brad said aloud, reasoning with a theory that had entered his mind. “Like, I'm my dad now, and my Dad smokes. It would be so cool if I could smoke one of his cigars.”

He tried to remember where his Dad keeps his lighter.

He walked to the dresser. Best he could remember, his Dad kept the lighter and the thing to cut the ends of the cigars on top of the dresser.

••••

Meanwhile, Ben has climbed into his son’s twin bed. He never bothered putting on any clothes, and for some reason, he can't pull the covers up yet. He is still too absorbed in noticing his new body.

•••••

Brad looked over and saw the brass punch and the lighter his Dad used for his cigar smoking. His newfound enthusiasm wanes when he worries about his father’s reaction. “Dad is gonna kill me if I smoke his cigar,” Brad said. “But hey...it's like I'm kinda Dad now...so...”

He picked up the brass punch. “Now let’s see if I can remember how Dad does it...”

••••

Naked in his son’s bed, still trying to come to terms with his change, Ben is shaken by a horrible thought. What if the change is somehow one that keeps him stuck in Brad’s body? What guarantee do they even have that he might eventually regain an adult body?

The frightening prospect caused one immediate reaction as his tiny, thin dick became rock hard.

••••

Brad put the golden thing at the end of the cigar and pushed down. “Cool!” Brad said.

••••

Ben reached down very tentatively and touched the little dick. He felt it stiffen.

••••

Brad put the cigar in his mouth. He looked into the mirror, saw himself still wearing the leather jacket and with the cigar in his mouth. Around the cigar, he managed to form the word, “Wow!”

••••

Ben had forgotten how sensitive a young dick could be. The sensation burned through his nerve impulses.

•••••

Brad tried to pull off an imitation of his Dad using the lighter.

He used his thumb, just like he has seen his Dad do, and clicked it with his thumb to open and...

The Zippo opened up. “Ahh, got it,” he said triumphantly. Then he pushed against this wheel thing and the lighter ignited.

He brought the flame to the end of the cigar.

He started puffing furiously on the cigar.

The cigar started to burn.

With every delicious puff, his body responded.

His puffing became more steady, slower.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmm,” Brad murmured. “This tastes so—“ Brad puffed furiously. “—So good.”

He puffed harder. “It feel so—“ Brad groaned. “What the…”

Brad looked down in shock at his penis. “It's— it's getting bigger,” he cried in alarm. “UGGhh. What's happening?”

The entire time, he kept puffing furiously on the cigar he had smuggled from his Dad’s humidor.

He slipped off the leather jacket.

••••

In his son’s room, Ben began slowly rubbing his tiny, hard dick. It felt hyper sensitive.

••••

Brad stretched out on the bed, cigar clamped in his bearded jaw.

“I've never…” Brad groaned. “Never felt this way before.”

He started touching the huge cock to make it go down again. “Oh yeah!” Brad moaned.

He continued puffing fiercely on the cigar.

He leaned back on the bed and pushed his head onto his pillow. "Oh God!" Brad moaned as he stroked.

His hand cupped around his 9" hard dick. It throbbed, pulsed, lengthened and thickened. In between puffs on the cigar, he managed to voice his confusion. “I’ve never felt like this!”

He rubbed his dick tentatively. Slowly at first. Then, after he realized it felt really good, he kept stroking as he continued to savor his cigar.

The bed springs squeaked as Brad threw himself into this new activity. With every puff he took, he made his new body more aroused. His cock felt so much harder. Almost instinctively, Brad started rubbing his dick harder and faster.

“UUGH UGGH PUFFFFF PUFFFFFFF ARGGGGHHHH!”

He panted heavily. “This is, oh God, this is so…” Brad puffed more heavily on his cigar. “It’s so…oh my…”

1532

His breath came in hard, ragged gasps. He felt his body constrict. Cum sprays all over his hairy chest — his hairy abs, his hairy hand...all the way up to his hairy pecs.

Brad felt shocked when he experienced the incredible release and saw his huge cock explode.

“No, oh no!” Brad exclaimed. “What did I do?”

He leaped off the bed and started pacing. “What have I done?” Brad cried.

With the cigar still clamped firmly in place between his jaws, Brad raced from his room and down the hall.

“Dad! Dad! Are you awake? Dad?”

Ben froze in shock as his burst into the room and found him with his little fist wrapped around his little prick.

Brad stared in confusion. “Dad? What are you doing?”

“Brad! What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” He puffed on the cigar. “I— I think I wet my, I mean your, bed.”

At the same time, Brad looked down and noticed the little stiff dick on his former body. “Hey, Dad. My penis never got like that. How did you make that happen?”

"Calm down,” Ben commanded. “Uh, Brad, it's normal.”

Suddenly, Ben saw something else to seize his attention. “What the hell? That's one of my cigars!”

“Uh, yeah, well, Dad, you see, I thought that since I am you…”

“Put it out!” Ben yelled. He leaped out of bed, stark naked.

“But Dad. It tastes so good. I really like it.” Brad stopped suddenly. “DAD! You’re not wearing any pajamas!”

Ben rushed toward his son, but the difference in their sizes became more pronounced the closer he approached. His face is barely level with Brad’s chest.

He noticed the cum drops on his son’s hairy chest.

“Aren’t you cold, Dad, not wearing any PJs?”

"I don't wear PJs.” Ben said in a soft voice as he looked up with a dawning awareness at Brad’s hulking body.

“Oh, sorry Dad. I didn't know.” Brad looked down, again impressed by his Dad’s much smaller size. “But what about me? I think I wet the bed. Please, don’t get mad at me.”

To Ben’s dismay, Brad continued to puff on the cigar.

His little dick has shriveled back up.

"It wasn't wetting the bed,” Ben said. “Son, it's just something that happens to men. Jesus, I thought I had maybe another year before I had to discuss this."

Brad appeared stunned. “You mean like it's NORMAL? But it's wet and I couldn't stop…”

“Yeah, it's normal,” Ben explained. Clearly uncomfortable, he looked up at his son and asked, “Don't they teach you this in school any more?”

“What don't they teach us in school, Dad?

“Sex.”

Ben noticed that his former dick now on his son has started to get hard again. “I mean, well, it's part of sex,” Ben said awkwardly.

Brad swallowed hard, noticed that his dick had stiffened again.

“Uh, son, do you remember that you saw me pulling on my dick when you came in the room?”

“Yeah,” Brad answered, and then he took several puffs on his cigar.

Ben cannot help but notice that his son’s erection is at full mast.

“Umm, Brad, you really, really need to stop puffing on that thing,” Ben said, well aware of the effect his cigar could have on him.

“Why?” Brad asked. “Taste kind of good, Dad. I like it.” He puffed more as his dick got harder and longer still.

Ben, running out of options, tried to reach up and grab the cigar. In the process, he accidentally brushing against the firm dick hanging between his son’s huge legs.

“Oh, Dad, wow. That felt nice,” Brad said.

Ben swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to..."

“Could you rub it some more,” Brad asked. “It seemed to help earlier when…”

Ben licked his lips. "I don't...no, I shouldn't do that...."

“Oh, please Daddy,” Brad said, taking three quick, deep puffs on his cigar. “It kinda hurts and I don't know how to make it normal again.”

To his dismay, Ben noticed that his own little stiffie had returned.

“Hey, Dad. Look! My, uh, I mean your penis is getting longer too. Mine never did that. Why does that happen, Dad?

"Brad, uh, it's something that happens, well, because, well, when a man gets excited."

“You mean like happy?” Brad asked as he puffed vigorously on the cigar.”

“Sort of. Dammit, Brad. That cigar's not helping!”

“Why? I like it. Why do you not want me to smoke it?”

"Because, well, it's something that can cause you, well, it is sort of, at least it can be, arousing.”

“What does arousing mean, Dad?” Brad kept puffing despite his father’s protests.

"It means you get excited and, well, your cock gets hard."

“Like ours are now?” Brad wanted to know.

“Yeah,” Ben admitted.

“Cool,” Brad said.

His father reached up for the cigar, but instead bumped into his son. Brad’s huge erection bumped against Ben’s stomach.

“Oh, sorry,” Brad said. “Gee, it’s awfully sensitive, Dad.”

"I know," Ben said. He felt his own tiny nub straining. "Believe me, I know."

“How do you make it stop, Dad?”

"Well, like earlier, you can, well, you can stroke it, rub it, but maybe you should just stop smoking and try to think about something else."

Even as Ben told Brad to stop, he can't resist reaching down and touching his tiny dick.

Brad crowded closer. “Show me how to do that.”

“Damn,” Ben jerked his hand away. "I didn't mean to do that."

Ben puffed harder on his cigar and looked down between his father’s legs. Without warning, he reached out one of his big hands toward his former little dick now between his father’s legs.

“Please don't stop, Dad,” Brad said. “I like this, Dad.”

"Oh Christ!" Ben exclaimed as he felt Brad’s huge hand grasp his dick. "Let go," Ben cried out, his voice breaking.

“Sorry, Dad. Did that hurt? I was only doing what you were doing, Dad.”

Ben breathed deeply. “It is just very, very sensitive,” he tried again to explain.

“Okay,” Brad said. He yawned and stretched his massive body. “I think I'm tired, Dad.”

“Maybe you should get some sleep," Ben suggested quickly.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He took a few more puffs. “I am beat.”

"Why don't you put out that cigar?" Ben recommended in a friendly, reasonable voice.

“Okay,Dad,” Brad agreed. “It's almost done anyway. See? Jeez, I smoked a whole one of Dad's big cigars all by myself. Isn’t that cool?”

Ben looked up in surprise and realized that's true.

“What’s the matter, Dad?”

"Uh...nothing,” Ben said. "I guess I miss my cigars."

“You sure that’s all?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. He crawled beneath the covers on his son’s bed.

“I’m sorry that you can’t smoke, Dad. “But you know what happened when you tried to smoke earlier, right?”

"Yeah,” Ben admitted in a sad tone.

Brad lowered his body over his father, who looked so small in Brad’s bed. He hugged him really, really tight. Ben rose up and returned the hug, only as he did so, he brushed again against his son’s still semi-hard cock.

Brad moaned softly, still intoxicated by all the new physical feelings he has experienced in the last few hours.

“Good night, Dad,” Brad said. He turned out the light as he left the room.

Ben closed his eyes and hoped that morning might help them think of a way out of this unwelcome switch.

The next morning, after a fitful night of sleep interrupted by weird dreams, Ben awoke to his even weirder reality. The previous day, he had been a 37-year-old man, tall, muscular, holding down a tough job as a construction worker.

Now, he awoke in his son's small bed and found himself still trapped inside 12-year-old Brad's scrawny body.

The enormous physical change was driven home as he slipped out of bed. He walked across the floor to his son's dresser to find some clothes to cover his naked body.

A few moments later, still feeling very odd as he battled both sleepiness and his unfamiliarity with his new body, he stumbled into the kitchen.

He meant to make breakfast, but unexpected gaps kept opening up in his head. He shook his head, stared at the large kitchen range. He felt as if entire gaps of his brain had dissolved overnight.

Yet again, he stared, bewildered, at the stove as his son made a noisy entrance. Brad, wearing only boxer briefs, seated his big, bulky body in a chair at the table. He put one leg up on the table the same as he has seen his Dad do a million times.

At that time, he produced a pack of cigarettes and lit a cigarette while he waits for breakfast to be ready.

He inhaled deeply. "Are you okay, Dad?" Brad asked. "I am so hungry! When's breakfast gonna be ready, huh?"

Ben stirred the eggs in a skillet. "About ready...I think," he said.

Brad stretched and continued taking deep draws on his first cigarette of the day. "Great! I can't believe how hungry I am."

Ben, turning from the stove, looked over at his huge son and frowned. "Brad, put out the cigarette at the breakfast table."

"Why Dad?" Brad inhaled and sighed. "You always smoke at the table. And now I'm you, right?"

"No," Ben objected. "You're a man, no, that's not right. I mean you're a kid. It's not right."

Brad grinned and turned a patient gaze on Ben. "I've been a smoker since I was your age, son," he said, inhaling deeply. "I'm used to it."

Ben felt a chill run along his spine. "I'm not your son!" Ben said, particularly dismayed at the squeaky nature of his attempt to project his former commanding authority in his tone of voice.

Before he had long to dwell on this latest humiliation, Ben heard the knock at the back door.

"Yeah, I'm your son," Brad said and laughed. "Gee, you sure are acting funny this morning, Dad."

Brad noticed that his dad froze at the knock on the door. "Who's that, Dad?" Brad asked as he inhaled deeply at his cigarette.

"Shit! It's Jake." Ben said with a panicked edge to his voice.

Jake, as Brad well knew, happened to be a man his dad works with in construction.

"I forgot," Ben said. "Jake's driving me to work this week."

"Cool," Brad said, smoking deeply. "I like Mr. Connors, Dad. He's a cool guy."

"Brad, listen," Ben explained hurriedly. "I think it best we not tell people what's happened. So, you've got to pretend you're me. Okay?"

"But Dad. I— I'm not you, How am I gonna get away with that?"

"I'll just try to get rid of him," Ben said. He walked toward the door, but Brad's urgent voice gave him pause.

"Dad! What do you want me to say to him? I don't know what to do."

"Damn," Ben cursed. "He'll be expecting me, so you better get the door. Just wing it."

"But Dad! I don't know—"

They hear the knock at the door.

"Just get the door, Brad," Ben ordered.

"Okay," Brad said, and he opened the door. "Hey, Mr. Con— uhh, I mean Jake. How the hell are you today, man?"

"Hey, Ben," Jake said. "Not dressed yet, heh?"

Brad looked down and saw that he was still dressed only in his dad's underwear. "Uh, well, just taking it easy." he said.

"Fine by me," Jake said, "but we don't want to be late."

At the same time, Ben listened, amazed at how much Brad really sounds like him.

Jake Connors is a big man, but until now, Ben had never noticed his friend's size.

At the same time, Brad marveled at how much he sounded like his dad. He stopped trying to think about everything and just let his instincts take control. So far, the new method seemed to work for him.

He walks back to the table and sat down in his chair. He nodded his head toward his father and gave a wink when Jake wasn't looking.

"Hi there, Brad," Jake said as he sat down at the table across from Ben.

"Uh, Dad, uh, I mean Brad is fixing up some breakfast. You want something?" Brad asked.

"No thanks, Ben," Jake said. The big man laughed. "Besides, I think it is burning."

Brad glanced toward the stove. "Dad! Uh, I mean Brad. The eggs!"

Brad ran over to the stove, but he was too late. The eggs looked thoroughly charred.

"Serves you right, Ben, making the kid cook breakfast," Jake said.

"He promised he would, Mr Conn..., uh, I mean, Jake," Brad said, confusing even himself as he tried to fool his dad's best friend and causing Ben to wince in dismay.

To save himself from the awkward statement, Brad laughed and said, "I sure didn't want to disappoint the little squirt. Right, son?"

Ben felt a surge of irritation, but pushed down the feeling. "Right, Dad," he said.

"Well, good thing I'm early," Jake said. "We can stop and get something at a drive-through."

Jake looked at his friend. "We can even drop the boy off at school."

"Uh, yeah, well, I'm not dressed yet, Jake," Brad stammered. "And neither is Dad, uh, I mean Brad."

Jake looked confused. "You all right, Ben?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?" Brad responded from his adult body.

Jakes took out his own pack of cigarettes. "I'll just have a smoke while you guys get ready," he said, looking strangely toward his friend and the guy's son.

Ben, forced to watch as the two big men in the kitchen both smoked cigarettes, felt an urgent longing.

"Son, we'd better get ready," Brad said as he inhaled deeply.

Ben tore his gaze away from Jake's cigarette.

"Yeah, we need to talk, son, uh, I mean, Dad."

"Yeah. Upstairs, young man." Brad, the cigarette clamped in his jaws, turned to Jake. "We''ll be back down in a sec, Jake."

Ben followed behind the huge body that used to be his own. Once upstairs, he faced Brad, who looked on the verge of panic.

"Dad! What are we gonna do? Jake, I mean Mr. Connors, he thinks I am you."

"Of course he does," Ben snapped.

Brad inhaled. The effect seemed to calm him.

"Look, we've got to play along with Jake, at least for now," Ben instructed his son.

"So, I'm Ben!" Brad said.

"No, dammit. I'm Ben," he responded to his son. "Well, for now, you're me, at least as far as Jake is concerned."

"Oh, yeah," Brad said and giggled. "I'm sorry. It's all so confusing, isn't it?"

"Brad, I need you to listen," Ben said in a serious tone. "When you get to work, think of some excuse. You'll need to get away from work. And then you can come to school and get me out of class."

"Okay," Brad said and nodded.

"Then we can come home and think of a way out of this mess," Ben said in a hopeful tone.

"All right, but what do I say when I get to the site, Dad?" Brad asked. "I don't know what to do. And I'm scared, Dad."

Ben frowned as Brad sniffled and looked on the verge of tears. "Just don't say much of anything," he said. "And make me a list. I don't even know what classes you're taking."

Brad took out a composition book and began to scribble the names and locations of all his classes.

"Don't be scared," Ben said again. "You can do this. Downstairs, you almost fooled me. You sounded just like me. How did you do that?"

Brad inhaled deeply. "How did I do what, Dad?"

Ben shook his head. "Just keep thinking you are me," he suggested. "It seems to have worked so far. Now I need to find some clothes out of your closet."

"Hey, Dad, what should I wear?" Brad asked.

Ben told his son where to find his work clothes and told him to go get changed into them. Left alone in his son's room, Ben stared into Brad's closet. "I can't believe I'm going back to junior high," he said. "Damn, I hate starting out the day with math class."

In his father's room, Brad found a Henley undershirt, waffle cotton, a blue and white plaid flannel shirt, jeans and size 12 work boots.

Back in Brad's room, Ben froze as he pulled on clothes. How had he known about math class starting out the day. He hadn't even glanced at the schedule his son had provided. "How did I know that?" Ben whispered.

He stepped into the hall. "Brad! What's your first class?"

Brad, staring at his huge body in the mirror, answered in a distracted voice. "Uh, I can't remember, Dad. Maybe history?"

"Is it, is it math?"

"Yeah, that's it," Brad called back. "Dad, can you do complex fractions? We have a test in that today."

Ben felt a little nervous. "Just trust your first instincts," he said, as much to himself as to his son. "I can't explain it, but I think if we just don't trip ourselves up by thinking too much, we can fool everyone."

Brad stepped into the hall. "So, how do I look, Dad?"

"Hey, Ben! Move your butt!" Jake yelled from downstairs.

Ben stared at what looked at first like his own reflection. "Uh, you look, well, I think you'll fool Jake."

"Now, man! What's taking you?" Jake called again.

"Cool your jets, man. We'll be right down. Christ." Brad said. He turned to his father. "Did I say that right, Dad?"

"You sounded perfect," Ben said. In fact, his son sounded so convincing in his body that Ben felt definitely disturbed. He wondered if he could do as good a job impersonating Brad.

"Do these clothes look right for me?" Ben asked. "Well, for you?"

Brad looked carefully at his father.

"Dad, that is so dorky!"

"Thanks a lot."

Brad grabbed a pack of cigarettes and threw them to his father. "Put them in your pocket. You might need 'em."

Ben considered opposing his son, but changed his mind. "Let's go, Brad."

He led the way downstairs.

On the lower step, he stopped. "Dad, I'm not sure," his brow wrinkled in concentration. "Can we pull this off?"

"Brad, remember what I said. Don't think. Just react."

Jake met them at the foot of the stairs. He slapped Brad on the back. "Let's go, man."

"I'm ready," Brad said, slapping the big man's back in response. He turned and grinned as he looked at his dad. "Come on, son, and don't forget your books!"

Ben grabbed his son's backpack stuffed with books.

He hoisted it over his shoulder, and shuddered as he realized how naturally that felt.

As they headed toward Jake's truck, Brad instinctively climbed into the back seat.

Jake stared. "What are you doing, man?"

"He's just kidding," Brad said quickly. "I'll ride in back, Dad."

"Ready to be chauffeured to the site, man?" Jake asked.

Brad laughed. "Yeah, we'll have to make a detour to the squirt's school."

"Let's hit it," Jake said, settling behind the wheel of his pick-up.

From the back seat, Ben stared at the two huge bodies of the men in the cab of the truck.

"We'll stop in at Mickey D's man for some food," Jake said.

Jakes turned his head and glanced into the back seat. "What do you want, little man?"

"I could use a cup of coffee...black."

"And I want a kid's meal and a chocolate milk, please," Brad said.

Jake looked at his friend's kid. "Coffee will stunt your growth, kid."

"We wouldn't want that," Brad said with a smirk.

Jake looked at his friend and co-worker. "What did you say, Ben?"

"Uh, Brad...Brad will want a kid's meal and a chocolate milk...I'm right...uhhhh...Brad?

Ben sighed. "Yeah, Dad."

"Well, I'll have black coffee and the sausage McMuffin," Jake said as he pulled into the neighborhood McDonald's.

Jake spoke into the box and ordered the food. He chuckled after placing the order. "You guys...that was a good one. Pulling my leg, huh?"

"Fucking A Man!" Brad said in his deep adult voice.

They picked up the food and Brad handed his father the chocolate milk and kid's meal.

Ben looked at the food and frowned. To make matters worse, he had to watch his son drinking the coffee that should have been his.

"HMMMMM, it'sreally good. Dad never lets me drink coffee."

Jake laughed loudly. "You can cut it out now, guys."

"What?" Brad asked. "Cut out what?"

"Pulling my leg, man."

Jake started the truck again and pulled out onto the road. "Next stop...school! Hey, Ben. Does your boy have any special girlfriend yet?"

"Her name is Darlene. She's in my, I mean, in his algebra class. And she wears a bra and everything."

Ben leaned forward and poked his son in the ribs.

Jake laughed. "Darlene sounds like trouble."

Jake laughed some more and glanced over at his friend. "Hey, Ben. Maybe we ought to take Brad with us over to the lounge on Route 80 some evening after work."

"What lounge? I can go some night? Really?"

Ben poked his father again.

"Ouch. Stop that, Dad, uh, I mean Brad."

Jake shook his head. "You sure that's just coffee, man?"

"Mother's milk to me, J Man."

Jake pulled the truck over to the curb. Ben looked out the window and saw a terrible large, bleak building.

"Looks like we're here," Jake said. "Give Darlene my regards, little man."

"Yeah," Brad said. "Tell her I said hi..."

Brad' voice trailed off when he saw his dad glaring at him with his funny, boyish face.

"Dad, uh, can I see you outside the truck?" Ben said.

"You mean now?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay," Brad said. He opened the door of the truck.

"Don't take all day," Jake whispered. "We need to move."

Outside the truck, Ben lowered his voice to a whisper. "I really need some of your cigarettes."

"Um, ok." Brad fished out the pack. "How many you want?"

"I just need something," Ben said, embarrassed by his shaky voice. "This is more scary than I thought."

"Here, Dad. You want four of them." He counted out four cigarettes. "There's 1-2-3 and...4."

"Ben, cut the apron strings, man!" Jake joked. "We've got to go, big guy."

"Hey, cut me some slack," Brad growled in a husky voice. "The kid has questions."

He winked at his Dad. "Did that sound convincing, Dad?"

Ben gulped. "Yeah, it did," he admitted.

"Questions," Jake shot back. "That's what school's for."

"You sounded perfect, Dad. I mean son, I mean Brad."

"Gee thanks, Dad!" A goofy grin covered Brad's face. "Oh, I almost forgot. When do you want me to spring ya from school?"

Ben glanced at the huge building. "As soon as you can."

"All right, but I got those houses down by the glade to frame. I don't know when I'll be done."

"Brad, forget the fucking houses," Ben said, his voice cracking. "Just fake it. Get sick. But get back here. Soon!"

"Ok! Ok! Chill out, Dad. Gee, I got it covered!

"Ben!" Jake called impatiently.

"What?" Brad said. "All right, I'm coming, man."

He winked down at his dad. "Bye bye, son! Have a good day at school."

Ben watched his son hoist his adult body back into the truck.

He felt his stomach is churning.

He walked slowly toward the front entrance of the school.

"It's not like I haven't been here before," he whispered to himself. Twenty years ago!"

Some big guys walk past. They positively loomed over Ben in his new, immature body. He noticed his mouth gaping, clamped his jaws closed and turned to continue on his way.

He collided with what, at first, he thought must be a wall.

"Watch here you're going, you little shit," a huge guy, a senior fullback type, growled as he stepped aside and walked past Ben.

"Watch it yourself!" Ben snapped without thinking.

The enormous male turned quickly. "Are you talking to me?"

Ben's mouth dropped open again as he realized what he had done.

"What the fuck did you say to me, runt?" The huge jock asked as he grabbed Ben by the waist and brought the little guy up to his eye level.

"You ran into me!" Ben said, beginning to get very mad at the ignorant punk.

His anger dissipates rapidly, however, as he felt himself lifted off his feet.

"Put me down!" Ben ordered.

The muscular jock grinned. "Ooooooh, the little man's got a big mouth. All right. You want down?"

The enormous athlete slammed the smaller guy down, hard, on the floor.

Ben, his breath knocked out of his lungs, lay there. He felt the pain rush through his small body.

"Is whittle Brad hurt?" The big jock mocked him. And, to Ben's surprise, the large tormentor apparently knew his son.

At the same time, Ben remembered similar scenes from his own high school years, but with one major difference. Back then, he had been the big guy! Not this...not some runt.

The powerful jock stepped on Ben's body on his way down the school corridor. The big guy's friends laugh and go out of their way to trample their leader's victim.

One of the guys looked down in disgust. "What a wuss!"

Ben watched the huge guys walk into the school. He found himself wishing he could be big like they are.

"Mr. Monahan!"

Ben whirled. Crap! He recognized Brad's assistant principal.

"Late for your class, aren't you, Monahan?"

"Yeah. I'm headed that way."

"Headed that way, what?" The authoritative principal asked.

"As fast as I can?" Ben ventured.

"Mr. Monahan, are you bucking for detention today or what?" The large man said. "I have a name and a salutation.

"Use them, please!"

"No," Ben objected. "I got attacked before I even got in the damn door."

"Profanity, too," the assistant principal chided. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to send a note home to your father."

"That's a laugh," Ben muttered.

"Excuse me!"

"Nothing."

"Nothing...who?

Ben swallowed hard. "Nothing, sir."

The principal grinned. "Better. Much better."

Meanwhile, Ben's son and his co-worker Jake headed toward the construction site in Jake's truck.

"That boy's a little on the small side, ain't he, Ben?" Jake asked.

"I'm not so....I mean, well, hell, he's only 12, Mr. Con..., uhhh. Jake."

Brad is feeling nervous, and Jake noticed his friend's fidgeting.

"Yeah, but you and I were bigger than that at 12."

"Sure," Brad said. He clasped his hands in his lap.

"Something the matter, man?"

"I'm okay, just a little, I dunno. I feel kinda weird."

"Yeah?"

Jake pulled the truck onto the site. "Hell, there's that SOB Carruthers."

Brad doesn't recognize the root of his antsy behavior. His body is craving another cigarette.

"Yeah, Dad thinks he's a real jerk!

Jake turned his head toward Brad. "What?" Jake asked. "Oh no. He's headed this way."

Brad, silently, wishes that his Dad was present.

Jake rolled down the truck window.

"Connors, I need you and Monahan to make a run over to Smithville," Paul Carruthers said. "A delivery truck broke down over there, and I need those materials."

"Fuck you, Carruthers," Brad said. "Jake and me gotta finish framing those houses down by the lake."

"Wow!" Brad thought. "Did I just say that?"

Carruthers straightened his spine. "Monahan, I know that you think you've got the manager's blessing for everything, but this comes straight from his office. Now keep your butt in that truck and head to Smithville!"

Brad leaned over Jake, instinctively acting like Ben Monahan would. Jake stopped his friend. "We're going."

He rolled up the window. "Damn, Ben. You're gonna go too far some day!" Jake said. "This is better than framing houses anyway! It's a three hour round-trip road trip."

"Shit, man. He is a total, butt-kissing asshole!" Brad exclaimed.

In his thoughts, he excitedly marveled at the words coming out of his mouth. All the right phrases spilled out of his mouth.

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me," Jake said. "I'd like to really screw that asshole."

Jake noticed that his friend is still acting very nervous. Brad still can't put his finger on the reason for his jitters, as he's not used to the sensation of nicotene craving.

Jake helped out by producing his own cigarette and lighting up.

"I say we just take our sweet time," Jake announced. "We don't have anywhere to be anytime soon, right?"

"Fucking A, man!" Ben said. "Hey, Jake, can I have a cigarette?"

"Sure. But what happened to your pack? Forget it at the house?"

"I can! Gee, thanks." Brad said. "Oh, wait. My Dad. No, I mean, uhhh, Brad tossed me one on the way out. It's in my pocket

"Why you need to bum from me, then?" Jake asked in irritation.

Brad, not being at all familiar with the "etiquette" amongst smokers, made an awkward apology, sensing Jake's irritation.

Brad produced a cigarette from his own pack, flicked the zippo and lit it. He inhaled deeply.

"Oh, yeah." Brad exchaled. "This is so much better than school."

"That's it," Jake said. "Forget Carruthers. Let's just relax. We've got nowhere to be."

"So, Jake?" Brad inhaled deeply. "What do we gotta do when we get there?

"I guess just load the stuff up in my truck and head back here." Jake answered. "We've made trips like this before, big guy. Where's your head this morning?"

"I'm worried about, Dad," Brad said absently.

"Your dad?"

"Yeah." Brad took a deep draw.

"Ain't he in Florida?" Jake asked. "Nothing wrong is there?"

"No, my grandpa lives there. My Dad is..." Brad let his voice trail off. He realized he had screwed up in front of Jake.

"Uh, no. I mean Brad. Yeah, it's just the kid. Brad. I'm worried about Brad."

"Well, he does seem a little backward," Jake agreed. "Doesn't seem like a chip off the old block."

"I'm not backward," Brad said. "I mean, he's not backward. He's smarter than you are."

"Take it easy," Jake said. "I didn't mean he was stupid. He actually looks a little too smart for his own good. You know what we used to do to the dork kids, man."

"I'm not a....Uhhhhhh... he's not a dork, Jake. He is just a kid right now."

Jake frowned, but Brad continued. "And I'm gonna be just as big as my dad one day. You'll see."

Jake frowned again. "Are you feeling all right, man?"

Meanwhile, back at school, Ben entered his son's math class.

The teacher looked up from his desk. "Mr. Monahan. So, you decided to join us after all?"

Ben walked into the class, at least 10 minutes late.

He scanned for an empty seat and found one in the front of a row.

"Now that we're all assembled," the math teacher said. He is clearly annoyed that Ben is still getting settled.

Ben tried to restrain his movements. He turned his eyes to the front.

"Now, class, let's resume yesterday's lesson on complex fractions." The teacher's eyes narrowed as they focused on Ben.

"Mr. Monahan, up to the board," the teacher ordered.

"And solve the equation I've written there."

Ben felt everyone in the classroom turn their attention to him. For some reason, that caused his mind to almost go blank. He left his seat and, quite without any enthusiasm, walked toward the board.

"Well?" The teacher adopted a feigned tone of patience. "Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?"

His back turned to everyone in the room, Ben screwed his eyes closed. His hand reached out and the numbers started flowing.

"Wow," Ben thought to himself. "Brad's a really smart kid."

"Hmmm," the teacher said. "Well done, Mr. Monahan."

Ben stood sheepishly at the front of the class, beaming at hearing himself praised. But, he thought to himself, I didn't solve the problem. That was Brad. Brad's mind exerting itself and helping Ben function in this new body.

"Mr. Monahan, perhaps you should return to your seat now."

The class roared in laughter.

Ben, confused, shook his head. He felt very disoriented, almost as if he had lost himself for a moment.

He made his way back toward his desk.

[the-jennnster]

I don’t put down books often

I’m the kind of reader who sits down to really read a book, who will gobble up a good novel in one sitting, who has to be told to stop reading.

But today I started Bill Konigsberg’s The Music of What Happens, and I think that changed.

I met Bill, actually. He came a local literary festival and, because not many people showed up, we actually got to have a discussion about his work. He was funny, insightful, and had great stories. He was legitimately curious about our thoughts as readers, on both this book and his past works, and he seemed to really love being up there and talking to the maybe seven people in the audience.

I’ll admit, I’ve never read anything of his before. I remember seeing Openly Straight in my school library as a kid, never realizing what it was, but after falling in love with books like Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda and What If It’s Us (both by Becky Albertalli, with Adam Silvera working with her on the latter), I thought The Music of What Happens would be similar and just as enjoyable.

I started it today, at about ten o’ clock. I finished one of my exams super early, and pulled out a book to read while I waited for my classmates to finish (it was a small class, and there was the promise of a round of Cards Against Humanity with six other animation students with anime obsessions and dirty humor).

I immediately loved Jordan. He reminded me of myself in a lot of ways.

Quiet unless he’s with his friends, a writer nervous but still eager to share his works with people he cares about, just enough emo to garner jokes about his darkly-colored wardrobe, enough acne and self-esteem issues to be trapped in endless daydreams of finding someone but knowing he stands no chance.

I got absorbed into the story, enjoying the goofy antics of Max and Jordan as they tried (and often failed) to make an old food truck into a culinary masterpiece, learning more and more about each other, running off to have little adventures, and just generally being goofy kids.

The major conflicts of the book, however, don’t stem from the food truck itself (though it most certainly is a conflict).

[Spoilers below the cut.]

Max is struggling to deal with the aftermath of what he’s slowly realizing was his own rape (he’d initially thought he’d just had a really shitty first time, which... he had, but it’s so much more than that) and Jordan is trying to take care of his mother and keep their house, which they’re about $5,000 behind on.

I’m about three hundred pages in, not quite finished, maybe a hundred out from the end.

Up until this point, Jordan and his mother have had a decent relationship. It’s far from perfect, as they’re both still dealing with the aftershocks of his father’s death four years prior, but it’s alright. She’s loving, she’s very alright with his being gay, and, aside from a few moments here and there where she leaves him to his own devices (which, you may be arguing, he’s almost a senior, he doesn’t need constant adult supervision, but... well, we’ll get to that), she’s there for him.

She did have a gambling problem, his friends do make some jokes about his mom being a little crazy, and Jordan and Max’s “meet cute” was thanks to the fact that Jordan’s mom had a bit of a meltdown at the farmer’s market and impulsively offered Max a job (as she felt like she couldn’t handle it), but overall it’s fine. They have a good relationship for a mother-and-son, especially with all the possible issues that could arise out of the things they’ve gone through.

But there is one little thing that caught my attention, a red flag, if you will.

At one point, Max points out that Jordan’s mother often treats him as if he’s the adult, as Jordan is the one responsible for making money, buying groceries, and ensuring bills get paid (after his mother let the mortgage go for several months). Jordan brushes it off by saying “I’m sure everybody’s relationship with their mom looks weird from the outside.”

That made my stomach pitch, just a little. Reading that interaction, having that pointed out. It was familiar to me, a conversation I’d recognized not from one I’d had with others, but from one I’d had in my head time and time again.

I kept reading, certain that it would just be nothing. As Jordan said, people have different relationships with their moms.

And then he went grocery shopping. Shit had been going down with the food truck, he and Max were in a bit of trouble, and Jordan just decided “fuck it, I’m going to get some healthy food because Mom said she wanted to turn her life around and get healthier”. He got home, and his mom immediately brushed it off. She dismissed his trying to help her, and when he tried to argue, she snapped.

She never hit him. She never threw anything, or threatened him, or even said she hated him.

In fact, this was the scene:

She takes a bite of her Twinkie, and a twinge of something goes through my chest. “That crap will kill you,” I say.

She exaggeratedly lies back and rolls her eyes back into her head like she’s becoming a corpse. “Well hurry up Twinkie,” she says.

“Mom,” I say. “That’s so not funny.”

“Oh my God!” she shouts and I am stunned frozen. “I get it! You’re perfect. I’m a total fuckup. I am so far below acceptable and there’s zero chance that will ever chance. I get it, okay?”

The energy in the room shifts, lightning fast. Dorcas barks and scurries out the dog door, like she feels it. I stare at my mom with my mouth open. Words do not come out. I don’t even have a coherent thought of how to respond to that.

She sighs dramatically. Herstrionically. “Forget it,” she says. “Forget I said anything. I’m not me, okay? I’m not myself. I don’t remember the last fuckin’ time I was myself but it was no time in recent history.”

She closes her eyes, throws the remaining bites of her Twinkie down on the plate in front of her, and stands. “Excuse me. I just need to--” And she walks away toward her bedroom. Moments later, I hear her door close softly.

That is what made me put down my book.

In fact, typing that up, it was probably the first time I read the scene with a clear mind. Reading it initially, I likely only got so far as “I’m a total fuckup” before my mind went blank.

If I had been in Jordan’s shoes... I would’ve been holding back tears. I would’ve been gritting my teeth, grinding them to dust to keep myself from reacting. I would’ve felt sick to my stomach, with a massive knot coiling in my gut, stealing my appetite (actually, I do feel that). I would’ve felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under me, as if I’d been pushed from a cliff and was free-falling, landing in icy water, desperately trying to swim to the top (I know how to swim, but suddenly, I can’t remember, it’s too much, the water’s too cold, I can’t feel my hands, and it’s everywhere). My mind would’ve been racing a mile a minute, telling me to prepare for the worst, bracing me for sharp words or yelling. I would’ve flinched when she put the Twinkie down and flinched again when she closed the door. The sound of the dog’s nails scraping on hardwood would echo in my ears unbearably, my hands would be shaking for hours (they were). I would’ve gone to bed feeling like shit, feeling like it was my fault, blaming myself for the blow-up, telling myself to get myself together before she comes to apologize.

Because she always comes to apologize.

She comes to stroke tear-stained cheeks long after it’s over. She comes to crawl into your bed and whisper “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I’m such a mess, I shouldn’t have done that” until the knot returns and your ears swim. She comes to say “If you had just done what I’d asked” and “I should be a harsher mother, I never follow through on consequences”.

She comes to remind you that, despite what she does, she can always do more.

And she never realizes a word of what she’s saying.

I read that part, and I went back to all the times my own mother has done the very same thing. I put down the book and pushed it away while my hands shook and my stomach roiled, waves crashing in my ears as I tried to block out the memories that purposefully faded each time the sun rose on a new day.

I left the book on a table behind me and went to a computer, playing mindless games from elementary school (she wasn’t like that then, she never yelled) until muscle memory and quick-fingered strategy ruled my mind, pushing it out.

I was still shaking when I got on the bus at one o’ clock, too sickened to get lunch before I left, only wishing to curl up against one of my best friends’ shoulder and ask her “You know how we were talking about too-real stories the other day?”

Because that’s what this was for me.

It was too real.

I’ve read my fair share of “too real” in the past, in fanfictions like “Dirty Laundry” or “my blood is upon me” that tackle the carefully barbed biphobia of family members who “love you despite what you are”.

But those I counted on. Those I planned on. Those I went into saying “I’m reading this to know I’m not alone, to know that there’s a way to live around it, to know that there’s a way to solve it.”

But this... Jordan and his mom... it side-swiped me.

I’ve been home nearly two hours now, and I still have yet to eat (actually, that’s a lie, I had a Klondike bar, because that’s how I cope) or continue the book thanks to the pit of anxiety in my stomach, because I was so surprised by the familiarity of that situation that it took me totally off-guard and threw me back into things I cared not to remember. 

I love this book. It’s amazingly well-written and tackles concepts besides “being gay”.

But please, I’m begging you.

Know what you’re getting into when you read it. Rape (never portrayed explicitly, though discussed) and a borderline-bipolar/abusive mother are at the forefront of this book’s story.

Don’t get side-swiped.

#the music of what happens #bill konigsberg #bookblr #emotional abuse #bipolar parents

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Coco Loco

For Day #4 of the @mha-xmas-challenge

Christmas Challenge  | Day 4 - Hot Coco By The Fireplace

Category | One-Shot

Pairing: Bakugou x Koge (OC) Koge’s Tag

Rating: Teen, for cursing, adult humor and slightly suggestive conversation topic

Word Count: 1,938

“Holy shit your feet are cold! Get them off of me!”

Bakugou struggled to escape the wrath of his lover, who had slyly slipped her ice cold feet up his shirt and pressed them into his side. Wide smirk on her face, Koge kept her feet in place, even shoving them further up inside his clothes to keep him tangled and unable to escape. “Oh come on Katsuki, you’re so warm! Let me use you as a heater! EEK!” She squealed as she was suddenly tossed to the floor, her body ripped from all sources of warmth.

“No, Utsuro! Fuck, you need to go to the doctor or something to figure out why you are so damn cold all the time!” Bakugou stood, glaring down at his lover as she pouted. “Just because Matsuki is with my parents doesn’t mean that you get to act like the child all the sudden!” With a huff, Koge held her arms out towards him, silently demanding assistance off the floor. “I have already! They said there’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just cold. We never get to play around anymore with each other, it’s fun to act playful sometimes, you know. This is the only night we get to ourselves in eight months!” Despite being annoyed with her, Bakugou bent down and scooped her up off the floor, allowing her to wrap her legs around his torso and arms around his neck.

“Tch, whatever. The only night we get to each other in eight months, and you want to spend it torturing me with your cold ass feet.” He sat back down on the couch, keeping her facing him on his lap. “Can’t you think of nicer things to want to do?”

“Mmm, like what?” Koge cupped his cheeks gently, squishing them together a bit. “Like smooch? Squeeze my butt? Twiddle my fiddle?” She burst out into giggles at the glare he gave her, smiling at him. “What, don't like those ideas?”

“I mean, I like them, but you could say them in a more adult way.” Bakugou squeezed her hips, to which Koge gave an exaggerated sigh. “Ah Katsuki, we both know we forgot how to talk like adults. We got goo goo gah gah on the brain.” She kissed him softly, letting her body rest in close to his as he held her. “Besides, it's still early. Is that really what you want to do first thing?” Bakugou smirked against her lips. “Who said that has to be the only time?”

“No!” Koge proclaimed, playfully pushing his face away before hopping up off him. “I want to do something… wintry.” She tried to walk off, but was promptly yanked backwards, back onto his lap, though her back was now to him. “That's not fair, Utsuro, you can't be a tease like that. Being all wrapped up together in bed is wintry.” Bakugou kept her in place with his arms around her waist, too strong for her to escape. “On the bed, on the couch, on the floor by the fireplace. You like that romantic shit, don't you?”

Koge scoffed, reaching back behind her to playfully ruffle his hair. “Romantic isn't in your minds dictionary, Katsuki. You know what would be romantic? Sitting together by the fire in low light, drinking some hot chocolate and cuddling with blankets and pillows. Maybe some wine thrown in there. That's romantic and cute.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

Falling silent, Koge relaxed back against his chest, looking up at him as she rested her head against his shoulder. “Really? You want to?” Koge felt butterflies ravage her stomach as he cupped her chin, turning her head just a bit to kiss her softly. “Sure, Utsuro. You bought all of that fancy hot chocolate shit, I know you've been wanting to use it. Just don't put whipped cream on mine.”

With a sarcastic gasp, Koge covered her mouth with her fingers, eyeing him suspiciously. “What do you mean you don't want whipped cream on your hot chocolate? You heathen!” With a roll of his eyes, Bakugou pushed her off of him, only hard enough to get her to her feet. “Shut up before I change my mind. Go make that shit!” Snickering, Koge made her way into the kitchen. “Okay, okay! I expect a perfect pillow fort when I get back, Mr. Perfectionist!”

She only heard a grumble in response, which just made her smile grow. Since the birth of their son, it had been so long since they just got to be with each other, no worries and no interruptions. Koge was beyond elated that Bakugou had ended up in such a good mood today, even after a stressful day at work. That told her that he was just as happy to be with her like this, no matter how annoyed he acted. She could see right through him to the soft and squishy lover hidden inside. He hated everything about winter, from the cold to the holidays, but he was still willing to indulge in her love of it all to make her happy. No matter what anyone else saw, or what anyone else said, Koge knew that he was a good man through and through.

Even as he cursed at inanimate objects, barely loud enough for her to hear.

After a series of heating up water, mixing in the fancy chocolate powder she had bought, tossing in marshmallows, putting whipped cream only on hers and then sprinkling peppermint crumbles on top, Koge had made perfect large mugs of the holiday treat. After considering it for a moment, she shoved a peppermint stick into each one, adding that extra flare. Why she was trying so hard, she wasn’t sure, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless. Carefully, she picked up both mugs by the handle, making her way back into the living room. “Katsuki, do you like peppermint? I forgot to ask before I put it in your thing.”

At first, she didn’t see her lover as she glanced around, the living room lights off and only illuminated by the flames swirling about in the fireplace. His voice startled her, making her nearly spill the drinks in her hands. “I like it enough.”

Koge finally spotted his fluffy ash blonde head as it poked up over the back of the couch to look back at her, his position telling her that he was on the floor. “Oh, you moved the couch and everything, Katsuki. How cozy!” She beamed at him as she approached, handing him his mug as she observed his work. “I don’t even remember where we had all these pillows and blankets!” Setting her mug down on the ground, Koge flopped to sit down beside Bakugou, instantly sinking into the comfort of the pile of large pillows. Before cuddling herself against him, she grabbed her drink, feeling warmed to her core from the fire, the hot beverage, and her lovers arm around her. Bakugou kissed the top of her head softly, holding her close to him. “I found them in the downstairs closet. You know, the one you piled with shit and never opened again.

Sipping from her mug, Koge raised an eyebrow at him, sticking her bare feet out towards the fire to warm them. “Oh. Oops. I do have an obsession with buying blankets, so I’m not surprised we have this many. These big pillows, though, that’s weird.” Bakugou had his eyes on the fire, absentmindedly playing with her hair a bit. “I think you bought them for the game room before you realized I was getting a nice couch for in there. Or something. I don’t know, they might have been one of your impulse buys, too.” He took a gulp of his drink, making a bit of a cringe face. “Ah, lots of peppermint.” Koge gave a small gasp, reaching up and taking the stick of peppermint from his drink. “Oh, sorry! Here, I’ll take this from it, that should help.”

Bakugou only gave a small grunt in positive response, drinking more. “It’s good, though.” Koge smiled at his praise, putting the stick into her cup. “I’m glad you like it.”

The two sat in silence for a while, soaking in each others company and the warmth of the fire. By the time Koge spoke up again, she had finished her drink and was sucking on one of the peppermint sticks, bringing one end to a fine point. “You know, you could really hurt someone with one of these if you tried.” Her odd comment gained Bakugou’s attention, glowering down at her. “Eh? Seriously?” Koge nodded, removing the stick from her mouth to present her weapon. “Oh yeah. See?” She poked him on his hand, making him hiss and pull it away. “Hey! You punk, that fucking hurts.” Sly smirk on her face, Koge put the stick back into her mouth, biting into it. “Ha, told you. I could poke you full of holes if I wanted.”

“But you wouldn’t.” While the stick was just resting between her lips, Bakugou snatched it from her, taking a bite out of it before she could retaliate. “Hey! You said you didn’t want one!” Koge pouted, trying to reach for it as he held it up out of her reach with a smirk. “I never said that! You assumed and snatched it out of my cup!” With a huff, Koge climbed onto him, still trying to reach for the candy. “You gave your little grunt that said ‘okay’! You know, that grunt.” She mimicked the sound he made, finally snatching the stick from him as she sat on his lap.

“Whatever, you can’t tell the difference between my grunts.”

“Oh yes I can. I’ve learned what each one means after twenty years of knowing you. You’ve got your annoyed grunt, your agreement grunt, your disagreement grunt, your… pleasured grunt. They’re all different. In pitch, length and everything else. I can read you like a book, no matter how vague you think you’re being.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t think I can do that for you, too, Utsuro? You fucking hollow void!” Koge squealed as he snatched onto her, slamming her down into the pillows like some type of pro wrestler. Overpowering her with sheer strength, he pinned her down, malicious smirk on his lips. “I know everything you’re thinking. Doesn’t help that you’re a fucking awful liar.” Koge huffed, unable to move with her arms pinned up above her head. “You’re an awful liar, Katsuki. You can’t ever lie to me or keep a secret, it eats at you until you explode. And you know what that makes you?”

“If you call me weak, I’m going to-”

“It makes you a good man. It makes me believe that you would never do anything to intentionally hurt me... “ Her gentle words broke Bakugou’s glare and made him loosen his grip on her, a bit of color rising into his cheeks. Arms now free, Koge let them rest around his neck, smiling up at him sweetly. “I don’t think I tell you that enough… How good you are to me and to Matsu. I know things have been really crazy this past year, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.” Bakugou scoffed, gently moving her hair out of the way to kiss her forehead gently.

“You’re too mushy sometimes, Utsuro.”

“I know it embarrasses you, but I just have to say it, you know. I… do have to say one more thing, though, before we continue.”

“Which is?”

“That uh… that candy is stuck in your hair.”

#bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha writing blog #cutesuki scenarios #personal writing #christmas challenge #oc #original character #koge

[o0o-chibaken-o0o]

I saw you do a fic rec and I wanted to know if you know of any good 8th year drarry fics or any drarry fics where Harry and Draco come back to hogwarts as professors

Anonymous said: Hiya! Do you know of any fics with Drarry teaching at hogwarts? Thank you!!Anonymous said: So first of all, your recs are amazing and perfect omg 😍 and secondly, can you rec me your favorite fics where Harry is a DADA teacher (either with or without Draco being a potions professor).

HELLO, YES!!! Professor!Drarry is one of my favorite things ever!!! This list will cover all types of professing—all classes and some in which only one of them is a Professor :)

(Also for @king-of-the-gay, here are my 8th year drarry recs! I hope you enjoy both lists!)

Professor Drarry Recs

Professor Potter and his Magical Menagerie by dracogotgame (7.5K)- Harry Potter descends on Hogwarts with a horde of magical beasts. Professor Malfoy is not amused.THIS FIC IS A HILARIOUS ADORABLE MASTERPIECE. It’s one of my favorites and Draco is so oblivious and he thinks he’s feared and hated but really he and Harry are the students’ favorite Professors and it’s just SO CUTE. (Potions Prof. Draco and Care of Magical Creatures Prof. Harry!)

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl (115K)- Professor Malfoy’s world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.I will never stop loving this fic. Contains petty pranks, one of those pranks going horribly wrong, Draco feeling guilty, a giant beetle named Stanley who is my favorite OC ever, Draco learning to be a fucking amazing Professor who cares, and hours of (Transfiguration) Professor Malfoy sitting by Flying Instructor Potter’s bedside. UTTERLY LOVELY.

The Re-education of Draco Malfoy by Veritas03 (31K)- In the aftermath of the war, it has been noted that many of the young witches and wizards who attended school during the second rise of Voldemort have received sub-standard educations. As a result, Hogwarts opens an adult education program in the summer to bring these students up to par in the workforce. Draco Malfoy, desperate to pass the NEWT for DADA, is among them. But his hopes are dashed when, on the first day of class, Draco discovers – to his horror – the new DADA professor has never even taught before – and is a student himself, still trying to pass Potions. And anyway – just how is Draco supposed to stay focused in class when Professor Potter is so totally hot?I feel like the summary says it all for this fic. Being forced to go back to Hogwarts and Harry is Draco’s DADA Professor?! YES 100000000 TIMES

Newts by Astolat (14K)- “I’m twenty-eight!” Harry said. “I’ve been an Auror for ten years! You want me to go back to Hogwarts now?“Pretty much the reverse of the above fic! Harry, on the cusp of becoming Head Auror, is forced to go back and get his NEWTS because of some ancient law. Potions Professor Draco does not make it easy for him ;). TRULY AMAZING!!

Homecoming by November Snowflake (27K)- Harry thinks spending two weeks as a guest lecturer at Hogwarts will offer the perfect chance to get away from his troubles. Then he meets his assigned faculty guide: Potions Master Draco Malfoy.The kids are great in this fic and the development of Harry and Draco’s relationship is (of course!!) fabulous as well. I especially love it because both of them interact a lot with each other’s children AS THEIR PROFESSORS

Healing Touch by Digitallance & Arineat (19.5K)- After an accident forces Harry away from professional Quidditch and back to Hogwarts, he discovers the healing abilities of a certain former Slytherin.Found this fic while searching for massage!drarry (hehehe) and was NOT DISAPPOINTED. Harry is the new flying instructor and Draco is the potions professor who is quite willing to help Professor Potter with his injury ;)

In Pieces by dysonrules (85K)- Harry returns to Hogwarts as the new DADA instructor, only to find his teaching efforts thwarted by a very familiar ghost.THIS FIC THO! It is amazing and touching and it just took me apart and then put me back together again. It has all the angst you would expect to find considering Draco is a ghost but also I SWEAR THERE IS A HAPPY ENDING AND IT MAKES SENSE AND IS NOT PREDICTABLE OR CLICHE AND IDK HOW SHE EVER THOUGHT OF IT

More Than That by joosetta (11K)- This is a story about two 52 year old men who refuse to age gracefully.Okay I love reading about middle-aged drarry, and they are at their best here. Harry is the new DADA Professor, Draco is horrified, and then their relationship develops slowly and it’s sweet and funny and everything heartwarming

Boom Clap (The Sound of my Heart) by @femmequixotic​ and @noeeon​ (39.5K)- Post-war Hogwarts has been energized by its new teaching fellows program. Where once bitter enmity divided the wizarding community, Malfoy and Potter chummily patrol hallways together whilst Granger and Zabini seek lost parts of the castle at McGonagall’s behest and Chang supervises Quidditch when not lecturing in Charms. It’s a veritable wizarding utopia and life is predictable for the first time in years. Which is, of course, when everything blows apart as the result of a drunken dare and Malfoy’s life is ruined beyond his capacity to repair it. Ever. In a million years.Teaching fellows counts as professors, right? Right??? WELL I DON’T CARE because I love this fic and there is hallway patrol and EXPLOSIONS and pining!draco and I WANT YOU TO READ IT.

Transfigurations by Resonant (71K)- Five years after Voldemort’s defeat, Harry returns to England to help re-open Hogwarts.First of all, Draco is the Muggle Studies Professor and BFFs with Hermione, and if that isn’t enough to draw you in (who are you?!), Hogwarts is newly reopening and there’s all kinds of daring, suspenseful adventure AND everything is exploding AND Harry is a pro at American magic, and you should really read it!!!!!

The Man in the Scarlet Cloak by @bixgirl1​ (16.5K)- There’s usually a better time and place to participate in seduction than the Forbidden Forest. Unless, of course, it’s Mating Season. In which Draco is sneaky but not sneaky enough, Harry is confident but goes a bit mad, and the Trees are either incredibly romantic or just sort of perverts.This fic has very little to do with actual teaching but DRACO IS A POTIONS FELLOW COLLECTING INGREDIENTS AND TALKING TO TREES AND HARRY IS AN AUROR COLLECTING FLOWERS AND WANKING IN THE FOREST IT’S NOT AS WEIRD AS IT SOUNDS (ONLY MAYBE IT IS) AND YOU MUST GO READ IT THIS MOMENT

‘Twixt the Sun and Sward by November Snowflake (30.5K)- A potions mishap has Harry and Draco meeting on entirely new—or is it old?—ground.This is not your typical Professor fic, because it has de-aged!Harry living with Potions Professor Malfoy, who is forced to take care of him and who slowly realizes that Harry’s childhood was not quite how he had always imagined. VERY CUTE. Also note that it’s marked as an unfinished series, but when I read it, it felt very complete! :)

Love Actually by DracoWillHearAboutThis (17.5K)- “Harry,” she said quietly. “How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts now?”Harry frowned, caught off-guard by the question.“Six years, three months, and I guess about two weeks?,” he answered hesitantly.“And how much of this time have you spent pining over our Charms professor?,” she continued, eyes flashing dangerously. When even Minerva McGonagall wants to have a conversation about Harry’s love life, Harry realizes that it might be time to actually do something about this little crush of his. Since apparently, everyone knows, anyways.“Everyone?!,” Harry repeated, his voice uncomfortably high-pitched in his panic.“Everyone!”Drarry / Love Actually crossover in which they are both Professors and yes you DID need this in your life.

Lessons in Humility by playout (86K)- After the dissolution of his marriage and a good bit of soul-searching, Harry returns to Hogwarts as the new Defense teacher. Go figure, it happens to be the same year Draco takes over the role of Potions Master. Neither man is happy about this turn of events. Will they be able to set aside their differences and learn a thing or two about trust and humility on the way? (Spoiler Alert: Yes. Very much so.)This fic is EIGHTY SIX THOUSAND WORDS OF FLUFF AND I LOVED EVERY SECOND (Potions Prof. Draco & DADA Prof. Harry)

#drarry fic recs #drarry fanfic #professor drarry #drarry #rec list #chibarecs #professor harry #professor draco #harry potter #draco malfoy

[greenishbucket]

Autumn Serenade

Ford, summer, and hockey. 1.8k, also on ao3.

For Day 1 of OMGCheckPlease! Women Week 2017

Here’s the thing: Ford loves playing hockey.

Her brothers had balked when she’d told them happily over Skype that she’d joined up for the local rec league, no real training but enough vague knowledge and passion to power through. She’s hardly expecting to be on the first line or anything, it’s just fun and exciting and a way to get to know people. Ford’s been involved in local theatre for as long as she can remember – and it’d been the first place she’d looked at when she moved into the area – but stage managing is her forte and it’s a lonely task, the gratitude and respect warming but the responsibilities endless.

Ford can let go in hockey. It’s no contact but there’s the same satisfaction in using careful moves to snatch the puck from the opposition as there is in watching the curtain fall on a perfect show. Only the satisfaction is several times a game rather than a few nights preceded by weeks of organisation and she has a whole team to burn with the satisfaction in time with her.

Her parents had been worried about injury but were easily comforted by the assurance she’d have a full face cage and enough ragtag gear to keep her safe (though she didn’t share how the league had probably had since forever the way it stank). Both her brothers played football well into their college days; her parents are no strangers to accepting their kids playing dangerous sports.

She’s under no misapprehensions about the level of acceptance in the league compared to her usual theatre crowd as her mother suggested, either. Ford knows how hockey is. Besides, theatre kids are so, so far from perfect and Ford’s been black and a lesbian her entire life; she’s not going to let some jackasses stop her from expanding her horizons, especially since she seems to have lucked out massively with her teammates. Lardo, as both her team captain and one of the founders of the league, is both one of the coolest, chillest and one of the most unflinchingly assertive people Ford has ever met.

Ford wouldn’t have let her parents stop her anyway. She’s an adult now, free from college and just about managing to live away from home by sharing her apartment with a squirrely PhD student and a midwife-in-training and carefully budgeting every penny. So what if she wants to portion some of the careful budgeting to the rec league fees, to going out for drinks with the girls after a game? It’s fun, it’s new, it’s giving her thighs to die for.

Here’s the other thing: so far she hasn’t actually played in a real game.

Ford signed up as part of the rec league after coming to watch their final two games before the long summer break. Rec league never really breaks –  or so Lardo and Farms both remind anyone who dare use the term ‘break’, five timetabling spreadsheet tabs open and four group chats pinging continuously on three laptops between them – but summer means people vacationing with family and wanting to be outside in the sun rather than holed up in a scruffy ice rink no matter how hockey-loving Ford knows the girls to be.

There are a couple of games for fun over the months and plenty of street hockey and people can practice as often as they like in twos or threes – plus Heaven knows Ford is busy enough with the local theatre summer production, she couldn’t resist – but their first real league game isn’t until the very end of September. Ford has it circled in red marker on the calendar in the kitchen and every morning she looks at it with a mix of burning hot excitement and sick trepidation.

Until now, Ford has always been a summer girl. Every year as school or college started the transition ached, the first few days spent forcing herself to look away from the windows and focus on work again instead of grabbing hold of the last stretches of real warmth, the sunlight golden and the leaves just beginning to turn brown. She always feels weird and mismatched pulling on her jeans and socks and fall sweaters again, the layers and weight a trap compared to her light summer dresses and skirts and shorts, the ease of simple flats or sandals. Ford loves summer. Everything feels possible and endless on a bright summer’s day stretching out into a warm summer’s night and it revitalises every part of her that gets worn down and exhausted in the decay of fall and the long, cold winter. Spring is a start but nothing gives to Ford like summer does.

This year Ford feels like summer has passed at half the speed it usually does, even now in mid-September the weather reflecting a September dragging its feet on leaving summer behind, and she’s impatient with it. The rush of playing what few games ran during the summer was a wonder but Ford can’t help but think what it could be like in a real game, in something that doesn’t count in the grand scheme of things but counts to her and her teammates in this rec league among rec leagues. She can’t help but see her experiences now as a pale imitation.

Ford is already half in love with hockey and now she wants to play it.

This year each browning leaf and pumpkin-themed Pintrest board and knitted scarf means moving closer to the rec league getting under way for the season. Fprd finds herself watching the transitions with anticipation rather than her usual sadness and the thought of her summer clothes being replaced by the weight of her gear, disgusting though the pads may be, doesn’t have the usual quasi-claustrophobic panic.

“Last day of summer today,” her brother says, eye on his own calendar as they try and figure out a time to meet up over FaceTime. “Always makes me think of you.”

Once when Ford was seven she’d cried inconsolably on the last day of summer even though the weather hadn’t been truly summery in weeks, confusing and worrying both her teacher and parents. It had just been the finality of it, the confirmation that all the opportunities of the summer really were passed. This morning she’d spotted the tiny note in the day’s square and felt a twinge of something, a sadness that it was over for another year and a weariness at the prospect of the aches and pains and boredom of winter, but nothing like when she was seven. Ford’s pretty sure she’d even been a lot more upset the year before, too, wearing summer clothes in protest even when it was cold enough that she was shivering all day.

“I know, I saw,” she says, “and like it sucks, my God fall is boring and winter sucks, but I’ve got my first hockey game tomorrow. Which is pretty cool.”

Her brother is silent for long enough that she looks over at the screen to make sure he hasn’t been cut off. He’s still there, face up close to the camera like he’s trying to get a better look at her.

“Who even are you?” he asks, phone so close all Ford can see is one eye.

“Quit it, your eye is freaking me out.”

“You’re freaking me out. What happened to ‘summer is all that matters, all other seasons are a capitalist cage, I want ice cream but I’m too cold, football can kiss my ass, all my theatre nerds are sick with flu’ blah blah whatever the fuck?”

“I never said any of that!”

“You know what I mean,” her brother finally pulls his phone back a little but the look he’s giving her is still alarmed. “You’re always complaining that summer is over until, like, April. It’s part of my routine.”

Ford shrugs. “I don't know. I guess the game is taking precedence over mourning summer. Fall is so depressing and winter is so cold I can’t go anywhere – I’m looking forward to having enough to do that I'm too tired to miss the sun but also, like, getting to actually hang out with people instead of just bossing them around.”

Her brother considers this then laughs. “Well, shit, if you say so. Maybe we should have tried to get you into hockey when you were younger if it was gonna make you this okay with seasons passing. Remember that time you cried all day? How old were you, twelve?”

“I was seven, you asshole.”

His voice goes high pitched and whiney, a horrible impression of seven-year-old Ford: “Summer’s gone and I don’t want to learn more math I want to go swimming and eat bugs and I hate school and–”

She hangs up on him. A minute later he texts a suitable time to meet up and good luck for the game tomorrow. Seconds later her other brother, probably prompted to do so, texts a reminder to keep her teeth intact if possible. Ford sends both of them back a heart, smiling and genuinely touched in spite of herself, then sets her phone aside to make dinner.

Outside, there’s rain lashing against the windows and the weather report last night had confirmed it was unlikely the weather would pick up again before temperatures started sliding for real. Ford listens to her phone buzzing while she cooks and knows it’s probably one of the girls getting chirped to hell and back in the group chat, checks neither of her flatmates have disturbed the gear bag she’s left by the door for tomorrow.

Spring and summer have always been Ford’s time, the pressure pleasantly on with shows to polish up and perform and the long days to fill, with fall and winter at a pace too slow and unfocused to be satisfying. Ford knows herself and she knows needs to be challenged and kept driven, anything else feels draining. Hockey is giving her direction, not to mention friends she so desperately needed in a new place, and Ford thinks she could love it for that alone.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to. The next night she gets a messy assist and even their team losing in the final minutes after a close three periods doesn’t soften any of the thrumming delight under her skin, doesn’t stop the helmet-taps she receives for getting an assist in her first game (her first game!) or the exclamation marks her family text in response to the news. Not even the cold wind that’s icy against her neck as she stands outside the rink and answers three separate emails on set production can ruin her mood. It's fall and she's still busy enough with things that excite her that she feels the pressure of it, feels the tiredness in her muscles. It's amazing.

Ford loves playing hockey.

Feeling charitable, she gets herself a pumpkin spice latte on the way home. It’s not quite her usual cold vanilla sweet cream, a flavour that’s like a mouthful of summer to her, but Ford thinks perhaps it’s something she could learn to like.

#omgcpwomenweek #check please fic #my writing

[morethanonepage]

hi, i don't want to be a bother but i just found out i got into law school (somehow) and i don't really know what to do?? so if you have any tips or something i would be really grateful tbh

OMG friend that’s so great! Congratulations and no worries, I love answering questions about this!

Okay first off enjoy your summer because it’s probably the last free(ish) one you’re going to have for a while – hang out with your friends, go out, relax, get into a headspace where you’re sure you want to do this and you’re sure what your giving up time wise for the next couple of years (potentially). Also, try and come up with a good elevator pitch (like, one or two sentences) answer for “why did you decide to come to law school?” Because ISTG you will be answering that question for the rest of your life: I’m two years out and my dentist literally asked me it last Friday. It’s also going to be the primary ice breaker for any like seminar/legal writing class you’re mandated to take (like, “Say your name, where you’re from, and why you decided to come to law school” round robin stuff), so it’s good to have at least An Answer beyond ‘idk I’m an English major but I couldn’t get work just with that degree’, even if it’s not the answer you stick with the rest of your law school career. 

The culture of all law schools is different (mine was super liberal loosey-goosey without class ranking and minimal competition) but it’s good to get a sense of it before you even start, just so you’re prepared: if you can get in contact with a student who’s already been through a few years (I’d suggest a 2 or 3L over someone who’s just completed one year, b/c they’ll have a little more perspective at that point) and ask just like…how competitive are people with each other? are there class rankings? are grades curved? (this can be positive or negative depending on where you fall on the curve lmao). 

Older students are also really good at giving you the dish on professors (but always take stuff with a grain of salt: I had professors that I just personally didn’t click with that everyone else loved and vice versa. Like everything else sometimes it is genuinely down to chemistry (also some professors are GREAT in small 20 people seminars but if you get them for a big foundational class like Contracts they are….less so.) But at least you’ll get a sense of what expectations are and what Hot Tips people might have (like, whether they’re particular sticklers for attendance or whatever – some law school professors dgaf because they assume you’re adults and if you’re missing class that’s your problem, but since it is your problem they’re not going to be super helpful later on if you have like questions for the exam that would’ve been answered if you’d gone to class).

Get to know your Student Affairs Office: they have a vested interest in helping you out and they’re never as busy as they want to be. Like it’s not out of the goodness of their hearts (well, sometimes), they want you to get through law school and graduate and get a good job, because that helps with rankings and looks good on brochures and stuff. Use the fact that law school applications are down right now: people in the administration want the school to look good and the classes to look good, they don’t want crazy attrition rates, they want to help you out as much as they can. Different schools provide different levels of support but use as much as you can: get the email address for Student Affairs and ask them to put you in contact with older students, if there’s some sort of mentorship program at least try it out once and see how you feel about it, if there’s a writing center try to take at least one paper to them to see if you get anything out of it. It’s never too soon to start thinking about your summer internships so go in to the Career Service Center and see what they suggest. 

A major law school downside for me was that, no matter what people told you about how you could do ~almost anything~ with a law degree,  and that you can figure things out as you go along, for most career paths you really have to get a super early start and practically certain of what you want to do right away. Or at least, it’s a lot easier if you do: I didn’t. I came in with the vague idea of I Want To Help People (And This Seems The Way To Do It) but I had no idea what path to take and it took some floundering and a lot of classes that ended up being not super helpful to my future plans to at least get a real sense of my strengths, and after that I just kind of bumbled into things. Eventually I was lucky enough to get a job, but it took almost two years from graduating, and my friends who came in knowing and who started building their skill set for that specific goal from year one were way more successful right away. So if you know you want to be a certain type of lawyer – like, you KNOW you want to do family law, or corporate law, or whatever – then start planing both your electives (this won’t really be a thing till 2L but at least have them in mind) and, in some ways more importantly, your summer internships. That’s where stuff really happens: law school teaches you a lot of things but an internship helps you make professional and personal connections in the job market that are invaluable once you graduate, and it’s best to start that early. 

The usual format for law school classes (in the first year anyway) is: you do a ton of reading, you take a lot of notes, you go to class and get called on and have to answer questions with at least some indication you did the reading, and then what you’re mostly graded on is two exams: the midterm and the final. There’s almost no other assignments, so you really have to be prepared for the midterms and the finals. Some professors care more about participation than others and give you a few points on that – I know the temptation to just shut up & not participate until they call on you is significant (because what if you get something wrong! everyone will hear and mock you!) but for the most part if you answer a question earnestly and honestly wrong (as opposed to, because you didn’t bother to do the reading) you won’t get yelled at. They might be a little condescending about why you’re wrong but – you’re in the legal profession now, you’ve basically signed up to be condescended to (sometimes more kindly than others) for the rest of your life. It’s one of those things you’ve got to get used to.

There’s this weird culture in law school that kind of shames people for answering questions voluntarily and like, going up to the professor after class to ask questions? People get called gunners or podium rushers like – how dare they try hard? Anyway, it’s bullshit: you’re not showing people up, you’re doing the work and learning the way you learn. Don’t let people shame your process, whatever it is. And professors like it when people answer and ask questions – it shows you’re engaged with the material. Like, in my 2L year I raised my hand to answer a question on the first day of a huge (like, 100+ person) lecture hall class and the next class the professor came up to me to ask my name and I became like the go-to person to answer questions in that class. And like two years, I got the job I got (the amazing, perfect job I love and which fills my actual skill set and interests to a t) because that professor took an interest in me. You never know when things are going to pan out but it’s better to have a professor in your corner than be in the ~cool group~ in law school. Like dudes, its law school, you’re all fucking dorks, get over yourselves.

In general law students (and from my limited experience, lawyers) can be really cliquey and catty: partly it’s just stress (we’re all there all the time and personalities are amplified and everyone’s mad or anxious or both) but for whatever reason: there can be a lot of interpersonal drama. It’s easy to say ‘just rise above it’ and obviously a lot harder to do but: just don’t take it too seriously. You’re there to learn & make connections. Try to be friendly with everyone but if there’s people you don’t like or who are always starting shit for no reason, it makes sense to avoid them.

People not in law school don’t know shit about law school. Your non-law school friends & family will ask you dumb questions (‘what are you majoring in??’ is the most common) and won’t 100% understand the time constraints & pressure you’re under. It’s best to accept that early and not expect them to get it – accept also that you will be kind of insufferable about ALL the WORK you’re doing and HOW much STRESS you’re under – like, it’ll be true, but that’s also not super interesting to your friends, who haven’t seen you in weeks, and just want to talk to you about stuff you have in common.

This is why, btw, you make friends in law school with people you would otherwise have nothing in common with: you suddenly DO have something in common, and it’s all the work you’re doing and how tired you are and how you don’t even know if you want to be a lawyer anymore. Everyone feels that in law school at some point – it passes and it’s good to have comrades in arms to talk to about it & feel it with. Making friends is hard for me (I’m not very open) but I’ve never made friends more easily than in law school. So it’s important, even despite all the work you’re doing, to take the time and do social events – at my school the law review had a happy hour every start of the semester, other clubs did fundraisers and stuff. With the time constraints it can be tough but it’s important to at least consider joining those things – not because it’ll look good on your resume (though it will) but also they’re good places to find like-minded people to build connections with.

Okay, the time constraints: yeah, law school is hard. It’s a lot of work. The adage goes something like, in 1L they scare you to death, 2L the work you to death, 3L they bore you to death. But I promise you, you will have time for a life: I read all of Les Mis and Lord of the Rings my 1L year. I participated in fandom. I spent too much time on tumblr. I went out to bars with friends (drinking culture is strong among the legal profession & addiction rates are high so be careful, but you can definitely still enjoy yourself if you do drink – and if you don’t people DO tend to accept that. Like, it’s law school – we’re adults, we know people can have problems with drinking, it’s fine). It’s important to live and build connections and friendships in spite of the course load – it makes the course load bearable. Law school is tough and you don’t want to do it alone.

1L is basic law stuff that’s foundational for everything else: Contracts (usually two semesters), Criminal, Torts, Constitutional, and Civil Procedure. 2L you have a little more freedom and can pick a few more electives; 3L you basically pick up what you want/think will help with your career path, and you can do a clinic. YOU SHOULD DO A CLINIC. Both for the experience (getting used to helping clients one on one but in a controlled environment and usually only one or two per semester) and to be able to ~give back. Law school is a privilege not everyone is afforded and I don’t believe every lawyer who doesn’t go into public interest is a dick it anything, but if you don’t at least try and give a little back while you can, then I am a little judgey. Also during 3L, you’ve got the joy of bar prep, where my advice is: START EARLY. Do as many practice questions as you can. Do as many practice essays as you can. The Bar Exam is terrifying and exhausting (I failed it the first time) but it’s doable. Even if you do fail the first time it’ll be okay -- you can take it again, you can still get a job after, people won’t care.

They tell you not to work in 1L year and I am going to say that’s accurate: i had a friend who did work part time and managed it, and I know financial constraints are an issue. But if you can get away with not working (student loans, etc) then do it. I know it’s stressful to incur that debt but you want to give yourself your best chance since you’re paying the money anyway and that is the best chance: give yourself the time to work and concentrate and learn. 2L and 3L year you can maybe give a part time job a try, though ideally you can find a paying internship and go from there.

A general note on studying: learn how to do it right. There’s people who get into law school because they’re hard workers and did All The Right Things in undergrad and they already know what works best for them when they need to study. And then there’s the people who are smart enough to have managed to BS their way through undergrad and still do well enough on LSATs and other tests because of innate ability. It’s a lot harder to BS your way through law school – not going to say impossible because some people are that smart but GENERALLY: you need to know to best retain information for your own use later, you need to learn to take notes, you need to learn how to read case law. They’ll usually do some sort of seminar first year to help you out on stuff like legal writing and research and how to ~brief a case~ (like, knowing the participants, the holding, the facts of the case, etc, etc). Those seminars feel like a joke and sometimes they can be but try and get the most out of them: everyone learns differently but usually you get some good pointers on how to do law school that are specific to the school and the classes you’re taking and that can help a lot. Other tips that I think are universally applicable: 

PRACTICE EXAMS. If the professor is giving you old exam questions to study from, do them. If the professor isn’t giving you old exam questions, ask for them. The more practice on the format you’re actually going to be presented with you can do, the better. It took me SO LONG to learn how valuable that was but the truth is there’s only so many ways you can be tested on certain topics, and there’s no better feeling than walking into an exam and being like ‘oh yeah! That’s just like that question I did a week ago while studying!’ 

READING. Do it. I know it’s a lot. At one point you’ll learn to skim and keep an eye out for the Important Stuff. And there’s always websites that’ll summarize the holdings for you. But remember: your professors know that too. They want you to do the reading for a reason and it’s not just so you can read the headnotes. Professors also love asking things about footnotes, especially on exams -- sometimes they’re just more citations to other cases but SOMETIMES they’re like interesting historical or policy notes that are actually important to better understanding of the law, so. DO THE READING. 

WRITING. If you were a liberal arts major, you’re at a disadvantage when it comes to law school writing -- it’s an entirely different skill. English majors are supposed to have opinions on things and bring their own take to a text: in law school, it’s not about you or your #HotTake. It’s about what’s in the law and what you can do with it based on 200+ years of precedent. But at least at first you’re stealing borrowing theories and analysis from other legal scholars or established attorneys -- no one wants to hear your opinion unless you can back it up with three sources. So, it’s hard to adjust but the quicker you learn to stop fighting it the better. There’ll be time to be creative later in your career: 1L year is not the time nor the place. 

OUTLINES are a classic Law School Thing: condensing a semester’s worth of doctrine into one or two pages is difficult and they sell ones for major topics like Contracts, but honestly the best ones are ones you make yourself. Some people like to do study groups -- I didn’t trust other people enough to make it worth it for me (I mean, I believe in being part of the social circles for emotional support but academically I’m still and always going to be loner) but if you do work well with groups, try that as well: you can divide up sections of the course to outline just like they do in Legally Blonde! It’s very cool stuff.

FLASHCARDS don’t work for everyone intuitively but so much bar prep material comes in that format that I think it makes sense to at least give them a try for basic doctrinal stuff. I used this app called Studyblue during bar prep, which I wish I’d discovered sooner: it’s all digital, you can cut and paste parts of your outline/notes, you can sort them by classes and topics, you can download them to your phone and practice on the subway or whatever, it creates multiple choice quizzes for you. AND what’s super cool (for me) is that if you put in your school name, you can see previous flashcards from other students who’ve used the app and sometimes you can use their cards too (and vice versa obviously).

GO OVER YOUR EXAMS. This was especially brutal for me because I hate acknowledging my mistakes (as we all do) BUT I swear to god this is one of the most useful tools for law school success. Once you take a test (quiz, exam, whatever) go over the professor’s comments on it -- even if it’s a final, email your professor and ask to come in and go over it with them. Figure out what you did wrong and why -- did you not understand the doctrine, did you run out of time, did you freak out because of the pressure, whatever. It makes it easier to prepare against those problems in the future. Also professors love it when you do this crap: like they write stuff on all exams and most students never bother to find out what they got wrong, so I think a lot of them feel it was a waste of time. SHOW THEM THEY’RE NOT WASTING THEIR TIME. 

Law school isn’t for everybody. I know this is a dumb thing to throw out at the very end of ALL THIS STUFF I wrote but -- it really isn’t. This is why I discourage people who aren’t at least 95% sure they want to go to law school from going: there were times in school where I was utterly miserable and sick of it and I wanted to be there, like really really wanted to. Being a lawyer can be a great thing but even if you finish law school, it might not be for you. But there’s no, like, point of no return: if you get through the year and you decide you don’t like it, you can leave. If you fail out the first year, it probably wasn’t meant to be. There is absolutely no shame in that. It can be a terrible, stressful, competitive atmosphere but you can learn a lot and meet great people and you come out of it with a post grad degree and an amazing set of skills. 

Like, I know this is a lot, but I had a really hard time in law school and I don’t want other people to have to go through that. I’m one of those people who mostly BS’d my way through undergrad on charm and certain innate abilities. I have an anxiety disorder -- I had to leave school for a couple of weeks because of severe panic attacks. I failed the bar the first time I took it, I didn’t make like amazing grades, I thought for the longest time that I wouldn’t be able to do anything as a lawyer if I couldn’t even take care of myself in law school without having a breakdown. But with the help of professors and friends and family and my own certainty that I wanted to do this and be there, I got through it. And honestly, I swear to god, If i can, anyone can. And if you have any questions once you start, let me know! I’ll try to keep it down to five points at most next time, lmao.

Oh also people suggested I read One L when I was starting out so I supposed I should pass that recommendation on to you, if for nothing else than to see how much has changed about being a law student (and how much hasn’t).

#anonymous #lawyered #anon i'm sorry this was so much! I don't want to stress you out! #it'll be fine! you'll have fun and be tired and grow as a person and learn so much! #congratulations and good luck! #let me know if you need any other advice more specifically! #longpost

[fierte-blog1]

meta about beast's strength when it comes to the different types of intelligences?

kick my headcanon ass into gear

hi you’re my new favorite person jesus chri s t ok uh HERE is a link to the wiki on the theory of multiple intelligences. i’m only going with the first seven, because naturalistic wasn’t added until later. 

now, if we’re just counting adam as the beast, then these things get really fucking weird, but for comparison, i’ll do both.

musical-rhythmic & harmonic — this area has to do with sensitivity to sounds, rhythms, tones, & music. people with a high musical intelligence normally have good pitch and may even have absolute pitch, and are able to sing, play musical instruments, & compose music. they have sensitivity to rhythm, pitch, meter, tone, melody or timbre. 

as he is nobility, adam likely was trained in at least one musical instrument; likely tutored by maestro cadenza, adam seems the type to learn how to sing, but would quickly become frustrated with musical instruments. playing instruments was not his strong suit, but he was certainly pushed to be ‘perfect’ — that went over well. as the beast, he still retains the ability to sing, although he doesn’t, because can you imagine how loudly that would resonate in the castle that’s a no. he does, however, hum to himself here & there if he needs to keep his mind off of … well, a great deal of everything. 

visual-spatial — this area deals with spatial judgment & the ability to visualize with the mind’s eye. 

spatial intelligence in psychology also refers to the ability to remember places & ‘landmarks’. he knows where things are, he could navigate the forest & make it back to the castle when others couldn’t ( see maurice, gaston without the mirror, literally everyone tbqh wouldn’t be able to place any proper landmarks ). he maintains this ability at the same level as both adam & as the beast.  

verbal-linguistic — people with high verbal-linguistic intelligence display a facility with words & languages. they are typically good at reading, writing, telling stories & memorizing words along with dates. 

as this portrayal does go more from the 2017 concept of adam, the shitty young adult, rather than adam a ten year old child who honestly just practiced stranger danger, he’s incredibly well read & displays an exceptional ability to memorise things from books. adam’s first language is french,  he likely is conversational in english. as the beast, he jokes about how some of the books are in greek, & thus he hasn’t read them all, but he’s capable of reading latin, mostly due to the fact that he was raised catholic & read the bible… a lot ( that got him nowhere tbqh he didn’t listen to it at all ).

logical-mathematical — this area has to do with logic, abstractions, reasoning, numbers & critical thinking. this also has to do with having the capacity to understand the underlying principles of some kind of causal system. 

adam has enough skill in this area to understand maths & be capable of sound reasoning; his issue was that he didn’t care, not that he didn’t know. did he know where the tax-payer’s money was going? absolutely. did he know how much things were going to cost? absolutely. did he know he could basically just leave most of the commoners destitute? absolutely, but he sure didn’t give a fuck, then. as the beast, he had no need to worry about this sort of thing, the people of his kingdom forgot about him, so this was something that he neglected during those years. post-curse, he quickly regains his ability in this area, whether from simply being intelligent, or by necessity of being a prince again, is irrelevant. 

bodily-kinesthetic — the core elements of the bodily-kinesthetic intelligence are control of one’s bodily motions and the capacity to handle objects skilfully. gross motor skills vs. fine motor skills. 

aka exactly what went down the shitter when the curse happened. adam, as a normal sized human being ( going with the height of the fc i use [ toby regbo ], ) 5′10″, adam had no issues getting around the castle & manoeuvring. as the beast, he’s at least 7′ tall & larger in general. fine motor skills went to shit, but he retained gross motor skills, allowing him the coordination for dancing or general movement — honestly, it’s just the fine motor skills that went to shit. after he turns back, though, he’s completely thrown off entirely, as he suddenly has less weight to carry & no longer has to account for horns or tails or whatnot, thus he’s really just in need of some serious help in this regard. given a few years post-curse, he would likely have regained gross motor skills & a good portion of his fine motor skills. 

interpersonal — in theory, individuals who have high interpersonal intelligence are characterized by their sensitivity to others’ moods, feelings, temperaments, motivations, & their ability to cooperate in order to work as part of a group. 

‘work as part of a group’ ? ‘sensitivity to others’ lol no; when has adam ever been good at this? the goddamn hedonist didn’t care what other people felt, clearly & that’s what got him fucked in the first place. as the beast, he makes improvements in leaps & bounds in this category, both out of necessity & experience. post-curse, he knows how to read others’ moods & temperaments, but still seems to lack the ability to sense motivation, something that really is just left over childish naivety. he’s not really great at working in groups, ever, but he at least puts in effort.  

intrapersonal — this area has to do with introspective and self-reflective capacities. this refers to having a deep understanding of the self; what one’s strengths or weaknesses are, what makes one unique, being able to predict one’s own reactions or emotions. 

u h another shit area, because i mean... adam had enough awareness to know that he would react badly to certain situations, but to avoid this, he simply made sure that everyone else did exactly what he wanted them to do. this lead to a... huge inability to introspect, as things would occur spontaneously, much to his own & his servants’ shock. being the beast was his introspective time, where he similarly made leaps & bounds, coming to terms with the things that had happened in the past & desiring to make amends for them. post-curse, he does try to step back from situations to evaluate them & he knows what ruffles him the wrong way, although he lacks the awareness of when a situation is getting too far out of hand — he gets caught up in other things & needs to be reminded here & there to reflect. at least he can reflect at al; that’s a huge improvement from before the cursel.

#dxdger #♚、⁞ there had to be an answer. ❨asks.❩ #♚、⁞ the night sky is beautiful、& like all beauty、it is indifferent. ❨isms.❩