im just going to go off in the tags for my review but last nights concert was crazy, entertaining, and crazily entertaining. while they did not play the rhythm thief clearly my rhythm, if i ever had any, was stolen and ron and russell were easily able to see my lack of clapping and dancing skills. when will those 70+ year old men stop beating me at everything

Statement of Thomas Boone

Concerning: His near-death experience in the Sea of Cortez.

Statement Taken: July 9th, 2013

Transcription by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of The Magnus Institute, London (1818)

Statement begins...

I always loved the water. I used to cry when my parents would drag me out of the pool as a child. I was on a swimming team and played water polo and all that so you know it's not like I'm an incompetent swimmer. This was no regular freak out, I swear. There was something WRONG. Everyone else just thinks I was dehydrated or had been in the sun too long but... I know what I felt and saw.

A few friends were going on vacation to the States, California specifically, and they asked if I wanted to tag along. I liked the idea of being able to swim in warmer water so I agreed. In the end, the day we were supposed to go swimming most of them were hungover so it was just myself, Eddie, and Russ. We met the guy at the pier and got the details of where we were going, we got on his boat, and headed out. We got there after about half an hour but it was worth the wait. The spot was beautiful! There were these amazing rock formations a little way away and the water was calm and clear. I even thought I saw a sea lion in one of the rocks.

I was the first one off the boat and I know I heard the others jump in behind me but... Then it went dark. Very dark. I looked up through my goggles and couldn't see the boat or the sun or anything. It was pitch black all around and the water got very cold. I realized I was sinking and started to panic, trying to swim up but it was like the water didn't have any physics! My lungs started screaming for air and my feet touched sand. I'd hit the bottom. I looked up again and now the light was back but it was so far away. I knew I had to try and swim back up again but it was no use. Finally I couldn't struggle anymore and I let myself just go...

I drifted a little and started looking around, my vision getting dark from the lack of oxygen but it was so beautiful down there. Nothing around but that clear, warm water that embraced me and started filling my lungs. I blacked out and woke up in the hospital a good nine hours later. The guys thought I'd winded myself or something but I told them what happened. Of course they didn't believe me. I still think about it sometimes, y'know? The huge open ocean pressing in on me from all directions, just calm and warm and free... I still swim. Hell, I went back out to that same spot a couple times to see what I'd missed! I don't think it'll ever feel quite like that though...

Statement ends.

Notes:

Mr. Boone was also kind enough to provide us with photographs of the exact location he talks about, it indeed appearing to be a swimming depth area of sea with natural rock formations on one side and a white sand beach in the distance. He sustained no injuries from his experience, appears to have no psychological damage, and is currently working as a lifeguard in Cornwall... I'm not sure if this would be the Buried or the Vast but either way it seems to have spit him out. It's not as fun when they accept or enjoy the experience I guess... No real further information can be gained for this statement. The boat was hired under the table and neither Edward Lurette nor Russel Lake had anything further to add... They both mentioned something about coming in for unrelated reasons in the future however. Should be interesting.

Say the show wasn't ending, what do you think could be done to actually save it from it's current dire state?

That's a very good question. To be honest, I don't know if I actually think the show could be saved at this point. The initial Cameron storyline was awful, but they could've come back from that. But the Sahira retcons were the point of no return for me and, as much as I loved Bernie, the show bringing her back from the dead (actually, all of that Cameron comeback arc in general) was a massive jump-the-shark moment.

But, like any good fan of a soap opera in a really bad state, I've had plenty of fantasies about how I'd fix the show if I could lmao. So. If it could be saved...

First things first, no more involvement of Kate Oates. Get her away from the show. I'm sure she's a nice woman or whatever, but she is really bad at running soaps.

After that, for the show itself:

- No more Henrik as CEO. No. More. Ever again. Yes, some viewers will probably throw a hissy fit, but they'll just have to move on. Henrik in that office is overdone, and at this point both the show and his character have been forced to utterly stagnate because there's nothing new to do with him in that job. I'd have him get demoted, have him resign from the position of his own accord, I really don't care so long as he stays far fucking away from the role.

- More focus on the actual patients and on the medical side of the show. For as long as they were stuck with 40 minute episodes, this may mean cutting back on staff stories to give the patients more airtime, but that's a sacrifice I would be more than willing to make.

- More happy storylines. I understand Holby is a drama, but that doesn't mean every storyline has to be fucking miserable. Let the primary source of drama come from the patients for a while, with some dramatic staff storylines, but not too many.

In the words of Tony McHale himself: "It's one hundred per cent about making those stories interesting, and it can't be about being shocking. Holby is about a situation we've all been in. That feeling when you go into a hospital, or someone you know and love does, and may not be coming out – that's drama enough, isn't it?"

Keeping more relationships together would be a good start. I'm not saying there can't be any relationship drama, but they should tone it down. Let a few couples be happy longer-term. Eli and Amelia should stay happy and alive (maybe in a few years I'd have Amelia's tumour come back again and kill her, but not right away, and only if it felt right for the place the characters were in). Josh and Ange are lovely, get them married and keep them married. Henrik and Russ, too - if Henrik got turned into a cheater for drama I would scream.

- NO MORE EVIL STAFF MEMBERS. NO. MORE. They should really have stopped after Fredrik. They should DEFINITELY have stopped after Gaskell. We didn't need Cameron or Jeni at all. The show would need at least 5 years' break before going near any 'evil staff member' storyline ever again, and I'd say a decade or at least near enough to one before ever - if ever - attempting another 'murderous doctor' story.

- Treat the long-running characters with more respect than they're getting now. Donna and Sacha basically don't get stories at all anymore. Henrik and Jac (well, Henrik's finally made his way out of it last minute, but Jac's still trapped there) are stuck in endless cycles of miserable storylines that don't respect their characters. So I'd give Donna and Sacha more stories, and let Henrik and Jac have some quiet time where they actually get to be reasonably happy.

I'd let Henrik settle down with Russ for a while and then give him an autism diagnosis storyline, while Jac would recover from her tumour and then have a fairly quiet year or so before meeting a new, openly queer female character who likes her.

- The show struggled for a long time to develop new characters properly. That is one area in which they've been improving recently - look how well-developed Josh has been! Russ and Eli are very promising too. I'd continue this streak of putting effort into the new characters, but I'd also extend it to Jeongsoo and Madge, who have been swept under the rug a lot in favour of focusing on Josh, Russ, and Eli.

- Better representation. Give characters of colour more focus than they've been getting. Do a better job of acknowledging characters' minority religions. Stop shoving queer characters into the same miserable stories (*cough* Dom *cough*), and stop hinting at queerness while refusing to acknowledge it or making a character queer and then never doing anything with it again - bringing Henrik out the closet is a good start, but Jac should follow him, and Donna's bisexuality needs to be remembered.

More disabled characters, too, and treat the ones that are already there with better respect. Looking to Casualty as a blueprint would be a good start, Casualty is so much better in this aspect (even if it has a lot of other issues).

And no more treating female characters as plot devices for men.

That's all I can think of for now, but I'll probably come back to this later with more thoughts.

Windflower

01| 02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, fluff, angst

Word Count: 2,438

Warnings: Light swearing, Soobin being a cutie pie, me not proofreading. I think that’s it??

A/N: This does include the writing that was part of the preview post I made, but it is the first official chapter of Windflower! Please know that genre and warnings will change with every chapter I post! I also don’t quite have an upload schedule, sorry about that!! Hope you all enjoy nonetheless! 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Your car groaned in protest as you turned into the parking lot of the quaint diner. Giving the dashboard two loving yet harsh hits with the palm of your hand seemed to do the trick. Now silent, the beat up blue car seemed to quietly thank you as you settled between the white painted lines of a parking space and shut off the engine. It was a gray, overcast day but humidity hung in the air wherever you went, making your hair puffy and the back of your legs stick to the cracking leather of your driver’s seat. Heaving a sigh at the uncomfortable stickiness, you pulled down the mirror from the roof of your car to survey the reflection staring back at you. 

It’s a startling thing, to look at yourself in a mirror and barely recognize your face. Your skin was dull and starting to break out, the bags under your eyes had seemingly never been more prominent than they were in this moment. Your fingers danced over the darkened skin, wondering at what point of your trip you began to look so worn down. Was it the moment you left your apartment? The twelve hours of mindless driving with no destination in mind? Or had this degeneration begun the moment you found yourself completely alone in life? 

You snapped the mirror back up against the roof and rubbed your hands over your face. Mindlessly, you pushed through the items littering your passenger seat until you clasped the familiar quilted fabric of your wallet. As soon as you stood up outside of your car, a wave of dizziness sent you grasping at the top of your car for support. You needed food more than you had originally estimated. Your legs were still a bit shaky from disuse as you walked toward the small white building. Portions of the paint had peeled off in jagged strips to expose the tightly stacked brown bricks waiting underneath. The simple clear door displayed a sun-faded open sign with handwritten hours of operation. As soon as you pushed the door open, the smell of grease and fresh apple pie invaded your senses and your face involuntarily shrunk up in disgust. Another thick paper sign attached on a tarnished metal stand boasted a cheerful cursive that read “Please Seat Yourself!” You could hear a radio playing faintly from somewhere in the building.

Almost every booth in the rectangular dining area was vacant, save for one elderly couple sharing a plate of fries. The floor was sticky under your feet as you made your way to a booth, and whether the texture was a result of the humidity or a lack of cleaning, you couldn’t tell. Sliding into the booth was familiar, almost comforting as you thought back to all of the times you had slid into booths with your friends at dinner, or slid yourself into a booth at the coffee shop near your apartment to work on a paper. Well. Your old apartment. The thought of adjusting to past tense created a scowl on your face as an unsuspecting waitress approached your side. She cleared her throat and caught your attention. To your surprise, she was fairly young, maybe in her late 30s; and she stood in her bright blue blouse and skirt uniform with a cock to her hip and a serving tray tucked under her arm. 

“Hi, hun. My name is Melissa, what can I get ya?” the woman’s tone was deceivingly cheerful, given the slow restaurant and heavy air. You heaved a sigh and looked down at the thin paper menu. It wilted in your hand as you picked it up and you soon abandoned the idea of even trying to read through it. 

“Hi. A vanilla milkshake and fries, please.” The order was so simple that Melissa didn’t even write it down, just nodded and turned to head into the kitchen to relay your order. A dull buzz warned you of the beginning of a headache but you expertly pushed the feeling aside and decided to ask for a glass of water when she came with your order. Mindlessly, you began searching your phone for places to stay in the tiny town you had stumbled upon. This hadn’t been the kind of place you expected to end up for the summer, but you were never one to plan anything. Enthralled in your scrolling through motel listings, Melissa scared you as she set your order down in front of you. She caught a look at your phone and your face flushed in embarrassment. How much of an obvious tourist could you be? You asked for a glass of water in an attempt to shoo her away, but when she came back with a glass covered in condensation she didn’t leave. 

“Not from around here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you gave her props for trying to ease you into the conversation. You shook your head, not really caring to elaborate on where you came from as you shoved a few fries into your mouth. 

“I don’t usually talk to customers like this, but; well, we’re dead today and I saw you looking at places to stay on your phone. I don’t recommend any of them. Especially not to a young pretty girl like you. Most of them are way too pricey for their rooms. And the Moonlight motel is literally run by a druglord. He’d gobble you up,” she shivered at her own words. 

“Well, where should I stay, then? Unless I missed a Best Western on the way in, I don’t have many other choices,” you deadpanned, hoping to hide the nervousness that was rising in your stomach. If you didn’t stay here, where would you go? But then again, why do you want to stay here so bad in the first place? You took a slurp of your milkshake as you contemplated. 

“Look, it’s sort of a town secret, but you remind me of my niece, so I’ll just tell you now. There’s this estate- gated, two story house, old timey stuff, gorgeous garden” Melissa waved her hands around as she spoke, chipped red fingernails putting on a show of their own. “It’s called the Flower House, actually. It’s been passed from generation to generation, since the town was founded. The boy who owns it now is just about your age, but he’s been living there alone since his cousin moved away for college years ago. He’s a lovely boy, we love when he comes into town, it just isn’t often.” you raised your eyebrows at her, trying to figure out how this mysterious boy and his ancestral house had anything to do with your housing predicament. “Long story short, he came around a few weeks ago looking for anyone who would be willing to help him keep the house and yard clean. No pay, but it’s free living in a beautiful home. And he’s not bad looking either.” she winked suggestively. “If you want, I can give you the address and you can go talk to him?”

You looked into her eyes, sparkling with hope of giving you a helping hand. “Okay, yeah. Sure, what have I got to lose?” Melissa hurried away to get writing materials as you continued eating with renewed vigor. 

As Melissa cleared your minimal dishes away, she set a ripped piece of paper in front of you that simply read;

“Choi Soobin, 476 Gardenia Dr.”

After paying and being sure to leave your helpful waitress a generous tip, you hopped back in your car and began your journey to discover the mysterious Flower House.

The drive through town was oddly peaceful, even with the grumbling of your car to accompany you alongside the pop songs on the radio. Air whipped into your windows as you drove by houses, small restaurants and one single chain grocery store where everyone seemed to be shopping. Stopping at an intersection with a single blinking stoplight, your phone instructed you to turn left. You passed the town’s schools, elementary and highschool; all huddled onto one campus with a large parking lot separating the two. The electric sign posted reminders of the last day of school for the students as you sped by. The farther you got away from the school, the older the houses became. Some were rotting apart, others covered in creeping vines. The street gradually slanted upwards as you continued to drive towards your destination. At the end of Gardenia Drive stood a towering home with a multitude of windows circling the entire building. A large chimney stood out on the top, one of the only signs of the home’s age; as the outside was wonderfully kept. The most impressive feature was of course the garden, for which the house gained its nickname. Your mouth hung open as you tried to fathom the sheer amount of flowers that were in full bloom on the front lawn. Blues, pinks, purples, reds and whites all stitched together in a beautiful quilt of florals. Some ivy was growing up the old wrought iron gates and the trunks of a few towering trees. While the growth made other houses look dated and worn down, the ivy here only added to the elegance that took your breath away. With your car parked on the road right outside, you exited your car to approach the gates. 

Fumbling with your hands, you navigated over the brick path leading up to the intimidating 10 foot tall gates. Despite the obvious history of the metal, a modern doorbell buzzer and camera system was installed just to the left of the entrance. It was harder than you’d like to admit to raise the courage for pressing the button. Your mind blanked as you performed the action, not knowing what to expect. A voice crackled through the speakers and made you jump. 

“Who’s there?” a smooth voice inquired. Suddenly you were unsure of what to say.

“I, uh. I’m Y/N. A waitress at Russ’ Diner told me to come talk to you about an um.” your mouth was suddenly going dry. “A living arrangement?” A small exclamation of understanding was music to your ears. 

“Okay! Hold on, I’ll be right over to the gate!” The static disappeared with the voice. You looked down at your phone out of habit and realized you had no reception. Figures, as you were sort of in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter right now anyway. You put the device in the back pocket of your shorts just as the gate began creaking open and welcoming you onto the property. You could faintly make out the shape of a body making its way toward you through the dense trees. 

When he stepped into your line of sight, sunshine managed to peek through the thick blanket of clouds that had been permeating your entire visit and bask him in a wash of gold. He was tall, with long legs covered in the material of light wash skinny jeans. The knees were a bit dirty, and you recognized the stains as a mix of grass and dirt. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt that clung perfectly to his wide shoulders and showed off his defined waist. 

Not only was he dressed in a way you definitely didn’t expect, but his looks threw you even farther into surprise. His face was evenly tanned, and not a single blemish could be found. Suddenly, you became all too aware of the dismal state of your own complexion and fought the urge to bring a hand up to cover your face from him. Dark, hooded eyes examined your form as you stood awkwardly on the path and waited for his next words. He seemed amused by your lack of introduction, and chuckled a little as he asked, “Y/N?” 

Hearing your name broke the spell that his beauty had put you under and you nodded. His face lit into a smile as he beckoned you further onto the land with a waving hand. You followed him closely and caught his words as they floated in the wind back to you. “I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-great uncle and his wife. Well, wives.” He chuckled to himself as he led you into a gazebo. Soobin settled into one of the wooden chairs situated around a matching table and gestured for you to sit in the one across from him. A pit of nervousness built in your stomach at the close proximity between the two of you. The table was only three feet wide, and Soobin’s long leg stretched in front of him and decreased your distance even more. Up close, you could see the permanent upturn of the corners of his mouth, and the sparkle in his brown eyes.

His honey brown hair ruffled in the breeze that passed you by and he closed his eyes at the feeling for a moment. “So,” he began suddenly, “you were at Russ’? Who sent you my way for the job?” He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the new structure. He blinked owlishly as you took a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I just came into town for the summer. Melissa served me and she told me that all of the motels here are pretty shit,” Soobin laughed and nodded at that, and your heart skipped a beat. “So she gave me your info. Said you might be able to give me a better place to stay if I helped you out.” 

“Ah, I see. Melissa is right, though. Those motels are awful. I definitely wouldn’t want to see you staying there.” He appraised your face for a second while he paused. “If you want the job, it’s yours.” He stated as if it were the most casual thing in the world. You sputtered. 

“Wait, what? That quick? You don’t even know anything about me! I could be a murderer!” He laughed openly at you now, and the sound stirred an emotion in your stomach you hadn’t felt in months. 

“Well, are you? A murderer?” 

“No! Of course not.” Soobin nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“So, can you clean? Cook a decent meal? Drive to the city for groceries? Water some plants?” You nodded at every question he raised and watched as his smile upticked more with every bob of your head. 

“Then you’re perfect. Welcome to the Flower House.” He stood, frame towering over your still sitting being and offered you a strong looking hand. Ticking his head toward the massive home behind him, he grinned. “Tour?”

The Sweet Escape Chapter 2.

Sun 18th June.

Your alarm goes off at an earlier hour than usual thanks to the set time for breakfast, but instead of the usual dread you felt every morning upon waking you actually felt calm, and as you stretch your arms up and legs out to the sides everything seems a little better because you’re so far away from the reality of everything. You can see how bright the day is already by the slithers of sun that creep in through the gap in the curtains and you can’t help but smile with relief at where you are right now; already feeling awake and alert for the unknown day ahead.

“Ahh,” you sigh out loud as you wriggle around in the warm duvet.

You reluctantly swing your legs out into the cooler air of the room to sit up just as your phone pings with a message notification and you reach over to the bedside table to retrieve the device and check who’s trying to contact you at this ridiculous hour on a Sunday.

-Hope you arrived safely. Russ x

Judging by the use of his name at the end of the text which he never used to do, he must have known you’d delete his number as soon as humanly possible. A flurry of sarcastic replies run through your mind like hope you’ve stopped being an arsehole and hope you managed to get your dick back in your pants but you know it’s best to just delete the message and leave it alone, even if taking the higher ground right now wasn’t as satisfying as having a dig at him. It seemed as if someone else was having an early morning wake up call by the sounds of Gwilym’s phone ringing repeatedly next door. You get up and walk over to the wall slowly, as if he’s going to know you’re listening in on him, then jump a little when you hear a thud that’s shortly followed by a grunt, and you can only imagine that he’s either dropped or thrown his phone.

“Oh dear,” you whisper to yourself as it begins to ring again and the bathroom door slams shut.

You back away from the wall and jump in the shower before getting dressed and heading down to breakfast five minutes early to see if there was any last minute things that Danielle needed doing, but when you get there you’re greeted by the sight of her and Gwilym huddled by the food hatch that connected the kitchen and the dining room as they talk to Anna through the small opening. They quickly stop when Anna nods your way and she shouts a quick ‘morning!’ before disappearing back into the kitchen as Gwilym heads towards you while you pull your chair out to take a seat.

“Good morning,” he smiles as he sits down at his own table.

“Morning,” you smile quickly before fiddling with the cutlery on your table unnecessarily.

People start to enter the dining room; two elderly couples and a family of six who are sat at a long table the opposite side of the room, and as everyone settles in to start eating you wait silently and patiently for your cooked breakfast to be served.

“Morning (Y/N),” Danielle sings as she places the hot plate of food down in front of you.

“Morning,” you reply with a sideways glance her way.

“And morning Gwilym,” she says as she then hands him his plate, “I don’t know why you two don’t just share a table. Would be much easier for my old legs.”

“It wouldn’t work unfortunately,” Gwilym replies, “when it comes to food she has to be one hundred percent in the zone. No distractions, and certainly no small talk.”

“That’s right!” you agree.

Danielle tuts and rolls her eyes which makes Gwilym laugh at her reaction, then she leaves to serve everyone else as you both get on with your breakfasts in a very welcome silence with only the background noise of the radio and quiet chattering of the other people going on around you. You can see him out of the corner of your eye as he looks over at you every now and again, and you have to fight yourself to not give in to your urges to look at him too.

“So now you’ve finished your breakfast…” he says as you place your knife and fork together on the now empty plate, “what are your plans for the day?”

“It’s a busy one today, got to fit a lot in actually,” you reply as you look at your watch to emphasise you needed to leave, “so I’d better head off now. Have a lovely day!”

You quickly down the rest of your orange juice then push your chair out and race next door to pick up your bag, get your jacket, and escape. Gwilym’s quick to follow though, and he’s hanging around by his door when you emerge from your room to leave.

“What are you doing after dinner this evening?” he asks as you go to rush past him.

“I’m… Erm…” there really wasn’t much you could say apart from the truth which was going back to your room and watching telly until you fell asleep, “having a well deserved night watching the telly.”

“Sure I couldn’t tempt you with a walk along the cliff path?” he asks hopefully, and you almost grimace at how guilty you feel for having to turn him down again.

“Not tonight I’m afraid, I’m no fun to be around when I’m tired,” you smile apologetically, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Where you’ll regale me of tales of your day?” he winks, not at all fazed by you brushing him off once more.

“After I’ve eaten of course.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he grins.

You consider extending the conversation and your mouth opens in preparation to speak, but you stop yourself before you make a sound and instead smile, nod, and walk out of there so as not to get too involved. As you’re walking away you hear his phone ringing once more from inside his room, and he lets out a loud and exasperated sigh as he walks inside to possibly answer it finally. When you reach your car you sit in the driver’s seat for a couple of minutes as you think about whether you’re being too offish with Gwilym, but then again you didn’t ask for anyone to start talking to you and this was your week to be completely selfish and focus on number one.

After taking a deep sigh you head away from the guest house and over to the other side of the island where you had a horse riding slot booked for the morning; the route taking you across the beach and into the countryside. It was something you’d been wanting to do for years but never got around to acting upon until everything kicked off. There’s nothing quite like finding out your boyfriend’s cheating on you to spur you into doing something you’ve never done before.

The day goes far too quickly for your liking after you’ve had your celebratory cream tea after the ride, and you’re soon heading back to the guest house to make sure you’re not late for dinner. There’s no sign of Gwilym when you arrive, his car’s not on the drive and all is quiet in his room as far as you can hear when you’re safely back in yours, and you almost find yourself missing the noise of someone near you so you didn’t feel so alone. That was one huge thing you’d noticed since the break up, the deep feeling of being completely alone, and it was something that you didn’t want to think about too much which is why you’d booked to do so many activities this week, to show that being on your own wasn’t so bad after all. It was nice to hear people walking about at night upstairs and listening to the distant chatter, as it gave you something to fall asleep to instead of unending silence.

“I know. This isn’t a decision I’ve taken to lightly...”

Gwilym’s voice is loud as he enters the annex but it soon quietens down when he nears his door to unlock it and enter the room, then as soon as it shuts behind him all you can hear is a heated, muffled whisper. He sounded stressed and your first instinct is to ask him if he’s okay at dinner, but that would be getting involved, and you’re not getting involved… but you will be a little more civil this evening if he attempts to strike up another conversation, he deserves a bit of friendliness after the seemingly stressful phone call he’s having.

“Not chatting to your new friend again, Danielle?” you smirk as you enter the dining room for dinner.

“We spoke plenty this morning,” she winks.

You roll your eyes and take a seat as an exasperated Gwilym enters the room with his hand mid way through his hair as he pushes his fingers through it roughly with a sigh.

“Evening,” Danielle greets him.

“Hi,” he says, forcing a smile.

He looks to you and his face visibly softens as his hand finally comes down to rest on the back of the chair to pull it out, and you give him a warm smile as his eyes appear to brighten right in front of you.

“How was your day?” he asks, his fingers fiddling with the napkin that lays underneath the cutlery.

“Good, thank you. Relaxing,” you nod, “and yours?”

“Started off great,” he smiles, “now… not so much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you sigh sadly, genuinely feeling bad for the guy, “if there’s anything… not that I can do much… but if you want to talk about it…”

You were getting involved.

“Careful, I might take you up on that offer by the end of the week,” he chuckles.

The rest of dinner goes by quietly and Gwilym gives you a smile and nod before leaving straight after dessert, but you find him standing outside once you’ve said goodnight to Danielle, Anna and Michael. He turns around once he hears your shoes on the concrete step and nods for you to join him standing half way up the path, looking up at the dark night sky and the tiny flecks of light that scatter throughout the deep blackness.

“How many do you think are up there?” he asks as you stand next to him.

“An infinite amount,” you whisper as you steal a glance up at his face.

“How come they’re so much more beautiful when on this island?”

“It’s magic,” you smile.

He turns to face you, seeing the way your features lit up at the thought of this place being some kind of magical destination, and as you meet his gaze, you could have sworn that a shooting star was reflected in those sparkling orbs of his.

@painthatiusedto @winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @tenement-funstah @rogmeddows @drivenbybri @mazzellosjoe

Coincidence or Miracle?

At the beginning of my third year at CalArts, I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to afford the fourth year. I needed to graduate at the end of the year and get a job. This was in the late 1980s. The places to work in animation at that time were Disney, Marvel, DIC, and Film Roman. There were some small commercial houses but I wasn’t aware of them at the time. There were also places to work in Korea or possibly Japan. But there weren’t any gaming studios and computer animation was still in its infancy. So, jobs were limited and not easy to come by.

I was worried. I had a lot of school loans I would need to pay back after leaving CalArts and, without a job, making payments was going to be pretty hard to do. So I prayed about it. In my prayer, I told Heavenly Father, “Please, I will work as hard as I possibly can this year. Please, will you get me a job at the end of the year?” I admit, deep in my heart I said: “at Disney’”. That was where I really wanted to work, but I figured I shouldn’t be picky when asking for divine intervention. I wanted to be willing to take whatever job the Lord would give me.

Before I go any further in my story, let me explain a few things. At CalArts, students were expected to start and complete their own personal film every year so that by the time they graduated, they would have made four films. This meant that the student would have to come up with a story, design the characters, storyboard their idea, draw all the backgrounds, record voices and sound effects, splice the soundtrack together, do something called “read” the sound which was a way to transfer dialog to a sheet of paper so the animator could sync the mouth movements of the character to the dialog. Then the student would animate the characters and, on a special camera called an Oxberry, shoot the animation one frame at a time on to 16mm film. These bits of film would then be spliced together and made to sync up with the sound by using a machine called a flatbed. The final step was to send your sound reel and your picture reel out to a compositing company to have the sound and picture put together as one film. It was a lot of work. Most of the students found themselves living in their cubicles by the time the composite deadline came. Some wouldn’t complete their films but would get their films composited anyway. Then at the end of the year, they could put their films in the CalArts Producer’s show. Producers, animators, and directors from anywhere in the US would be invited to the show and this was how many students had their work seen and received their first jobs.

Now back to my story. After having prayed, I got to work. But a lot of things went wrong that year. The new Director of the Animation Program, Bob Winquist, had decided that unless the student's film was completely finished, he was not going to show it in the Producer’s Show. But that year my story ideas just weren’t working. When I finally thought I had my story figured out I showed it to my animation teacher who told me that he wasn't interested until I introduced a little kitten towards the end of the story. He encouraged me to build my story around the cat and the main character, a burglar. That night, while walking back to my dorm room, I just so happened to see a couple of upperclassmen, Bruce and Russ, and we had an impromptu story meeting right in the parking lot. The story was rewritten on the spot. The next day I boarded it out and started working on character designs.

My next challenge was to find a voice for my burglar. Several weeks went by and but I couldn't find a voice for the character. Then one evening, my animation teacher did an imitation of the character he was animating at work. I knew the instant I heard his voice that it was the one I was looking for. The next day I got up the courage to call my teacher at work and ask him if he would be willing to record the voice of my character. He agreed and that night, me and a couple other students got together with him and he recorded the voice in one complete take. It was perfect! He added so much to the character and I could just see what the animation needed to be in my head. I sent the recording out with all the other student's recorded sound to be put on 16 mm mag. But when everyone’s sound came back, mine wasn’t there. I had checked it before I sent it out. The recording was perfect. But somewhere between the school, the transfer place and back, my sound had been lost. I had to call my animation teacher and ask him if he would be willing to come back in and re-record the sound. He did, but this time it just wasn’t the same. To make it worse, I kept trying to get my animation teacher to give the same performance he did the first time by reminding him of what did or said. Well, that just ended up getting him really frustrated. After five or six takes he was ready to leave. That was when it came to me to ask him to forget everything I had said and do just one more take but have fun with it. He did and the take was perfect.

I don’t remember how the first semester and part of the second had flown by so quickly. I remember that I animated like a fiend the last month or so of the school year, I remember shooting the animation on the gigantic Oxberry camera in the middle of the night and I remember reading all my sound during spring break. I remember working and reworking my animation as my teacher critiqued it. (My animation teacher looked at one shot I had done, then set it aside and said “let’s start over”. Sadness. ) I remember the composite deadline looming over me and then passing me by and I was still nowhere near done. I was discouraged. How was I going to get a job now? My film wasn’t complete and so it wouldn’t be in the Producer’s Show. I thought about giving up. But when I had prayed, I had told Heavenly Father I would work as hard as I could. So I clung to that and kept working though it looked like no one would ever see my film.

A couple of weeks after the composite deadline, and just a couple days before the Producer’s Show, while everyone else was taking a well-deserved break, I was still busting my butt, working on the flatbed, piecing my film together. The Associate Director of the Animation Program, Dale MacBeath, just so happened to walk by outside the flatbed room and heard me working. He came in and asked what I was working on. I rewound my little film and played it for him. He seemed kind of touched by it. He told me to wait there, he would be right back. When he came back, he had the director of the animation program, Bob Winquist, with him. They asked me to play my film again, so I did. The director of the animation program liked it so much that he decided the film had to be in the Producer’s Show. I told him that I had missed the composite deadline and my film still wasn’t done. I didn’t know how they would be able to include it in the show. In the same room was a pencil testing machine that had a huge old video camera on it. Dale grabbed the video camera and videoed my little film off the tiny screen on the flatbed. My film was shown in the Producer’s Show and I was invited to apply for an internship at Disney that summer because of it. I threw together a portfolio in one night, sent it to Disney, and that was how I got my first job.

There were quite a few “just so happens” that happened that year. Dale “just so happened to see my film and tell Bob about it. I "just so happened" to run into Bruce and Russ in the parking lot and have an impromptu story meeting. My animation teacher just so happened to have the voice I needed and the performance abilities I needed for my film. But one of the biggest just so happens was the animation teacher I had that year was Glen Keane, who just so happened to be one of the finest animators in the industry. A talented and knowledgeable man the Lord provided for me for just that one year. As far as I know, Glen, though he has since given many inspiring lectures, has not taught a full class again. I was one of the very few that received the full benefit of having him as my animation teacher for a year.

The Lord knew what I needed, and knew what it would take to get me where I needed to go. What’s more, I think it was the place the Lord wanted me to go at that time as well. He knew even before I prayed, what I would pray for. Perhaps He even inspired me with what to pray. I was able to pay off my school loans and work in the animation industry for the next ten years because the Lord gave me these blessings, these ”just so happens”. It took me a while to recognize that those "just so happens" were actually God's miracles, giving me the help and guidance that I needed in order for him to answer my prayers. I can’t express my gratitude enough for what he had done. 

Have you had any "just so happens" in your life? If so, take a closer look and you may see the hand of God working in your life as well. If you do, bow your head and give Him a prayer of gratitude!

P.S. Yep I’m in all of these pictures. Good luck finding me!

S1E13: Parents’ Night/Swing on Thru to the Other Side

DOUBLE SPINELLI

DOUBLE THE FUN

Also, this is the last (pair of) episode(s) in Season 1!

Parents’ Night

You bet Parents’ Night was something I looked forward to every year. We called it Open House, and it was in April, and I think I liked it because I was a parent-pleaser. Not just my own — I wanted to impress all the parents with how mature and/or grown up and/or smart I was.

Spinelli kind of has the opposite problem. She is not at all excited about Parents’ Night, and every year, she has a different excuse as to why her own parents can’t make it. Last year, Spinelli’s parents were in the Amazon. The year before, they were hang-gliding from Mount Everest.

This year, she tells the gang that her parents are having dinner at the White House, and everyone is stoked to hear it. Well, except Gretchen, beautiful buzzkill Gretchen, who points out that the President is in the Middle East this week. Undeterred, Spinelli explains that they’re just house-sitting, more or less. And that the Secret Service can’t do it because it’s their bowling night.

TJ, of course, isn’t having it, so he enlists the gang (minus Spinelli) to stake out her house that night. They see someone taking out the trash...and their cover is immediately blown, because that’s where Mikey is hiding, and it’s Spinelli who’s got the trash.

So next, TJ says they have to be direct — they fill up Mikey with water from the hose until he has to pee really bad, and they ask Spinelli to use her bathroom. She says no. She also says her parents are secret agents, which no one believes. Then...she says she’ll bring them to Parents’ Night.

A quick runthrough of what some of these parents are like:

The Ashleys’ parents dress in the same color scheme as their daughters and also say “Scandalous!”

Ever wonder why Gretchen’s so smart? Well, she’s a carbon copy of her parents.

TJ’s mom and dad are impressed that he made a whoopee cushion as a science project.

Gus’ dad is impressed that his desk is so clean and organized.

Mikey reads his parents some poetry, and his hippie dad gets so emotional that his mom (who looks like Mikey, but taller and a woman) comforts him.

Vince’s parents...are maybe the Black couple walking in near the beginning of the scene? We never meet them. Typical.

Spinelli shows up with her parents and they seem pretty much like her! They’re the tough-looking characters pictured above. Unfortunately, Spinelli met them in a parking lot and she doesn’t have the cash to keep them there all night. They go out into the hall, and from the classroom window, the gang sees them shaking down Spinelli for all her pennies.

So, the truth comes out: Spinelli’s parents...are embarrassing. That’s all. Except that’s not all, because when they finally show up — they found the Parents’ Night flyer in Spinelli’s dirty clothes — we learn that her mom (played by Katey Sagal!) calls her “pookie” and wipes her daughter’s face using the ol’ licking-her-finger method, and her dad calls her “princess.”

Her parents also aren’t 100% on names. To them, her very best friends are Mickey, Vance, Gretel, Russ, and BJ, and their teacher is Miss Grabkey. Neat. It’s when they share that Spinelli just stopped wetting the bed last year that she can’t take it anymore and heads to the roof.

Spinelli has a nice heart-to-heart with her parents, where they forgive her for her being so embarrassed! Because they love her, and she’ll understand someday, you know? She even shares that she was so embarrassed by them that she told her friends they were secret agents, which gets a good laugh.

They head down to enjoy the last of Parents’ Night together, but Spinelli’s dad tells them to go on without him, because...oops, he’s a secret agent, 006. And he declines a call to save the world because it’s Parents’ Night.

Takeaway: Less a takeaway, more an acknowledgement that Miss Grotke referred to parents as “be they mothers, be they fathers, be they whatever.” And while it’s 1998 and that’s probably not an acknowledgement of nonbinary parents (she’s probably referring to aunts, uncles, grandparents, and other non-parent guardians), that’s how I’m choosing to read it here in 2020.

Swing on Thru to the Other Side

The Church of Swinger Girl: Definitive Texts

Compiled by the prophet Ashley Spinelli

I have seen it! I have seen it with mine own eyes!

Swinger Girl, blessed be thy name, has ascended! Swinger Girl is no longer of this world! Whether she has transported to another dimension or another astral projection has taken my Swinger Girl to freedom, she has truly swung on thru to the other side!

What a pity it is that she did not take more of us with her.

---

I am a new woman.

My friends know the Old Spinelli, who would terrify all who crossed my path with my mighty fist. Today, the only fist that matters is that which is made when one grasps the chain of a swing, O Powerful Swing, that which snatched our Swinger Girl from this mortal coil!

New Spinelli is peaceful. New Spinelli wishes for peace. And, most of all, New Spinelli finally has purpose, has meaning. New Spinelli must join my Swinger Girl on the other side.

My friend Theodore insists I will be “back to normal” by tomorrow, as if “normal” is anything but a relative construct. This is my normal, Theodore. You will see!

---

O, the means of emulating my Swinger Girl, deeply do they connect me with something no longer of this world!

My people approached me at the sacred swing today, the swing where it happened, eager for a chance to share in some of its spiritual magic. What a majestic time, watching the playground become one, all because of the actions of my Swinger Girl!

Brother Mikey brought the supplies for the congregation. All are welcome to experience the glory of Swinger Girl, my Swinger Girl! The headgear and glasses only bring us closer to her!

---

What might my Swinger Girl have eaten for lunch?

How might she have eaten it?

We know not much about our Swinger Girl, naught but her preference for eating dessert as she wished it, not saving it for the end of a meal. What a powerful message!

I shall live my life as Swinger Girl lived hers!

---

Swing.

Swing.

Swing.

The hum across the playground indicates the time for my ascension is nigh. I will join my Swinger Girl in her universe, if she will have me. It is, as Swinger Girl would say, the journey that matters.

The journey over the top of the bar.

Freedom.

Takeaway: A classic. Spinelli starts a cult. Absolutely classic.

2doc Week Day 7-First Kiss

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of sex, alcohol, drugs, the usual

Wow, we’re at the last day just like that. Big thanks to everyone who participated, and by all means, keep using the tag if you continue to work with any of the prompts. Hope everyone had fun and maybe met some new members of the community!! <3 <3 <3

For three days, Stuart had been losing sleep and fearing for his life, and it was starting to show.

He could blame his jittery behavior and near constant mouthful of pills on the jetlag at first. After all, he’d never been to Japan, and adjusting to such a different time zone was no easy feat. He could tell that the others were weary from it all too. But when they returned to Kong after wrapping up the first half of their tour, spent yet exhilarated from the experience, he didn’t feel any better.

It got worse.

Because back in Kong with the four of them recharging and relaxing under one roof, Stuart could not help but face Murdoc almost constantly, his head spinning with guilt at what he’d done, and at the bassist’s own cluelessness.

He was a creep, a sodding awful friend. A liar.

“This is just the beginning,” Murdoc had spoken around the lip of a bottle of cognac. He’d been saying that nonstop on the tour, though his voice was particularly querulous that night. The thrill of touring, of performing live (behind a curtain, granted, but live nonetheless) to venues full of screaming fans had electrified him, and he was living the rockstar life he’d been aspiring to for the past decade of his life like he was trying to make up for lost time.

Stuart had never seen a man drink so much, snort so much, and fuck so much, oftentimes all at the same time. Not that he minded. On this particular night, he realized that Murdoc was teetering at the edge of his limits, even for him. So, with Russel out with Noodle to try some of Tokyo’s top-quality sushi (“when in Rome, do as the Romans do,” the drummer had said, “when in Japan, eat the sea”), he found himself tasked with making sure Murdoc didn’t take himself out Bonzo style.

An especially tough task since the singer had already imbibed half his weight in Sapporos and a couple of naproxen for his migraine.

“Yeah,” he prodded the bassist along when Murdoc fell quiet, head lulling a bit with exhaustion, bottle of liquor threatening to fall from his hands onto the hotel floor. “Just the beginning, Muds? Tell me more.”

Keeping the older man talking until he sobered up was probably the best idea, he figured. He wasn’t sure how he would pull that off, but Murdoc seldom needed much prompting to talk up a storm.

“Mate, you’n’me. Gonna…gonna tour every country on the map. Then the moon.” Murdoc had a bit of a stammer, Stuart had learned. It came out when he was drinking and not as sharp-minded as usual. He stumbled over words, tended to start phrases and then change them halfway through his sentences. It was interesting to learn that even something as simple as talking seemed to take extra consideration for Murdoc. To simply hold a conversation meant clearing hurdles.

Stuart spent his time vacillating between finding these details of Murdoc’s life sad and endearing. Tonight, beer softened his sentiments, and he was leaning towards the latter.

“I’d like that. We’ll sound good on the moon,” he agreed. “Great acoustics, I hear. Right, Murdoc, the acoustics are good?” Stay awake, you stupid sod.

Murdoc’s unfocused eyes slid across the room and snagged on his, suddenly focusing so sharply that Stuart’s heart skipped and he felt himself start to sweat under his arms a little bit. How could Murdoc look at him so intensely when he was so altered?The mis-matched gaze did not let up. The bassist spent a lot of his time staring at the singer, but to hold eye contact with him like this was rare. Intimidating. Electric.

“You’ll sound fucking brilliant wherever you sing, mate,” he replied, and Stuart felt warm suddenly; he rose to open the window, stumbling over a few empty beer bottles on his way across the bedroom. “Your voice carrying across the stage. Satan, the stuff of wet dreams.”

“That’s a weird way to compliment someone.”

“I’m not complimenting…wasn’t trying to compliment you.”

Stuart took a few deep breaths of fresh air, then crossed back to resume sitting in the chair beside the bed where the older man was sprawled, but Murdoc reached out, caught his wrist, eyes defiant despite his intoxication.

“What, Muds?”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Okay, I heard you.” What was it then, a come-on? He jerked his hand out of the bassist’s grip, trying to shove that idea out of his head. “You’ve sounded good too, you know. You’re good live. The fans go crazy for you.”

“Of course they do. You see what I do with my hips. Between your looks and my…zest, we carry the band’s sex appeal. It’s a two-man job. We create, we establish that tension.”

“We sure do, mate. Can I get you some water?” Because he did not want to sit around talking about his sex appeal with Murdoc any more. Especially since his heart was beating faster, and the tips of his fingers felt pins and needles prickly. Must be a result of the drugs. Mixed with the damn beers. Mixed with the fact that he felt high every time he was alone with Murdoc.

“You ever shagged a bloke?” Murdoc asked arbitrarily, and Stuart could swear that the room tilted a bit in that moment.

“Excuse me?”

The older man’s eyes were still on him. On his mouth, his hands, always coming back to his eyes. He was glazed with liquor; he didn’t care how embarrassed the singer looked. His words simply had to come out.

“Have you?”

“No, Murdoc,” he replied, again crossing the room, this time to the mini fridge, and his relief to find mini bottles of water was overwhelming. It took a long time for him to manage to twist the small bottle open. He didn’t bother to ask if Murdoc had ever shagged a bloke. He didn’t want to know. “Gotta use the loo. I’ll be right back. Don’t choke on your own vomit, okay?”

“Hm,” Murdoc responded, eyes wandering up to consider the room’s molding as the singer legged it to the bathroom.

Stuart took his time, rinsing his face with cold water, downing the bottle from the fridge and tossing the container into the trashcan. Wasn’t Japan big on recycling? Fuck it. He was practically on vacation.

He smoothed his hair, tried not to think about what in Murdoc’s confused brain would bring him to ask such a question. By the time he made it back out, Murdoc had fallen asleep; his nose made a slight whistling noise as he breathed through it, and Stuart knew him well enough to know that it was only a matter of minutes before his mouth opened so he could breath that way instead. His nasal passages were so busted that he was doomed to sleep looking corpselike, mouth hung open and loud snores imminent.

In the meantime, he was still and he was quiet. And Stuart came to stand over him, looking at the open bottle of cognac somehow unspilled in his arms, at the gleam of his gold cross, at the faint stubble on his chin. Keeping him talking had been a bad idea, the singer decided. Better to let Murdoc sleep the alcohol off and keep an eye on him.

And while he had this moment to himself…

Alone in a foreign country with no one else around, Stuart leaned down and pressed his lips very softly against Murdoc’s.

He pulled back, heart hammering, entire face hot with shame. He flicked on the television, listening to the news in Japanese for a bit.

Five minutes later, Murdoc’s mouth hung open as he snored and Stuart was working through a few more Sapporos. Ten minutes later, Murdoc was flying awake to lean over the edge of the bed and vomit all over the carpet. The sight alone set off the singer’s gag reflex, and he joined in, prompting a late-night visit from an overly polite but clearly distressed staff member.

It didn’t matter that nobody knew what had happened. Because that didn’t’ change the fact that Stuart had taken advantage, kissed Murdoc when he was asleep and unable to turn down the gesture. His anonymity only increased his guilt.

So he was dismayed when Murdoc barged into his room without knocking on the third day back from their tour, looking grumpy and exhausted.

“This heart-felt moment has been brought to you by the Russel Hobbs Federation of Social Niceties,” he spat kicking at the coils of wires that Stu had arranged around the keyboard he was tinkering with, trying to be useful, trying to keep busy.

“What does that even mean?” he asked, confused, and not making efforts to get up off the floor.

“It means Russ has been giving me a hard time. Because apparently I did something to upset you.”

Stuart had gone out of his way to avoid Murdoc since The Incident, so he was surprised to hear that Russel thought the bassist had been getting into fights with him. “No, Muds. You haven’t done anything. Can you close the door on your way out? Also maybe try knocking next time—”

“Slow down there, Crawley, Stills, and Nash.”

“How long’ve you been waiting to use that nonsensical nickname?” he couldn’t help but smile at the bassist’s wit, matched only by his lack of logic, and Murdoc caught his smile and looked pleased.

“Think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since we left Tokyo.”

And just like that, his expression clouded.

“Faceache. Seriously. I haven’t the faintest idea what I’ve done to upset you, but I’ve noticed it, Russel noticed it, and if the way she points her spoon at me when she eats her cereal in the morning, even Noodle’s onto it. Everyone here assumes I’ve upset you, so go ahead and let me know what I’ve done so I can decide whether or not to bother saying I won’t do it again.”

Stuart looked down at the auxiliary cord in his hand and sighed. “I promise, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re all right; I’ve been acting a little weird. But it really wasn’t your fault. I did something I shouldn’t have. Trying to sort out what to do about it now.”

Murdoc looked intrigued. “We going to have someone ringing the door in nine months time asking for child support?”

The singer pulled a face. “Of course not! Nothing like that!”

“Right,” Murdoc looked unconvinced, but now there was something else on his features. Mild alarm. Stuart realized with a rush that the bassist was getting concerned for him. “What was it then? Nobody hurt you, did they? Mate, I’m being honest when I tell you I remember about seven minutes total from Tokyo. I know you were drinking a lot too. If anyone hurt you—”

“No one hurt me!” he snapped, rising to his feet so he could loom over Murdoc, who instantly stepped back a bit so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck so much to meet the singer’s eyes. “Maybe you should go.”

“You join the Yakuza?” Murdoc asked, ignoring his suggestion, turning nasty to keep the singer from clamming up more.

Stuart took the bait at once. “No! Look I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Nothing illicit like that, got it? You haven’t done anything wrong, and since you didn’t want to be here in the first place, I don’t see why you won’t just leave me alone!”

“Well because now I’m intrigued by little Stu’s bad behavior,” he replied, smug.

“Piss off, Murdoc.”

“C’mon, just tell me what went wrong!”

“No, get out of my room—”

“I won’t breathe it to another soul!”

“Murdoc get ou—”

“You’ll feel better if you just say it, mate—”

“I kissed a man,” Stuart seethed.

Murdoc froze so dramatically that the singer could practically hear the comedic record scratch. “Well. That’s certainly not like joining the Yakuza at all. Stepping out of the closet, are you?”

“No,” he said tersely, feeling a headache coming on anew. “Just wanted to try it. So I did. And uh, it’s been on my mind ever since. Happy now?”

The bassist certainly didn’t look happy. He stared at Stu with a look akin to betrayal on his face. The singer flinched when his mouth opened, awaiting the stream of homophobic slurs that would no doubt become his new nicknames.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

The singer was caught off guard. “He didn’t really kiss back,” he admitted. “So, it wasn’t really a good, satisfying kiss. I can’t say. You uh, you probably don’t remember. But you got really drunk one night and asked if I’d ever been with a man. I had never considered it, but you made me think about it. So, uh. That’s how it happened.”

“Glad to know I inspired you to get out of your comfort zone,” Murdoc said, a lackluster smile on his mouth.

“Too bad it wasn’t a real kiss though,” Stuart said, and why the hell did he say that? As though Murdoc cared one bit for how satisfying his half-true dalliances were.

“Would you…” Murdoc took a step forward, his neck bending back a bit to hold the singer’s gaze. “Would you want to see what it’s like? A proper kiss, that is.”

There were no liquor bottles this time. No pills so he could pretend this moment was a fabrication of his drug-addled brain. His chest felt tight and his fingertips were going a little numb with adrenaline again. And there was Murdoc, smelling of cigarettes, his eyes not narrowed like they usually were, expression unreadable. They both knew the answer to the question.

He had been asking it himself since he’d blurted out what he’d done in Tokyo.

“Y…yes.”

Murdoc didn’t wait for any further social cues. He closed the space between them, jutting his face up to meet the singer’s mouth, kissed him like they’d done it a million times before: no hesitation, no doubt, just the firm warmth of lips against his.

Stuart’s head spun with the sensation, and he reached out, wanting to touch the older man, deciding against it last-minute. His hands remained frozen between their chests and Murdoc tilted his head slightly, let their lips drag against each other a bit, and the singer had to fight off the urge to moan softly. It was more than acceptable. It was intoxicating.

Just like that, the bassist pulled back, searching Stuart’s eyes like there was text there he couldn’t quite figure out how to read.

“Alright, dents?”

“Yeah.”

“You look ready to keel over.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. No, wait. No!”

He smiled, but not even close to a sincere one. “Did I repel you, then?” he asked. “It was just a kiss, 2D. We never have to do it again, so don’t look so bloody stricken.”

“I’m not stricken. I mean, I was surprised, Muds,” he admitted, looking away, at the keyboard he had set out to fix and had only dismantled. “Like, surprised by how much I liked it.”

“Hm,” the bassist considered his answer, then his expression brightened a bit. “Well, if it wasn’t the worst thing you ever experienced, we could always try it again.”

“Oh!” he was blushing now, how utterly humiliating. Blushing and stumbling for words and taking a few steps back. “I mean, I hadn’t considered that. We just did a second ago, do you really think we should do it again so soon—”

Murdoc was following each step he took, and suddenly the singer’s back was against the wall and he knew that he was losing the chance to deescalate the situation. If he asked the bassist to back off, he knew Murdoc would.

Instead, he let his eye fall mostly closed, focusing on the bassist’s mouth.

“Yeah, alright.”

“Hm. That’s nice, pet, very nice,” he purred, voice so low that Stuart could feel more than hear it.

Then Murdoc’s mouth was on his again, and when his shoulders hit the wall seconds later and the bassist’s hands rose to pin them there, he let himself moan like he’d been wanting to.

By the time Murdoc pulled away from his wet lips, pressing a last peck to the corner of his mouth, looking at him through his fringe with his breath quickened and fluttery, Stuart knew he had to set the record straight about what had happened in Tokyo.

Not right away, of course. For the present, he could use that jealousy that he tasted on Murdoc’s tongue to his advantage. He had quite a few more kisses he wanted from the bassist.

Countries Away Prologue

((This is a countryhumans au fanfic I write in my quotev. Follow me at @SweetLittleBumblebeeTFP on there. Here the link. https://www.quotev.com/SweetLittleBumblebeeTFP

Okay, here the summary-

Amos Janesville is an older brother of 4. As a bisexual male, he's often bullied. His only friends are those like him. So when he gets a flag of the United States of America painted on him, his life drastically changes in more ways than one.

And now here the story))

All I need is a little love in my life

All I need is a little love in the dark

A little but I'm hoping it might kickstart

Me and my broken heart

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

     "Up and over!" Amos Janesville watched as his brother Candon use his skateboard to perform a trick. He landed a 180 and the board rolled on the ramp, with his foot slightly dragging. “How’d I do Amos?” Candon asked, one hand on his hip and the other picking up his new high-speed skateboard. Amos smiled.

     "You did great, Candy!" He said, clapping. "Y'know, I got worried when you got the thing, but you're awesome at it! Now I need to find my perk." Candon laughed.

     "Amos, you don't need a perk! You're already awesome!" He said, flipping the board into the air and catching it. "I mean, sure, Zeke has his music, and Austin has his reptiles, but you're you!" Amos chuckled. The twins - while a minute apart - were nothing like each other. Austin was an outdoorsman and Zeke was a natural song writer and singer. Even Amos couldn't match up to them.

      "Oh yeah? What do I have that you guys don't?" Amos asked Candon.

     "You're gay. That's something." Candon offered after thinking about it. His brother cupped one hand on the bridge of his nose and inhaled in a dramatic fashion.

       “First off I’m bi, there’s a difference dear brother of mine,” Amos retorted, crossing his arms. “Second of all sexuality has nothing to do with this! I’m talking about any talents I might have,” Candon made an 'o' with his mouth and nodded.

       "Well, you can... fight! I've seen you duke it out against Russel!" Russell Sovienda, a Russian boy in Amos's sparring class and also his rival, was also known for being the brother of Candon's crush, Ukiah. Amos smirked.

      "Okay, maybe I can. But you guys can too!" He said.

     ”Maybe I can, maybe I can’t brother,” Candon told him, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway we should probably get to class, we don’t want to worry Jackie by being late,” - Jackie Kiastu, the new Japanese transfer student to Burreling High School, immediately became friends with the brothers. Her stylish looks and all around cute hair made her a little popular too.

       ”Yeah, you’re right Candy. Don’t want her to freak out,” Amos replied, picking up his backpack and started heading across the street from the skate park.

       "I wonder if Spencer will be at school this time. He's always missing class." Spencer Española, one of Amos's childhood friends, was a kid with problems. He missed school and barely showed. Even the Janesville brothers didn't know where he was. Zeke thought that he was probably being held hostage by his dad, but there were doubts.

        "You wonder about Spencer. I'll think about her." Amos smiled as his mind drifted off to the Filipino girl, Philippa Maharlika. Philippa's full name was Philippines, but she went by Philippa. Her sharpie tattoos and badass attitude were what drew Amos to her. Candon snickered.

        "Y'know, maybe if you actually asked her out, maybe you could snag her." He teased. Amos cheeks dusted to an almost fully light red color, he tugged his brother’s ponytail gently.

       “Do you think she’d actually say yes?” He asked as they neared the school.

        "Bro, I know that'd she'd say yes! You're the coolest guy around. And let's not forget who saved her from being attacked by Spencer's dad." Candon smiled, looking towards the large building, then stopping.

         "Candon, what's up?" Amos asked, looking in the same direction. He froze. A group of kids were being herded to a certain spot of the courtyard. The brothers exchanged glances, and neared the spot.

            "AMOS! CANDON!" Amos and Candon whipped their heads toward the crowd. When they felt a pair of hands shove them over to the crowd, both brothers froze. As they arrived they heard an all too familiar word ring inside their ears; Belle and Russel were standing in the middle of the circle as was Spencer and Jackie. “We have another pair before the fight begins,” - It was a cool and clear as daylight, Gesper seemed to be the cause of the issue.

        “What the hell are you doing?” Amos asked the German teen. Though he kept his lips sealed and pushed the brothers in the rest of the way.

        "Oh shit..." Candon said. "Amos-" Amos stopped his brother there.

       "Don't worry, Candon, I'm a pro at this." He made his fists and the fight began. Russel ran to Amos, tackling him. "OOF-"

          "Nowhere to hide, Amos!" He said in a thick Russian accent. Amos grunts and shoved him off.

         "No where to run, Russ." He turned to Candon. "Okay, you deal with Spence and Jackie. I got Russel and Belle." Candon nodded and ran forward to them, throwing punches here and there. Amos turned his attention on Russel, who sucker punched him in the face. Amos threw them back. By the time it was first period, the students were sore and aching. Spencer put his hands on his back and cracked it.

        "Mierda. Who knew we'd be doing a fucking fight? Never thought Gesper would do that." He commented as his back emitted a loud crack. Before he could respond, Amos was tackled.

          "YOU'RE ALIVE!" The voice that Amos knew as his brother Zeke said. How he managed to get to the high school was a mystery, since he and Austin were middle schoolers. But as he studied his brother he noticed something off. His face was different.... the New Zealand's flag was on his face. The paint had dried, and it felt rough like their cat: Wendy’s fur.

        “Candon come see this. I have no idea what to make of it,”  Candon looked at Zeke's face.

         "What happened, Zeke?" Zeke shrugged.

         "Some guy grabbed Aus and I and painted our faces like this. Told us to not wash it off.  Kinda weird if you ask me. Austin got Australia." He explained, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Kinda weird if you asked me." Amos sighed.

           "The hell? Why would someone do that?" Jackie asked. Zeke shrugged again.

          "Dunno, but Aus and I weren't the only ones - a couple of girls named Indiana Kakai, Mallory Itu, and Brittany Miller got picked too. Indiana got Indonesia, Mallory got Malaysia, and Brittany got Britan. Philippa also got one - Philippines." He counted off. Amos blanched.

          "Philippines? Is she okay-" Zeke raised a hand.

          "She's fine. Protective much?" He asked him.

         Amos groaned and covered his face, hiding the new shades of pink dusting it. “Let’s not talk about it right now,” He told Zeke, grabbing the older twin’s shoulders. “Especially not in front of Gesper and his annoying crew,”

          "Just head back home and we’ll see you there. Alright?” Candon spoke.

          Zeke nodded and picked up his things before charging out of the high school gates. “See you then!”

          He let out a sigh of relief and slung his arm around Candon’s shoulders. “We really have to go to class, can’t have mom finding out,”

           ”If you say so..,”

Title: Mont-Tremblant

word count: ~3.7k

tags: valet!Sid, gentleman!Geno, 1920s au, PWP

rating: E

warnings: explicit sex, implicit cultural homophobia

My submission to the @sidgenophotochallenge

The most beautiful man Zhenya’s ever seen opens the door and smiles kindly at him.

“Bienvenue à Chateau d’ Mont-Tremblant, Monsieur Malkin.”

Zhenya stares, starstruck, but only for a moment until the wind blows snow against the back of his neck and he steps into the warmth of the mansion.

He smiles back at the footman and rummages through his limited repertoire of French phrases.

“Merci beaucoup. Parlez-vous russe ou anglais?”

“I can speak English, sir,” he says as he shuts the door firmly.

“I’m relieved! My French, it’s very bad. English is little bit better.”

“Glad to be of service, sir. I’m Crosby, the first footman.”

“Nice to meet. They will bring my things inside?” he asks gesturing vaguely to the door.

“Yes, sir. And they’ll take your horses to the stables.”

“Good. Tell them take extra care of my horses, yes?”

“Of course, sir,” Crosby says as he leads Zhenya through the entry hall.

“They very good ponies. I rent them in Montréal. Stableman says they called Valeur and Victoire, but I say is too serious. They funny ponies. Call them Iceberg and Penguin. Like to play in the snow. Give them lots of carrots!”

The footman tries to stay professional, but he can’t help the laugh that escapes.

“Iceberg and Penguin? I’ll make sure the stable-hands are informed.”

“Thank you. Is very important,” he says with a grin.

Crosby smiles back and asks, “Would you like to see Seigneur Lemieux before dinner or should I take you to your rooms?”

“Like to see Lemieux first, if he’s not busy,” Zhenya replies.

“Very well, sir.”

Crosby stops in front of a large, ornate door and knocks.

“Seigneur Lemieux?” he asks.

“Entrez!”

“Mon Seigneur, Monsieur Malkin est arrivé. Allez-vous le recevoir?”

“Oui!”

Crosby opens the door wider and steps back, gesturing Zhenya forward.

“Seigneur Lemieux, Monsieur Malkin. Mister Malkin, Lord Lemieux.”

Lemieux stands up from behind his desk and walks toward Zhenya.

“Malkin, you scoundrel! It’s been ages!” he says and gathers him in a friendly embrace.

“Not long enough, Lemieux!” Malkin jokes, returning the hug.

“How have you been?”

“Good. Your footman very nice, put up with my English!”

Lemieux smiles.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’d forgotten your deficiency in French. I suppose we’re both lucky Crosby’s the most competent footman in Québec, no?”

“Yes, very lucky,” Zhenya says as he smiles at Crosby.

Crosby’s cheeks flush just a hint, and he demurs, “You’re too kind.”

He steps back and turns to Lemieux, “Is there anything else I can do for you, mon Seigneur?”

“There is. I planned to have Letang valet Malkin, but he only speaks French. Would you be willing to valet through the winter?”

“Of course, mon Seigneur.”

“I have some business to finish up here. Would you take Malkin to his rooms, prepare him for dinner?”

“Oui, mon Seigneur.”

“I’ll see you at dinner, Malkin,” Lemieux dismisses kindly.

Malkin nods, “Lemieux,” and follows Crosby out of the study.

Crosby leads him down a corridor, then up a flight of stairs, and down another hall.

“So you my valet for winter here?” Zhenya asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m very happy for this,” he says sincerely.

“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Crosby responds.

“I’m never have valet before, so you have to teach me, yes?”

“Never?”

Zhenya shakes his head.

Crosby stares at him for a moment, then says, “Well, it’s quite simple, sir. Whatever you need, I provide.”

“Anything?” Zhenya asks teasingly.

Crosby smiles, “Yes, sir.”

“What if I’m need very big elephant? You find for me?”

Crosby laughs, “The work of a minute, sir.”

“If I’m need piece of the moon, you get for me?”

“Easily, sir,” he teases back with a crooked smile.

“If I need sweets from the kitchen, you bring to me?”

“Well, now you’ve gone too far, sir,” he jokes.

Zhenya laughs.

As they turn the corner, a servant passes by. Crosby’s smile is replaced with a professional reserve. He straightens his back and clears his throat.

“Your bags and suitcases should have been brought to your rooms. Is there a particular suit you would like to wear to dinner?”

“You pick which one you like best.”

“Yes, sir.”

At the end of the hall, Crosby stops and opens the door and gestures Zhenya in. The rooms are beautifully decorated and a fire is crackling in the sitting room. Zhenya’s suitcases and bags sit next to a chaise lounge. Several large, arched windows provide a beautiful view of the snow blanketing the estate.

“Very beautiful,” Zhenya observes.

“I’ll pass the complements on to Dame Lemieux.”

Zhenya starts to unbutton his outercoat.

“Allow me, sir,” Crosby says as he steps forward and begins to open Zhenya’s heavy coat.

Zhenya’s arms fall to his sides and he stares at Crosby’s face, focused on the buttons of his coat. His hands move efficiently down Zhenya’s front. When he’s finished he walks around to Zhenya’s back and gently pulls the coat off him.

“This what valets do?” Zhenya asks with a rough voice.

“Yes, sir,” he responds with a gentle smile as he walks across the room toward the fireplace.

Zhenya clears his throat, then walks to the chaise lounge and lays down on it. He watches as Crosby hangs his coat by the fire to dry the melted snow, then begins to unpack Zhenya’s belongings.

He’s beautiful in the way he moves, Zhenya thinks. Graceful. He tries not to stare too much, but it’s so hard to look away.

He unpacks Zhenya’s clothes first, opening garment bags, pulling the suits from them and hanging them in the closet, neatly organized by level of formality. His travelling suits on the left of the closet to his black tails on the right. He pulls a suit from the center right of the closet and turns to Zhenya.

“Will this suffice for dinner?”

Zhenya nods.

Crosby sets it aside and continues unpacking Zhenya’s belongings while Zhenya continues watching him.

“Would you like to dress for dinner now?” Crosby asks after he has finished with Zhenya’s luggage.

Zhenya stands up as an answer. Crosby walks up behind him and deftly pulls his already unbuttoned suit jacket from his shoulders then lays it on the chaise lounge. He turns back and gently pushes on one of Zhenya’s shoulders to turn him around.

He smiles at Crosby once they’re face to face and Crosby smiles back. He holds his hand out and Zhenya stares at it.

Crosby’s lips twitch, and he kindly says, “Cufflinks next.”

Zhenya lifts his right arm and places his hand in Crosby’s. Zhenya absentmindedly rubs his thumb across the delicate bones of Crosby’s wrist.

Crosby glances up at Zhenya’s face. He looks just for a moment then back down. When Crosby switches to his left cuff, Zhenya again drags his thumb along Crosby’s wrist, this time deliberately. Crosby clears his throat and turns to put the cufflinks in the jewelry box sitting on the table near the chaise.

Maybe, Zhenya thinks.

Crosby returns and lifts his hands to Zhenya’s neck, gently pulling at the knotted tie. With his hands against his neck, Zhenya knows Crosby can feel his blood racing.

He lifts his chin and Crosby pulls the knot loose, then pulls the end through the knot and lets the tie drape over Zhenya's shoulders.

His fingers slide beneath Zhenya’s shirt collar. When he flips it up, his thumb brushes across the apple of Zhenya’s throat and he swallows reflexively.

He can hear Crosby’s breath catch.

Their eyes meet as he pulls the silk tie off Zhenya’s shoulders and drops it to the floor.

Though Zhenya’s never had a valet before, he knows that jackets, cuffs, and ties are all the undressing a valet usually does. When Crosby places both hands on his shoulders, Zhenya's breath catches.

Maybe this flirtation hasn't been imagined. Not just him longing for a beautiful man, but something real, something returned, Zhenya hopes.

Crosby drags both his thumbs across Zhenya’s collarbones and Zhenya tenses. After a couple of passes, back and forth, he pushes Zhenya’s suspenders off his shoulders and they fall to his sides.

He reaches back up to Zhenya’s neck and unbuttons the two buttons near his collar, then rubs his thumb against the base of Zhenya’s throat. Zhenya releases a long-held breath.

Crosby drags his palm down the crisp white shirt covering Zhenya’s chest and his fingers dance down Zhenya’s body, easily pulling the buttons from their openings. When he reaches the bottom he firmly grips the shirt and pulls it up, untucking it from Zhenya’s trousers.

He slides his hands beneath Zhenya’s unbuttoned shirt, against his stomach and slowly ghosts them up his body until they sit under his shirt on top of his shoulders. Crosby steps forward and Zhenya can feel his breath against his throat as he pushes the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. Crosby looks back up at him and drops to his knees.

Zhenya can’t help but moan.

Kneeling like he is, Zhenya knows it’s impossible for him to miss the way Zhenya wants him.

He reaches for Zhenya’s left foot and unties his boot while rubbing his thumb up and down the back of Zhenya’s calf. He runs his hand up Zhenya’s leg, stopping at the back of his knee, bending it to help pull off his boot and sock, then switches to Zhenya’s right leg to repeat the process.

He kneels up, and his nose brushes against the cloth drawn taut at the front of Zhenya’s trousers. He slides his hands up the outside of Zhenya’s legs, up to his hips.

Zhenya curls his toes against the floor, doing everything he can not to spend in his trousers.

The long minutes of teasing from this beautiful man and the absolute relief of this dangerous desire reciprocated have brought him so close to the edge. He’s right there and Zhenya knows it won’t take much to push him over.

He brings his hand to rest against the front of Zhenya’s trousers, palm flat against Zhenya’s cock. Zhenya groans and his hips instinctively jump forward. A small smile graces Crosby’s face as he moves his fingers to the buttons of Zhenya’s trousers.

He holds his hands still, staring up at Zhenya until Zhenya finally begs, “Please.”

Crosby acquiesces and easily unfastens both buttons. Zhenya’s trousers fall to the floor. They pool around his ankles. Crosby lifts each of Zhenya’s feet, pulling the fabric off and away, leaving Zhenya in nothing but his boxer shorts.

Crosby sits back on his heels and stares his fill. He runs his palms over the pale skin of Zhenya’s legs before resting them behind Zhenya’s knees. He looks up in silent askance and Zhenya tightly nods.

Crosby pulls his hand from behind Zhenya’s left knee and hesitantly lays it on his kneecap. He softly runs his fingers across the mottled scars that adorn his knee.

“The war?”

Zhenya nods again. Crosby leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the inside of his knee. Zhenya almost sobs at the sweetness, at how innocent it is.

He drags his lips a few inches up and lays another reverent kiss on his inner thigh. He moves his mouth to Zhenya’s other leg, pressing another kiss, switching sides back and forth up his thighs until he meets the hem of Zhenya’s shorts.

He kneels back up and drags his nose along Zhenya’s cock, teasing him through his shorts. He pulls back just a bit and lays wet, open-mouthed kisses from base to tip, leaving his lips resting against the damp fabric at the head. He stares up at Zhenya with an ardent gaze, devout and deep. Zhenya stares right back, completely awestruck.

Crosby pulls back just the slightest and licks his lips. He reaches up and unfastens the two buttons of Zhenya’s shorts and they fall to the floor.

He grabs Zhenya’s cock, wraps his hand around the base, and takes the tip into his mouth.

Zhenya throws his head back and bites his lip.

Crosby bobs his head a little, taking a bit more into his mouth

“ну ты даешь,” Zhenya admires.

He wants this to last, wants it more than anything. Beautiful men like this, men of this persuasion are so rare, so scarce and it’s precarious, so risky to seek them out. Zhenya knows he’ll never find another man like this, a man this beautiful and sweet.

He wants this moment to last- God, does he want it to last- but he knows it can’t. He’s so close to the edge, right there on the precipice. And this beautiful man is sucking his cock, his plush lips wrapped tight around him, his tongue striking timid glances against the tip, and, God, it’s the most gorgeous thing Zhenya’s ever seen.

Crosby looks up at him from his knees and meets his gaze. Zhenya reaches down and runs his hand through Crosby’s lush, dark hair and Crosby moans around his cock.

That’s all it takes.

He spends in Crosby’s mouth and it’s perfect. His hips jump and he comes. Crosby hums and swallows it down. Zhenya still can’t catch his breath. His chest heaves and he wants to fall over but instead he just keeps running his fingers through Crosby’s hair, petting him.

Eventually, Zhenya’s hand falls to his side, and Crosby sits back on his heels, letting Zhenya’s cock withdraw from his mouth.

Zhenya stares down at him in wonderment.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes.

Crosby’s cheeks flush and he looks away.

Zhenya offers Crosby his hand and helps him to his feet. Crosby self-consciously dusts off his knees, and refuses to meet Zhenya’s gaze. His cheeks are still flushed, his hair is mussed, and his lips are red and swollen.

He looks absolutely sinful.

Zhenya raises his hand and lays it against Crosby’s cheek. His breathing stutters. Zhenya drags his thumb along his red bottom lip, pulling gently at it. All Zhenya can think about is the fact that he's the one who debauched this beautiful man. His lips are so raw and flushed because he sucked Zhenya’s cock.

It’s hard for Zhenya to look away from those perfect lips, so soft against his finger, but when his eyes meet Crosby’s, he’s glad he did. His pupils are blown wide. Beautiful brown eyes, once with a warm gaze, now stare hotly back.

The grandfather clock tolls, marking the hour, and Crosby jumps back and clears his throat.

“I’ll go get your suit, Monsieur. I’ve laid it out jus-,” Crosby rasps.

Zhenya pulls him forward and cuts him off with a kiss. Crosby moans into Zhenya’s mouth. He places his hand on Crosby’s abdomen and drags it down, grasping him through his trousers. Crosby moans again and bucks into his hand, then pulls back.

“Dinner will be served soon. I need to get you dressed,” he gasps as Zhenya kisses down his jaw.

“Won’t take long, I think,” Zhenya replies into his ear, before he gently grazes it with his teeth.

“This, or dressing you?” he asks breathlessly.

“Both,” Zhenya retorts as he moves his hand up to unfasten the buttons of Crosby’s jacket.

Once he has it open, he brings his hand to the waist of Crosby’s trousers and unfastens one of his suspenders. He yanks Crosby’s white shirt upward, untucking it from his trousers and slides his hand beneath it. He can feel Crosby shudder under his hand.

“Oh… that’s so… oh, God, please keep going. Don’t stop,” he moans.

Zhenya slides his hands into his trousers and inside his underwear. It’s tight against his wrist and the angle is awkward but the way Crosby moans in response more than makes up for the discomfort.

He wraps his hand around Crosby’s cock, and the way Crosby whimpers, the way his eyes flutter, makes Zhenya wish he were young enough to go another round. Crosby’s face contorts in pleasure with every stroke, and Zhenya would happily do this for the rest of his life just to watch Crosby respond. It’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

Zhenya keeps stroking him, and Crosby is getting closer and closer to the edge. Zhenya can hear it, in the way his whimpers move to higher and higher pitches, and in the way his hips jump roughly toward Zhenya, seeking more contact, more touch.

He goes back to kissing Crosby’s neck, and Crosby gasps and tilts his head, giving Zhenya more room to kiss and taste.

Zhenya knows he shouldn’t, knows it might leave a risky mark, but he can’t deny the opportunity, can’t resist the impulse to lightly bite at the delicate skin, just a gentle graze of his teeth.

The little bite to his neck is enough to push Crosby over the edge. He releases a quiet little moan and his cock jumps in Zhenya’s grip. Zhenya feels Crosby’s release stripe his arm and wrist. His hips stutter a bit and Zhenya presses soft kisses to the side of his neck and strokes him until he’s finished.

Crosby falls forward, and rests his forehead against Zhenya’s shoulder, his warm breath drifting across Zhenya’s collarbone. Zhenya’s wraps his free arm around Crosby’s shoulder and rests his hand against the back of his neck, soothing him with gentle strokes of his thumb.

The two of them stand there, catching their breath, Zhenya entirely undressed and Crosby completely disheveled.

Eventually, after his breathing has evened out, Crosby steps back, huffs out a laugh, and bashfully smiles up at Zhenya. Zhenya beams back.

Zhenya awkwardly pulls his hand out of Crosby’s trousers, trying his best not to stain Crosby’s trousers with the wetness on his hand.

After he manages to extricate it, he looks around for something to wipe his hand on, but finds nothing. Crosby reaches down and grabs Zhenya’s old shirt from the floor and cleans Zhenya’s hand with it. Zhenya raises his eyebrows.

Crosby quirks his lips and offers, “I was going to have it cleaned anyway.”

Zhenya huffs a laugh in response and pulls him in for an indulgent kiss.

Crosby pulls away breathless and says, “I really do need to dress you for dinner.”

“Yes, okay. You right. But we get you dressed first, yes?”

Crosby looks down at himself, and for the first time, notices his state of disarray.

“Oh! I hadn’t realized!” he says, a little embarrassed.

He straightens his trousers and neatly tucks his shirt back into them. He finds the stray suspender strap and twists it the right way around and attaches it to the waist of his trousers. Then he rebuttons his jacket and smooths his hands down his front.

“Am I all straightened up?” he asks, turning to Zhenya.

Zhenya laughs. Crosby’s lips are still raw, and his cheeks are still a little pink, and his hair is an absolute mess.

“Not quite,” Zhenya says and steps forward.

He raises his hand and begins to comb Crosby’s hair back. He does the best he can, but it still looks a wreck.

“Wait right here,” Zhenya says, and he goes to his case to pull out a tin of pomade.

He walks back to Crosby, twists open the tin, and reaches up to slick Crosby’s hair back.

When he’s finished he steps back, checks Crosby once over, and says, “Now, you’re perfect.”

Crosby dips his chin and murmurs, “Thank you. Your turn.”

He walks over to the closet and grabs the suit the he’d set aside earlier. He returns to stand in front of Zhenya. He lays the suit on the chaise and gathers the pieces of Zhenya’s travel-worn suit. His jacket, shirt, trousers, and tie are all laid on the chaise.

Crosby helps him step into his boxers and socks, and then his trousers. He pulls Zhenya’s arms through his crisp new shirt and buttons him up. He ties a beautiful Windsor knot with a new silk tie and pins the new cufflinks to Zhenya’s sleeves. Lastly, he steps behind Zhenya and helps him into his suit jacket.

Crosby turns Zhenya around. He straightens knot of the tie, brushes some imagined lint from Zhenya’s shoulder, and steps back.

Zhenya can see the professional reserve settle back over him, in the set of his shoulders and the countenance of his face.

Zhenya can’t stand the coolness, not from this man, not after the heat they’ve just shared.

“Call me ‘Zhenya’,” he urges.

“Pardon?”

“You say today you do whatever I need. I need you call me ‘Zhenya’, not ‘sir’.”

“Sir, Seigneur Lemieux has strict-,”

“In my rooms, you call me ‘Zhenya’, outside you call me ‘sir’, yes?”

Crosby bites his lip and pauses before nodding.

“All right, Zhenya,” he says.

He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “In here, you can call me ‘Sidney.’ If you want. You don’t have to.”

“I want, Sidney.”

He dips his chin and shyly smiles, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Zhenya?”

“You show me to the dining room, Sidney?”

“Of course.”

Sidney takes him back down the hall and down the stairs, and just as he makes to turn the last corner, Zhenya reaches out and gently grabs his wrist.

Sidney raises an eyebrow.

Zhenya pauses for a moment, making certain he has the words he needs in English before he speaks.

“Sidney, if you are not wanting to be my valet, is okay. Understand? If you are not wanting this, Letang can be my valet. I tell Lemieux I want to practice my French. I’m not make problem for you if you are not wanting this, yes?”

Sidney stares at him for a moment.

“I’ll see you after dinner, Monsieur Malkin.”

Zhenya smiles at Sidney and says, “After dinner, Crosby.”

Sidney gracefully bows his head and steps back and Zhenya watches him walk down the hall. Just as he turns the corner, Sidney looks back and softly smiles at him. Zhenya’s heart jumps.

Take Me to Church Chapter 17: Bridge

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Car Accidents Angst Hurt/Comfort Drugs/Alcohol Implied/Referenced Suicide SuicideHealing Everything Hurts

Summary: The band is back together, but things are… weird to say the least. But when a crisis arises, can they pull it all together and be a family again?

Link to other Chapters on my Blog!

2D walked back to Noodle’s room like he was in a dream. The conversation he’d had with Murdoc played over and over in his brain like a record on repeat. He wasn’t really sure what had even happened, the entire exchange was confusing. One second he was comforting his mate like he’d done quite a few times in the last couple weeks, and the next Murdoc was pushing him for… something.

He reached Noodle’s room and opened the door. Russel was seated at her side and looked up when he walked in, obviously looking over Stu’s shoulder for Murdoc. Noodle was sitting up a little more and turned her head as well, smiling at him.

“Hey Russ, Noods. Sorry, I had to rush out like that,” he apologized, sitting on her other side. Noodle blinked twice and Russel nodded in agreement.

“Don’t worry about it D, where’d Murdoc?” 2D looked around nervously.

“Uh, he’s still takin’ a break, you know how he’s been…” Russel nodded.

“Yeah I was tellin’ Noodle about it a little. She was confused about why he ran out like that,” Russel explained. 2D hoped he didn’t tell her too much. He didn't want Noodle to spend the time she should be resting worrying.

“Thanks, Russ. Anythin’ else I missed?”

They sat for another hour, Russel and Noodle communicating with 2D chiming in occasionally. He felt bad that he was so distracted, but his mind kept drifting back to Murdoc. He couldn’t understand what the bassist wanted from him, nothing he gave was good enough. He’d tried being a good friend, he tried the sex, and nothing seemed to help. He just wanted more and more from the singer and 2D didn’t know if he had anything else to give.

Eventually, Noodle began to doze off, so Russel decided they should leave. “We’ll be back to visit soon, OK? I have to ask the doctor how often we can visit but we’ll be here as often as we can, alright baby?” Noodle nodded, her eyelids heavy. 2D smiled and leaned in to give her a hug.

“Love you, Noods. We’ll be back soon, and maybe I can bring some of your stuff to make this room feel a lil’bit more homey, yeah?” Noodle nodded again, unable to wrap her arms around him, but 2D knew that if she could she would. Russel gave her a hug and kiss as well, and they left the room. Stu looked back as they walked out into the hall, catching the moment Noodle closed her eyes in exhaustion.

“Let’s go get Murdoc from the break room,” Russel said, taking the lead. “Maybe we can stop for lunch or something on the way back.”

“I dunno Russ, I kind of feel like jus’ goin’ home,” 2D answered tiredly. They came up on the door to the breakroom, the blinds still drawn, and Russel walked inside. 2D followed.

“Well shit,” Russel sighed, taking in the state of the room. Furniture was overturned and a lamp smashed. “What the hell happened?”

With a deep breath, 2D stepped out of the room and into the hall. This was his fault, he was a bad friend, oh God. Russel followed him and placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting and grounding. “D, I think you need to tell me what’s really been goin’ on between you and Murdoc.”

Murdoc was walking quickly down the street. He had no plan or idea of where he was going; his mind was screaming the same thing over and over.

Get OUT Get OUT Get OUT

How could he have been so stupid! Of course, 2D didn’t feel the same way Murdoc did, if he even felt anything at all. Liar, you know you’re in love with him, have been--

Murdoc shouted, grabbing his hair and pulling hard right there in the middle of the sidewalk. A few pedestrians crossed to the other side of the road to avoid him. It was all fucked up now because of him, just like always. The band was going to fall apart and he’d have nothing, a washed-up nobody who would die alone.

Just like your father.

He continued walking rapidly with no destination in mind. Thoughts raced through his mind, from what had happened at the hospital, to how it was all his fault, to thoughts of his childhood. That nightmare from last night kept replaying in his head over and over, he couldn’t escape it, the thoughts mixing up with 2D’s confused face as he left the hospital break room.

Finally, he walked past a bar. Without a second’s hesitation, he walked in a sat down, waving down the bartender. “Give me three shots of rum to start and keep em’ comin’,” he ordered. The bartender looked pissed at being ordered around but did as asked.

Murdoc downed the shots one after the other, gesturing for more. He couldn’t get drunk fast enough to outpace the thoughts in his head. Noodle on the bed, awake but still so broken. 2D sitting with him in the break room, holding him gently as he cried. The warm, loving feeling he’d got as the singer rocked them back and forth.

Then the shock, the anger and resentment. The sadness he’d felt as Stuart pulled away and left the room, denying what was going on between them. Murdoc knew they weren’t acting like best mates of fuck buddies. He’d had sex friends in the past and those relationships had never gone past a bit of post-fuck cuddling or sharing a cigarette in bed. No fucking kissing, or going out on pseudo-dates.

Thing is, Murdoc wasn’t exactly against doing all of that stuff with Stu. Sure at first he’d been a little weirded out; in general he didn’t have romantic relationships with anyone, much less an idiot like 2D. But he’d slowly gotten used to it and opened up to the singer. He found himself wanting to be close to him, wanting to tell him things he’d never told anyone before but scared that the singer would reject him.

And he’d taken that leap. It blew up in his face spectacularly. Now he’d lost the singer, and soon he’d lose everything else. He downed another shot, then another.

“Buddy if you keep going like that I’m gonna have to cut you off,” the bartender said. Murdoc sneered.

“It’s you’re fuckin’ job to serve booze and you’re gonna cut someone off for gettin’ a little tipsy?” he snapped. The bartender rolled his eyes but served him another shot. “D’you even know who I am?”

“No, as far as I know, you’re just another sad sod day drinking himself into a stupor.” The bartender banged the half-full bottle of rum on the counter. “Take this and leave me alone.”

Delighted, Murdoc pushed the shot glasses aside and took a swig straight from the bottle. Maybe now he could finally forget about everything.

He sat at the bar for a few hours, working his way through the bottle of rum, and then through a few shots of whiskey before the bartender finally cut him off. With a grumble he wobbled off the barstool and out the door in search of another bar, but as he weaved down the street he realized he probably wouldn’t find one that would serve him. Instead, he stopped at a bench and sat.

The alcohol was doing very little to help his black mood. Instead it seemed to make it worse, forcing him to dwell on things better left forgotten. Like how, without Gorillaz, he really had no reason to live. Or how the one person he’d ever thought he might have a real chance with had left him on the floor of a hospital.

Because he did love Stuart, he realized; he had for a while. For longer than he'd like to admit it’d been something closer to a sick obsession and he’d taken that out on the singer. Since coming back from Plastic Beach he’d tried harder to be nicer to the band, and when that hadn’t worked--because he was a bastard, through and through--he’d isolated himself. But then everything happened with Noodle and he’d been forced to be close with 2D again and well, it’d brought back those old feelings.

“A lotta good they did me,” he mumbled to himself. If he’d just kept to himself then Noodle wouldn’t have been hurt and he wouldn’t have gotten near to the singer and none of those would have happened. If he hadn’t been around, then he wouldn’t have been there to ruin things, like usual.

He wasn’t fucked up enough to be thinking like this. He reached for his cellphone to text his dealer, but remembered it was still broken from the other day at the hospital. He stood again; he’d have to find something the old fashioned way, which involved a lot more walking than he wanted to do. He didn’t have a choice though, he needed something to get him out of his head, so he stood up, stumbling, and continued down the road.

2D sat on the sofa at home, letting Russel mull over everything he’d said. He’d explained how they were sleeping together, how troubled Murdoc had been, and how the bassist had all but confessed to him in the break room. Russel stayed silent through it all, nodding along occasionally. Now he sat back in his armchair and crossed his arms.

“Well, I knew you two were fuckin’ but I had no idea about all that other shit,” he said finally, startling Stu.

“Y-you knew?” he squealed, blushing. Russel laughed slightly.

“You two aren’t exactly quiet D. And besides, I’ve been watching you two fawn over each other for decades.” 2D blushed harder.

“S-sorry, Russ,” he apologized and Russel laughed again, waving him off.

“Don’t sweat it D, I’ve got pretty good headphones. That’s not what I’m worried about,” he paused, looking unsure.

‘Whaddaya mean, Russ?” 2D asked. He was glad the larger man wasn’t angry at him for all the noise. Russel was a gentle person normally, but when he got angry he really got angry.

“Well from what you’ve told me Murdoc’s a lot more unstable than I realized. I worried about what he might do after your fight,” he explained. 2D nodded with a guilty look on his face.

“I shouldn’ta lef’ him there on his own.” Russel shook his head and stood.

“Nah, it’s not your fault D, you can’t be expected to do everything perfectly all the time.” He grabbed his jacket from the peg. They’d only been home an hour. “I’m going to go out and drive around, see if I can find him. You stay here in case he comes back, ok?”

“O-Ok Russ. Thanks for doin’ this.” Russel shrugged and gave 2D a half-smile.

“He’s my friend too. He’s important to all of us.” With that, he walked out leaving Stu alone in the living room.

“Bloody hell Muds,” he whispered to himself. He was torn between being extremely worried for the bassist and pissed that he’d once again he’d made it all about him. Couldn’t they have one outing where Murdoc didn’t entirely derail the situation?

Most likely he was out at some pub getting drunk. Maybe he’d find a nice bird to shag, and this whole sex-friends thing could be behind them. The idea didn’t sit quite right with Stu, the idea of Murdoc with another person despite the fact that 2D himself had called off their arrangement himself just hours before. He just… he didn’t know what to do with the bassist and all these feelings. With a groan, 2D got up and headed upstairs in search of something to give him some relief from the stress.

His good migraine pills had run out a few days ago, and he’d been making do with some of the other assortment he kept for “emergencies”. Now though he wanted to take a few and zone out, maybe smoke some pot, and forget today had ever happened. A handful of pills and one joint later 2D was back in the living room, zoned out in front of the TV with some slasher flick playing.

An insistent buzzing noise broke him from his daze. Things felt like they were moving in slow motion as he picked up the phone and saw a number of texts from Russel, and none from Murdoc.

No sign of him around our area, going to check the pubs

Still nothing, has he come home yet?

2D, are you there?

Sluggishly he texted back. Yeah, he’s not here. 2D tossed his phone to the side again and gazed out the window, where it was getting dark. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting on the sofa and he didn’t think it even mattered. Murdoc would turn up when he wanted, and not a second before. The drugs were stopping him from being too worried about what might happen.

The TV continued to play, but 2D wasn’t watching anymore. He was a hundred feet above his body, soaring through the clouds among the birds. He didn’t have a care in the world, and nothing that happened today mattered. Everything was fine. There was no hospital drama or feelings to deal with, just never-ending peacefulness. 2D thought back to the earlier years of the band, when he was this high all the time; he missed it.

He’d only stopped due to the forced sobriety of Plastic Beach. Sure Murdoc had brought some of his pills along but between the stress of being held captive and the fear of the whale they hadn’t lasted long. Being sober for those long months had convinced him of two things; that he could be sober if he wanted to, and that he never, ever wanted to be that sober again. Since coming back and working on their newest album he’d picked up a lot of his bad habits again, but he’d also been more aware of what he’d been taking, more careful. Except for now, that is.

The sun had completely set by the time Russel came back. 2D was still on the sofa, zoned out when the bang of the door startled him. Russel stomped through to the living room and sat down beside him tiredly.

“Nothing. No sign of him at any of use usual bars, or on the streets. I even checked some liquor stores,” he sighed, sinking down into the cushions. 2D starred for a moment, the snapped back into focus.

“Oh yeah, Murdoc. Yeah, I’m s-sure he’ll be back soon,” 2D answered. Russel shot him a weird look.

“What’s up with you, D? You were pretty worried about him when I left.” He leaned in closer, inspecting 2D with a practised eye. “You’re fuckin’ high, aren’t you?”

Again, 2D took a moment to process the information before scowling. “So what if I am?”

“Whatever man, just thought you were better than that now.” Russel went to stand. “I thought maybe you were actually really worried about Muds.”

“I am!” Stuart protested. “I-I’m jus’ so sick of everythin’ being about him all the damn time!” Russel turned to him. He looked more tired than 2D had seen him in a long time.

“I am too D, but I think he really needs help this time.” 2D slumped in defeat, knowing Russel was right. Murdoc had been flirting with death for years, ever since the band broke up after El Manana. Thinking back to Plastic Beach 2D couldn’t count the number of times he’d found the other man drunk, high, and sobbing overlooking the sea.

“I know,” Stu sighed. “I’m jus’ really tired of it all Russ.”

“Me too D. Why don’t you go on to bed and get yourself sorted out?” 2D nodded and stood as well, reaching out to hold onto Russel’s arm when the world tilted. It would be nice to spend some time alone for the first time in over a week.

“Yeah, OK Russ. Lemme know if he shows up yeah?” Russel nodded and 2D made his way to his bedroom. He flopped face down on the messy bed and closed his eyes, feeling every cell in his body calling out for sleep. Distantly he felt anxiety over Murdoc not being home but before he could worry about it, he was drifting off.

Russel sat back down in front of the TV with a mug of coffee and some cookies he found in the cupboards. After driving around for hours, and with a possibly long night of waiting ahead, he figured he deserved a treat. He settled in to flick through the channels, hoping there was something decent on.

He eventually settled on a rerun of Full House. Barely watching the TV he checked his phone every few minutes, hoping for some word from Murdoc. The bassist hadn’t replaced his phone since he smashed it, but Russel hoped that some fan might catch a glimpse of him and post on Twitter. So far, there’d been nothing.

Instead of letting it get him down though, he tried to focus on the good. Noodle had been awake and responding to them at the hospital, something Russel had worried would never happen. He’d tried to keep up a positive outlook for 2D and Murdoc but in the back of his mind he’d feared the worst. Noodle was like his daughter, he’d tried to raise her right and keep her safe all these years, and he’d failed time and time again.

But he tried not to think like that anymore. His therapist, the one he’d been seeing since after Plastic Beach, told him he couldn’t protect everybody all the time. That sometimes he needed to protect himself first, and the others second. He was still working on that.

Eventually, it started getting later and later and Russel was starting to lose hope that they’d see the bassist at all that night when the front door started rattling. The tell-tale sound of keys missing the lock, again and again, echoed through the front hall. Russel got up to let Murdoc in, knowing that if he was as drunk as expected, it might take him until dawn just to get the door unlocked. Swinging it open he took in the view of the bassist slumped against the doorway.

Murdoc was a mess. He was unsteady on his feet, wavering from side to side even with the door the steady him. Despite the cold outside sweat was dripping down his face, and his coat was wide open. Russel moved to the side and waved him in, staying close in case he fell over.

“Fuck Muds you look awful,” he said as the other man stumbled inside. Murdoc didn’t say anything back, instead choosing to amble into the kitchen. Russel rolled his eyes and followed, knowing the kind of trouble Murdoc could get into while like this.

“Are you just drunk, or are you high too?” he asked as the bassist rifled through the fridge. Judging by the unintelligible grunting he got as a response, he assumed both.

“What’d you take, Muds? Do I need to be worried?” Murdoc pulled a bottle of liquor from the fridge and popped the cap off, taking a large gulp. Russel tried to grab it from him, but the other man managed to dodge. “Seriously man? I’m tryin’ to talk to you.”

“F’off,” Murdoc mumbled, deciding the table was too far away and sitting on the floor. Russel wasn’t sure what to do with the sulking man. Usually 2D or Noodle were the ones to talk Murdoc down during a bender, with Russel in the background to supply the muscle if needed. The Satanist still had a sort of fearful respect for him ever since he broke his nose back at Kong.

“Murdoc, what did you take tonight?” he tried again, kneeling down on the floor as to not loom over the other. Murdoc fidgeted with the bottle and avoided looking at the drummer.

“Dunno, prob’ly some speed, an’ some pills,” he answered finally. Russel heaved a sigh.

“How long ago, how much?” he pressed, worried there might be another hospital trip in the near future.

“Loads,” Murdoc said, laughing a little. “As m-much as I could g-get mate.” He took another pull from the bottle before Russel managed to snatch it back.

“OK, that’s enough. I’m already goin’ to have to watch you all night I don’t need you puking as well.” Murdoc didn’t answer. Russel groaned as he stood up and put the bottle on top of the fridge where the shorter man couldn’t reach, then held a hand out. “Come on, let's get you to the sofa at least before you pass out.”

Murdoc took the hand with a sneer and allowed himself to be lead into the living room. Russel dumped him none too gracefully on the couch and sat back down in his chair. The bassist lay face down on the sofa, motionless. Unsure if he should be letting Murdoc sit like that in case he suffocated, Russel watched over him closely.

“Russ…” Murdoc said quietly. “I dunno w-w-what I did wrong this t-time.”

“What do you mean?” That was the most coherent thing Murdoc had managed since he got in the door.

“With D.” Murdoc didn’t say anymore but Russel got the gist. He hadn’t wanted to get in the middle of this but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice.

“I dunno man, I don’t think D even knows,” he answered. Murdoc shuffled around on the sofa until he was face up, staring at the ceiling. Russel thought that for once he looked his age.

“I think I migh’ l-l-lo--” he gagged and choked a bit in the middle of his sentence and Russel wished he’d thought to bring a bucket. “I th-think I really like him Russ.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Luckily Murdoc didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. “I-I f-fucked up so many times b-but he said--he said he forgave me and--”

Murdoc started crying then, something, outside of the last week, Russel had never really seen him do. He wasn’t sure what he should do, in general, he knew Murdoc hated being touched, but the man was also tearing up on their sofa. “Murdoc…”

“A-and now h-he-he hates me,” Murdoc sobbed, throwing a hand over his eyes dramatically. Russel considered going upstairs to grab 2D, but given his state earlier it wasn’t likely he’d be sober enough to have a conversation, let alone face Murdoc.

“I don’t think he hates you, Muds. It’s just complicated,” Russel said, trying to be comforting. It didn’t work, and Murdoc continued to cry. Feeling lost, he watched as the bassist sobbed, gradually petering off into quite sniffled and moans. “Come on man, let’s get you up to bed yeah?”

Russel helped Murdoc stand, then walked him up the stairs. Murdoc was floppy and uncoordinated and a few times Russel had to bodily lift the man to get him going in the right direction. When they got to the top of the stairs Murdoc walked himself to his bedroom as Russel followed, wanting to make sure the other went to his own bed and not 2D’s. When he passed over the singer’s door for his own, Russel breathed a sigh of relief.

“You goin’ to be ok by yourself Muds?” Russel asked. Murdoc shrugged and landed face down on the bed, like the sofa, with a grunt. “Ok, well I’ll come check on you later.”

“Russ…” Russel turned around to see the bassist looking over at him. He paused to let him continue. “D’you think… d’you think I h-have a chance?”

The drummer thought for a moment. “I think D really cares about you, and that you really care about him. Other than that I don’t know.” Murdoc sighed and rolled over on the bed, still wearing his jacket and boots. Russel assumed that was the end of their conversation and he retreated to his own room for the night. Hopefully both men would be sober in the morning and able to work this out.

⭐️ ⭐️ all your ocs please!

I’ve been working on this for literally a day. I have 25 active OCs, so here’s FIFTY FUCKING FACTS because apparently you’re trying to kill me

Asher-He’s the only one of Vody’s sons who doesn’t grow up to be super tall. It’s a combination of poor eating habits and unfortunate genetics.-He eats spicy food when it’s offered because he wants to look tough, but he actually can’t handle his spice well at all.

Felix-He can solve a rubik’s cube in under thirty seconds.-He once singlehandedly cleaned his family’s entire house in one weekend.

Luke-They want to get a tattoo, something cute and floral on their collarbones, but they’re afraid it’ll hurt too much.-They’re considering dyeing their hair, but they’re torn between peach and lavender and light aqua.

Nate-He used to wear his hair in braids, but when he came out, he cut it all off, and he decided to leave it loose when he grew it out again.-He can grow a beard, but prefers to keep his face clean-shaven.

David-He’s read every Star Wars novel ever published, and has a spreadsheet ranking them based on quality.-He has a series of freckles on his shoulder that look like a blobby turtle.

Kazu-He naturally has a lot of effeminate mannerisms, but they’re hidden under a thick layer of forced masculinity and bitchiness, cause acting girly used to get him beat up.-He’s actually really good at sewing, cause he couldn’t afford to buy new clothes when they tore, and it’s hard to find clothes that fit right when you’re v tall and v thin.

Min-He likes to use either buttercream or modeling chocolate to decorate cakes, cause he thinks fondant tastes like sugary play-doh.-He once spent an entire weekend in a bondage harness and handcuffs.

Takao-He has several friends at school, but they’re starting to worry that he’s homeless or something cause he’s terrified to introduce them to his parents.-His cat is named Nostradamus, but Kazu can’t pronounce that and just calls him Noodle.

Kit-He’s considered getting contacts, but thinks he looks better with glasses.-He has such good hearing, he was once woken up by a maid knocking over a vase on the opposite side of the house.

Ellery-He only dyes the sides of his hair because it’s technically against dress code at his job. He parts his hair in the middle and combs it down so it hides the colour at work.-There’s like three girl nurses who have a crush on him. He has no idea.

Lucy-He’s been kicked out of a Hot Topic for trying to draw a pentagram on the floor with a red paint pen.-He finds bubblegum pop very catchy and is aggressively in denial about it.

Russ-He seems big and strong, but he lowkey just wants a stronger guy to sweep him off his feet.-He’s slightly crosseyed, and even though almost no one notices, he’s very self-conscious about it.

Cody-He keeps a sort of stubble-beard not for the aesthetic, but because he’s way too lazy to shave daily. His laziness was only encouraged when Hayley told him it looked good. These days, he only shaves a couple times a month.-Hayley picked out most of his wardrobe for him. Before she took him shopping, he owned like four t-shirts, a pair of jeans, and a pair of shorts. It wasn’t cause he couldn’t afford more clothes, he just didn’t care.

Hayley-She’s super obsessed with musicals, and makes Tamara and the boys learn parts so they can sing with her.-She’s the shortest of the triplets, and by far the widest, but all three sisters have the same shoe size. They share and borrow shoes constantly.

Tamara-She’s been wearing the same pair of glasses for about four years. Her prescription has changed, but she can’t afford new ones.-She really likes watermelon-flavoured things, but she tries to avoid them cause she feels like she’s being a stereotype.

Jace-He has a very broad vocal range. Think Brendon Urie, but he can go a bit lower and not *quite* as high.-He has a YouTube channel where he posts covers of songs he likes, and he also runs the YouTube for his band, Funeral Crashers. He’s the creative (read: insane) mind behind their music videos, and he actually has the budget to do some pretty cool shit.

Wren-He hasn’t cut his hair (save for trimming split ends) since elementary school. It’s about halfway down his back, but gradually nearing his ass.-He likes the flavor of cinnamon, but its slight spiciness bothers him, so he rarely eats it.

Silvan-He’s had the same jacket for about six years. At this point, it’s more patches than original fabric, but he’s still too broke to replace it.-He changed his last name when he moved to the (then Royaume, now République) de la mer du Sud, to fit in better and to feel more detached from Schwaerzenscheid.

Yves-He has a total baby face, and since he’s also short, he gets mistaken for a kid a lot. He stays clean-shaven anyway, because he can only really grow about half a mustache, which looks even worse.-Even though he’s an avid follower of the national religion, he’s an aggressive advocate for religious freedom, as the République is less than kind to citizens of other beliefs.

Serafino-He has a septum piercing, but that’s a fairly common thing in his home country of Estado de Ocaso. It’s a somewhat dated tradition at this point, but it’s def not looked down upon by stuck-up fucks like it is in our world.-Even though it makes him stick out like a sore thumb, he still wears traditional Ocasan clothes while he’s in the République. He refuses to ignore his heritage just to make other people more comfortable.

Désirée -She works at a biotech company, where she’s designing more functional prosthetic limbs. However, work has pretty much ground to a halt since the second revolution, so she’s taking an unofficial hiatus to join in the fighting. -Despite being the only girl in the group, she’s the second tallest. She’s shorter than Silvan (though most people are, he’s 6’2”), but at 5’10, she’s an inch taller than Serafino (which he h a t e s), and she’s got a solid four inches on Yves.

Ryan-He tends to take selfies in a really awkward pose, cause he loves to show off his heterochromia but doesn’t want to draw attention to his birthmark. As a result, most of his pics are at like a ¾ MySpace angle.-He’s a bit of an arrogant douche, but he has a decent Instagram following, where he posts lots of videos of him dancing and photos of him trying on new costumes and shit, so he has a handful of internet friends cause they don’t realize what a pain in the ass he is irl.

Siofra-She kinda wants tattoos, but is afraid they won’t look right with all her freckles.-She goes on walks/hikes with Finny at least five days a week.

Riagán-He once broke his arm on a homemade zipline. It’s a miracle that’s all he broke.-He’s incapable of shaving/trimming his beard without making tons of stupid faces in the mirror.

Cillian-He’s the only one of his siblings who needs glasses. Riagán likes to hide them just to be annoying.-He once ditched school to try out for a musical, only to barely make the chorus. It’s one of his most embarrassing and frustrating memories.

We Don’t Dance

Noodle thinks of something that might be beneficial for Murdoc. Also she really wants to learn how to ballroom dance.

Noodle didn't know what made her do it. It had been weeks since she'd even spoken to Murdoc. Ever since that night they'd gone on a drive together and then the next morning she'd had to shunt one of his whores out the door, she'd been purposefully avoiding him. She'd been hanging out with 2D a lot, and frequently breakfasting with both him and Russel (Murdoc never seemed to get the Noodle-scrawled memo). But despite all these efforts to drive away nagging thoughts and enjoy herself, she found it becoming increasingly impossible. Mainly because the day of the "whore" incident Murdoc had actually given her what, in his terms, could only be considered an apology. Meaning he sort of looked guilty about the whole thing. Noodle could tell that maybe, somewhere very, very deep down, maybe he actually felt a little BAD about himself. It wasn't likely, but the thought of what it might entail had been causing her a great deal of unrest. Gorillaz wasn't something she would ever truly be apart from, she could clearly see that now having been gone so long, and an inkling of change in the constant arrogant clod that was Murdoc seemed like something that needed to be pounced upon, rather than ignored. At least, that was what she had apparently now concluded, since ignoring it just was not working. Maybe that's what made her do it. She really, really didn't know. Maybe she was just actually that desperate to learn how to ballroom dance. "It's only like a twelve week program," She was saying, as she and Murdoc drove throughout the snow lined streets; Murdoc's stare was dark, one hand gripping the wheel perhaps too tightly and the other flicking some cigarette ash out the slightly cracked window; it was much too cold to roll it down all the way, at least, according to Noodle. "Three fucking months." "Well it sounds longer when you put it like that..." "When you put it like exactly how it is?" "I'm not making you do anything." "Fine, then let's turn around and-," "We are NOT turning around!" "Clearly very ambivalent on the matter," Murdoc acidly remarked, rolling his window down a bit more just for the satisfaction at seeing Noodle's responding glare and shiver. The rest of the ride passed in silence. Murdoc purposefully hit the curb at quite a speed as he went in to park, pretending as if he didn't see Noodle get choked by her seat belt and continuing in such a manner as he stepped out into the biting wintry air, Noodle glaring at him the entire time. They had stopped in front of a tall, towering building with the appearance of something constructed in the 1800s. Despite a solid looking stone foundation, the dark wood of the walls looked too weathered to still be functional, and Murdoc took in the gabled roof with its cracked stone trim and gargoyles skeptically. Noodle had got out to stare up at the place as well, not missing Murdoc's dubious side eye. She chose to ignore it, pulling her jacket tightly around her and starting up the steps to the massive oak doors without a backwards glance. Murdoc took one last drag on his cigarette and, very reluctantly, followed. A few flourescent lit halls later and the two had entered into a very large dance hall. The shiny dark wooden walls and floors were bathed in the yellow light of oil lamps and a low hanging chandelier, the elegance of the room a stark contrast to the peeling walls and cracked tiles of the halls just out the door. The majority of the dance class was already gathered, and Noodle and Murdoc ambled somewhat awkwardly towards the group, hanging around the edges and catching just the tail end of the instructor's greeting speech. Basically, it appeared they were all going to pair off and two step in order for the instructor to get a general idea of where everyone was at before proceeding to actual assignments and instruction. A large turntable sat in a corner partially hidden by floor sweeping red velvet curtains, and the instructor put on a slow tune (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2LQdh42neg) for everyone to slowly revolve around to. Somewhat nervously, a fact that annoyed her greatly, Noodle turned to face Murdoc, who was eyeing the couples stepping on each other's feet around them warily. He finally seemed to feel Noodle's stare and looked down at her, swallowing once, his hands firmly in their pockets. "Remind me why we're doing this again, love?" Murdoc tried at nonchalance, but the prospect of actually having to dance, properly dance, with Noodle, was unnerving him slightly; this was the farthest thing from his exceedingly large comfort zone. He could play bass, be crude, and fuck around, and it ended about there. Ballroom dancing? Sod off. Noodle actually looked to be thinking along the same lines as Murdoc, but she squared her jaw resolutely and tilted her chin up at her dancing partner, firmly placing a hand on his shoulder before she could stop herself. The other she held out impatiently for what was still jammed firmly in his pocket. "We need to hold hands," Noodle willed, not daring to meet his eyes as she felt her face burn; maybe this wasn't the best bonding idea. When she'd thought "ballroom dancing," all she'd pictured was something of elegance and sophistication, elegance and sophistication that would maybe rub off onto Murdoc (hah), somehow the fact the two of them would actually have to talk and be near one another had totally slipped her mind. How? How the fuck? But it was too late to turn back now, and besides, she DID want to learn how to dance this way. And she did firmly believe it would have some sort of benefit on Murdoc. ...Well she was hoping it would. He stared at her hand, before rolling his eyes and swiftly taking it in his own. The other he brought to a hesitant rest on her hip, touching as little as possible, and the two began to revolve with just a bit more grace than anyone else in the room. "I expected you'd be worse at this," Noodle commented after a bit of surprisingly not-too-awkward silent two stepping (though the song wasn’t helping), during which they'd both managed to avoid stepping on each other's toes. "Hah," Murdoc scoffed, deciding he'd rather change the subject, "Why then, didn't you just get Russ or the Faceache instead?" "Russel already knows how to ballroom dance," Noodle answered, as Murdoc spun her slightly outwards in a fairly decent twirl. "And 2D... I mean..." She was back near his chest, and chanced a glance upwards, meeting his eye with a raised brow. "Mmm, fair enough," He sighed in understanding, thankfully seeming to relent a bit; Noodle knew anything to do with bashing 2D would most likely get the results she wanted, in this case for him to maybe put a bit less effort into his abhorrence. They'd gone about halfway around the room now, silent once more, though with another twirl, upon being brought back into Murdoc's vicinity Noodle's nose twitched at something much too strange not to comment upon. "Are you wearing cologne?" She exclaimed, loud enough for a nearby couple to cast them a glance. Murdoc looked down at her, blinking a bit stupidly but regaining his composure soon enough. "Are you wearing perfume?" He asked, just as loudly; the couple near them started to clumsily "dance" further away. Noodle's brows furrowed at that stupid comeback. "I always wear perfume," She said, unabashedly leaning forwards and sniffing Murdoc's leather jacket; he released her grip, using the hand on her hip to shove her back some. "You're definitely wearing cologne." "I always wear cologne," He glared, causing Noodle to scoff and cross her arms. They were standing a few feet apart now, attracting more than just a few stares. The instructor was completely across the room, however, giving directions to some people and totally oblivious to whatever was going on across the hall. "I guess I wouldn't know whether or not that was true, seeing as normally you stink too much for anything else to be distinguishable," Noodle rolled her eyes; it was meant to be a throwaway comment, but when she made to continue dancing, Murdoc looked stoutly resolute. "You know, I don't believe I'll be continuing with this," He pretended to be thinking over the prospect, grinning at Noodle as her face turned to a frown. "Fun as it was, I can think of many, many other things I'd rather being doing. So, cheers, love," He gave a careless wave, leaving Noodle to stand dumbstruck as he strutted lazily through the dancing couples and disappeared out the door. A few women started to mutter sympathetically at the quite alone Noodle, but it only took her a few seconds of listening to that before she was out the door after her escapee. She burst out into the hallway, staring around at the deserted corridors before taking off down the way leading to the exit. Another angry burst out of the front doors of the building and she stood on the stone steps, cold air swirling around her and biting at her face as she watched Murdoc sliding into the driver's seat of the Stylo. He had to step very heavily onto the breaks, the car screeching against the frozen street, to avoid driving right into Noodle, who'd just thrown herself, arms outstretched, in front of the vehicle. There was silence but for the rumbling of the Stylo's engine as Murdoc lazily regarded Noodle through the windshield, and she him from the other side, arms still held out and expression almost frightening. He was leaning against one long fingered hand, head tilted and watching her with a smirk, a face that made her all the angrier. When she opened her mouth to start shouting however, he cut her off, rolling down the window and calling out. "Get in." Noodle stared at him incredulously, shaking her head and sputtering. "I will not-," "Just get in, love," Murdoc reversed slightly, turning the car around so that the passenger door was now level with Noodle; he leaned across and pushed it open, staying across the seat so he could smile up at her furious expression. He knew she'd do it, though, she was possibly more curious than a cat, and after a moment's more idling, Noodle was sliding in next to him, arms crossed and face still dark as he skidded out and away from the dance hall. "So where are we going-?" "Ah, ah, ah," Murdoc shook a finger at her, Noodle angrily pushing his hand away. "I put up with whatever the fuck that just was, so you're going to have to sit there and wait and see." Noodle, having only herself to blame for the situation she was currently in, decided that waiting and seeing was as good an option as any, and sunk further into the leather car seat, mentally going over all the insults she was going to cleverly throw at him soon as the opportunity presented itself. A short while later, and they were at the very top of a car park, the matte black of the Stylo the only car present. Noodle couldn't help but be a little surprised, and immediately after more than a little annoyed; Murdoc had been surprising her too much lately, irritating for someone who was normally so predictable. They both stepped out once more into the cold air, walking together and coming to a stop right at the low concrete wall of the garage. A gust of wind blew back their jet black hair, and they both shut their eyes and breathed in deep the crisp smell of winter. Night was just beginning to fall, but the sky was so cloudy it was hard to even tell where the sun was, only that it was definitely getting darker and more and more lights were appearing in the vast concrete jungle laid out beneath them. "Only gonna get colder," Murdoc spoke lowly, watching Noodle's breath appear in foggy exhales; she looked over him, anger not totally faded from her dark green glare. "Better start groovin'." Noodle laughed unpleasantly at that, about to make a crack about his age, a nice one she'd thought up on the way over. However, as she opened her mouth, Murdoc withdrew from his jacket a small set of speakers and an iPod, and the words died on her tongue. Surprise. Again. He scrolled down to a song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImKY6TZEyrI), setting the speakers on the concrete ledge and turning to face Noodle, stance perfect and hands extended for a dance as he sank into a slight bow, winking up at her through his ruffled mop of raven black hair. Try as she might, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to remain furious. "I like this song," She muttered, taking his hand; they once more fell into a slow waltz of sorts. "Everyone likes this song. But, I did see it on your G-mix," Murdoc grinned, and despite herself Noodle sort of grinned as well. "You actually look at that?" "Actually did. Was sort of a one time thing," He spun her out, not missing the slight grin as she spun back. It was much more comfortable up here rather than in the dance hall; beautiful a room it may have been, public settings didn't exactly fit them. Caught up in the music, Noodle hadn't realized how well Murdoc had been leading her until the song ended, and then she felt just a tad annoyed again. She stepped back from him, giving him a scrutinizing look that went from his worn Cuban heels to his mismatched eyes and back again. There was a small silence, then- "You can ballroom dance." It wasn't a question, and Murdoc's face cracked into a grin as Noodle realized. "Yes." The wind howled around them, car horns honked distantly and somewhere somehow, in the city, an owl hooted. Noodle shut her eyes, turning her back on Murdoc and feeling-, well she didn't know what she was feeling. Angry? Sort of. Surprise? Again? Yeah, definitely that. Also suddenly very tired. When Murdoc put on "All Apologies" by Nirvana, she finally turned around, snatching the iPod out of his hands and switching the song off before thrusting the device back into his hands. They glared at each other for a moment, or, Noodle did, Murdoc just stood looking slightly bemused, before Noodle exhaled and shook herself. "I guess I don't need the class then," She said; Murdoc shrugged. "The least you could do is teach me, after wasting so much of my time just now." "Aha, right, I wasted your time-," "You did, actually. You obviously had this planned from the beginning, or, do you just always have a spare pair of iPod speakers in your jacket pocket? Actually, don't answer that," Noodle held up her hand as Murdoc made to reply, then extending it to take his own once more; she was getting cold. They made their way around the car park without music, listening to the sounds of the city and dancing perhaps a little closer than normal to try and fight the cold that was getting icier by the minute. In fact, by the time they made it back around, Noodle nearly had her head on Murdoc's chest. He could see her eyes getting sleepy, and pulled them then against the hood of the Stylo, Noodle not bothering to protest as Murdoc stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and pulled the warm leather around them both. It was instantly much more warm for Noodle, and she was too tired and muddled to care much about if this was awkward or weird or whatever it normally was, because leaning against Murdoc's chest, which was warm and firm and didn’t smell bad for once, tucked into the warmth of his jacket with the cold air still ruffling her hair, just felt, at the moment, extremely nice. She locked her hands loosely around his middle, tucking her head under his chin, smelling the cigarette smoke and leather and, cologne. She blinked herself somewhat awake, eyes focusing on all the little fuzzies in Murdoc's sweater under her cheek. "The cologne is nice," Noodle muttered; she felt Murdoc stiffen a bit beneath her, and wondered if she'd made it weird again. Murdoc stared out at the cityscape, Noodle's hair tickling his chin, unsure what to make of her remark. He knew it was her weak form of apologizing, though his overreaction back at the dance hall had all been fabricated anyway, in order to escape the stupid place. He smiled a bit to himself, glad in the knowledge she must've at least felt a little bad, and patted her back slightly with his pocketed hand. "So's the perfume."

Nakikinig Ka Ba sa Akin?

Sasalubungin kita sa dulo ng ‘yong galit.

Ok, so I just finished watching Dito at Doon by JP Habac via Cinema 76. Actually I miss watching indie films. Even before the lockdowns, I didn’t have time to visit the cinema.

Anyway, I loved JP Habac via IDILY. I watched it the first time it was shown in 2017 on a limited theatrical run. I was alone then yet the cinema was packed with couples and friends and I just thought it was silly of me to be crying on that scene near the end while Ebe Dancel’s Burnout played in the background. Crying for an unrequited love that I somehow got over. I saw it again at Cinema 76 during one of their repeat runs and I still cried on the Burnout grad scene, burning the same emotions. I had a third time watching with Russ, I didn’t think he got the same emo that I got cause i was the only one crying over inexplicably. Now, he’ll probably be the one I should graduate from. I am Carson.

Last year during the boom of PinoyBL on mainstream media, JP Habac partnered with Juan Miguel Severo to produce Gaya sa Pelikula. It was a short sweet story of couple of guys who slowly fell in love while living together for a few weeks. I didn’t personally connect with their characters but I understood their struggles. Also, I love how they incorporated indie Filipino music as themes. My favorites include Tahanan by Nica del Rosario, Magkaibigan o Magkaibigan by Coeli, and Ride Home by Ben & Ben. Of the two leads, I feel I am Vlad. The one who knows more about himself, afraid to love again, and when he did he became messy again. Don’t fall in love na lang ba?

I’ve only known about Sakaling Maging Tayo during promos for Dito at Doon. It’s about teen love, crushes but it also shows some maturity from the leads. It’s more like a love letter to Baguio while their romance takes the backseat. The movie is open ended but I guess they took a chance after one night of getting to know each other. I am Pol here, the innocent hopeless romantic. Suntok sa Buwan is their theme because the original artists are from Baguio, and also their romance is something that chance only made happen.

And finally, Dito at Doon. Set right after the first lockdowns in Manila was announced. Len and Caloy initially met via Facenook public posts. Len is the opinionated type who’s not open to the other people’s opinion and that’s the initial red flag. They officially met via zoom chat, Caloy was the friend of a friend invited over and then Len and Caloy had spark. Well, actually they fought again over Len’s privileged post. Eventually, Caloy apologized and they started flirting. It was sweet when it lasted. Len’s mom after a while was tagged as a Covid PUI. That’s when Len lost her senses, distraught and afraid what might happen to her mom. She even lashed out at Caloy even though he’s just trying to help her and cheering her up. The sad part was when Caloy said “mas importante sayong tama ka kesa makinig sa iba.” After her graduation and her mom coming hope negative from the virus, Len reached out to Caloy. It was too late. Caloy left her on their supposed first date. Looking back, he admitted that he hurt his ex because it would hurt even more if they continued. The movie ended with Len contemplating if she will unfriend Caloy. I only wished she had character progression, that she is now more open to other’s opinions. Theme song Nakikinig Ka Ba Sa Akin by Ben&Ben is probably Caloy’s song for Len.

_____________________________________________

ps. All these works from JP Habac doesn’t have their fairy tale endings. Cause real life is an asshole. Well, at least 2 ended up hopeful, GSP and SMT presumes the leads will try their chances while IDILY and DD the leads move on.

And I’m here stuck reviewing these works thinking how they are affecting my own heart and mind now. I’m a mess now I admit. And i can only talk to people to share my pain. It somehow relieves me when I release my thoughts because if I keep it in i might implode.

I know one day I will be able to say “graduate na ako” from these feelings. But right now, I’m extremely sad it happened (past tense) when I still want it to go on. You might not love me anymore but I do wish we get to be friends, not boyfriends, I know that won’t happen anymore. I want to be bestfriends. Because i found peace when I found you and I want to keep that peace. I am not offering love that I know I won’t be able to keep but a friendship that will last a lifetime. I hope we can keep the old days. The happy times we shared together enjoying the things we both love. Otherwise let me know so I can unfriend you and find my character progression.

RTARL’s 2020 NFL Season Week 10 Extravapalooza

This week’s NFL slate features 5 early games and 6 late games, and allow me to add my voice to the chorus of those asking “Why can’t it be like this EVERY week?” Is it really THAT necessary to try to herd viewers to whatever game Romo or Aikman are calling? Honestly, I hope this is one of the first issues tackled by the incoming Biden administration. If nothing else, a more even game dispersal would make for a more visually symmetrical Extravapalooza, which is a good enough reason for change in and of itself, if you ask me.

My picks are in BOLD, and the lines come to us courtesy of our friends at Vegas Insider. I use the “VI Consensus” line, which is the line that occurs most frequently across Vegas Insider’s list of sportsbooks. Your sportsbook of choice may offer a different number, and if you’d like my opinion on said number A) you are insane, and B) leave a comment below and I’ll try to answer at some point before things kickoff today.

EARLY GAMES

Houston Texans at Cleveland Browns (-4)

Much like Cleveland’s last home game (a 16-6 Week 8 loss to the Raiders), this game is going to be played in extremely shitty conditions, with strong winds and rain expected. The Browns were TERRIBLE offensively in that Raiders game, but this week they’re getting both studly RB Nick Chubb and G Wyatt Teller back, which should be huge for their run game. Facing the Texans’ worst-in-the-league rush defense won’t hurt either. The wind is likely to rob us of the majesty provided by DeShaun Watson-to-Will Fuller bombs, which is a real bummer both for us as viewers and for the Texans as a football team attempting to win games.

Washington Football Team at Detroit Lions (-3)

The Football Team has a pretty good pass defense as it is, and this week they get a somewhat scuffling Matthew Stafford leading a Kenny Golladay-less Lions offense. If the Detroit braintrust were smart, they’d run the ball a bunch and D’Andre Swift would get the bulk of these carries. The Detroit braintrust is not smart. Alex Smith is starting this game for Washington and I hope he makes it through without getting his leg pulverized into ham salad.

Jacksonville Jaguars at Green Bay Packers (-13.5)

Here we have another game expected to impacted by high winds and precipitation. Fun! I’m putting my faith in Mother Nature and Jacksonville’s very decent run game conspiring to keep this one within 2 TDs. The fact that Green Bay’s best defensive player, CB Jaire Alexander, is unlikely to play certainly helps.

Philadelphia Eagles (-4) at New York Giants

The Eagles are getting RB Miles Sanders, DT Malik Jackson and LT Jason Peters back from injury for this one, and they might also get RT Lane Johnson back. This is after getting good-looking rookie WR Jalen Reagor and TE Dallas Goedert back recently. Philadelphia is getting healthy, and it really seems like they should pull away from their truly horrific division mates as the season winds down.

Tampa Bay Buccaneers (-6) at Carolina Panthers

Man, Tampa Bay got their asses WHOOPED by New Orleans last week. Does that mean they were extra motivated in practice this week and they’ll be super fired up to redeem themselves with a big win on Sunday, or was their performance an on-field manifestation of a locker room beset by strife and disharmony beginning a downward spiral that will last the rest of the season and cause everyone involved in the team’s various splashy roster moves to regret their choices? It’s probably the former, but the latter would be immensely entertaining for me, personally. 

LATE GAMES

Buffalo Bills at Arizona Cardinals (-2.5)

I don’t want to say that Arizona’s defense is good, because they really aren’t, BUT they do have a bunch of ball-hawking, risk-taking guys in their secondary that are likely salivating at the thought of snagging one of Josh Allen’s patented “Fuck it, I’m goin’ deep!” attempts. I’d like the Bills’ chances a whole lot more if their defense was playing anywhere near the level they were at the previous couple of seasons, but for whatever reason they’ve been thoroughly average at best here in 2020. This game has so many wildly entertaining ingredients that I can’t imagine it being a dud regardless of which way it goes.

Denver Broncos at Las Vegas Raiders (-3.5)

The Broncos have been plagued by slow starts this season, and have found themselves down double-digits at halftime in 5 of their last 7 games. The Raiders are seemingly built explicitly to play with a lead, so if it happens here they should be able to grind the injury-riddled Denver defense into dust with RB Josh Jacobs as the game clock, as well as the life of anyone watching, dispassionately bleeds away.

Seattle Seahawks at Los Angeles Rams (-2.5)

The Rams are 5-3, but their wins have come against the 4 NFC East teams and the Bears. They are true bumslayers. On top of that, it genuinely appears that Jared Goff cannot make any decisions on the field without Sean McVay barking them into his helmet, which is truly hilarious. Fortunately for Goff, McVay, and the Rams, this week they get to run it up against a Seattle team missing the top 3 CBs from its already cataclysmically shitty defense. Russell Wilson, D.K, Metcalf, and Tyler Lockett are great, but the L.A. defense is no joke and I think they’ll be able to prevent Russ from cooking enough to feed everyone. That analogy doesn’t even make sense, let’s just move on.

Los Angeles Chargers at Miami Dolphins (-1.5)

Oh hell yeah, we’ve got ourselves quite the sexy young QB matchup here. The Fins are smoking hot right now, having won 4 in a row and 5 of their last 6, and it’s long past time for me to move them from  “Frisky” to “Actually Good” in my personal Power Rankings. The Chargers will have G Trai Turner on the field for the first time since Week 2, and T Bryan Bulaga appears to be good to go after leaving last week’s game with an injury. This will be very helpful for QB Justin Herbert, imo, especially against Miami’s 8th-ranked pass defense (according to Football Outsiders). Common sense says that Miami should be the pick, but my desire to see Herbert actually WIN one of the rollercoaster games his team constantly finds themselves in has commandeered this selection. This game will be a good place to park your eyeballs.

San Francisco 49ers at New Orleans Saints (-9.5)

I’m trying not to overreact to a single game, but I can’t get past how thoroughly the Saints wrecked the Buccaneers last week. In particular, their defense was GREAT. If they’re gonna start locking teams up anywhere near that completely on a consistent basis, all of a sudden they’re firmly in the mix to win it all. I think they keep things rolling defensively against a Niners offense missing its top 2 RBs, its All-World TE, and its #1 WR, all with a backup QB at the helm.

Cincinnati Bengals at Pittsburgh Steelers (-7)

I’m picking the Bengals based on nothing more than the Steelers’ insistence on keeping practically every game close. For as good as Pittsburgh is, the only blowout win they have this season is a 38-7 beatdown of the Browns. They’ve allowed teams like the Giants, Broncos, and most recently the Garrett Gilbert-led Cowboys to hang around for a full 60 minutes, so I don’t see why my man Joe Burrow can’t keep his squad in it til the end.

SNF: Baltimore Ravens (-7) at New England Patriots

I have visions of Baltimore racing out to a lead early and Cam Newton and the Pats offense trying to play catch-up against a good defense for the bulk of the game. It’s not a pleasant thing to think about and I don’t enjoy it. I think that’s what’s gonna happen, though. New England hilariously has 17 players listed as Questionable headed into this one. We might get N’Keal Harry back, though!!!

MNF: Minnesota Vikings (-3) at Chicago Bears

Man, this is a tough one. One one hand, inexplicably getting trounced by a team that’s lost 3 in a row and will be without its starting RB and possibly its #1 WR would be an extremely Vikings thing to do. On the other hand, the Bears are currently being quarterbacked by a man whose play drove Troy Aikman to the brink of homicidal insanity a week ago. I guess I’ll go with the team who can complete forward passes at a reasonable clip, but I don’t feel that great about it. A fun wrinkle to this game is that due to the aforementioned absence of Chicago’s primary ball-carrier, Cordarrelle Patterson is expected to get extended work out of the backfield as a runner. This may really only be exciting for myself and Soused, as we’re longtime Cordarrelle fanboys. WE WILL BE VINDICATED.

Last Week’s Record: 4-9 (Shit!)

Season Record: 58-63-4

And one more......please....I hope you enjoy what’s here and I promise there is much more to come! lol

“Oh I’m glad you finally made it. I’ve been worried about you, Princess,” He says as he hugs me. Oh my safety again! I’ve missed him so much! I still get a thrill when he calls me that. Matt and Russ have for quite a while now, but Dustin refused to. To hear Rod say it……I know he means it and it makes me smile when he does.

“I’m sorry to worry you but yes, I finally made it.” I just enjoy being in his arms.

“I just wanted to know you were OK.” He smiles at me.

“You wanted to see me, Rod?” His smile fades a little when he hears her. It’s Tiffany, one of the newer actresses. I’ve only seen her a couple of times. “Oh, did I come at a bad time?”

“No, you’re right on-time.” He says and turns to her, “This is Maxey. I asked her to come in and help you with the part you had trouble with.” His arm is around me as we shake hands.

“Oh! You’re the one we’ve heard so much about! Well, it’s nice to finally meet you face to face.” She says.

“I didn’t know anyone talked about me. Surely, you can find a more interesting topic than me.” I didn’t expect to hear that.

“Shall we begin?” Rod nervously says. He seems to have tensed up around this girl.

“Sure” I say but I try to stay close him. He just seems uncomfortable all of a sudden. She goes to read her part and it’s very flat from the start. I sit with Rod and he starts shaking his head.

“I keep trying to tell her not to just read it. I even showed her last night and she’s still doing this. Do you think you can help?”

“I can try.” I say rather quietly but, from what I hear, he’s not going to get what he’s looking for. He reaches over and kisses me. I’m so glad, I only hold him in place.

“Was that it? Hey! What’s this? You brought in your GIRL friend? Why didn’t you tell me that?” Tiffany looks surprised but she sounds even more so.

Rod and I look at each other, then at her. “Do you have yet another problem here?” He says almost annoyed.

“You failed to mention you even had a girlfriend and I’ve been flirting with you almost non-stop only to have you throw this in my face?!” She’s furious!

“I don’t really see how you can claim you didn’t know. I never encouraged you in the least, so any flirting was done of your own free will.” He stares her down and she looks flustered now. Am I in the way here? We hear a knock and I get up to see who it is. It’s Matt! Oh this just keeps getting better and better!

“Is Rod here?” He steps in and I motion with my hand to where Rod is sitting.

“THERE! That’s who I’ve always heard she was loved up with! HIM!” Tiffany screams when she sees Matt. We all just look at her in disbelief. You poor child! Things are way more complicated than that!

“Excuse me? Who are you?” Matt asks.

“It doesn’t really matter who she is. I’m going to ask that she be taken off this show.” Rod gets up from his seat. “I’ve had enough of all of this. I’m sorry I even bothered to try.” He sounds more sad about this situation than anything else. “What can I do for you, Matt?”

“Well, I was coming to check on things for a few minutes…..”

“Hey! Don’t walk away from me, Rod! You can’t dump me so easily. I won’t let you kiss me then run away from me!” She has a triumphant look on her face. I definitely seem to be in the way here!

“I NEVER KISSED YOU!” He is shocked to hear her say that. “Why would I?” He comes and put his arms around me. I look and he has tears in his eyes. “I didn’t, Maxey! I didn’t!”

“No? Then when are you going to tell her about your daughter?” She roars. We must all have stunned looks. Rod turns around and spits out, “HOW COULD YOU?!” Matt steps between the two of them. He takes her arm and leads her out of the room. Rod hangs his head, walking away from me, and I see him shaking all over.

“This is not how I wanted you to find out about this.” He says barely above a whisper. “I was trying to find the right way to tell you, but this is not what I had planned.”

“So, it’s true? You have a daughter you were trying to hide from me?” I can only stand there.

“I wasn’t hiding her! I just hadn’t found the way to tell you. I was scared that you would leave if I told you, so I kept holding back.” He looks at me but he won’t come near me now. “Maxey, you have been my dream for so long and what happened was a stupid mistake. One I know that I should have fessed up to a long time ago.”

“Why? What did I do that you felt that I would react in such a way? Rod, I love you but how could you not tell me this?” I’m still processing all of this.

“Nothing! You have done nothing to say that you would….it was me. It was a while back and happened before I could get close to you. I just couldn’t find the right way to tell you. I’m sorry!”

Matt comes back and calmly says, “Rod, I don’t think the Princess needs to hear any more excuses. Now is the time to tell her everything.” I blink up at him but yes, he’s right. He is standing right beside me while Rod seems to look between the two of us.

“I…..I made a mistake. I got way too drunk one night and ended up with a girl I never should have listened to. I wouldn’t have if I had been sober. It was five years ago and I’ve tried my best to be there for my daughter. I wasn’t trying to hide her. Really, I wasn’t! I just didn’t mean for this to all come out like this! I wanted to tell you. Both of you! I know I should have before now……please……you have to forgive me!”

“We’re not mad that you have a daughter.” I begin. “We’re surprised you haven’t told us. I’m devastated you thought I would leave you over such a trivial matter. Rod, I know you’re not perfect. None of us are, dear. All I want is for you to be honest with me. Circumstances happen before we realize it at times.” I walk closer to him and put my hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think any less of you for having a little girl. I just wish you could have told me.” He hugs me and cries so hard. I feel Matt come and take the both of us in his arms as well.

“I wanted to! I kept telling myself I was going to tell you, but I would look at you and I just couldn’t bear to think of losing you. You are my everything! I waited and I fantasized for so long! I felt like I was in a dream and I was afraid that I would wake up and you would be gone. I never meant to hurt you though!” It just all tumbles out of him. I feel Matt grip both of us and since I’m closest to him, I feel his gulp. He’s thinking of his own dream. >sigh< How do I convince these two that I am real and not some sort of fantasy they have?

“One more question…” Matt starts. “Why did she know but we didn’t?”

“She saw me get a phone call. Barbara asked me to come earlier than I had planned to get the baby for a few minutes and Tiffany overheard it. Maybe that’s why she thought she stood some kind of a chance because she probably guessed Barbara and I are NOT together. We never were!”

“She contradicted herself anyway.” I tell him. He looks puzzled. “If she didn’t know you had a girlfriend, then how did she know you hadn’t told me about this? She must have known I was your girlfriend if she knew you were keeping this from me. So, she was flirting and hoping for nothing.”

“Darn right she was! I am not doing anything to drive you away from me!” Rod declares and he kisses me again.