#[ but lar*an can’t handle bad press and if they take it away before we can see the full vision im gonna be mad ]

[spiderwarden]

If Larian takes away the breakup argument before I even get a chance to explain why it’s IC, because the shits can’t handle bad press, I’m going to be very mad.

Heaven forbid the woman with a lot of emotional issues isn’t sunshine and rainbows like people want, and will snap at your character the moment things aren’t going right because she’s projecting on Dark Urge for so many reasons and already has an unhealthy attachment to them right away and so many other reasons. (And YES it’s in character.)

There is no realistic way that we can know what the writers have in mind. People make fun of being able to kiss her after, but who knows it might be just a couples fight we don’t know. None of us work for Larian on this blasted website or know Emma Gregory. And it’s too early to tell in terms of this because they’re literally FINALLY putting in previously inaccessible scenes and it’s a slow process. We might not even have the full picture yet, we don’t know.

[starscheme]

Only You

Chapter Eleven: Trusting Sodalite

Back at Beach City, a construction worker was already speaking with Lars about repairing the floor and counters of his shop after Steven's outburst. Luckily, Steven's father had paid for the construction, but Lars still didn't much like closing up shop for the next few days. If Steven hadn't left so suddenly, he could have just healed it easily, right? Though, Lars wondered if he would have bothered after what he did to Spinel.

That kiss still plagued him. He wasn't sure why he did it and he didn't know how to explain it. He had absolutely no romantic feelings for Spinel. If anything, he found her to be a little much at times. Besides, she was Steven's girlfriend. Even if he ever developed feelings for Spinel, he would never do something like that to his friends.

As Lars thought on all this, he felt a familiar gentle tug at the back of his shirt. Looking over his shoulder, he was greeted with a nervous glance from Sodalite.

"Morning," he greeted, turning back to look at his store. "I told you the store would be closed for the next few days, didn't I?"

Sodalite nodded her head without a word, but tightened her grip on Lars' shirt. She did wonder if he thought of her as a bother. After all, he often urged her to stay in little homeworld and try to handle being around the other Gems. Surely because he didn't like her hanging on him all the time. However, around Lars was the only place that she felt comfortable.

The silence was broken when one of the workers began breaking apart the broken tile with a sludge hammer, startling Sodalite immediately. With a quick, "EEP," Sodalite hid her face in Lars' back and the area around them went completely dark, alarming everyone, especially the workers who were now suddenly blind.

"It was just a hammer. Just a loud noise," Lars said aloud, making sure to keep still so that Sodalite wouldn't panic when he moved.

"...just a noise..." repeated Sodalite slowly, doing her best to take a long, even breath. Though the darkness faded away, the freckled Gem did not loosen her grip on Lars' back, still hiding her face in the fabric of his shirt.

The pink young man could feel Sodalite trembling as she hid herself behind him. The Rutile Twins had pointed it out before, but Lars was surprisingly very patient with Sodalite. Sure, he didn't care for the constant blackouts every time she heard a cat run by or his phone ring, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to be angry with her. Instead, he wanted to help her. "I'm going to the Temple. Do you want to come with me? I'm just going to meet Mr. Universe there to give him these receipts."

Sodalite nodded her head silently before stepping back a little, allowing Lars to turn around. The Gem quickly hugged his arm once he faced her, which Lars had also become accustomed to by how. Though, he couldn't help feeling embarrassed when she did this. Mostly due to the fact that this Gem was rather well endowed in the chest and when she hugged his arm so close, he could feel the soft mounds pressing against his arm. Clearing his throat and trying to think of anything else, Lars began walking with Sodalite towards the beach.

"The fusion...she won’t be angry I came with you?" asked Sodalite as they walked along.

"Garnet. Remember? Her name is Garnet. Just like Rhodonite," instructed Lars.

"Right. ...Garnet." Sodalite repeated again. She was still not used to all these new rules.

Though they walked in silence, it wasn't uncomfortable. Though it did give Lars a chance to think a few things over once again. Without warning, he stopped his stride just as they reached the beach.

"Sodalite, why did you lie to Steven before? ...you know that you didn't make me see anything. Yet you—"

"—-You were in trouble," answered Sodalite quickly as she tightened her hold on his arm and lowered her head. "I've seen what my Diamond can do when she gets angry. ...you could've been shattered."

"Steven wouldn't have seriously hurt me. He's a good kid. Frankly...after what I did...I would've been pretty pissed off too." Lars admitted. "I just...still don't understand why I did it..."

"It wasn't your fault! It was that Gem! The scary one. She-she did something..."

"Sodalite..." Lars began with a sigh, "I keep telling you. She's loud and can be a little...annoying sometimes, but Spinel isn't a bad Gem. She's just...emotional."

Sodalite released Lars' arm and with great effort, forced herself to stand in front of him, as if standing her ground. "Y-you can't see it...but I can. Something...is darker inside of her. It's—-it's as if Spinels Gem is covered by something...awful! It's...frightening. It feels cold...and suffocating. I've felt it...ever since My Steven healed me." Though Sodalite tried to speak with confidence, her voice was just as shaky as her hands while they gripped at her own clothes.

Lars stared in wide eyed shock at the freckled Gem in front of him. Not nearly as shocked by her words as he was by her actions. Even though she was clearly trembling, her silver eyes were locked with his gaze. She usually had trouble keeping eye contact, but obviously, this was important enough that she powered through it. How could he dismiss her words now? "...Sodalite, if—-"

"Please believe me," she pleaded now, lowering her gaze down to stare at her feet. "I know you have no reason to trust what I say, but I promise you, something terrible is inside that Gem. It's dangerous. I don't want you to get hurt! You're a human, you're soft and far more brittle than—-"

"Hey," Lars interrupted, waving his hand in front of Sodalite's face. "I trust you, okay? So calm down."

"You do?" Sodalite asked in mild disbelief, lifting her head to stare up at Lars with surprise.

"Well...yeah," answered Lars as he rubbed the back of his neck. Sodalite was so often staring at the ground that it always caught him off guard when she met his eyes. "Why don't we talk to the Gems about all this? That way, they can look into it."

Sodalite really thought she'd have to work hard to convince Lars. She certainly didn't expect him to support her so readily. Since she was pretty paranoid about everything, no one tended to take her seriously. Though she didn't care to speak with other Gems, if Lars was willing to help her, Sodalite would do her best to be confident. "...o-okay! Let's...go and tell the others."

Lars smiled as he observed Sodalite's attempt to appear brave. It was like watching a squirrel trying to work up the courage to face a bear. He still wasn't sure what was happening exactly, but if it had anything to do with his mistake with Spinel, he wanted an explanation. However it wasn't long after Sodalite agreed to speak with the Gems that Lars felt a sharp pain his chest. With a quick gasp for breath, the pink young man dropped to his knees, his body suddenly heated to the point of burning and his limbs weak.

"LARS!" Sodalite shouted in alarm, quickly dropping to her hands and feet, confused and concerned by his sudden fall. "What's wrong?!"

Even if Lars knew how to answer her, he couldn't reply. In fact, he felt he could barely breath. He was rapidly becoming dizzy and couldn't seem to focus his eyes. Though he could hear Sodalite calling out for him, her voice seemed to be drifting farther and farther away.

"Don't worry," whispered a young woman's voice cheerfully. "This is just part of the fun."

His eyes were heavy and his breathing had turned ragged. Lars did his best to stay awake and find the source of the woman's voice, but it seemed nearly impossible as his vision blurred. Sodalite's image slowly faded out as he finally lost consciousness, the faint echo of playful laughter echoing in his ear before everything went dark.

Sodalite was now in tears, frantically shaking the unconscious young man. "L-Lars! Wake up!" cried the blue Gem, unsure how best to help him. She knew next to nothing about humans.

Luckily for Sodalite, they were close enough to the temple that Greg had spotted them on his way back from the Big Donut. He had initially planned to greet them cheerfully until he saw situation unfold.

"Holy cow, what's going on?!" exclaimed Mr. Universe as he darted the rest of the way to them, dropping several donuts in the process.

"Mr. Steven..." began Sodalite, overwhelming relieved that someone, especially another human had showed up. Surely he could help Lars much better than she could. "Lars suddenly stopped working. I think he's broken! You have to fix him!" pleaded Sodalite in tears.

"Oh man," mumbled Greg under his breath, feeling horribly unprepared for something like this. "Just-just hang on. I'll get my van and we'll take him to a hospital, okay? Or better yet, the Gems are close by. We should—-"

Sodalite was suddenly reminded how close they were to the temple. The Crystal Gems had been on this planet for thousands of years. They would be able to help humans too, wouldn't they? With that in mind, Sodalite scooped Lars into her arms and got to her feet, wasting no time as she turned on her heel to race for the temple.

Greg was a little surprised at how fast she was. He'd never seen her run before. Still, she had dashed off without him. "H-hey hold up! I'm coming too!" he called out before scrambling after them.

[hookedontaronfics]

Teasing the Bowstrings - Prompt fic

Title: Teasing the Bowstrings Pairing: Taron x reader Rating: T Warnings: Some light cursing, some very brief allusions to sex [but no actual smut - at least not yet...] A/N: This fluffy fic was generated off a prompt and I don’t think y’all will ever look at archery the same way again! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it too! x Prompt: Hi, what about a reader x taron one where the reader is his teacher for archery for the robin hood movie and they develop feelings for each other?

There you were, perched on your forearms and toes, every muscle in your body straining to keep you in that position as the sweat dripped from your face. You checked your stopwatch again - this had to be the slowest possible minute in the world. You sucked in your breath and held it, closing your eyes and relying on your mental toughness to stick it out as your muscles started shaking, before the little beep told you you could collapse to the mat in utter exhaustion. Five minutes. You had made it in the plank five whole minutes, a new personal best.

Friday morning burns truly were the best.

You finished your morning routine at the gym with some light stretching before hitting the showers, using the soap to massage your sore muscles as you went. Even though you were already fit, today’s training session had kicked your ass and you knew you were going to feel it for days.

Once you had finished rinsing off, you dressed quickly in a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra and tanktop, and checked your phone only to find six missed texts from Lars asking you for a massive favor.

<Yeah, what do you need Lars?> you asked, wondering if it would interfere with your afternoon plans.

<Something came up and I can’t make my 11 a.m. client. Would you mind? I can send over the agenda but it’s nothing you haven’t done before. I’d really rather not cancel if I don’t have to.>

<Yeah, sure, no prob. I’m already on this end of town. I’ll just swing by the training center.> You texted back, hurrying to your car and tossing your gym bag in the back. You had just enough time to grab a cold-pressed green juice from your favorite place on the way over. A surprise archery session wasn’t exactly out of the picture ever since you’d become Lars Andersen’s assistant. You were one of the top-ranked amateur competitive archers in the UK; it was a title you rather enjoyed wearing. Learning the art of trick archery, well, that had just become a fun hobby to add to your resume.

Your phone pinged with the client’s lesson agenda. You opened the text and scrolled through the document quickly as you waited in the drive-thru for your juice. Most of it seemed pretty elementary. Clearly you were working with someone who didn’t have much practice, if any at all. T. Egerton. Hmmm, you didn’t recognize the name right off hand, but this should be an easy session so you didn’t worry too much about it.

You made it across town to the training center with a few minutes to spare, and checked in at the front, handing over a list of equipment for check out. The entire obstacle room had been rented out, which surprised you. Why would Lars book that out for a private session with a newbie? you wondered as you hoisted the bag of bows and arrows and guards onto your shoulder, thanked the clerk and wandered off down the hall past the main training and target range areas, still clutching your green juice in your hand.

You pulled the door open and stepped inside, your eyes quickly assessing where each target was in practiced fashion. You didn’t even notice you did it; it had just simply been ingrained in you after years of training. You tsk’d slightly to yourself as the room was actually quite a mess; you went off to arrange a few targets how you wanted them, waiting on Lars’ client to show up. Soon enough the door opened and a bright-eyed man strode in, brimming with energy and apologizing profusely for being late. By one minute. Oh boy, this might be interesting, you thought as you went over to greet him.

“The name’s y/n, nice to meet you. I’m Lars’ assistant, on occasion. He couldn’t make it and asked me to take over your session for today,” you said, offering your hand.

“Taron,” he just grinned, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake. You looked him over; he was incredibly unassuming in a sweatshirt and jeans, a ballcap pulled low over his eyes.

“Just Taron?” you laughed at that, though you already knew his last name from the agenda sheet.

He just grinned back at you. “I figured you already knew who I was,” he said sheepishly and shoved his hands in his pockets, almost a bit nervously.

“Yeah sorry, I don’t,” you said with a shrug.

“I’ve been in a few films,” he chuckled. “All of this,” he said, gesturing around him, “is for a new film about Robin Hood, which I’m to be in. I play Rob,” he said with a grin you couldn’t deny was adorable.

“I mean, obviously. The great archer himself,” you laughed lightly. “I can see it.”

“I’m actually quite grateful for some anonymity. It’s not always easy when everyone seems to have an idea of who you are already,” he admitted, and you wondered why he was being so open with you.

“Well, I only judge people based on how well they shoot, so, shall we get started?” you ask, going to the bag of equipment and pulling out a bow. To Lars’ credit, he kept meticulous notes so you knew what Taron had already trained with and what he hadn’t. Warming him up was probably a good idea, so you started with the ten-pound bow and some simple target practice. He seemed comfortable enough with it, and you watched his form carefully, partly to issue corrections, and partly because you found him just so damn attractive. The way his biceps rippled as he handled the bow made you a bit weak in the knees. Not that you’d tell him that; you would always stay professional. That was your job, and besides, you were sure he had to have a girlfriend or something. Someone as sweet and polite as he was must have been snatched up quickly.

You shook those thoughts out of your mind as you moved Taron to a twenty-pound bow, walking around him as he held his formation for you, inspecting him at every angle. Thank God this is only going to be one session, you thought as you pushed his elbow up ever so slightly. You were already finding it hard to keep your hands to yourself, precisely because you had to adjust him constantly. He understood what he was supposed to do, but maintaining that form was another matter. Still, you could tell he was a quick study, and he often laughed at himself when he just totally failed to make the mark, which made your job just that much easier. You always hated working with guys who were egotistical and always blamed you when they couldn’t get their arrow straight, rather than their bad form they ignored you pointing out. Taron was coachable, and that made him fun to be around.

“Alright, well, you’ve proven that you can hit a target with some level of consistency, but can you do it while moving about?” you smirked at him, wondering if he’d be willing to bite at the challenge, and of course he was game.

“I’m probably going to fail massively, but I say we give it a try, yeah?” he chuckled.

“Just remember your fundamentals, you’ll be fine,” you grinned at him.

“Remember your fundamentals, she says. Fundamentals you’ve spent years perfecting,” he said. “Alright then, let’s get on with it.”

Cheeky bastard, you thought to yourself as you outlined some moving drills for him, ones you thought were rather easy but that seemed to throw him totally off because he wasn’t hitting a damn thing, and you could tell he was getting frustrated at himself.

“Why don’t we take a break for a moment,” you suggested, but he wasn’t interested in stopping.

“I’m going to get this, you’ll see,” he said, sweat already staining the collar of his sweatshirt as he made attempt after attempt and, admittedly, getting closer and closer to at least hitting the targets. Taron was determined, you’d give him that. He was quite out of breath when he finally stopped, pointing proudly at the arrow he’d managed to sink just outside of the bullseye. “See that right there?” he grinned, pretty proud of himself and making you giggle despite yourself.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed as you grabbed a water bottle for him, but as you went to hand it to him you noticed that his bowstring hand was completely torn up.

“Taron, shit. Let me see that,” you gasped, grabbing his hand and forgetting your professionalism for a moment as you inspected the torn skin.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged but you knew it had to be painful. You’d experienced much the same as a novice over the years.

“Yeah, well, the last thing you need is an infection so let’s get that cleaned up.” You made him sit and rest while you went to retrieve the first aid kit from the front desk, and he calmly let you doctor up his hand. He didn’t jerk away when you put the antiseptic on, nor when you ever-so-carefully clipped away the ruined skin. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you go about your task, and you had no idea what he was thinking behind that green-eyed gaze. Touching his hands made you feel a thrill you were trying desperately to ignore, though.

You wrapped some gauze around his fingers, making sure he wouldn’t lose any function with them, and taped it all up. “There, how does that feel?” you asked.

“Mmm, dare I say better,” he said, wriggling them at you. “And I’m quite sure you could do all of that better too,” he chuckled, waving vaguely at the course you’d set up for him.

You gave him a smirk before grabbing a recurve bow, rather than the longbow Taron had been training with. You slung the quiver around your shoulder but pulled four arrows into your hand at once, making Taron’s eyes go wide. You effortlessly leaped and spun and twirled through the course, hitting your targets every time, and barely breaking a sweat over it.

“Now you’re just showing off!” he laughed as you tossed your hair back over your shoulder.

“Oh no, Mr. Egerton, that wasn’t showing off at all,” you smirked, before rummaging in your bag for something that could be made into a makeshift blindfold. You set up a single target about 50 meters away, before pacing between two poles and marking the stride distance in your head. This was one of your favorite tricks Lars had taught you, and you were hoping it wouldn’t fail you now in front of Taron. You wrapped the blindfold around your eyes, took up your bow and notched an arrow, and then ran backwards, mentally marking the space where the target should be in that space. You drew the bowstring back in the middle of your leap, nudged the tip of the arrow down ever so slightly and let it fly, hearing the satisfying thwack as the tip hit the target and you landed on your feet and let your continued momentum backwards absorb the shock.

“Holy shit,” Taron gasped at that, making you giggle slightly.

“Now that was showing off,” you grinned, as you heard him walk over to you. Blindfolded like this made you rely on your other senses, and you analyzed his footfalls and stride and mentally calculated the picture in your head of where he was at that moment. It was something you’d practiced for years, hitting targets blind and learning how to shoot around corners and visualize where in any given space someone or something could be. He walked softly, you noticed, carrying himself upwards, and you could also tell that despite being sweaty he still had a marked sweetness to his scent.

Why was he so close? you thought the instant before he lifted the blindfold slowly off your eyes, his intense gaze staring straight into yours. “Can you show me how to do that?” he asked, a bit breathlessly even though he’d been sitting down. A small shiver made its way through your body as his fingers had brushed lightly over your face.

“To shoot double-blind?” you said, a bit startled to be standing so close to him. You could see the light stubble shadowing his jawline and the individual color specks in his eyes. “That takes years to perfect. And probably not necessary for your film either,” you added with a laugh.

“No, I don’t mean that,” he chuckled. “The way you barely look like you’re working when you pull the bow back. I look like I’m wrestling a steer when I do it!”

You snorted at that, because he wasn’t wrong. “Alright then, get in your position,” you said, cringing at how that sounded but Taron didn’t miss a beat, focused on the task at hand. He pulled the dummy arrow back and froze in place and you sighed at his white knuckles; typical rookie mistake.

“Loosen these,” you said, tapping on the fingers he had wrapped tightly around the bow grip itself. “You don’t need to hold onto the bow for dear life. It’s not going to go anywhere, I promise. You want your grip to be steady but flexible. It let’s the bow vibrate the way it should in your hand as the arrow leaves its rest. It will fly straighter and won’t fatigue your hand and arm as much either, and in the middle of a competition the last thing you want is a hand cramp.”

“That sounds terrible,” he agreed with a laugh, doing his best to adjust his grip on the bow.

“And as for your other hand, well, you just need to think about teasing the bowstring,” you said, getting an eyebrow raise at that.

“Teasing it?” he smirked at you, even with the notch of the arrow pressed against the side of his mouth as he sighted the target. You had to admit, the way he was standing made him look powerful and athletic and, well, kind of hot.

“Yeah, like a woman. I assume you’ve had practice?” you smirked back, making Taron lose his composure completely. He managed to drop his arrow and then his bow and you couldn’t tell whether he was laughing or crying or maybe both, but it took a solid ten minutes before he managed to gain control again.

“Never thought of archery that way,” he said, wiping his face lightly.

“Everything comes back to sex, don’t you know it?” you smirked at him, handing him back his bow. “This is your woman, treat her well,” you joked.

“Well, I haven’t got any others right now,” he said, running his hand gently over the wood. You had no idea why he’d volunteered this information, but even though it surprised you, you filed it away in your brain all the same.

You picked up your own bow and showed him exactly what you meant by teasing the bowstring - to keep your fingers light but also firm around the nock, giving the arrow a chance to move in the natural way it was meant to but without too much give; pulling back the string at once both carefully but also with authority. “And when you feel you’ve reached the point of no return, where the bowstring might give out if you pull it back any further, that’s when you let it go,” you said, moving your thumb ever so slightly to release the pressure, sighting the arrow’s path all the way down its shaft as it left the riser and made its flight across the room, only to sink squarely in the bullseye. “See? Simple,” you said, looking over at Taron to find his mouth hanging slightly open. “Oh, did I lose you?” you laughed.

“No, I get what you’re saying. I just … don’t think I’ll ever have the finesse you have. You’re quite stunning,” he said, his eyes sweeping over you and making you blush despite yourself.

“It just takes practice,” you said, brushing off the compliment because you weren’t sure how to take it. “Practice I’m sure you’ll be putting in with Lars.”

“Ahh well yes, but he’s not nearly as good-looking as you,” Taron said, a bit jokingly but also with a note of truth.

“Mmm well this can’t be denied. I at least have better hair than he does,” you teased back, trying to keep things light because they were very much in danger of going a different direction. The tension in the room was as ready to snap as a bowstring. “So, try it again,” you managed, nearly choking on your own words in your haste to distract both of you from that train of thought.

He got a determined look in his eye as he took his stance again, remembering to keep his grip loose, his elbow straight and you couldn’t see anything wrong with the way he was holding his arrow. “Widen your legs,” you said in a bit of a whisper, trying desperately hard to keep your professional composure. “And square your hips with your target,” you added, and you heard Taron suck in his breath sharply at that, but he did what you told him to do and then let go of his arrow, and even if it didn’t strike dead center he still managed to hit the bullseye and fairly squealed excitedly over it.

“Did you see that?!” he giggled, hugging you cutely and having zero awareness of personal space in his excitement. But a huge part of you also didn’t mind at all.

“That was great, Taron! Now we just have to get you to do that every time,” you said with a wink. Your session time was almost up, so you only showed him a couple more things, mostly working on getting him more consistent on controlling his aim, though he asked to watch you shoot four arrows in quick succession again and you were happy to oblige.

“Think I could do that too?” he asked cutely as he helped you collect the arrows scattered about the room and return them to the quivers and the equipment bag.

“I think you could do anything you put your mind to,” you replied, realizing you actually meant it just about his life in general. The smile he returned made your stomach flip slightly; he was probably the most adorable man you’d ever met.

He insisted on grabbing the equipment bag as you grabbed the bows, hooking them over your shoulder as you both exited the training room. You returned the equipment to the front desk and walked out with Taron, who was still hanging around you.

“So same time next Friday?” he asked with a wink as he trailed you over to your car.

“Well that’s up to Lars, I suppose. I’m just his assistant and he needed me to do this as a favor,” you replied.

“Well maybe I’ll make it a special request then, eh?” he asked, smirking at you lightly over the roof of your car. 

“Yeah, sure thing Taron,” you said though you couldn’t help being secretly thrilled by the prospect of training him again.

“I meant what I said, you know. You really were stunning in there. If I could only be half as bloody amazing as you…” he trailed off, his eyes searching yours for something.

“Thank you, I’ve worked on it for a long time,” you said, unable to just ignore the way he’d somehow gotten under your skin with his laugh and his dimples and his unassumingly kind nature.

“Yeah but there’s something else there, a sort of grace you just possess in how you carry yourself too. I just don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he replied. Your breath caught in your chest slightly as you stared at him, a whirlwind of feelings bursting through you. “I’ve certainly never enjoyed getting my ass beat by a girl so much as I have today,” he joked, making you laugh too.

“I’ll, um, see you around, Taron, I’m sure,” you said, giving him a smile and mentally kicking yourself for not saying more.

“I look forward to it,” he just grinned back at you as you ducked into your car and took a deep, steadying breath. What the hell was wrong with you? you wondered as you turned your car on and watched Taron walk to his own car. You admired his ass before catching yourself and mentally chiding yourself. You never mixed business with pleasure; things always got far too complicated and you didn’t need the drama. Not only that, Lars had put a massive amount of responsibility in your hands and you weren’t about to let him down by being stupid with a client.

All of that being said, you did wonder if Taron really would request Lars to bring you in again, or if he’d forget about you the minute he and his car pulled away, honking lightly at you as he waved. You waved back, a smile on your face, before you finally put your car in gear as well. Either way, you were going to make sure to keep next Friday open.

Well loves, hope you enjoyed it! I COULD be convinced to write a second part to this if enough of you ask for it so leave me comments/asks!

[askthesquips]

@soluscoiotes

WHOO HERES A FIRST ATTEMPT

this probably isnt the most accurate but practice makes perfect so hopefully ill write more and improve!

OHHHH I LOVE THIS!!! IT’S VERY GOOD (minus a few minor errors, harmless grammar stuff really)!!!! AND ALSO VERY CUTE

the idea of michael having jeremy as a lab rat to wacky concoctions he’s made is a very good thing i approve of 100%

and also jeremy and michael being wingmen for their squips

-Lars

“Jeremy you can’t do this to me!” P whined, following along as Jeremy had made his way to to Michael’s house which was right across the street.

“Yes I can.” He replied.

“But why?” P whined.

“Because if I can finally ask Michael out then you can finally ask his squip out.” Jeremy replied, ringing the door bell and waiting.

“Jeremy!” P whined flapping his hands at his sides. He was really trying contain himself. One one hand P did want to finally say something to D and get an answer, but on the other he was scared at the idea of it and needed to calm down to avoid fully chickening out.

Suddenly the sound of a lock being undone made Jeremy and P both jump in surprise as Michael came into view, followed by D behind him as the door opened more.

P was pretty sure every time he saw D his…well his chest, felt like it was being constricted and if he had a heart he would’ve gone into cardiac arrest.

Let’s face it D was the cutest guy P had seen and it wasn’t easy to handle.

“Hey Michael!” Jeremy greeted, noticing Michael’s breif glance behind him noticing that Michael could see P right now.

Of course Jeremy assumed Michael would be worried as to which squip was present after the voltage incident. Meanwhile Jeremy became familar enough with D that seeing the figure now was like spotting a semi new piece of furniture and mentally noting that its been there for awhile; however, not always been there as he could recall when it wasn’t.

“Hey Jer!” Michael grinned quickly tugging Jeremy inside to pull him into a quick kiss and lead him to the kitchen.

Just as they got there Michael had already gotten on ovenmitts to pull out a tray to add to the other full tray worth of crescent rolls, however they appeared swollen past what could be considered a normal size of said food.

“I just tried making crescent rolls with cheese in them try one!” Michael insisted, taking off the ovenmitts to grab one before yelping as he seemed to forget which tray had just been taken out of the oven.

D shook his head with a small smile. Michael meant well but this wasn’t the best executed plan.

“Michael I’ve been here for less than a minute and you already do this?!” Jeremy exclaimed, grabbing thd nearest kitchen towel to run under the sink.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Michael assured showing his hand.

“It’ll just be a bit red later.”

Jeremy gave it a glance before pressing the wet kitchen towel to Michael’s finger tips.

“You say that now, but later you’ll feel way over sensitive touching everything and anything” He replied.

“Whatever, but you should still try one!” Michael insisted before grabbing from the correct tray with his other hand.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow and in all honesty? Not that P had any expiriences or expertise at all to go off, but he wasn’t sure he’d want to eat it either.

“Oh come on! Youre not gonna puke, I promise.” Michael insisted.

There was a pause and P and Jeremy simultaneously looked to D for input and confirmation whatever Michael had made wasn’t gonna leave Jeremy heaving over a trash can later.

Michael was known for eating strange food combinations that Jeremy, having a weaker stomach, just couldn’t handle.

D also didn’t have much to go off of, but he at least watched Michael make it.

“It should be fine. Worst comes to worst it may taste bad?” D responded with a shrug.

There was a breif second Michael looked to D and back at Jeremy before connecting the dots.

“Oh right I forgot you can see him…and hey! It’s not my fault Jeremy can’t handle things like sprite and chocolate ice cream.” Michael responded with a fake huff.

“We were in fifth grade, and you said and I quote. ‘It’ll taste good Jeremy, its light colored food and dark colored food mixed and thats hardly different from how most foods are made, if vanilla ice cream and pepsi or coca-cola can be a good combo then sprite and chocolate should be the same…like color theory stuff but with food!’” Jeremy mimicked.

P gave a small chuckle having seen that memory replay in Jeremy’s mind of him heaving over a trashcan as Michael giggled and ate the horrible concoction whilst rubbing Jeremy’s back.

“Come on. I thought you’d be fine, just try this.” Michael whined holding it out.

Giving in Jeremy ate the strange food combination and waited.

P didn’t feel Jeremy’s stomach grow irritated or begin to try to squeeze itself back up his esophagus. That was a good sign.

Another minute passed.

“Hand me another I guess.”

“Finally!” Michael fist pumped as Jeremy took another.

Using a spatula Michael had then proceeded to transfer the crescent rolls he made onto the cooler pan and took it to his basement to eat while they played more video games.

If anything was clear from the fact that Jeremy said he wasn’t sure if he’d spend the night or not it was that as far as he was concerned they weren’t leaving until P confessed to D.

So for now P crossed his legs and sat on the floor staring to the ground.

I mean god he couldn’t just 'talk to D’. What was he to say? Humans had it easier, there was things like scents, sounds, and texture to speak of, but with other squips what did you have to talk about that wasn’t already known?

P sat in place thinking hard about what to say, fidgeting and flapping his hands until he was startled by the hand that landed on his shoulder.

P looked to notice D not offering a smile but a look of concern and confusion which to say the least was both comforting and probably the best as if D smiled P might lose any ability to talk that he had.

“Something the matter?” D asked.

“What?- No its just thinking about something-”

“Like struggling to find an answer to something? I could help.” D immediately offered.

There was a second long pause of P finding it ironic that D could give the answer before D was the only one that could hive the overall end goal answer before D held up and finger as of taking notice of something.

“Hold on just a minute…” He said as immediately, D moved back over to Michael and leaned over his shoulder where Michael showed him something on his phone with a smile that seemed to make D seem quite surprised.

It took P a minute to take notice that Jeremy had sent Michael a text that he was now gonna taunt the squip over every time the saw Michael from now on.

“My squips got a crush on yours, feel free to show this to D”

D had glanced back and and forth between the text and P before asking.

“Is this?…”

P however couldn’t bring himself to look at D as he gave a nod, feeling like making eye contact at this point would make him explode.

Mere seconds later D had pulled P into what would’ve been a suffocating hug if they were physical beings with lungs.

“Hey P, look at me for a minute. It’s really important.” D said with slight urgency in his voice.

The moment P lifted his head up D leaned in to give P a kiss. Said kiss made him freeze for a couple minutes because

’D is kissing me!’

'hes kissing me!’

'He’s actually kissing me!’

'Oh wait I should probably kiss back-’

However before P could D pulled away with a laugh at P’s late response and asked.

“So was that the answer you needed?”

P for once was actually quick to respond this time around with a smile.

“If it was can I get a couple more for confirmation?”

[waspabi]

If you are still taking passage requests (I know this was like two weeks ago), the scene in Wolfborn post-Snow Moon run, where Nicky goes "pack is fucked." Or the stand-off between Nicky and Malkin. Thanks! :)

I’ll do BOTH, half because I wanna and half because both scenes revolve around the same questions: how do you be a leader, how do you be an adult, how do you figure out how to be both those things and also yourself?  

Wolfborn is about a lot of stuff (werewolves, the body, a Disney Channel Original Movie of a sports arc, Nicke and Ovi boning down in a big way) but one thing it is pretty obviously is a coming of age story. 

Nicke’s gonna be an outstanding team alpha in our present and his future, but when we meet him he’s a distracted baby who keeps losing his suitcase at the all star game and once left a big money paycheck in his dumb fuckboy mercedes and forgot about it for a month (both facts, can provide receipts). 

So we’re looking at this big q: how does he get there?

Nicke tried to tamp down the irritation bubbling in his stomach. Everything was so frustrating all the time. No one took care of the pack properly, and when someone fucked up nobody said anything about it. No accountability, no reliable hierarchy. He had thought things were getting better but really it was just as fucked as before.

The fun thing about being an idiot baby is that a lot of the time you have no idea what an idiot baby you are, which Nicke doesn’t. He really thinks he’s got this shit handled and if he were alpha right now, he’d be able to fix all the pack’s problems. 

On the other hand, he’s got some fair points Nicke truly. Truly nothing pricks his hide more than mismanagement and a lack of accountability. For fuck’s sake! Basic concepts! He sees a lot of examples of what a bad alpha is, but he doesn’t see any good ones. All he knows is this is not what he wants to be. 

“You always grumpy mornings,” Alex murmured, kissing Nicke’s throat.

That — wasn’t untrue. Nicke tilted his head back, giving Alex more room to work with. He was starting to get hard, which was annoying. He had shit to discuss. Alex was so fucking distracting.

Alex does not wanna talk about this and is gonna pull out all the stops to change the subjects before Nicke gets to the inevitable question, which obviously is about to be sprung:

“Why didn’t you take it? Alex, you will be alpha. Why wait?”

Alex stopped messing with Nicke’s neck and pressed his face underneath Nicke’s jaw. “I’m not ready,” he grunted, voice hoarse. “I feel it. Still young, stupid. Guys see me like annoying cousin, little brother. Not alpha yet.”

Nicke wanted to protest. He wanted to tell Alex that he got to decide how the guys saw him, that he led by example, that he had bolstered the team too many times to count. He brought his hand up to cup Alex’s head instead, fingers moving slowly to detangle his thick hair. It wasn’t his call. He wanted it to be his call, but it wasn’t his call.

Alex doesn’t feel ready. It’s also why he’s refusing the captaincy – which IRL Ovi did because he didn’t think his English was strong enough yet – Alex is really shaped by external opinion at this point in his life and he’s pretty vulnerable despite his big talk. He also doesn’t want to do it alone. He can’t do it without Nicke, and as a rookie Nicke can’t take up that role yet. 

Nicke, on the other hand, is not dependent on external validation, even as a little idiot baby who lost his shoes before the All Star/YoungStars event and had to borrow a pair that was two sizes too small (facts, can provide receipts). 

“Anyway,” Alex said, tilting into Nicke’s touch. “I think is gonna be you. We both gonna be alpha, but. Think you gonna be my alpha.”

OH HO HO! I wrote this part of the scene like three days into writing the story because I was so excited about it. 

I imagined werewolf power structures within hockey were sort of flexible, but at the end of the day, the buck stops with the alpha(s). And within an alpha pair, one of those is the Big Alpha. Alpha Prime. 

I never came up with anything good title-wise for our Big Alpha position, but werewolf language was part of the whole language theme in the fic: there is no good word for any of it. All the words characters use for werewolf concepts are vague gestures at the concept at best: marriage is just the closest human concept for their sort of bonded-partnership-pack parents vibe. 

(honestly a significantly better translation for team alpha would be team mom/team dad, so like, if you wanna know who is the alpha of another team ask urself: who are the team parents, and you’ll know) 

MOVING ON! 

Evgeni Malkin and Sidney Crosby are used throughout the fic as a comparison: another young alpha pair, already in charge of their packs, but doing things very differently to Alex and Nicke. So I went into this scene thinking: how is Nicke flexing his power? His authority? His position as Alex’s partner? It’s all very new to him, and he’s just starting to try it all on for size. 

Nicke’s just got off the phone with Tatyana, and he doesn’t know if he’s met her approval, he’s feeling vulnerable and territorial and as a result he’s feeling particularly prickly. 

Evgeni Malkin smelled of scented deodorant, foreign pack and generic shampoo. He held his phone in one improbably large hand and came right at Nicke, frowning. The NHL forbade wolfborns from marking territory in their game arenas, but usually there were ways of getting around that rule — Malkin was clearly comfortable in his territory. He exuded that particular high-handed alpha nosiness from every pore of his skin.

“Yes,” Nicke said. He put Alex’s phone in his pocket.

“Sasha okay?”

Nicke set his jaw. The wolf itched under his skin. “Fine.”

“Was accident, before.” Malkin shrugged. “Hockey.”

“Yes,” Nicke said, and imagined sinking his wolf teeth into Malkin’s throat.

Geno’s actually being fine. He’s got a question! He’s just got a question, he’s comfortably existing in his own territory, he’s already an alpha, he’s confident in asserting himself and it’s making Nicke so ornery he’s gonna pick a fight for no good reason. 

“Want see if he come? We have plan. Drinks.”

“No,” Nicke said firmly. Alex was injured. There was zero chance he could go to foreign territory injured, without a member of his own pack to back him up.

Malkin raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said. “You talk for Sasha?”

Well, this was stupid. Nicke motioned to the empty corridor. “You see him? Right now, yes.”

This is one of those things where when you’re under pressure, sometimes you reveal the core of who you really are. Nicke’s stressed about Alex’s injury, about Tatyana, about his territory, about not feeling in control. 

As it turns out, at his core Nicke is bossy as heck, unbelievably protective of his big idiot husband and completely unwilling to lose a fight (that he started himself for no good reason). He’s truly himself in this bitchfest of a nonsense standoff, and nothing brings me more joy. 

This standoff was one of the most fun scenes to write. Mean Lars emerging from his chrysalis to dead-eye Evgeni Malkin, ah, chef-kissing-fingers.gif, perfect.  

Malkin glowered at Nicke, and Nicke glowered at Malkin. This might have kept on going indefinitely had Sidney Crosby not rounded the corner. Nicke slightly loathed the sight of him, his aw-shucks jawline and boyish curls improbably wholesome despite the vicious way he’d checked Nicke in the second period. Nicke hadn’t managed to get him back, which rankled.

Nicke has more conflict in the story with Geno, but it is Sidney for whom he has true deep disdain in his heart. 

Part of it is because Sid is already alpha of his pack and Nicke is jealous and feeling powerless which stresses him out, and the other part is because Sid does so much to make himself palatable to humans. He’s careful with grooming, careful to seem nonthreatening, careful with what he says – meanwhile Alex, obviously, could not be more of a werewolf stuffed into a suit if he tried

look at him! just shoved on in there ready to sign his crazy long contract. bout to bust free at any moment. mere hours away from delighted screaming with Nicklas Bäckström in a deserted carpark.

It personally galls Nicke when werewolves act tame or nonthreatening. Werewolf Nicke didn’t have to deal with humans in any real capacity for a very long time in his life, and he has little sympathy for people who feel they need to cater to them. Both Sid and Alex have had to deal with humans a lot but the way they’ve dealt with that pressure is in completely opposite ways, and for Nicke Sid’s way is… hm. Well. 

(Alex, meanwhile, does not care. sure, he doesn’t get that way of dealing with humans and frankly thinks it’s boring but he’s not gonna begrudge somebody their coping mechanism – so basically for nicke it’s all alex ovechkin is a good man. he’s got a good heart. he doesn’t hold a grudge. that’s what he has me [nicklas bäckström] for) 

This whole tangent is not really evident in the fic except in minute hints because it didn’t come up but it’s something I liked thinking about so: ur welcome for the unnecessary detail

I’m realising as I write this that I am essentially writing an essay about What Annoys Werewolf Nicklas Bäckström. Glad you asked: 

pack mismanagement

artifice 

omelets that are hiding secret mushrooms

hotel sheets

Thank you. 

Crosby glanced between them, frowning. “Geno? We have to go home.”

“Bäckström not let me talk to Sasha,” Malkin grunted.

“Uh, okay.” Crosby’s suit was terrible, grey and boxy, and he held a knit hat absently in one hand. “We have to go, though. Come on, Geno.”

Malkin looked between Crosby and Nicke like a dog torn between obeying his human and chasing down a particularly galling squirrel. 

I really liked contrasting Sidney’s very matter-of-fact non-reaction compared to Geno’s histrionics, and the exchange also revealed who amongst them is the alpha alpha: Sidney Crosby, which was confirmed to me by leading expert Eva @agonyandagony​, although I think at this stage of his life it was much less obvious. 

Sid and Geno (and Kolzig and Federov and Tatyana and Nylander) represent different ways of being an alpha. It’s that classic story thing of your minor characters being preoccupied with the same questions as your main character, and representing alternate ways of being. Each of them shows Nicke a way to be a leader, to be an adult, to be an alpha, and we learn along the way what he is going to take and not take onboard on his, like, Big Journey. 

Uh, anyway, thanks for giving me an excuse to write another 20k commentary to my werewolf fabrication, especially to talk about Mean Lars (Werewolf Edition) who is close to my heart and is someone I would give a 2 hour lecture about at the slightest provocation. 

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter eighteen (bad dreams and ginger ale)

“Jesus, I can't touch my penis. Jesus, I can't see my feet. Jesus, I don't like my penis.” -”Exit Stonehenge”, Soundgarden

October 16, 1988. University District of Seattle, Washington.

It's some time after one o'clock in the morning and I haven't been able to fall asleep here on Kim's couch. I can't stop thinking about everything that's happened the past few days. Well, that and the bloody couch cushions feel like they've been beaten with a baseball bat about a hundred times over.

The pillow Kim lent me feels more concave than my own stomach. I think about the night I slept on the Greys' couch and I encountered the Man in Black the first time. I also think about their generator and I can't help but wonder exactly how far in advancement the city of Seattle prides itself upon.

I have all these pieces and somehow they all should make sense but I'm not sure as to how to piece them together. Surely, there's a way to make them fit as I close my eyes to the darkness before me.

Kim had pulled the drapes on the window to keep the neon blue light show out of his apartment. He has a bachelor pad just like what I have back home, except he has two bedrooms instead of merely one—and he told me he's seeing a lady on top of that—and his bathroom is much more spacious. That said, when I took a shower right before he and I called it a night, I spotted a pocket knife in the spot where the soap should be right next to the faucet. Since the shower door's transparent, I kept my eye on it the whole entire time I showered. It had a similar shape and look as the one I have, except this one has a little blue dot on the handle. It wasn't until I climbed out of the shower and dried off when I managed to examine it better.

The blue dot is a light, like one on a tape recorder, except I have no idea what could activate it, that is if there's a way. I set back down when I reached for the clean towel: I'd rather not invade Kim's privacy like that.

I went to bed at a little before midnight there on the lumpy couch in the front room with my feet up on the arm and the heavy horse blanket over me. It's a little tough to sleep with still wet hair, but at this point, my hair is rather trivial.

I have an uneasy feeling inside of my stomach, and I don't know if it was that linguine served to me out of the holes in the cafe table or the fact my best friend is in the hospital and I have no way of getting a hold of him or Spence. Kim has a phone but he neglected to pay his bill this past month, before they were paid for their new album, so it doesn't work. I'm also not willing to venture out in the rain to use one of the payphones on the block, that is if there are any payphones. I haven't seen one since I left Portland and New York.

I sigh through my nose as I roll over onto my side.

I think back to Marcia crying as she kissed me in the back room there. A part of me wishes I could do it again with her because she had soft lips and she is a very good looking girl. In fact, if I could lay with her here on this couch, I would do it. I'd let Dominique join in, too. And Gwendolyn and Lupe. Four girls crawling all over me!

I'd let Gwendolyn dance for me before she kisses me, then Lupe could caress me down before she serves me a little cup of coffee. Dominique can talk dirty to me, and then I go have a sweet little make out session with Marcia. All of this happening and then we have a big fat orgy together. I'm sexy: Gwendolyn even said it herself. Marcia's lips followed suit and then Dominique's hand on me. That's really all I want: to have these girls on either side of me, feeling me, kissing me, loving me.

Loving me...

I open my eyes to see the back cushion right up in my face. I can hear Kim snoring down the hall: I don't know if his lady friend is here, or if she even showed up, or if she's going to show up at all, but all I know is I'm alone again.

I'm alone again. Alone here on this couch and listening to the torrential rain outside pattering on the rooftop and on the window sill.

I roll back onto my back so I'm staring straight up at the ceiling. I have those four girls imprinted on my memory.

Marcia and her thick, full figure, made rounder from things out of her control. If only she could see her own cuteness and the fact she's lovely in her body and the fact she kissed me. I lick my lips when I think of her chest. She pressed up against me: those tits pressed up against my own chest. That soft skin close to me and those smooth lips over mine.

The lick of my lips turns into a nibble of my bottom lip when I think of Gwendolyn in all of her glitter. She danced for me on my birthday for free and I even thanked her for it. I picture her ass over me and those hips getting rounder when she puts her foot up on the arm of the chair, and the sole thing separating me from her pussy a satin pair of panties.

To lay next to Lupe in a comfy bed, especially after she takes off her shawl and her nightgown.

To hear Dominique share something she wrote with me and have her set a hand on the back of mine.

My pants are feeling tight and it's not from the fact I have an ache in my stomach or from possibly having to get up to take a piss. Why did I leave my pants on after all? I roll my head over to the drapes over the window and I think back to the night I first saw the Man in Black before me. And then it hits me.

Mrs. Snow isn't here. I don't have my dream catcher behind me so for all I know, the Man in Black could show up again. But I do know one thing is for certain and that's the fact I'm alone in this dark room away from the neon and the falling rain. It's times like this I have to say “fuck it”.

I reach underneath the blankets to the button on my jeans and undo it. Lifting up my hips, I peel them off of me and leave them straddled around my thighs. I reach down the crotch of my shorts to feel it. I think of those four girls over and over again, their faces going through my mind like a whirlwind.

I pinch my eyes shut and relax as I let my fingers do the work.

I part my lips to breathe out at the feeling.

Oh God. Fuck. I haven't done this in a while because Mrs. Snow always wants to fuck me up because of it.

I'm groping around. Poking and stroking. Making love to myself.

Never realized my back was so tight before.

I push in extra firm with my thumb and that coaxes a grunt from me.

I don't want to wake up Kim and I try to keep my moaning and groaning to myself and inside of my throat. But the thought of those four girls, those girls right around me, is only making the feeling reach a high point. I tilt my head back against the pillow and leave my mouth open but hardly any sound comes out of my throat. My chest is heaving. My thighs are writhing about underneath me.

Dominique's with Matt. Marcia, Gwendolyn, and Lupe are back in New York: the former is probably crying herself to sleep at the moment, while the latter two are probably giving some guy a lap dance right now. Four girls. Four girls I want with me but I can't touch them.

Why.

But this feeling here is good. It's rising higher and higher and I'm breathing so hard that I feel like I've been running laps around the hockey rink. It's going higher, higher... higher—oh!

Oh, shit. I need a tissue. Scratch that, I need a few tissues.

My hope now is that Kim understands it as I have one hand on my head and the other one groping around the floor for that tissue box I had spotted before he turned off the lamp. The edge of the box brushes against the side of my hand and I yank out a couple of tissues to clean up my mess while using the afterglow of the neon as my sole light.

I'm wiping down the skin and I look down at my own dick resting in my hand, illuminated by the creepy but soft blue light and resembling a ripe zucchini.

“Italian Stallion,” I whisper, recalling what Gwendolyn had said to me on that first night. I crumple up the tissues in my hand before stuffing him back into my shorts. Really, why did I keep my pants on.

I sit upright to push off my jeans and lay them over the top of the couch. Once the rush of adrenaline wanes off, Maya comes to mind. The memory of her laying on my own couch, and also the memory of her seeking out comfort in me. While Gwendolyn referred to me as sexy, Maya said I'm the most beautiful man in the world.

As I lay back down and pull the blanket over my body, I hang onto that comment. The most beautiful man in the world.

And then I think about her reaction to seeing Lars.

I also can't stop thinking about that damn scar on Maya's forehead in particular.

That scar.

That scar...

At some point, I finally nod off and I open my eyes to the sight of an old man laying on the ground with his head pressed against the wall so his neck is in an uncomfortable cricking position. I kneel down next to him to see if he's awake, or alive. I reach out to touch him but he doesn't stir in response.

A white gloved hand grasps onto my wrist but I jerk back and clamber to my feet. I look at the woman right in the face but I know this isn't Mrs. Snow.

“Sit back down,” she commands me.

“Why?”

“Because you're a brat.”

“What did I do?”

But she doesn't answer me. Instead, she shoves me down onto the floor next to the old man. The curmudgeon from down the street from Brick emerges out of the shadows behind her with two babies in his arms.

“Jesus, dude,” I mutter aloud when I think about how many kids he has now.

“He must be that little Italian brat who thinks he's an Injun,” he remarks. That word is like fingernails on a chalkboard: I clasp my hands to my ears.

“Damn Injun!” the woman shrieks in a voice so loud it hurts my hearing.

“We oughta make your rotten carcass into a model, you damn Injun,” he sneers at me. The babies burst out laughing and that's when I try to get up to leave, but my ass is stuck to the floor. My ass is too big that it weighs me down and I can't get up. Or so I think. For all I know, there might be sticky shit all over the floor, like the sticky shit that was coming out of me not too long ago.

Their infectious laughter morphs into the roars of monsters. The old man next to me rolls over onto his side to reveal the face and the hands of the Man in Black jutting out of his back. I put my hands over the back of my head to protect me, but it's useless at this point. They're going to kill me.

I jerk myself awake to find I'm back in the living room of Kim's apartment. I have no idea what the time is but it's still dark enough to warrant the neon blue lights outside a bath of glowing light over me. And my stomach still hurts me: if anything, it hurts even more than earlier.

I sit up and lay a hand over my belly to ease the pain, but sitting up only makes my head spin. Oh, God.

I want to tell Kim I don't feel good but I don't know if he has anything on hand to help me.

Careful not to make my head spin even more, I swing my legs over the edge of the couch and stand up. I'm a little dizzy as I walk down the short hall to Kim's bedroom. I push open the door only to be met with that loud snoring. I need something to settle me, though.

I lean over the silhouette of his body under the blankets and shake him.

“Hm?”

“Kim?”

“Hm, wha? Oh, hey Joe. What're you—”

“You got any ginger ale?” My voice breaks from keeping my mouth shut the past few hours.

“Any ginger ale?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I do. Why—what's the matter?”

“My stomach's bothering me, like the cybernetic linguine I had earlier is not sitting well.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. It's in the fridge so it's nice and cold. Clean glasses in the cupboard—”

“Okay, thank you.”

And I'm pretty sure he dozes off once I lift up from the bed and walk back out to the hall. I'm going down the carpet in my underwear to the kitchen, something I haven't done since the summer time when Mrs. Snow faded out with the incoming sunshine. I turn on the light, which in turn makes me snap my eyes shut again. I blink several times and then I spot the fridge in front of me.

I open the door to find a six pack of ginger ales on the top shelf: I pick one out and figure it's better if I drink it right out of the can. As I pop it open, I think of when Maya cleaned my apartment for me while I was out playing hockey all day. Once the fizz hits my tongue, it hits me like lightning.

That damn rope around her ankles. The fact she's refusing to eat. The fact she's more comfortable around me than Lars. But more importantly, that damn rope tied around her ankles and the fact she was laying there in the storm drain.

Someone—

No.

“Oh, God.” My own voice echoes over the kitchen counters. But it all makes sense now that Maya would behave the way in which she has been with me.

I take another sip from the can, because this time it's extra hard on me. I turn off the light and head back to the couch. Before I lay back down, I take another large sip of it and set it down on the floor next to the tissue box. The thought of it makes me recoil.

And I don't want to believe it. But it's the only explanation.