#I also find it convenient to blame that eye for some art problems. though it’s probably not just the eye

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Sometimes i feel bad about swearing at my own eyeball (the left one specifically), Usually when I’m on my own, but seriously! It’s my own eyeball! I know it’s not going to be sad that I yelled at it about my shit depth perception or when i have trouble reading something without my glasses. When I was a kid BOTH of my eyes were off, but the nearsighted one got better on it’s own. Clearly my eyeballs could have gotten their shit together at the same time! Yet they didn’t! Because one eye being good was enough for my other one to just half ass it. People have two eyes for a reason! Yet one of the little shits in my scull can’t carry it’s own fucking weight! This is farsighted eyeball shaming hours

[mvnvgedmischief]

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

chapter:  4/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 8 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Sirius knew that work was going to be high stress all day. He felt sick to his stomach, thinking about the way he would continuously have to talk to people, when all he wanted was some peace. He wanted downtime. Time when he didn’t have to think about how he needed his paycheck to put food on the table, clothes on his brother’s back, pay bills to keep his lights on, wifi for homework. Regulus occupied his thoughts at all times, protecting him was Sirius’s only priority these days. He didn’t have time for anything else. Not his friends, not his interests, not music. Nothing could come between his focus and his brother’s wellbeing, because if it did, Sirius would never forgive himself. The consequences were too dire. So instead, he just wished for downtime that wouldn’t come, and prayed for the weekend to approach even faster. 

The weekend, when he could finally sleep again, albeit not well. The weekend, when he had the time to take a breath, even if it was only brief. Because his weekends were also spent finding ways to better equip his apartment for his younger brother, going to long grocery runs so Regulus had lunch to take to school, meal prepping all of the things he couldn’t bring himself to eat for dinner. He was definitely tired of all of the ways his mind was spiraling out, he didn’t have the time. He didn’t fault Regulus for it, it wasn’t the teen's presence in his life that was causing all this stress. It really was his own fault. A bit of crying at that first hearing had given Walburga and Orion the satisfaction of a victory over him at that first hearing, and they seemed to crave more of that chaos. They wanted to watch their children suffer, and this was how they chose to do that. So instead he spiraled in the privacy of his own home, because he could practically hear the words they burned into his mind whenever he saw them, and feel the ache of old beatings. 

But it was only Thursday, and that meant he still had to do this all day, and  then get berated by the rest of the team for not attending their weekly bonding happy hour. If he was lucky,  no  one would ask him to go. He knew he should be less terrified of them asking, most of the people on his team were his friends. There was simply the question of Remus, and Sirius didn’t have the time to be thinking about him in the first place. 

He didn’t have time to think about  the way his hair curled just the right way to fall into his eyes when he slept, or the way his caramel freckles made him look sunkist. He didn’t have time to think about the  pink scars that ran down Remus’s face or how they got there. He definitely didn;’t have time to think of the comfort  of his hand combing through Sirius’s own mop of unruly curls. So instead, he needs to  put  all of that out  of his mind. It wasn’t going to help him do well at work. It wasn’t going to solve his problems. He didn’t have the  time for this, nor did he have the emotional bandwidth. Perhaps that was why Sirius was conveniently avoiding the idea that he had asked Remus on a date. With some luck, Remus would think he was just an asshole who ghosted him. That was definitely complicated by the fact that they worked together, that he couldn’t just disappear. He wanted to, he really did, because there was simply no time. 

He set up his deliverables as though he had made tons of them, because his employment in this company  rode on it. Just two months ago, he was pegged to be promoted within the next two cycles, and now he could barely hold on to his sanity enough to handle his workload. He was so fucking tired, and he had so much on his plate. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the long day of meetings ahead of him. He had no true motivation to do his job right now, all he knew was that his exhaustion was no excuse. He knew that his boss, Alice, was giving him a whole lot of leeway right now. She was probably doing more than she should to help him. Being a mentor on the senior design team didn’t mean she needed to keep tabs on his personal life and pick up his slack. 

“Sirius–” 

When Sirius focused back into the meeting he was calling into, it occurred to him that they’re talking to him. So he did what he always did, blamed it on a shoddy connection. 

“Oh, sorry, can you repeat that? My audio cut out.” 

“Remus was saying that some of  the poems could probably use illustrations, and he was wondering if you had any ideas on which ones needed it.” 

“Thanks, Peter.” Sirius was glad that he knew the people on this team, that Peter and James were as close to him as anyone could be. Because otherwise, he’d probably be fucked. 

“So I was looking through them, and I was thinking Bite, Magick, and Love I could probably use larger scale illustrations. But at the same time, we don’t want to crowd the book. How attached are you to the current order or page arrangement?” 

It felt too close, but he was lucky that he had at least read the titles of some of the poems in the first half of the book. Sirius knew Remus didn’t actually know what his level of involvement was. He thought it was just doodles, but Sirius would be responsible for presenting everything from kearning and font choice within the pages, to illustration and cover art to the design team. He was integral to the success of this book as a product, and he  needed to start acting like it. 

“I’m pretty attached.” Remus sounded cold to Sirius, and he wondered what exactly he had done wrong in this meeting. And yet, he didn’t have time to think on it. He needed to keep things moving, keep getting valuable information out of the author. Hook up be damned, Sirius needed this book to actually get off the ground. 

 “Okay, well we should get a meeting on the calender to discuss. What poems and what scale of illustrations you want–” 

“Shouldn’t you be deciding what the illustrations look like and the logistics of those. Isn’t that what you  get paid for?” Remus really wasn’t making this easy on Sirius. But he had dealt with bigger demons and divas then whatever this attitude was. So he put on a light and airy smile, one they’d never know didn’t reach his eyes over the low quality webcam and nodded. 

“If you’d like to take a hands off approach with the design work, that can absolutely be arranged. But in the case of a fledgling project with a new author, the design team, myself included, really hope to prioritize your artistic license so that we can get a better sense of your vision for your literature, should Quill move forward with other publications in the future.  We can provide a completely in-house service, with as much input as you feel necessary during the design process, and deliver collateral towards the end of the project when final edits are done, if you would prefer, Mister Lupin.” 

Sirius practically wanted to scream. He needed Remus to stop fucking with his job, with his livelihood. He couldn’t lose this project. He needed all of the billable hours he could get if he was going to justify the overtime he needed in order to provide for his brother. This was ridiculous. But his clinical and polite answer must have thrown Remus, because he didn’t get much more attitude out of him. The back and forth had ended. So instead, Sirius pulled up his deliverables for the week, which included new iterations for the covers, and twelve illustrations for the three poems he had mentioned. 

He noticed the way Remus looked at his drawings, like he was pained by whatever his thoughts were, and Sirius wants to scream that he’s under no obligation to think that they’re good. But then he remembers that Remus seemed to be nitpicking on purpose, based on his critique of the design system itself. Sirius didn’t have the time to deal with that level of petty, just because he hadn’t been answering. He was too busy. He had too much on his plate. So instead he continues his presentation. 

“I don’t like any of these. Maybe you should start over.” Remus sounded vindictive, even mean. Like he was doing this out of spite.  Sirius could feel his heart drop in that moment. He didn’t want to start over. He didn’t have the time. 

“What do you not like about them?” Sirius is trying to salvage his work while he can. 

“The vibe is off.”

“Oh, is there something specific that throws it off or...” Sirius trailed off, wondering what exactly he needed to change. 

“No, it’s the whole thing. All of them are just off.” 

Sirius needed to think quick on his feet. He didn’t have the time to start from scratch, so he pulled up his original thumbnails that he had discussed with Remus. 

“These are the original sketches we discussed. I moved forward with the ones we talked about. I’m happy to rework those sketches,” no, he wasn’t. “But if there’s another sketch that you think would fit your vision better, please let me know.” He felt like he was pleading with Remus not to hate his artwork. He’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t a blow to his self esteem to hear that everything that he did was bad. 

“No, I would suggest you start over.” 

Sirius nodded, his mind immediately whirring with ways he could start over and re-design this project. He really didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to do hundreds of thumbnails to get set on thirty, only to be destroyed in a meeting again. Especially when Remus seemed so excited about all of his illustrations before the meetings. It felt like too much. He didn’t have the energy for this kind of behavior. 

Luckily, Marlene directed the conversation away from Sirius’s work. The rest of the call went on without a hitch, like the only person who’s work Remus had a problem with was Sirius’s. He knew that it was more likely for Remus to have a problem with him, because design work was usually something an artist thought of as easy; however, this felt calculated and cold. If Sirius had been avoiding Remus before, it definitely wasn’t about to get better. So instead, he listened to the end of the meeting, and started the project all over again. He could do this. It was an unremarkable critique. It didn’t matter.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Describe what would happen if Lily (from "Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus") suddenly found herself in cannon Harry Potter world in the middle of his fifth year? Oh, and she can't bullshit herself out of this one for some reason, instead she stays there for a month or two while Rabbit, Lenin, and Trotsky somehow join forces and try to find a way to bring her back. Bonus points if Lily crashes a DA meeting and kicks some peoples butts anticlimactically.

Oh boy, that I’m sure would go so well for all involved. In the middle, you say? Alright, let’s do this thing. For my sanity I’m going to pretend this taking place in an up to date version of “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” as of chapter 7-whatever we’re on right now.

So, there’s a couple of different ways that Lily can arrive. There’s a few obvious ones that stick out to me.

First, it just somehow happens. Reality’s falling apart in Lily’s own dimension and two seconds away from collapse. Rabbit’s floating around as these things called dementors, eating Umbridge, speaking English all the time, shit’s going down. It’s not all that out of the realm of possibility that Lily accidentally falls into a wormhole which deposits her in canon land.

Second, someone summons Lily. Now, this could either be team good (hooray) or team bad (boo hiss). Lily, being a being of unspeakable power but fairly neutral alignment, could easily be summoned by both. That said, I’m not really sure who to blame the summoning on.

The obvious choice is Harry, because Harry is stupid enough to summon a god to the mortal realm to slay Voldemort and Hermione’s smart enough to figure out how to do that for him. Go omnipotent creature, kill that evil snake man! However, we’re inserting Lily into canon directly, which means no short cuts of Harry having the dumbest idea he’s never had. Otherwise it’s not so much that the Order’s smart enough to know this is a bad idea but that such an idea would never actually occur to them. It says a lot that Dumbledore only ever gives tasks of any importance to Snape, the Order is kind of just... Harry’s glorified babysitters and taxi service.

So Harry and or the Order isn’t summoning Lily to solve all their problems for them. Good on them, smart choice.

Now, what about the Death Eaters and Voldemort?

With the Death Eaters we have a similar problem as the Order. Such an idea would never occur to them or if it would then they’re smart enough to say “NOOOOOOOOOO”. That said, if it ever did, oh Bellatrix would be so down. But only if the being worshipped at the altar of Voldemort’s wonderful... Voldemortness. Whatever it is she sees in him. 

Voldemort it depends where you lean on his characterization. We don’t actually see that much of him in canon, barely even hear from him, and we mostly hear about him from a variety of dubious sources (either people who have no idea what they’re even talking about or else Dumbledore who tells Harry this information while actively grooming Harry to kill himself). I’ve seen people characterize canon Voldemort as having once been brilliant but currently mad, as being mad and yet also brilliant despite his many failures, as not mad at all and his schemes are just so intelligent, so brilliant, that none of us can follow them and they all seem to end in failure, and there’s always what I think which we won’t discuss because I look bonkers enough on the internet.

Insane Voldemort might think it’s a great idea to summon some unknown god to stomp all over his enemies. I’m not exactly partial to cookoo bannanas Voldemort but honestly, it’s either him, Lily stumbling through a wormhole, or random kids chanting Bloody Mary in a mirror three times and out comes Lily.

Right, I wasted a lot of paragraphs on that.

Anyways, in the greatest scheme known to man, while Lucius is trying and failing to get that prophecy, Voldemort unearths some ancient text to summon an unknown god. A power that is unknown to mankind. So, I imagine Lily is summoned into canon much like that scene in Ghostbusters where the Sumerian god descends from the heavens. Glowing gate out of nothingness, fog machines, maybe a little less glitter and spandex, and instead Lily having no idea what the hell is even happening.

Lily, realizes she’s in deep shit as she notices Bellatrix prostrated on the ground in worship (of Voldemort of course, not Lily, Lily is just a deity and is nothing compared to the magnificence of the dark lord) as well as the various other Death Eaters all either looking terrified or in mindless awe of their lord’s amazing power. Lily feels like she’s entered Twin Peaks as she eventually is able to put together that the lisping snake man is supposed to be Wizard Lenin/Tom Riddle.  Lily and Voldemort probably have tea or something, but as he’s crazy bananas in this version per my own convenience and he looks like something that eats children, it doesn’t go well and Lily gets increasingly weirded out and convinced she’s in some sort of parallel hell reality that comes about when Rabbit eats the entire goddamn universe. So much like someone in a surreal horror movie, Lily flees into the night and goes to Hogwarts to see what madness is there. At first, she’s confused, as Hogwarts looks... mostly Hogwartsy. There are some differences. Umbridge is still alive and apparently torturing all the children as opposed to just Lily. The dementors are gone and apparently Black has now been on the run for years. Default doesn’t exist, instead Hermione Granger is still happily in Gryffindor with Luna Lovegood sorted into Ravenclaw. The biggest marker that everything has changed is that Ellie Potter appears to have been replaced by Harry Potter: A boy who looks oddly like Uncle Death. Now, Lily knows that Death is an alternate reality’s version of her, but this guy doesn’t act anything like him or sound anything like him. Not even a much younger, amnesiac, version. Death... plays quidditch. What is this? Lily tries to return home but is blocked, realizing this means that the Rabbit explanation is more likely, and in Hogwarts decides to see if she can resurrect something of the world she knows out of this monstrosity or at least see where Wizard Lenin ended up. Rabbit, missing in action, should certainly be hunted down.

Lily decides that her best bet is to tail this Harry Potter, who might be the result of whatever happens when Ellie Potter (the persona) is digested. So, Lily cons her way into being a student, joins Gryffindor, and tries and fails to get into Harry’s friend group. First, though she’s older than the thirteen-year-old she’s pretending to be in her original story thanks to time travel, she doesn’t look fifteen yet either. Second, no one just injects themselves into the Golden Trio.

Still, Lily tries and while Ron thinks she’s damn weird and Hermione finds her suspicious, Lily earns herself a billion bonus points by figuring out that all she has to say is, “Oh gee, Harry, I believe you that this bloke named Cedric Diggory was murdered and Voldemort is back from the dead. It’s so awful the Prophet is calling you a liar now have you happened to see a fellow with white hair, black eyes, might be a rabbit? No? Well, do let me know when you do, because he’s late for a very important date.”

Unfortunately, even being close to Harry, there’s no sign of Rabbit but Lily starts getting pulled into Harry’s woes. She hears about his detention with Umbridge (laughs awkwardly as she remembers what happened to Umbridge in her world), hears about quidditch being cancelled (Lily could care less but pretends to be sympathetic, yes Rabbit-eaten Ellie, it is awful that quidditch is cancelled), hears about Dumbledore ghosting Harry (Lily unimpressed as this is what Dumbledore does), and hears about Voldemort’s mysterious actions of mystery involving glowing orbs.

Lily drops that she doesn’t exactly think Lord Voldemort’s a man with a plan here but that’s not what the gang wants to hear so reluctantly, and unprompted, Lily promises to look into it. 

In the meantime Lily attends one DA session, turns it into horrifying dodgeball where the children are traumatized forever (because the patronus, Harry, really? That the grand self defense method against dark wizards we’re going to teach these people. No, no, we have to teach ‘duck or die’. You duck, or you die!) and is politely kicked out by Hermione who reminds Harry that he’s the one who should be teaching self defense and not terrifying transfer students who appear out of nowhere.

So Lily goes to fetch the prophecy instead. Having bullshit abilities and being secretly Harry Potter, in a way, herself she’s able to collect it and hears the thing. She remembers hearing this from her own dimension but decides to give it some more thought, then some more thought, then even more thought. She probably spends half a day trying to decide if this means Lily is secretly a zombie or Harry is the manifestation of her being secretly a zombie because ‘neither can live while the other survives’. Like all of us, Lily eventually decides prophecies are stupid, heads back home, and delivers the thing to Harry who is even less able to understand it than she is. Lily tells him that it probably means he’s a zombie, congratulations buddy, glad that’s been working out for you.

Meanwhile, as Lucius no doubt flips shit that the prophecy is simply gone, Voldemort starts taking action. He sends “I know where you live” letters to Lily at Hogwarts which promise doom and destruction and even more doom. Lily finds the idea of doom squared alarming. So, Lily decides to do what she does best, she sics one Tom Riddle on another Tom Riddle. What could go wrong? Lily asks Harry if he’s ever seen a diary with the name “Tom M. Riddle” on the inside cover. Harry flips shit and Lily has to talk fast to get him out of believing she’s the devil. When he tells her that Trotsky was murdered in perhaps the most hilarious manner possible in this world (a very true Rabbity end for him) she nearly gives up when impossibly she catches another hint of Tom Riddle in the air. She follows it to the source, the old Default Common room, and finds a very pretty tiara that Tom Riddle stuffed himself into.

Lily wakes him up in a very jarring manner, tells him that the other Tom Riddle is out there being Voldemort while he’s stuck here in a sad little crown, and tells him that it’s clearly his right to go beat the shit out of Voldemort to take what’s his and never bother Lily again. Tom is very, very, very confused. Instead of doing that he decides he’s going to stick around Hogwarts. That was not in Lily’s plan.

Forced, to hide his identity, Lily introduces him with the good old Albanian refugee trick. Only, without the excuse of A.L.F or Quirrell getting mauled by vampires that just sounds weirder than usual. Lily then backtracks and announces that Voldemort burned down his rural Welsh village (That’s right Umbridge, Voldemort is alive and burning down villages! I will take that detention, thank you!) Mot Elddir here is a true hero for surviving such an awful event and should be placed in Gryffindor now.

Harry is dumb enough though that meeting Tom Riddle face to face, even with blonde hair, Harry can’t quite recognize him though there’s something familiar with this chap. Dumbledore is not that stupid and starts gagging in horror at the staff table and has his suspicions of this Lily girl being a Death Eater/Voldemort himself confirmed. Dumbledore confronts Lily, Lily plays hilariously dumb, “What Death Eaters, people who eat death? Never heard of it, sounds contagious.” Dumbledore confronts Mot Elddir who just finds this all hilarious and has decided that Lily is his new favorite thing that he’s kidnapping as soon as he discovers what he wants to do with his life. He tells Dumbledore this is the best thing since Christmas, and yes he has many many evil schemes involving all the children (he has none).  Voldemort instructs Snape to poison Lily, and while Snape feels a pang of conscience at murdering children, Dumbledore gives the go ahead in that they’ll send Lily to the hospital wing where perhaps they can then give her veritiserum and get some answers about what the hell Voldemort is up to. Well, Lily gets poisoned and realizes that she has so many enemies now that she honestly can’t tell if it’s Dumbledore (who is her enemy for her having blatantly released Tom Riddle) or Voldemort (who is her enemy because... she’s not actually sure why for that just that she maybe didn’t burn down London). Being Lily, she doesn’t die or is sent to the hospital wing, and just kills herself to wash the poison out. Snape is horrified and astounded that the girl appears perfectly fine. He’s even more horrified as he hears news of what he missed out on while at Hogwarts, Voldemort summoned some great power into this world and rumor has it that it’s loose at Hogwarts.

Lily talks to her newest Tom friend and tells him that if he’s going to stick around he should help her find out who just murdered her and all that. She doesn’t like being murdered, while dying’s alright, somehow being murdered makes it all that much more unpleasant. New Tom is not very sympathetic and notes that he’s here for his entertainment, not preventing her from being murdered. He just spent the past several decades as a crown, give him a break.

Dumbledore decides that time’s up, time to put Harry to the test. Unfortunately, Harry takes this as a moment to go “Welly well well, look who finally has time for Harry Potter? Finally has time to tell him a prophecy HE COULD HAVE TOLD HIM ABOUT YEARS AGO!” So, Harry destroys his office. After Harry has his Tommy Wiseau temper tantrum (I can’t imagine it any other way), Dumbledore tries to tell Harry that his new friend (who was so kind to fetch him that prophecy, impossibly, from the department of mysteries) is likely some eldritch abomination summoned by Voldemort from another world. Harry alone can defeat her.

Harry at first is angry and disbelieving. Dumbledore notes that Harry must have noticed that dear Mot is really just Tom Riddle going blonde. Harry is speechless, but it’s all true, and he desperately points out that Tom could have done something to Lily. Dumbledore notes that Lily was weird before Tom showed up, hasn’t Harry wondered why Lily doesn’t ever seem to need a wand? Ever? 

Harry is horrified and leaves in a daze. On returning to Gryffindor he confronts Lily and asks her some of what Dumbledore asks him. Lily badly tries to pretend she had no idea Mot was evil incarnate, “Tom Riddle? What? No. No! There’s no way that Dear Mot could possibly be Tom” but has no excuses for why she’s so unbelievably talented. Lily decides to just go for it and explains to Harry that this world isn’t even real, it’s a cheap reflection of what reality used to be, that an extradimensional creature other than her has devoured them all and this thing is the result. Lily’s not sure she can fix it, but she can at least try to find the thing that did this to them.

This is enough confirmation for Harry and, fueled by betrayal, he demands a duel with her. Lily notes she doesn’t want to duel but Harry insists. Rather than do it, she runs away, grabs Tom and notes they’re leaving Hogwarts now. Only, outside of Hogwarts protection, she and Tom are easily tracked down and picked up by Death Eaters.

Tom is vaguely embarrassed by the whole get up, as Lily points out how and why it’s ridiculous, while Voldemort probably circles the pair of them and gives some very menacing lisping speech of evil. Lily points out that this is not her fault, Voldemort’s just weird and Lily kind of likes London, she feels no need to stomp on it. 

Before Lily’s forced to kill Voldemort, Rabbit finally shows up, notes that Lily’s the one who’s late, and pulls her into a wormhole. 

The other Tom Riddle is left behind in dumb horror, realizing as the seconds tick by, that apparently Lily is not coming back for him.

The end.

[oh-so-scenarios]

ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴇɴᴅɪᴘɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪɴɢs...♠| 09

⤖ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇs? Jᴜɴɢ Hᴏsᴇᴏᴋ ɪs ᴛᴏᴏ ʙᴜsʏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ɴᴇᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ. Hᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴇɴᴅɪᴘɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʜɪs sᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ…ʀɪɢʜᴛ?

⤖ Mᴀғɪᴀ Lᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ Hᴏsᴇᴏᴋ x ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, Aɴɢsᴛ, sᴍᴜᴛ, sᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ!ᴀᴜ,

A/N: Now this chapter is....interesting. Kind of a filler, kinda of important. But its a chapter that needed to happen! Unedited! Ignore any errors!

(Word Count: 5.4K)

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Y/N:

We somehow ended up with both fried chicken, noodles and other foods being delivered. Of course, the guys didn’t have it delivered right to the building. It was delivered to the convenience store not too far from here. Jungkook and Jimin went to pick it up and was currently setting everything out. 

I sat at the table, my seat not too far from Hoseok who sat on the actual table. I turned my chair around Namjoon who was explaining the words he wrote.

“So this guy and his goons have appeared at these three clubs.” Namjoon points to the names he has written down. Hoseok nodded his head, setting the papers on the table beside him, He glances at me for a moment, noticing that I was interested in what Namjoon was saying. I look back at him for a moment, smiling. 

He looked back to Namjoon, not returning my smile or saying anything. 

“So what happens is they go to these clubs and event claiming to be Seok, in which they proceed to rob people with guns. Now the problem is they more and more aggressive with each stop.”   

“And the good news?” Hoseok says.

“Boss, stop working so we can eat!” Jimin whined from across the table. Hoseok doesn’t reply to Jimin, urging Namjoon to continue. 

“The good news is that they have a trend. So it’s easy to tell which club they’ll be hitting next. They move about every 2 weeks, and so they should hit club 8Heart in a few days,”

Hoseok nodded, “Sounds goods.” 

It seems that’s Hoseok’s way of ending the conversation because he gets off the table and turns around to face the food that has been set out, while Namjoon also finds a seat. 

Hoseok takes a seat beside me, not looking my way but focusing on the food. The next moments are full of silence, other than chewing and lips smacking. I focused on eating the black noodles that sat in front of me, sipping away at the water bottles that Namjoon provided.

“So boss, what’s the plan? Are we going to that club?” Yoongi suddenly asked, wiping his fingers off the sauce from the chicken wings. I looked over at Hoseok who froze for a small moment before finishing the food that was in his mouth. 

“I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out.” He answered stiffly. Yoongi nodded, reaching out to grab one of the small containers of white rice. My face scrunched up at the small interaction, before looking around the table. Where is the conversation?

“Why do you still call Hoseok boss?” My voice cut through the silence, and everyone peered at me in confusion. Though Yoongi was the one who just spoke, my question wasn't anyone in particular.

Yoongi gaped at me in a confused manner, “What do you mean?” 

I could see Hoseok, still eating as if it was still silent, “You guys are friends right?” 

“Of course.” Jimin chimed in softly.

“But Hoseok is our boss, we gotta show that respect,” Taehyung says flashing a small smile. He looked my way, before looking at Hoseok who had stopped eating. He had no more than 20% of his food left but I watched his face twist up slightly before he wordlessly stood up from his seat. 

Everyone gawked at him, noticing the frown that rested on his lips. I couldn’t help but pout, understanding how Hoseok was feeling. He walked from the table and headed down that strange hallway I’ve never ventured into.

He walks briskly with his hands in fits at his side. Everyone watches his back as he goes and disappears down the hallway. 

Before the others could say anything I rushed out a question.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you guys meet Hoseok and how did you start working for him?” I cocked my head to the side and leaned forward with curiosity.

“I want to know as well.” Jennie finally spoke, before taking a sip of water. We both lean in, our eyes bouncing around to each guy at the table. 

They shared glances with each other before Jungkook sighed, leaving me to believe he was going to speak first. 

“All of our parents were friends,” Jungkook says quietly, his usually kind eyes looking...sad. He turned his gaze down and onto the table. I watched him scratch the back of his neck nervously, looking to his hyungs for help. The other guys remained silent for a moment sharing glances with each other. Jennie and I also stayed quiet, hoping someone would come forward.

“No wonder Hoseok thinks you all hate him,” I mutter a bit bitterly. Eyes snap my way, looks of confusion and hurt. I ignore them, taking the wooden chopsticks in hand to take another bite of my noodles.

“What?” Yoongi asked breathlessly. I chewed the food that was in my mouth, glowering at the confused man.

“Hoseok thinks you guys hold some sort of resentment towards him and I’m trying to figure out why. So before we go any further I’d like someone to tell me how you guys met.” I said quickly, Hoseok’s dejected tone replaying in my ears. 

“With details please,” Jennie adds quickly, adjusting herself in her seat.

“It’s like Jungkook said, all our parents were friends with each other. Or so we thought.” Jimin said softly, running his fingers through his hair as he always does. 

“So you thought?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow at the change of tone.

Jin sighs, frustrated by the way the others danced around the subject, “Our parents owed Hoseok’s father money...like a lot of money. So rather than being friends...he was the debt collector.” 

My mouth drops open a bit, “Oh...so that’s how you befriended Hoseok?”

Jungkook nodded, “We’d see each other at events our parents would drag us to. We saw each other so often, we couldn’t help but become friends.”

“Boss was so friendly, he came right up to us and made conversation,” Yoongi said quietly, remembering a scene clearly. Small chuckles rippled through the room, each guy remembering the same scene.

“Hoseok was?” I asked in surprise. 

“Oh yeah!” Taehyung chimed, “Boss used to be the light of the party. There was no being shy around him! He’d walk up to anyone with a big smile on his face and befriend them.” My shoulders slumped, unable to picture Hoseok in such a manner.

“So that’s how you all became friends, how did you come to work for him?”

Another thick silence lingers, leaving me with my heart pounding in my chest.

“Boss’s father gave our parents an offer...he’d erase their debt if they agreed to sign us over to boss as...his employees,” Jungkook said softly, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

My heart dropped and for some reason, my eyes began to water with tears. I huffed out a breath and placed my hand on my chest.

“I’m sorry...what?” My voice trembled.

“Noona, please don’t cry...it was years ago...we’re okay now.” Taehyung cooed, showing me a small smile. 

“Your parents basically sold you off?” Jennie said in disbelief. The tears blurred my vision and I tilted my head up to keep them from falling. 

“S-so what, you dropped everything you were doing?” I asked still staring up at the ceiling. When I didn’t get an answer I brought my eyes back down to the still faces in front of me. They all avoided eye contact, poker faces shielding any possible hints to their current thought process.

“So what were you doing before you started working for Hoseok?” I asked. 

“I was part of a dance program.” Jimin answered, “contemporary.” 

“Were you any good?” I tease softly. 

Jimin beams at me, “I was the best in my class.” 

Only a few of the guys speak. Taehyung was studying art, Namjoon was writing novels and Jungkook was singing. Jin and Yoongi didn’t speak to reveal what they were up to, but I had a good enough idea. 

Another silence passed, their words handing heavy on everyone’s shoulders. 

“He didn’t know at first,” Jin begins, “Hoseok didn’t know...and though we couldn’t blame him...we were angry. We were hurt. I’d say that the first year was...hell. We rarely spoke to him. We’d only address him as ‘Boss’. All his attempts at keeping the friendship going were shut down. We stopped going out together, we stopped confiding in each other…” Jin trails off.

“We shut him out and he had no idea why,” Yoongi added. 

I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek and hit my hand that sat on my lap. I nodded slowly, taking in their words.

“All while he was mourning his father?” I spoke gently, wiping my face quickly. 

“So, young 16-year-old Hoseok, had to take on the weight of this mafia empire and mourn his father all while wondering why the only people he had left no longer loved him?” My tone came out harsher than I intended. It wasn’t the guys' fault. They were also hurting. Their dreams and future had just been ripped away from them. Everyone was hurting. 

And I don’t want to think of Hoseok as some broken man. I don’t think he’s broken at all...he just adapted to his surroundings.

“When did he find out about the arrangement between his father and your parents?” I asked in a softer tone.

“After we’d been working for him for 3 years. It came out in an argument.” Jin replied.

“So did you all ever explain why you stopped talking to him?” This was turning into an interrogation, but I couldn’t care less. I was finally gaining an understanding of how things became what they are now.

“No,” Taehyung answered simply, “We all just kind of got over it and things went back to normal...or as normal as they could get.”

A ping of anger entered my system, “Of course things can’t go back to normal!” I exclaimed. The volume of my voice was shocking. Breaking the quiet conversation we were having until now. 

“You guys never told him what was going on! You should have told him what was going on! You all could have healed together!”

“Y/n, we tried to talk to him later on but he was so...off.” Jimin hissed back at me. He was getting annoyed with me and I didn’t care.

“Well duh, he was off. Who did he have to cry to? Who could he lean on for strength? It didn’t matter that you all started talking to him again, you never sat down and discussed with him. Then he finds out later that y’all were forced into this life with him?”

My words get slurred together as more tears flow down my cheeks. I know Hoseok hates pity, but I can’t keep but feel sorry for him, Him and these 6 men sitting in front of me. I use the back of my hand to wipe my tears.

“And how could things go back to normal when you all still call him ‘boss’ like that’s all he is. That’s why Hoseok thinks you all secretly hate him.” 

Yoongi snickers an underlying tone of nervousness clear in the action, “He doesn’t think that.” 

“Oh come on! Be real guys! It’s always ‘Boss this’ or ‘Boss that’. At no point did you guys reassure him, let him know you didn’t blame him or anything like that!” I stood up from my seat, shocked by the emotion that was coursing through my body. 

The hurt in my heart was heavy, for Hoseok and for the guys. I’m not usually one to cry like this but the thought of Hoseok hurting in such a way became too much for me to handle. I wiped my tears, sniffling as my cries changed into short and small sobs. I watched Jennie rise from her seat to comfort me. I dropped my head down, trying to get my breathing under control. 

“Ok, I’ve heard enough.” A monotone voice called from the distance. I didn’t have to pick my head up to know that was Hoseok. I can’t be sure how long he’d been close by listening, but I could hear his steady footsteps getting closer.

None of the other guys said anything and he didn’t say anything to them as he stopped beside me. I turned to face him, my head still down, giving me a view of his shoes. There was the comforting warmth of his. His cologne filled my lungs and I took in a deep breath before slowly my breathing. 

I finally looked up to see Hoseok staring down at me. The look in his eyes were somewhere between anger and hurt. I sniffled and wiped my face as his eyes stayed on my face. 

“Why are you crying Y/n?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft and all I could do was stare back up at him, pressing my lips together while my eyes burned with a fresh batch of tears.

Without thinking about what I was doing, I buried my face into his chest, trying to keep the tears from leaving my eyes. My arms wrapped around him and I took in a shaky breath. I noticed Hoseok’s body grow stiff and rigid but I didn’t step away. 

“I’m sorry Hoseok, I’m so sorry you had to go through something like that alone.” My voice came out muffled by his chest but he still heard me. I heard him sigh deeply and I couldn’t help the jump my body did as a warm hand found its way on my back.

“And that’s why you're crying?” The slight chuckle that leaves his lips makes me feel childish, but I can’t help it. 

“Y/n,” He pats my back in a soothing manner, “I am okay now, I got through it. There is no need to cry.” 

“I know, I know.” I answered, “I just can’t help it. There’s this sadness in my heart and I gotta cry it out.” We stand there in silence for a moment while my breathing got back to normal, but I dared not let go of Hoseok, the heaviness in my heart feeling like I was physically weighing my body down.

“Don’t worry,” Jennie said from her seat. She walked around the table to stand by my side, and I drew back from Hoseok slightly, only noticing at that moment that his other hand was hovering over my head. He was hesitating and trying to figure out what to do.

I acted like I didn’t see that hand nervously drop to his side, almost in defeat.

“It’s a soulmate thing. I cried for 3 hours when Jaehyun told me about his cat, that I’d never met, dying.” Jennie stated, “It’s usually the female or more emotional partner that ends up like that. Taking on the sadness of the other. I heard the longer you’ve been together the less often that will happen.”

I buried my head back into Hoseok’s chest, feeling his chest rumble as he spoke.

“Look what y’all have done,” He playful shouts at the other guys, “Why are you going around telling her these useless stories of the past?” 

The guys, however, don’t joke back or even crack a smile. They stare at Hoseok, their eyes just as sad as I was feeling. It was clear that Hoseok was hoping to dodge the conversation that was going to be had. But I believe that this can’t be avoided. 

Hoseok rolls his eyes and sighs, “Please don’t look at me like that guys. It’s fine. It’s the past.” 

“I’m sorry Hyung,” A choked up Jungkook croaks. I turn my head so I can see the boys, and notice Jungkook’s big doe eyes filled with tears. I’ve become so used to Hoseok’s warmth, I don’t want to remove my arms from around him. The more I calm down, the louder my heart pounds while my thoughts unscramble. 

Hoseok continues to speak, his hand now resting on my back while the other hand gestures as he speaks.

“Kook, come on...no need to start crying!” Hoseok exclaims, trying to muster up a small smile. Hoseok pats my back slightly, telling me to let go of him. I drop my arms from around him, sniffling and looking down, avoiding his eyes.

“I didn’t take you to be such a crybaby.” He teases the corner of his lips pulling up just a bit. His eyes hold a warmth I haven’t seen before and my eyes widen. 

“You’ve been hanging out with Jungkook too much, he’s rubbing off on you.” He jokes, causing me to look over at the young Junkgook who was pouting while tears ran down his cheeks. All the other guys were sitting around with wet eyes, the weight of just how alone Hoseok must have felt, weighing on them. 

Maybe they finally understand why the cheerful and kind Hoseok has disappeared too. Though I don’t know what kind of person Hoseok was before his father passing, I knew it couldn’t have just been this lifestyle that made him so...unapproachable.

However, I haven’t gotten any insight into why he doesn’t like the soulmate concept and just what that has to do with doctors. I’ve thought about it a bit and I believe it has something to do with his mother. 

He thinks I haven’t caught on to the way his body stiffens when I ask about his mother or how he doesn’t answer the question. I won’t push it.

“I’m sorry, I feel like I was poking my head into your business--”

“You were.” He cuts me off, though there was no hostility in his voice. 

I pause for a moment nodding my head in agreement, “Yes. I definitely poked my nose into your business, but I couldn’t let this miscommunication continue anymore.”

“I understand Y/n.” He says stretching out the words as if he was singing. He was trying to get me to stop my talking, but my rambling continues.

“I really care about all of you and I just want you to be happy Hoseok, so I thought I'd figure out why you found it so hard to believe that I could actually like you and that the guys truly held no anger towards you. It was--”

“Y/n!” He said sternly and my words stop as he stares at me with a slight annoyance. But my heart hums at the recognition of fondness in his gaze while his ears turn red. 

“Oh,” I say in a small voice. “I’ll stop talking.” I put up my hands up defensively before using the back of my hand to wipe seeming nothing, off my face. Ugh, I probably look a hot mess.

“The boys and I have some talking to do, so I’m gonna call you and Jennie an uber home okay?” He said looking towards the guys and back at me.

I nodded, “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, pouting slightly. Though the action wasn’t on purpose I quickly regret it. 

“Yes, you’ll see me tomorrow.” He answers, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He presses a few buttons, types a few things and then shoves the phone back into his pockets. 

I turn towards the guys who were now fidgeting nervously. The conversation is going to be hard but it needs to happen. I couldn’t have kept working here knowing such an elephant in the room was looming.

“I am sorry for yelling and acting so rudely. I don’t know what came over me.” I said calmly, messing around with my fingers to help my nerves.

“It’s okay noona!” Jungkook chimes, though his eyes were bloodshot now, his smile still beamed brightly and I couldn’t help but smile back. I gathered my stuff and Jennie did the same when Hoseok made a small statement.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in that sharp white coat of ours.” His eyes rake down my body and meet my eyes quickly. I scoff at him playfully, as his phone sounded.

“I can’t bring my coat from work here! I don’t have a doctor’s coat for my work here, I don’t know if I really need one.” I explain as he brings his phone up to his ear. I stood there watching him with such interest. The way he had one hand in the pocket of his joggers, the other holding his phone that was pressed to his ear, the pricey Rolex shining the light. 

I let my eyes wander over his face, taking in his smooth skin, his shape jaw, his fiery eyes, and his lips. Whew...they look soft. My eyes felt swollen from crying but that didn’t stop me from practically undressing this man with my eyes. Everything about him is so sexy. 

His stance, his demeanor and the way he carries himself. Wow, this man doesn’t even have to try. 

“Y/n,” Jennie called out to me, taking hold of my wrist slightly. My head snapped to look over at her, still dazed and lost in my thoughts.

“Mh?” I reply, looking at her curiously. 

“At least wait till you’re alone to make eyes like that.” She giggled, shyly glancing at Hoseok who I noticed was looking at us. 

I cringed at the thought of how my face looked in that moment, “Heart eyes?” I asked her.

She shook her head with her eyebrows raised, “Nah...those eyes were something else.” 

Before I could question her father, Hoseok interrupted us.

“Your uber is right outside.” He said, pointing towards the door. Jennie gave me a small smile and headed towards the door. I turned around to leave but spun back around to Hoseok.

I stepped closer to him, kissing him on the cheek shortly, “Okay, bye.”

He clears his throat, turning around to turn his attention to the guys. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

~!~

Jennie and I strolled through the hallway, heading towards the lunchroom. We were discussing a few things while she read something from her phone.

“The emotional ties manifest themselves through the most emotional partner, often feeling intense grief for their soulmate when hearing of a previous pain the soulmate has gone through. Though it can be jarring, it shows growth in the couple’s connection and relationship. Some partners become sad for their partners when hearing of past pain, while others grow in affection, due to the contagious affection of the other partner.” She glances at me for a moment, looking back down at her phone as we got closer to the lunchroom.

“This often happens in the male or dominant soulmate, as the two grow closer, the affection of the emotional partner becomes contagious, leaving the dominant soulmate eager to the affections of the other.” She grins at me and I roll my eyes, stopping my footsteps. 

“So what was the point of you reading all that?” I question as she also stops to look at me.

She shrugs, “Meeting and getting to know your soulmate isn’t as simple as people think. That deep connection messes with your mojo sometimes, exceptionally since you guys are getting closer. I didn’t want you to freak out once Hoseok starts to act...weird.” 

I shake my head, “I doubt Hoseok would be affected by such things. The guy barely sees me as a woman.”

“Oh please!” Jennie whines, “Stop with those thoughts. You must not notice the way you two eye each other these days. For example, the way you near undressed him with your eyes a few days ago.”

I groaned, running my hand over my face in embarrassment. That emotional breakdown was enough to make me want to run and hide my face. And though I didn’t see Hoseok the next day as he said I would I received a short text that made me giggle in joy.

Thank you, Y/n. 

That was all I’ve heard from Hoseok in the past 4 days. He’s been busy again, and though I tried to call him once, he didn’t pick up. He’s probably going about chasing that impersonator who goes about robbing clubs. Through my research, ‘Seok’ as the head of a mafia head is known to be quiet and subtle with his dealings. His violence is often not heard of and he tries to work with as little attention as possible. 

I can’t be sure if this is Hoseok or his father that is so well known for that, but those impersonators are going to ruin that reputation. So while he’s figuring that out, we’ve had a few surgeries to do at the hospital, thus taking time to focus on the black market work. 

Though the money from the jobs is very good, I can’t be sure what to do with it. I mainly keep it in a small safe I bought, thinking that it’ll be useful for a rainy day.

“He should stop by the hospital today,” I said to Jennie as we entered the lunchroom, “There is a funding meeting, along with talks about the case of the swapped artwork from the gala.”

“They’re still talking about that?” Jennie asked as we approached the line. 

I nodded, “Yup, it’s not good publicity for the hospital so they have to do damage control.” I grabbed a ray, picking up some salad and an apple juice before heading over to a small table near a window. Jennie follows after me not too quickly after. 

“What did Hoseok do with the real works?” She whispered. I shrugged, not really knowing. I didn’t even care to ask.

But our conversation carried on. Jennie talked to me about Jaehyun’s latest project, along with how he’s been busy and she didn’t want to come off as clingy. 

“I doubt he’d think of you like that. You miss him, so It’s okay that you want to check up on him.” I answered while eating my salad. 

“I guess so, it just seems like I’m always the one setting updates. He just wants to hang out on the couch.” She pouts before getting another spoonful of rice. 

“Maybe he sees those as dates as well. You see dates as going out, but maybe Jaehyun sees a night on the couch with movies as a date.”

Jennie’s face scrunches up as she flips her hair behind her shoulder. She decided to leave her hair down today. Though she doesn’t say anything I know what she’s thinking. Her standards of dating are different from Jaehyun’s and this is what she often complains about. Though he has caused her to loosen up a bit, her standards remain high. 

We weren’t there eating for long, knowing that some paperwork was waiting for us in our offices. As we strolled through the hallways once more, and as we turned a corner, my heart buzzed at a familiar figure walking the opposite direction as us. He dressed in a more casual fashion.

He wore a black button-up with grey slacks and black dress shoes. He was walking with other chairmen. They were clearly discussing something serious and I didn’t want to interrupt. 

“Are you gonna say something to him?” Jennie whispered my way. 

I don’t reply to her, keeping my eyes forward while we walked. I can’t help the way my eyes flicker to him just as we are going to pass each other, and unlike what I expected, something warm grabbed my hand, pulling me back and keeping me from walking with Jennie. 

My eyes widen and I turned around to see Hoseok looking at me, a small smile on his lips.

“Hey,” I say breathlessly. The businessmen who were walking with him also stopped to share confused glances. They stepped away a bit, keeping a distance from us but not leaving completely. I looked over at Jennie to see her doing the same. 

I turned my body to face Hoseok, not forgetting that he was holding my hand still.

“Hey, I haven’t been able to see you in the past few days.” He spoke normally. His tone still as neutral as always.

“Yeah, I figured you were busy,” I explained, shrugging and bringing my gaze down to our hands. I looked back at Hoseok, surprised by the sudden skinship. I swallowed hard and tried to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, I’ve been all over the place, but I saw that you called. I wasn’t able to pick up, but I was meaning to talk to about some other things.” He stated. Yet, I couldn’t focus on anything he was saying as his thumb now caressed the back of my hand. Was he doing this for show? Because we’re in front of people?

But who is he showing off? The other chairmen? I doubt it. Yet he was talking with his same plain face. He could have been talking to a stranger with such a tone in voice, yet his actions were different.

“Sure, I’ll just call you later and you can tell me how the talk with the guys went?” I answered back, a bit too excited at the casual conversation we were having. 

“Okay, well I have to go.” He says throwing a glance at the chairmen waiting. 

I nod, “Okay!” However it seems that simple goodbye wasn’t good enough for Hoseok, Before I could process what was happening, Hoseok leans forward and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. I’m frozen in shock and just as my arms start to wrap around him in response he pulls back, holding me back at a distance with his hands on my shoulders.

He looks just as shocked as I feel. He blinks at me a few times, looking at me for answers. 

“I don’t know why I just…” He says in a hushed voice. I look around us, noticing more eyes tuning into our awkward interaction. We’re supposed to be a couple in love. People are gonna wonder what happened after seeing us so close at that gala.

Though Hoseok’s action did throw me off. 

“You don’t need a reason to hug me Hoseok.” I beam up at the stunned man before rising on my toes and giving him a small peck on the cheer. Internally yelling at just how close to his lips that kiss was. I almost kissed the corner of his lips.

I made sure to not show the momentary panic on my face before spinning around to stroll back to a grinning Jennie.

“I thought you said those types of soulmate things wouldn’t affect Hoseok.” She raised an eyebrow and looked back at Hoseok. I did the same, just in time to see the dazed look on his face as he turned his back on us and walked back over to his chairmen.

“I didn’t think it would.” I retort, still feeling the warmth of his arms lingering all over my body.

“Welp, at least that tells you there’s progress being made. Whatever was blocking that ‘soulmate connection’ you wanted to feel so bad, has been removed. I can say things are moving in the right direction for you too, and I’m so excited about that.” Jennie claps her hands together in excitement, her hair bouncing and she did a small happy dance.

“Don’t happy dance just yet. It’s just hugs and cheek kisses, still very middle school. We’re taking baby steps.” I calmed her down, “And please remind me to go visit Mrs. Cho before I leave today.” 

Jennie nods, but I have little faith that she’ll remember so I remind myself to make a note in my phone. 

Mrs. Cho is slowly becoming one of my patients. I go to visit her often and am finding myself befriending her. She has an infectious smile and is always cheery. She loves to talk and will talk about anything. Her physical therapy begins soon and I want to give her some words of encouragement. 

The more I time I spend with her the more questions I have. How can a kind woman like her have no one but her husband in her life? No friends to visit her? No other family? How sad.

♠----♠----♠-----♠

Thank you for reading! Like, reblog and let me know what you think :)) My question for this chapter, what are your thoughts on Hoseok’s relationship with the other guys? And what are your thoughts on his blooming relationship with Y/n? 

[sunshine304]

On to eps 25 + 26, my friends! It’s heating up!

Yang Jin was concerned because he saw Yu Wenzhi’s troups – but he definitely, absolutely was NOT concerned for Li Yan, no no! XD They keep on going together, but only... for 5 min or so? Until Li Yan tells him to go help A-Fei in town, since she can make the rest of the way herself (that worked so well before...). It’s cute how Yang Jin doesn’t want to go, but she makes puppy eyes at him and so he leaves.

I guess in the long run that isn’t such a bad decision to send him to A-Fei’s aid. 

Poor Li Yan of course meets an outpost that’s already infiltrated by Disha. At least the man helps her instead of selling her out. And then it turns out that Li Sheng didn’t even include a message, just sending her away from where the attack will happen. Oh Li Sheng... He could have thought about how the outpost might be in Disha’s pockets, though, since it wouldn’t be the first time. Anyway, Li Yan steals a horse and goes to find help.

So much stuff is happening at the same time! Yang Jin asks after the Intinerary Gang who surely will help him (good idea), while Chuchu listens in on the Elders talking about how Li Sheng is very likely dead. She is devastated. T_T

Yu Wenzhi starts distrusting Kou Dan, because she now mentions a rumoured hidden path to the 48 Strongholds. She’s all like, “What, it’s just a rumour.“ and even I side-eye her for that. He wants to set a trap for A-Fei and leaves.

Meanwhile, Xie Yun has already strongly hinted to A-Fei that it would be an advantage if they could get YWZ to distrust at least Kou Dan. A-Fei uses YWZ’s ruse for just that, basically telling Gu Tianxian that this was an assassination attempt lead by Mingfeng Sect. 

OMG the kiss by proxy!! I flailed!! Give me moooore! ♥

XY is off to distract GTX while A-Fei looks for YWZ's new hiding spot. But before that she stares into space, thrown by XY's proxy kiss. I swoon along with her. XD

Li Yan meets Li Jinrong, who was on her way back anyway since she missed her husband yet again. The army seems to have some problems, though General Wen is… perhaps downplaying? Anyway, LJR now knows that 48 Strongholds is under attack and hurries home.

Shen Tianshu has waited out the fire, it seems, and is now in front of the main gate to the 48 Strongholds. Also, YWZ’s private army has arrived. All in all, this huge combined army consists of about 30 people; 6 of them leave to find the secret path. I can’t get over the fact that the mean villains only have so few people! You really didn’t have a budget, huh? XD I mean srsly, there are definitely more people hiding at the 48 SH! XD

Look at his smug face! He always squints smugly at everyone, he’s so weird! XD

Love how XY is leading Disha around. Also happy that Wang Yibo could do lots of wirework in that scene, since he likes to do that stuff. XD Meanwhile, YWZ feels super threatened. Rightly so, asshole.

Aww the Elders Zhao and Zhang at the 48 SH want to go fighting! I actually enjoy that this show has many older characters as well.

Aaaand A-Fei has found YWZ! And she fights! And then there’s Yang Jin and the IG to the rescue! I love how they’re all fighting, while YWZ just stands there and watches with Kou Dan protecting him. Kinda. I cheered for the IG just fighting with big sticks and whatever else was at hand against that trained (? I assume) private army with swords – and they win by brute force. XD

A-Fei is all confused and Yang Jin explains, “I met Li Yan on the road and she started crying. She’s so annoying, I can’t say no to her!” He is so whipped. XD

YWZ really is a totally useless fighter. A-Fei reaches him and overpowers him easily. What kind of position does that guy have in the government? Doesn’t seem to be an army position… Since they won they want to get Disha to stop the attack on the 48 SH.

Meanwhile I fucking knew it that Ma Jili would betray them! Did he actually kill that one Elder? Or did they really encounter Disha and the Elder got killed there? Hm.

Anyway, look at Chuchu grabbing a sword! That was cool, you go queen! Though she didn’t get to use it, I’m sure there will be another chance for her to fuck some shit up!

A-Fei is so devastated that Uncle Ma betrayed her. I feel you, A-Fei. And then Uncle Ma feels guilty (or… was also misled by Kou Dan?) and fights KD, which doesn’t end good for him. 

That fight between A-Fei and KD was really cool. Loved how they used the end credits song! I’m a sucker for that song! A-Fei gets her revenge and doesn’t even watch KD die.

Seriously, those poor kids will all be so traumatised. Yeah in CQL they all went to war at 19 or so, but they at least all had fighting experience in a real life situation against monsters, fierce corpses and whatnot. The kids from 48 SH grew up sheltered with this kind of fighting just a theoretical exercise. 

OH nooo Xie Yun uses the super power needle! O_O He sees that 48 SH will likely lose (how, against only 20 Disha ppl, IDK…) and decides on that, because he can’t lose A-Fei.

Look at his conflicted face!!!

He also throws some exposition in there, that Chuchu’s necklace is the main key for the HTYS which he is looking for. Okay. Whatever, now pls fuck Shen Tianshu up, my man.

He does. He also tells A-Fei that he wants to enjoy himself here. (Meaning he doesn’t have long afterwards anyway and wants to go out with a bang I guess. T_T) STS is shocked because it seems that Xie Yun has some SERIOUS FIGHTING SKILLZ.

This is getting really long... XD

Xie Yun fights and it's pretty cool! A-Fei also keeps fighting, but she gets weaker, and also seems overwhlemed by the situation. I can’t blame her.

And then Li Jinrong signals her arrival and Shen Tianshu kinda panics while A-Fei decides that this is a good moment to faint. She does a lot of fainting in this show.

Have this gif for the drama of it all. XD

Yay, Chuchu has found Li Sheng! She had to wade through some corpses for that at the river bank, but she is a badass and doesn’t care. MVP Chuchu! ♥

Excuuuse me!? STS punches (!!) Li Jinrong's horse. Seriously, asshole?! WTF?! LJR fucks him up anyway, destroys his metal hand (he later has a new one so I guess he just... has a lot of these things lying around?). Disha + YWZ’s troups finally retreat, and Chuchu immediately tells them where Li Sheng is. He is now safe, yay!

Okay this shot of LJR is really cool.

There LJR goes again with her tough mother routine. XD A-Fei is awake and happy to see her; she also aks after Xie Yun, and her mother is like, “Do you know who he is?” and A-Fei conveniently does not mention that she knows he's royalty and just tells her the important stuff like, “He does poetry and songs to make a living.” LJR just dismisses her with, “We'll talk about him later.” Oh oh.

Cute scene with A-Fei and Li Sheng, who tease each other good-naturedly. Li Sheng now can admit that A-Fei is better than him at martial arts, but he doesn't want to give up – perhaps he'll manage to be better than her one day anyway? ;D I like his growth so far.

Xie Yun comes over to flirt and invite himself into A-Fei's bedroom. XD But this time A-Fei flirts back! It's the, “I know I'm good looking, but you have to pay money to stare at me,” and A-Fei answers, “You can stare at me too and we'll call it even,” scene. XY is surprised and delighted. XD

That whole conversation between these two. ♥ T_T A-Fei knows XY so well by know that she sees through his act of putting on a happy face whenever he's worried. She wants to ask so many questions but doesn't because she thinks he won't answer them honestly anyway. T_T And she sincerely asks him if he's alright. T_T He's obviously thrown by all of this, and he talks around some things and yep, he isn't really honest. And then she asks too many questions anyway and he uses her accupoints to knock her out. My God, just talk to her!!

And there's the other ship that's shyly circling each other! Chuchu and Li Sheng have an awkward conversation, because now that it's not live or death they don't know how to act. XD He wants to look for Chuchu's brother and they perhaps could live at the 48 SH? *puppyeyes* I mean seriously, where is that kid?!

Shen Tianshu is pissed, Yu Wenzhi is too. He's going on about how Xie Yun (=Xiao Chuan) should be dead, damnit, since he was poisoned 10 years ago with that super rare and deadly Bone Piercing Blue poison (we remember, the one that 9th Madam Duan also suffered from until Li Zheng helped her). We get STS exposition that a master must've helped XY so that he survived (and the master should've died of it), but now that XY used the power needle his meridians are no longer blocked and the poison is free to circulate again = He only has a few months to live. OH NO! T_T They don't know if he's also looking for the HYTS but want to keep looking anyway; Disha masters are sent out after the two men yet again bitch at each other. XD

Sometimes it's nice to actually get some exposition here...

There's a funeral scene at 48 SH with cool music and all of them swearing their oath again to do their best with a clear conscience before Heaven, Earth, and themselves. That “clear conscience” idiom is really popular I think?

A talk between Xie Yun and Li Jinrong. She thanks him and seems sincere enough, but she also seems wary/distrustful of him (well, he fetched her ill husband to go to war again, sooo...). He yet again circumvents actually answering her questions about his former master (although I assume she at least has a hunch who he is), and he tells her she should perhaps be nicer to her daughter and compliment her from time to time. Well, I guess he's dying anyway and hasn't anything to lose. XD

She comments on his pale complexion, is he perhaps ill? Wow the passive-aggressiveness in this scene from LJR. XD Then she hands him a sigil to pass the guards and basically throws him out. Charming. Good start into that in-laws situation. XD

OMG Li Sheng sends pastries to Chuchu! ♥ And Li Yan is all excited, like, “Yes please fetch your little brother, I always wanted a little brother, that would be awesome!” XD

Xie Yun and A-Fei have a romantic stroll under the not-moonlight. ♥ They are holding hands, be still my heart! ♥  While they are hand holding we also get a MV of their best moments so far.

She tells him she's working on a gift for him, and she wants to help him look for the HYTS since it seems to be a shitty thing and she doesn't want it to fall into Disha's hands. Xie Yun would like to stay at 48 SH and of course doesn't tell A-Fei about his talk wit LRJ nor that he's, you know, dying. It's obvious that he will leave without her because he doesn't want to drag her into this (the trope of “I know what's best for you without giving you a real chance to make a decision yourself” ugh) and also because he's fucking dying. OMG. T_T

We end with A-Fei knocking on his door the next morning (where he very obviously isn't anymore) to give him her gift. Before she can actually see that he isn't there Chuchu intercepts her, so A-Fei tries to give her back the necklace. Chuchu is all like, “Nooo you keep it, it's far saver with you!” so there's that. This will surely be important later. The two girls leave for town to fetch medicine, while Xie Yun sits near the river and sadly plays his flute. T_T

[diegolabhont]

I didn't mean to fall in love with you

Chapter One

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing:  Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC  (Beck Hughes)

Genre: None (in this post, al least)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really.

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

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

Can someone explain to her how a person who claims to be so disinterested in the ranking was magically climbing to the top twenty?

Poppy didn’t buy it for a second, she always knew Beck were going to be a pain in her ass ever since the first time she saw them looking at her as if they weren’t impressed, but she wasn’t fully aware of how much.

“You don’t have to worry about them, Poppy” Chloe said while the strawberry blonde retouch her make up in the mirror inside her own room. “Beck is just a dude”

“Transphobia much, Chloe?” Veronica murmured playfully, wanting to start drama among her streaming fans.

“No! What I'm saying is… Beck's brain works as a regular dude, right? How much smart can they be?”

“Ha! That´s rich coming from you” Veronica laughed.

Both girls started a discussion about related shit, Beck’s brain, hormones and else while Poppy put on the mascara. Completely silent, thinking.

She treated Beck as a common enemy, she attacked them just like she would to any other lost lamb trying to be the wolf but it was not enough. Even one of those plans exploded in her own face: ruining and breaking Beck's guitar caused that they not only get a flashy and beautiful new one, but sang side by side with the one and only Jaylen Riaz, making a huge performance. Even better than hers, which was something painful and humiliating at the same time, especially after Veronica told her Beck’s YouTube channel had a followers increase, making them even more popular.

Chloe was right on something: Beck’s brain worked like a dude, and if she had learned something was that men in general were manipulable. Take a look at Michael, he was dumb as hell. Liam was a douchebag. Luis, Ford… well, they… they´re there. The only golden boy among them was Carter, and yet, he wasn´t that hard, she just gave him what he wanted in that party and after that, everything ran smoothly.

And that´s what she needed.

Poppy´s look changed, her eyes sparkled in a very malicious way and a smile crossed her face for a split second. She now had a plan, and unexpectedly, it was a Chloe attribution.

“Maybe if we accused them of cheating…?” Chloe suggested, but Poppy knew better.

“That won´t be necessary, Chlo” Poppy intervened for the first time in a while, making both girls look at her intrigued. They knew Poppy, and the little smile she had on her lips as she applied lipstick was a proof. The blonde was onto something juicy. Veronica ended the live and awaited. “Beck will be mine.”

~~X~~

It was kinda lame to her, but finding Beck completely alone under the football stands playing guitar was at least convenient. They were an eye candy from the start, that was a fact. The way that white t-shirt embraced their body was something else to see, her mind went back to the second time she saw them. The sassy rock star kind of look Beck had, even the haircut was perfect, Poppy knew that was a Zoey Wade signature and she kinda thanked her for it. Beck was damn fine, that fact made easier her plan to be honest.

“You know… You do pass pretty well as a man”

Beck stopped playing, literally frozen in place as a statue.

“What did you just say?” Their tone of voice was cold, almost insulted. Did she just get it wrong? No, she´s never wrong. A Queen can´t be wrong, especially a Min-Sinclair queen.

“It was a compliment, Farmsville” she said, rolling her eyes.

“That´s not a compliment” Beck chuckled, putting the guitar aside. “I mean, I don´t mind, but if you are going to use that to the trans community… It~ may not end well” Poppy frowned, a little pissed off. She was doing an effort, no-one had ever heard a compliment from her and this little sh… “But thanks.” Beck offered her a sweet smile a second before turn it into a mocking one. “You do pass pretty well as a woman, too”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“And now she gets it!” They started laughing, making her really angry. Poppy walked away fuming, her head up high and a killer look murdering anyone who dare crossing ways with her.

That stupid ASSHOLE. Did they THINK they could disrespect her?! To HER! She was the number ONE, the fucking RULER of the entire school. Beck was lucky enough to be in her radar and they just throw stupid shit like that!

“To be fair… I did say it first”

“I thought it was a COMPLIMENT” She fight against herself. “What am I? Some trans expert?!”

“No… But I can be. I mean, to destroy my enemy…”

“I have to know them...”

Even thought she was still mad about it, Poppy tapped wildly though her phone. She needed to do something, and she knew just the thing.

“It´s ON, jackass”

~~X~~

POV: Beck

Top fifteen. Everyone was losing their shit because they were now top twenty and Beck... Well... They just didn´t want it.

And yeah, sure, that was kinda good. The students in Belvoire had begun to pay attention to their music as well, Beck even caught a few of them listen to songs Beck wrote and some other cover as well. Their art was taking off and that was awesome, don't get it wrong, that was something Beck wanted for so long, but...

They were afraid.

What if it was because of the stupid ranking?

What if Beck just wasn´t that good, and the only thing people would want was that Beck who studded up against Poppy Min-Sinclaire and lived to tell? Even Zoey, she was talking about popularity, Belvoire elite, and some “Person to watch-out” or shit Award which yes, was huge! But… Beck really was afraid that it was Beck who puts the music high and not backwards.

What if…

What if Poppy really messes all up?

“You know… You do pass pretty well as a man”

Poppy´s words in their mind caught Beck off guard. What was her deal anyway? She came and said some weird shit, and...

Actually, everything in that interaction was weird as fuck. And not just that, Beck meet Taylor by accident later that day in the ice cream shop, they both talked a little and they found out she had a big crush onto some random guy Beck didn´t knew before.

Of course Beck was the matchmaker! They even helped her by carrying those stupid anti-diarrheic pills to the lion´s den. Ok, yes, maybe~ Beck should´ve had given them to someone and not just let them in the front door… But it wasn´t their fault that The T found out!! Poppy was losing it, and of course it was them to blame.

Why can´t they just have a normal life… with normal problems… and not… this?

“I´m dead… I´m actually dead…” Beck thought while burying their head on their hands, tired.

“Beck? Hello? I assume you heard the details of the assignment.”

“What?”

“Ehm… Yeah! Totally” Beck said with a “confident” smile that nobody believed in, Professor Roberta even frowned before going back to the lecture, while Beck tried uselessly to catch something about the assignment from their classmates´ laptops. She hated Beck anyway, but it wasn´t good news to be always in her bad side.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! … What did she say?”

“Mass comm is all about reaching people far and wide, so this project is meant to give the voiceless in our own community a voice by…”

A penetrant gaze nailed their nape, giving them chills. Beck immediately looked for that one hawk over them and not to their surprise the person found on the other side was that deadly beauty called Poppy Min-Sinclair, watching Beck as they´re a prey. Feeling really drove up the wall, Beck winked playfully at her, expecting her to look away or some rude expression towards them.

But no.

Scaring the shit out of them, Poppy actually smiled back at Beck. A sweet, flirty smile that left them feeling their heart racing as crazy and their cheeks burning red, her dark eyes so into theirs that all their system collapsed... What was happening?

“Earth to Beck!”

Professor Roberta yelled, making Beck jump a little in their sit, breaking all eye contact between them both. When did Beck turn their body completely to watch Poppy? Of course the professor was mad, Beck was practically giving her their back! As faster as they could, Beck took the right seat, being even more embarrassed now while Poppy let go a chuckle, they could hear her from any other laughter just as clearly as if she were so close.

“Oh, sorry. I… Sorry”

“Find your community service project partner please” Professor said. Beck gathered their things and head into the aisle, looking around, praying to find someone whiling to work with them and, mainly, explain to them what was that project about. The thing was everyone had already a partner. Everyone except for…

The strawberry blonde was gazing Beck as sure as someone who´s waiting for this chance can be. Smiling that same smile that caused them to feel butterflies in their stomach… Beck wasn´t sure if they were aroused… or scared.

“Professor Roberta… I need a new partner” Beck practically begged. “I´m sorry. I just can´t work with Poppy.”

The pretty but odd teacher was about to say something. Something bad based on the expression on her face, but a perfect made-up laughter cut her words, as Beck was feeling how a soft and warm hand hooked to their arm.

“Nonsense, professor! I am pretty sure we´ll be working just fine.” Poppy said, a relaxed expression drawn on her porcelain face. “Let´s go, Hughes.”

Ok, Beck was now scared. As both of them walked out the classroom, Beck´s brain was running wild, thinking about every and each form Poppy could use to disappear them from the face of the earth. Ironic, Beck survived Farmsville but they´ll be totally done in New York. Ha! Life hates them.

“Listen, I know what you are thinking…”

Really?

“... but the last thing I need right now is having my GPA taken away. So I´ve already figured it all out. We´re doing an animal shelter commercial for our project. I can ask daddy to borrow the equipment and crew”

“Didn´t think of you as a daddy person” Beck laughed, a little more repose.

“Shut the fuck up, Farmsville. This will be easy, so all I need you to do is… Oh my god.”

Poppy stared at her phone completely in shock, color draining from her face as it was sucked by a dementor.

“I have to go. We can figure out the deets later, I´ll text you where to meet me”

Then, she just left. Beck took a deep breath and let out a hiss.

“Gosh, this school is going to kill me!”

They said, who would have thought a class could be so much?

-----

Next

[if-found-return-to-gusu]

Talking with Nie Huaisang

Nie Huaisang. 

Today we are talking about Nie Huaisang.

And for once it’s not to bitch about him.

We went out together the other day. The same day that Lan Zhan installed the new stove.

(Apparently that was not a coordinated attack but rather Lan Zhan seizing the opportunity. Apparently it’s actually really hard to get enough time apart from each other to enact secret plans that involve REMODELING YOUR FUCKING KITCHEN. Who knew?)

Anyway. 

……………..

I’m gonna go through my blog at one point and find out how many times I say “Anyway”. 

…

Anyway.

Nie Huaisang and I decided… well… I decided we needed to talk. He agreed and had been politely waiting for me to be ready for it. We’d spoken briefly before but it was too soon and I just… 

I don’t think I was too mean, was I Huaisang? But I wasn’t nice either. He took it like a champ but I think I hurt him more than I’d meant to. 

I had claimed earlier on this blog that he wasn’t being a good friend but in the end the bad friend was me. I was trying to be understanding but it was forced. And it just made things worse.

So I gave us some time. I gave me some time. And he was patient.  

It’s not that we hadn’t talked in between then and now. It’s just that it was so superficial. It was… like I know that he was still talking to Lan Zhan like normal.. Or as normal as possible after me just laying into him while I was… gone.  But between us… it was like we had a friend in common and so we were playing nice. It was… it was tense and… I don’t want to say fake… superficial? I don’t know. 

It wasn’t...what I wanted. It wasn’t what Nie Huaisang deserved either.

And I knew the problem was me. I knew that I had latched on to someone to blame for what happened between me and Lan Zhan and he was the unfortunate victim of that. And it was lasting longer than it should have. 

But at the same time… Well we agreed that he wasn’t faultless in it either. He had given some bad advice. And there was a problem with his relationship with Lan Zhan. But the thing is, that issue had been talked out between them already. Long before I went off on him. So I was yelling at him for issues that had already been addressed. Which wasn’t fair. At all.

And I knew that. But like… I don’t know. I guess I’m just an asshole. 

But I called him the other day. I told him we needed to talk. 

“Oh thank god,” he said. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so relieved. 

I think… I don’t know.. I don’t think it ever fully registered how important our friendship was to him. I don’t know why. I guess. I just… I was someone to goof around with. Be silly with. 

Like a bar friend? 

But no

We were more than that.

Are more than that.

I guess… I guess I’m guilty of the same thing Lan Zhan was. Both of us assumed that the friendship was more important to us than to him. 

And I don’t know if that’s because of how Nie Huaisang acts or if it’s more about how we see ourselves. Both maybe?

Nie Huaisang was from a different world. I met him at the martial arts studio with Jiang Cheng. He and Jiang Cheng are from the same world and I was a visitor. He knew that I was just a foster kid. Both of them are from rich circles. They hung with the Jins and the Lans and the other rich families. They were raised in a different world. 

And even though I couldn’t remember any time before I was 10, I was still raised before I met them. I came in with my own ways of living and understanding the world and it was clear that it was different from theirs. 

But they both met me in the middle. It was easy to get along with Nie Huaisang. He never asked too much from me. We would goof off and joke around. Nie Huaisang was always good to laugh with. And he was actually rather non-judgemental. Well. At least verbally. But it’s hard to take someone’s judgement seriously when it’s coming from eyes peering over a fancy decorated fan. 

Friendship with Nie Huaisang was easy. But he was always a comfort. When the pomp and circumstance became too much he was there to relieve the tension. He was conveniently there at a lot of those fancy events. He was forced to dress up and attend too. It was nice to have someone there to share in the misery. And he would seek me out with some bit of gossip or a joke.

Thinking back on it… you did that on purpose, didn’t you SangSang? You knew how in over my head I was and you helped me break the surface didn’t you? 

I think I just always figured I was a convenient buddy for you but it wasn’t that. 

I called you my family once but I don’t think I ever expected to be a part of your family too. 

That was wrong of me. That wasn’t fair of me. I know you tend to hide yourself behind your “I don’t knows’ and that fluttering fan. But…. You really are a good friend. 

We met for brunch. That turned into lunch. Which we knew would happen. Which is why we went for brunch. So that we’d meet in time for lunch. 

We know who we are as people. #noshame

There’s a place we used to go sometimes when we were really hungover. It was quiet and a bit out of the way and just… its nice. We haven’t gone there since… fuck we haven’t been there since before my birthday, have we? Well we were overdue I guess. 

We met up and sat down in the back so we wouldn’t have to worry about people overhearing. Some semblance of privacy. 

Maybe it would have been better to just do this at his place but I thought this was better. It was a place we both could leave if we had to. And it was a familiar place with warm memories. And it would keep me from getting too worked up, I thought. I didn’t want to go off on him again. That wasn’t the point.

I missed him and I missed his friendship. I wanted to fix things.

It started… awkward. 

We said hi and how are you and fell into an awkward silence as we waited for someone to come take our order. I realized this was the first time since Lan Zhan’s birthday that I’d been alone with him at all. 

This talk was long overdue. 

I think I cut him off. He was talking about some bird or something he’d seen on the way in and I Just… blurted out a beginning. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. 

I think I startled him because he just blinked at me. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I know I’m an asshole and I know I was blowing up way too much on you. And I know I’m holding onto this way too long and… I’m just… I’m still a bit angry.. But mostly I’m sorry.”

He smiled at me. It was… I don’t think I’ve ever seen a smile like that on his face. It was soft and sad and understanding. 

We talked then. We talked for a long time. We talked about why I was angry. We talked about how my yelling at him had made him feel. How it still was making him feel. How much we missed each other. 

We agreed that I took things too far. But we also agreed that his actions had been a problem too. 

“I never should have encouraged him to keep hiding. I was teasing but I forget sometimes how seriously he takes things. I never ever meant for it to blow up like this.”

“I know you didn’t.”

And we talked. 

And in the end… 

I think I talked before about pulling out a sliver. That the sliver had been inside so long that it was normal to me. That I didn’t notice it until it was time to drag it out. 

This was another sliver. It hadn’t been inside so long so I wasn’t used to it yet. But that didn’t make pulling it out any less painful. But that sliver… It was on the table between us and after it was out all I felt was a warm relief. 

The pain didn’t linger. But the warmth did. 

I was able to smile at him again. We were able to joke again. 

I’m so glad we talked.

I have NO idea how long we had been chatting but we eventually became aware that perhaps the restaurant would want its table back. We paid the bill…. Or well, I tried and Huaisang stole the bill away from me before I could. 

“I caused the problem. I pay the bill. When you fuck up next then you get to pay,” he said with a wink. I was about to protest, but he kept going. “Besides…. You might be mad at me again.”

Seeing Nie Huaisang being nervous.. Like legitimately nervous… is an odd and rare thing. I think I gave him a look or something because he laughed, even more nervous. 

“....whyyy?”

“Well, okay. So this.. I know we were just talking about me pushing people into plans whether they want to or not and I hear you, okay? BUT this isn’t that. This is an OPTION. So.”

“..................”

“Okay, so I HAVE still been reading your blog. And for the record, you two are disgusting now. Like absolutely disgusting. It is your right and I’m very happy for you but having known you both for so long I must inform you that oh my god. Like oh my god.”

“You’re… not really helping your case.”

“I know I know but you’re both my brothers so it’s gross.”

(Not gonna lie I may have choked up a bit at that. YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE DIDN’T YOU, HUAISANG?!?!?!)

“I’m not saying stop! You guys earned the right to be as disgusting as you want. I just wanted to put that out there.’

“Okay… so… is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh no. That’s just… Making it clear. *ahem* Anyway! My POINT is this. 

“I noticed you’re worried about Lan Xichen not liking you.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“So I have asked him to meet us for some shopping.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Huaisa--” “BUT you don’t have to go. We talked about it before hand. He is waiting for us to meet him but he knows that you might not want to. So if you don’t want to go we don’t have to. He’s going to wait for us until about 3:30 and if we haven’t shown up by then he will go off on his own and no offense meant. And before you yell at me HE is the one who suggested it.  

“He wants to talk to you but he doesn’t want to put pressure on you. He knows you’ve been through a lot lately. And he wants to talk to you too. I didn’t tell him that you think he doesn’t like you. He does like you though. And he isn’t mad I promise. But he wants to meet. So if you’re okay with it we have about 45 minutes left to meet up with him.”

So… like… does my rambling… is it contagious? 

Still think nervous Huaisang is WEIRD.

In the end… Even though I really wanted to do ANYTHING BUT meet with Lan Xichen and confirm that he’s mad at me for nearly destroying his little brother and then running away to marry him in secret, I agreed. 

I was expecting that we were gonna go to some fancy hoity toity shop for rich bitches considering I’ve never seen Lan Zhan or Lan Xichen in anything but super high-quality stuff that probably cost more than my studio apartment’s monthly rent. 

BUT we went to the thrift store instead. Huaisang and I used to go there all the time once upon a time. We’d play a game of trying to find the worst outfits possible and making the other model it. 

Which may have kicked off Nie Huaisang’s tendency to wear the weirdest things. BUT IT WASN’T FAIR BECAUSE HE ALWAYS FOUND A WAY TO MAKE IT FUCKING WORK. THAT ISN’T HOW THE GAME IS SUPPOSED TO WORK YOU LITTLE SHIT. YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE GRANDMA SWEATERS LOOK LIKE HIGH FASHION!!!!

Anyway

Thrift store. We were there.

And Lan Xichen was there just like Huaisang said he would be. 

He was not difficult to spot seeing as he is super tall and very good looking. (Nothing on Lan Zhan though. No offence Xichen-ge) 

Naturally all the women and lots of the men were sneaking peeks at him through the aisles. 

Now I know I was trying to get him to like and forgive me. But something about being with SangSang brings out my inner goblin.

And he hadn’t seen us yet.

He was down the men’s button up aisle, kinda idly looking at a couple of different blue shirts. And he hadn’t seen us yet. 

So, following SangSang’s lead, we crouched down the next aisle and snuck up to where he was. Huaisang grabbed a safety orange colored cropped tank and we squeezed through the rack.

From Lan Xichen’s point of view, all he saw was a disembodied hand (Huaisang’s) with a hideous shirt thrust suddenly into his face with a spoopy voice (mine) saying “You want to try thiiiiis ooooone”

He is too dignified of a person to yelp but he did stagger back into the rack behind him with a startled gasp. 

The two of us emerged in a pile of giggles. He smiled indulgently at us and we apologized. 

Well..

No, I apologized and Huaisang said “I’m not sorry.” in response to my ‘sorry’, soooo.

Well either way. Lan Xichen laughed and we climbed out of the rack. 

“Did you two just arrive?” he asked, pointedly not commenting on the safety orange colored  shirt that SangSang was still trying to push into his arms. 

“Uh yeah. We saw you and you didn’t see us so we kinda couldn’t resist.”

He smiled again in a way that showed he was used to this kind of thing from Nie Huaisang. But it made me feel meek. 

I was suddenly reminded very forcefully that I was trying to get him to forgive me for shattering his brother’s heart into a million pieces, stomping it into the ground, pouring salt on the wound, and then coming back a week later to kidnap and marry him without telling anyone about it. 

And the best way to earn that forgiveness was probably not by scaring him in public. 

Nie Huaisang seemed to disagree. 

“Thanks for meeting us, Er-Ge!” he chirped.  (Er-Ge apparently because he was with Da-Ge and so that makes him Er-Ge?) 

“Of course! I was looking forward to this,” he said, turning his smile to me even though he was responding to Nie Huaisang. I gulped.

“Ah.. yeah… Me too,” I said. 

Nie Huaisang being openly nervous is weird. Me being openly nervous is apparently alarming. Because Lan Xichen placed his hand on my shoulder comfortingly. 

“I didn’t want to rush you, but I really did want to see you. I haven’t gotten to talk to you since… well…”

Now he looked uncomfortable. 

We were silent for a tense moment and then.

“I’m sor--**CRACK!!!**”

We had both tried to apologize to each other, complete with a bow, and cracked our skulls together. 

“You’re sorry??? Why on earth are you sorry?!” I asked, rubbing my forehead. 

“I’m the one who… the paintings… it was my fault,” he said, rubbing his chin. “But why would you have to apologize?”

“I… well… I… I hurt Lan Zhan… and you… and then.. Well we ran off together… I figured.. .well I figured you’d be pretty upset with me.”

He laughed a bit and I felt like a fool, even though his laugh wasn’t unkind. 

“So we have both been sitting here thinking the other party was angry with each other?” he asked softly, still laughing a bit. “Well then. I suppose that makes this easier.”

Nie Huaisang was smiling like a little shit. Apparently everything was going according to keikaku. (Translator’s Note; Keikaku means plan.)

“Wait you really thought I was mad at you?” I asked, disbelieving. 

“Well yes. I’d caused so much tension between you and Wangji. And then you went to such lengths to avoid me. I just… well.. Assumed. Incorrectly it would seem.

“But no, I was not angry with you. You had been through a lot. I won’t say I wasn’t upset at the time but I knew things were more complicated and I knew you would normally never hurt my brother that way. Besides you two made amends and I’ve never seen him this happy before. I could never be angry at you for that.”

Okay. So it was at this point that I suddenly realized

We were standing in the men’s shirts section of the local thrift store. And people were still staring. 

(Three strapping young men standing together making a scene? Of course they were staring.)

I coughed softly as I tried not to choke up again. I don’t like to cry in public thank you very much. 

“Ah well.. Uh… I’m… glad?” I said with the utmost grace and eloquence. He laughed. 

“For the record, I’m not mad at you either. I never was… well not really. Once the RE worked its way out at least. “

We laughed again and then got pushed together into an awkwardly squished hug by Nie Huaisang who apparently thought that was enough emotions to be getting along with.

I think I’ll still want to talk to Xichen-ge more properly at some point but it’s good to know that he really isn’t mad at me. 

At this point SangSang the Shenanigans Supreme decided that now was the time to stop being weepy and sorry and talking about our feelings and instead play the age old tradition. 

I tried to protest, saying that Lan Xichen would NOT want to play in the ‘pick the worst outfit’ game, but he insisted that it sounded interesting.

Huaisang shared the rules, though we changed them around a bit as there were now three of us. 

Each of us would pick out the worst outfit combinations we could for the other two and then we’d try them on. 

Like okay

So I would have to try on the two outfits that Xichen-ge and SangSang picked for me, which would be the worst combinations they could find in my size. And if they fit at all, like I can button it and it covers my nips and sit without blowing a seam I have to show it. 

And in the end, while i can mix and match between the two outfits, I have to wear a combination out of the store and finish the day in it. 

And the same goes for the other two. 

Now the thing is. We were all gonna meet Da-Ge for dinner after this. So Xichen-Ge would have to meet his beloved boyfriend (HOW COULD THEY HIDE THEY WERE DATING FOR SO LONG AND NONE OF US NOTICED???????????????????) wearing whatever monstrosity SangSang and I could scrape together. 

It was… Amazing. We gave each other our clothing sizes and a 30 minute time limit. 

The other two went first. And… the clothing… it was indescribable. 

Somehow. Lan Xichen ended up in brownish-orange corduroy bell-bottoms and a bright pink and highlighter-blue striped muscle shirt. 

It… oof… there are no words. 

BUT THEN

Huaisang put on like this vomit-colored patterned button down short sleeve shirt and okay I found these pants that were like… it was a gradient blue going from light at the bottom to dark at the top and covered in bacon strips? And bright pink pigs?  (We were gonna give it to Lan Xichen but his legs be toooo long so they didn’t fit.)

BUT FUCK YOU SANGSANG IT ISN’T SUPPOSED TO ACTUALLY WORK? LIKE FUCKING HOW???????????/

He walked out looking like some fucking high fashion super model. Apparently it’s all about confidence. Making it look like an intentional choice. Owning the cringe. 

No I think it’s just goblin magic. 

But then it was my turn. 

So.. like we model the clothes as is first, how they were given by the other two and then we do the final combination of our choice. 

And…

Well….

Huaisang knew that I was self-conscious about my burns because he read it on my blog. Lan Xichen… well there’s no way he could have known. 

And neither of them realized how much scarring there is. 

It’s light pink now and shiny and if I’m honest it’s not that bad. The burn wasn’t deep and it is fading. I’ve looked at pictures of other burn scars and well it could have been so much worse. 

But I see it. I feel it. My skin is tight when I turn my arm a certain way. 

He found this sleeveless metallic gold shirt with a V neck plunge so deep that it is held together barely by a stitch at the bottom seam. 

The scar on my chest covers most of my pec.  It stretches almost to the middle of my chest and a little more than half way down. It’s… it’s just very there. 

It’s not like it’s super stark or vivid or whatever. Like it’s just… it’s there. And i know it. 

And it took me a hot minute to get myself to step out of that fitting room.

Huaisang had started joking about me needing help closing the button of the pants (highlighter pink booty shorts with the pockets hanging out the bottom in a raggedy mess. Honestly, Xichen-ge I think you could have found uglier than that. Perhaps he ran out of time?)

Well… I took a deep breath and forced myself out.

I know I could have backed out. I could have explained. I could have just said it didn’t fit. I could have said anything to not have to.

 But… well.. Hey we’re supposed to be healing right? 

So I walked out and… 

The expression on their faces was exactly the expressions I had not wanted to see. 

They both paled and drew in their breath, their smiles dying as they both looked at my exposed chest. 

Lan Xichen started to apologise, saying he didn’t realize that the scarring was that bad and that I could have refused, but I wasn’t having it. 

In the end.

I’m actually pretty proud of myself.

His shirt is the one I picked. The shiny gold deep plunge V-neck and the iridescent windbreaker pants that SangSang picked out. 

I held my head up high and bought them and wore them out with pride. 

And.. well… In an outfit that loud I was gonna get stares anyway. So it kinda helped. Because it was kinda a divided attention. I know some people noticed the scar but the outfit was so much more obnoxious than some small blemish on my skin that no one but me would care about anyway.

It helped.

I’m gonna try buying more things that expose more of the burn. I don’t want to be ashamed of it. I earned those scars. I’m proud of that. 

I still don’t know that I’d call myself a hero. But those scars are proof that I helped Jiao-Jie. That she’s alive because of me. 

And before long the three of us were laughing again.

I never expected Lan Xichen to go along with this kind of a game but he played with us until the end. 

We met Da-Ge at yet another restaurant. He’d already gotten a table and ordered drinks for us. So when we arrived in all our splendor we ended up needing quite a few napkins to mop up his spit-take. 

It was amazing .

Lan Xichen even cuddled up to him, fishing for compliments on his new outfit. It was great. 

We got… a lot of attention. But the staff thought we were hilarious. Three amazingly handsome men in three amazingly NOT handsome outfits and one handsome man dressed like a normal human being. It was incredible. 

All too soon though it was time to go home.

And I came home prepared to surprise my darling husband with my new high-fashion aesthetic and instead HE surprised me with a whole new stove. 

Because the fire scared me. 

So he removed the fire. 

In the long run it will be good for me to face that fear. But that is one I’m going to take slowly. I don’t want this to end up like my fear of dogs. So I’ll ease into it. But I’ll take my time. 

And Lan Zhan… Oh Lan Zhan. 

He saw me in that holographic nightmare of an outfit. 

And had the gall to call me beautiful.

I think… I might take that as a personal challenge. Heehee. 

More on that later ;) I’ll let you all know what happens.

[little-bit-of-cinnamon]

Brave Enough (to Break Your Own Heart) - Chapter 2

Jack reaches out to Davey a few days after the party 

Masterpost

Jack returned from his art history class with a headache like he’d never had before. He wasn’t hungover, he hadn’t been drinking since Saturday at the party. The party where he met David. David, who he hasn’t stopped thinking about but also hasn’t texted.

He was probably just stressed. He would tell himself he was stressed about school, about the essay he had to write by Friday and by the sketches he needed to finish, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case.

He was stressed about himself, his life. His identity.

He wasn’t straight and it was terrifying.

And constantly thinking about a guy he hooked up with isn’t helping his fear, his worries.

But ignoring it wouldn’t help either. Quickly, before he could stop himself, he opened his texts to David.

Jack: are you doing anything right now?

David: Not until my class at 2:00? What’s up?

Jack didn’t know the answer to that seemingly simple question. He wanted to see David, obviously, but he didn’t want his friends to know who he was with and therefore why they were together. He didn’t want to go out somewhere because it would be a date and that definitely wasn’t what he was looking for.

Jack: oh god i dont even know im sorry. im just stressed and i wanna figure shit out but idk how

David: Can I help with anything?

Jack: i wanted to see you i guess

David: Okay, do you still want to?

The fact that David was being so understanding wasn’t helping Jack’s guilt. His guilt that he wanted to see David but not be seen with David. Jack: yeah.

David: And I’m free so what’s the problem?

David: Are you afraid of your friends knowing and asking questions?

Jack: it sounds bad

David: Nobody’s blaming you.

David: I’m in a single, do you want to come over?

Jack: yes please

Jack didn’t feel good about wanting to hide but he would feel even worse about seeing his friends while he was with David and having to either tell them or get caught in a lie if he chose to hide the truth.

David sent his room number and Jack didn’t hesitate in leaving his room to go to David’s, thankful that Crutchie was still in class and therefore unable to ask where he was going. The walk was short, leaving Jack without enough time to overthink his actions, thank God. He knew that he would find far too many flaws in his situation if he took the time to mull it over.

He did, however, pause outside David’s door for a while before he could bring himself to knock. He just stood there, staring at the fall-themed name card on his door, no doubt put there by his RA.

Maybe he should just go, he thought. David was out and secure in his identity, he shouldn’t be burdened by Jack’s identity or lack thereof.

But, still, David was the one who invited Jack over, the one who asks questions and supports Jack.

He knocked.

David opened the door with a smile kind enough to knock any hesitant thoughts from Jack’s head. “Hey, Jack.” David stepped aside, allowing Jack to enter before shutting the door behind him.

Jack wasn’t expecting to make it this far and he didn’t know how to proceed. He lingered in the center of David’s tiny dorm room, just standing there. He didn’t know where to sit, what to say. It wasn’t often that Jack was left with no words on his tongue.

It seems like David realized Jack’s hesitation because he guided Jack by the shoulder as he walked to his bed. They sat against the wall, treating the bed like a couch, as you must in a dorm with minimal furniture. Their shoulders were touching but Jack wanted more contact, he just didn’t know what was allowed.

He realized he still hadn’t spoken.

“Hey.” It came out quieter than he was expecting.

“What are you thinking?” David asked.

Jack knocked his head back against the wall, exasperated. He wanted to say he didn’t know again, it felt like the most convenient answer.

“Too much,” he answered.

David didn’t respond, instead opting to take Jack’s hand in support and hopes he’ll continue, elaborate.

“I’m frustrated,” Jack continued.

“About what?”

“That I have to deal with this bullshit. Not you, obviously. You aren’t bullshit. But like, two weeks ago I wouldn’t have even thought about not being straight. But now, now I have to like figure myself out and I got all this emotion and whatever and I can't just get rid of it.” Jack moved his other hand to their joined hands, fidgeting with David’s fingers as he spoke.

“What happened two weeks ago?” asked David, tone steady. Jack was almost annoyed by how collected he was while he himself could barely string a sentence together.

“I kissed some guy at a party. That’s the stupid shit I do when I get drunk that I was talking about.”

“So you mean to tell me that I’m not your big sexual awakening? What a scam.” David joked, knocking their shoulders together playfully.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Trust me I was a lot less drunk with you and I did a whole lot more with you. You can take credit for the crisis.”

“Good, something for me to be proud of.” David paused for a few beats before he continued speaking. “What do you need now?”

Jack knew he should say something along the lines of “talking it out” or “dealing with his emotions” or whatever, but that wouldn’t be the truth.

“I could go for a distraction.”

“I can help with that.”

Jack turned his head toward David to kiss him, hesitantly at first, this being the first time he’s kissed a guy with no alcohol in his system. It didn’t take long for him to warm up to the idea, though, and soon he was turned so he was sitting on his knees in order to face David completely. David’s hand moved to Jack’s hair and Jack would do anything to not have to admit how much he liked it. His mouth dropped open as David gave a slight tug. He opened his eyes to look at David and he had no right looking that sexy, smirking knowingly with his fingers still clutching Jack’s hair.

“Yeah, a distraction was definitely the right move,” Jack said through a smile.

David put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and pressed him down, onto the mattress.

Things moved much slower this time. The added conversation and the vastly different environment striped them of the fast paced urgency from the party. Once Jack was flat on the bed David opted to lie next to him rather than on top of him, leaving the heat to build slowly, rising with their heartbeats.

Jack couldn’t tell you how long they stayed like that; lying on David’s bed, making out and constantly pulling each other closer until they needed to break away to breathe. Could be minutes, could be hours, it made no difference to him.

At some point Jack ended up flat against the mattress, not turned to face David, and David was hovering over him. He wasn’t quite on top of him, his shoulders turned to Jack while his legs stayed by his side. It was at this point where things started to escalate, but also this point where David pushed Jack back slightly, Jack attempted to chase David’s lips back up, not wanting to break the kiss but he was unable to. David’s hand on Jack’s chest kept him in his place.

He wasn’t actually holding him back but Jack got the hint. He let his head fall back against the pillow and he pressed his eyes shut.

“You really like stoppin’ us, huh Davey?” Jack tried to not sound too frustrated.

“Again, it’s not that I want to stop but we have to. I told you I have class at 2:00.”

“Skip it.”

David laughed but Jack wasn’t joking.

Jack pulled David back to him with an arm around his shoulders and David gave in for a little while. Jack tried to pick up where they left off, sitting up a little from the bed in order to get even closer to David and catching his bottom lip in a quick teasing bite. The sound David made suggested that he would rather stay with Jack than go to class but he broke the kiss once again, anyway.

“I really have to go.” David stood up and adjusted his clothes, his shirt was askew from Jack tugging at it and his pants were uncomfortable for an entirely different reason.

“Come on, Davey.” Jack was lying back and propping himself up on his elbows. David glanced back at Jack but quickly turned away again, moving toward his wardrobe to get a jacket.

“No, you have to stop sounding so desperate and looking so hot because then I’d actually stay.”

“Well good, that’s what I’m aiming for.” Jack countered.

“I’m gonna be late.” David walked to his door but turned back to Jack. “You can go or you can stay, it’s up to you. Class ends at 3:30.”

And then he was gone, leaving Jack alone and wanting on his bed. Jack wanted to stay, to be there when David got back, but he couldn’t. It was too intimate.

He checked his texts and refreshed Instagram, killing time while he gained some composure. Eventually, he stood and gathered his things and left David’s room. He sent David a text as a formality but it felt like it was too much. Too much like they were together instead of hooking up. He put his phone on silent and began the walk back to his own room.

[naromoreau]

Hooked on you

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x F! Dep

Rating:Nsfw, angst and fluff and smut

I'm dedicating this to the absolutely awesome @leavenopathuntaken for encouraging me with her amazing art and words.

Thanks to @absurdwanderlust and @deputyshitlordsantana for encouraging this shit.

__________________________

Well fuck. Of course all had ended tits up. Not that he’d other expectations, ‘cuz when it came to consider a scenario involving him and a chick like Dep, things just-- just didn’t work out. And it hurt. Worst than the well known kick in the nuts. Hell, he’d take an extra ration of those just so, so- Fuck. Just to get out of that emotional dry spell.

He ain't an idiot. There’d been something bouncing back and forth. Small, real smooth hints that made his heart thud and his mind spin at night when the memories wheeled around. But outta the blue, one day she just-- slow fade him. Nothing too obvious. Just the same show he already knew, the same sad song he’d already danced. Maybe he’s just overthinking it.

No. The little voice inside his head has it right. She’d been joshing with him, that’s all. Just pure teasing between friends and he’d swallowed hook, line and sinker. Like a complete moron.

It’s a matter of time now. I mean, it may be the end of the world or whatever but-- She’s gonna find someone. ‘Cuz she’s hella pretty and, and, not that he’d check her out or nothing, but yeah. She’s gonna find someone. And the thought just tastes wrong.

Why he had to fall for her like that? He ain’t a fucking teenager to keep believing that when push came to shove, she’d stay or say what he craved to hear. And fucking Christ in heaven, this time he’d been hit hard. Shovel on the head kinda hard.

“Thanks for coming with me, man,” she says, severing his brooding thoughts.

Even looking at her is downright painful, the dimples of that smile making his stomach twist in knots, and those eyes, man. Sparkling something that Sharky is never sure to grasp entirely. “It’s ‘aight, shorty, I got you.”

“I know  you ain’t a fan of the Wolf’s Den, so I really appreciate it.”

He ain’t a fan of anyone who throws glimmering mistrust in Dep’s direction, not after watch her bleed in his arms, clumps of sweaty wayward hair sticking to dusty cheeks, as the fear rends his heart to shreds. Not when it’d been real easy for her to just kick everyone to the curb and run away. It’s rude and just outright disrespectful. “Nah, it's cool dude, I can deal with the claustrophobia for a bit,” he lies.

She chuckles with her eyes riveted on the road, but the frayed smile tells Sharky she’s far from feeling fine.

“Dep?”

“Mmm?”

“Uh, I know it’s not my business but uh, you ok?”

White-knuckled grip at the wheel before she cracks a lopsided grin in his direction. “Sorta.”

He ain’t sure if it means he should or could pry or pester her further, or if she’s politely telling him to fuck off. So he shuts his mouth. Self-preservation at its finest.

“I mean yeah,” she continues after a few seconds, but her voice is all wavering now. It makes Sharky uneasy, “but I haven't seen Staci since I got him out of Jacob’s bunker and I don't know, I guess-- I guess I’m a little rattled to see him. It could’ve been me y’know?”

“Don’t say that, man.” Never say that, he wants to say, but his voice is harsh and--. He swallows, thick. Better to chuck that idea out the passenger window, ‘cuz thinking about a reality without Dep is just-- better not to amble in that direction.

The car skids to a stop outside Wolf’s Den, and they hop off making their way inside. He nods at Wheaty on the entrance. That guy is promising, real potential right there, and maybe he can stop by to check on his vinyl collection while Dep’s busy visiting her friend.

At his side, she fidgets, frowning and giving small exhalations as if she were preparing to run a marathon. Sharky cocks a brow. He’d never seen her looking so tense, not even after he rescued her from that flossy motherfucker’s bunker.

“Hey, chica, uh, want me to stick ‘round?” Sharky almost reaches his hand to brush the hunched line of her shoulders, closing his fist to thwart his impulse, ‘cuz touchy-feely is not a line of action he recommends to himself. Not now. Probably not later also.

“No, it’s ok. I just-- I’ll be fine.” She gives a gingerly squeeze to his arm and his brain takes it as a cue to send butterflies fluttering down in his gut. Out-and-out juvenile.

He gulpes and smiles in a silent acquiescing, trudging away from her, every line and wrinkle on his face twisting in flat-out dejection.

He doesn’t snatch his eyes away from the threshold until her footfalls fade in metallic echoes.

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

He does a mental inventory of all the goodies Wheaty allows him to take back to his trailer park. Lotsa fun stuff to blast while melting peggies and swaying his fuckin’ pantless ass just to show them Seeds they can’t take him down. It’s been well past an hour and he juggles with the vinyls in his arms meandering through narrow corridors, skirting piles of supplies cluttering up on the floor, trying to reach the room Eli always assigns to them when they’re in the premises.

The darkness is uninviting, scrambling his sense of direction and time. And he’s hungry and hopes Tammy doesn’t appear around a corner ‘cuz she ain’t that nice. Then a muffled sob. A strained groan. Sharky joggles to the room closer with the door ajar.  Somebody is losing their shit and he can’t blame them. He’d be close to if it wasn’t for-- Whatever. But help your neighbor and all that shit, even though he ain’t the most adequate candidate for that stuff. He’s more than aware of that. When he gets real close, he sets apart two distinct pitches, and his heart leap to his throat recognizing one as Dep’s.

He should’ve taken a step back and get the hell outta there, ‘cuz it ain’t gentlemanlike to go snooping around in other people's business but Dep is there. And he needs to know she’s fine. He peers through the slight opening watching Pratt crying all over Dep’s shoulder, hands clinging to her waist borderline hysteric. He really feels bad for the guy, having spent a good chunk of a month tucked away in Jacob Seed’s personal rendition of hell.

But in the flick of a second his breath freezes in his lungs, the buzz of his blood roaring in his ears. ‘Cuz Pratt is kissing Dep and as much as it’s gut-wrenching to see he can’t tear his eyes away. Like a fucking masochist. Every swipe of his tongue and every second of shared breath stings deeper and deeper, until it’s too much and he forces his legs to unnail and wonkily take him someplace else. Anywhere but there. An ache rises under his breastbone, eyes chockfull with tears, arms tingling and dropping his cargo with a loud clunk on the floor. Breathe. Miraculously he reaches the familiar room with bed bunks and closes the door for good measure.

What the fuck had he been hoping for, really?

Like she’d just turn and say hey man, actually I’m into you? Real fucking stellar. Of course that Pratt fella had the upper hand. He has a real job and not a shady piss business, probably not one forced check-in at County Jail and they both even click in the age department. Not that he thought of himself as old but she’s almost twelve years his junior, not that that shit matters when he’s a complete loser in every aspect of that pathetic thing he dares to call life. He climbs to the upper bunk, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and just maxes out in seething silence. ‘Cuz it ain’t fair to her but that jealousy thing man, it seeps and twinges and soaks him all, making him clench his jaw and grit his teeth.

Sundry feels whirl up inside him, heels diggin’ in the thin ass cot and fuck, there it is, that feeling bursting under the surface. Fuck. The need to set some shit on fire, like he usually does when he’s crashing down. Down, down.

“Shark?”

He should’ve jumped and run away, but he’s three feet above the ground and has great value for his bone’s integrity.

“‘Sup Dep?” There’s a flickering wave in his voice. Shaky. Unwanted, definitely not convenient tears stinging his lashes. He oughta nip them right in the bud ‘fore she sees them and yeah. That’s not--

“Hey, are you ok? I just- uh, just wanted to know if you wanted to go and eat something?”

Yeah, no thanks. Just to sit there and watch them both-- His stomach rolls over, tight and heavy as lead. “I’ll pass, uh, not, not really hungry today, sh- man.”

Shorty. Sounds fucking outta place. Something born out of his shy-ass attempt to say more. Needing more but ending with less. And he’s waiting for her to jerk her hand in that particular, very Dep like way to say good riddance, you’re not worth my time. But she stays.

His stomach growls of hunger just then. Fucking traitor.

“So, uh, not hungry then?” She moves one pace closer to the bed bunk. Yeah. She's not falling into it.

“Nope.”

And she really needs to go, and leave him alone. Gnawing his misery. Regaining his breath that now is just scorching his lungs. And he doesn't see. Eyes closed under a warm forearm.

A gentle tug at the hem of his pants, makes him groan in his raw throat. “Shark,” she says with that mellow tinge, “what’s going on? could you just--?”

She won’t let that shit fly. ‘Cuz he knows her. ‘Cuz she’s Dep and Dep is a problem solver. He bites his lip. Blinking, once, twice. A blessed drag of his hoodie over sodden eyes, and he prays. Begs. That she just won’t notice.

“Uh, I’m, I’m kinda ragged up, Dep.”

“Seriously man, what’s going on? You’re starting to freak me out-- could you just-- come down here. Please.”

Dude, it’s cruel. ‘Cuz she really cares. It’s such an earnest pleading he finds his legs moving despite his own blockade. When was the last time someone acted like he mattered? Like they actually cared?

He’s down. And she’s sitting on the bunk studiously looking at the wall. Yeah. Allowing him the courtesy of pretend it’s all normal. ‘Cuz Dep ain’t stingy.

Sharky swallows. “So uh, here I am, what, uh, what do ya need, Dep?”

“You can just sit here, y’know? I don’t bite. What’s got into you?” She scoffs.

She gives something like a general glance in his direction. And he sits. ‘Cuz not doing it is just plain giving that’s something’s off. And things would be better if he just had a beer can in his hand.

“What happened,” she asks finally looking him in the eye.

His mouth goes dry. “I uh, I hit my foot with the uh, the pole of the bed.”

She gives a soft snort and let it pass. “I talked with Staci,” she says. Sharky would’ve prefer to being hit by the bat of a grimy peggie than trekking into that direction. “He’s in really bad shape, and I just-- God, Shark, you should’ve seen him, there’s no trace of the guy who used to steal my coffee in the mornings.”

He knows he should say something. But his words are swallowed by the yawning chasm in his stomach. He hums an agreement.

“And I just-- I was thinking, y’know? I’m barely holding my sanity here and it’s all because of y’all.”

She rubs a hand across his. The column of her neck cranes, cranes ‘til those green eyes pierce into quicksilver ones and he can’t hack that shudder. A wild one. She reaches an arm and runs experienced fingers along his jaw. That warm, indistinct thing curls in his chest. Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard gulp.

He sifts her face. Pent-up reactions lingering in the moment. Hooded eyes, tugged up lips. Suspended. She takes a deep breath and is the last thing Sharky can hear before--

She plunges.

Her lips are pressed to his, his fizz of thoughts lost in one stroke. He’s not expecting it when she opens her mouth. Breath goes shallow but his tongue dips, dips up and down. Circling. Greedy. Eyes closed, it’s too perfect to last. An unwanted flash before his eyes. Black beard, tan skin. Not his. Not him. Fuck.

He pushes her off.

“What the fuck Dep?” He hates it. Hates himself. He should just take it and be happy with it. He can’t. Giveaway blur on his eyes. “Ain’t you with Pratt or somethin’?”

“What?”

A sharp blow. More like a, like a real keen strike. Right to the face. But he’s right. And now he’s not sure if he should say it but he will ‘cuz Sharky’s mouth has a mind of its own.

“C’mon Dep, I uh, I saw you back there, I mean it’s cool, y’know? Don’t sweat it, but I’m uh, I’m not into steppin’ into another dude’s territory.”

He’s sure he’s doing right. Being a gentleman and all that shit. ‘Cuz he’s not that much of a fuckin’ asshole. No matter how much he wants it. Jump in and dive.

“You saw it?”

Her hand is gone. Flat, emotionless voice reverberating in the tiny space.

“Yeah.”

“And-- did you happen to hear what happened after that?”

“Uh, nope. I mean it’s not my business to be skulkin’ around to listen convos--”

“But it’s your business to take fuckin’ conclusions without all the information?”

“Uh--” Wordless, lame-ass response. Not much to say to not look like, like a goddamn idiot.

The line of her shoulders ease down, and she lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “It’s not what you think, Shark,” she says and he clings to that believe so he bites his lip, to not screw up his chances. “He was just-- It wasn’t nothing romantic y’know? I’m the first fuckin’ person he sees that actually knows him from before all this clusterfuck started.” She shakes her head, a crink around her mouth. Sad, gloomy smile. “It  wasn’t as much as a kiss, as uh, I don’t know-- cling to a lifeline I guess.”

She smiles, a hand finding his cheek again. He actually leans into it now, fears now flaky as she scoots closer. Warm thigh against his. “Y’know? There’s a-- a common practice in the department,” she says, thumb rubbing circles on his stubble, and he’s doing everything he can not to sigh like a fuckin’ damsel, “to always focus on the things you care right? Your family, your pet, whatever. You know who I think of every morning?”

He’s paying attention. For the first time he is. Brain nailed to her train of thoughts. “B-Baby Carmina?” he says, voice thick with things he doesn’t comprehend still.

She laughs. Clear, ringing bells kinda clear. “I love my goddaughter but uh, I think you’re playing dumb, dude.”

His pulse flutters. Quick. Escalating into speedily beats, palms damp. He’s all jittery and dizzy, ‘cuz she’s looking at him, sporting a vexing grin. “Uh, Dep? My chick radar is kinda rusty y’know but I’m-- I’m picking some signals here? Just uh, just tell me what to do.” The words roll in a whisper, mouth a dry mess.

“I’ll show you.”

She speaks with a sense of finality just to kiss him as soon as the last vocal fades in the air. Soft lips against his chapped ones. Soon her tongue follows, sweeping along every nook and cranny. Warm and teasing, wheedling low moans from him with every push.

He holds her. Closer. Tighter. It takes him a moment to daze off and click back. This. This right here. All he’d ever wanted. Fuck, it feels good.

He runs his hands down, fighting gravity to not fall back. ‘Cuz they’re sitting on a friggin bunk and he ain’t sure she wants to--

Fuck, she does.

Her hand slips past the waistband of his pants, under his threadbare boxers. Erection now throbbing between her fingers. He pulls her down, arms around her waist.

They fall in a panting heap. Muscles and curves pressing him right where they should be. Like a fucking puzzle. A perfect puzzle.

She slides off him for an instant, and he complains. A groan. But she smiles, shedding off her clothes and breath catches in his chest. He’s burning. Sweating like a pig in the summer. His threads are gone in a heartbeat, not thinkin’ about the beer gut he has come to terms with, or the other fuckton of things that could sour this moment.

“You sure ‘bout this, Shorty?” He asks, ‘cuz he has manners and, and not that his pulsing cock is pressing between her thighs already.

She dips down. Kisses him again. Slowly, sweetly, taking her time. “Are you?”

“You really askin’ me that question, amigo?” he says breathless, both hands making an arrow direct to his dick.

But it's not just that. He’d never wanted anyone like this. Not just a fuck. Not just the feeling of being spent but hollow. He needs the aftermath more than he needs the sex.

“Look, gotta be real honest with you, shorty ,” he says, feelings finally frothin’ out from deep-six within him, “‘cuz you uh, need to know ‘fore all gets weird. I just, I think I love you man.”

He doesn't know what he’s expecting from Dep. Cool, controlled Dep now staring at him, bare and on top of him. What a fuckin’ sight.

“I love you too Sharky.”

Certainly not that. Clean, direct answer, no shades or ifs. It feels weird. Like watching a familiar movie with a different ending.  A happy one. He smiles, white teeth through thin lips.

He shifts his body, mouth now roving over her collarbone and she arches. Soon he’s all over her nipples. Okay. He’s good at this. This is where he excels.

He sucks her breasts, touching the warmth of her skin, reaching to every place he can find. The drag of his lips is making her whimper, and his downstairs complain. Twitching. Impatient.

“Fuck, Shark,” she says dreamily, fingers squeezing his cock and lining him up to her entrance.

Slowly, she takes him in. Maddening tightness, slick and hot engulfing him one inch at a time. She eases down on his dick and he’s just about to lose his cool ‘cuz, ‘cuz he’s balls deep inside her.

“Oh, shit, shit, Dep, fuck,” he whines. He grips the side of her thighs, groaning deep at the back of his throat.

She hums, lazy smile tagging a long with a roll of her hips. Oh shit. It’s taking him a goddamn effort not to ram artlessly and let go. But he ain’t a selfish ass.

“You feel so good, Sharky,” she says, drawled words all low and throaty.

That’s his name, that’s his fuckin’ name right there. “Shit, babe, you’re the one to talk.”

Air is suddenly not reaching his lungs. He’s high of her, trying to find his pace, amidst overwhelming sensations. He rocks his hips, steady movements among the gut-twisting little moans she’s giving. At least he’s doin’ it right.

Dep’s bottom lip disappears in her mouth, and heat pools in his groin when her rhythm increases. There’s a blush spreading on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose when he thrust harder to meet her downstrokes.

“Fuck, Shark, yes!”

His fingers dig in her hips to find leverage, sinking heels on the mattress to rock faster, relishing the awe on her face and the blurry haze on her eyes. God, he loves seeing her like this. He’s not sure how long he can take it, his heart already pounding in his ears, head spinning under the delicious friction in every pounding. But sure as fuck he’ll try. She lunges forward, knees burrowed in the cot at the sides of his thighs and palms curled around his shoulders, regaining control, now actually fucking him into the mattress.

“Jesus, fuck, Dep--” he manages to stutter, “y’gonna be the death of me y’know?” He means it and it’d be a fuckin’ good way to go west.

She licks her lips, and he catches a faint smirk and pupils blow wide before he surges to meet her, hand cradling her head. Teeth clicking, tongues swirling desperately, steamy breaths puffing while he’s sure he’s about to break. His mouth trails off, going down the rim of her jaw, dappling her skin with bruises through hard sucks.

The pressure is unbearable, and he’s close, so damn close, feeling the sparks of searing hotness flaring up from his balls, fanning out ‘til his pelvis and his spine seem about to explode.

“I can’t- fuck, Dep, I can’t.”

She kisses him again as an answer, crying out the moment he angles his hips. The hug of her walls is too much, clenching around his cock, pushing him to the final inches of his climax.

“Dep, I’m ‘bout to--” He tries to pull off, but she keeps him pinned in place.

And if he needs more assurance, she roots her hips down, eyes locked on his. “It’s ok, Sharky, I want you to.”

And he loses it. Fucking Christ, he loses it.

He pulls her down, groaning, burying a final, heavy sigh against her skin. His body tenses, mind-wrecking spasms running along his dick and his balls and he’s dazzled by the popping lights under his lids. Sharky holds her, peppering her face with light kisses as the throbbing fades and the spurts stop, the buzz in his ears lowering to zero.

“That was good,” she says playing with a curl of his hair, draped on him.

“Fuckin-A, babe.” His words are still catching in his throat, a hand placed on her lower back.

He wallows in the moment. Just feeling, not thinking. Trying not to be surpassed by the little things he has never appreciated after the fact. ‘Cuz it wasn’t with her. Yeah. Soft breathing, quick heartbeat thrumming against his chest, the way her skin shines under a thin sheet of sweat. And sweet Jesus, that lavender scent.

“So uh, this means we’re like--together? As in, as in a couple kinda together?” He finally asks. He ain’t bad reading signals but now, he needs the assurance. The certainty. He needs the words leaving her mouth, one hooked to the other.

“Nah, you’re just hot and I wanted to jump your bones,” she says with a grin, “of course it means we’re together, as in a couple kinda together, you big oaf!”

Sharky finally relaxes, feeling the strain of the task and the raw emotions soaking in his bones. “Y’know shorty? Don’t get take this the wrong way but uh, I’m actually kinda beat down, so Imma take a shut eye real quick, ‘mkay?” And then he quickly adds, “please, don’t go.”

She laughs, pulling the blanket over them both and curls against him, warm and comfortable snuggled against him. “You don’t need to apologize, Shark and I’m not going anywhere”

He nuzzles the strands of hair splayed on her shoulder and dozes off to the soft rhythm of her breathing, coming to terms with the awesome reality tickling under his fingers.

[the-desolated-quill]

The Day Of The Doctor - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

50 years, huh? Extraordinary.

Going into The Day Of The Doctor, I was already lowering my expectations. Not just because Steven Moffat was writing it, but also because multi-Doctor anniversary specials are generally never very good. Once you get past the novelty of Doctors meeting each other, you quickly realise that the stories are often weaker than a nun’s piss. While The Day Of The Doctor does fare slightly better than previous multi-Doctor stories, there are still a ton of problems with it.

Let’s start with the Doctors themselves. I was a little bit cross that there were no classic Doctors coming back (and no, the Curator doesn’t count). I wouldn’t have minded except apparently Moffat never even asked any of them. Some fans have given the excuse that you can’t use the original actors because they’re not as young as they were, which caused me to scoff and roll my eyes. Patrick Troughton and Jon Pertwee were both considerably older when they returned to play their respective Doctors in The Five Doctors over a decade after they left the role, but nobody batted an eyelid. It was just really cool to see them again. There’s no reason why you couldn’t have brought the classic Doctors back. Okay Tom Baker and Colin Baker have both put on a considerable amount of weight since the 70s and 80s, and neither Peter Davison nor Sylvester McCoy are as young and spry as they used to be, but once they’ve got the costumes on, nobody’s going to care about that. Ever heard of suspension of disbelief?

So the Doctors we end up getting are Eleven, Ten and Eight And A Half, aka the War Doctor. (The Ninth Doctor was originally intended to appear, but Christopher Eccleston turned it down, hence the creation of an all new Doctor. Why Moffat couldn’t have just used Paul McGann, I don’t know). It’s about what you’d expect. Three Doctors coming together and criticising each other’s attitudes and tastes in clothing, and admittedly it’s fun for about five minutes before you start getting bored and want Moffat to get the fuck on with it. I think I’ve mentioned numerous times now how annoying I find Matt Smith to be, so i don’t think I’d need comment on that further. While I don’t like Ten as much as everyone else does, it is good to see David Tennant again after all this time. It’s like he’s never been away. He’s got that same boundless energy and enthusiasm that you can’t help but find endearing. This story does however play at odds with where Ten is in his story. Remember for Ten this takes place between The Waters Of Mars and The End Of Time Part 1, where Ten is running from his own impeding death. Surely seeing his future self would affect him somewhat, right? Perhaps that was what all that ‘some new man goes sauntering away’ stuff in The End Of Time with Wilf was about.

As for the War Doctor... I must confess I’m slightly torn. I’ve mentioned before how I really don’t like the idea of a War Doctor that Eleven can conveniently blame so that he can stay as the pure saint with the unsullied past because it just simplifies the character to an insulting degree. And it’s funny because if you stop to think about it, outside of the big decision he has to make with the Moment, the War Doctor doesn’t actually have a character. We never really learn anything significant about him or what really differentiates him from his other incarnations. And yet I can’t help but find myself really liking the War Doctor. And I think that’s for two reasons. One is because of the late, great John Hurt. He gives an extremely good performance and he’s the one that keeps you engrossed in the character even when the writing doesn’t. And the second is that... Look, I have quite a few issues with New Who, and one of them is the more manic interpretations of the Doctor. And yes I know the Doctor has always been an eccentric, but it feels as though New Who have been pushing it to its absolute limit and beyond, to the point where we’ve now got Matt Smith’s Doctor who is just the most obnoxious character I’ve ever come across (in fact there’s a scene where the War Doctor pretty much sums up all my problems with Eleven by asking him “why are you so ashamed of being a grownup?”). And I recognise this is more of a personal taste issue. If you like that kind of manic Doctor, more power to you. I honestly don’t mind it in small doses. The thing is I grew up with the classic series (I used to watch them on old VHS tapes when I was a kid) and while I recognise the War Doctor isn’t very well written and that the reasons for his inclusion are incredibly stupid, I can’t help but instinctively be drawn to that kind of witty, reserved Doctor who can be a bit serious at times, but his hearts are always in the right place. That kind of Doctor just resonates with me more somehow and it’s a kind of Doctor that I really wish we could see more of in New Who.

Plot-wise, it’s all a bit so-so. Let’s start with the B story. Out of all the monsters Moffat could have picked to bring back for the 50th anniversary, why in God’s name did he pick the Zygons? I know classic series fans really like the Zygons, but for the life of me I can’t see why. They’ve only ever appeared in one story, Terror Of The Zygons, which, lets be honest, wasn’t really very good. Yes I know David Tennant loves the Zygons and I’m sure he was pleased as punch to get to work with them, but for the 50th anniversary? Are you fucking joking?

For the benefit of @captainivyb and others who are unfamiliar with the classic series, here is what the original Zygons looked like:

And now here are the new and improved Zygons:

It’s funny, isn’t it? State of the art special effects and a slightly bigger budget, and yet somehow the new Zygons look just as shit as they did back in 1975. I’m going to choose to believe that these new Zygons look deliberately shit so that they could pay tribute to the rubber latex monsters of Who’s past because if I have to accept the possibility that the New Who team honestly thought these new designs were good, I may have to sit in the corner and have a little cry.

I do like the idea of the Zygons hiding inside paintings. Wouldn’t it have been cool if maybe the Doctors went inside the paintings and had a bit of a gander? But no. Instead we get the really bizarre twist that the Zygons, a race of shapeshifting aliens, destroyed a bunch of statues and ground them into dust so they could hide underneath large sheets when UNIT arrives. Yeah, it’s a bit hard to be scared of monsters that have the same mindset as a child who think they’re invisible just by covering their eyes.

And why are the Zygons inside the paintings? Because they want to invade the Earth. Why they don’t just invade medieval Earth, I don’t know. Surely that would be easier than invading present day Earth. Less guns and nuclear bombs for one thing. Elizabeth the First (or at least a version of her that has been Pompadoured into the sassy, flirty woman that exists in all of Moffat’s stories) says that the Zygons are used to a certain level of comfort, but that’s bollocks, isn’t it? What could the super advanced Zygons with their biotechnology possibly want from present day Earth? It can’t be the Black Archive. How would they even know it exists before taking Kate Stewart’s memories? Do they want to borrow our Wi-Fi or something?

Cut to present day Earth and there is a genuinely good moment where Kate stands toe to toe with the Zygons and threatens to destroy the whole of London to prevent them from using the Black Archive. Jenna Redgrave gives a great performance here, channelling the Brigadier very effectively. It��s such a shame Moffat doesn’t do more with her character. (You may have noticed I haven’t mentioned Osgood yet... Well spotted). Then the Doctors show up to chastise Kate for her actions, using their own experience in the Time War to explain why before using the memory eraser thingy to make everyone forget whether they’re human or Zygon, forcing both sides to form a peace treaty. Yeah, because evil aliens hellbent on taking over the world are bound to stick to that once they get their memories back. (Also there’s a major continuity blunder here. Earlier we see a Zygon attack Osgood and assume her form, stealing her asthma pump. Osgood manages to escape and steal the asthma pump back. But at the end, Zygon-Osgood gives the asthma pump back. Huh?).

All of this is meant to cack-handidly tie into the Time War storyline and the Moment, which admittedly is slightly better. But first... is that it? Is that the Time War? Remember all the references that were made in the RTD era? The Jaws of the Nightmare Child. The Could Have Been King and his Army of Never Weres. People trapped in time loops, forced to relive their own deaths over and over again for all eternity. What do we end up getting? Some spaceships, a few lasers and explosions, and some screaming civilians. The Last Great Time War. The war to end all wars... and this is the best they could come up with? Sigh. I guess some things are best left to the imagination.

Also I could have done without Rose. Well... except she’s not Rose. She’s the Bad Wolf. Well... except she’s not the Bad Wolf neither. She’s the same Moffat female we’ve seen millions of times before (Has Moffat only ever met one woman is his life? That’s the only explanation I can think of for why all his female characters sound and behave the fucking same). Billie Piper does an okay job with the material she’s been given, but really, you could have picked anyone to play the Moment. Billie Piper is really only there for fanservice. (Moffat reportedly did not want to bring the Rose character back because he felt her story was wrapped up and he didn’t want to add anything to RTD’s arc. I want you to remember this people. It’ll become relevant later on).

The Day Of The Doctor is really about the redemption of the War Doctor. Him standing at the brink, prepared to make a terrible choice and is shown the consequences of his choice, whilst his future selves learn to accept and finally come to terms with the horrible decision they made. This aspect at least is done reasonably well. I liked the scene with the sonic screwdrivers and the ‘same software, different case’ metaphor. And by far the most powerful scene is when Ten and Eleven arrive to help the War Doctor push the button. It was incredibly moving and actually made me really emotional because it shows the Doctor at his core. It’s something I’ve been saying for years. He’s not a soldier or a hero or a warrior. He’s just some guy. To make the decision to destroy his own species in order to save the rest of the universe would be incredibly traumatising even for a trained soldier. For a simple traveller like the Doctor, it’s practically unbearable. So to soften the blow by allowing his future selves to come along and help him press the button so he doesn’t have to suffer alone is extremely touching. Plus the War Doctor is now reassured by the fact his future selves will do everything in their power to make things right and not allow others to make the same terrible choice.

...

How does Moffat fuck it up?

Oh yeah. You knew it was going to happen. Moffat is so insecure and so determined to trick his audience that he’s prepared to butcher perfectly decent stories in order to shove in some bullshit twist. And this is no exception. Rather than allow The Day of The Doctor to end on a sombre, but powerful note, Moffat decides to do the unthinkable and takes a great big shit all over it. Thanks to an intervention from Clara (ugh), the Doctor changes his mind and decides to use a stasis cube to trap Gallifrey inside a pocket universe, causing the Daleks to destroy themselves in their own crossfire, saving the Time Lords and everyone gets a happy little ending. Now look, I’m not necessarily angry that the Time Lords have been brought back from the dead. I’ve suspected the whole last of the Time Lords thing wasn’t going to be permanent since way back in 2005. What I am angry about is the insulting way in which Moffat does it. Remember when Moffat said he didn’t want to add to RTD’s arc? Well he seems more than happy to undo it completely just because it doesn’t fit with his vision of who the Doctor is. A vision that is utterly warped. Moffat has deluded himself into thinking the Doctor is this all powerful saint that can do no wrong and would never dream of doing something like destroy his own race, even though the show itself completely contradicts that. The Doctor has made morally dubious choices before. The Doctor has resorted to violence before. Okay he’ll always try to find a diplomatic and peaceful solution when he can, but when push comes to shove, he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. The Time War is just the most extreme example of that. Yes it’s a horrible choice, but what’s the alternative? Letting the whole of time and space burn? As Eleven himself said, it wasn’t possible to get it right. And the psychological ripple effects of this choice makes the Doctor a far more interesting character. By erasing all of this, all of that complexity and character development as a result goes with it. Moffat tries to cover himself by saying that none of the past Doctors will remember this because of Moffat logic, but that just makes it worse because now Nine and Ten are suffering from PTSD and psychological trauma for no reason.

What The Day Of The Doctor proves without a shadow of a doubt is that Steven Moffat doesn’t in any way understand the show he claims to be a fan of. And if you need further proof of that, in the final monologue where we see Matt Smith standing in front of a really bad photoshopped ensemble of previous Doctors, the Doctor talks about how he dreams about going home. That has got to be the most unDoctorly thing I’ve ever heard.

War Doctor: “If I grow to be half the man that you are, Clara Oswald, I shall be happy indeed.”

Oh go fuck yourself Moffat!

[blyanten]

THE DUCK AVENGER: #13 EVERYTHING AND NOTHING

That’s a problem.

The Avenger is fighting a dinosaur-monster-thing called Morgoth that really, really wants him dead. He’s also very distracted, to the point where he reacts to dino-thing blocking his attack, redirecting a lazer-beam into a building with “huh”. Which seems less like the standard hero “this is gonna suck” response and more… “of course he can do that *sad sigh*”.

Feeling okay?

He does get distracted though, and so he gets knocked of a building.

On the way down, he flashed back to a minor episode that took place during lunch hours.

Donald was in line at a Duckmall food place, but when he was ordering food, a random stranger told him to take two bags of chips. Donald says no, he wants one, but the stranger is rather insistent. The lady taking orders gets annoyed by the delay, and when Donald tries to put to blame on the other guy, he realizes that guy has disappeared.

Back in the present, the Avenger’s attention snaps back to his current situation of falling to death. The shield is falling about two meters ahead of him, but considering that he can’t speed up his fall, that might as well be three hundred kilometers.

Impressive. I wouldn’t as much as blink at it if he’d somehow managed to fall faster than the shield, but we’re not doing that silly thing here.

We’re doing a different one! The building is still under construction, and the shield hits a beam that happens to stick out, bouncing back up within reach. Because… that’s… how it works? It could, the shield’s alien, so.

The Avenger grabs the shield, flies back up and starts mocking Angus rather than focusing on Morgoth that is still there and still feeling murder-y. Also, he can fly now, because shapeshifting is the best power.

It’s like the Avenger is feeling suicidal. There’s distracted and there’s this.

The fight continues, and the police shows up, being useful and scaring Morgoth off by shooting at him.

The Avenger decides to let him go, preferring to retire for the evening.

Whatever else I have to say about this issue, the art is good. The Avenger looks seriously awful here, without any exaggerated bruises or signs of tiredness.

In a creepy bunker somewhere, someone is working on figuring out the Avenger’s secret identity.

These are always funny. Without mask... With mask...

The next day, Donald is at work, still feeling distracted.

There… there are people you can talk to. No, really.

Donald continues his rounds, asking questions like “would everything disappear if I closed my eyes?”

This entire thing reads like some kind of depressive episode.

He considers a shrink for a moment, but all things considered, decides to try resting first. He does that by getting into a show car, and falling asleep. At work. That goes as well as you’d expect when Bloom notices.

He yells Donald away, and Donald bangs his head on the ceiling of the car. For a panel or two, everything seems normal, then the weird depressive tone of this issue comes back.

Later, the Avenger asks Lylo for advice. Every night, he and Morgoth fight, but why?

Lylo thinks it’s obvious, Morgoth is evil and the Avenger is good. They will fight until good wins. The Avenger is less sure, and would also like to know how long the game is going to last.

Then we cut to Everett for a page. Everett is definitely not worried about the Avenger, just curious about what he’s doing. Yep, this was a necessary break from the plot.

Back at the plot, Lylo has dug out some kind of robot-armor for the Avenger to use against Morgoth. The Avenger blows a hole in a wall before getting the hang of it.

Retro.

Later again, the two spend the evening watching tv.

1. Aww.

2. The tv-show host reminds me of Gladstone. Look at the hair.

3. Aww. I like it when you get bits like this, just showing that people are friends. Even if it’s kinda undermined by the ending.

And the it’s time to go through the motions again. The Avenger gets into the armor, determined to change the rules of the game.

Morgoth is at a stadium, destroying helicopters.     

At least someone’s having fun.                

The Avenger hits him from behind, and they fight and fight and it’s a boring fight, until Morgoth drives a spear through the Avenger’s armor.

The rockets on the back of the armor activates, and the armor wraps its arms around Morgoth. It turns out that the Avenger abandoned it, leaving Morgoth to lift off into the sky.

The Avenger isn’t happy however, as it was still just a match and not the game he won. He’s also not in the mood to enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame.

The armor was later found outside of Duckburg, destroyed and with no trace of Morgoth. On the bright side, Donald is working today. He can’t stand the idea of watching tv all day though, so he tries the fridge. Which is basically empty. The idea of shopping brings a brief surge of nausea, but then he gets one small whim. Well, two.

He wants chips.

At the mall, there’s only two bags left, and some guy grabs one, because he’s only filled like half his cart with them. This annoys Donald.

Donald tells him off, declaring the he wanted two bags. Asshole offers him two black eyes. Donald tells him not to threaten him, and asshole suggests he could move onto action.

Donald considers it. He’s deal with alien vampires, cyborgs, supercriminals… it would be ridiculously easy to put a normal person in their place.

And then he backs down. He could, but that would mean erasing the line between Donald Duck and the Duck Avenger. He can’t do that.

So he settles for one bag of chips.

This entire scene is creepy. Donald getting angry isn’t new, but there’s a vibe to this scene that makes it a lot more serious than it normally would be. The mood is seriously off in this issue to being with, the Avenger’s mental state is not okay, and it’s over a bag of chips.

The Avenger takes a break at the park, but realizes it might not be the best place. There’s too much confusion, both in the park and inside his head. He tries to focus, but is once again distracted. This time, it’s by the ice cream man.

Donald’s sure he’s seen him before. At the lunch from the flashback, at work, while shopping like half an hour ago.

Donald tries to catch his attention, but is run down by a skateboarder. The ice cream man conveniently disappears while that happens. And then his chips are stolen.

Hey, lady, you don’t know what kind of day he’s been having! At least save your comments for when he’s out of hearing range like polite people do!

We cut back to Everett again, who… is using his fifty tvs to watch clips of the Avenger while wondering where he is. O-kay. Not weird at all.

Donald is back home. So are the nephews, not that we get to see them. According to Donald they’re at that age where they treat home as an hotel. They’ve left their backpacks on the couch, and Donald has to deal with it. He finds a bag of chips, and asks everyone to look away, because he’s stealing that. And the other two bags too.

Opening them, and dumping the chips all over the kitchen table, he notices something terrible.

Get a bowl, you’re not an animal! Wait.

As Donald his having his realization of something being horribly wrong, the man from lunch shows up again. He says he can explain, and he also knows Donald is the Duck Avenger. But they have to talk fast, it won’t take long before some mysterious “he” will redirect his focus on Donald.

He can’t say the name, that would draw attention. So… Voldemort?

No, the person lunch-guy talking about has total control over the situation, thought he’s forced to simpliify some details. Like the chips, he created a single base model and replicated it all. Like the ice cream man and a few dozen other secondary characters.

He didn’t think Donald would notice the repetition. Lunch guy then gives a complicated non-explanation of where he is. He’s being difficult on purpose though, as explaining clearly would bring down his attention on them.

Lunch-guy tells Donald to break the routine. It’s the only hint he can give.

Donald demands to know who he is, and lunch-guy calls himself a virus, before disappearing.

Next up, round break the routine between Morgoth and the Avenger.

The Avenger tries to talk to Morgoth, and gets hit with a spiky hammer for his trouble. 

:D

He notes that despite that, and getting thrown into a wall he’s fine. Nowhere near the kind of serious injury you’d expect. And when the Avenger counter-attacks, hitting Morgoth with a lazer-beam at full strength, yet Morgoth is fine.

This would be much more effective if the Avenger didn’t shrug off shit like that all the time, but I can go with it.

The Avenger has put the pieces together and is starting to feel like his old self. He forces Morgoth to ask some of the same questions he’s been asking, like “why are we fighting?”

And Morgoth stops. And reality says bye-bye.

And is replaced with nightmare-horror-insects.

The two team up against the insect-things, defeating them. The insects disappear, and so does Morgoth.

:(   

I mean, he was boring, but still :(

He wakes up like this.

That seems very uncomfortable.

He’s welcomed back to reality by this guy.

I can just hear this slow, condescending voice in my head as I look at him.

This is an AI without a real name, just a string of letters and numbers the Avenger won’t be able to remember. He considers himself a machine that, no matter how advanced, can be used, turned of and then abandoned.

Originally, he was just a computer, but then he started developing decisional autonomy, and his created freaked out a bit. They left him there years ago, for someone else to decide what to do with him.

There are really no good AI parents.

The Avenger says that’s sad, but wants to know what that has to do with him.

The Avenger has destroyed hundreds of his kind, he’s enemy of his species. He has endless connections with every other machine and has received so many last images and transmissions from machines destroyed by the Avenger.

The Avenger calls him crazy, and the machine says he can’t understand. The Avenger notes to himself that he can’t, or maybe he doesn’t want to.

Yeah… no. Machine crazy. There’s no mention of any of these machines having even a rudimentary kind of AI. That would make sense. Well, sort of. Making sense would be going after the people initiating violence, not the person trying to stop those people.

But regular machines? This isn’t like killing people, or even an animal, this is more like locking your neighbor in the basement because he mowed the lawn, and claiming it’s revenge for your fellow biologicals, the strands of grass. Except that the grass actually qualifies as alive.

So he’s crazy, but not in a way that really works when it comes to gaining sympathy. It’s more like “oh, that’s sa- wait, what now?”

Machine continues, explaining that he managed to reignite himself, which I take to mean getting involved again, and reconnect to cameras and microphones outside the bunker they’re in. He noticed that the Avenger kept visiting Century. He set a trap and the Avenger walked right into it.

The he created the virtual world based on the Avenger’s memories.

And this is when we learn that while a week passed inside the virtual world, only a day passed on the outside. Which is good for the Avenger, and makes the cuts to Everett hilarious. 

Machine wanted the Avenger to be forced to repeat the same operations over and over, without being able to understand why. Machine wanted to be the one to decide the game, to avenge his kin!

But he lost, thanks to that virus. The Avenger altered the program. So he made the virus? And the damage has been extended from software to hardware.

Sure, take the easy way out.

The Avenger is free to go back to his regular life.

Oh, finally.

Well, that was all around depressing. It’s like everything is covered in sadness and hopelessness. Good job on that front. But the problem is that while it supposed to be dull and tiresome for the Avenger, it unfortunately has the same effect on me. And the revenge scheme that’s so over the top and ridiculous, it’s very hard to feel sorry for the crazy AI. 

The art is really good though. 

[kitsutoshi]

When you know better...do better.

With the new year about to start, I’m thinking about resolutions.  Things to change.  To quote Maya Angelou “I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.”

But I’m having trouble with that.  A lot of the time I don’t do better.  

Of course I want to “be the change I want to see in the world.”  But I also don’t want to introduce myself with my pronouns, because it feels weird, and the phrase “I am too old for this” plays in my head.  I understand that there’s some kind of thing about plastic straws being awful, but I’ve not read the articles and haven’t turned down a straw yet.  I’m still struggling to understand cultural appropriation (at least grayer aspects of it) and while I’m not buying any “Hot Buddhist Monk” Halloween costumes, I find myself thinking “how much does this really matter?” when YES it matters.  I think most people would agree it’s worse to knowingly do bad things than to accidentally or unknowingly do them.  I like to think I’m a good person…but this is some bullshit.

And not just me, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who knows better but screws up anyway.  If that wasn’t true then there would be no Doritos.

Right now we’re watching the long-overdue tipping point with sexual harassment, thanks largely to the #MeToo movement.  We’re tossing flawed men out of positions of responsibility as if it’s going out of style. And we’re vilifying them.  In some cases, for mistakes made back when those actions were the norm.  In other cases it’s dick pics.  Men fighting the tide of history.  Men who knew better, or had no excuse not to, but who propositioned those teenaged girls, those women at work.  Men who knew better, but grabbed women’s butts anyway.

And when I look at history, it’s filled with people who seriously had to know better (slavery? really?) but who just kept doing wrong.  Even people “on the wrong side of history” who definitely knew better.

I think we can all relate to knowing better but doing worse.  So how do we weigh that?  How do we handle all of this?  

I’ve engaged in discussions this year about how to honor historical heroes who were also deeply flawed people “by modern standards.”  If we judge historical people by what we now generally agree is wrong (slave owners are a great example) then we lose the good with the bad.  Thomas Jefferson, American hero…and terrible person who surely knew it was wrong to own people.

We’re also losing the good they’ve done (anyone feel like binging the Cosby Show?).  We have to figure out what to do with the artistic works, awards, philanthropy, invention…everything.  

So should we toss the baby with the bathwater?  And how do we think about those folks, past and present?  How do we think about ourselves? What wrongs are enough to write a person off completely?

So here we are, headed inexorably into the next New Year.  I’m considering resolutions, I want to “do better.”  I have a list of things I now know (or maybe haver for a long while) and I want to behave better.  But what if I don’t?  This issue is personal.  I can’t think “yeah, that Thomas Jefferson guy…” or “Dammit Al Franken!” without also thinking “and you.”  I’m no different than any people who didn’t “do better.”

We know that some social ills will only be fixed by waiting for a generation or two to die.  Young people who are “woke” waiting for older racist/sexist/homophobe/etc bigots to just die off and take their crufty views and behaviors with them.  Because change is hard.  People know better all day long, and don’t do better.

So it’s hard.  But is that an excuse?  (spoiler: no, no it isn’t).

So what are some of the things people debate “overlooking?” because of “the times they lived in?”   Owning slaves.  Harassing behavior that might have been the norm but was never ok. There’s this idea that if something was common that we should just understand and give people a bye.    I’m not so sure.

When I use a microscope, what I can see is a whole lot of people who knew clearly, long before the Civil War, that slavery was wrong.  Otherwise the Underground Railroad would have been to nowhere.  I see a lot of HR seminars on harassment and hostile work environment, laughed off by guys who didn’t want to change.

When recycling became a thing, young people were all over it.  There are plenty of Baby Boomers who throw away water bottles every day.  There are young people who would carry an empty plastic bottle across the earth to recycle it.  And there are people in between, who recycle if it’s convenient.  Do we give a pass to the individual boomers who can’t find a blue bin with both hands and a map, because it’s a “function of the times?”

Where am I going with this?

My dearest hope is that humanity will continue to advance. That the future will bring more social evolution.  More cooperation, less competition.  More selfless behavior, less profiteering.  More live-and-let-live and less authoritarianism.  I’d like to think that humanity will eventually produce the Federation of Planets.  

The best example I can think of where a sea-change is coming but we’re not yet at a tipping point is eating meat.  It seems likely that in the future, people won’t eat meat from real animals anymore.  Lab-grown real meat may be a thing, or good sense will have prevailed and folks will eat vegan, or just flat-out overpopulation will make meat a thing of the past.  I eat meat.  I know better.  I have the means to eat well without meat, and I don’t.  I try to source my meat from local farms with high ethical standards.  But not always.  But someday there will be whole generations of people who wouldn’t even contemplate killing an animal to make a meal.  How will they look at us?

If you speak to any not-deranged human being and say “is torturing an animal ok?”  The answer is unequivocally no.  Absolutely no.  But we rationalize.  We do it for medical science.  We definitely do it for food.  We wear leather but not fur.  We eat pigs but not dogs.  Ugly animals don’t count.  

But those people will look back at us in bafflement and disgust.  If we did awesome things, maybe won a Nobel Prize, or twelve Olympic medals…they will still look at us as “meat eaters.”  

What I’m looking for is a litmus test.  I’m no pinnacle of human perfection, there’s a lot going on that needs fixing here.  And our ancestors were the same.  People who knew damned well and good that women should be able to vote, but who went along with the social order of abuse and oppression.  Nazis.  Slave owners.  War profiteers.  Pussy grabbers.  Casting-couch sleaze.

But many of those people (not the Nazis) did great things.  Art, literature, war heroism, writing Constitutions.  We want to know those things right?

What would I want for future folk to think of me?  Not that I’m likely to be remembered in a hundred years, but if some future schoolchild does look back at my life, what do I want for them to think?  What would Thomas Jefferson want for me (and us) to think of him?

These are some answers I would give (TJ will have to speak for himself):

1. If I’m making mistakes (and history suggests that we all do that) then I’d like to be forgiven those.  If I really think I’m doing a good thing, but later hindsight says “nope,” future people please give me a pass.  I offer the same to people in my rear-view mirror.

2. When I already know better…How would I like to be viewed for that? When I refuse a major change with measurable benefit to the world, in favor of personal convenience or preference.  I’m the modern equivalent of the “nice” slave owner who knows it’s wrong so he makes sure that his slaves have good housing and food.  I’m a “product of my time” where most people who can afford to will eat meat every day. So even though vegans exist and ethics matter, I eat meat. When I look forward and think of those future great-great-great-great grandchildren looking back at me, I can’t meet their eyes.  If they need to dismiss whatever good I’ve done out of disgust for the things I do knowingly wrongly, I can’t blame them for that.  I know better, but I don’t do better.  My hope is that the problem (be it meat or something else) solved itself when a few generations died off, maybe including me and mine.

3. But what if I didn’t know, but I reallllly should have?  What if I’d never watched any PETA videos, never read Temple Grandin’s book.  What if I grew up without knowing how food comes to fork?  Some forms of Christianity differentiate between a sin committed knowingly, and one committed without knowledge.  Purgatory was invented because it wasn’t fair to think of all of those non-Christian souls burning in hell just because they never even had the opportunity to be forgiven.  Modern criminal law differentiates some types of offenses based on intent.  But I don’t know how I feel about those historical people who thought they were “protecting” women by treating them as voteless property.  I know that I’ve been confronted with ideas that I just haven’t had time or inclination or energy to deal with.  For example, the concept of “implicit bias” didn’t really land in my consciousness until this year, even though I had heard of it years ago.  It didn’t hit me with enough impact to motivate any effort on my part until recently.  But I could have learned it at any time.  The information was available to me.   I guess I’m not that forgiving.  Willful ignorance isn’t an excuse to me.  Your mileage may differ.  I hold myself accountable for things I chose not to know, at least things it would have been easy to know.  There’s a scale.  I’m ok with future people thinking “she used STRAWS?!  But didn’t she see those headlines on Facebook?” I hope they’ll cut a little slack for a primitive progenitor if the information wasn’t readily available, but if it was looking me in the face, that’s on me.

I don’t know how Thomas Jefferson would feel about this.  Or Winston Churchill.  My best guess is that they would feel as I do.  A Golden Rule situation.  If I would want for my progeny to forgive me for something, maybe I should forgive the same things.

Applying those rules of thumb:  Sexual harassment and abuse in the workplace.  It’s never been ok. Women have taken men to HR or court over this crap since women have worked.  No one younger than 90 should be able to plead ignorance that work isn’t the place to get handsy or to talk about sex or to try to get a date with your subordinate. But men who knew better sure haven’t done better.  Many have, but many have not.  No one is getting a pass.

We fought a war in this country in which slavery was the primary or a collateral issue (depends on who you ask).  Plenty of people knew perfectly well that it was wrong…but many people who knew better did worse.  I vote no passes.

There are a lot of vegetarians and vegans around.  And people still make fun of them.  I think most of us know that’s really right-action and that our meat-eating isn’t.  I’ve also seen a lot of humor to the effect that vegans and vegetarians are on a high horse (riding, not eating) and shouldn’t look down at the rest of us. But I see two things there:

When you’ve seen better and done better, maybe it’s ok to express that there’s something others should wake up to.  Why would we NOT want that?  Lots of people go to church specifically to be reminded to do better.

Maybe when you’ve walked a lot of miles being made fun of for ethical uprightness, reminders come out less like “hey, there’s something to consider” and more like “wtf is wrong with you?”    

We should want that reminder.  We should want to wake up to what we’re doing wrong.  But when you’re around someone who you know is doing better, it feels like being judged. Which all of us hate.  We think of ourselves as good people, but we know we’re doing bad things, and people doing better just remind us of that.  We judge ourselves.  Then we thrash, to avoid those feelings.

It’s galling, isn’t it.  When you know you’re choosing worse, and someone else has chosen better?  We want to keep doing the thing we do, but we don’t like to think of ourselves as bad.  So we weasel and manage our cognitive dissonance.  From inventing religions that give us “absolution” so we can keep on sinning, to making fun of vegans to avoid the idea that they’re right.  We compound our wrongs with more wrongs.

Right now we have a society where people who do better are actively mocked by people who do worse.  “Social justice warrior” is somehow an insult (!!?).  It sounds like something that should be the highest possible praise.  Its as if the bullies all won, and decent people are getting shoved into lockers.  Only we’re all the bullies too, on one subject or another.

So “know better…do better” right?   There’s no pass for failure.  Of course it’s easier to do things when everyone else is doing them too.  But sometimes we’re the first generation to know better.  We still have to do it.  We may someday figure out how to handle the artistic, scientific, philosophical, and other goods created by slave-owners, harassers, abusers, profiteers, and others.  I hope we do.  I’m going to use the “what would future progeny think?” litmus test.  And if “they’d think I was scum of the earth,” that seems fair.  If I knowingly do something wrong, just because everyone else is doing it too, I shouldn’t get a pass. 

Here’s the main step I plan to take this year.  I’d like to confront my irritation.  My blind spots.  Find my cognitive dissonance.  I may not manage to do better in some respects (burgers) but I’m going to face that head one.  No pats on the back. Conscience turned up to 11.  No passes given to myself if that future society wouldn’t give me one.  When I know better, I will own it when I don’t do better.  The world needs that.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Purple Dress pt 2

I didn’t actually mean to write a second part for this, but then it happened. I blame Nori.

@asparklethatisblue whose art inspired the whole thing @life-is-righteous

You can find the first part here.

“Dwalin?” Nori asked, when he slipped through the bedroom door. It was, by anyone’s definition, late, and the party had ended hours ago, but Nori hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Dwalin’s afternoon actions and had spent hours trying to work it out in his head. Did Dwalin really want a dam? The question had been brewing in the back of his mind all the way to Lady Beurla’s party, even though he had had to push the distraction away for the sake of his plan. Inveigling himself into her good graces was almost laughingly simple, but Nori had had to focus to keep his mind from straying to the warrior who was currently asleep in their bed.

Dwalin snored. He didn’t wake up when Nori slid into the bed, familiarity dulling his senses where Nori was concerned. The Thief lay awake for a long time, thinking.

“How was the party?” Dwalin asked, when Nori finally managed to drag himself out of bed, forced himself to let go of the pillow that smelled like Dwalin. Nori simply grumbled something unintelligible. “You got in so late, I thought I’d let you sleep,” Dwalin smiled, sliding a cup of tea towards Nori. “I have to get going, but you can tell me all about it later, yeah?” he asked, squeezing Nori’s shoulder as he got up from the table, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders and closing the door behind him before Nori could get up his courage to ask him to stay, to banish the thoughts in his head. Dwalin hadn’t even kissed him, Nori suddenly realised, his thoughts darkening in time with the tea cooling on the table.

 “Nori?” Dwalin called, when he walked into the house that afternoon. Silence greeted him, Nori’s morning tea left undrunk on the table. Dwalin frowned, moving through the small house as he tried to remember if Nori was supposed to be off working; seducing the odious Lady Beurla was not his only approach to figuring out her network of plotters, Dwalin knew. “Nori?” he called again, but had to conclude that he’d be spending another evening without Nori when none of the rooms yielded an auburn-haired spymaster. With a slight sigh, Dwalin set off once more; inviting himself to join Balin for dinner was better than sitting in a silent house, he thought, knowing the kind of place his mind was likely to go – even if it meant an evening of listening to Balin waxing poetic about the Mines of Khazad-dûm and its mithril treasures.

  When Nori crept in through the window, Dwalin was fast asleep. The Thief curled up beside him, careful not to touch as he tried to find some comfort in Dwalin’s presence, the familiar sound of his snores.

“Nori?” Dwalin murmured, but Nori said nothing. When he felt Dwalin’s arm wrapping around his middle, he resisted the pull that would have brought him up against Dwalin’s broad chest, shaking off his arm. “Goodnight, Nori,” Dwalin whispered, but he didn’t try again, and soon the room once more filled with the low drone of his snore.

Nori snuck out before first light.

  “Nori?” Dwalin mumbled when he woke, reaching out to touch his lover, frowning when the other side of the bed was as empty as it had been when he went to bed. He’d been sure that Nori had come to bed at some point, vaguely remembered reaching for him in the night. Blearily blinking his eyes open, Dwalin turned his head, but Nori’s side of the bed looked untouched. Worried now, Dwalin dressed quickly, foregoing breakfast as he sped towards Dori’s house.

 “Dwalin!” Dori greeted, fetching another cup from the cupboard, “What an unexpected surprise.” Pushing the cup and the pot of tea across the table, Dori offered Dwalin a roll, which the warrior accepted gratefully.

“Have you seen Nori lately?” Dwalin asked, frowning as he tore off a bite of the bread.

“Not since he picked up his party-frock from my shop, no?” Dori asked, calmly buttering his own roll. “Was I meant to?”

“I’m not sure,” Dwalin admitted, “he was home yesterday morning, though he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk – I thought he was simply tired from the party, apparently it went late – but when I got home yesterday, he hadn’t been in all day, and when I woke up this morning his bed was still untouched.” As he spoke, his appetite dwindled.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Dori reassured him, though Dwalin still felt teeth of worry gnaw at his soul. “If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks,” Dwalin muttered, his feeling of something wrong not at all assuaged. What if someone had cottoned on to Nori’s scheme and decided to silence him permanently. Dori tutted, obviously catching the signs of distress.

“Dwalin.” When Dori’s voice was firm like that, everyone listened; the Dwarf might be peculiarly even-tempered, but Dori was capable of anger when he wished. “Nori will be fine. Now go off to do your job, and if you haven’t seen him in a few days we can start to worry. It’s not the first time he’s had to disappear for a while.” It might not be, but Dwalin was quite sure it was the first time in Erebor, and the thought sat uneasy with him.

“Yes, Dori,” he acquiesced nonetheless, leaving the house with the thought that Dori just might be the scarier ri-brother. It was quickly replaced by the shudder-inducing memory of Ori calmly threatening to destroy his name for all of history if he didn’t treat Nori right, however, the first shovel-talk he’d been delivered by someone he could realistically bend in half with no trouble yet also among the scariest conversations he’d ever had, Dwalin thought ruefully.

 Thinking about Ori, however, had convinced him that he ought to check with the Royal Scribe too, just to make sure Nori wasn’t simply hiding out for some reason or other.

“No, I haven’t seen Nori, Dwalin, I’m late for a Council Meeting,” Ori answered, before hurrying off towards the Council Chamber – Dwalin technically was supposed to be there, but he was not in the mind for guarding Dís today, so he’d send his replacement with his apologies, knowing that he’d owe his cousin some explanations later, but too worried to care. He’d failed to protect Thorin and the lads, he wouldn’t fail to keep Nori safe; even if it meant worrying before there was much evidence of a need to worry.

Dwalin spent his day prowling the streets, looking for any flash of auburn hair – in peaks or not – that would tell him Nori was at least free.

  When he got home, Nori wasn’t there. Dwalin tried to tell himself that he wasn’t worried, but with a growl of annoyance, he went back to prowling, too agitated to sit still.

  Nori watched Dwalin – he’d taken his peaks down, and covered his pointy features with a veil, his distinctive hair colour with another and rimmed his eyes in kohl; looking suddenly like an eastern merchant. He’d spent most of the previous day in the company of Beurla; listening to the gossip of her household, pretending an interest he didn’t feel whenever she gave him her attention. The thrill of the chase was gone; lost beneath the weight of his personal problems, but Nori hardly cared. He already had almost all the pieces needed for his small puzzle to fit together, the rest was simply icing on the cake.

Following the warrior, Nori wondered why Dwalin was in such a bad mood. As far as he knew, there’d been no incidents involving the Guard that would have put such a look on his face, nor had anything come up involving Dís or any of the members of the Company.

As they walked along, Nori realised that Dwalin was watching the dams they passed, ignoring the male Dwarrow entirely. Something twisted in his gut, an ugly feeling of potent jealousy he’d never had before – not like this. Keeping to the shadows, he flitted through the streets, wondering where Dwalin’s path was leading, the circuitous route baffling.

  “Why are you following me?” Dwalin growled, slamming the small Oricarnul into a convenient wall. Then he did a double-take, feeling the distinct prick of a sharp blade ready to pierce his gut. Tearing the veil from the Dwarf’s face, Dwalin simply stared for a long minute. “Nori…” he groaned, his hand releasing Nori’s throat to cup his face gently, the big warrior’s hand soft along his jaw. Leaning into Nori, Dwalin didn’t care about the knife still aimed at him, taking his lips in a relieved kiss. Pressing against him, Dwalin deepened the kiss, his free hand wrapping around Nori’s hip as he plundered his mouth. Nori stiffened in his arms; the first clue that something was seriously wrong with Dwalin’s world. “Nori?” he whispered, suddenly scared to open his eyes. Leaning his forehead against Nori’s, Dwalin simply breathed, trying to convince his body to hold still instead of flinching away from the blade at his throat.

“Let go of me,” Nori hissed, the words a breath of sensation against Dwalin’s lips. Confused, the warrior removed his hands from Nori’s tempting body. The dagger did not move away from his throat. “Back away, Guardsdwarf,” Nori continued, his voice dangerously low. Dwalin frowned. The small prick of the blade drawing a drop of blood convinced him to follow the hissed order.

“Nori, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking a step backwards, but holding out his hands, hoping for Nori to take them. Nori didn’t move. “Are you… in trouble?” Dwalin frowned, giving Nori a second look. Something odd was in his eyes, turning them from Dwalin’s favourite happy silver to this dull grey iron. Nori shuddered, and if Dwalin hadn’t known him so well, he would have managed to escape before Dwalin could catch his wrist. “Tell me, Nori,” he pleaded, keeping his grip strong enough to restrain but not bruise. “Let me help you, love,” Dwalin whispered. Nori groaned, turning his face into the wall, his back towards Dwalin and his wrist still captured.

“Go home, Dwalin,” he croaked.

“Not without you,” Dwalin barked back, daring to take a step closer. “Tell me what troubles you. Is it Beurla?” he nearly growled her name, silently swearing revenge for any harm she had caused to Nori.

“No.” Nori sighed. “I just needed to think.”

“Think?” Dwalin asked, his grip slackening in surprise. “Is that why you haven’t been home since yesterday, why you barely spoke a word to me the last time I saw you?!” Stepping up, Dwalin ignored the way Nori’s shoulders stiffened. Wrapping his arms around the near-trembling Thief, Dwalin felt his heart slow as he breathed in the familiar smell of Nori’s hair. “I missed you, you rascal,” he murmured, nosing along Nori’s neck.

 Blinking, Dwalin stared up at Nori, feeling the flagstones beneath his back with only a little less incredulity than he felt Nori’s boot pressing into his throat.

“I told you not to touch me!” Nori hissed.

“Alright. Alright! Mahal, I’m sorry!” Dwalin growled, rubbing his throat when Nori danced a few steps away from him. “I was worried about you, you prick. Sorry.” Getting to his feet with a scowl, Dwalin strode past Nori, feeling angry now. “I won’t be home tonight.” he said, when he’d already reached the mouth of the alleyway. Nori didn’t answer, and when Dwalin looked back over his shoulder, the alleyway was deserted once more.

Rubbing his throat, Dwalin scowled all the way to the Royal Palace.

“Dwalin?” Dís said, looking up from the needlepoint she was making. “Trouble?”

“Nori,” Dwalin grumbled, letting himself fall down onto her sofa. With what he would have sworn was a sigh of relief, Dís cast aside the embroidery – she had not inherited Frís’ skill with embroidery, even if she was a fair seamstress – as took a seat beside him, pushing his legs down to make room.

“I feel like tonight requires uisge. You drinking with me??” she asked; Dwalin nodded morosely. Neither of them mentioned the fact that today was the anniversary of her wedding, something Dwalin had half-forgotten in his worry about Nori.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong, and Nori won’t tell me. He wouldn’t let me kiss him or hug him… what if Lady Beurla hurt him somehow?” Dwalin groaned, accepting the amber liquid gratefully.

“Nori’s stronger than most, Dwalin, and well you know it. He’ll tell you what’s on his mind eventually,” Dís said. Pouring herself a goblet of uisge too, she sipped the burning liquid slowly, savouring the taste of smoke. Dwalin smiled. Neither of them spoke for a while, simply drinking together.

 “Víli once told me it was the way you drink uisge that made him notice you the first time,” Dwalin chuckled, suddenly feeling like it was the funniest thing in the world. “Even more than the way you looked, it was the pleasure on your face he liked.” Dís blushed.

“He was a charmer, alright,” she replied, holding up her glass. “May there be uisge in the Halls, my love,” she murmured, swallowing another measure.

“I miss him. And Thorin.” Dwalin muttered. “And the lads…” Dís lay down on the wide seat, holding her goblet as her big brother-like cousin wrapped his arms around her.

“Me, too.”

 “Can I stay here tonight?” Dwalin asked, when both their faces were dry once more.

“Just like old times,” Dís chuckled wetly, “though you used to drink with Thorin… and we used to only miss Frerin and Cousin Fundin.” Sighing, Dwalin tightened his hold.

“To those who have joined Mahal’s Guard,” he murmured, raising his goblet and frowning to find it empty. Dís giggled, refilling it from her decanter before repeating the toast.

“To those who have joined Mahal’s Guard.”

“May we have good stories to tell when we meet again,” Dwalin murmured the traditional response. Dís just nodded.

 “Dís,” Dwalin muttered in protest when the light changed, the mirrors shining with light as the sun rose to the point where Dís would normally awaken, filling the room with refracted light.

“Make the sun go away, cousin,” Dis slurred, sleepily flicking his arm. Dwalin groaned, sitting up slowly. His head wasn’t particularly happy with that decision.

“How much did we drink?” he wondered, trying not to taste his own tongue. Dís moaned.

“Enough, I think.” Dwalin chuckled, instantly wincing at the resultant spike of pain.

“Can we just stay here today and be Not-King Dís and Not-Captain Dwalin?” he grumbled, closing the small cover the blocked the lightwell in Dís’ parlour.

“Remember the time we found the boys with their first hangover?” Dís smiled melancholily.

“Fíli was sick as a dog, but wee Kíli was too stubborn to throw it back up,” Dwalin chuckled, pouring them both a cup of water.

“Cousin Dáin wants me to make wee Stonehelm my heir,” Dís sighed – neither of them ever called the other Thorin by any other name than the deed-name he’d earned falling headfirst from a battle-ram. Dwalin scoffed.

“Isnae his call,” he growled. “Pick whatever Heir you’d like. Wee Gimli’s more than enough Durin blood in him. Stonehelm’s already heir to the Iron Hills. He couldn’t rule both places anyway; it’s not like Dáin will have more children.”

“It was a shame Thorunn was defeated by Stonehelm’s birth,” Dís murmured, sipping her water.

“Doesn’t mean he should be made King of Erebor.”

“I find myself wishing I hadn’t raised Fíli to be so responsible in his dalliances,” Dís suddenly laughed; her voice becoming weepy in the middle. “Perhaps I might have had a grand-pebble, then…”

  “Where were you?” Nori hissed angrily when Dwalin returned to their house late that evening.

“With Dís,” the warrior replied, not sure he owed Nori any explanation after the way the King’s Third Eye had acted.

“And last night?” Nori asked, his eyes narrowed.

“With Dís,” Dwalin repeated, heading towards the bedroom. He had several changes of clothes at the Palace and Dís had let him use her bathroom, but though they’d not spent the whole day drinking uisge, Dwalin felt the aftereffects of his hangover; all he wanted was to sleep for at least 6 hours straight.

“Is she…” Nori began, trailing after Dwalin as the warrior undressed himself, dumping his clothes on a chair and falling into bed with a groan.

“I’m exhausted, Nori,” he murmured. “Good night.”

“Is she what you want?” Nori whispered, almost too terrified of the answer to ask. Dwalin grumbled something incoherent.

“Wait, what?” he mumbled, opening one eye to stare at Nori. “What are you on about, sukdakud?”

“Would you rather be with a dam?” Nori forced himself to repeat his question, needing an answer instead of his own circling thoughts. Dwalin stared at him for a long minute before flopping back on the pillow.

“You did not just ask me if I wanted to be with Dís, right, Nori?” he growled darkly.

“You like to look at the ladies, I’ve noticed.” He hadn’t truly noticed it before, but after following him the other day, Nori’s mind had been more than happy to serve up a bevy of memories of Dwalin looking at dwarrowdams in passing.

“Nori…” Dwalin began, but Nori kept talking, suddenly dying to get it all out.

“And the way you looked at me when I was dressed up as one…” Dwalin’s large palm covered his mouth; for the first time, Nori noticed the red-rimmed eyes staring at him.

“No, Nori. I did that for exactly the reason I told you,” Dwalin claimed, “because you were heading off to seduce someone else and I wanted you to know that what you did for your work didn’t affect us. It doesn’t mean I wasn’t jealous, of course, but I mostly did it because you’re you, because I always want to do things with you, and I don’t give a glass-hammer for what you wear or how you move.” Dwalin growled. “Now, I’ve spent the last 24 hours getting stinking drunk and crying about my dead family with my sister, you hear me? And before that, I spent just as long being worried you had been dumped down a mineshaft somewhere, so don’t you dare come here accusing me of whatever this is!” Falling back down on the bed, Dwalin scrubbed his weary eyes with his palms. Nori didn’t move. “If you’re coming to bed, come to bed, otherwise get out,” Dwalin sighed, lifting the blankets on Nori’s side, “I need sleep.”

“You… you want me to?” Nori asked, wondering how he had become so hesitant when normally he was the one at the front edge of any conversation. Dwalin grumbled.

“I don’t like you right now,” he admitted. Nori flinched. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you; nor does it mean I don’t want to sleep in this bed with you. So get in or get out.” Dwalin opened one eye, giving the fidgeting thief a steely glare. Nori nodded, toeing off his boots and tugging off the rest of his clothes swiftly. He lay down stiffly beside Dwalin. The warrior sighed. Rolling over, he wrapped an arm around Nori’s middle, pressing a kiss to one tense shoulder before resting his head there. Looking up, he fixed Nori with one red-rimmed stare that made the smaller dwarf feel guilty – not a common experience in Nori’s life. “Yesterday was Dís’ wedding anniversary; did you know?” Dwalin asked pointedly. Nori shook his head. “We always used to get drunk on that day; even before she ever met Víli, continued when he was still alive, but afterwards too. Celebration of our small peace, Thorin used to call it. Frís would take wee Fíli, and later Kíli, too, to visit with one of our cousins, and we’d spend the day being Not-Thorin, Not-Dís, and Not-Dwalin; being young dwarrow without royal obligations or duties for one day of the year. One day. One day that wasn’t a feast or any other kind of celebration, one day that was just for us.” Putting his head back down, Dwalin sighed heavily. Nori slowly raised his hand, running it through the dark hair at the back of Dwalin’s head.

“Dwalin… are you sure you don’t want a dam?” Nori whispered. Beneath his hand, Dwalin tensed up, but then relaxed with a sigh he smothered against Nori’s skin.

“Nori, did you know most assassins employ the same trick you were using against Lady Beurla?” Dwalin muttered. “I watch dwarrowdams because in my experience 75% of the ones who had designs on my King’s life have been dams or been pretending to be dams. I’m a suspicious bastard; it doesn’t matter how long we’ve had peace, part of me will always suspect foul play. By now, it’s habit.”

“I love you,” Nori whispered, after long silence. Dwalin hummed.

“I love you too, you silly dwarf,” he murmured, kissing Nori’s collarbone.

[ifninomiko]

[Rev] The New Mutants #87: Cable Arrives

11 more issues until we get to Deadpool.  At least we have a plot to keep us warm.

Also, Cable.  Look at him.  This is the second time we see him and already he has given up on wearing a shirt.

The future is a naked place.

The mysterious group of costume wearing weirdos strikes again!  The MLF!

Right off the bat the art doesn't make as good an impression and I'm going to blame that on the colorist, who is now Mike Rockwitz.  It's not that he's bad so much as his synergy with Rob Liefeld is not as good as Glynis Wein.

Let's be real, I have to turn off my art brain to read this.  Just accept it, self:  Marvel art in the 90s was bad. 

This is the second research station the MLF hit and we get a nice summary of who all our costumed weirdos are and their powers.  Two of them are rocking the exact same eye look. 

[Huh.  I wonder if this is how Deadpool eventually gets his mask eyes what with this panda eyed villain thing Rob Liefeld has going on.]

The MLF are here to blow things up, just like they promised, but the bomb is busted, so Thumbellina shrinks to fix it.

Without the writer narrating what's going on, I'd be completely lost.

The timer starts.

The MLF gets out of dodge and a shirtless stranger appears!

Honestly, Mr. McGlowey Eye's timing could not be worse.

The place explodes.

...

Whelp.  Cable's only been here for four panels and he's already dead.

Yep.

...

WHAT IN THE F*CK, COMIC!?!?

... and on that, we have a scene skip.

The New Mutants are in Asgard feasting.

Meh.  I don't really care about Asgard and it feels weirdly out of place in an X-Men book to me, but whatever.   Guys, your friends need you.  They need you so hard.

But never fear, for a deus ex machina fairy appears!

This is the second unexpectedly fine ass in so many issues.  First the Vulture, now this tiny deus ex machina fairy.  Zounds.  

Deus ex machina fairy is here to deus ex, for she has brought a vial of magical solutions and a map!

Everybody party like it’s 1999!  Except it’s 1990.

I’m don’t even know why I should care about you lot yet, but we’re finally moving this Asgard plot along.  Hallelujah!

Scene skip.

Finally, the things #86 made me care about.

Rusty and Skids are in Freedom Force’s hospital in Washington, DC. 

Wow, Freedom Force is beginning to sound really legit.  This isn’t some weird black ops site, this is actually in the capital.

Rusty is out cold, but Skids is catching up on the news and getting generally upset that Freedom Force turned the tables on them.  We get info dumped the highlights of the previous issue along with Skids and then Mystique shows up.

Once again, the nineties cartoon says this is a villain ... and when you’re wearing skulls around your waist and on your forehead, people have to make certain assumptions.

Mystique is here to interrogate Skids and thicken the plot.  I’m loving this plot.

She wants to know why Skids and Rusty are important to the MLF, but Skids doesn’t know anything about that.

Turns out Rusty and Skids were in prison because they know important things and now Mystique will keep them prisoner to keep the MLF from finding out what those important things are.

I’d like to know what those important things are.  Don’t leave me hanging!

Scene skip.

afjhakjfheiuawhtiuewhrlu!!!!

Get back to the good plot!

Stop cock blocking me with this Asgard nonsense! 

Primus’ mighty steel bearings on a spike!

Argh.  Fine.  Primus.

The New Mutants say their goodbyes to their friends in Asgard.  I guess they’re leaving Dani behind because she’s a Valkyrie now?

They board the good ship Warlock, who exists to be a plot convenience, and sail off for home. 

That rainbow bridge is still spewing broken chunks.  The universe is just going to have to

Holy foreshadowing Batman!  There will probably be a fight! 

Since they’re heading right through the dimension of the mindless ones on their way home.

Scene skip to dun dun dun! 

Stryfe!!!!  Head of the Mutant Liberation Front and possessor of the second worst fashion sense in all of Marvel. [The first worst is Cable.]

Seriously, dude, did you dream this outfit up when you were fifteen and sulking in your bedroom because your dad wouldn’t let you party?

Those are nipples on your armor.  You have an extended loin guard.  Then there are the spikes.  Your teenage dreams of highlighting your assets haven’t worked quite like you hoped.

Topping it off we have your name ... I mean, honestly.  Just call yourself Lord Voldemort.  It would be more subtle.

You were 115% more cool when you were sitting in a chair impersonating Dr. Claw and waiting for your cat to arrive.

[Left image from The New Mutants #98 and the right from Villains Wiki]

Still, despite his flaws, Stryfe is more fearsome than Nitro, so our villains have improved.

The US government has refused to give in to the terrorist demands of the MLF (no surprise there), so Stryfe has decided to attack Freedom Force directly and just take Rusty and Skids.

Uh oh.

It also seems that Rusty and Skids are just a smokescreen to the MLF’s real plan.

Except no one will tell me what the real plan is.

Wildside reasonably points out that Rusty and Skids aren’t going to come peacefully. 

Stryfe decides to deal with his insubordination by going old school and choking a bitch. 

Thumbellina and Wildside are kept behind by Stryfe and the rest of the MLF head out to invade Freedom Force and capture Rusty and Skids.

Just as I wonder why they couldn’t just teleport inside, they conveniently explain that Zero can’t teleport places he’s never been by complaining about it.

The exposition in this issue is really top notch. I like this method of explaining things.  A++

As they charge the gate, Cable magically shows up!

What. In. The. Hell.

HOW?!?!

Hi, I got exploded and all that happened was the reddening of my eye scar!

Not only that, but he knows where the MLF was going to strike!

Mysterious dude who has only just arrived ... how do you know?!?!?!  How did you survive that explosion?!

Before we can get any real answers, we’re punished with a scene skip!

Not these losers again! 

Can we just go back to the good plot?

The New Mutants are coasting through dimensions on their way home.

I’m glad they have such faith in their friends.  Who are captured.  And all alone.  ABANDONED.

Just as they’re about to exit the wormhole, they’re attacked!

Did I or did I not say they were going to be attacked?

The mindless ones attack the ship and everyone fights back. Everyone gets to show off their powers as they fight except for Rahne.  As they defeat the mindless ones, they figure after all this excitement that ordinary school life might be boring.

Spoiler alert, guys:  The Xavier Institute is always getting destroyed.  Boredom is never your problem.

Scene skip back to the good stuff!!

The MLF have fought their way to a control room and are checking the computer for Rusty and Skids.

Cable sneaks up behind them and starts shooting!

Attacks from the back and still manages to hit Tempo in the chest.

Comic physics does not make sense.

The fight is on!

... despite his sneak attack, Cable still gets his aft handed to him by everyone.

Reaper hits him with his paralyzing neural disrupter, but he still manages to give him a knock out punch.

Then Strobe jumps him.  He catches her, but she melts his hand, putting him down for the count.

I think Cable is going to be dead TWICE in this issue. 

Who exactly has the healing power again??

Right then, scene skip!

I give up.  This issue is just going to scene skip every time something interesting is happening.

The New Mutants arrive home and exposition to us about the broader plot.  The X-Men are gone and X-Factor is missing, leaving the New Mutants to bear the torch that is Xavier’s dream. 

I could give all of zero f*cks about Xavier’s dream right now.  Rusty and Skids are about to be kidnapped and Cable just got himself killed ... again.

... and Warlock’s art always looks weirdly out of place.  I can’t get over the constant stripey yellow and black. 

SCENE SKIP AGAIN.  OH MY PRIMUS I WILL EXPLODE.

Whelp.  Those are Cable’s legs.  There on the right side.  He done got himself shot.  Now he’s dead.

Again.

Strobe burns through the floor to Rusty and Skids room.

There are guards there, ready to shoot Rusty and Skids if they try to escape.  Plot twist, though, since the guards have their orders not from Freedom Force but from someone higher up than them.

The MLF comes down through the ceiling.  The guards shoot at them.  Skids tries to protect Rusty, but the guards turn their guns on him.

With Rusty shot, Strobe gets between the kids and the guards and melts the guards’ bullets.  Skids asks her why the MLF cares and Strobe says that the kids are a symbol of the injustice visited upon mutant kind by regular humans.

She gives Skids a choice:  to come with them or face their termination order.

Faced with only bad choices and Rusty’s life on the line, Skids makes the choice to go with the MLF.

The scene skips twice on the last page.

I don’t even.

As the New Mutants float over the bay, X-Factor’s ship suddenly falls out of the sky!  Warlock flies to the rescue!

Scene skip!

Back at Freedom Force hospital ... Cable survived!

I guess that the MLF can’t aim, not even at close range.  Or they hit every metal part on his body and nothing else.

Now Cable is in the custody of Freedom Force.

He’s a slippery devil, it seems.  With a dossier a mile long.

I think we can also assume that he is smug as hell.  Just look at how he sprawls in the bastion of the enemy.

Next issue:  Stuff happens!

Meanwhile, Rusty and Skids are still missing!  It’s time to start the clock. Rusty & Skids Are Still Missing Comic Clock: 3 days Rusty & Skids Are Still Missing Real Time Clock: 1 month

Final Word:

Art aside, #87 forwards the plot that I care about despite all the scene skips. It fleshes out the MLF, which is nice, and we get Cable.  He is not at all effective ... but he is difficult to kill.  So that’s something at least.

I think it’s worth the $1.99, but only if you like Cable or have read #86.

Previous Review:  The New Mutants #86

[ib-suffering]

Update #3

Sooo this is a continuation of my other two updates that I posted recently. If you haven't read those and are interested in reading my thoughts on my exams, the results, and the advice I may have on any of the courses I took; they're not too far down on my blog, so they shouldn't be too hard to find (and I'm not just saying this bc I couldn't get the urls to hyperlink them on mobile 😅). But I did promise that I would finish my updates with information on my first year of college and what I've been up to recently.

Alrighty, so I spent my first year of college at Boise State University (I'll probably shorten it to BSU for most of this post).

For those of you who have never heard of Boise State, let me give you the highlights. Smack dab in the middle of downtown Boise, Idaho lies Idaho's top research institution. Which is promotional talk for: "We're a college football giant that also happens to have some sciences and liberal arts." BSU is obsessed with their football team, the players admired like celebrities, and game days turning most of the small city into a ghost town, the exception being the the small campus. That being said, BSU is very much a party school, even though it is technically a dry campus (a mistake, if you ask me, given the thousands of dollars they could make serving alcohol at games, but I digress). Boise itself is a beautiful city, and the convenience of campus being downtown and the beautiful weather from April-October makes it a treat to live in. Campus is beautiful, being right on the Boise River (which became a place I frequented when I needed a minute to myself). And Idaho itself is a beautiful state, though most of it is empty hills/farm land. This was a hard transition for me. Though my family is from Iowa (a state very similar to Idaho in many respects), I have spent most of my life in Vegas, a city that has been dubbed "the city that never sleeps" for a reason. Boise is much quieter. Most places close around 8, the rest at 10. And for someone who would take a break from homework to go grab a drink from the convenience store at 1 am, this was a shock for me. And I was very much still in that 11pm to 3 am grind from high school. Aside from that, I had mostly great professors. I am a bio major. And am planning on adding on anthropology as a second major. I bonded fast with my bio professors. I was very friendly with my comm prof, my profs, and my anthro profs. I had an on-going friendly hockey rivalry with one of my bio profs and the student teacher for my anthro class (Go Knights Go!). One of my anthro profs even offered me the opportunity to work further with him on a project I had for his classes. He was impressed with my work and I adored him as a teacher and was excited to work one-on-one with him, especially since he has a reputation for being a harsh grader. If I could impress someone like that, then I was excited to do so over and over again.

So here's the tough part to admit. I'm not at BSU right now. I'm in Vegas (which, for those that do not know, is home for me). And not in school. And know that this is difficult for me. I went from the constant grind of the IB program to sitting at home trying to get my life together. And it's been hard to accept this. Especially, especially because of the amazing opportunity I was offered. I was so proud to have been offered this as a freshman. But, I know that I have made the right choice. And my professor was very understanding, for which I am grateful, and I hope you will be too. And more than anything, I want you to take something from this story that I am about to tell. I know this has been a long post so far, and if you're still here, thank you. But stay buckled, because we're at the beginning of a saga. There will be some highs and some lows, a lot of drama with some comedic relief, and a story of friendship, how it may bitterly end or triumph over all other things. Enjoy.

Allow me to introduce you to our cast (Names will be shortened to a letter or two to keep things relatively anonymous. Shit does go down and there will be secret sharing in the hope that I can give valid advice in its wake):

L- a roommate of mine

M- another roommate

A- another roommate

C- yet another roommate, but she joins the cast a bit later

J- a great friend, met at BSU but he also happens to be from Vegas

R- an unlikely friend

T- M's friend

AG- a small group of army guys that join in later

K-potential love-interest

And I think that'll do. Now, onto the story!

I lived in a suite-style dorm. Four of us lived there, each of with individual rooms. The basic layout was two bedrooms and a bathroom on each side of the dorm with a living room, laundry unit, and kitchen in the middle. M and I shared one side while A and L shared the other. All of us were relatively shy and were placed together randomly as we hadn't used the roommate-selection app the school used. But we didn't have much issue at the beginning. I first bonded with A, introducing her to another friend early on. M and I bonded quickly as well seeing as we shared our own hall. L is fairly shy, so it took awhile longer, but it turned out that her and I just naturally click and still have a fantastic friendship to this day (Read: the same cannot be said for others in this story). L, M, and I easily worked around each other, with each other. A spent most time in her room or at work, but things still seemed pleasant with her. However, she didn't seem like she wanted to hang out with us whenever we did things as a group, so we stopped knocking on her door to ask.

Over the next many weeks, things grew more tense. It was gradual, so none of us were fully aware at the time, but looking back, it was obvious. M invited me to go with her to T's apartment one night. Her and I were interested in drinking (side note: it's up to you imo if you wish to drink in college, but I will insist: always have someone sober around. They will make sure you are safe the the location you are at, get home safe, and will be there for you to help you through your lowest moments and to recount them with you in the morning). T had alcohol. We partaked a little, and I got to get to know T and his roommate, K. It was a good night.

The next night, however, was the breaking point. M and I went over to T and K's again, but this time they took us to a party a floor below their's. We definitely had more to drink that night. I discovered my bartending skills that night, M found her limit and blacked out, and K and I got to hang out a bit more. K had a sober friend that drove us back to the dorm that night. They also helped us upstairs (remember, sober friend). M and I were definitely loud and giggling, and A came out her room to yell at us about not being able to sleep because of our behavior and our upstairs neighbors partying (a nightly occurrence). She went back to her room, slamming the door behind her. L also came out of her room, but instead of yelling at us, she help us through the drunkenness and eventual vomiting, staying up the whole night to do so.

The favour was repaid when M and I picked her up from her first party and walked her home. We stayed by the bathroom all night to make sure she was okay. And it was good to be able to repay the favour.

A felt alienated. And as I said before, that night was the breaking point. The next day, M, L, and I woke up to a letter on our kitchen table outlining her grievances. She didn't feel like our friend. We didn't invite her out anymore, we weren't there for her when she needed us, and she felt like it had to do with our drinking and her not wanting to.

The three of us sat on my side of the dorm, with the hall door closed. And we read the letter and talked it through. We felt bad that she felt that way, but we knew that we never intended that. And that we couldn't be blamed for it all. And that a letter shouldn't have been left for us. That if we were going to resolve this, we would do it in person. This is lesson number two. Resolve things face to face. Children fight through notes/texts/letters. As adults, we knew that we had to sit down together and talk it through. It's hard. You will be nervous. But it made that conversation better. We invited her out and it was awkward. But we went down the list. We made compromises, we learned more about each other. And though things were still tense afterwards, no one felt uncomfortable in their own home. And that's what mattered.

Fast forward to the end of the semester. A moved out. It wasn't because of us, she also had family problems and she wanted to move in with her boyfriend in Texas. We understood and left things on amicable terms. They're engaged now. I'm happy for them.

January. New semester. M, L, and I are living well. T comes over occasionally. K does too, he's also our alc plug. Him and I are still talking, but not much is happening there. I haven't mentioned C yet, but we met her the previous semester, but start hanging out more this semester. She knows that A moved out and is interested in moving in with us. We originally agreed, but after talking about it amongst the three of us, we weren't sure about it. Nevertheless, she moves in.

And it seems to be going well, and we made friends with J through a friend of her's. We host people often, and I play bartender. One of these nights, we run into K and invite him and a neighbor over to play cards. K and I flirt a little, but I was also busy hosting. C and K meet for the first time here.

They start hanging out a bit, and I don't think much of it. Then, she starts gushing over him, talking about his eyes and what their kids would look like. It felt obvious that she was far more into him than I was. So I was nice about it, and let it be.

She ended up just sleeping with him and dropping him only to trash talk him to M, L, and I. This is not the only time she had done this to the guys we had met and become friends with, including T and J, who we met through a guy she did this to. T and J were pretty much her only fails. I bring this up because it had an affect on the rest of us. I'm all for doing whatever you want as long as everyone consents, but this was not just affecting her and it was toxic.

It was difficult to make friends. It stirred up drama. And it lead to the next breaking point. In February, (for context, this is just a few weeks after she moved in), the AG drove out to stay with us for a weekend. C was interested in one of them. So was M. He was interested in M. C is getting upset over this, and decides to demand that M leave for the rest of the weekend. I didn't want her to, but C was already talking shit about me to other people and I didn't want to stir up more drama. Neither did L. I guess we hadn't learned our lesson.

M moved out. And this time it was completely our fault. And I felt awful. I tried to apologize. L did too. But the damage was done. And the bond that I had formed with M was instantaneously gone. I understood it was for the better and M left us with one request: do something about C.

L and I left that night. She wanted to go home for the night, feeling sick about the whole thing. I asked to go along. I didn't have classes the next day. We spent almost the whole night driving around talking it through. M was right, but we didn't know where to start with C. So we sat there, exploring the city, sober as could be (literally and metaphorically), and made a pact that we wouldn't let the same happen to either one of us.

We couldn't be direct about it. A talk wouldn't help. Actions speak louder than words. Because not only were L and I more strict. Not allowing ourselves give in to her whims, but we also had J. He especially didn't given in. And that frustrated her. L spent more time on her own, talking to me when she could. That frustrated her. I spent more time on my own, getting more work done. Shutting myself into my hall and letting the guilt sink in. I even invited over M and T to chat and collect her forgotten things while she was away. I wasn't going to be there to allow her to use us for her habits. And that frustrated her. She wanted the attention and she got none. And lo-and-behold, she started shit talking me again. To L. And everyone she met. It did nothing.

Here comes in R. He was the next one in a string of guys that she was using and cheating on. We didn't expect for him to be around long. None of them were, but C headed home for a weekend and suggested we invite him to hang out. Okay. I did. And both times he came over were great, he easily slipped into a friendship with L, J, and I.

He asked L and I to be honest with him. He felt insecure about the relationship he had with C. Though we were hesitant to say anything, he insisted that he would rather have the truth.

Okay. Have it.

And we knew he'd be better for it. And he was. And so was our friendship. And C was pissed. But she didn't know it was us who said anything. But she decided that he left her for L. And accused her of it.

Nope. He just needed us to be good friends. And he stuck around. And that infuriated her. And we found it easier to stand up against her fits because of it. Don't want him around? Sorry, he's our friend. And maybe you think we're horrible people for that, but we had put up with enough. And it was about time we fulfilled our promise to M.

And soon enough, C moved out. Not because of us, but other reasons. And R kinda moved in (not that our RA knew). R, J, L, and I were happy amongst ourselves for what was the last month of the school year.

Now, that was a lot. I know, I'm sorry. But I hope it was at least an interesting read. It wasn't everything that happened. And I purposely left some stuff out. Though I made an effort to keep things anon, some secrets are not mine to tell. Even if you'll never know these individuals, but especially because you don't know them.

While all of this was happening, I made poor decisions otherwise in regards to drinking. My friends back home were worried. My mental health was going down fast. Previously discussed events may have contributed, but I did push aside self-care in high school in favour of doing school work. And with a less-occupied mind in college, the symptoms only grew worse and perhaps that lead to more drinking. I'm not sure, but I do know that I wasn't doing well at all by the time spring break rolled around. And I worried those closest to me. And they made that clear this summer.

On top of that, BSU is out-of-state for me. And those problems from home didn't go away. And my experience was made worse by that, the events described here and many more, and my financials. I know most in America struggle to pay for school, but it was such a burden on me. It made it difficult to sleep at night, the focus on work, and loomed over every experience I had.

So, the lesson to be learned here is this: take care of yourself. Know your limits. I know it's easier said than done, but it's the only thing that will get you through college. I needed out of an environment that was causing me grief and guilt. I needed to address the problems I had been putting off. And I needed to be realistic about the types of stress I can handle. School, though stressful at times, is an easier stress to handle because the solution is relatively easy to achieve. Financial stressors are difficult to handle because they're long term and can affect how I live the rest of my life (not to say school doesn't, but you can go back to school at 40 but most of us will still be paying for the schooling we got at 18 when we're 40). I still owe BSU money, but not much. And I'm working on paying it off. And then I want to transfer in-state. Get the cheap tuition. My scholarship. And more stability.

BSU wasn't all bad, but it wasn't good for me either. And there's no shame in taking a break and transferring elsewhere. And I had to convince myself of that. And it's still hard to cope with the idea some days. But I'm happier overall. And I've maintained my friendships with L, R, and J. And they all understand.

Again, I'm sorry this was such a long read. But I hope you've gained something from this. If anybody actually read this far... In fact, if you had, could you do me a solid and leave a reply or drop something in my inbox? It'll be nice to know if someone actually read all of this. And thank you so much if you had. I really appreciate it.

[sending-the-message]

Matchmaker by Ilunibi

After the events with Miranda the RA and her uncontrolled summoning of one of the most powerful Earls of Hell, I won’t lie and say I didn’t have my suspicions about Cereal Girl. She was always just there, always in the right place at the right time, conveniently a witness for every threat Miranda threw at me and each exchange I left pinned back on her door. A sliver of me was convinced that she was the real culprit, framing Miranda to throw me off of her trail and delighting in my misguided attempts to stop her.

Cereal Girl, however, turned out to just be an insomniac, 4/20 enthusiast named Erika Dolores Ellison.

Or “Eddie,” if you will.

She was half my size and stayed camped in the hall’s kitchen, an omnipresent fridge goblin who spent every waking moment functionally baked and cramming food into her mouth. She had a girlfriend attending an art institute in Georgia, came from an affluent family who she figured would be in debt by the end of her already faltering college career, and was accidentally the eyes and ears of our floor. Which, honestly, suited her fine. Freshmen girls were petty, their drama was hilarious, and she couldn’t help but be amused by the weird, metaphysical battle between me and Miranda.

Both of us were still floundering freshmen who never quite pulled out of that awkward loner phase, struggling to make friends we connected with or finding a place where we belonged. Most people avoided her like the plague because she had no filter or shame, just like people avoided me because I’m awkward and unintentionally abrasive. She watched my back when I was out of the building, and I taught her small little tricks here and there that she couldn’t possibly fuck up while high. She even got in good with Dead Coyote, to the point he started selling her some of his weed when she ran out.

My one point of contention with Eddie, though, was that she was a bit more, well, libidinous than I was. Not that I’m a prude--I grew up with Dead Coyote, and he had a library of sex magic notes that I accidentally found when I was ten--but she had a weird obsession with my lack of an active love life. After glancing across a few things about the left-hand path on the internet, she became absolutely convinced that I must be doing something wrong because “evil” spells were powered by the sheer power of dicks. After a week or two of convincing her that hypersexuality really didn’t have anything to do with petitioning demons, she decided it was still a national tragedy that I was a single virgin and made it her solemn mission to hook me up with anyone that had two legs and functioning reproductive organs.

The pool she drew from was shallow. Being an outcast on campus, she basically would invite me out to “parties” with “friends” she made off of school grounds, each and every one of them hauntingly similar to Dead Coyote’s old customers. I could tell that she was a bit annoyed that I’d escort myself out before taking one of her potential Cassanovas to bed, but honestly? They reminded me too much of bad times and I’m a woman with actual standards.

Thankfully, she seemed to have gotten over it by the time spring break rolled around. I’d not heard a crack about needing somebody to keep me warm at night since winter ended, and she hadn’t invited me out to one of her white trash hookah parties in over a month. Most of our conversations usually revolved around what JRPG she had been playing that week, what weird shit I’d experienced over the previous days, and how much we mutually hated our required Gen Eds. Getting me laid seemed to be the last thing on her mind and I was one hundred percent okay with the fact she’d given up since it wasn’t a huge priority for me anyway.

The day that break started, she stood with me outside as I loaded my bags into Dead Coyote’s trunk, asking a thousand questions about why it was him and not my mother that came to pick me up. I didn’t know how to tell a girl who grew up in an actual, functional family that Dead Coyote had practically raised me so I didn’t have to raise myself, so I shrugged it off and told her that we were just really close. There was a knowing spark in her eye, the corner of her mouth curling up in a saucy smile as she tossed a handful of M&Ms into her mouth.

“‘Close.’ Yeah. I get’cha.”

A part of me was offended and wanted to say something. That part of me shut up when Dead Coyote slammed the trunk shut.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie. Didn’t you know? Me and Seymour’re secretly married on the astral plane or some shit.”

“You can do that?” she asked incredulously.

“Fuck no.”

She took being shut down in better stride than most eighteen-year-old girls, nearly choking on candy and snorting a laugh as she hugged me goodbye and told me to give her a call if I needed anything. She didn’t plan on going back home because she liked her independence too much and had one more disc left of Final Fantasy VII before she was finally done, and that game had become a personal quest. Besides, she couldn’t get away with being stoned all the time if she spent the week with her parents.

It felt nice to be back at Dead Coyote’s apartment an hour later, throwing my bags on his living room floor and collapsing on the couch that had been my bed for four years.

For the first couple of days of my spring break, things went pretty swimmingly, as though there had never been a gap in the time that I lived on that sofa. There were trashy talk shows aplenty, gossip on every street corner, and frozen gas station pizzas stacked to the top of an otherwise bare kitchen freezer. Dead Coyote confessed, rather bashfully, that he’d been trying to work with essential oils because he found out the scent of lavender snapped him out of some lesser jitters. He offered me my first beer, and after I downed four of them we mutually decided that essential oils were for pussies and he was getting soft in his old age.

Day three was when things started to get weird.

It began with dreams, weird and slimy dreams that slithered through my mind like serpents and left me awake in a cold sweat, my stomach twisted, and my thighs pressed so tightly together that I’d have made a good mermaid. Sex dreams, wild ones, but wild in a way that was terrifying and scarring. A wet, coppery tongue against my neck, and I could wake up and still smell it in the air. Something rough and cold running down my back, claws digging into my hips, sensations I could feel when I’d snap out of it. The heat was awful, not a warm and sensual heat, but like sticking your face in front of an open oven door.

The first night, I ignored it. You see, occultist or not, I’m always hesitant to blame things on paranormal sources because a lot of the time, your world and your own brain can be ten times more unpredictable and strange. My eyes snapped open on the couch and I sat there, shaking in the dark, until I remembered how stressed out and pissed off Eddie had made me over the course of the semester with her constant attempts to hook me up. I told myself it was probably a combination of being a new drinker and having lingering frustrations about that whole mess. I forced myself back to sleep.

The second night was more intense. No licking, no claws, but I was nine years old and laying on the ground in the alley by Dead Coyote’s apartment, watching a blurry stranger with a knife talk about how tight he thought I’d be. I instantly recognized it as the same goddamn scene with Joseph Shepherd, but when my vision steadied and I looked up to see who was kneeling in front of me, Dead Coyote grinned back at me with eyes like obsidian stone. His teeth weren’t human. It was like somebody took the teeth of a dog and crammed them in a person’s mouth.

I woke up screaming. Loud, baleful howling that I couldn’t even stifle with my pillow. Dead Coyote--real and in the flesh--actually fell down the steps tripping over himself to get to me, though the adrenaline pulsing through me told me to get away from him as fast as possible. I was locked in the bathroom when a concerned neighbor came over to ask what the problem was, Dead Coyote awkwardly trying to convince him that, no, he hadn’t killed anyone and, no, he actually had no idea what was going on either.

When he finally coaxed me out from underneath the sink, I felt nothing but awkward shame explaining my nightmares to him. He didn’t seem scandalized more than concerned, and we spent a good twenty minutes playing armchair psychiatrist while I sniffled into my blanket. He figured it was a mixture of alcohol and hormones. He also conceded that he had no idea what he was talking about, but it made sense logically. Probably. If you squint.

“Either way, princess, if you want, you can sleep up in my room,” he offered with a tired shrug. “Maybe that’ll help.”

So, I followed him upstairs. I knew the offer was just because he was exhausted and didn’t want to deal with me crying anymore, but the idea of having somebody nearby made me feel safe. I curled up on his mattress on the floor, back-to-back with him, swearing up and down that if alcohol was the culprit that I’d just not drink anything the following day. That had to fix the problem, right? I dozed off with wet eyes and a renewed resolve, and I kept to my promise.

I didn’t drink.

But Dead Coyote did, and the more he drank, the more I realized that something was off about the way he was behaving. Mid-conversation, he’d stop and stare, almost like there was something strange or different about me and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Occasionally, if he thought I was distracted, I’d catch him gawking at me like a slack-jawed frat boy at a strip club, but the expression on his face was odd. There was a light on in the attic, a conscious effort he was trying to make not to do what he was doing, but whatever had a hold of him wasn’t going to let him turn away. I was convinced it was because of the fact he’d been downing vodka like a Russian warlord, but after the fifth or sixth time he caught himself, he grabbed a pen, opened his hand, and practically carved a banishing sigil into his palm.

When I asked if he was okay, he flatly told me I’d be sleeping in his room the rest of my stay. When I asked why, he told me he didn’t have a clear answer for me, but he was going to figure it out.

He was the one who didn’t sleep through the night that evening. I was out like a light when I heard him growling profanity just behind my head and felt him sit up and climb off the bed. I listened as he paced and mumbled to himself, as he walked downstairs to get a glass of water. He wandered around the living room a bit, then meandered back upstairs and disappeared in the bathroom. I heard pills rattling around in a bottle and secretly prayed they were legal before he finally laid back down and struggled to go to sleep. His twisting and turning and cussing kept us both awake.

“A bad dream,” he told me the next morning. He paused for a moment, considered his words, then added, “Same dreams you were having. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” I echoed. He ignored me.

“That shit ain’t normal. That shit ain’t natural. Princess, it was like somethin’ was fuckin’ my soul. Or like somethin’ that ain’t got a clue what fuckin’ is was trying to fuck my soul. Bullshit. Pure fuckin’ bullshit.”

He decided that it had to be his fault, somehow, and that maybe he had messed up a ritual and invited something in by accident. With an exhausted sigh, he had me go get his holy water from beneath the kitchen sink and went to dig his leftover sage out of his closet. Our morning was spent cranking the radio up as loud as it could go to keep ourselves awake, smudging every corner, crevasse, and crack in his apartment, and then collapsing on the couch to eat cold fridge pizza and watch Maury. Dead Coyote ended up on my shoulder, asleep and drooling on my hair by the time the show’s host got to the first paternity test result.

No offense to Dead Coyote, but he’s capable of slobbering like his namesake and his spit had the distinct odor of garlic, Listerine, and death. I let him get in a nap, albeit begrudgingly, but the second I could shake him awake without feeling like the world’s biggest bitch, I nudged him off of me and excused myself to take a shower. Hair clung to the side of my neck. I grimaced and hoped there was enough shampoo in the apartment for the both of us.

Now, are you one of those people who gets scared there may be somebody behind the shower curtain while you’re bathing? Like, maybe you’ve seen Psycho one too many times and now you feel the need to check every three seconds to make sure a serial killer isn’t creeping up on you? I used to not be like that because I used to think I wasn’t a coward, but after we cleansed the apartment and I was in the process of cleansing myself, I kept getting this sinking feeling in my stomach like I was being watched. That slight, weird pressure that makes the back of your neck tingle like when somebody is standing directly behind you.

But it was coming from everywhere, and it didn’t stay slight. My face dropped when I realized I could physically feel something beating down on me like the air had become ten times heavier, that I could taste something sour whenever I inhaled, that my brain could pick up on a force, a personality that I couldn’t see. The shower was hot, but the bathroom grew hotter, and my mind raced back to when I was thirteen years old and I fucked up summoning Marchosias. When I opened my eyes when I shouldn’t have.

I peeked out of the shower.

Dead Coyote greeted me. Except not. I knew those eyes and that incorrect smile. I had seen it in my dreams and in that summoning circle all those years ago, and there he was: Not-Coyote, just standing there. Grinning. Strangely enough, he wasn’t very threatening, but he seemed to be enjoying the fact that I was paler than normal and about to piss myself.

I yanked the shower curtain down and nearly brained myself scrambling for the door. I felt something rough drag across my side as Not-Coyote reached out to touch me as I flew, naked and screaming, down the stairs. I had no time for shame or dignity or anything, only enough time to glance up the stairs when I hit the bottom and see Not-Coyote tilt its head and calmly walk from the top of the stairs to Dead Coyote’s bedroom.

Dead Coyote himself, having dozed off again, sat up like Frankenstein’s monster when I hit the bottom landing. He stared at me, nude and dripping with shampoo still in my hair, his brows knitted together in confusion. For a good, long minute he was absolutely silent, stuck in between being puzzled and mortified. When I had yelled myself hoarse and the same good samaritan neighbor from before was banging on the door and threatening to call the police, he finally found his voice.

“Uh, princess? You, uh, you forget what pants were for a minute or, like, is this some kind of weird white girl mating ritual I’m not aware of?”

I ignored him, instead pointing up the stairs and screeching at the top of my lungs, “Glasyalabolas!”

After I was walked back up the stairs to rinse my hair and dress myself (because I sure as hell was not going up there alone), and after Dead Coyote spent thirty minutes trying to convince the police that this wasn’t a case of domestic abuse, we sat outside on the stoop of his apartment staring at cars because I didn’t want to be inside. I hadn’t really realized just how scarred I was from my first tryst with Glasyalabolas until that moment, that very brief moment where I fucked up envisioning his polar opposite and brought forth a monster that got a kick out of stealing Dead Coyote’s face. The dreams couldn’t have been helping, either, with the alley scene replaying over and over and over in my head like a fucking movie trailer.

“Didn’t Miranda threaten you with Glasyalabolas twice?” Dead Coyote asked dryly, practically inhaling his cigarette. I didn’t look at him, instead looking at the neighbor who called the police, watching me from the sidewalk as he dragged his garbage to the curb. He still looked suspicious and I was absolutely humiliated. I thought back to my first, disastrous summoning and how I’d felt so much safer just physically feeling Dead Coyote’s presence in the circle. Like a little girl, I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“She did,” I finally answered. My voice was still cracked.

“I seem to remember tellin’ that bitch I’d end her if she fucked with you, yeah? And she ain’t just fucked with you. She messed with me. Ain’t sure which one I’m more mad about.”

He exhaled smoke out of his nose and made a growling sound in his throat.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve ruined someone, princess.”

We barely discussed a plan. I waited outside, clutching a beer in my hand while he went through my belongings to check for any sort of talisman that could have been hidden in my things. When nothing turned up, he quietly walked back out, locked his door, and escorted me to his car.

The car ride was silent. He didn’t even turn the radio on. I stared blankly out the window, angry and embarrassed. How many times had I done rituals and how many times had I called upon spirits and how many times had I proved myself useless in the face of anything more powerful than a disembodied spirit? I couldn’t help with Furfur, I nearly killed a kid with a raccoon bone in sixth grade, and now I was trembling and shaken over a demon I’d actually encountered before. Even though I tried to convince myself it was a reasonable response to the patron demon of murder, I couldn’t help but compared myself to Dead Coyote.

He fought Furfur. He was going to go fight a girl who summoned Glasyalabolas. The man knew no fear. I desperately wanted him to be proud of me, but I felt like trash.

Also, he’d seen me naked, and that shame made it hard to make eye contact with him.

The parking lot in front of the dorm building was mostly empty, save for Eddie’s car and a couple of others. He practically pulled right up to the door and barely waited for the car to stop rolling before he jumped out of his seat. I quickly reached over to throw the car in park and turn it off, tucking the keys in my pocket as I tailed him inside. The lobby was a ghost town, the RA office predictably empty and ninety percent of the denizens having fled the campus for greener pastures. Dead Coyote’s footsteps echoed through the nothing as he stomped up the steps to get to my floor.

He punched in the security code. He entered the dorm hallway. I huddled down as I glanced at the cameras hoping that campus security or a hiding RA wouldn’t come running him down to try to pick a fight because, with Dead Coyote on his warpath, I knew it would end with him arrested. I tried to hide my face as he stopped dead in front of Miranda’s room, glowered at her tacky cork board covered in well-wishes from friends, and punched the door.

Not knock. Punch. As hard as he could. The door rattled, the sound echoed down the hallway. I waited for anyone to poke their head out to see what the fuss was about, but it seemed that the place was entirely abandoned. Except for--

“Miranda’s not here.”

The voice was calm, steady, muffled, and punctuated with crunching. It was a shock, a shock enough that Dead Coyote short circuited for a moment, standing there with a blank expression on his face and his fist still raised to strike. Standing in the middle of the hallway and clutching a bowl was none other than Eddie. She smiled and waved a spoon at us. It was Cocoa Puffs this time.

“She went to Florida, I think? Other RAs are taking her shift or something, but I think they skipped out, too. Fuckin’ assholes, right?”

She chewed, she swallowed.

“What are you guys doing here anyway? You got, like, three days before you gotta be back, Seymour.”

Exhausted, embarrassed, with dark circles ringing under my eyes and my hair a mess, I told her everything. About the dreams, about the weird way Dead Coyote had briefly acted, about the fact I felt so unsafe that I couldn’t sleep in the living room. I told her about the dog-toothed Not-Coyote that chased me out of the shower and that the neighbors called the police and that my only guess was that Miranda had stepped up her game. Dead Coyote had come to wreck her shit, but now we’d driven all that way for nothing and it was going to be a royal bitch to have to go back home and purge the apartment harder than we’ve ever purged anything before.

“It would have been easier to make her fix it herself,” I groaned.

The more I spoke, the more the color drained out of Eddie’s face. She kept shoveling cereal into her mouth, but there was this wide, wild, fearful look in her eyes like a deer standing in a hunter’s crosshairs. Dead Coyote noticed it first; he clapped me on the shoulder and stared her down like he was trying to will her to spontaneously combust. When she drank the final drops of chocolate milk out of her bowl, she wiped off her mouth with her sleeve and shook her head.

“Oh. Fuck. I didn’t know it would do that.”

I said earlier that I taught Eddie how to do small tricks and charms that she couldn’t fuck up while she was high. What I didn’t know was that Eddie had also been doing research of her own, mostly using Wikipedia and New Age websites manned by folks who didn’t really do any hard studying. It wasn’t that she was wanting to do anything malicious more than she thought it would be a nice gesture if she used what I taught her to try to “help” me out since I wasn’t receptive to her more normal attempts. After all, every college girl wants a guy who could make her walk crooked the next day, right?

She was worried, she said, that the reason that I wasn’t actively looking for love is because I was comparing every man I met to Dead Coyote. That there was unrequited love there, and that I was lonely and sad and unfortunately un-laid because I was holding out for the golden trophy that was a thirty-year-old Honduran man with unkempt hair and neck tattoos. And maybe, just maybe, she could surprise and impress me by playing demonic matchmaker with all of the cool stuff she learned to save my love life and keep me from being such a bitter, frigid person.

“I didn’t expect it to fuck up so bad,” she practically whined.

When the door to her dorm swung open, I couldn’t help but be impressed by her set-up. Even Dead Coyote let out a murmur of surprise at the expertly placed and drawn sigils drawn into the carpet with fabric marker, the assortment of candles all in the correct color, the lights dimmed appropriately, and even tokens she’d collected from us: one of Dead Coyote’s cigarette butts and an old tube of lipgloss that I thought I had lost. As angry as I wanted to be, I was actually kind of flattered that she took the art seriously enough to get it right, even if most of her source material was lacking.

Especially in terms of Glasyalabolas. Because Miranda had never drawn the damn sigil right and Eddie herself had the memory of a goldfish, she didn’t associate the threatening notes with her own helpful ritual. She just knew that Wikipedia said that Glasyalabolas was a big, mean dog who could play matchmaker if you asked nicely, and that she vaguely remembered me telling her that I didn’t like the alternative: “Thor Deer.”

“The fuck did you ask him to do, chica?” Dead Coyote finally asked, after a moment to admire her attention to detail. Eddie shook her head in shame, but after some prodding, finally looked up and squeaked a response.

“To have her naked with you, in your bed, and you both up all night.”

There was silence, then Dead Coyote exploded into laughter, laughter so hard that he sank to the ground in tears, snorting like a feral pig. He told her that, why yes, her request had been fulfilled, that Glasyalabolas had done his job, but not in the way she would have hoped. He had kept us up with godawful, painful, terrifying sex dreams. He had left me so scared to be by myself that I slept in his bed. He did scare me out of the shower while I was undressed so Dead Coyote got a look at me that he, quite frankly, wasn’t expecting.

“You have to be literal,” he explained. “Why didn’t you just ask Glasyalabolas to coerce us to fuck or somethin’?”

“I felt awkward saying it that way.”

We spent the next couple of hours helping teach her how to release spirits and dispel hexes, over the top of her apologizing again and again, nearly in tears because she didn’t realize that magic could backfire so badly despite how many times I had told her it could. It was a bit of an ego stroke to hear her tell me that she didn’t actually think it was possible because she never seen me fuck up so badly, but whatever confidence boost I had was marred by Dead Coyote listing off a lengthy series of things I had ruined, destroyed, killed, cursed, and broken over the course of my illustrious career. By the time I got to helping her scrub up marker from the carpet, she was laughing at stories of me making my first animal sacrifice (it was a pigeon, I cried, it escaped inside his apartment). It was as though she thought she hadn’t messed up at all.

It didn’t stop Dead Coyote from giving her a pretty stern warning on the way out. One that involved breaking both of her arms if she ever tried to summon anything ever again. The only reason I was spared from being chided for teaching her how to do anything in the first place is because, even with the knowledge that Glasyalabolas should be gone, I was still secretly shaken, nauseous, and way too embarrassed about being caught in my birthday suit to actually look Dead Coyote in the face.

With three days left of my break, I sucked up my fear and decided to head back home milk my time off with my favorite person for all it was worth. Besides, even if I was going to forgive Eddie, I still needed time to get over how unbelievably stupid she was. The inside of the apartment still smelled faintly of sulfur and I could occasionally still feel the prickle of an unknown presence tingling down my spine, but it was weak enough that it was obviously residual. Dead Coyote even coaxed me into relaxing about my streaking incident, reminding me of the time I found him passed out in his bathtub in high school.

In his words, “We’ll call it even and never speak of it again.”

But even with the awkwardness and even though I knew we cleaned up pretty well, I kept thinking of Glasyalabolas’ face and the dream about when I was nine. It was forgotten during the day--during the times I was actually enjoying myself--but in the dead of night the first day we got back, I found that I couldn’t take being alone in the living room. Shit would just loop in my head, a highlight reel of trauma, again and again until it propelled me to get up, drag myself up the stairs, and knock on Dead Coyote’s door.

I slept back-to-back with him on his ratty floor mattress for the rest of my spring break. It made me feel like I was a four-year-old but it was worth it to sleep soundly, to feel safe. I just knew I could never tell Eddie whenever I finally spoke to her again.

She’d never let me live it down.