#I legit had to pull up a city on the map on my phone and just peruse to see what city folk do XD

[dfortrafalgar]

Catch Up

Law x Fem Reader

You might have met your soulmate while intoxicated, making out with him in a dark broom closet. But the only thing you left with was his first name.

Warnings: MATURE CONTENT, MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!, reader is meant to be over 21, bar crawl setting and responsible alcohol consumption

--

A/N- I'm still (still!) working on requests, and posting un-posted fics from my google drive in the meantime. I'm hoping to have my inbox open once again at the end of the month, or perhaps early June, now that my work/life balance is adjusting properly since starting my new job! I'm really sorry to those who have been hoping for consistent fics from me, i really wish i could write as much as i was recently but i'm still trying really hard!

[Also posted on AO3]

Chapter 1

[Next]

It was hard to convince yourself that you weren’t just the slightest bit tipsy as you kept your head lowered and channeled all of your focus into making sure your feet walked in a linear path.  How many bars had you gone to again?  Four?  Five, maybe?  Your body swayed slightly with your gait as your mind scrambled to catch up with the last drink that you had.  It was only a cocktail, as all your other drinks from your bar crawl were.  Was it mango-flavored?  What street were you even on now?  You blindly followed the two women in front of you whose voices were gleefully mocking the words you had said some hours before the sun had gone down.

“‘I’m not a lightweight, never have been!’” chided Ikkaku, eyes crinkled in a smile as she poked fun at your previous confident statement.  She tossed a glance over her shoulder where you walked only a few steps behind.

“I’m not a lightweight!  My voice isn’t even slurring yet!” you fought back, increasing your speed to keep pace with your best friends.

“And what was the last drink you had?” Nami asked, pulling her phone out of her bra to check her map.

“A mango margarita,” you confirmed.  “With a little lime wedge and a mint leaf for a garnish.  The place was called Elgia Lounge and it was on–”

“Okay, okay, you’re not drunk!  We surrender!” laughed Ikkaku.  “I’m glad you’re not, though, because this next place apparently has some of the best pineapple daiquiris in the entire city.”

Your mouth started watering immediately at the thought.  You were always a sucker for sweet cocktails, arguably some of the most dangerous drinks due to the way the tangy, sour mixers completely blocked the taste of any alcohol added.  Sometimes, it was impossible to tell if there even was alcohol in the glass, but with the way you walked, there was obviously more than enough from your previous locations.  You hadn’t quite passed the threshold into drunk territory yet, but the image of a sweet and tart pineapple daiquiri might just be the thing to completely inebriate you.

Nami stopped dead in her tracks and looked towards the congested buildings immediately to your right side, scanning the signposts in the dark and looking for a specific one.  Tucked in between two sports bars, with absolutely zero signage on the graffiti-covered door, the red-head nodded her head toward the unmarked entrance.  “This is it.”

“Nami, you’re going to get us killed,” Ikkaku murmured, eyes squinting at the door to spot any indication that this was indeed a speakeasy and not a hidden trap house.  

“Am not, I swear this is the place!”

The three of you approached the steel door, Nami confidently being the one to ring the doorbell that was attached to a small intercom system.  It took a few breathless moments of mild worry before a voice filled with static came through the speaker.

“Password?”

You and Ikkaku were both blindsided as Nami crossed her arms over her chest and loudly proclaimed, “Suck my big, fat cock.”

Another few seconds of silence followed before the lock on the door clicked open and the same voice from before spoke, “Come in.”

“What the fuck,” you muttered in shock.

“Told you it was legit!” Nami chided with a giggle.

“A place that makes you say, ‘Suck my big, fat cock,’ as a password doesn’t seem very legit to me, but I’ll take your word for it,” Ikkaku mused as she followed Nami through the door and down a flight of stairs only illuminated with blue and pink fluorescent lights.

Graffiti completely covered the entire interior of the stairwell, leaving no part of concrete untouched from colorful ink.  Even the ceiling above you was marked in elaborate, incomprehensible swirls and zags of paint of all different colors, made even more colorful in the odd lighting.  The stairwell seemed to last forever as you followed your two friends down into the underground, clutching the steel railing for dear life as your tipsy vertigo fought with your ability to walk down a flight of steps.  You finally reached the bottom to another door, this time lined with a soft, cushiony leather fabric.  Nami pulled open the door and greeted a black-clad man standing in the small room directly behind it.

“IDs,” he grumbled.  Straight to the point.

The three of you fumbled through your purses for your driver’s licenses before handing each of them over to the man for a review.  He clicked on a pocket flashlight, scanning each card, handing them back to you with a hum.  “Enjoy the night, ladies.”  His large hand pushed open another door that was hidden in the wall itself.

The room that was opened to you was unlike any of the other bars you had entered, both during your current crawl and in your entire adult life previous.  The room was cloaked in a sexy blue and pink lighting, decorative art of pin-up models framed on the walls along with retro-inspired neon signs and liquor branding.  Groups of people filled the tables nearby, laughing and drinking through the booming music that flowed freely through the space.  It was crowded, almost overwhelmingly so, but you squeezed close to Ikkaku’s back as you pushed your way through the other patrons to get to the bar.  Your hand accidentally grabbed Ikkaku’s ass as her shoulder bumped into your breast, both of you wheezing out surprised laughter.

You popped through the stream of people to the bar which was, unsurprisingly, completely filled with every seat taken.  Two men worked tirelessly behind the counter, filling shakers with liquor and mixers, bitters and juices.  A bin of assorted fruits sat open in front of patrons, allowing the bartenders to grab their garnishes quickly and decorate their glasses with expert precision before passing them off to elated, tipsy customers.  You, Nami, and Ikkaku squeezed yourselves into the far corner of the bar, between the counter and a booth of patrons.  

“At least we can stand here!  It’s a bit crowded but it’ll do for now,” the red-head yelled through the shaking stereo that sat nearby.  

One of the two bartenders waved his hand in the air to attract your attention.  Long, spikey auburn hair framed a sharp face and crooked nose.  You were confused at the angular sunglasses that covered his eyes, but paid no mind in the end.  His voice cut through the music, but was clearly worn after a long night of screaming at people because of the volume.  “What can I get for you, ladies?”

Nami handed the man her credit card, explaining that she was going to close out after one drink for each of them, which he gladly accepted and placed in a secure box by the register.  Your eyes frantically scanned the illuminated menu above the bar, the raunchy, debauched names of the signature cocktails revealing absolutely nothing about their ingredients.  

“What the hell is a ‘Fuck Me Sideways?’” you shouted towards your friends.  

The man behind the counter cackled.  “That’s a pineapple daiquiri!  It’s sour as fuck, hence the name!”

Your mind flashed back to your conversation from the street, mouth once again salivating at the thought of the tangy, delicious concoction.  “I’ll get that please!”

The man memorized your three orders and immediately got to work.  You watched idly as he nudged his coworker’s shoulder and alerted him of the order so he could help with making your drinks.  It was then that your eyes trailed to said coworker.

All sound in the room faded into a muffled nothingness as your eyes narrowed on the other bartender, pupils dilating.  Toned, tanned arms and hands were littered in elaborate, grungy tattoos, and you could tell with the way his worn t-shirt dipped below his collarbones that he had another large piece on his chest, defining his pectorals even from beneath his clothing.  His jawline was sharp, a small goatee defining his chin, black sideburns framing his perfect face as intense, golden eyes focused on his work.   His tongue poked out from his thick lips slightly, revealing a tiny glimpse of a stud pierced through the muscle, and giving his intimidating appearance a sudden adorable qualm as long, deft fingers poured shots of liquor into his metal shaker cup.

You barely noticed the fingers snapping in your face.

“Hey, Earth to Apollo!  Can you read me?” Ikkaku hollered directly in your ear, shaking you out of your trance.

You jumped in surprise, music fading back into your consciousness as the sound of Nami’s laughter brought you firmly back to reality.

“Looks like someone’s got the hots for the emo bartender over there!” sang the red-head, leaning against the wall and making a very lewd gesture with her hands.

You grumbled.  “Do not!”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Ikkaku chuckled in response.  “He is pretty cute… if you don’t make a move I might.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you growled, making your best friends roar in laughter.  A rush of blood filled your face with an embarrassed heat.  “He probably already has a partner, a guy as hot as him can’t possibly be single.”

“There’s only one way to find that out, and it’s to talk to him,” lectured Nami.  “Come on, you’re on a bar crawl, you’re drunk, you’re hot, your pants make your ass look fucking amazing.  I would look the other way if you dragged that hunk to the bathrooms.”

“Nami!  Shut up!” you screamed, thoroughly embarrassed now.  It’s not like anyone could hear your conversation amongst the intense volume of the room, but the subject matter still made you flush from your tailbone to the crown of your head.

The conversation dissipated into enthusiasm about the location, the three of you taking note of the sex-positive decor and how good the playlist was.  Every once in a while, your eyes would dart back to the raven-haired man with his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration as he filtered a cocktail through the metal strainer and into a slim, iced glass.  He reached forward into his box of garnishes, procuring a thin lime wedge and expertly slicing it down the middle to perch it on the rim of the glass.  As you were staring at him, his eyes darted up directly meeting yours.  Your face flushed red hot with embarrassment, but before you could yank your gaze away, he flashed you a grin that had your legs quivering.  He held up the drink.  It was your’s.

You pulled away from Nami and Ikkaku who hardly noticed your movement as you approached the bar and reached between two peoples’ shoulders to grab your cocktail from the man who kept his deep, golden eyes on your form the entire time.  An elated, cold sweat ran up your spine and you flashed him as good of a smile as you could through your ceaseless embarrassment that he had caught you staring.

Once the drink was in your hands, he tossed you a wink.

You hobbled back toward Nami and Ikkaku who were already holding their own orders, sipping idly through their conversation.

“You look like you got spooked by a ghost or something!” giggled Ikkaku, squeezing your left cheek with her fingers.

“Ikka, that hot emo bartender gave her her daiquiri!” Nami replied for you, making the curly-haired girl gasp in excitement.

“Did he say anything?  Did you say anything?”  The questions rolled off of her tongue faster than your heart rate.

“He just winked at me, and smiled, I guess,” you stated through nervous breaths.  

Your best friends dragged you into the conversation that had developed in the short time you were away getting your drink, but when you tossed another glance over your shoulder, you once again locked with golden eyes that froze your feet to the ground.

—

You weren’t exactly sure how much time had passed over all, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour.  You and your friends finished your drinks, closed out your tab, and proceeded to the dance floor to burn off energy under the neon disco lights and pounding music.  You let your mind stray away from the bartender’s piercing glare while you moved your hips against Nami’s, the two of you poking fun at Ikkaku from afar as she found herself in an awkward dance with a random man who was far from her type (that is to say: not a woman).  The room was dipping slightly around you, the sweet pineapple daiquiri definitely making you tipsier than you wanted to be.  You didn’t have to pee at that moment, but you figured it would be worth a shot to sober you up even just slightly.  With a nudge against Nami’s shoulder, you pointed to the bathroom, mouthing your intentions, and waved to her as you walked toward the back of the room through the sea of happy, alcohol-fueled patrons.

The bathroom was situated behind the bar past a few rows of small booth tables, and the further you walked from the center of the lounge the more the music faded to a much more tolerable volume.  The walls remained lined with graffiti, which you trailed with your eyes as you walked, marveling at the tantalizing swirls of colors and personalized messages and names memorialized forever on the concrete.  You finally rounded the corner into the small corridor where the two single bathrooms were found, along with a single broom closet that was kept closed with a padlock.  Your feet blindly led you towards one of the bathroom doors that was cracked open.

“You know, those pants make your ass look phenomenal.”

A husky voice stopped you in your tracks.  A million thoughts rushed through your mind within an instant.  Who was talking to you?  Did you get followed to the bathroom?  Were you being watched?  Were you in danger?  Should you have brought your purse with you instead of leaving it with Nami?  Were you going to make a run for it?

Fighting against your flight, you turned around to face the voice that cut through the muffled music.

Intense, golden eyes, raven-black hair, and a sly, toothy smirk.

“Sorry if I scared you, I promise I didn’t follow you back here,” he added, his face morphing from a flirtatious, mischievous expression into a more apologetic one.  “I had to take a piss, too.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, really!” you replied, inwardly wincing at how your voice involuntarily quivered with excited anxiety.  The Hot Emo Bartender was standing in front of you.  Had he just complimented your ass?  “And, uhm, thank you!  For my ass.  I mean, for saying I look good.  Or, phenomenal, I think?”  You pinched your lips shut forcing yourself to cease your drunken rambling, but your reaction only made the man’s mouth curl into a grin as a laugh bubbled out of his throat.

“Go sober up in there, princess, then we’ll talk.  I’ll wait for you out here.”  The man ended his sentence by entering the second unoccupied bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

You quickly did the same.  The bathroom had the exact same aesthetic and lighting as the rest of the establishment, the mirror completely covered in graffiti and leaving little room to view your current appearance after you finished your business.  You gazed through the dried ink, fixing your hair with your fingers and pushing your boobs into place under your top, blowing an encouraging huff out of your mouth before washing your hands, drying them, and exiting the bathroom into the corridor once more.

The man had indeed waited for you, leaning nonchalantly against the wall with one leg up checking his phone.  He was tall, much taller than you, and his legs were long and skinny, complemented beautifully by his tight, bespeckled jeans.  The spots were definitely an odd aesthetic choice in your mind, but you couldn’t complain.  Somehow, they suited his vibe perfectly.  He picked his head up and looked you up and down, that charming, mischievous grin once again returning to his lips.

“Feel better?”

“Absolutely, I didn’t think you’d actually wait out here,” you confirmed.  Somehow, your voice had evened out from the anxious drunken stupor you sported before.  Maybe pissing out the alcohol did have its merits.

“Good, I wanted to talk to you but needed to see if you were too drunk first.  Those pineapple daiquiris are really something,” he explained.

You were very quickly gaining more comfort in his presence, isolated from the club beyond the corridor in the dim lighting that accentuated his cheekbones and gave him the sexiest aura you had ever seen.  You swallowed your pounding heart and returned his grin.

“Talk to me?  Out of everyone here?” you questioned, putting on your charm.

“I don’t just talk to any random bar patron,” he responded.  “In fact, I barely talk to anyone here at all.  But how could I pass up such an alluring face?”  He stepped across the corridor to you, reaching out a hand that smelled like the generic brand soap in the bathroom.  His callouses tickled the fine hairs of your cheek and chin.

“And ass?” you asked innocently, clearly enjoying the little game you two had initiated.

“And ass,” he repeated.  “Though…” his eyes trailed up and down your body from his closer angle, eating you up through your clothes.  “You’re definitely the most stunning girl I’ve ever seen, all around.”  His golden eyes met yours once more.  “You have beautiful eyes.”

He had done it now.  You were beyond flustered, convinced that your entire body was glowing red and steaming like a geyser from your anticipation and embarrassment at his tender compliments.  A part of you still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t the type to talk up every woman at the bar, but Nami’s words from prior bounced through your skull.  You were drunk, you were hot, and damn it, your pants did make your ass look good!  You only live once, right?

With alcohol and adrenaline fueled courage you never experienced before, you closed the narrow gap between your bodies and pressed your lips against his, standing on your toes and grasping his shoulders to steady yourself.  The anxious voice in your head told you he was going to push you away, call you some horrible slur and leave you in the dust to regret every choice you made leading up to that moment.

You were very pleasantly surprised when his lanky arms looped around your waist, clutching you close to his sturdy form as he moved his lips against yours.  You weren’t an expert kisser by any means, but something about the way his mouth moved told you that he wasn’t actually used to doing this, more of a smooth-talker than a do-er.  He was reluctant to open his mouth to allocate for your tongue, instead simply pursing and unpursing his lips against yours.  The feeling made you pull away, failing to suppress the giggle that followed.

Before you had the chance to make any snide, lighthearted comment, however, a tattooed hand traveled down your arm and gripped your hand, dragging you toward the broom closet.  He fiddled with the padlock on the door without letting you go, shoving open the entrance with his shoulder and pulling you inside.  The door slammed behind you, now almost completely muffling the music blaring from within the club.  The two of you were now free from prying eyes that might wander into the corridor to use the bathroom, completely unaware of the actions taking place just one door away.

In the stark darkness of the closet, the man’s hands found the collar of your shirt and pulled it down as best as he could, encouraging you to slip your arms out and pull it over your head.  His lips pecked at your jaw, your chin, your neck, and the dip of your breast as you unhooked your bra and let it flop to the floor.  Your own hands grasped his ratty t-shirt and yanked it over his head, its loose fit making undressing his torso much easier.  Your fingers now had access to his bare skin, your breath hitching in your throat as you blindly felt around firm abdominal muscles that met a lean yet supple chest and broad shoulders.  Even through the lack of light you could tell just how attractive this man was.  A smattering of coarse hairs covered his chest and stomach, but for the most part he was well trimmed, save for the patch of hair that you felt at his naval.  You heard his breath catch in his throat as your fingers followed the dip of his pelvic bone and trailed along the belt of his jeans.

“Wait,” his airy voice muttered.  “I need to know your name.”

You laughed, divulging your information.  You felt his lips smile against the skin of your neck.

“I’m Law,” he added.

“Law…” you exhaled his name on your soft, aroused breath.  “Can you fuck me, Law?”

A low groan rumbled through Law’s throat as his hands now played at your own waistband.  “Anything for you, princess.”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I... I see you ask box says writing prompts too? Could I maybe if you feel like writing it ever request a scene of healthcare au Hyrule getting a hug? Or on break? Or having a day off? Whether its because he's sick or something really bad happened or if its just a good day and his friends just love him or whatever is up to you.

(@ludoluck @keestones @paradoxical-hermitcrab @artisticgamer)

Have all the Hyrule fuff and hurt/comfort, sweetheart. <3

The tones dropped, making Hyrule jump out of his skin. He bolted up in bed, flinging the blanket off him when he saw Mo stretching lazily and looking at his watch.

"It's shift change, Roolie," Mo said sleepily. "Not our call anymore."

Hyrule blinked once, twice, and then it sank in. He sighed in relief, falling back to his pillow. Thank goodness.

He had two whole days off now. And he wasn't entirely sure what to do with them, but he would definitely figure something out.

Hopping out of bed and throwing the linens into the laundry bin, he opted for having a nice warm shower and he'd start figuring out what to do from there. As the water ran over him, he remembered that he'd told Legend he'd stop by his place to hang out for a bit. Legend was a night shifter, so he was likely asleep right now, which meant Hyrule could spend the morning hiking on the mountain trails outside of town.

As Hyrule biked away from the station, he giggled, letting the morning breeze wake him up. He felt so alive letting gravity push him down a gigantic hill that he laughed the entire way to the bottom. The smell of his favorite bakery wafted in the air, and he parked his bike outside the shop and strolled in.

"Good morning, Pita," Hyrule greeted with a smile.

Pita turned, her brown eyes brightening. "Oh, hello, Hyrule! We haven't seen you all week, I was getting worried!"

Hyrule rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I had picked up a few extra shits and this bakery isn't in our first due."

Pita put her hands on her hips with a humph. "Well, it should be, and you shouldn't be working so hard. Now, you want the usual?"

Hyrule nodded eagerly, and then he turned to find a table when he saw a familiar face.

"Four?" he asked, prompting the person in question to look up. It was Four, snuggled warmly in a slightly oversized tie dye hoodie with a book propped open beside some scones and tea.

The ICU nurse smiled warmly. "Hey, Hyrule! What are you doing here?"

"I come here on my days off because they've got the best bread in town," Hyrule answered, walking over to his friend's table. "You?"

Four moved a newspaper from the other side of the table, giving Hyrule space. "I come here every day that I can. It's a nice little morning routine when I have mornings to spare."

Hyrule hesitated. "Oh, I--I don't want to interrupt your morning routine--"

"Roolie, sit down," Four said exasperatedly with a good-natured roll of his eyes. "It's nice to see you not wearing a duty uniform once in a while."

"Yeah," Hyrule laughed a little. "I get that a lot. I guess maybe I should try to take some more time off."

Four watched him almost pleadingly. "Please do."

Moving past that subject, the paramedic asked, "What are you reading?"

Four immediately brightened, and dove into a full narrative of the story, which was about a group of heroes trying to destroy a cursed magical item. Hyrule was so enthralled by the story that he didn't realize how much time passed until his phone started buzzing.

Hyrule! Where the hell are you, you dope don't tell me you picked up another damn shift!

Hyrule read the text on his home page, and without even having to look at the sender he laughed. Legend had apparently woken up early.

Four and Hyrule parted ways, and after about a half hour's bike ride, Hyrule arrived at Legend's apartment. His friend met him outside, stretching and yawning.

"Rav's on the warpath and I didn't want you to get dragged into it," Legend remarked at seeing Hyrule's questioning look.

"About what?"

The travel nurse shrugged. "Probably because I hid his stuff. But that's what he gets for selling mine."

Hyrule laughed and then stopped himself, embarrassed. He wasn't sure Legend found it a laughing matter, but the pair was entertainingly chaotic. It was almost as bad as watching Legend and Warriors go at each other, or Warriors and Twilight.

"So where are we going?" Hyrule asked.

Legend pulled up the map on his phone. "Well, last century when you had a day off, we went to Beedle's to check out his wares... oh wait, I just remembered--I saw this place and thought we should check it out!"

Hyrule walked over to look at where Legend was pointing. "Misery Mire? What's that?"

"It's an escape room!" Legend answered. "I bet they got some great prizes if we can crack it."

Hyrule smiled in excitement. He loved solving puzzles with Legend. "Let's go!"

XXX

Hyrule had known the code was rough. But it hadn't been his first code. It hadn't been the first time a patient had died and he hadn't gotten them back. He'd known it would make him feel a little tired for a day or so and then he'd move on. That's how it worked. He had to move on.

He hadn't expected this one to linger.

He'd thought he was fine. Truly, he did. Until he'd happened to look at an X-ray of some random patient in the emergency department, glancing at it over Warriors' shoulder as he babbled about something to Legend, and then suddenly Hyrule felt the grandmother's ribs breaking under his hands all over again as if he were in his ambulance doing compressions, the grandson sobbing outside his truck.

And then he'd realized that maybe he wasn't okay.

So here he was, sitting at Telma's Bar and sipping some milk and just... existing. He didn't really know how to address the issue. He'd gone over the code multiple times, and he knew that he'd done what he could. He didn't understand why this one in particular hit so hard.

Maybe it was that he had told the grandson he was going to be okay. Maybe it was that he had told the grandson he would take good care of his grandmother.

It wasn't like he hadn't, he couldn't help that she'd died. Her blood pressure was better when he was doing chest compressions on her than when she had been alive! He'd obviously done what he could.

So why is this bothering me so much?!

Sky would say he should go to church and pray about it. That's what Sky did a lot. But Hyrule didn't really know what he was supposed to pray about or say about it. So he just sat here instead.

"Hyrule?"

Hyrule nearly jumped out of his skin, and he turned sharply to see Twilight.

"Hey, buddy, what's wrong?" Twi asked gently, cocking his head to the side. Apparently it was obvious that Hyrule wasn't feeling great.

And something about Twilight's tone of voice just set him off.

Hyrule immediately felt his eyes start to water, his throat tightened, and his entire body trembled. He bit his tongue, hoping the pain would make the reaction recede, but it didn't really help. He couldn't eve choke out any words at this point. Crap.

Twilight watched him a moment longer before approaching and carefully encircling his arms around the medic in a gentle hug. Hyrule melted into it, crying softly into Twi's shirt, gripping it and shaking like a leaf.

He couldn't put what was wrong into words, but he didn't have to. Twilight just held him, rubbing a reassuring hand up and down his back. And somehow that was enough, allowing the young medic to just let himself go.

[fandom-collective-writers]

Vampire in a Bottle (Le Comte de Saint-Germain x MC)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Le Comte de Saint-Germain x MC

Prompt: cursed object

Warning: Smut!!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 7,251

Requested by: anonymous

Written by: @lordsister​/@lordsisterxotome (Click here to support me on ko-fi!<3)

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Vampire or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

Other notes: I legit expected this to be 5 maybe 6 pages long. Was not expecting it to end up being 15 whole ass pages long.

       She’d heard stories about creatures tied to objects, bound to them my wizards or witches or priests. Everyone had. The djinni of the lamp, silkies and their skin, even myths of demons lending their bloodlust to legendary swords. 

       The vampire stuck in the wine bottle though, now that was a first.

       It had come as a surprise when MC had first stumbled upon the mansion on one of her hikes outside the city. She must’ve hiked the same path a hundred times and never had she caught so much as a glimpse of the sprawling estate, even if it was only a shell of its obvious former glory now. Had she taken a wrong path somewhere? Drifted away in her thoughts too much and unintentionally wandered away into the bushes? Looking back the way she’d come, she realized that no, she hadn’t veered in any way from her usual path, which made the sudden appearance of the mansion especially strange. 

       It was quite the complex, all graceful arches and columns, reds and whites. A massive fountain topped with a headless statue centered an overgrown path, and even from her vantage point still a ways away from the building, she could tell that what was once a manicured garden lay behind the mansion. It was like something out of a fairy tail; she wondered about it’s story, who lived here and what events had taken place within its walls. Now, the place was positively decrepit, still somewhat majestic, but old and creepy nonetheless.

       So, doing what any normal person would do, MC thought, ‘Very old and creepy,’ and turned back the way she’d come. There was no way in hell she was going to wander in like some airheaded protagonist out of a horror movie and get pestered or possessed or who knows what else. Nope. She was going to choose life today.

       It seemed her fears about the place being somewhat supernatural were true though, because a few minutes later, when she was sure she was about to step back onto a more familiar leg of the path, she emerged right on the same cliff overlooking the estate as before. The mansion sat there expectantly and she almost imagined it was saying, “Oh, you’re back.”

       Blinking, she stared for a moment before scoffing and shaking her head, soft mutters of “no, no, no, no, no,” falling from her lips as she turned away and rubbed her eyes. Her heart was beating a little faster now, sweat forming on the back of her neck. This was too strange. She’d hiked this path a hundred times and there had never, ever been a mansion here before. Furthermore, there was no way she was going around in circles. She knew the area and its trails well enough to have been able to find her way even if she did get lost.

       Pulling out her phone, MC tried and failed to find her location on the google maps, cursing as the words ‘No Signal’ replaced the usual friendly bars in the left-hand corner. Shoving the device back into her pocket, she sighed and stomped back down the path. This time she paid attention to familiar landmarks, carefully retracing her steps. For a second, she thought for sure she was in the clear, that she would come out on the path and walk away to forget this ever happened as some strange hallucination.

       Apparently that was not to be the case today though as, lo and behold, when she ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, there she was again, the mansion laid out and waiting before her. She could practically feel it rolling its eyes at her this time. 

       Collapsing on the leaves and pine needles, she laughed breathlessly. No way was this happening. Why today of all days? Why couldn’t the universe just let her keep having her normal days without throwing in a mansion that appeared and disappeared like a ghost ship too? She felt like she was going crazy. 

       After a few minutes of deep breathing and burying her face in her knees, trying to rub the image of the mansion away, she rose to her feet. This place wanted her to...do something? Fine. She had a feeling it would just keep making her walk in circles until she came inside. Best case scenario it really was just an old mansion and she would find another way back to the trail after having searched the property. Worst case scenario? She was dragged to the underworld by whatever vengeful ghosts might inhabit the place. No problem, right?

       Her legs felt weak as she picked her way down the cliffside, slowly getting closer and closer to the hulking abode. The grass on the vast lawn was so overgrown she had a hard time making her way across it, nearly tripping a couple of times when it got caught around her calves and ankles. As she got closer, she started to realize just how massive the place really was. So similar to most of the castles and palaces and royal mansions she’d visited on trips, whoever had built this place and lived here had gone for extravagance, a show of wealth, but something about it was quiet in a way that made it seem like it was meant to be tucked away back here. It would have been beautiful if the situation were different and she wasn’t so freaked out.

       On the bright side, at least the weather wasn’t cloudy like these kinds of places usually were in books and movies, and she didn’t have the feeling anyone was watching her. It was a sunny day, the sky blue and dotted here and there with the occasional cloud. It was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless as she faced the beast.

       Taking a minute, MC just stood there in front of the mansion, staring up at broken windows and ivy covered columns and weeds poking up through the stones. “What do you want from me?” she grumbled to herself before shaking her head and taking a deep breath.

       Heavy iron rings hung on the wooden doors, their white paint peeled away to reveal the brown wood beneath. Her hand looked tiny in comparison to the ring as she grasped it, cold and dark against her skin, and pulled the door open. It grated against the floor as it opened, and she paused, tensed and waiting for something to jump out at her, for a swarm of bats or something. But nothing came and after a minute, she peered inside. Part of the roof had fallen in, allowing shafts of daylight to pierce the gloom and illuminate the grand receiving hall. Her shoes padded softly against the marble floor as she took a few steps inside, careful of the debris. A grand staircase of white stone led up to a second story and as she turned in a circle to fully take in the room MC saw more signs of wealth: giant paintings, moth-eaten tapestries, silver candlesticks nearly too tarnished to recognize. 

       A gentle breeze blew in from the open door behind her, stirring leaves across the floor and up the stairs. After another quick glance around, she crept up the staircase, brushing her fingers across the cold, stone banister as she did. Choosing to turn to her left once she was at the top of the stairs, she followed a long hallway in what she guessed was the west wing. More paintings and golden sconces decorated the walls, curtains made of dusty velvet framing smashed windows. The mansion had yet to make its next move, to give her any indication of what it wanted her to do, where it wanted her to go. It was hard to tell because everything was so old and nature had long since started reclaiming the place, but she thought she saw signs of a struggle, irregularly torn canvases and tables knocked over, their vintage contents spilled all over the floor.

       She startled, gasping, when a door at the end of the hall creaked open, a strong breeze whistling down the corridor and urging her along. MC could feel the mansion’s impatience pushing in at her from all sides, tugging at her hair and pushing at her back. Balling her fists, she gulped and creeped towards the indicated entryway, trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever she might find. 

       Her breath stuck in her throat as she took a careful look inside, surprised at the luxury and opulence that met her gaze. The chamber was so large and gilded it had to be the master bedroom. The walls and ceiling were framed in gold, the ceiling painted with some scene that belonged in a cathedral. The canopied bed had long since succumbed to moths and the forces of nature, but the size of it could have rivaled any king size bed, and the rugs, once richly colored, still retained some of their ancient plushness as she stepped into the room. Reaching out, she ran her fingers along the carved edge of a table, tracing the intricate whorls and flowers. The same signs of a struggle were here too, a sharp gash taken out of the leg of the table and old books and shattered glass lying on the floor.

       A strong gust of wind blew in from the broken window, disturbing the heavy velvet curtains and knocking an old wine bottle off the small table in front of the broken pane. She winced as the bottle hit the floor, expecting it to shatter, but instead it bounced, rolling until it stopped against her foot.

       MC blinked and bent down to pick it up, noting the strange weight inside it. There wasn’t a label and she tipped it back and forth in her palm, weighing its contents. The red glass was too dark to see whatever was inside, but it didn’t feel like liquid sloshing around, that was for sure. Idly tapping a nail against the cool surface as she went to put it back on the table, she nearly screamed when something tapped back. 

       Letting go of the bottle and skittering back, she tripped over a chair, sending her falling on her ass. The bottle didn’t bounce this time, shattering instead with a sound like thunder that shook the mansion. A whirlwind filled the room, sending debris flying as it exploded outwards. Crouching and covering her head with her arms, MC waited, eyes squeezed shut and heart pounding, for whatever was happening to stop. It could’ve been seconds or minutes; she barely knew which as the gale settled, ending as quickly as it had begun. Uncovering her head, she peeked, shaking, around the room. Anything that had been in contact certainly wasn’t now, nothing but shafts of wood and scraps of fabric remaining. But the furniture held the least of her attention right now, not with the sudden appearance of the room’s other occupant.

       He was on his knees, heaving and gasping. She couldn’t see his face from her place behind the chair, only locks of yellow hair. His clothes - a long coat of burnished gold, brown trousers, and soft leather boots - were all embroidered in gold thread, rich and quietly vibrant. 

       She didn’t understand who he was or where he had come from. It refused to click in her mind that he had actually been stuck in that wine bottle, tapping back to her. People didn’t come from inside bottles. That kind of thing only happened in myths and fairy tales - things that were only stories.

       Rising to her feet on legs still shaky, she kept her gaze on the man as she slid a foot back, thinking to make a quiet exit, unnoticed. Of course, with so much debris scattered about the room, something like a quiet escape was absolutely impossible. Before the edge of her shoe had moved even a few inches, it disturbed a shard of wood with enough force to send it scittering a few inches over the stone floor, breaking the silence only broken by his heavy breathing.

       Piercing yellow eyes snapped to her and she gasped at the intensity within their depths, frozen, a deer in headlights. He turned, stumbling to his feet, eyes still locked with hers, and dear god, she believed in fairy tales looking at him. His face was unnaturally beautiful, something someone had dreamed up rather than someone born. It spoke of marble sculptures carved in his image, of candlelight on silk sheets, and there was a depth to his eyes, something she couldn’t fathom, something that marked him as...inhuman.

       MC hadn’t realized that her jaw had dropped and she swallowed, opening her mouth to say something and choking on air. Before she could manage her way through anything even vaguely coherent, he surged forward, barely a centimeter in front of her in the blink of an eye. Yelping, she tried to jump back, but his arms were already around her, dragging her against his chest. She struggled fruitlessly in his grip as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, lips and nose nuzzling against the soft skin as he breathed deep of her scent.

       “W-What are you-? S-Stop!” she demanded weakly, the panic rising in her chest choking her pleas. 

       “Smells so good,” the stranger breathed, his voice hoarse from disuse, and pulled back just enough that he could peer into her wide eyes. He looked absolutely wild now, ravenous and uncontrollable. “I’m sorry, but I need your help, mademoiselle.”

       The hand around her shoulders grabbed a handful of her hair, gently moving it away from her neck. Her fingers clawed into his lapels as she stared at him, fearful and confused, prey in the arms of a predator. His face lowered to her neck once again and she shivered as his breath fanned against her skin. What was he doing?

       “Try to relax, ma cherie.”

       The unexpected pain of two fangs sinking into her made her scream, bucking in his unyielding hold as he took long drawls of her blood. 

       It was physical pain as well as mental pain, the pain of confusion and everything she’d thought she’d known about the realistic world cracking. Pain. And then pleasure. Pleasure unlike any she had ever experienced before, setting her entire body alight and turning her mind white.

       And that was how she met him, Le Comte de Saint-Germain, a starving vampire trapped inside a wine bottle for 100 years.

       She’d woken later with her head in his lap, the ghost of his touch on her cheek stirring her. The ceiling spun above her and MC groaned, turning into him and covering her eyes with an arm.

       “Shh, you’re okay, ma cherie. It’ll pass soon.”

       Her eyes flew open, met with an abundance of gold and yellow, and she shot upwards, falling on her side as the world spun again. Hands reached to steady her out of the corner of her vision, but she flinched away from them, remembering the strange pain and pleasure his bite had brought. 

       “Stop!” she bit out, and he did, hovering a few feet away from her. “Who are you and what did you do to me?!”

       He blinked at her, seeming to think for a second before answering with a gentle smile, “I am Le Comte de Saint-Germain, and...moments ago I was starving for your blood.”

       “Starving for my-” She shook her head, still confused and afraid. “What?”

       “I’m not human, as you might have guessed.” His tone was polite, but warm, friendly as he spoke to her. “I’m a creature out of your myths and folklore, a vampire.”

       And her day officially couldn’t get any weirder!

       There, sitting on the cold, stone floor and shredded rugs, Le Comte had told her his story, that he was an immortal vampire trapped inside a wine bottle by another of his kind who he’d once considered a friend. He had been the one to build the mansion and live in it, assimilating into human high society and traveling between countries for centuries until the event of his capture.

       When MC had asked him about how the mansion had appeared and disappeared, he’d answered that it was part of the curse placed on him, that none should have been able to find and release him. Even he didn’t know how she had managed to stumble upon it.

       She believed him, choosing to trust the earnestness in his gaze when he’d apologized for biting her in a fit of starvation, but it was still a lot to take in, and they just sat there like that, blinking at each other, for a good minute or so. He seemed just as curious of her as she was of him, a little disoriented too, but she guessed that was to be expected after being trapped in a wine bottle for a hundred years. Finally, she said, “So what happens now? What are you going to do now that you’re free?” What was she going to do? She couldn’t just walk away from this place like it had never happened, right?

       He hummed, chuckling as he gazed around at the ruin of his home. “Rebuild, I suppose; catch up on what I’ve missed in the past hundred years.”

       MC blinked, biting her lip as she contemplated the impact of what she was about to say. An hour ago, all she had wanted to do was get away from this place, to forget it and never see it again, but now her heart felt strangely heavy at the thought. If she left this place behind now, she would regret it, she could feel it in her bones. Could she be blamed for wanting to live out whatever fairy tale this was, just for a little longer?

       “I…” Those yellow eyes met hers again, and her fate was sealed. “I might be able to help you with that.”

        Thus began her relationship with an immortal vampire, visiting him every day with new technology and books on the modern age for him to catch up with. More than once, he returned to the city with her, eager and capable of exploring for himself. He adjusted surprisingly easily to the new time period and all the technological advances that came with it, but she guessed that was part of being immortal, having to adapt quickly to the change of time. 

       She didn’t know what magic he possessed, but every day the mansion looked a little better, damaged furnishings either replaced or repaired, broken windows whole again, even the hole in the ceiling of the entry was miraculously fixed when she came one day. The lawn and garden still needed a great deal of attention, but those could definitely wait, especially since Le Comte was still weak after his long entrapment.

       “Le Comte?” MC called as she pushed the door open. The mansion welcomed her like an old friend now, warmth and the faint smell of sandalwood wrapping around her as she stepped into the entryway. She’d come to look forward to these daily meetings, noticeably out of it to her friends and colleagues when work or bad weather kept her from making the trip.

       “Here, ma cherie,” she heard him call from somewhere up the staircase. He could’ve been anywhere in this massive place and she still would have heard his call - another magical feature of the mansion and its connection with its owner. 

       It was weird. It had been months since she had found the mansion and Le Comte, but already she could barely remember what her life was like before. Her happiest moments were spent here, with him, her days filled with the smell of chamomile that she’d come to know as Le Comte’s, and easing the tension in her shoulders from the stress of modern life. 

       But it was more than that too, so much more. 

       She wasn’t dense. She knew what it meant for her heart to flutter the way it did at the mere thought of him. Truly, she’d had no intent of pursuing anything more than friendship when she started helping him. What more could there be between a human and a vampire? It had all seemed like a fairy tale, the beautiful mansion and the equally beautiful man in the bottle, waiting for her to find them, but this story would not end in romance, she was sure of it...or at least she had been. 

       She’d tried to reason with herself at first, that it was just the allure of something new and strange and magical in her ordinary life, that it was just the natural attraction of a vampiric predator to his human prey, but when had reason ever convinced a love-struck heart? He wasn’t going to hurt her, she was sure of that, and there were plenty of nice men in her normal life that she could have chosen from if she wanted a change of pace. No, she was in love with Le Comte and there was nothing she could do about it, no forwards or backwards, no place for her love to go, so it bloomed quietly in her chest, growing with each affectionate smile he sent her way. 

       MC found him hanging a painting in the hallway, a landscape she remembered him asking her opinion on last week when they went into town together. It made her cheeks warm a little, remembering his approving nod when she’d told him she liked it. The long, pale yellow coat he’d adopted lay across the back of a nearby chair, and the sleeves of his white button-up were rolled up, exposing pale forearms. It shouldn’t have made her blush, but to her shame it did, the sight of her crush’s bared skin making her feel like some pervert, excited by the least bit of exposed skin.

       “What do you think?” Stepping away from the painting, he dusted his hands off and she did her best to keep her eyes away from the elegant flex of his fingers. 

       “Looks nice,” she answered simply, turning her gaze to the painting and anywhere other than him. She could feel him looking at her, and she wondered what he was thinking, what was going on inside his head. 

       He hummed, pleased. “I bought it with you in mind.”

       “W-Why?” She didn’t know what to say. Lately, it was like each word he said to her was intended to make her heart pound.

       “I thought there should be something of you here.”

       Her cheeks were as good as on fire now, and she resisted the urge to reach up and press her cool palms against the heated skin. “I-I see.” She kept her gaze glued to the painting, staring but not seeing the whorls and colors that made up the bodies of two lovers entwined and hidden within the painting, not daring to look at him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

       He didn’t respond, and the atmosphere suddenly felt too heavy, too many implications in his gaze, in buying this particular painting. Clearing her throat, she turned on her heel even as she spoke, “I’m going to go finish the cleaning I started in the kitchen yesterday.” MC cursed the way her voice swooped and dove, unwilling to settle on a tone and octave. 

       He chuckled and the sound warmed her to her bones. “Okay.”

       Her legs felt shaky as she made her way back down the steps and to the kitchen, blowing out a long breath as soon as she deemed herself far enough away from him. Mechanically, she pulled out the cutlery she’d been polishing the day before, her mind drifting as she did. Her heart felt shaky in her chest, fluttering and pounding and ready to run back up the stairs and throw itself into the hands of the vampire it belonged to. But she would do her best not to let it. 

       Falling in love with him was one thing. Starting a relationship with him was another. She couldn’t fully fathom what it would mean to be a vampire’s mate, what impact it would have on her human life, but she knew the cost would be immense. Besides, there was no telling if he even returned her feelings. He cared for her as any friend would - she knew that at least - and the affection he displayed was undeniable, but she refused to see it as anything more than platonic. Le Comte had already lived so much longer than her, and probably loved more than her too. Making assumptions would only lead to pain on both their parts.

       MC jumped, a noise of pain and surprise passing her lips, when her fingers slipped on the steak knife she’d been polishing, the sharp edge slicing the skin of her thumb. In seconds, a line of blood rose to the surface, gathering to drip down her skin in small drops. Hissing in pain, she turned to the sink, about to clean the wound, but she jumped when her attention caught on the sudden figure in the doorway. She hadn’t heard Le Comte approach, hadn’t even felt his presence, and how still he stood as he hovered in the doorway was immediately unsettling.

       “I wasn’t paying attention,” she tried to fill the silence, “I cut myself on one of the knives.”

       Still nothing from him, his gaze locked on her bleeding thumb.

       “Le Comte?”

       He seemed to startle out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, a shudder passing through him as he glanced up at her face before looking away entirely. His usual poise and grace was replaced by something hard, something sad. “You should leave,” he murmured, eyes shaded by his golden hair as he turned away from her, his movements stiff. 

       She blinked. “What? Why? I-”

       “Leave.” His voice was harder now, resonating with something that gripped her soul with icy claws. “Now.”

       So she did, helpless to disobey. Holding her bleeding hand, she ducked past him and hurried down the hall, through the door and down the path before her mind started to catch up. It hurt to be pushed away so cruelly by the one she loved, but she knew why he had done it, the memory of his fangs plunging into her neck months ago still a fresh reminder. He’d promised never to hurt her again, but he was still a vampire, surviving on blood. One slip up and...why didn’t the idea of him biting her bring her fear anymore?

       Her steps were small and slow as MC walked to the mansion the next day, tripping and stumbling more than once over roots and rocks she had always avoided easily before. She hadn’t slept well the night before, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes, those golden eyes were there, inviting her closer. She had considered not even coming today, but she’d eventually decided otherwise after spending all day unable to focus and watching the sun near the horizon from her bedroom window. Something restless in her heart wouldn’t let her avoid him.

       “Comte?” she called, too softly, when she opened the door. The newly polished wood and iron gave way easily under her touch. No answer, but she knew he could sense her, just as the mansion could. 

       The mansion at night made her want to curl up in front of a fire, preferably in the arms of her loved one. The candles in their newly restored candleholders cast warm, golden light on the richly colored walls and paintings, and she tried to ignore the burst of heat in her chest as she passed the painting Le Comte had gotten for her. The lovers within the frame became especially apparent in the romantic light, hands and lips on naked flesh. 

       She continued to Le Comte’s bedroom, taking a deep breath as she lifted a fist to knock. Still no answer, and her brow furrowed, but just as she was about to grasp the knob she heard something shatter from inside the room. 

       “Comte?” A pained moan and her heart jumped into her throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m coming in!”

       The glass shards lying across the floor were the least of her worries as she barged in, her attention falling on the man bent on the rug. A sense of deja vu settled over her, but before she’d taken even a few steps towards him one of his hands shot up, stopping her in place.

       “Why’d you come?” he grunted, his voice choked and dry. He didn’t give her any time to answer, continuing, “You shouldn’t be here.”

       “I came because I was worried,” she admitted softly, soothingly. “Comte, are you starving again?”

       “No!” The harsh edge to his tone made her jump, but she held her ground, digging her nails into her palm as she took another couple of steps towards him. He turned on her from his place on the floor, baring long, sharp fangs in a snarl. “Don’t come any closer!” 

       Maybe she should have, but MC felt no fear as she knelt in front of him, warm palm meeting his cool cheek. He stared at her, eyes shining with astonishment and hunger, sadness and longing. “Why didn’t you tell me you were starving?” she questioned, giving him a heartbroken smile. “Why didn’t you ask me for help? Do you not trust me enough for this?”

       Heartbeats passed as he stared at her, and for a second she wondered if he had heard her through his ravenous haze, if he was already too far gone in his bloodlust. Finally, his lips parted and he whispered, “It’s not that.” He closed his eyes, drooping into her touch. “It’s not that.”

       Without a word, she reached up, undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse. His eyes still closed, Le Comte let her guide him to the crook of her neck, but as soon as the warmth of her skin pressed against his cheek, he jolted, tearing out of her hold and dragging himself back along the rug, away from her.

       “You know nothing!” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You have no idea what I want to do to you!”

       “Then tell me!” she pleaded, hands fisting in her skirt. “Let me help you!”

       “I want to bite you!” he cried, anguished that she didn’t understand even as his eyes glinted with a feral light. “I want to sink my fangs into you and fuck you until all of you is mine! Until you’re filled with me!”

       MC stared, frozen at his omission. Maybe she hadn’t known the extent of his hunger for her, what it fully entailed, but she would happily let him have everything he wanted of her depending on his answer to her next question.

       “Is it just because you’re starving?” she asked quietly. “Could anyone satisfy you right now?”

       His gaze locked with hers, weighing the question. He knew exactly what she was asking. “No,” he admitted, his voice hushed, and the tension in the room reached a climax. “Only you. I starve for your blood, your body, and yours alone.”

       “Then I don’t care,” she laughed breathlessly. Her heart felt like it was ready to beat out of her chest, and she couldn’t restrain her relieved smile as she met his wide-eyed expression. “Bite me...fuck me...and I’ll still love you.”

       A heartbeat later, she was lifted off the floor, weightless, and tossed onto the bed. She bounced on the mattress, sinking into the luscious pillows and blankets, before a solid weight settled over her. Grabbing her hands, Le Comte pinned them above her head, hot tongue leaving a wet trail against her neck. His hips settled between her legs, pinning her to the mattress as he teased the sensitive spot on the side of her throat with the tips of his fangs. 

       “Oh…” She writhed under him, skirt slipping up her thighs as she wrapped a leg around his waist. Her body still remembered how it felt to be bitten by him, the overwhelming pleasure, the heat. “Please…!”

       “Abel,” he whispered in her ear, making her still for a moment. “I want you calling me by my real name as I claim you.” His fangs slipped so suddenly into her neck, she barely registered the pain before pleasure claimed her unprepared body, nerve endings set alight with sudden arousal. Her vision blurred and she might’ve screamed, but she didn’t know, too focused on the way his body was pressing into her suddenly oversensitive one as her blood flowed into his mouth. It was more powerful this time, whether made so by the sudden confession between them or his increased need for her, she didn’t know and didn’t care. All she could think of was the mournful emptiness in her core and the rush of release that ruined her panties as he continued to drink from her.

       When MC came to, she was naked, bare to him in the firelight. Her heart was pounding and her inner thighs were wet, slick with her cum. Le Comte...Abel...wasn’t on top of her anymore, his hands on her calves holding her legs apart as he knelt by her feet. She gasped silently, eyes widening, when she realized he was equally bare, every inch of him more gorgeous than she could have ever imagined as the firelight danced across his skin.

       “So beautiful,” he purred, kissing up the inside of her leg from her ankle to her thigh. “You were sent here just for me, weren’t you? Sent to free me, all for me to love.” She couldn’t answer, squeezing her eyes shut and digging her fingers into the sheets as he neared the apex of her thighs. “Mmm, you smell positively delectable, mon amour.”

       She yelped, fingers flying to his hair as his fangs burrowed into the soft skin of her thigh. It was more painful in a spot so vulnerable, but the pleasure after the pain was more intense too, making her writhe in his grip as another wave of release soaked her thighs. She mewled and panted as he took greedy gulps from her, laving his tongue lovingly across the bloodied skin when he’d had his fill. Her body shuddered with the aftershocks of a second orgasm, and she whimpered, too sensitive to his touch. Such rapture shouldn’t have been humanly possible, wasn’t humanly possible.

       “You’re the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” Abel moaned, eyes half-lidded as he peered up at her from between her legs. His hands ran up and down her legs, bending them at the knees as he crawled closer, hot breath fanning against her wet pussy. He took her in so greedily, so hungrily, she had to resist the urge to close her legs around him, to hide away from the intensity of his gaze. Never had anyone looked at her like that before, starving for her. 

       MC gasped his name breathlessly when his tongue licked a stripe along her slit, and he groaned at the taste of her arousal. “Absolutely soaked,” he purred, licking his lips. “I don’t believe I even need to prepare you for me.” 

       She trembled as he licked her again, yelping and bucking her hips into his face when his mouth wrapped around her clit. His grip on her hips held her still as his tongue delved inside of her, chin shining with her wetness as he slurped and moaned. Though she had never admitted it, this was what she had wanted for so long, her love reciprocated to the utmost. And as much as she wanted him to continue, she was already oversensitive from the intensity of her previous two climaxes. She wouldn’t be able to take much more without it becoming painful soon and she wanted him inside of her, filling and stretching and claiming her.

       “A-Abel,” she managed to say, her vision blurred with pleasured tears. “T-Too much. Too sensitive.”

       That’s what she said, but she still nearly cried when his tongue left her, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut to keep herself from shoving his head back between her legs. His warmth fell over her as he moved on top of her, soft lips kissing the corners of her eyes and trailing over her cheeks. She mewled when his hardened cock brushed her throbbing core, unintentionally teasing her. Even just brushing against her, she could tell he was huge, bigger than any human male could ever be.

       “Are you okay?” he murmured softly, and she nodded.

       Opening her eyes, MC cupped his cheek, leaning up to kiss him with as much love and need as she could muster. “Please,” she whispered against his lips, “Make me yours?”

       Even though she’d already confessed so much to him tonight, Abel still looked at her with such amazement in his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe she was actually real and here with him. Placing his hand over hers, he closed his eyes, smiling into her palm. “I don’t deserve to...but it would be my honor.” He didn’t say anything more, but he didn’t need to; the weight of mutual love and adoration that filled the space between them and his overjoyed smile against her skin said enough.

       Without wasting another moment, he reached between them and gently guided himself into her, hazy, lust-focused golden eyes peering into hers as a shudder wracked their joined forms. Her nails dug into his back, core squeezing around the pulsing length burrowing inside of her.

       “Relax, mon amour,” he whispered, nuzzling the soft spot below her ear. Taking a few deep, shuddering breaths, she tried to relax the clenching in her lower stomach, gradually adjusting to the stretch. 

       “Please,” she whined, planting kisses across his chin and jaw. “Move.”

       The world she knew fell away, nonexistent. All there was was him and her and this place, wrapped up with velvet and warm firelight as her vampire made love to her.

       His thrusts into her were slow and forceful, the pleasure it brought rolling over her in spine-tingling waves. Her back arched, head thrown back to expose her neck to his hungry lips, as he held her against him. 

       “Perfect,” he moaned against her skin, his breath raising goosebumps on her flesh. “Absolutely perfect.”

       Her toes curled as he lifted her hips, changing the angle and hitting spots deep inside of her that made her see stars. Her arms laced around him, vice-like as she held onto him desperately. Each powerful stroke into her teased the edge of her climax, igniting her nerves, and the feeling of his mouth closing around the nipple of one bouncing breast made her scream.

       She writhed, helplessly grinding her hips to meet his thrusts as he sucked the hardened bud, teasing it with his fangs. His other hand pinched and rolled its twin, his thrusts turning harder as he fucked her into the mattress. He let go of her breast with a wet pop, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake as he moved up her chest, nipping at her collarbone for good measure.

       “Does it feel good?” he purred in her ear, honeyed voice dripping with sin. “Do you like the way it feels, my fangs in your throat and my cock in your cunt?”

       “Yes!” she cried, desperate. She wanted so badly to cum again, to reach her climax for the third time tonight. It was already so, so close. “Please - anhg! - Don’t stop!”

       He chuckled, warm breath fanning against her skin. “I don’t intend to.” His cock slammed into the sensitive spot inside of her, his hand reaching between her legs to find her clit. “Not until your body knows me and me alone.”

       She could feel the coil deep in her stomach starting to tighten, signaling her impending climax. “Haa...A-Abel! I’m - I’m close! Ah...more! Feels...ha...so good! I need more!”

       Something changed in him at her words, whatever control he had recovered after drinking her blood vanishing. Grunting, he grabbed the backs of her knees and pushed them against her chest. “Cum around my cock,” he coaxed, face alight with feral desire. The expression was unfamiliar on his gentlemanly face, but it still shot a pulse of heat straight to her core, making her squeeze around him. “Make me cum inside of you.”

       MC screamed, coating him in her release as he rammed into her, the new position sending her over the edge and into her climax. She sobbed, fluttering around his piercing cock as the blunt head pummeled her cervix, the slight pain making her orgasm all the more ravaging. 

       He groaned, thrusts turning sloppy as her core milked him, and with another few deep thrusts inside of her, he came, growling into her neck as he pulsed. She trembled at the feeling of his cum filling her, hot and thick and pooling somewhere deep inside of her as her eyes closed and her body turned weightless.

       She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until her eyes fluttered open, finding herself tucked under the covers and cuddled against a warm, bare chest. 

       “You’re awake,” Le Comte’s voice rumbled against her cheek, and she tilted her head to peer up at him as his fingers carded soothingly through her hair. “Are you okay?”

       “Yeah.” She blushed, noting the soreness and lingering warmth between her thighs. “It was just...intense.” The corner of his lips twitched in the beginnings of a smirk, and she kept talking before he could tease her. “Do you not sleep?” she said softly, reaching to tuck her arms around him in turn. 

       “I do,” he chuckled with a raised brow, relaxing into her embrace. 

       “Then why don’t you?”

       “...I’m almost afraid to sleep,” he admitted wryly. “Maybe this...meeting you...has all been a dream and I’m still stuck in that bottle.”

       Her grip on him tightened, snuggling him closer. She hadn’t known he’d felt this way, scarred by his time trapped and alone, but of course he would. He felt and processed experiences just as she did. Leaning up, she kissed him softly, feeling his arms pull her closer. “I’m real,” she murmured, holding his gaze, those brilliant golden eyes she had originally fallen so deeply in love with. “This is real, and I love you. I still don’t know how I was able to find this place, but I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

       “What did I do for God to send you to me?” His breathing stuttered and he said on a shaky exhale, “I’ve done things, things that pervert the rules of nature, things that I never want to tell you. How can I possibly deserve you?”

       “Hmm, do you love me?” She smiled, her heart feeling full enough to burst from her chest.

       “Madly,” he answered, without missing a beat.

       “Then we’ll work our way up from there. Just know that I can’t remember ever being happier than I have been here with you these past months.” Leaning up for a last kiss, she felt him smile against her lips. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

       There was still much to discuss, a whole dynamic to work out between them, but it could wait until morning. For now, they could sleep in each other’s arms, blissfully in love and ready to face the challenges that would come with each tomorrow.

       They had all the time in the world, after all.

[akaashisupremacy]

Curiosity

Summary: Hajime Iwaizumi runs into an old friend yet again. Second chances don't come often so will he able to make a move before their time is up?

Iwaizumi x fem!reader/Oc || Read it on A03

Genre : romance, friends to lovers 

The day had gone by quicker than Hajime Iwaizumi thought it would. It was now or never.

It all began last week, when he ran into Hiromi Miura, a friend from college, in a small Vietnamese restaurant in Ginza a month after he moved to Tokyo. As he lined up for a seat, he noticed the figure in front of him was familiar. He tapped her shoulder and waved. Hiromi was so surprised that it took her a moment to realize it was her old classmate.

“Iwa??” she said in disbelief.

They got a seat together to catch up. Normally, Hiromi would be nervous about have lunch with one other man, but she had been on so many failed dates lately that at least she knew lunch with Iwa would not end in disappointment.

“You’re eating here? This place must be legit huh?” he said, remembering that she worked for a food publication. She chuckled.

“Definitely has my seal of approval.”

The restaurant was small and Iwa was rather tall. He could feel his knees touching hers from time to time. She crossed her feet behind her chair so they didn’t have to apologize mid-conversation when they bumped into each other.

“I’ve been meaning to call you by the way. Do you know any good markets around where I live?” he pulled out his phone to show her the area where he was staying, “I’m not too familiar with the area yet, so you’ll have to tell me where is it on the map.”

Iwa lived almost at fringe of the city. His home was located not too far away by bike to one of Hiromi’s favorite wet markets. She took his phone a little more enthusiastically than he expected her to and pinned a location.

Hiromi loved showing people around her favorite food spots. If being a food guide was more lucrative, she would ditch her dayjob altogether.

“Here! There’s a wet market where I’m friendly with the stall owners right here.” she pointed, “It’s about a 15 minute bike ride away from your place. I can help you get good deals. Not too many tourists too.”

And that was how Iwa found himself inside a wet market with Hiromi, on an early Monday morning. On most mornings, Iwa liked to jog and not do chores, but Hiromi had been so enthusiastic about the market that he let himself get sucked in. He tried not to yawn as she waved at every other stall.

“Another market day for work? Did the production team ask for your help again?” tutted an old woman at a vegetable stand.

Did he really look that dressed down?

“No, I’m bringing a friend around, hopefully a soon to be regular. Yamagata-san, this is Iwaizumi. He just moved here.” she chuckled, gesturing at him. Iwa politely bowed and greeted her.

As Iwa picked out some vegetables, Hiromi continued to chat with the old woman, guiding him every now and then to a vegetable that looked fresher than what he had picked out.

“I thought he was a production boy., You know one of those boys that drives your company van and carries your stuff.” Yamagata-san commented good naturally, “Too handsome for a production boy.”

When Iwa was about to pay up, Hiromi disappeared over to the next stall. He sighed and made his way to the counter at the back. Behind the desk, he saw a simply framed black and white photo of Yamagata-san with a candid smile, reaching out to a customer. The background seemed to blur and the old woman was the star. Next to that was a smaller photo of Yamagata-san and…Hiromi.

Was Hiromi some sort of MVP for this stall or something?

“Miura-chan took that photo of me,” said Yamagata-san, taking notice of Iwa, “I told her that I didn’t need such a big photo of myself so I insisted on having one with her.”

“What was the photo for?” he asked, peering again at the two photos.

“She ran an article on the oldest stalls of the market saying we were the heart of the community or something like that. When the story came out, she even gave us a glossy magazine that had my picture on it. She made us sound big and important. She was really grateful that we let her talk about us so she gave us a framed photo of ourselves to remember her milestone by. It was her big solo article I think.”

After hopping from one store to another, sometimes to say hi and others to buy produce from, they settled in for early lunch at yakitori or grill restaurant. The sun was high in the sky. While waiting to be seated, Hiromi bought cool green tea for the both of them.

“This is so good! Damn!” he sighed in pleasure. The drink relieved the sweat gathering at his back. Hiromi grinned in satisfaction.

“Iwa can I ask you something?” she tilted her head towards him.

“Shoot.” Suddenly he felt unnerved and tense. What could this be about? He bit down on the tip of the straw.

Her eyes were with amusement, “Did you not notice that the fruit vendor was making eyes at you?? She’s totally into you and I tried to wingman for, but you just shrugged and paid up.”

“Wait, for real?” he asked, taken aback by his lack of self-awareness.

Hiromi nodded her head vigorously, “That was cold!’

He slapped his hands on his forehead, “Well, I wasn’t really interested in her anyways.” he sighed, his eyes flicking towards her before looking away.

Hiromi recalled a time in college, when a circle of their friends were having lunch together. One of the girls that had a crush on Iwa tried to make a pass at him.

“I would date you if I could, Hajime-kun,” she blushed. Everybody’s eyes turned to Iwaizumi who continued eating and only stopped because someone had nudged him.

“Thanks, I’m flattered,” he nodded. It had taken him weeks to realize that she was trying to confess to him.

“Do you remember that time in colle-“ she began but was interrupted. He was cringing as he remembered the same memory.

“Don’t bring up that lunch incident, Hiromi. I know you’re going to. Just NO.”  he groaned, “I get it! I’m dense.”

Hiromi was trying to restrain her laughter. He could hear her stifle her giggle beside him. She tried not to look at him. He straightened up beside her and nudged her knee with his.

“I wasn’t interested in her anyways.” he said, thoughtfully looking at her.

“Clearly not,” she snorted, browsing through the menu, “You should see what you want to eat before they seat us.”

He placed his hand a little bit behind her and peered over her shoulder. He could feel her arm pressed against his chest. They were seated so closely his nose almost touched the side of her head. She remained oblivious to him.

After they were seated, Iwaizumi finally brought up what he had been noticing.

“How does everyone here have a photo by and with you?” he asked, “Are the photos really required by your work?”

Hiromi looked a little embarrassed. She cleared her throat and sighed, “People like to take. They take stories and never give the people they take from. They take their food and their ideas, which is really not fair.

“It took me a while to earn the trust of the community here but once I gave them a copy of their story, it made them realize I was sincere about wanting to give back to them. The black and white framed photos, that was on me. We had some budget left so I got them their own photos because they’re important even if their job is not glamorous.”

“You’re really passionate about your job huh?” he said. The food had just arrived and they began to rearrange their bowls and plates on the table.

“It’s not my job I’m passionate about, it’s people and their stories. I’m just lucky enough to be paid enough to do this.” she smiled.

“Don’t you feel the same way about your job?” she asked, “You like volleyball so much you turned it into a profession.”

“I do, but I’ve just started in my new job. Passion takes time if not at least a little bit more experience. Maybe by next year, I can feel the same way about my work.”

———————————————————————————

“Thanks for bringing me here.” he said as he loaded up his bike with his morning purchases.

“Thanks for lunch,” she said. Iwaizumi had paid while she was at the restroom to thank her for introducing him to her community market.

Urgency prodded at his back. It was now or never. As she handed him some of his packaged vegetables, he hastily turned to her.

“Can I see you again next week?” he said it so quickly, he wasn’t sure she fully understood him.

“Oh, do you want to try a different market?” she asked, carefully taking out the strawberries from her bag and transferring it to his bag.

“No, no this market looks great —“

“I know right! It’s not the best or most comprehensive market, but it’s a good market if you’re looking to build a community with.” she beamed with pride.

Iwa straightened his back and cleared his throat, “No, like a date.”

She paused and stood to meet his eye. “Oh…I guess this is why you weren’t interested in the vendor huh. I really thought she would be your type! She even plays volleyball.” She looked away while slowly recalling signs from earlier today: the knee nudge, the lunch, his lack of interest in other women in the market.

Iwa could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He forgot how nerve-wracking it was to ask someone out. Sweat was pooling around his temples just standing there.

“Ahh not really, I am actually interested…in you. I thought you might like me too, that’s why you agreed to go out with me today…y’know to test the waters…” he stuttered, “but..ah…turns out you just really like markets. I realized that I should have been more forward.”

Hiromi was simultaneously flattered, mortified and a little confused. She kept quiet. In the back of her mind, she entertained the thought that maybe this was an unofficial date, but she had convinced herself that Iwa was invested in buying cheaper fresher produce.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to. You look uncomfortable,” he said, waving his hands side to side, breaking her out of her reverie, “We can pretend like this never happened.”

She hesitantly replied, “Well, I’m on the weekend and my hours are flexible on Thursday because it’s a reading day for me…” She was praying in her heart that she got her schedule right.

Her reply caught Iwa off guard. Nevertheless, he jumped to the chance to spend a day next week with her.

“That’s great! I’m away next weekend, but Thursday sounds great.” he smiled, looking hopeful, “Let’s meet then?”

“I know it’s kinda early, but I think I have to put it out there that my schedule’s really erratic some days. That’s kind of put some people off.” he shrugged. His schedule was one of his occupational hazards.

“We’re out on a Monday, I think I’m aware.“ she nodded. Although outwardly calm, she was ready to faint. She couldn’t wait to tell Itsumi that she had a date with a seemingly decent guy?

“Oh and Iwa?” her face schooled itself into a more serious expression as he gave her his full attention, “It’s non-negotiable for me. If you want to insist on being able to date other people, I’ll have to cancel next week.”

“I had a small spat with this guy I was dating and I…walked in on second date while he was making out with someone.” she gritted her teeth, heaving a sigh.

“Ok, I won’t see anybody else while we’re seeing each other. Deal?” he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m not very good at dating. I haven’t been in a good relationships in awhile. I’m gonna need your patience.” she said softly, turning to him, her eyes wary.

“I’m kind of aware.” he nodded, “I’ll make the most of the time you can give me.”

When she left she felt dumbfounded. She had recently sworn off dating and now she was on another date?

“Itsumi, you’ll never guess what just happened!” she called up her coworker.

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

This is part 2 of a series on Iwa living in Tokyo after he moves back from California. If you’d like to keep up with the next chapters (which will include questions to help them fall in love *hint hint*), comment or message!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Series taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan

[mewtwowarrior]

Now that I've got the second draft of that section of Ark’s backstory out of the way and I’ve rewatched Tron: Uprising, I’ve finally figured out how to resolve the end of this particular part of her story.

I thought of this when I couldn’t sleep and I typed it on my phone, so it’s pretty rough around the edges. The part I wrote yesterday has been in my mind for months, so it’s had way longer to cook than this part has, so this part isn’t nearly as polished.

I feel like it’s pretty clunky, but, at least I wrote something and got it out there. I can definitely edit and rewrite it later to make it better.

-

First drafts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 

Second drafts: Part 1 | Part 2 version 1 (you are here) | Part 2 version 2

Final draft: Combined Parts

-

Over time, Beck and Tron encounter Ark again and again. Each time she shows up, they mark her location and a pattern starts to become clear.

All of the places she's appeared at are starting to make a circle around an area.

It's clear that she's being used to lead them into a trap, but there's no telling when the final step will be.

Tron gestures at the map, "If we can figure out where she's leading us before she gets there." Beck realizes where he's going with this and adds, "We can spring the trap before they set it."

From there, the plan is put into motion. They split up, going into the city separately, but still close together. One of them will fight Ark when she shows up, while the other one discretely follows her when she flees. They have to be careful, as if the Occupation figures out that they know what the plan is, then they'll have time to set the trap.

Ark finds Tron first, so Beck gets into position, ready to quietly pursue her back to her headquarters.

When she takes off, Beck stays close behind on a parallel track, trying to keep from being noticed.

As soon as she starts to slow down, Beck does as well, hanging back to observe.

When he spots her go into a building, he memorizes the location and heads back to meet up with Tron to report in.

With the location now known, they start to put together a plan. Ark always waits a while before showing up again, so if they strike shortly after she appears and retreats, they should be able to go in and grab her without grabbing the attention that would be there once the Occupation's trap is set.

So, they wait, preparing everything they need. With Ark being rectified, she's not going to come along willingly, so they plan on taking several different ways of subduing her.

Like usual, Ark shows up again, they fight her and she retreats. But, this time, shortly after she does so, they follow after her.

The building is large, so once they sneak in, it's a tricky matter of finding where exactly she's at.

Beck knows the floor that prisoners have been on in other Occupation strongholds, so they head there first.

The floor is dark and nearly empty, except for one holding cell that has an active barrier.

As they get closer, it's clear that the prisoner is Ark, who is blankly standing in the middle of the cell.

Even as Beck quickly deactivates the barrier, Ark doesn't react in the slightest.

Despite this, Tron quietly uses a low voltage stun device to knock her out and scoops her up, carrying Ark in his arms.

Beck leads the way back, but as they near their chosen exit, they're stopped by Paige.

"You! What are you doing here?" She notices the scarred and unconscious program in Tron's arms, "What did you do to her?"

Beck shook his head, "We didn't do anything." Tron cleared his throat, and Beck hastily added, "Okay, we knocked her unconscious, but that's it. The Occupation did the rest. We're just trying to help her, she's the only reason why we're here."

Paige eyed the two masked programs with matching circuits, weighing her options. As a medic, she wanted that program to get help, but as a member of the Occupation, she couldn't trust these Renegades. She doubted that the Occupation had done this damage to their own program, but it was strange for the Renegades to risk kidnapping a low-rank soldier she had never seen before. That, and if this program was important enough, there was likely some kind of tracking device on her. If the Renegades brought her back to their base, then the Occupation could track them to their lair. Letting them go could be a win-win situation, but she had to make it look legit.

She drew her disc and went after the closest Renegade, "I don't know why you'd help somebody on my side."

Beck quickly blocked her attack and yelled to Tron, "Go! We're almost there, I'll catch up!"

Ark in hand, and trusting Beck, Tron left him to his battle.

Beck and Paige fought back and forth, until Beck saw his opening and just ran for it, disappearing into the city.

Tron was aware that there might be some sort of way the Occupation could track Ark, so him and Beck had set up a temporary base in the city.

Once Ark was secure, Beck got to work inspecting her disc, "I'm not sure how much I can do, but it won't hurt for me to give it a look."

He took off her disc and attached his wrench to it. To his surprise, it worked much like when he used it on a light cycle. Unfortunately, everything looked far different than he was used to.

There seemed to be layers of code, the top, and easiest to get to, was the Occupation code, but, underneath that, a few parts from the original code seemed to be coming up.

Tilting his head, Beck touched one of the older pieces of code to see what would happen.

Both him and Tron watched in horror as it showed them shaky and scattered memories of Ark being tortured.

Beck looks away, "The scars...these memories, they kept them with her for a reason."

Tron narrowed his eyes, "Likely so that she'd know what would happen if she disobeyed or failed."

Beck shook his head, "Maybe there's something else we can use to bring her back... Hey, she responded when you said her name, I wonder if there's some memory that it activates."

Tron looked over at Ark, "She's still out, so we'll have to try that later."

Beck nodded and continued poking around Ark's disc. After a while, he shook his head, "Something's wrong, but I'm not sure what. Things just aren't connecting how they look like they should be..."

That thought got put on hold as Ark started to wake up and stare straight ahead.

Tron nodded to Beck, then walked around to stand in front of Ark.

Beck got Ark's disc display back to the main area, then nodded to Tron.

Tron spoke quietly to her, "Ark, you're safe now, you're not with the Occupation any more."

Her eyes widened at this for a moment, but then her expression became blank once again.

But, that moment was enough. When she seemed to recognize Tron, a new file popped up and he activated it before it disappeared.

It was an older memory, from back when she was a System Monitor. Apparently, she had just finished an assignment, and Tron was praising her for a job well done.

Beck looked up at Tron, "She must really think a lot of you."

Tron nodded quietly, not saying anything.

Beck drops the topic and continues looking around Ark's disc. After a while, he sighs, "I'm not getting anywhere. I think we need a medic, but, the only one I know of works for the Occupation."

Tron sighs, "If we can't figure something out, we might have to go that route."

Beck nodded, asking Paige to help wasn't exactly an option, but what else could they do?

They took turns staying with Ark and going out into the city.

During one of Beck's outings, Paige is the one that found him. She grabbed him and pulled him aside, "Renegade, how's that friend of yours?"

Beck blinked, "Funny you should ask, there's something wrong with her disc, I think she needs a medic."

Paige looked at the masked program before her, if she played this right, the Renegade could lead her right to his hiding spot.

"If you'll trust me, I can give her a look."

Beck thinks this over, then nods, "Follow me."

Paige couldn't believe what was happening, everything was falling into place.

Beck took her right into their current base, she looked around, "Is this where you've been hiding all along."

He snorted, "You know I can't answer that."

Paige shrugged, "It was worth a try."

The temporary lair was sparse and Beck took her the shortest route to where they were keeping Ark.

Paige found the scene unnerving, the restrained program was just staring off blankly, "...Is she always like this?"

Beck nodded, "Most of the time."

Paige frowned, growing concerned for what that could mean about what happened to this program.

There wasn't time for that, though, she had a job to do.

"So, what do you know about her disc?"

Beck takes off Ark's disc and holds it out to Paige, "The Occupation's programming has taken over most of it. There's a few older memories here and there, but, for the most part, all of her original programming seems to be suppressed. But, the Occupation programming seems to have some odd connections. There's something missing or wrong, but I don't know enough to tell you what that could be."

Paige nods and takes a look for herself, everything seemed to be as Beck said. She avoided the memories for now, there was no need to be sentimental.

The more she saw of the modified disc, the more uncomfortable she was at the idea that the Occupation had done this to this program.

She tried to not think about it as she looked for the problem.

The programmed was bypassing something, but what? Finally, she found the answer in a severely burnt out energy processor.

There wasn't much that could do that kind of damage and on a hunch, she went to look at the memory fragments to see if they revealed the answer.

She got more than one answer, as she saw an Occupation program torturing the restrained program with bursts of electricity.

Even after the memory's playback ended, Paige stared at the disc. The Renegades had been right, the Occupation had done this to this program. But, why?

There's no answers in this memory cluster, and the only other one is far too old to be related.

With a look of determination, Paige went back to the damaged energy processor and slowly repaired it. It's not something she's done often and the work is somewhat tricky, so it takes a while.

Once that's done, she resyncs the disc to the program and takes a break.

Beck doesn't know what she's doing and thinks she's finished, "Thank you for your help."

"I'm not done yet. My patient still has code preventing her from functioning normally."

Beck was surprised at this, but his expression was completely hidden behind his mask.

Paige spends some time thinking over the challenges that await her with the overridden disc, she's never encountered a problem quite like this.

Once she's ready, she goes back at this disc again. She watches the older memory with Tron, but it contains no answers.

She digs through all the code and files, poking and prodding methodically, learning how the overlaid code works with everything.

Paige looks at different options and settings, she thinks she finds a solution when she spots that the newer code is set to default. However, she can't turn it off and reactivate the older code.

Grumbling in frustration, she investigates a few different things before turning to the bypass that was added to go around the damaged energy processor.

She tries a few different things before connecting it to the remaining older memories.

Going back to the defaults, she found that this extra connection had opened up the options.

Working quickly, she set the original programming to be the main and deactivated the newer code bit by bit, locking it out.

When she's done, Paige double-checks her work, then hands the disc to Beck. "This should fix her. There's still...unwanted code, but it shouldn't cause any more problems. I have to go."

She quickly and quietly leaves, she's got a lot to think about.

Beck looks to Tron, "That went better than I expected."

Tron deactivated his helmet with a frown, "That is, if this works."

Beck removed his helmet as well, "I think it will. She seemed like she wanted to help and was shaken by what the Occupation did to Ark."

Tron nods, "I hope you're right."

He walked over to stand in front of Ark, "Go ahead and sync her disc."

Beck gives him a nod and places Ark's disc on her dock.

It takes some time for the extensive changes to take place, but, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, her eyes flickered as the sync finished up.

Ark looks around in confusion, but sees Tron standing in front of her.

She gasps, "You were right, it was a trap. I'm sorry." The waves of memories keep coming, "Wait...the last thing I remember is they did something to my code...and then it all went dark. You fixed me?"

Beck came around and stood next to Tron. Tron put his hand on his shoulder, "A friend of Beck's was able to repair what the Occupation did to you."

Ark smiled, "Thank you. Judging by your circuits, we've got the same job, so I think we're going to get along."

Beck returned her smile, "I think we will, too."

Tron goes around and releases Ark from her restraints, "We've all got a lot of catching up to do."

[nodesiretogrowup]

alright y’all, time for a Melissa play-by-play. I have a theory about this episode but it will get it’s own post:

And we dive right into spy time

That statue in the fountain was very upsetting :’)

GODDAMN U LAUNCHPAD, U SEXY BEAST

I like that LP says spiffy because I use the word spiffy

DEW-ble O Duck

“What I Dewey best” God I love Dewey and his love of puns

SONG TIME!!!

Ben is a really good singer

I like how the song was foreshadowing things to come

How is she wearing earrings?

A ham on cheese sandwich sounds really good rn

“I can’t remember when I’m hungry” A man after my own heart

YOU DIED

Ok, that game is WAAAAAY too advanced. It has the whole building mapped out and those glasses are WAAAY to small and lightweight to handle all that. Is it all through wi-fi? Am I overthinking the logic of a video game in a cartoon? Probably

“I had a sassy quip and everything.” He has the makings of a superhero in him

“It’s a little too real.” FORESHADOWING! Or the game was already REALLY immersive. OR BOTH

OH GOD LAUNCHPAD IS ALREADY FEELING BAD ABOUT HIMSELF!

“Haven’t you ever wanted to plug into a high-stakes, thrilling adventure?” He’s already done the spy-thing. Though it would have been cool to see Scrooge in a sexy suit

UNCLE MCDEE! I LOVE IT

Then an Uncle Scrooge from Webby. TOO CUTE!

There is A LOT of winking in this episode ;)

“We’re a team” DEWEY IS SO ADORABLE AND WHOLESOME!

Aw, Launchpad

I didn’t notice it the first time, but I love that Steelbeak is using one of those plastic swords to pick his teeth. It’s the little things

Is the theme song gonna be the short version for every episode this season?

I really dig Jason Mantzoukas’ take on Steelbeak. He’s just so cocky yet insecure at the same time. I like his voice cracking when he gets embarrassed or excited 

And I ADORE how UTTERLY STUPID he is. I think he’s dumber than Launchpad because Launchpad is aware that he’s not exactly the smartest guy but Steelbeak GENUINELY thinks he’s smart. Plus he feels the joke. That’s just dumb and unfunny (in-universe at least. out of universe it’s great)

“The Sat-a-Lighthouse. Classic villain lair.” Well we know that’s gonna show up

Bradford’s neck bothers me. It makes my neck hurt looking at it

Intelli-ray. You guys are a bit on the beak nose when it comes to naming things

GADGET!

“Rat’s are dumb, right?” YOU STUPID BEAUTIFUL MAN

THE OTHER RANGERS! And Monterey already has his mustache

Ok how did her hair grow so fast? And did she shave her fur? How did she get a more human-esque figure? I NEED THIS INFORMATION

They Secret of Nimh’ed her!

Heron acts like an annoyed/done mom with Steelbeak and he acts like a snotty kid. It’s great

EVIL LAUGH

“Did that rat make that jumpsuit on a regular sewing machine, or did it build its own tiny sewing machine?” STEELBEAK ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS HERE

I legit thought she was about to pull off his beak

“I’ll go. Not because you told me.” He’s such a punk-ass kid, I LOVE IT

CHOMP CHOMP

DON’T EXPLAIN THE JOKE, BRO

“I pay for the privilege of doing someone else’s yard-work?” THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT YOU’D SAY, YOU RICH, PRIVILEGED MAN. Whack-a-Mole is actually about expressing all the rage and fury inside you

Video graphic adventures

SKEE BALL! I FUCKING LOVE SKEE BALL

That kid didn’t even take his tickets

Ticket-rich. I love it

LET’S STRETCH BITCHES

“Can’t let Dewey down. Gotta be smart, gotta win the game.” OH LAUNCHPAD, SWEETHEART

“Calm down, LP. It’s only a game.” Dewey is SUCH a GOOD friend!

“But don’t overthink it.” That’s just good life advice in general

I love how tiny Dewey is when compared to LP. It’s ADORABLE

“THEN WE GET PIZZA.” “Yes, pizza.” I don’t know why, but the way Ben delivers that line is hilarious to me

“Pad. Launchpad. McQuack. My name is Launchpad McQuack.” I love you so much

Ok, was there an actual dude there? How could’ve Steelbeak thrown a digital person?

“Yes, I do as well.” YOU DUMB HOE, I LOVE YOU

That card game was great. Truly a battle of wits. And Dewey just being like...what. Beautiful

“Well played.” “It was?”

“Look’s like you’ve been out-smart guyed.” The dialogue in this episode is top notch 

I too do not understand smanzy card games

“But how about a game of 52 pickup...YOUR TEETH!”

“THE PAIN FEELS SO LIFELIKE!”

The sound Steelbeak makes when Dewey pulls on his...hair(?) is great

One day you’ll get to quip Dewey, one day

The cuts between the game reality and actual reality are so great

Is that the Phantom Blot or the normal Funzo? Is there even a normal Funzo?

The neck cracking also made my neck hurt

All the kids gathering around Scrooge is too cute

“Not now lass, I’m on a roll.” SKEE BALL IS A GATEWAY DRUG TO GAMBLING

“I think they just have nachos.” They have pizza too

Steelbeak pecking at Launchpad...brilliant

The little pug/bulldog kid is so cute

The scream when he’s hit with the pizza is gold

That ballpit is terrifying

Yet again Launchpad falls on someone

HE FUCKING PUNCHED A KID! WTF BRO?!

“WE MADE IT TO THE NEXT LEVEL!”

Those jumpsuits are pretty nice, ngl

“Nerp”

Launchpad had the right idea, he just fumbled on the execution

Rubix cubes-shorthand for intelligence levels

She is so done with him it’s great

“We can make Scrooge SO HUNGRY, he’ll EAT all the toys!” Solid logic

“Duh, that ain’t smart.” OO, BURN

Whenever anyone/anything grabs Steelbeak’s beak I feel like it’s gonna come off

THE THEME SONG PLAYS! I LOVE IT! IT’S GREAT

How did the others get smart? Where did THEIR clothes come from?! I NEED ANSWERS FRANK!!

Launchpad is always ready to lend a helping hand

HOW DID THE GLOVE FLOAT?! I HAVE SO MANY UNANSWERED QUESTIONS!!!

“The answer was to build a tiny plane and teach a mouse to fly it?” “Yes, I figured that out.”

Is Gadget a rat or a mouse? She looked more mouse-like before she got smartified but Heron called her a rat. EVEN MORE UNANSWERED QUESTIONS! She’s probably a mouse though because that’s what she was in the original show

I don’t know why but I love when people call Launchpad LP. Maybe it’s because he has nicknames for everyone else so him having a nickname is cute

So Steelbeak was in prison in St. Canard. Perhaps he had a run in with a certain terror that flaps in the night? That would be hilarious if the two had met before but now Steelbeak is more focused on Launchpad. That would be a blow to DW’s ego

I kind of feel bad for Steelbeak. Sure he’s dumb but that was uncalled for. No wonder he snapped

“You bird-brained...” Aren’t you ALL bird-brains though? You are birds and you have brains therefore you have bird-brains. That almost feels like it could be a racist comment in this world

“I’M THE RICHEST DUCK IN THE ARCADE!” You were the richest duck in the arcade the moment you walked in

I love when Scrooge gets obsessed with something and loses his goddamn mind

WEBBY YOU CREATED A MONSTER!

“Ticket bin?” “YES!”

322 DAYS WITHOUT AN ACCIDENT. Good for them

Launchpad just LEEROY JENKENS’ed his way in

His hand is as big as Dewey’s HEAD

LP and Steelbeak have great fight dialogue. It reminds me of Megamind and Metro Man

LAUNCHPAD PUSHES DEWEY TO SAFETY! At that point he didn’t even KNOW what the ray did! But he heroically saved his best friend, not matter what would happen to him! WE STAN! 

 This episode cemented my headcanon that Chris Evans would be the perfect human LP

“I SHALL AVENGE YOU, MY FRIEND” 

This scene, the climax, and the end of the episode gave me a theory, but it will have its own post

British accent=smart?

First thing he does is slick back the hair. Classy

“That cad, Steelbeak” We should call more people cads

How did LP fit into that much smaller man’s uniform? Are they extra stretchy? Because I can totally see that being something FOWL would do. It’s practical

“I don’t know what any of those words mean.” Same

“Heavens, you don’t want them to think you don’t know what you’re doing!” My constant struggle

The supersious guy is adorable

“Well, it’s certainly proving to be bad luck FOR YOU!”

KARATE CHOP ACTION

He still calls him Mr McDee. I just think that’s cute

Dear Dewford. Aww

“I won’t let him down again.” AAAAWWWWWWW

“Can’t go out there looking like this.” You can’t fight crime if you ain’t cute (or sexy in LP’s case)

LAUNCHPAD, YOU SEXY MOTHERFUCKER

That is an old-ass phone you got there, LP

Scrooge is 2 for 2 in missing important calls. Probably should turn his ringtone on

Webby is just so done

“Ah yes, you’d like that wouldn’t you, sonny.” God, Scrooge can get downright FERAL

Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it DW cameo. It looks like Drake’s DW. Does he have merch now? Does he get a cute of the sales? Who makes the merch?

WEBBY WILL FUCKING END YOU

Dewey is SO precious this episode. His cute little bounces

“I’m actually afraid and a little dehydrated, this game is AWESOME” GET THAT BOY SOME JUICE STAT

I love when shows realistically portray sound

“No time for a...crash course” YEEEEEAAAAAAAH

How’d he get a grappling hook?

“THAT’S MY PARTNER!” DEWEY LOVES LP SO MUCH!!

“How is he doing this?” The power of sexy? I don’t know either, bro

“There goes your pal LURCH-POUND! HA! You know, because he just got lurched into that POND OVER THERE?!” “That’s technically a bay.” “I’M NOT STUPID!”

“Classic villain lair!” I can appreciate a man who knows what he’s about

Why do villains alway jump INSTANTLY to the world? You gotta take baby steps. Start with a city, then a state, then the tri-state area a country, THEN the world. Gotta pace yourself

“And Uncle Scrooge only gives us like a nickel each week.” Do they do chores to earn that allowance? I mean, probably. Do Donald and Della have to do chores as well? Give them at least a dime, Scrooge!

MORE SEXY LAUNCHPAD! DAMN YOU, YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN!

“Waaaaiiiit a minute, is that my suit?!” “It suits me better.” DAMN STRAIGHT IT DOES! LP fills the jacket out

I like Steelbeak adding on his fingers

“Your fancy speak won’t work on me, Dummy-O-Duck. Ha-ha, classic.”

“That was totally my plan the whole time” Sweetie, just...no

“I guess you’re not as smart as *voice crack* ME.” “Not as smart as I.” NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR CORRECTING GRAMMAR!

THEY’RE BACK! AND THE THEME SONG! SO BEAUTIFUL!

Again, I thought Steelbeak’s beak was coming off

I like that Steelbeak went into pray position while being shocked

I’m gonna pretend the Rangers were off on their own adventure the whole time’

“Thanks for the...rescue.” AND GADGET SALUTES BACK AND WINKS! BEAUTIFUL!

“No person could survive being that stupid”

Launchpad, always willing to take one for the team

“There’s so much more I could accomplish! Stop the evil conspiracy out to get us! Solve world hunger! Land a plane!” No matter how smart he is, Launchpad still can’t stick the landing

“Launchpad, why are you overthinking this?” “Because I want to be good enough for you!” SOB

“Of course you’re good enough for me. You’re my best friend.” SOOOOOOOOOOB

“For Dewey, and Duckburg.” He put Dewey first, daaaaawwwww

HIM CATCHING DEWEY AND HOLDING HIM TIGHT TO HIS CHEST?! SO WHOLESOME!!

First thing LP does after things go back to normal? Fix his hair. Hair is very important to your state of mind, I guess

“Was it all a game?” Life is just a game

“Wait until I tell Huey I...YOU beat the game.” AAAAWWWWWW

“I’m not playing with anyone but you.” MY HEART!!!!

Scrooge is so broken. And the ticket to prize ratio, too true

“How much money did you spend to get those tickets?” Don’t play skee ball, kids. It will ruin your life

“I don’t think we should bring you here anymore.” Donald should probably be the one picking you up because Della would TOTALLY get hooked on a game/get too aggressive and I could see Beakley falling into the same trap

The comb just sticks there

The subtitles call him Suave-Pad, I LOVE IT!

“I like purple. A lot. Ha! Man, I’m glad I got that off my chest.” A DW reference or a CODEWORD?

“WARM THEM, YOU OLD FOOL! WAAAAARN THEEEEEM! Oh, dash it all, I’m going for a soak.”

“Restoring your ‘intelligence’ as it were.” BURN

She’s on a first-name basis with him...interesting

“OR ANY KINDS OF RAYS!” No mad sciencing here

“Who’s stupid now?” Gloating is very unbecoming

There are...certain people I wish I could force to shut up like that

His muffled screaming is great

Again, Rubix cube solving proves intelligence

How did he not notice it was wet when he picked it up?

I NEED THE SONG IN FULL SOMEWHERE TO DOWNLOAD

This one was super fun and emotional. I was not expecting this to be the episode that the Rescue Rangers would make their debut in but I’m glad they were here. Dewey and Launchpad’s friendship is so pure and adorable. I almost wish there hadn’t been a b-plot but it was fun. I know other people are upset over Steelbeak/the Rescue Rangers being different but I like them. This show is different from those shows. Steelbeak was repurposed into being Launchpad’s nemesis so he needed to match him. Plus we already have a bunch of smarties in FOWL. And this Steelbeak seems younger and less experienced so it would make sense that he’s not as clever. The Rangers didn’t really change that much from their show, just got a new origin that helps them fit into the world that has already been set up. I think this episode is going in the top 5.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Kit went to Betrayal

And first off, let me say Thank You. To every single one of you who reached out, shared my desperate pleas for assistance, contributed to the funds or cheered me on. I legit couldn’t have done this without every single one of you. And you all have made this a truly one of a kind birthday. Thank you to @nuggsmum, @winterisakiller, @nonsensicalobsessions, @alexakeyloveloki, @theluckykittencalvin just to name a few. Seriously, thank you everyone! 

Below the cut is more birthday ramblings from the Atlanta GA airport since my 3 hour layover just turned into a 4.5 hour layover. But I found food and power so all is good. 

There was some sadness- I didn’t spend it with my daughter this year or my husband. But I did get to spend it with the awesome @winterisakiller, talking shop and clutching coffee. I got to meet the ever lovely @nonsensicalobsessions and tease her in person with all that she doesn’t know about Winter’s upcoming Glass Slipper series and about Dust. The look on her face when I forgot that *everyone* dies in the beginning of Dust and so I offered as a hint for the ending- “Someone dies” was truly priceless. I *though* I was giving a hint but yeah- yeah, you’re right- that’s not news. 

First off. I flew into Newark, NJ because like- it’s SO MUCH CHEAPER to fly into that airport and hotels are cheaper. It was a redeye flight and I only slept a few hours. Oh- and I hadn’t eaten since 10am that day. Great planning, right? I planned everything. What I didn’t count on was a 3 hour paralysis leaving the airport thanks to Anxiety. Fuck you, anxiety and fuck you NJTransit. 

After 3 hours I finally found a customer assistance phone number to figure out how many ‘zones’ to buy bus fare for. In the 3 hours I DID manage to find the bus stop, find what route I needed and even download the app! But the zones? HA! Fuck YOU NJTransit. Your FAQ and bus info sheets should REALLY not assume people know what the fuck a “zone is”

So! I get on the bus- 3 hours and one egg roll later. Google maps in hand (I’ve sold my soul and data to goggle, now PLEASE don’t get me lost). I watch and there are something like 30!! STOPS!! Before mine? The fuck?! 

So my stop comes up and I press the stop request button. And nothing happens. Bye stop, it was nice seeing you. 3 stops later I find a part of the strip that works and my 7 minute walk to the hotel became a 14 minute walk. 

And the 14 minute walk became a 20 minute walk because even with google maps *this bitch* got lost. Fuck you google, I trusted you. 

I check in and it’s cold in the room. but the heater says it’s 75 in there? Fuck whatever, I jacked that shit up to 90 and stood there. Kit’s from Alaska. Kit still gets bitchy when cold and it was something like 33f out. At least I had my arctic coat from AK. But this bitch didn’t have a hat or gloves. 

Anyway, I thaw and look around the room. Overall, can’t complain. It was dated as fuck, the tile was old, cracked and poorly laid and the floor was so uneven that it was a tripping hazard. I can say that because... I tripped. Oh- and it had a like 1980′s porno jetted tub in it. No joke. It was shaped like a heart. 

I loved that tub. I wrote in that tub. I watched Endgame (again) in that tub. 

So! I walked to McDonald’s, getting lost once on the way and basically go back to the hotel to become a boiled potato in the jetted tub. It was red, I didn’t have to worry about my hair staining it. 

Morning comes and my 6am alarm comes... and goes. Oops. Slept through hotel breakfast and woke up at 9. I proceeded to spend all morning agonizing over the NJTransit system and ZONES (seriously- fuck zones) and eventually after soothing my vanity and getting dolled up, made my way to the bus stop. 

I’ll have you know, I did NOT get lost. 

$7 in bus fare later and I was on a bus to NYC. For like 3 minutes. Because the driver hit something (someone?) and we all had to get off. And so I stood with the people who looked like they knew what the fuck was going on. Do I get on another bus? Do they send another bus? Do I have to pay again? FUCK IF I KNEW. And poor winter is getting like, live updates of this. Because if I get killed in NJ I wanted someone to know, I guess? lol ANYWAY! The driver yells at the dude, The dude yells at the driver. She yells more. He leaves. She tells us to get back on the bus. And so we did. That was a thing. 

Speaking of- why is everyone always honking? And I’ve never been almost hit by so many cars? And everyone acts like the cross walks, street lights and walk signs are all optional? And EVERYONE is honking?! And when they are not honking, they are yelling. Why y’all so angry? 

Biiiig city is big. Want to watch Kit shut down fast? Pretty much anyone walking by the port authority bus terminal at like 1pm got to see Kit walk out the doors, look around and find the closest wall to fight panic off at. Because IT’S BIG. AND TALL. AND PEOPLE ARE EVERYWHERE. I HAVE CROWD ANXIETY. 

So I stood there. In the cold. For 15 minutes then said FUCK IT and pulled up Google map’s and to the theater I went. And I found it! Without getting lost. Next up was more McDonald's since I again hadn’t eaten in for fucking ever. Notice something I’m good at? It’s forgetting I’m not a plant and this have to actually eat. But at least in NYC no one is trying to hit me. I haven’t been in a walking city since Anchorage, AK and it was nice to have walkers rule the world. 

Charged up my phone and went walking. Got coffee. Walked more. Met up with Winter. Got more coffee. Talked writing. Met up with Nonsensical. And into the theater we went at 6:30. 

Remember how I said 2nd row? Yeah no, seats 1-100 on the seating map didn’t actually exist in reality. Front fucking row, center stage. At times, when men were sitting right in front of me, I had to remind myself what parts of them was socially acceptable to stare at. 

The play was amazing. And powerful. And funny. And there really isn’t anything I can say that hasn’t been said before. 

After the play, we chilled waiting for stage door for 90 minutes. Legit, chilled- it was cold and trying to rain and the three of us got separated. But I got a taste of the star life when I ran into @led-lite who recognized me from here! (Whaaat?!) Check out her art- it’s fucking amazing. And while they didn’t end up doing stage door, it was so cool to just hang out and chat for a good while. Thanks for being a part of my Birthday!

We went back to Winter’s hotel so I could charge my phone up and hang out for a bit. I finally got the pillow case she got for me in London! It’s so cute! It has foxes- I can’t WAIT to show some of my gaming buddies who will just GROAN because I don’t need more fox shit. But it’s going to live in the living room with all my other foxes. And Nonsensical gave me candy canes. She doesn’t know this but candy canes are one of my favorite candies!!

And back to the hotel I went. I didn’t get lost and was only mildly anxious finding my way back to the bus terminal and with the help of a lovely random local that pegged me as a visitor in record time (legit- I didn’t even have TIME to try and figure it out myself!), I figured out what gate my bus was going to load at. It oddly enough works much like airports! Only without the security. Who would have thought?

I didn’t miss my stop but the bus had standing room only. I think I pulled something in my leg because like, I was holding on for dear life as it whipped me around. Everyone else acted like it was normal though so I braved it and tried so very hard not to be thrown into another person. I didn’t miss my stop this time! And I didn’t get lost! Look at me, adjusting!

I passed the fuck out. So hard. I got up at 6, said fuck it, got up at 9 and packed and to the bus stop for the airport I went. 

Look at me using local public transport like a boss. And at the airport I discovered that in NJ if you don’t eat before going to the airport and you’re not ready to drop $15-20 on food- they would like you to kindly fuck off and starve. At least once you’ve gone through security. 

Annnnd now we’re here. And I’m in Atlanta. And my flight just got delayed. But at least fucking ATLANTA HAS FAST FOOD. 

All in all, it’s been a amazing trip. I had a blast and I wish I Had more time. But it was perfect because I got a taste and someday, when I come back (because I totally want to come back) I’ll be much better prepared since it won’t all be new. 

also. FUCK NJTRANSIT.

[porchwood]

Fic Bits 2018: The One That Got Away

Modern AU; Madge POV. Jude/Madge, Gale/Madge. 

They say you can never go home again, and yet here I am, packing to do just that.

The second autumn after you graduate from college is when the niggling feeling starts, like you left town without returning your library books or forgot to put the new insurance card in your glove compartment. When the first one comes around, you’re elated that you don’t have to think – let alone worry – about registering for classes, mapping your daily routes across campus, or buying school supplies of any kind, but by the second you’re starting to feel like something’s wrong. It’s easy to understand why so many people fall into teaching. Your body gets set on that routine, so that going back to school in fall is as instinctual to humans as seasonal migrations are to birds.

Ironically, it was the school year that determined this move – or rather, the school year that necessitated it, though the fall semester is already several weeks underway. Beginning in January, Dad will be teaching again for the first time since I was in elementary school – and, doubt it not, loving every minute of it.

At twenty-three my life could and probably should be independent of my parents’, but no matter which way I turned the situation around in my mind, there was no truly good reason not to move back with them. As badly as I don’t want to go back to the small town where I grew up, there’s nothing substantial enough to keep me here if my parents are gone.

We’ve always been thick as thieves and, oddly, moreso since moving to the capital city. The fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue that kept my mother to a quiet routine in our hometown made her a veritable recluse amidst the constant bustle of squealing brakes and blaring horns, and everything was so blindingly expensive, we rarely partook of the concerts and boutiques and exotic restaurants that had sounded so exciting from our living room back home.

Moving here as a family had been the result of two somewhat predictable stars aligning perfectly: after twelve years as mayor, Dad was elected to the state legislature and I was accepted into the music program at a small private college, a short bus ride from the capitol building. My parents rented a spacious loft halfway in-between the two, which enabled me to keep tabs on my mother while enjoying the independence of living off-campus all through school, while our place back home was loaned out to visiting professors and the like – short-term rentals to keep the utilities running and keep an eye out for any maintenance issues that might arise. I’m told I missed out on the “full college experience” by not living in a dorm, but from all accounts, it’s a party I’m glad to have skipped.

For all intents and purposes, home has been 37 Ash Terrace for the past five years. Four-and-a-half hours isn’t the longest drive, but there was always one reason or another to stay here through the holidays – which is not to say we’ve never gone back, of course. Our family revisits can be counted on two hands, but I’ve made a few extra trips on my own for special occasions, the last of which – the baptism of Katniss’s son Janni – was more than two years ago now.

I look up at my bulletin board, now stripped of everything but the central photo, and have just tugged out the tack when my phone rings. It’s a local cell number – local to our hometown, not to here – but doesn’t pull up a contact, and I cross the first two fingers of my free hand, hoping one of my cover letters has snared an interview as I answer, “Hello?”

“Is this Madeline Undersee?” asks a young male voice.

That was one of the best things about moving away, and one that I’m particularly loath to leave behind: finally getting to be Madeline, not Madge. That a young professional back home is addressing me as such, however, gives me hope.

“It is,” I affirm, and there’s a brief, quickly stifled sound from the other end before the caller goes on, “I was wondering if you might be available to play a wedding in November.”

The pieces snap together in my mind. It’s probably a local boy who went to college in the capitol like myself – it’s a common enough path – and found himself a fiancée, though it is a trifle odd for the groom to call ‘round for an accompanist.

“I’m sorry; I’m actually moving out of the area this weekend,” I reply, “but I can refer you to several other musicians who would be excellent choices.”

“I’m afraid it really has to be you,” he says with what sounds far more like mischief than regret. “What about a wedding in your hometown? Would that be a little easier to manage?”

“In –?” I break off, mind whipping through the possibilities. It’s hardly a secret that the Undersees are moving back after five years in the big city, but we’ve kept radio silence on my own return except where potential employers are concerned, so there’s no way some random local groom could even know about me, let alone want to hire me for his wedding. “Who is this?” I demand more than ask, a shy fifteen-year-old bookworm all over again, bristling in anticipation of the prank.

“You really don't know?” the young man responds, sounding genuinely surprised, and for a half-second my heart skips in hope, never mind that his voice bears no resemblance whatsoever to Gale’s rough, smoky timbre. “I’m wounded, mädchen,” he laments, and my heart trips halfway through its skip and somersaults clumsily forward to faceplant onto the concrete below.  

“Jude?” I squeak.

“You haven’t forgotten me entirely, then?” he teases.

“Don’t be daft,” I retort, my stunned heart now flailing in shock. “So…you’re getting married?” I almost ask if it’s Columbine but that crush is surely ancient history now, never mind that last I heard, she was headed to some fashion design or modeling program out east.

“Don’t be daft,” he throws back with characteristic self-deprecation, but the affection beneath it wraps about me like a blanket – or one of Jude’s incredible lingering hugs. “But I do need a wedding accompanist,” he goes on, “which as I said, really has to be you, but I want to tell you about it in person. When are you back?”

“Well – tomorrow,” I reply, and the whole thing suddenly feels surreal. “Well, the day after, really,” I clarify. “Tomorrow’s the drive up and the U-Haul unload. Mom and Dad hired movers but you still want to go through everything, you know?”

“Of course,” he assures me. “Want to meet at Primavera for Saturday lunch – say, 11:30? My treat.”

“Primavera?” I puzzle. There’s never been an Italian restaurant in our hometown – it’s too small and rural to sustain any such – but the nearby city has a few shopping malls and a much wider selection of eateries; it makes sense that Jude would want to go to one of them. “What – where is that?” I ask.

He gives a little choke of laughter in reply. “Have you really been away so long, mädchen?” he wonders, but something about my ignorance seems to amuse – even delight – him. “It’s Italian – awesome Italian – right next to Mellarks’.”

“There’s nothing next to Mellarks’,” I counter, because our tiny historic downtown has never been able to keep shops for long, not with countless department stores and discount stores not twenty miles off. “Unless…are we having a sidewalk picnic, Judah?” I venture, almost hopefully, and he laughs.

“If the first date goes well, we can do whatever you want on the second,” he replies, and I miss him so much that I snatch up a pillow with my free hand and hug it to my chest as hard as I can. “But I promise: there is a legit Italian restaurant next to Mellarks’,” he says. “I’m going to buy you lunch there on Saturday, and you’re going to love it so much that you’ll refuse to live out of takeout range ever again.”

“Color me intrigued,” I tease. “As much about your mysterious wedding as this new eatery.”

“They’re both worth the wait,” he promises, and I can hear the grin in his voice.

“I missed you,” I blurt and Jude falls suddenly, uncharacteristically silent. There are any number of well-deserved retorts he could hand me, ranging from You didn’t have to to I didn’t go anywhere, but Jude is the sweetest boy I’ve ever known – on a level with Peeta, really – and even in our most frustrated moments, he never addressed me half as harshly as Gale would on a good day.

I think I hurt him a long time ago, though he’s never said as much.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, and the corners of my eyes prickle hotly.

I don’t want to go home – you can never go home again, everyone says as much – don’t want to explain why I have a music degree from a respectable college and am looking for any old day job in my hometown and living with my parents. I don’t want to see Gale Hawthorne – never mind how wildly I do want to see him – to face all the inevitable jibes about how I “couldn’t make it in the real world.”

But if Jude – sweet, funny, precious Jude – is coming back into my life, it just might be bearable. He’ll have a job and new friends now – a girlfriend, to be sure – and he may not even live in town any longer. But we can grab lunches together here and there and laugh about stuff that happened in high school. Maybe we’ll find new things to laugh about.

“See you Saturday?” I say.

“I’ll be the one with the red ribbon,” he replies.

As always, I’m the one who hangs up.

Jude always let me end our calls, always hanging on in case of one last thought or lament, one more drawn-out Night-night or See you tomorrow.

Looking down at the phone in my hand, I remember the incredibly idiotic reason Jude isn’t saved as a contact anymore and sit on my stripped mattress, both arms curled around the pillow and my chin resting on its edge. It was stupid and childish – and ultimately pointless, because he didn’t try to get in touch at all after that. Oh, he did the usual friendly Facebook stuff – comments on my posts and the like – because Jude is that kind of sweet, but he’d never do anything to make me uncomfortable.

And also, maybe, he was hurt.

It’s not as if I shut him out – there were no calls or texts or emails to ignore – and you could hardly call my across-the-state move for college “avoidance,” but it certainly aided me to that end, especially five summers ago.

I bite my lips together for a long moment, silently call myself an idiot, and save the number as a new contact: Judah Tolliver. Neat, professional, and objective, like a grown-up. After all, if he’s hiring me for a wedding we’ll be exchanging calls and texts over the next few months; there’s no reason not to add him to my phone.

Returning to my call history, I dial Rue, the high school friend I’ve stayed closest to by virtue of us attending the same college. Our courses of study and career veered apart over the past few years as Rue set aside music to pursue dance full-bore and is currently spending her days with a traveling company that does famous ballets in a pared-down, intimate contemporary style, with dreamlike costumes that I suspect her father has a hand in, but we’ve stubbornly kept in touch all this while, meeting for a meal and a chat whenever her schedule allows.

She’s halfway across the country dancing Swanilda in Coppélia this season, so our farewell supper took place about two weeks ago. I don’t expect her to answer and am beyond surprised when she does.

“Hey chickie-babe!” she cries. “Are you home? I’ve only got a minute but I want to hear all about it. How did your house hold up?”

“We haven’t left yet,” I tell her. “We’re loading the U-Haul tonight and driving back tomorrow.”

“So where’s the fire?” she teases. “Don’t get me wrong, I love you to bits, but why call now? Are you getting sad about leaving – or going back?”

Rue understands my misgivings, even if she doesn’t share them. After I told my parents I’d move back with them, I curled up on Rue’s couch and cried myself into a stupor while she nestled her tiny fairy-form around me in a supportive hug. Going home is not failure, she told me over and over again, her husky voice sounding so like her mother’s as she rubbed my back in soothing circles. You and your parents have always supported each other; it makes sense you’d go back with them, at least for a little – and it’s not forever, not if you don’t want it to be.

Rue’s parents – a costumer and a choreographer – left the capitol when they started having kids and heartily embraced small town life in the heartland, but they both had vibrant careers behind them and were ready for quiet inexpensive living, for Piggly Wiggly and the county fair and a fixer-upper farmhouse, and they quickly found avenues to exercise their talents on a smaller scale.

I’m a year and a half out of college with eleven wedding gigs, five funerals, and a teaching slot at the local conservatory to show for twenty years at the piano and a B.A. with high distinction.

“Jude just called,” I reply by way of explanation. “He wants to hire me for a wedding –”

“His?” she interjects impishly.

“No,” I quell, “but he wouldn’t tell me who it is over the phone either. We’re meeting for lunch on Saturday to discuss it.”

“Meeting for lunch to discuss a mysterious wedding right after you move back to town?” she presses slyly. “Maybe it’s yours!”

Rue knows there’s nothing of that sort between Jude and me and never has been, but she’s equally convinced that there must be, or should’ve been. He adores you, you know, she’s told me time and again. Like, Peeta-and-Katniss level devotion. Couldn’t you just kiss him once and see what happens?

“Be serious,” I snort.

“I am,” she insists. “I never understood why the pair of you never got together, or why you fell out of touch after graduation. Jude was crazy about you –”

“He was like that with everyone,” I counter. “The sweet, funny thing – that’s just his natural demeanor.”

“And did he ask everyone to marry him if their respective crushes married other people?” she wonders.

“He said we should go on a date, not get married,” I remind her, the edge of a snap creeping into my voice. “It was a low moment and a long time ago. We were both feeling angsty.”

I don’t mention the other thing, the thing I’ve never told anyone – not even myself when I can help it.

“Well…maybe it’s time, sweetie,” she posits quietly. “Maybe Columbine finally found a husband and Jude wants to give the pair of you a chance.”

“I really don’t think that’s it,” I tell her, oddly wearied by the subject, but judging by the increasing volume of background noise, Rue’s about to be pulled away anyway.

“Sorry, I have to go,” she admits at the selfsame moment. “I’ll be back in a few weeks myself, but call me ASAP after your lunch with Jude, okay?”

“You got it,” I promise, and we hang up. I set the phone on my mattress, next to the photo of Gale Hawthorne from the state hockey finals seven years ago, and sigh.

I haven’t seen him since the reception after Ashpet’s baptism, and it wasn’t the most auspicious encounter.

I’d never struck a man before – or since – and certainly never in a church basement.

“Magpie?”

My father pokes his head through the open doorway. “Movers just got here,” he says. “Is your room ready to go?”

I tuck the picture of Gale inside my battered paperback of Jane Eyre, just behind the Candygram with the red ribbon threaded across the top and tied in a perfect, pressed, bow. “This is it,” I affirm, and slip the book into my purse before following my father downstairs.

As a tween I was enamored of the 1995 remake of Sabrina and resolved to head off to school with a photo of Gale – obligingly supplied by Jude, who worked on the yearbook – to pin on my bulletin board and systematically cover with playbills, flyers, ticket stubs, and the like. But I could never quite bring myself to obscure him completely, and when I went to London for my semester abroad I brought him there too, to try and forget in a foreign land.

The book is a Gale token too, also obtained for me by Jude.

I finagled to take Senior Lit in spring of my junior year in order to free up an elective senior year and as a result took the class with Jude. The first book on the slate was Jane Eyre – which I loved, somewhat to my surprise – and in true high school fashion, each copy had a log card inside the cover for the present user to write their name on, beneath the names of the book’s previous readers. Of course, neither Jude nor I got Gale’s but we knew someone had it, and at Jude’s graduation party �� months after all the books had been checked back in – he stole me away to his room to press the prized copy into my hands.

I think you were looking for this, he said as I opened the cover, frantically scanned the names inscribed therein and threw my arms around him with a shriek.

But Jude, I realized, pulling back with a start, you swiped this; what if they won’t let you graduate-?

I just did, he reminded me gleefully, and the diploma is signed, sealed, and securely secreted in Mom’s wall safe as we speak. Anyway, it wasn’t my copy, so even if they do notice it’s missing, it’s not me they’d come after.

I looked back at the last name on the card – Annie Cresta – and shook my head at him. If she gets in trouble for this, I warned.

She won’t, he promised. They don’t care that much about one of twenty-three beat-up paperbacks, and it means a whole lot more to you than to the school.

I hugged him again, fiercely this time, and he curled his arms around me with a little sigh. I’m so glad you like your present, mädchen, he murmured. I know it’s not you graduating, but I wanted to beat the rush.

I spent most of Senior Lit associating Gale with Mr. Rochester, to Jude’s clear chagrin, which was curious as he didn’t seem to like the character any more than he did my sullen, dark-haired crush. I’ll grant you similarities, he agreed, but can you imagine Gale delivering that beautiful string speech in any universe?

We took our Jane Eyre final on Valentine’s Day, and in the class directly following I received an anonymous Candygram with a strawberry lollipop affixed, a red ribbon painstaking woven through neat holes punched across the top and tied in a small bow, and the handwritten message:

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you – especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land some broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.”

I wished so badly for it to be from Gale – never mind he wasn’t even in school anymore, let alone inclined to quote Charlotte Brontë – or maybe that I had some other mysterious tall-dark-and-handsome admirer, but I knew exactly who it was from and let my head fall against his shoulder as we sat next to each other in the choir room, his literary Valentine cupped in my hands.

Jude’s breath caught a little at the gesture, then leveled out in a long slow sigh.

Thanks, Jude, I whispered.

We both knew it wasn’t a real love note but I treasured it as one just the same, pressed between the pages of my student planner until finding a worthier setting inside Gale’s copy of Jane Eyre. The book and Candygram went everywhere with me – every summer camp and weekend trip during my senior year and in college, on every choir tour, every visit back home, all across Europe on my backpacking trip with Rue and then on to my bedside table in England. If I couldn’t lay hands on it at a moment’s notice I’m not sure I’d be able to breathe.

The movers are quiet and efficient and the truck is loaded in a fraction of the time we anticipated, prompting Dad and me to hash out the pros and cons of setting out tonight instead, but there are plenty of last-minute little things to wrap up and we’d all prefer to make the drive on a good night’s sleep – which unfortunately, is not to be had for me. Dad booked us a hotel room in the suburbs for convenience, so we could check out of the loft as soon as the truck was loaded and leave in the morning without having to wait for one last walk-through with the landlord, but while he and Mom drift off quickly in their queen bed, I frown up at the ceiling from the sofa sleeper, contemplating Jude and Jane Eyre.

The capitol is a long way off, mädchen…

My junior year – Jude’s senior year – was like high school is in the movies: a charmed, wonderful dream that feels like it’ll never end. In October Peeta finally plucked up the nerve to ask Katniss out, and their relationship brought both her and I – and to a lesser extent, Rue – firmly into the Mellark circle. Jude and I had been friendly before that, but he’s both cousin and close friend to the Mellark brothers, and as a result he and I were thrown together almost constantly at meals, school events, even youth group outings. We jokingly called these “triple dates” or “quad dates” sometimes, since the rest of our group consisted of fast-and-firm couples – Peeta and Katniss, Luka and Johanna, and often Finnick and Annie as well – but no one ever seemed to take the idea of Jude and me as a couple seriously.

We were madrigal seat partners that December, which necessitated all kinds of marriage banter throughout the dinners, then after Christmas came Senior Lit and Jane Eyre and auditions for school’s production of Fiddler on the Roof. Determined not to miss out on a role when my best friends were undeniable shoo-ins, I dyed my hair a deep chestnut-brown the night before my tryout – solidly shocking everyone in my acquaintance, but it served its purpose when I was cast as Tzeitel. I’d had my hopes set on playing any one of the sisters and forgot until the read-through that I was playing the one whose wedding is a major showpiece of the play – and that I would be marrying Jude, made even more endearing in little round glasses.

I’d never had so much fun, before or since.

I left most of my high school mementos at home when we moved to the capitol but the Fiddler album has stayed with me, and from time to time I page through the photos, the notes that came with flowers from my parents and teachers, the programs that we all signed – and the subsequent ridiculous everyday notes from Jude addressed to “Wifey” and “Mrs. Kamzoil.”

Prom came around in April and our school required everyone to attend in pairs, so it was effectively decided over youth group pizza after a highway trash cleanup that I would be going with Jude. I’d nourished a pipe dream that Gale might magically materialize and ask me to go with him – you could attend with someone who had graduated and it happened now and again, with college freshmen coming back to escort their girlfriends – but when he actually did appear at the dance it was with Leevy, his flavor-of-the-month girlfriend, if the rumors were to be believed.

I still had my brown hair at prom-time, which Jude lamented to no end while alternately telling me that I was “gorgeous just the same” and making me laugh at the silliest things. The dance was a blast for the first two hours, and then Katniss and Peeta quietly revealed to our group that they were engaged, with plans to marry the following spring after graduation.

Their courtship had been rapid and intense – emotionally, not physically – and no one was surprised that marriage was forthcoming, but the timetable was shocking to say the least. None of us believed that Katniss was pregnant or anything of the sort but they were both barely seventeen, and neither had any interest in going on to college. Peeta had a career waiting at the bakery he loved and Katniss was supremely adaptable to almost any kind of work – and neither was closing the door on trade schools or vocational degrees, if a good fit should present itself. They had decided – rather practically – to spend their senior year planning the wedding and finding a home rather than fretting over the ACT and college applications, and they would get married at the end of May, before the weather got too hot and everyone headed off to college.

It was a preposterous and entirely sound plan.

Peeta and Katniss skipped the school-sponsored after-prom party, unsurprisingly, while the rest of us splintered off into contemplative pairs. Finnick and Annie and Luka and Johanna both seemed as good as engaged to me, but the announcement had rattled them as well, and Jude and I wound up watching the smarmy stage hypnotist by ourselves in a subdued sort of silence.

It wasn’t that either of us was unhappy at the news, exactly. While I considered Katniss my best friend, we had never been chatty in typical girlfriend-fashion, and yet her impending marriage struck my stomach like an icy stone. You’ll be going to college anyway, I reminded myself, and you’ll stay in touch, but none of this served to soothe.

Jude absently wrapped his tux jacket around my shoulders and then his arm, resting his cheek on the top of my head. He’d barely spoken since the engagement reveal and I couldn’t begin to guess what his uncharacteristic silence meant.

It sounds really nice, he said suddenly, softly. Staying right here, getting married, coming home to a wife and babies.

I wanted to retort something dry and mildly caustic but couldn’t find the words for any reply at all because it was nice, this future Peeta and Katniss were setting up for themselves. I wanted to continue with music as long as I could; to study abroad, to live in the capitol and maybe other cities in due course,, but that wasn’t the future either Katniss or Peeta wanted, and why should they force themselves through the college mold, going eyes-deep in debt for degrees they had no interest in and possibly jeopardizing their relationship with the distance and other, inevitable, obstacles when the future they both craved was easily within their grasp?

Madeline, Jude continued in that same soft tone – I was always Madeline or, affectionately, mädchen to him – if Columbine and Gale marry other people, will you go on a date with me?

Almost as long as Jude and I have been friends, we’ve been aware of each other’s hopeless longing for an oblivious sweetheart and openly commiserated about it, with no fear – or even thought – of annoying each other or hurting feelings. Butcher’s son Jude was in love with Columbine Wilhearn, all black curls and lovely voice, whose mother was a small-scale – if highly in-demand – clothing designer and I was in love with broody, breathtaking Gale, whose mother managed the local laundromat and who despised my very existence because, as the mayor’s daughter, I had surely been born to privilege – never mind that my father had been a music teacher before his election and that as mayor he served a rural town of some 8000 people and dealt with weighty matters like dog waste ordinances and ribbon cuttings for tiny antique shops.

We’d both made periodic, futile attempts to elicit our respective crush’s attentions, but somehow for the course of that year – the year of madrigal seat partners and Jane Eyre and getting married on-stage in Fiddler – the longing had felt a little less pressing. Jude still ordered flowers for Columbine on opening night – she was playing the female lead, after all – but in other circumstances he would’ve done so for every performance, not just the first, and he brought me flowers too – a vaseful of red tulips from his mother’s garden to brighten my corner of the greenroom. And while I knew he’d asked Columbine to prom their junior year – and been turned down, of course – I don’t think he even tried the next time around, just cheerfully stepped up to escort me when the opportunity arose.

In fact, to the outside observer, Jude and I probably appeared to be dating for the past year.

The realization left me cross, embarrassed and oddly weary. Jude and I were just friends, everybody knew it, but could we have inadvertently sabotaged each other’s crushes by spending so much time together? Would Gale have emerged to ask me out if I hadn’t been so immersed in the Mellark circle this year – and in Jude’s company in particular?

We’re at prom, I reminded him, my tone shorter than he deserved. I’m wearing an evening gown and your tux jacket. How much more of a date do you want?

I want to pick you up at your house, he replied without hesitation, a brush of lips against my lilac-threaded crown braid. Just you and me and maybe your dad on the porch, to shake hands and talk about the weather and remind me to have you back by 10:00, and I’ll tell you how beautiful you look as I slide an orchid on your wrist. We’ll go to a fancy restaurant and trade bites of our entrees and steal a pepper shaker when we leave, just to see if we can get away with it. We’ll hold hands under the table and slow-dance like it means something, not just because we came together and it’s obligatory, and when I drop you at home, you might let me kiss you under the porchlight.

I pulled away to look up at him, at those gentle smoky eyes – gray like Gale’s and yet absolutely, utterly, nothing like Gale’s – and tried to decide whether to throttle him or burst into tears, because I knew he didn’t mean any of this the way it sounded but it was still the sweetest thing I’d ever heard – and remains so to this day. But I didn’t want Jude – I didn’t, I was sure of it – and he didn’t want me, he was just getting broody – in the hen fashion, not the Gale fashion – because of Peeta’s engagement and Columbine had remained stubbornly indifferent to him, even in a tux or stage makeup or a doublet and tights.

Please, can I go home? I whispered. I’ll call my parents so you don’t have to leave.

Don’t be daft, he said lightly, but his eyes were sad. There’s nothing left to stay here for anyway.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Columbine at the soda table laughing at something Gale had just said and was inclined to agree.

I didn’t go home, though Jude was more than willing to make the detour: I went to Rooba’s, because she had a spacious house and had invited our whole group to stay over after the after-prom party, to sleep till noon and enjoy a lazy brunch before going home. We were a remarkably well-behaved group of teens so it felt more like a church lock-in than anything else, except for the fact that I changed into my pajamas from an evening gown and slept in Lettie Wilhearn’s bedroom – sans Lettie, of course, Rooba having given her older kids the weekend off work and banished them to the lake cabin.

Jude didn’t say a word on the drive. When we got to his house he asked if I wanted anything to eat or drink, then obligingly disappeared after retrieving my overnight bag and directing me to the nearest bathroom.

I belatedly recalled that I was still wearing his tux jacket and intended to hang it on the back of Lettie’s desk chair when I turned in, but somehow I ended up taking it to bed with me as an additional makeshift cover, my nose burrowed in the comforting scent of his collar.

I dreamt about orchid corsages and hand-kisses and sneaking a pepper shaker into my purse and woke with sore, slightly puffy eyes, as though I’d cried myself to sleep. Lettie’s alarm clock read 11:18am in the blaring midday sun and in the papasan opposite me was Jude, curled up like a child with a pile of throw pillows under his tousled head. His eyes were open and contemplative and very carefully focused on the pillow adjacent to me.

Hey, I greeted him in a sleepy croak.

Hey, he replied softly, eyes flickering to mine. Do…do you hate me, mädchen?

I blinked rapidly, trying to think what he might have done to make me hate him or if he was just referring to the fact that we’d ended up sleeping in the same room, which didn’t bother me two pins. We’d fallen asleep on each other on the bus back from Knowledge Bowl tourneys and music competitions more times than I could count.

Why on earth would I hate you? I puzzled.

Because I…asked you out, he reminded me with a wince while still firmly maintaining eye contact, as though determined to stay strong for his sentencing.

At prom, I confirmed, a smile creeping irrepressibly across my mouth. It’s a bit like being in love with one’s own wife, Sir Percy. Demmed unfashionable.

The Scarlet Pimpernel was second on the Senior Lit slate and Jude had loved it just as much as I loved Jane Eyre.

Consequently, my remark won a grateful, crooked smile and I patted the bed beside me: an invitation Jude accepted without hesitation, stretching out his lanky frame with a groan and a breathless oof! as I flung my arms around his waist and pillowed my head on his chest.

I liked the smell and feel of Jude beneath my cheek. It felt like home – or going back there – and I think in that moment I finally realized those moments were numbered and swiftly counting down.

I’ve never been asked out before, you know, I reminded him. It was sweet; the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And anyway, you potentially asked me out, under a very specific set of circumstances.

True, he agreed, and that seemed to set everything to rights. Want go find some breakfast? he wondered, tracing my braid with a fingertip.

No, I replied firmly and nuzzled deeper into his t-shirt, hiding my face from the sun.

Me neither, he agreed, and curled his arms around me, hugging me snugly to him.

Jude had clearly passed a rougher night than me because he drifted off almost immediately and was still sleeping hard at 12:30, when the savory smells of Rooba’s thick-cut bacon and handmade sausages roused my belly and brain respectively. (I learned later that Luka and Johanna had commandeered Jude’s bed, not for anything sketchy, but that they were curled together and sound asleep by the time he finally made it there, hence being relegated to Lettie’s papasan – a fine place for reading and cat-naps but miserable for a night’s worth of sleep.) On my way to the bathroom I practically collided with Jenny, Jude’s fourteen-year-old sister, noshing on a bacon sandwich and voracious for gossip.

So are you and Jude together now? she demanded with all the cheerful frankness of their mother. I saw you cuddling in Lettie’s bed.

I had always adored Jenny Tolliver more than I would ever let on. She and Jude were the only full siblings among Rooba’s five children and the similarities were endearingly obvious, despite the fact that Jenny inherited their father’s stunning black hair where Jude was a tow-headed, gray-eyed hybrid.

That was snuggling, I corrected her. Small but crucial difference.

You should think about leveling up, she advised gravely. He adores you, you know, and I hear teenage weddings are coming back en vogue.

Go away, imp, I teased, unbothered by her implication. She’d wanted me and Jude to get together since our first season of Knowledge Bowl and stubbornly refused to acknowledge that we didn’t like each other that way. I need to find some coffee and then we can argue this further.

I’ll be waiting, she said gleefully, stepping aside to let me into the bathroom.

But Jenny and I never reconvened for that argument, because that afternoon was the start of the slow crumble of the perfect high school year. Not because of anything to do with Jude or prom or Katniss’s engagement: because of something I overheard on my way to the kitchen that ended up being far more significant than I could’ve imagined.

Rooba and Marek – the Mellarks’ bachelor uncle – were preparing all the cooked food for the sleepy teenage brunch binge but Peeta’s father had stopped by with an assortment of pastries from the bakery and was on his way out again, talking to Rooba on the back porch, when I passed by en route to the kitchen.

So they’re young, she was saying. They’re hard workers with good heads on their shoulders, and they both went through the wringer at a young age. They know how to provide for a family and will do whatever it takes to put food on the table. They’ll do fine – better than fine, if we help them out a bit.

Janek Mellark’s response to this wasn’t clear – something about waiting – and Rooba replied in a strange, edged tone: Would you wait if Alys was willing?

I moved away before I could hear his reply, if indeed he made one, and enthusiastically engaged burly, cheerful Marek in a debate as to which of his offerings – stuffed French toast, chocolate chip pancakes, or Belgian waffles – would be the best to start off with, but there was a hot thudding in my ears and my eyes couldn’t seem to focus.

Alys, of course, was Katniss’s mother Alyssum – my mother’s best friend and confidante from childhood to the present – and I knew through my mother that Alys and Janek Mellark had been high school sweethearts on the very cusp of getting engaged when she unexpectedly broke up with him to get together with Jack Everdeen. Janek married Raisa Brognar – Rooba’s younger sister – on the rebound and everyone had gone on to produce their respective children and find varying degrees of contentment in their lives, but by all accounts, the Mellarks had rarely if ever been happy together, and of course, Katniss’s father died six years ago, leaving Alys bereft and in a stupor of grief, not unlike my own mother when her twin sister died at sixteen.

According to my mother, Alys Everdeen and Janek Mellark had carefully avoided each other since their breakup in high school, but when Peeta and Katniss began dating, they were thrown together to a certain extent and forced to interact socially. Further, in an unguarded moment that winter, Janek had admitted to Alys that he was still in love with her – feelings, Alys confessed to my mother afterward, that she was troubled to find she returned.

Of course, I discussed this with no one but my mother, though many a time I’d ached to confide in Jude, since we were similarly on the fringes of this relationship – not directly involved but connected through our mothers and their own relationships with the couple in question.

Something about Rooba’s remark that morning after prom implied that things were changing or had done, maybe irrevocably, and when I asked my mother about it that afternoon she gave a long sigh and kissed my forehead as though I were still a little girl. Do you really want to know, petal? she wondered. It might be easier to be ignorant till it all comes out.

Of course, I wouldn’t be me if I hadn’t wanted to know, and that’s how I learned what happened after the newly engaged Peeta and Katniss left for prom. About the argument that ensued when Alys furiously confronted Janek about his son’s proposal – and what happened after the argument.

I suppose it shouldn’t have come as that great a shock, but when you hear about a classmate’s parents getting divorced, you don’t think about his father sleeping with another classmate’s mother – or getting her pregnant. But it was some months before all of that came out, months when I could almost forget the secret burning in the back of my mind as the perfect year wound down to its inevitable, poignant end.

[jellogram]

Did I ever tell you guys about the time I had a mental breakdown in a parking lot? Like I legit threw a temper tantrum and I know that sounds pathetic but hear me out:

My ex and I were trying to drive from San Diego to San Francisco to visit friends and there are two main freeways to go from SoCal to NorCal, the 5 and the 101. The 5 is the direct route through the no-man's land of central California and the 101 is the winding scenic route right along the coast. We planned to take the 5 and google maps said it would be about 7 hours.

So we are literally a street away from my house on our way there and we see that we've suddenly been rerouted to the 101, because the 5 was experiencing closures due to a blizzard in the mountains. It was now 8 hours according to maps, so we're like yeah sure whatever, the 101 is pretty anyway, we'll just eat the extra hour. Never mind the fact that that estimate makes no sense.

Here is where I should mention an important fact, which is that this story takes place on December 26th, 2019. So let's break this down: it is one day after the main holiday for which people drive across the state to visit family, there are only two roads to do this, and the better one is completely shut down. If you see a problem with this situation then you're smarter than we were.

So we get going and we end up blowing through LA in 90 minutes, which is completely unheard of, and we're like nice, making great time, we'll get there early. Maps is back down to 7 hours. It says the traffic on the 101 is getting worse, but it says it's only adding 30 minutes, so no biggie. Back on the road. This is where the 101 and the 5 fork off.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Immediately into traffic. Not your normal traffic, I'm talking you could hop out of the car, walk down the highway to the nearest gas station, use the rest room, walk back, and find your car in the exact same spot. Maps is still confidently declaring 7 hours, even though three more hours have gone by since it first declared this. We're in Oxnard now, which is a pretty empty farming town and it's just dirt and traffic-covered highway as far as the eye can see. Neither me nor my ex have commented on the situation. We both know we're fucked. We both know it's not gonna be seven hours but for some reason we're silent. Then finally, after two hours in Oxnard, I say "You know what? I don't want to be in Oxnard anymore." and my ex, who never, ever, snapped or lost his cool, abruptly goes "Man, FUCK Oxnard!" and for some reason we just lose our shit laughing about this. When you've been in traffic for five hours you start to go a little nuts. But this was just the beginning.

By the time we reach the next city over, night has fallen. Trucks are beginning to pull over to sleep on the side of the road, evidently having given up. People are starting to abandon their cars. We stop to go to Barnes and Noble, spend 45 minutes wandering around, and get back on the freeway around the same cars we've been following all day, because they didn't fucking move. It is now about 9pm and we're still maybe 4 hours of non-traffic driving to San Francisco. We're starting to realize we're not gonna make it. I pull out my phone and start trying to find a hotel. Everything is booked. Everyone in California is on this fucking freeway right now. I get all the way through the booking process on one place and then it cuts me off to tell me it's just filled up. FINALLY I book a hotel, which is not in a super nice place, and also several hours from us in current driving conditions, but thank god we got something.

We stopped for the bathroom in Carpinteria at an Albertson's. The line was an hour long. To use the bathroom at a grocery store. Everyone in line is talking about the traffic and where they're from and where they're going. People are talking about how this is the worst traffic they've ever seen. 11pm we're back on the road. By this point I'm really starting to crack. I put on a Simon and Garfunkel CD to calm me down and my ex drives off the 101 and we start winding through backroads, just to get out of the traffic. It's pitch black, we're in the middle of nowhere in one of those SoCal oak forests, it's after midnight, and we're still an hour from the hotel. We've been in traffic for eleven hours now. We're STILL a solid four hours from San Francisco. Twenty minutes from the hotel I make my ex pull over and let me out to look at the stars because I just can't take it, I just can't do even another twenty minutes. The thought of a motel bed waiting for me is all that it keeping me from exploding. I cried in the car. I was just done.

Finally we get to the motel. There's a huge line in the lobby and the desk lady is taking her time. It's a crappy Motel 6 in a bad part of town and it's 1am and I've been in traffic for 12 hours, I'm only halfway to where I wanted to be by now, I've barely eaten anything, and now I have to wait another half hour to check into my hotel room.

And then. AND THEN. This woman goes "Alright everyone, there's no more rooms. You're gonna have to go somewhere else." I think I've misunderstood. "But we have a reservation!" I protest. "Doesn't matter," she says, "The computer overbooks. There's no rooms." She doesn't apologize or offer an alternative. It's now 1:30AM, I'm in a bad part of town, I've been on the road for 12 hours, I've driven way out of my way to find the last hotel I could find that had rooms, and I've just been told that the reservation I made, the only thing holding me together, means nothing and there's no bed for me.

We walked outside, into the parking lot, and I just start bawling. Not quiet tears, I mean I threw a full on toddler temper tantrum. I was screaming and crying and my ex was like "dude shut up we're gonna figure it out" and he finds another hotel down the street that isn't booked because it's crazy expensive but at this point I would have sold a kidney just to fucking lay down. We get into the room and I start crying again, but this time tears of joy.

I didn't sleep because I was so worked up. We left at 9am and got to SF in like three hours. There was no traffic. I think we drove over 100mph all the way there.

There are two morals to this story:

Don't drive on the 101 if the 5 is closed

If you see a person throwing a temper tantrum in a parking lot, give them the benefit of the doubt because they may have just spent 12 hours in traffic

[cheollies]

Prince!Seungcheol

requested by anons: combined two because they were similar: prince/royalty au + falling for another royalty s/o

im just going to say it again

Those diamond edge photos where everyone just looks princely and it’s all heaven and some ouran host club type looking outfits

basically every girl in the entire city is saving themselves to be with him

he doesn’t wear the full out prince suit with tons of bedazzles on it all the time, instead he saves it for special occasions like formal meetings

but he also doesn’t go out dressed in sweatpants and jeans, oh no, he’s a prince, he prides himself on looking nice for his citizens

so he’s usually in a really nice suit, it’s made of the finest material and cost more than five businesses combined

is the oldest prince of all the thirteen neighboring kingdoms

so he’s most likely going to snag the crown before everyone else and everyone is just groaning because Seungcheol keeps saying that they’re all going to have to call him ‘King Seungcheol’ soon

his kingdom sits on the edge of the map but it borders three kingdoms: Jihoon’s, Joshua’s, and Jeonghan’s

therefore it’s not uncommon for him to randomly appear in Jihoon’s room at midnight reading a comic he picked up on the way by going through Joshua’s kingdom

Whenever he’s out and about, he walks confidently with the widest grin on his face as all the girls swoon over his handsome looks, and he does that thing where he winks at the women who then screech while covering their faces and his knights are literally rolling their eyes like ‘what a cocky prince’

Works very dutifully, does everything his father says and listens carefully, he doesn’t want to ruin his father’s reputation and damage the family name

but since his father is still king, Seungcheol’s left to study the map and all the economics and well he usually ends up dozing in class since he basically knows everything about the kingdom inside and out

gets bored, so he visits the other princes

and all the other kings and queen dote on him so much because he’s the oldest and they’re all pinching his cheeks like ‘oh i remember when you were just a baby, you went around getting everyone to call you king seungcheol’

because he’s the oldest, he gets a lot of pressure about being a ‘good and fair king’

is one of the princes that is most often in the group chat

Seungcheol: i’m bored

Jihoon: aren’t you supposed to be working

Seungcheol: my dad says i can’t touch anything

Jihoon: what a wonderful king you are

Sends snaps of himself awake at one in the morning eating at a fast food restaurant that’s only in Wonwoo’s kingdom whose kingdom is literally on the opposite side of the map

Doesn’t even visit Wonwoo, like he just went for the food

Sends a snap to Jihoon

‘SEUNGCHEOL ARE YOU STANDING OUTSIDE MY WINDOW! WTF’

Honestly has too much free time for a prince

met you when he was four years old, he met you with his big brown eyes looking over the crib, on his tippy toes to peek his head in because of curiosity

his eyes stare in amazement as you, a baby, wiggles around in the crib, obviously uncomfortable and your face crinkles into a frown, a cry almost slipping from your mouth when the most curious tiny finger sticks his hand into the crib

seungcheol pokes the softness of your cheek and your eyes open wide, tilting your head at the new face above you, a smile breaks out as you giggle, grasping his finger and letting out a wonderful chuckle

and Seungcheol looks at his mother who bend to the boy, whispering the words he’d keep in his heart for years

‘this is y/n, you’re going to marry her and she’s going to be your wife. Just like how your dad and I are.’

yes, he was arranged to marry you, the daughter of a tiny neighboring country next to Seungcheol’s

it was something that happened to cover disputes, your country was very small, a country that could have been easily taken over by seungcheol’s but instead, his parents used it as an opportunity for an arranged marriage

you stayed a lot at his castle, your whole life was practically spent inside the walls of the place

Ever since he met you, Seungcheol was smitten by the cuteness of your pretty braided hair, flower hair pins bouncing on your head as you jumped, a pretty dress dangling on your shoulders as you struggled to pick apples from the tree

he was the most protective over you, practically attached to your hip when you two were younger

always helping you with anything, climbing trees to reach the deliciously red apple you wanted and not even crying when he tumbled to the ground after grabbing it, he carried you over mud piles with a confident face even though you were heavy for his strength

and you, you loved the boy with dirt on his face after so stressfully trying to catch the rabbit you saw, he was your safe haven when the other princes crowded around, often clinging to the back of his shirt, when nightmares clouded your dreams you opened the door to his bed, wobbling as you used all your strength to climb into his bed where he continued to be sound asleep

and for years, you two stayed together in the castle, from childhood to awkard pre-teen phases, to adulthood

and honestly, with all the beautiful girls in the city practically falling at his feet, he still remains swooned at the way you throw your pizza at his face when he makes a wildly inappropriate remark

and honestly, as much as you hate the way he cockily knows he’s the most handsome person in the entire world, you can’t help your feelings that sway wildly when he’s pouting and asking you to help with the tie around his neck because a grown man who’s spent most of his adult life wearing suits, doesn’t know how to tie a necktie

he doesn’t do grand gestures, it’s a lot of work for him and he’s already tired from messing with the other princes and besides, Seungcheol always accidentally lets it out which ruins the surprise

so his grand gestures, the gestures that makes your heart go wild and a smile spread across his face, is when he buys pizza from Chan’s kingdom, whose kingdom borders Wonwoo so remember, it’s legit the opposite side of the map

and you know how he gets it so fast, he forces Chan over text and calls and reaching out to his parents, to go and order a pizza, bring it to his castle, and wait as Seungcheol takes a helicopter and climbs down to get the pizza and just goes home without anything else

That’s how Seungcheol gets pizza

and this isn’t just any pizza okay, it’s the best pizza you and cheol ever had, you two had this pizza when you guys were children and now it’s just become this couple food that you two have

by the time you were twenty, your room across from seungcheol’s had suddenly disappeared, all of your stuff was left lying around Seungcheol’s room, your clothes were suddenly smooshed in with Seungcheol’s and your toothbrush in his private bathroom

he teases you a lot

‘Remember when we were kids and you crawled into my bed because you dreamed Chan’s pizza place closed down’

‘s t o p’

‘you used to kiss me so much when we were kids, what happened?’

‘I will break off this marriage’

‘you were so cute back then when you would hide behind me because Jeonghan was here’

it didn’t occur to seungcheol that he’s never officially proposed to you until one night, you’re scrolling through your phone and he’s looking at you, your hair in a wild bun, a big t-shirt that almost dangles from off your shoulder, and all seungcheol says is

‘I can’t believe i’m marrying you’

and you turn because while seungcheol meant it lovingly, you took as he was teasing your appearance, so you stick out your tongue at him ‘who say’s i’m marrying you, i don’t have a ring on this finger’

‘Marry me then’ you look at him unamused but he steals your phone, gaining your attention, ‘marry me’

‘we’re already going to so give me my phone back’

Seungcheol tosses your phone aside, grabbing your hips and locking you down on the bed, ‘marry me, next week at this time.’

You’re looking at him in disbelief, ‘are you serious’

‘Let’s get married’

and it happens, one week later, with every detail of the wedding pulled out of everyone’s arse in one week to create the beautiful setting

and on that same day, the entire city joins the newlyweds as they are crowned king and queen

not two years later is it that you’re pushing and shoving the snoring Seungcheol next to you, a big kick jolts him up and he’s able to hear it

the shrill cry of the child and seungcheol sighs ‘this isn’t fair I had him last night’

‘you helped make him so you help clean him’

‘rock paper scissors?’

‘Seungcheol’

‘I’ll buy you all the pizza in Chan’s kingdom’

‘Seungcheol!’

‘fiiiine’

and so, with tired eyes of a king that worked hard during the day, he holds his son in his arms, lulling him back to sleep, and instead of setting the boy back in his crib, Seungcheol lays him next to you, sliding in the bed as the small child creates a barrier between the couple

seungcheol catches the tired smile upon your face as your hand reaches the stomach of your baby boy and he can’t help but still be swooned, because the smile may be from the lips of a grown woman, he still pictures the toothy grin of a little girl with beautiful braided hair and pretty flower pins

[originaldetectivesheep]

A Life of Riley Part 1 - The Problem With Grinckles ch 5

Chapter 4

V

"No," Wilson said, knotting the metal hooks at the end of the bungee cord together and twisting so that they would bind, "this is how you do it.  I will show you all how to do this right, and we will get the rest of the cameras up faster."  He pulled the sides of the cord loop, stretching it, then doubled it up to keep it from stretching too far, and turned it once in his hands to put a single twist in the double loop.  He kicked off his shoes and pulled away at his socks with his toes, then set the bungee cord around his feet as a makeshift harness, and grabbed for the tree.  

Sajitha snorted, like she would have rolled her eyes and gone "boys" if she had anyone who resembled an ally here to listen, but with just Remy doting on her even weirder than Wilson was, and me who she'd seen pulling these kinds of Tom Sawyer stunts for other chicks and other dudes, she wasn't in a position to really do anything but shrug and hand him the camera.  "Be careful," she said, a hard stressed edge to her voice, "and remember to wrap the duct tape around crosswise – the boss will kill me if any gets on the lens or the antenna."  Wilson was already halfway up to the branch that we'd picked out, seemingly having a harder time with the inconsistent bark and the need to move around side branches than if he'd been going up a palm back home, so it was anyone's guess if he was listening, but Remy nodded vigorously over Sajitha's shoulder, holding the camera in his hands up to his eyes like this was something he had to pay special attention to.  I had to do something, or these woke 21st-century university honor students would be bashing each other over the head with logs and lying about how many mammoths they'd killed in a second or two.

I pulled out my phone and knelt down by the monitoring console, still in Sajitha's bucket – that at least was a positive to having this stupid wannabe love triangle on the team, Wilson and Remy were so gung-ho about one-upping each other that I didn't have to carry any of the buckets any more – and gave it a poke.  "So we've got about half the cameras up now; it's gonna be a bit of a walk to get the last two in, and we're not going to have them up till after dark. And jeez, looking at the whole map now, everything's spread way the hell out.  Where are we going to have to post up with the console? Doesn't that have to be in the center?"  I looked up for a second to tip Sajitha that she should start giving some orders here, and then looked back down quick as the phone buzzed: there was a camera on line on top of us, a new pin in the map, and now Wilson was climbing gingerly back down the tree.

Sajitha waited till he got back over, slapping the tension out of his hands, to reply.  "No, the console's independent.  I want to leave that in the Facilities office at the sand depot, and then we can stay up in one of the lounges in the Maissel library up on campus and watch out for pictures.  Leo, budge over so I can work on it."  I stood up and took a step back as she squatted down, turning on the portable console: Remy did not step in over her shoulder, realizing it would be creepy, and Wilson rolled up for a better look, but stayed sat down, pulling his shoes and socks back on.

"The cameras are motion cameras, so they won't go off unless the sensor picks up something in the field of vision – you guys did set them up to cover as much of your potential crossings as possible, right?" She didn't wait for an answer, not quite trusting either of them to really make that determination.  "Whatever, I just switched them on, and it looks like the four streams we have so far are good enough, so keep it up.  Anyway, they're defaulted to one-meter resolution; if there's three feet of something moving relative to the last frame from a second ago, it'll write it out to the console – and this is new equipment, so it'll just put the frame into a stream buffer on port whatever; we can sit on that port with our phones and get a notification if there's something new.  A meter should be plenty for a Bobcat dragging a trailer full of fish, but if they're doing something weird and like moving them by hand, it'll catch it too.  

"The only problem is that we're going to tend to get a lot of false positives till about midnight, when there's not so many people just going around campus, even on access roads like this.  But if you want to be sure, you need to check all of it, and I'd rather do that at the library where it's lighted and heated, and I can do some homework when we don't have camera stuff to process."  Sajitha pulled down an access panel and typed out a couple commands on the half-keyboard inside, probably configuring the streaming slots for the cameras we hadn't connected up yet.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.  "And if we're in the library, we can grab other people a lot easier if we need more eyes on this than if we were cooped up in some cabin in the woods.  Let's go – only two more cameras to put up, and then we can get your console locked up where it needs to be and catch the bus back to the eng campus."  Sajitha nodded and stood up, half-dragging the lid over the bucket; Remy and Wilson each grabbed a handle, on opposite sides, and looked at each other like this was going to go to pistols at dawn.

Instead, we went back to the science library just as planned.  We got the cameras up with a minimum of further neanderthalism, got the console set up on a top shelf in the back room of the Facilities shop at the sand depot with some assistance from Jarlan and Paulina, who picked out the place with the least signal interference, where it was least likely to get unplugged or knocked over or something by someone on a different shift, and then gave us a ride back to center campus in the truck, partly like they said because Sajitha was their favorite student worker and partly, I guessed, because they had to pick up one of the temporary leaf-clearing crews and take them over somewhere that connected to the city bus system.  It was a good time, and after the air-drying in the back of the pickup I was pretty sure that enough of the pond stink was off me that I wouldn't stand out in the library.  Well, in the science library as panicked freshmen in over their heads started grinding for their first midterms.

It was still early when we got in, but instead of just sprawling over the first empty table we came across, Sajitha led us around and down into the basement study area – where Carolína carefully turned down a paper reservation marker or something as she saw us coming.  "Hey, welcome," she said, hugging Sajitha and waving at the rest of us.  "Did everything go okay? I got the message and marked the table like you said, so we should be set down here for a while; some freshman bros tried to take it, because they didn't know what it meant, but I told them to message their RAs or whoever about Riley, and that got them out pretty quick.  Did you eat dinner? We can't get pizza here like we get in the lab or the CS labs, but drinks are okay – so I have a big thermos of blended-up ajiaco from my cousin's place and some cups."  Carolína had hustled Sajitha around to the far side of the table, and lifted up a big red thermos barrel with an uff, the rich scent of Colombian potato stew drifting out as she opened the tap on it.  Two chairs on their side, three on this, that stuff about Riley to get rid of randos – this was definitely a setup to make sure that the rest of the night went the way Sajitha meant it to.

Wilson picked up the paper tag that was still on the table, reading over what Carolína had sharpied onto it: "'Caution – Applied Physics Lab practical investigation in process – Keep Well Back.'"  He looked over at me, sideways at the girls, and then back at me.  "The Applied Physics lab – are they in this after all?  Did you give it over? You're close enough to them – he is friends with them too – and now they are both in the lab, and now there is this.  What is the meaning of this?"

Carolína stood up, hands out.  "I'm sorry; I know we have kind of a bad reputation, but that was the point of the sign – to save the table and make other people go away by thinking that I was going to set it on fire or put it in another dimension or something.  It's just a bluff; I'm not doing anything crazy here, just my homework."

"She's right," Sajitha said, not looking up from the notebook and textbook and class notes and propped-up phone with more references on it spread out in front of her.  "I told her to make something up about the lab to scare off the randos, since we can't actually go up there and do this, because a) you're scared of Riley and b) there's legit not room for three extra people in the lab at once these days. The only AP lab business that's happening at this table is me and Carolína doing our solid-state homework; sit down and watch out for your fish thieves."

"Anyway, I don' think we've met, like, live, for real," Carolína said, extending a hand to Wilson.  "I'm Carolína Canaveris, from the Applied Physics lab, but I promise I don' bite."

Wilson extended his hand bashfully.  "Wilson.  Wilson Msekela. Biology, pre-med, some population genetics.  I'm sorry for being angry."  Peace restored, I sat down and got my phone out, connecting over to the camera streams; Wilson dropped beside me and busied himself likewise, remote-logging to his cluster to check on the profiling he'd started, and Remy jammed his hands in the pockets of his warmup pants and went to go look for a soda machine or something.

And that's how it stayed, at least for the next couple hours.  Carolína and Sajitha dug in behind a rising couch fort of texts and journal boxes, scribbling out equations for silicon permeability, Remy texted with his buddies on the taekwondo team and intermittently stood up and walked around like he was thinking he might move his chair around closer to Sajitha if there was anything he could say about wafer doping that would turn out remotely intelligent, Wilson poked his cluster and chained through the references in this one article in the Lancet like he was writing a survey off it, and randos came by and side-eyed us when they smelled the stew in our cups, then blanched and skittered away when Wilson turned the Applied Physics warning sign back up.  And I kept watching the cameras, kept watching the false positives of cars, students on bikes, the wind pushing branches down into the frame, hoping that we'd gotten it right and that this setup, tonight, would give us a clue somewhere about who was doping all the ponds around campus with grinckles, and how they were doing it.

It had to be getting in around midnight when Remy noticed me pulling up another Facilities truck driving through the frame, then flipping it off, back to the split-screen view.  "Yo, Leo, this has been kind of bothering me for a while," he said, his voice low, like he didn't want to disturb everyone else studying around the table, "but are we even like looking at the right places, the right way for these things?  What you said about like with a Bobcat or something and a trailer – I mean it makes sense, but it also don't.  Like, when you drive a Bobcat through the woods, it rips up the ground – there ought to be a trail if they were doing that, and there wasn't.  I mean, I didn't look real good at both sides of the road around where I saw them fish splattered around in the middle, but I was riding my bike along all the way on one side, and I'm pretty sure I didn't see nothing like that.  I mean, I dunno, but I think I'd'a noticed if there was Bobcat tracks going into the woods."

I thought for a second; it did make sense, and even though there were a lot of leaves on the ground so that maybe there wouldn't be wheel scars everywhere, Remy was right – we should have seen something, somewhere.  "Let's check the pics over again," I said. "You got all this stuff photoed right when you saw it, so maybe there's something in the picture that you didn't notice the first time.  And even if they're not using motor vehicles, they've got to be moving the grinckles somehow, maybe a bucket brigade, or maybe –" The phone buzzed in my hand, and popped out a notification from the number three camera.  I slid it open and dropped my phone onto the table with a clatter.

Everyone looked up, everyone looked over.  It – I couldn't explain this shit, not in words.  "The – the cameras.  Number three.  You should've just got it.  Look.  Just look."  I somehow got the words out, somehow turned my phone back level again as the picture changed: one meter resolution, one meter's worth of delta one frame to the next – a line one meter longer out of the woods onto the road.

"How," Wilson said, "how is it happening.  How are they in the road – what is the file history – where are the men who set them up?" He was flipping backwards in the camera stream, already minutes back of no change, vainly looking for how this was going to turn out to be an elaborate prank.

"Sajitha," I said, "what is the resolution on these cameras?"  At some level I didn't want to zoom in – I didn't want to know what the shadows under the fish were, the blurry infrared shadows below the fins as a line of grinckles marched out across the number three camera's field of vision – but if it was possible we had to do it, to establish just how godawful weird this was going to become.

"Seven-twenty," Sajitha said, shaking her head loosely like she did when she ran up against something truly shocking.  "It's a frame a second max, so they can go up to half HD.  I – I'm already zoomed in, and you don't want to see this."  Three fingers poked on our side of the table, three mouths hung open.  Crutches.  Fish on crutches.  Why the hell fish on crutches.

"I'm not a biologist," Riley said from somewhere above and behind me, leaning over in a shower of bagel crumbs to take a look at the phone, "but I don't see why you mooks are so bent out of shape about fish being on crutches.  The last time I checked, fish are kind of bad at legs, so if they had to, like, walk on land for a migration or something, they'd probably need some extra help."  That answered nothing – that helped the problem where someone was making crutches for fish, or where grinckles were a kind of fish that made themselves crutches to go around walking between ponds, not at GODDAMN ALL, but of course that didn't make any difference to Riley, who wasn't supposed to be in the library now rather than the lab, and certainly wasn't supposed to walk around the library munching on a bagel, but of course "the rules apply to Riley lololololol" was still the standing punchline anywhere touching the Applied Physics lab.

"And look," Riley mumbled, mouth full, pointing at the latest frame, a shadow rushing out of the dark at the edge of the camera's detectable range, "there you go, rest of the problem solved." A new frame loaded, with a Facilities truck barreling through the line of grinckles in a splatter of fish and fish parts, and then a second frame with the survivors continuing through the carnage across the road.  "Grinckles are migratory fish, nobody's seeding them and needs to get beat up, perfectly natural circumstances, let nature take its course, problem solved."  There was no way of telling whether Riley was serious or trolling.

"No!" Wilson shouted, standing up, backed away from the table, away from Riley towards the stacks.  "No – problem not solved – and this is not nature taking its course.  You have done this – this is your fault – any problem you touch, any problem your people touch, it becomes stranger and it becomes worse.  This is your fault; you are a walking quantum distortion" – this was pointed at Riley, and then he shifted, finger pointing at me – "and this is your fault, for getting me into this problem, for getting all these Applied Physics people into the same problem.  You have made it worse – by observe the problem you affect it, you make sure it is the worst and strangest of possible worlds."

I was pretty sure that I didn't know quite enough quantum mechanics to convince Wilson that he was wrong about that part, and that these fish had been weird and awful and probably walking on crutches long before any of my AP friends got involved, but I was also pretty sure that I was the only one that he'd listen to at all.  "Wilson, listen, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I roped you into this – I'm sorry that it turned out so weird.  I'm as shocked as you are – I don't know what the hell Riley's doing down here either, this totally wasn't something I expected.  I get that you don't want to be involved – it's ok.  You've done enough – if you want out, you can ditch the map, drop the group chat, and I promise I'll never bug you about this ever again."

"You are wrong, Leo," Wilson said, spitting fury as he gathered up his phone and his backpack.  "You were right before – this is a problem that you need to be involved.  I was wrong to get involved with you – with your poison friends – but I was not wrong to get involved with the grinckles.  There is a problem still – there will be a problem as long as there is a single grinckle on campus – and I should have gotten involved earlier with that.  And I will stay involved – I will solve this problem – I will solve this problem my way, and you all will stay out of that way if you know what is good for you."  He stomped off for the stairs, and I slumped forward, breathing out hard.  This was shit – this was the worst-case outcome.  I had maybe probably lost one of my oldest friends at school, and I was stuck in with a bunch of people from the AP lab and fish that walked around on crutches.

"Too bad about Wilson," Riley said, hands on hips, looking off after him.  "That dude's a good dude; he's got some moxie.  He should quit that pop-gen and epidemiology crap and switch to nuc-med; he'd take over that stupid department in a minute and a half and then he could hang out at the lab.  If he says he's going to singlehandedly wipe out all the grinckles on campus I'd almost half believe him. Anyway," Riley continued after half a beat, turning back to the four of us left around the table, "the grinckles ain't wiped out yet, so that's actually what I came down here to find you guys for. Yuping shared out that map for you guys, and like the whole Chinese-speaking internet around this place has been blowing up about it nonstop for the last couple days; everyone's sharing all their fishing spots and snapping the crap out of places that haven't been visited yet, so like everyone's numbers are going up and nobody's bitching or fighting with each other over trying to hit the same spots.  Didn't you see all that detail flooding in all over the place?"  Riley looked around, face to face, and apparently everyone else was looking as blank as I felt; I hadn't looked at the map at all since we got the cameras up.

"So yeah, everyone on campus who writes their name in hanzi is somehow in this big Whatsapp group called I guess the Spike Red Fish Mutual Benefit Cooperation Society or that's how Yuping translated it, and some of the big wheels in the chat came up and gave him a stack of fillets for getting the ball rolling, and I went down and stole all the crumbs out of the toasters at the Gluino Research Society bagel stand; it's going to make a sick panko breading and we're going to fry up them fillets before they stink.  Are you guys in?"  Riley looked around, face to face to face, still nothing.  Nobody, least of all me, was jumping at the chance to go eat on this fish that we'd just seen walking around in the road on crutches.  But Riley was Riley, and there wasn't going to be any way out of this; silently, I wished I'd stomped off with Wilson when I'd had the chance.

Chapter 6

[ashis2gay4u]

Conversations with Friends

Me *talking to a friend*: do you,, do you ever sneeze so hard your tampon falls out

Me:

Me: cause I almost did exactly that

Friend: what the fuck

~

Friend: do you,, do you ever just-

Me: want to die? All the time.

Friend:

Me:

Friend: are you,, are you okay-

Me: you and I both know the answer is absolutely not, my guy

~

Me: I feel like a cloud

Friend: are you high?

Me: bitch I wish I was

~

Me: that dog is so cute

Friend: that dog looks like a rat

Me, already pulling out the antique dagger I bought earlier: t h e f u c k y o u j u s t s a y

~

Me: *is reading drarry smut*

Friend: hey! You're reading Harry Potter??

Me: uh-

Friend #2: nah, he's reading Drarry smut, aren't you, Ashton? :)

Me: h o w d a r e you call me out like that-

Friend: the fuck is drarry smut?

Me and Friend #2: o h n o

~

Me: hey, do you even lift bro?

Friend, who's carrying three big ass boxes of pop over one shoulder: uhm

Me:

Friend:

Me: I guess you do

~

Me: so, I did shrooms

Friend: Ashton w h y

Me: so I could be like Alice in Wonderland and talk to the guy with the hookah

Friend: and did you?

Me: I called my dad asking him to locate me on google maps because I forgot I had my phone in my hand

Friend: Ashton, w h y

Me: and then I stole a bag of M&M's from my grandma and told her that her hair looked like a poodle

Friend:

Me:

Friend: did you learn anything?

Me: yeah, don't do shrooms after drinking two cans of Monster, I thought my heartbeat was a pack of bongo's following me

~

Friend: size doesn't matter, personality does

Me: personality won't make me squirt, sorry

~

Me: dinosaurs are birds

Friend: how?

Me: science

~

Friend: *has a coughing fit*

Me: don't die

Me:

Me: it's really bad for ur health

Friend: Ashton p l e a s e-

~

*Friend and me, walking along a cliff*

Friend: wow it's so high up

Me: wait

Me: can I just

Me: y e e t myself into the whirlpool?

Friend: aSHTON NO-

~

Me: my guy, you look beautiful

Friend: thanks!!❤

Me: but never as beautiful as the almighty god, Jesus Christ

Friend: ...you don't believe in-

Me: do you realize we go to catholic school? I'm putting on a show so they don't sacrifice us

Friend: why do you do this

~

Me: so I watched this movie the other day

Friend: what was it about?

Me: it was about cannibals

Friend:

Me: honestly it looks so cool

Friend:

Me:

Me: let's try it

Friend: n o

~

Friend: I used to have a crush on you

Me: Aweeeee really?

Friend: *nods*

Me: good, everybody should like me at least once

~

Me: aaahhh, I'm too gay

Friend: you're dating a guy

Me: I'm genderfluid, and im currently male, so I'm gay.

Friend: but-

Me: istg if you throw semantics at me o n e m o r e t i m e-

~

Me: my body is yelling for children

Friend: er,, w h a t?

Me: I'm on my period

Me: please come over for cuddles and horror movies

Friend:

Me: and bring chocolate

~

Me: oh my g o d s

Friend: what?

Me: nothing, I just wanted your attention

Me: please love me

~

Me: people say I'm too mean

Friend: you're a sweetheart!!

Me, remembering the time I threw a knife at a guy because he scared me: ahaha yeah I guess so

~

Me: sorry about last night, I talk shit about myself when I'm depressed lmao

Friend: yeah I figured as much

Me: I mean, after all, I'm a g o d

Friend:

Me: the god of bad choices, pretty faces, human rights, and dumb shit such as seeing who can smoke the most pot without greening out

~

Friend: *sends a picture*

Me: *takes one look at it, screams and throws phone across my desk*

Me: that was horrifying

Me:

Me: better send it to everyone I know

Me *to friend*: thanks for the nightmare fuel

Friend: uhhh

Me: I'm sending this to everyone

Friend:

Me: including my parents

Friend: wait-

Me: i t i s d o n e

~

Me: Heyheyhey

Me: buddy old pal

Me: the bestest friend i have

Friend: what do you want now?

Me: can you like,, not assume I want somethin' for once?

Friend:

Me: what if I just wanna talk? Ever considered that?

Friend: what do you wanna talk about

Me: nothing I just wanted to know if I could have your xbox and ps3 when you die

Friend: why are you like this

~

Me *after reading that one stupid article*: so, if does Bruno Mars is gay-

Friend: w h a t t h e f u c k d o e s t h a t m e a n

Me:

Friend:

Me:

Me: so,, if does Bruno Mars is gay-

~

Friend: I have a question

Me: I mayhaps have an answer

Friend: are you a lesbian?

Me: if I was a lesbian I'd have such big dick energy everybody would fear me but unfortunately I'm pansexual

Friend:

Me:

Friend: so you like pans??

Me: yes, my guy, I like pans. I fuck pans on the daily, my mom locks them away so I can't stick them up my hoohah

Friend:

Me: ask me again and I'll murder you

~

Friend: so if you like girls and guys,, do you have threesomes?

Me: the day I have a threesome is the day the world ends because nobody fuckin' likes me

Friend:

Me:

Friend: Ashton, we talked about this-

~

Friend: eww people drink blood

Me: cannibals

Friend: no they call themselves vampires

Me: they're cannibals, Jared

~

Friend: lemurs are zebra monkeys

Me: the fuck you mean

Friend: and zebras are white horses painted to look trippy

Me: Jared,, we talked about your stupidity

~

Me: so my parents asked me how I was doing

Friend: and?

Me: and I tried to say "I'm fine" and "I feel dead" at the same time

Friend:

Me: I told them I was dead

Me: I legit said "I'm dead" and all Dad said was "well how can we afford a funeral without the baby bonus" and-

Friend: Ashton, what the fuck

Me, sobbing: I almost jumped off the balcony I was so mad

~

Me: I'm smad

Friend: the fuck is that

Me: have you ever seen that meme-

~

Me: I'm so fuckin' done with life

Me: how dare she look at me like that

Me: and then walk away like nothing happened

Me: rude ass bitch

Friend: wait who

Me: my d o g, she came over and glared at me when I called her name and then walked away

Friend:

Me: am I that unlikeable?? How could she do this!!

Friend: Ashton,, please

~

Me: you know what I love?

Friend: what?

Me: murder

Friend: w u t-

Me: murder. Murder, and tacos.

~

Friend: imagine a girlfriend who watches horror movies with you

Me: imagine having the ability to find a bisexual girl in this giant city who wants to be your girlfriend

~

Friend: are you okay?

Me *crying over my spilt ramen*: yeah, why??

[unadulteratedmilkshakefart]

The Good, Bad and Horrible.

We had a lovely 1st half of our day today site seeing in Mital del Mundo and some ruins near by.  The ruins were my favorite part of the day.  It had amazing views and hardly anyone was up there.  Photos of the scenes we took in today will never do them justice.  I feeling of intense peace came over me at the ruins. I felt like I could have stayed there forever.  It would have been so nice to just lay down in the crumbly dry dirt and take a nap.

Bad things happen on vacation too.  The more adventurous you are, the harder it can get.  

Anyway, the first of the bad was our last night in Quito.  We decided to take a walk at about 8pm to grab some dinner.  We were hoping to find the lady with the street cart full of greasy, yummy meat and the lady next to her with the humitas.  We bought some a couple days prior on the way back to the hotel. Apparently Sat and Sun there are NO street vendors.  Boo.  The lady that we were hoping to find was by the park we had visited on day 2.  The park is only about a mile from our hotel and we have walked at least 6 miles a day, no biggie.  The night we bought from her and were walking it was after dark.

Everyone here is very much on the defensive.  Our hotel was on lockdown.  You had to knock on a big steel door to get in and they would open the tiniest square to see who it was.  

Whenever we take a taxi, they immediately lock all the doors if someone is walking by.  Like, it’s instinctual.  One taxi driver did it and then said, “He’ll open the door and steal your phone right out of your hand.”

(Hooray!  The power just went out in the apartment we are staying in!!!  Just another kick in the teeth for today.)

Continuing with the last night in Quito:  We were just past the park about to cross the street and there was a guy in his 50′s (short fellow) carrying a bag.  He started walking side by side with Aaron and was saying “NO” and looked scared out of his mind.  There were 2 twenty something thug little bitches next to me trying to front on the guy.  We were literally in the middle of this altercation.  It all happened very fast.  We were about to cross the street when Aaron realized that they were messing with the guy and he turned to go help him.  The guy had run the other way to the bus station full of people across another very busy 4 lane street.  I grabbed Aaron’s arm hard in protest.  Just then I realized a huge city bus was barreling at us in the middle of the road (remember my prior bus story???) It was very close and coming very fast with no indication it was going to put on the brakes.  I pulled Aaron and myself out of the street.  It was very scary.  Then we continued to look down at the bus station and those a-holes were legit throwing punches and kicking that poor guy.  Aaron still wanted to go help.  I was in fits cuz of the near death by bus and watching the violence.  Then people came to the guys rescue and I don’t know what happened next.  Not fun. 

There was a lot said about Quito being a city with high petty crime.  We have been to so many cities and have never witnessed anything like this, let alone been mugged ourselves.  It made us both sad and I know Aaron was disappointed and annoyed that I held him back.  My instinct is to protect my own first and they were so far away.  Such a bad situation.  Ick.

Then today...  Well, I will share the the good with photos later.  

We rented a car.  All went very well.  Driving was not bad at all.  Highways were all very new and nice.  We have been using this new gps mapping system that doesn’t need internet.  It has been amazing...until today.  The car we rented is the tiniest coup I’ve ever seen.  They have bigger wheels on skateboards.  We came along a dirt road ‘under construction” that had deep holes in it.  Oh, and it was also very high in the mountains.  Very high.  Not sure that we’ve ever driven higher.  Not in the Alps, not anywhere.  

Long story short, it was about 10 miles of twisty turning hell.  Rocks everywhere, rubble, loose gravel, cliffs of despair, death looming.  Narrow turns.  Shrubs hiding the fact that if you veered off, straight down to doom. Add in my bad bladder shaking and bumping along like a pogo stick on crack.  I lost it.  In fact, I should apologize for any grammar or spelling errors as I have had a beer and a xanax and some really shitty Chinese food.  Trying to find dinner tonight was another nightmare.  

Aaron kept his cool and got us through hell without driving off the glorious mountainside or busting a tire.  It was a kind of miracle.  I would thank the gods but Aaron got us through it.  He didn’t even yell at me for losing it.  Later on at dinner I said, “I’m so sorry.  It must have been even harder for you to concentrate with me freaking out.”  He said “Well, I wanted to comfort you and I figured why make you feel worse.”  Wow, 20 years of partnership and we’re figuring it out :)

During our dark night of driving (sun sets at about 6pm) he told me “An, you’re safe.  You’ll be sleeping in a bed tonight. I’ll get us through this.”

He was right.  He always keeps his promises. ~her

(and the power is back on. yay!)

[theliterateape]

...fucking Mark

...fucking Mark.

Imagine a sad, defeated Mitch McConnell. He’s seated hunched over all alone in his dark empty office. Obamacare just passed. He’s got his glasses in one hand while the other pinches the bridge of his nose right between his eyes. And between the dry gasps that always precede a good cry, shakes his head, and says, not without humor, “...fucking Obama.”

That. That right there. That is how you say, “...fucking Mark.”

The ‘g’ is typically silent. Like when you say something is “rootin’ tootin,’” which is becoming so commonplace these days it’s just chiche. Everything is “rootin' tootin.’”

So, just to clear the air of the elephant in the room of long tailed cats and rocking chairs, this is not a story about what it is like to fuck Mark in the biblical sense of “fuck.” It is a true story, though Mark is not his true name. I am really nice that way. Not quite nice enough to not use a name so incredibly close to his real one. But, you know, nice.

I was hired to be part of the entertainment for a corporate Christmas function in Iowa. The entertainment was to involve an interactive improv show, with drinks and dancing to follow DJ’d by fucking Mark. Altogether I spent about two days with him. In a row.

Mark was an almost last minute replacement recommended by someone’s weed dealer. Mark had about two-and-a-half day's notice.

The first time I saw Mark, we were arriving in the van at his pick up point in the far north Chicago neighborhood of Edgewater. It was the middle of the marrow-deep Lake Michigan cold that is the true dead of Chicago winter. Fucking Mark was wearing a red winter beanie, work boots, over sized dark blue jeans that he had, apparently, painted his floor in at one point (I asked and he confirmed), fingerless gloves, and a loose fitting gray tank top.

Beady little eyes, always fidgeting, his long brown hair that stopped just above his trapezius muscles. Honestly pretty impressive. The dude was stacked. He looked liked Scott Stapp from Creed had a baby with Cheddar Bob from 8 Mile. The Google image search you should do based on that last sentence is worth it.

As we turned into the corner and parked, he popped one eye wide open and turned it toward the van. This facial expression gave the impression that we had just severely insulted him. It was like you had just crossed a serious line with Popeye, and he's just decided to eat an entire can of spinach he doesn't even need to beat your ass.

We stopped at the curb, him still giving us a one-eyed glare. He just stood there like that, looking at us, for about 10 to 15 seconds, which feels much longer than it is. Something in his head clicked, and he began walking toward the van. Cautiously. He craned his neck forward with his rib cage sucked in, his hands hung from disengaged wrists at his drawn back sternum as his feet seemed to pull the rest of him along with his legs acting as leashes. He looked like Mr. Burns, but a bird, trying to figure out if we were food or, in fact, a trap, with a coked out eye of Sauron on top.

I thought we were either about to be robbed or offered free samples of the type of drugs you shouldn’t do.

He got to passenger window, my window. He moved his head around the window to see in like he was searching for a keyhole. I lowered the window.

“Hi, I’m Mark. I’m the DJ. Are you here for Mark the DJ?”

“Hi Mark, I’m Boss,” said Boss, driver, and owner of the company we were booked through, “Hey, it’s pretty cold out, if you want to go in and grab your coat that’s totally fine, we have time.”

“It’s no problem, I don’t live here. Besides I have really good callouses.”

Boss, “What?”

“Plus a hat.”

Mark was 32, and blind. Partially. Mostly. That’s why he approached the van the way he did. Every time Mark looked at something, he would get that one eyeball so close it would practically touch its subject. He did this with people too. I would describe the first handshake with Mark as "startling".

I assure you that I am not picking on Mark because he is blind, nor would I anyone ever. Being blind is not Mark’s biggest problem. His problem, from which all others grew, is that he is what my grandfather would have called, “dumber'n two turds fightin’ 20 turds’’.

Mark got in the van.

Boss asked where his DJ equipment is.

“Oh it’s in storage on the south side.”

A pause. Boss asked for something that you might maybe call specifics. “I don’t know the address. But I know where it is.”

Using “south” as our guide, and with a sundrop of hope, we made our way to the highway and around the city toward this mysterious storage facility. About halfway around the city, I smelled that burning leaves smell that, to me, always reminds me of running through the seemingly endless rolling plains and orange forests to explore that is rural Michigan in the autumn. To this day and forever my true heart will always reside there.

I contributed some small talk, something like the above, but shorter.

Others said something like, but longer than, “Me too.” Mark contributed:

“Yeah, I still love going into, like, you know those old general stores? I love just sticking my head in bags of manure and inhaling as fast and deeply as I possibly can through my nose.”

The rest of us, simultaneously, sucked in an egg sized pocket of air. And held it. I was the first to break.

“You mean like... like, horse... like horse, uh, poop?”

“I mean yeah but it’s not like it’s human shit.”

“Oh.” I was willing to forgo all questions if I could be promised no answers.

“Yeah. I mean, other than my shit. Or farts. I like the smell of those. They’re actually, seriously? They’re not bad. Just not other people’s shit.”

“Yep,” I yepped.

“What in the Ever-Loving Sun God of fuck.” I thought.

I just accepted that there are places where there are giant sacks of shit on display, and all the customers come from miles around to smell them. These places are called “old general stores.” I held onto that information, put it in my back pocket, and moved on.

We arrived at the storage facility after stopping three different times to check the internet maps on our pocket robots while Mark left some voicemails. I know this sounds crazy, but even though we were on a schedule, through that entire search time did not stop even once.

Are you starting to see how any one of these little pieces of Mark so far are relatively easily forgivable in isolation? But fucking Mark pokes at this primordial nerve in your brain over and over and over. It’s death by tiny spears. You cannot understand. You are young, and I envy you.

His equipment was in a square concrete room in the basement of the storage facility. It smelled like bong water and burnt food. I had a suspicion he slept here. He assured me he did not (I didn’t ask) because “no bitches would fuck me here.” I suppose he wasn’t wrong.

None of the equipment was ready to move. We broke down and packed up two large speakers, wires galore, two turntables, a crossfader/mixer, a home stereo sized dual CD player, crates of vinyl, CDs, more wires, and stuff. And yes, he owned a laptop. Three of them, laying on top of each other, underneath a half eaten hot pocket with a cigarette stubbed out in it, in the storage space.

Here is the best game; guess how much of this he ends up actually using other than the speakers. Now hold onto that guess, put it in your pocket. It’s one turntable, a handful of records, and his phone.

We made the six- or seven- hour trip in the van. Mark kept farting to prove to us that his farts really didn’t smell bad. He would get indignant when you told him to stop. Here is another fun game; guess if they did or not. I will tell you the answer after this sentence. Yes. Here is that same game on hard mode; guess how many scovilles.

There’s so much other stuff. Little Mark instances and stories. Thousands of the little nuggets of odorless Mark shit. Too many to include all of them. We lost him at a gas station because he walked across the street to another gas station to “check out the area.” He argued at every perceived opportunity, and poorly. He said the solution to gun violence was "little helmets with guns that detect when someone is pointing a gun at you" and “they probably already have them.” He had many, many opinions. Here is the last game: Guess how they tended to land politically. This is actually the most difficult of the games. If you guessed “alt-right internet forum memes,” congratulations, nobody wins. There are no winners in any of these games.

We arrived at the venue. It was a large event rental space with catering in the middle of a nothing but a frozen tundra of dead Iowa cornfields. Snow and freezing rain was falling, and the DJ equipment needed to be brought in.

Mark asked if he can borrow my coat.

In the middle of the two of us carrying a speaker, he said he needs to go talk to the manager of “about this one thing.”

“Um,” I said. Mark dropped his side of the speaker, jogged in and did not return.

Boss relayed the story to me later. In the interest of setting up the tone that Mark would proceed to lay waste to, you should know that our boss could sell you a ketchup popsicle. He is a seasoned performer, legit funny, and a trained experienced natural salesman. And Boss was in mode.

Mark followed our boss’ voice, found him, shook his hand and asked where the fuckin’ manager was at.

Boss, “Mark! This is Client McClientsname, he hired us. Client, Mark will be your DJ for the evening!”

Mark grabed Client's hand and shook it, shoving his wide open eye right in Client’s face, “Are you the manager?!”

Client said, “no” like he was just asked if he had fucked Mark’s wife.

“OK,” eyeball still close enough to count pores, “I need some help because I’ve only ever actually done this I think maybe one or two times on my own and...”

“Mark!” shouted my boss’ skeleton from behind a polite smile belying the hunger pains he felt in his gut that only revenge satiates. “I think the other guys need help bringing in the rest of your stuff?” Boss said it without breaking character in front of the client. Boss could sell you a pickle-flavored boat.

When Boss told me that story later, I laughed so hard I grew tits.

Mark asked us to introduce him “DJ Tushy Flex.”

“That sounds like you’re puckering your asshole, Mark.”

“What, that’s not what it is.”

“...what is it?”

“Dude it’s my fucking DJ name.”

We did the improv show. It was great. Fun was had by all. Mark stood behind us and his DJ equipment, arms crossed, unmoving, the entire show. He just stood there the whole time with a neutral expression and blinked.

The show ended and it was time for Mark to DJ. We introduced him as “Mark the DJ.”

Just to establish my credentials as one to stand in judgement of a DJ set, let me just say that I am a long time fan and hobbyist with an above average level of appreciation for the craft of DJing.* I want you to know this so you can understand how serious I’m being when I say, that DJ Check-Out-My-Glutes was, by far and by away, the absolute worst god-dang rootin’ tootin’ DJ I have ever heard in my whole entire life.

He refused to take requests. He would only play what I can only describe as rasta house. Corporate America, of course, long known for their affinity for obscure electronic dance music subgenres.

He would cross back and forth between completely incongruent songs that made no sense. Like when he rapidly switched back and forth between Kiss from a Rose by Seal and some fucking drum circle happening near a murder. Not in some cool mash up way either. In no universe did those tempos match. There was no rhythm to the switches either. Just back and forth between those two songs, playing with the crossfader like a hyperactive kid flipping a light switch.

In a heroic effort, boss took over the sound, plugged in his mobile pad and bought a subscription to a music streaming service and started playing requests. People started having fun.

Mark would somehow keep getting control back and switch in the middle of the song to a recording of some guy yelling over the sound a middle school marching band warming up.

Several hours of this went by and it was time to leave. Mark didn't help with the load out because he was smoking weed in the green room, which was really a large business meeting room with high ceiling to floor windows that faced the parking lot. When chastised, he angrily insisted that we’re the true idiots here because nobody told him he couldn't and “cigarettes smell worse.”

The freezing rain made the roads unsafe and we were exhausted, so we decided to stay overnight and drive back to Chicago in the morning. Mark held us up at the gas station so he could spend over 3/4 his night’s paycheck on a bottle of “real Iowa whiskey.” Back at the hotel I try some. If a politician running in the next primaries compliments Iowa on their historically good whiskey, I will know they are a liar.

Later on than we would have liked, we were in the hotel room hanging out with the TV on. Mark had the remote. He was seated directly in front of the TV, eyeball practically making a smear on the screen flipping through channels. It occurred to me that this might actually be how he went blind.

Mark landed on Women’s college basketball. His accompanying comment made between the landing and subsequent dismount from this channel was, and I quote: “Ha ha ha, women’s basketball. Show me your titties. Take her titty out and bite it. Whoa, that one’s actually hot.”

Myself and another cast member exchanged a knowing pained look at each other that we knew he would never see, then pretended to be distracted by our phones.

He flipped some more and eventually stopped on A League of Their Own.

"Oh sweet, A League of Their Own," he said.

A League of Their Own is a timeless and distinctly American romp featuring unforgettable characters and heart. I think there is a good argument to be made that it is the greatest baseball movie ever made** But I think Mark might have missed one of the central messages of A League of Their Own. It may even have been, in fact, the central message. I am also pretty sure that, at some point, Mark has voted. I can’t be certain of this because if he ever told me he voted I surely would have repressed that memory.

The next day, during the drive home, I was woken up from a nap by Mark. He was shouting about how unfair it was that he couldn’t say the N-word but the two other cast members in the van, who were both African American, could.

Of course he never once said “N-Word” or “the N-word.” I mean, of course. And though I haven’t said so explicitly, you guessed it. Yes, of course he is white.

“Why? Why, Mark. What, do you need permission ahead of time just in case? Like, if you find yourself in this situation where you really need to use it?” I attempted, among other things, despite what was clearly a brick wall.

“No, but what I’m saying is why not.”

“Because it’s a hurtful thing to say, and the people in this van are asking you politely to stop.”

Later, Mark asked me what I thought of his DJ set. This was long past me being fed up, so I told him the truth as delicately as one can tell someone that they were awful. Mark told me he had a gun, then threatened to kill me for “talking shit.” He was serious. I told him, I shit thee not, that he’d have to fucking aim at me first. That was not a nice thing to say, nor smart. But I did.

No, I am not afraid of him reading this.

It's too long.

We got back to the storage facility and put all the equipment back. Mark met a ride who was waiting for him there. We said "good" and by the time we got to "bye" our backs were turned.

By the end of the trip, Mark had gone from being an obnoxious but mostly harmless joke to being legitimately... not a good guy. Maybe even dangerous. He had no mental impairments or disabilities, as least no diagnosable ones I could see.*** He was never doing a bit to mess with us. I never detected in him a desire to be seen as funny, and I know my own.

I think that at some point somebody should have told him that how he’s behaving is not OK. Though I am not qualified to be the arbiter of who deserves to have painful criticism handed out to them, surely in this case somebody at some point should have been willing to hurt this guy’s feelings. Not to hurt this guy’s feelings, but being willing to have that a price Mark might have to pay for his and the world’s greater good, because he's a dick. And nobody ever did that for this guy.

He's racist, misogynist, self assured with no qualifications to be, ignorant, genuinely unintelligent, has a crushing confidence, and defaults to aggression at the any criticism. Does this remind you of anyone?

That is why when I turned around after hearing him slip on a patch of ice, I thought to myself, “Welp, there by the grace of God goes The President of The United States of America.”

It’s OK. Let it out. You deserve that sigh.

...fucking Mark.

*I love dance music. I have always loved dance music. When I was a kid I listened to Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation cassette on repeat. I had a poster of her in my room. When my dad went to music stores to look at guitars, I always wanted to play with the synthesizers. What is generally (and stupidly, because none of the bands sound the same) called “’90s electronica” is my favorite music of all time. I started making my own dance music in high school with a cheap little computer program. My freshman year of high school, I auditioned for battle of the bands with a full heavy as stone 1996 or ’97 desktop computer and giant CRT monitor and a synthesizer. I got in. I got more equipment. I started sneaking out to go to and play at raves in high school. I swear on my life, I did nothing stronger than pot, and even that was seldom. I just loved the music and the energy so much. Dance music used to be hippie culture, even though now it’s more club culture. I will be that guy and say dance music was better before it was popular, and please stop sarcastically calling me dad.

I have favorite DJ mixes, I’m constantly seeking out new ones. I make them in my head for fun. If I wasn’t poor and had DJ equipment and a laptop that could run the necessary software, I would be spending all my time playing around with it and making mixes for fun. Somewhere in Michigan in an attic there are tons of old mix tapes I made as a kid. I can even appreciate a DJ on the level of a wedding DJ. What song follows what? How did that energy match? What’s the crowd doing? You don’t need to beat match to be able to read a crowd and play a good song.

Once, in line for one of those underground parties, I saw two guys speaking to each other in sign language. I inquired, for it was a music event. I was a bit of an asshole that way. He told me that his friend was deaf, and because of the bass and volume this was the only way he could experience music. That is how much I like dance music.

**Yes I am including every movie you just thought of. A League of Their Own is the only one where they are fighting for just being able to play which is just an extension of them fighting for their very meaning  as the devastation of the largest war ever waged plays as a backdrop to what is already a very stressful situation. Highest emotional stakes. Also most quotable. Funniest by far. These are but a few among variety of reasons I say A League of Their Own is the greatest baseball movie ever made.

***If it matters, I have worked with people with special needs of all ages through several different jobs.

[ciao-viaggi]

first full day in amsterdam! we arrived thursday night and for a good nights sleep in the airbnb. in the morning we woke up to fully explore amsterdam. we started off at a breakfast place called omelegg for amazing omelets and breakfast! we then walked toward the van gogh museum, and passed the amsterdam letters on the way. these are kind of dumb and it literally just says amsterdam in these huge letters, but it was so fun taking pictures with them and climbing the letters and even more watching people climb to the top and wondering how they’re going to get down. But anyway, we went to van gogh which was so cool! Vincent van gogh lived most of his life in amsterdam and the museum had a lot of his work, while also talking about his life and art work all around the world. after this museum, right next to it was the Moco museum. This was a random little house with art exhibits, and it had a banksy and Roy Liechtenstein exhibit! I really like the documentary “exit through the gift shop” which is all about banksy and other street artists, so seeing his stuff on exhibit was so cool. this museum had a completely different vibe which was more relaxed, which we liked too. then we were told to go to the Albert Cuyp Market which is a huge street of food stands and other little shops, and we stumbled up the. MOST. incredible. cookie. ever. we found ourselves in front of a red and white checkered stand with one man behind it, making these delicious caramel filled flat waffles. It was incredible!!!! I’ll spare you the suspense, we did go back the next day for more and he recognized us. But it turns out that the one we went to was the famous and original stroopwaffel whereas many other stands were selling them but those weren’t legit. we then continued to walk down amsterdam’s many little alleyways and do some window shopping! we ended up at a bar to get inside the warmth and it was probably the most local bar we could have picked in amsterdam. we opened the door and pretty much everyone was looking at us.... but we enjoyed our ciders before we decided it was time to go eat! We went to another street known for their restaurants and ended up at a simple burger place! once we decided to go home, everyone had told us uber is the way to go, especially since we are pretty far outside the city. So, carly calls an uber and as we’re looking for the plate number, her phone dies. and then erin was like fine fine I got this, and she calls one so we find the right car and get in, after asking the guy who he is here to pick up and he says erin. then we’re in the car and he pulls over to check his maps, and he says he can’t find us anymore in his app as a passenger? and then erin’s phone died! so maybe that’s why she didn’t show up anymore, but we still don’t know. THEN I was like okay people I got this! And I successfully got everyone home because my phone wasn’t dying! you’re welcome everyone! overall, we enjoyed our first day in amsterdam and loved the walk ability and amount of people walking, along with the scenic views every canal we crossed!

[envirotravel]

Experiencing Penang’s Magical Street Art

So, while I’m still catching up on my ridiculously delayed 2016 travel recaps, I just can’t wait to start sharing my big trip (thus far) of 2017. So I’ll be jumping back and forth a bit again. Apologies for any confusion, my friends!

Our time in Penang was flying by. Granted, we’d lost a day and a half to post-festival snoozing and visa procuring, and we had just two nights and one day left to explore. We’d planned to rent a motorbike and head out to Penang National Park and the beaches of Batu Ferringhi along the way, but yet we felt we’d barely begun to experience Georgetown — and so we decided to spend another day there instead.

Our first stop? The Clan Jetties. On the east side of Georgetown sit several long, dilapidated boardwalks with small stilted houses, temples, and community centers lining the sides. This once-thriving port once provided work for a steady stream of immigrants, mostly Chinese, who settled permanently around the quay — today, the area has morphed into a popular tourist attraction.

Though it’s a low-income area, which might make visiting via tour bus feel a bit like dreaded poverty tourism, it’s still pretty low-key if you get off the main jetty and explore independently on foot.

Visually, the jetties are fascinating. I tried to be respectful and so didn’t point my lens around as much as I’d like — but just know you have a treat in store should you decide to visit someday.

From the jetties, we wandered back into the heart of Georgetown.

Along with the diversity of its food, one of the things Georgetown is most famous for among travelers is its imaginative street art and mural scene. The internet is full of blog posts with maps to various walls, however with pieces constantly changing and directions often unclear, we found it most rewarding to just wander, with a little help from Google Maps to look for some of the more famous works (we’d literally type “street art” into the map app and many would pop up!)

Penang’s very distinctive street art style includes found objects incorporated into the various work — from wooden stools to bicycles to an actual motorbike!

While the most popular pieces would have a crowd lined up waiting to take photos, some of our favorites were small ones we stumbled upon all on our own en route to something else.

I said it before but I’ll say it again — Penang is a photographer’s dream. I was so inspired to snap street scenes and cityscapes in a way that I haven’t been in a while!

At that point we’d worked up quite an appetite, and we were pumped for our next stop — Junk Cafe. A reggae respite on Georgetown’s main drag of Lebua Chulia, Junk is famous for having the best burgers in town — and dang, did they deliver! Had we not come here on our last day, I might have made it more than once.

With a few more hours to kill in town until we picked up Ian’s visa, we wandered north to check out a few more major pieces of street art — and walk off our late lunch.

We eventually made our way to The Camera Museum, a tiny attraction I just couldn’t resist. Penang is full of quirky and in some cases, downright bizarre museums — The Owl Museum or Upside Down Museum, anyone? — but this one seemed pretty legit.

And it was. Though very small, the museum had some fascinating exhibits, artifacts, and photos — including a shot of someone taking a selfie in 1920 with a camera the size of a shoebox, the world’s first mobile phone with picture taking capabilities from 2000, and a 1.3 megapixel Nikon released in 1995 that stored 70 photos for a cool $31,000 — pretty relieved that dSLR prices have dropped in the interim!

After, we treated ourselves to a slice of cake and a green tea served in a lens-like mug from the onsite Double Exposure cafe. How cute!

That night, exhausted after a long day of exploring, we treated ourselves to massages at a cheap spa followed by a celebratory dinner back at ChinaHouse again. It was the perfect last night in Penang, especially as we were about to part ways to a few weeks.

The next morning, we checked out of our Airbnb and Ubered over to Macallum Connoisseurs Coffee Company for one final meal. Coffee lovers coming to Penang, out this one on your itinerary! The modern warehouse-style interior reminded me of Brooklyn, and the bagels and pancakes on the menu were almost as good as home.

Throughout our time in Penang we had really marveled over how widespread English was spoken in comparison to in Thailand, and how it had allowed us to have some really great conversations and connections with local people we had met. That was really driven home when, as we waited for our seperate Ubers outside the cafe (me to the airport, Ian to the train station), a man I recognized from the gym at our Airbnb building pulled up and asked us if we needed a ride back to our condo! What a sweet note to end our time in Malaysia on.

I really enjoyed our time in Penang. I wasn’t necessarily expecting much — it’s such a routine stop for so many of my friends doing visa runs — and I really left impressed with how much there was to see and do and photograph and marvel over.

I’m excited to have added another amazing city to my list of Southeast Asian favorites.

Have you been to Penang? What’s your favorite Asian city?

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