#I wanted them to look somewhat faded in comparison to the sun and the moon

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

My entry for @sketchbookweek Day 3 for the prompt - Sun & Moon 💫🪐

[riddlecrux]

Rosehall

Day 1 of Elriel Month is here! Summary: He knew that Rhysand's orders weren't fickle nor laced with lies, yet he couldn't phantom how his brother turned on him. How he, of all the people, couldn't understand how badly he wanted to be happy.

You can also read it on ao3!

They didn't talk.

No shy glances, no accidental touches while passing each other through the corridor, no warm smiles behind the rim of a wine glass. Even the silence in which he was sitting was unbearable, so different than the one that carried comfort and jasmine scent that always made him content, whole, at ease. Now, sitting alone on the fine chair in the House of Wind he was barely breathing. He was suffocating with loneliness, heavier than the one that crawled through his bones in that dark cell from his childhood. A real pain exploded behind his closed eyelids.

The night air pricked on his face as he tried not to think, not to feel. It was as if the gaping hole in his chest was a thing of his own shadows - swirling inside, eating him out and leaving only shreds of his broken emotions. He tried. He tried so desperately not to fall for her. For yet another unattainable person that was next to him just to mock his misfortune. It was something completely wrong. How one can take so many failures and still delude himself that maybe this time the ending would be different.

He was such a damned fool.

Azriel opened his eyes as a sharp pang in his chest enveloped him in another wave of utter bitterness and helplessness. The thing with Elain was something he hadn't expected - she came into his life wielding a fork and suddenly he could see clearer than ever before in his life. How sun caught in her golden-brown hair and how the freckles on her left cheek created a small triangle. And the way all that loveliness faded away when she was stripped of her own free will - and how he failed her at that moment. The arrow to his chest didn't hurt as much as her screams. The terror of them was still haunting him during long nights of insomnia and half slept nights.

And there was that companionship they formed. Based on silence and gardens. Teas full of leaves and sticky fruit floating on its surface. Elain always preferred her to drink sweet, even if her nose scrunched each time she sipped from a porcelain teacup - pale pinky held in the air as if she was still a lady in a room full of liars and men trying to woo her. Maybe during those moments of tranquility between them, he started to appreciate her gentleness even more.

Their meetings slowly but surely transformed into nights full of sleeplessness and sore throats - silence turned into constant chatter about everything and nothing. The first time he heard her giggle his world turned upside down. In that particular moment she was all he saw, in all her golden glory and chocolate smear on her chin - so warm and bright, so out of his reach. A secret. His secret, a memory to be locked inside his mind's labyrinth.

Sometimes he wished that both of them stopped before they had even begun their… relationship. Because maybe if he possessed more self strength and if he was less selfish, he would have protested when Elain touched his hand while they were resting in the garden. Or when he caressed her cheek while trying to get rid of the soil splattered there. Whenever they touched Azriel felt as if he was healing. These small palms that traced ridiculous figures on his scarred hands brought him comfort no one else did. A touch so tender that he wanted to break in halves only for her to mend him again. She was nothing like him and at the same time so familiar, so understanding. When she looked at him with her brown eyes full of terrors and beauty, he knew that she could see his soul. Every ugly part of him. And she never averted her stare, never flinched from his touch - she wholeheartedly accepted him.

Sighing out loud his wings twitched behind him when his eyes darkened once again. He knew that Rhysand's orders weren't fickle nor laced with lies, yet he couldn't phantom how his brother turned on him. How he, of all the people, couldn't understand how badly he wanted to be happy.

"Long night?" He snapped his neck at the voice and inwardly relaxed seeing cold silver eyes staring at him without fear.

"I suppose so," shrugging his shoulders he turned back toward the city, one hand still on the glass of strong alcohol he was pouring into himself for hours. A screech of a moving chair resonated next to him and with a slow exhale he sipped his drink.

"Not the fire this time," Nesta huffed and he saw in his peripheral vision that she poured herself a decent shot as well. "Both of you are the same," a small smile ghosted on her lips before she drank the brownish liquid in one go.

"Me and who?" He knew playing stupid wouldn't work on her but he was so tired. He had already lost, so Nesta seeing him at his worst would be nothing in comparison to the thunder inside his mind. The oldest Archeron sister let out a dry chuckle which indicated that she was aware of his silly attempt of deflection.

"Elain," her name awakened something inside him. Like a golden tether holding him upwards, longing after the female that brought up such emotions from him. "She used to glow these days, you know," he saw her playing with the rim of the goblet. Long finger stopping suddenly as if the glass burned her. "I know what happiness looks on her, and whenever both of you interacted or spent time together she was always… so bright. So alive," his heart thumped a few times before it gave him a painful tug. "The moment you saved her life was the first time I had wished that you were her mate," the wound opened again, a small sound escaped his mouth before he slumped forward. "But fate isn't so merciful. Yet, Elain made her own way in this life. I saw how she escaped that empty shell she used to be and how she learned to breathe again… with you ," Azriel wanted her to stop. To let go of this torment she was exposing him to.

"I can't listen to this," he stood up, his wings stretching to its whole span. "You know it's impossible," his bitter laugh echoed in the interior. "We both know that it doesn't matter if I have feelings for her," he was ready to fly away when Nesta's hand caught his elbow. Silver eyes shone in the darkness of the night with ancient power.

"It's her choice," she whispered. "She doesn't want her mate, she has never wanted that bond," her grip loosened for a bit and he was tempted to run away but her expression held him in one place. "But she wants you. She chose you. And you know it because I saw how you look at her, how both of you glance at each other," she pinched him when he was composing himself from snapping at her. "Ask her. Ask her about what she wants. Take her to the place where it's just both of you, so no one can interfere," her nod was final and with it, she slowly turned around and vanished upstairs. His jaw hurt from the force he was clenching his teeth. Nesta's words were a poison that circulated through his bloodstream.

Could he have that conversation?

Could they possibly be together?

The night air was cold against his burning skin when he shot up in the sky, wings outstretched and tense.

*

He landed on her balcony.

The beige curtains were dancing in the air, metal dreamcatcher swaying on the wisps with a soft melody. There were plants and flowers scattered around the balustrade and his shadows skittered around them, leaping into petals and leaves before returning to his form. He stopped beside the wooden table to see half-finished tea and some papers - a few of them with drawings of different gardens, trees, and notes about the seeds. However, what caught his attention was a stash of papers with Elain's handwriting. All of them were thrown around the surface with drops of tea marking some of them. There were letters forming sentences, he could pinpoint some of them, ones that weren't completely crossed out in the pale moonlight. He was about to touch one scroll with his name on it when his shadows whirled around him with a soft warning.

"Spying on me?" The sweet scent of jasmine and honey embraced his person as his hazel eyes blinked at the sight in front of him. Elain was in a white nightgown, tiny ribbons on her freckled shoulders were something he didn't know he needed to see in his life. Her loose hair was curling at its edges as the tresses touched her middle. She was watching him, big brown eyes stoic and unnerving.

"No," he breathed and her smell attacked his senses, driving him crazy. She crossed her arms under her breasts and padded towards him. Her feet stopped next to him and with a lazy movement, she gathered her papers without glancing at him. He could see her nape, soft and pale and so inviting as she leaned across the table. His fingers curled into fists when her presence burned his self-resilience.

"Do you need me for something?" She inquired letters in her grip and a slight frown on her perfect face.

"Actually," his shoulder tensed when she shot him a questioning glance. "Yes, I need you," he left it there. A pause and weight of his words, waiting for the judgment and perhaps hatred. But it never came as Elain silently turned to him, her lips parted and a soundless sigh ghosting in the air between them. She peered at him, irises wide and somewhat gentle before she touched his biceps and he was ready to be undone.

"We should talk," her breath tickled his skin as he nodded without thinking twice. "Here?" Her question woke him up and trying not to scare her, he offered his scarred palm while stretching out his wings.

"There's a place I want to show you," his words echoed in the dead of night and as her small fingers wrapped around his hand he could finally breathe again.

*

When they arrived the moon was high in the sky, its light reflecting on the waters of a marble fountain in front of the manor. He exhaled letting Elain down as she politely exchanged her thanks. She pried her hair from the face and with newfound excitement, she whirled around facing him with a bright smile.

"I dreamed about this place," her voice was warm and all he wanted was to touch her to make sure she was standing there under the moonlight. "The gardens were something I have wanted to see," she pointed a finger in the direction of a greenhouse and a patch of flowers and vines.

"Dream or a vision?" He knew he shouldn't test his luck, yet deep down inside he felt as if he had already known the answer. As if it was imprinted inside his heart for a long time.

"Vision," she answered, walking towards the field of roses. Her palm touched some petals while her hair tumbled down towards the ground. "I saw you here," her digits closed around the stem with silent amusement. "You were happy," she turned around and looked straight at him.

"This is Rosehall," the lump in his throat made it difficult for him to speak. It was like a fever dream of his, having her here in the fields of flowers and so painstakingly real.

"Very suitable," she smiled and turned once again stepping onto the soft grass. "It's a pretty name," he heard her sitting on the ground and when he glanced up he saw her lying flat on the earth. Her knees were slightly angled but her face was upwards as if she was watching stars. Azriel staggered towards her, breathing fresh air as he finally stood up on her right.

"I haven't thought about its name for years," he slowly sat and looked at her profile. She was gazing at the sky with a small smile. Happiness looked beautiful on her, it made her glow.

"There's so much...space," she breathed and her chest moved in a slight erratic manner. "You can almost taste freedom here," Elain blinked as she turned onto her side. She faced him and he thought that there was never a time in his life when he felt so many emotions at once.

"I'm sorry," the edges of him crumbled as his eyes started to burn. He didn't mean to hurt her, not in the slightest. He was just too… selfish. And she was everything he had ever dreamed about, an embodiment of home, of a warmth he so desperately searched for. "It wasn't a mistake," he whispered as her hand fell upon his abdomen. Always trusting, always inviting.

"Then what? A distraction?" She mused as her body leaned forward and she was mirroring his position. "I will never know as long as you won't talk to me," she supplied with a pain in her voice.

"No, never a distraction. I have wanted this," he circled the air with his hand ambiguously. "From the moment you clenched onto that fork you were someone I have wanted to be with," his head lowered down Azriel didn't want to meet her eyes.

"Why haven't you told me?" Her confusion mixed with regret pained him.

"You have a mate," he muttered while plucking on some innocent straw of grass.

"And you know I don't want him," her palm searched for his cheek and as she turned his face to look at her, he saw tears in her eyes. "Whenever I'm with you I feel whole. Alive. I look at you and feel so scared," he inwardly flinched yet she held him in one place. "Scared of losing you. Every time I lose sight of you I feel like I'm drowning. It's as if a part of me was ripped apart," she closed her trembling lips and stared at him with utter devotion.

"Elain," his fingers touched her neck, his thumb circling around the hollow gap between her shoulder and jaw.

"That night I chose you. Us," she said with a final note, leaning against his hand. "It's my choice, no one else's," a butterfly-like kiss ghosted on his inner palm.

"Rhysand's orders," he gulped when she pushed him down and climbed onto his lap.

"Fuck Rhysand's orders," she spat and for a moment both of them were silent. Then he laughed, a true bellowing laughter erupted at the back of his throat at her vicious remark. Her giggles followed and he had never heard such an extraordinary sound.

"Never deemed you as a foul mouth," he managed when she slumped forward, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"I live with Illyrians and a very pissed immortal being," a hot kiss on his neck made him shiver.

"Elain," he took her face in his hands and stared at her brown eyes with a heat crawling down his spine. "Elain," he whispered again while closing the distance between them. She whimpered when he finally nibbed at her lower lip. The sensation waking up something primal inside him, a storm of feelings and needs attacking his senses. Her warm mouth opened and he finally kissed her - something exploded in his chest, something brilliant and intimate. It was as if everything was set in order, the way her lips moved against and how their bodies molded into one. He could feel her, smell her need and anticipation. She was shaking as her small fingers dug into his neck.

"Azriel," his name on her lips was his undoing. He opened his eyes and saw her… glowing. The golden hue enveloping both of them into a cocoon of intense bliss. When she opened her eyes the golden color lingered there for a while before vanishing, leaving both of them gasping for air.

"You were always there," he realized touching his chest. A vibrant thread blinding him with its magnitude.

"Rosehall," she laughed tracing his scars. "You have waited for so long," Elain kissed his temple while embracing him again. "I'm sorry I have made you wait for so long," the bridge between them sparkled with love and belonging.

"I knew you would come to me," nothing but the truth slipped through his lips as he gently cupped her chin. Both of them stared at each other, halves of two finally found. A home he had longed for, held in his arms as a scent of roses and jasmine shielded him from the world.

[luminouspoes]

let my heart be your shelter

summary: poe seeks out the reader’s comfort during a thunderstorm

warnings: angst (with a happy ending), poe has a guilt complex the size of several parsecs, some self loathing (poe’s pov). no pronouns are used for the reader.

read on ao3

It’s too much.

Poe wakes up and his bedroom is entirely too small and too dark, and he can hear the echoes of bombers and X-Wings and transport ships turning to dust in between the cracks of lightning that slice through the Ajan Kloss’ night sky.

He’s barely aware of his own movements, his mind racing and churning as a sense of overwhelming emotion and a dash of panic clutches tightly in his chest, eyes burning as one thought runs over his head over and over again: my fault, all my fault.

Poe stumbles out of bed, almost tripping on the thin blanket. His bare feet shuffle across the cold floor, out of his quarters and into the hallway, the fear still suffocating him.

The Resistance was decimated because of him, there was more blood on his hands than he ever wanted, and he’d let down the one person who mattered the most to him, who guided him out of some of the darkest parts of his life, gave him the purpose he’d been seeking his whole life.

Leia forgave him, told him as many times as he needed to hear it. The Resistance backed him on Ryloth’s moon. But Poe can’t forgive himself, can’t stop hearing those screams, can’t stop -

He’s just a soldier, just a pilot, he’s nothing. He’s made so many mistakes and he doesn’t deserve the faith Leia has in him, doesn’t deserve the praise and kindness from everyone else, can’t they see?

He’s fading away; there’s no excitement in flight anymore. He’s shorter now, he knows, more easily frustrated. Terrified out of his mind that this is all for nothing, that they’re one bad day - one mistake, one more failure - away from being snuffed out for good.

Poe Dameron can barely recognize himself anymore. He wonders where the Resistance’s best pilot went, the one who could take everything in stride with a charming smile and a quick joke. Everything’s easy for Poe Dameron, right?

He can’t even pretend anymore. He’s so damn exhausted. 

His feet stop moving and he realizes he’s gone to your quarters automatically. There’s a hint of light piercing out from underneath, so before he can think better of it, Poe knocks on the door. He knows the code to your room - has it memorized better than his own - but he doesn’t just want to spring in on you unannounced.

The door slides open a second later, you on the other side. You’re in your night clothes, your holopad clutched under your arm and he figures he interrupted your nightly habit of reading before bed. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he flinches when another roll of thunder cracks across the sky - another X-Wing down, another death on my hands - and you immediately reach for him, concern knitting your brow together.

He wants to tell you it’s alright, but he can’t find the words. You gently guide him inside the room, closing the door behind him and toss aside the holopad before you return to him. You hesitate, unsure if he’s okay with being touched right now. Poe manages a quick nod and you place your hand on his biceps.

“What is it tonight?” You ask quietly, eyes filled with so much gentleness that it nearly shatters him because he doesn’t deserve this kindness, don’t you understand that?

“Everything.” Poe wants to close his eyes because he’s so damn tired, but he’s afraid if he does he’ll just see more fire and more death. He’s not sure he can handle another memory.

“What can I do?” Your grip on him tightens, grows more firm as a rush of protectiveness surges through you, recognizing the look written on his face: the guilt, the regret. The way it’s been eating away at him, til the point that he’s barely the same man you met when you first joined the Resistance.

It kills you, seeing how this war has taken so much from him. Your chest aches at the thought of it, your eyes burning with unshed tears, and if you could you would tear down the First Order with your own two hands for taking this man who was once a brilliant, blazing sun and draining his light and fire.

But what was worse was having the knowledge that the haunted look in his eyes was from his own guilt, how he blamed himself for where the Resistance was now, no matter how many times everyone tried to assuage that guilt. The fear of letting Leia down again was a constant weight on his shoulders, and it was agonizing to know there was nothing you could do to prove to him that he was more than what he feared.

“I -” his voice cracks and you don’t even wait now, you pull him to you and he melts instantly, shoulders shaking as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You feel the shoulder of your shirt grow wet as you rub soothing circles against his back, your own tears spilling down your cheeks because you hate this, because you can have his back when he’s out in the field but how can you save someone from inner turmoil and self-hatred?

How can you make someone realize they’re so loved when they don’t think they deserve it?

After a few beats, Poe’s shoulders still and you pull back slowly - so he knows you’re not going far and that if he needs to, he can stop you - to get a glimpse at him. His eyes red-rimmed, eyes dark without so much as a shine to them. You miss how easily he used to smile, how happy he used to be.

Maker, you’d do anything to see him that way again. You’d cross the whole galaxy, turn back time, fistfight Kylo Ren himself if needed, just to bring that smile back.

Poe breathes out your name, bringing you out of your reverie. He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone, swiping away your tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and something inside you snaps.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, drawing it away from your face so that you can press a kiss to the center of his palm, “No.”

You close his fist, bring it up to your lips and press more kisses to his knuckles and say it again, more firmly: “No.”

When you finally meet his gaze again, his eyebrows are drawn up together, his lips parted somewhat. You step forward, cupping his face with your hands, and you press a kiss to his right cheek, then his left, and then it’s all bubbling up over the surface and you can’t stop raining kisses along every part of him you can reach: his brow, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth -

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you enunciate each word with another peppered kiss, drawing back when the only place left for you to kiss is his lips. “You are so good.” Your hands are trembling now, to the point that Poe reaches up with his own to take your wrists to steady them.

His mouth twitches as he inhales sharply, trying to gather the words. “I’m not, though. Everyone keeps saying that I am, but - we’re in this mess because of -”

“We’re in this mess because of the First Order,” your voice is sharper than you intend for it, but Poe barely reacts to it. “Not because of you. You made a mistake, you failed a couple of times, sure. But don’t you ever fucking lose sight of who put us here. You didn’t destroy our fleet, you didn’t destroy the Hosnian System, those -” your vision blurs, your voice cracks and there’s so much emotion roaring through your chest you’re surprised there’s even room for breath - “those beasts are to blame for all this, not you. Never you.”

Silence falls between you as your chest heaves. Thunder rumbles distantly, but it’s muffled in comparison to the way your heart drums out a tattoo against your ribcage as you realize neither of you have let go of the other yet.

“Why do you believe in me so much?” Poe asks.

“Because you’ve never given me a reason not to.”

Something shifts in his expression now and he takes a quiet step forward, closing the rest of the gap between you. “I can think of plenty of reasons you could hold against me.”

You shake your head just slightly, a quick dismissal. “You’re more than what you believe you are, Poe Dameron.”

His dark eyes search your face for a second and just as you start to question whether or not there’s a spark building in them again, he presses his lips to yours, one hand moving up to cup your cheek, his calloused fingertips feather-light against your skin.

You freeze against his touch and before you can properly register what’s happening, he’s pulled away with a panicked expression. He opens his mouth, presumably to give another apology, but you cut him off by grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him down to capture his lips with your own for a second time.

He wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you close to his chest, as you memorize the feel of his mouth against yours, his stubble brushing against your skin, and then as you slide your hands up into his hair, what it’s like to card your fingers in his curls.

You’re determined to show him what he can’t believe, so when you pull away for breath, you immediately press quick kisses to the corner of his mouth, his jawline, his neck, then back up to press another kiss to his lips, gentler this time.

You take a step forward and guide him backwards to the mattress, not breaking the kiss until he almost trips on a blanket and you snatch your hands out to steady him before he can fall on his ass. “You okay?” You ask and you can’t quite recognize your own voice.

His cheeks are darker than usual when he replies, “Yeah. No. I don’t know -” he shakes his head, sits down on the mattress. You hang where you’re at for a second, standing over him a couple inches away, rocking back and forth on your heels.

The kiss wasn’t too much of a surprise — there was always something undefinable between the two of you, there was no right term for the bond you shared, just...that it was a bond, constantly shifting, full of devotion and loyalty and fierce protectiveness for the other — but you can’t help but feel self-conscious about what just transpired, even though rationally, you know that’s not as important as the reason he came here in the first place.

Poe looks up at you and, as if he read your mind, whispers, “Not about that. That was…” his lips quirk upward slightly, not quite a full smile — not that broad grin you fell in love with — but it’s more than you’ve seen from him in such a long time that you feel like you just watched a sunrise for the first time in months. “That was great.”

You smile and cross the room to him, sinking down next to him. “So what is it?”

Poe closes his eyes and exhales slowly, when he opens them, you can see the fear in them. “Do you really believe I’m a good man?”

You open your mouth to reply of course, but you hesitate. It’s not that you don’t believe he’s a good man, you know that in your bones, but the trouble is that he doesn’t. You can tell him as many times as you want that you believe he’s a good man, you can kiss him until the sun comes up to show him how much he’s loved, but -

But he’s drowning in the fear that he isn’t, and sometimes when you’re that far beneath the surface, it takes more than just someone telling you they believe in you to make a difference, as horrible and terrifying as that is.

So, instead, you reach forward and push back a strand of curls from his forehead, linger slightly where you remember finding a bruise blooming after he returned from being held aboard the Finalizer. You meet his eyes, see the trepidation in them, and you make sure your voice is firm and certain but gentle when you answer him, “I think that you try to be, and I think that’s probably the point. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done because you thought it was the right, just thing, because you thought it could save people.”

“I got people hurt because of that.” Poe whispers. “I got people killed because I had to play hero.”

“Yes you did.” If he won’t mince his words, neither will you. “You were a stubborn ass who refused to listen to orders and your luck ran out. But how many people have you saved, Poe? What about on the Raddus? Who was giving us hope when we had none? That was you.” 

“My plan failed and I almost got Finn and Rose killed for it. The First Order found out because of our transport ships because I sent them into the heart of the beast -” you cut him off by pressing your palm to his lips. He raises one eyebrow in surprise.

“Our luck ran out. People got killed, yeah. Nothing’s going to change that, we can’t take it back, but you weren’t the one who shot them out of the sky, were you?” You hang your head, hand dropping from his mouth, heart seizing - wondering if he’d ever believe you.

To your surprise, Poe whispers, “I guess not.”

You snap your head back up. He doesn’t look entirely convinced by your argument, but he seems to be considering it. He looks up at you, another smile tugging on his lips. This one’s even weaker than before, but it’s a start.

The thunder has died away completely, leaving only the soft patter of the rain.

Feeling embolden, you twist and curve into him, pressing your foreheads together. He shifts to meet you, wrapping one arm around you, his hand splaying across the small of your back as you crash your lips to his again. He gently falls backwards, using his elbow to cushion the fall so it’s not terribly awkward, and your legs twist together.

You stay that way for minutes or maybe hours, parting now and then for air and a shared chuckle before melting against each other again. Eventually, you slip off of him and into the space beside him, his arm underneath you as he rolls with you to capture your lips again, this time in a quick peck. 

He looks more content now anyway, eyebrows soft as he lays on your pillow beside you. You turned off the lamp a few minutes ago after you caught him yawning for a second time, and now you were both lying underneath the same blanket, still holding onto each other - but it’s different from when you’d fallen backwards onto the mattress, then you’d clutched at each other like lifelines, now it was just adjusting to this new familiarity.

You’re curled up against his side with one hand over his heart, fingers lightly twisting around the fabric of his nightshirt as he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “Thank you,” he whispers against your hair.

“For what?”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to phrase what he’s thinking. Finally he lands on, “For not giving up on me, for trusting me - even when I don’t think I deserve it. Especially when I think I don’t deserve it.”

“Always, flyboy.” The nickname falls from your lips with as much affection as it did the first time you used it on him, but Poe doesn’t respond. You huff out a laugh, realizing he’s fallen asleep. You shake your head and snuggle up closer to him. Just before you close your eyes, you whisper the truth you know he doesn’t believe, “You’re the hero.”

Because heroes aren’t just daring and reckless with no sense of self-preservation: they inspire people to be heroes in their name. They find hope in the impossible and offer it to the people who’ve had everything taken away. They listen to the people most would be eager to dismiss, they’re encouraging to those around them. They fight against injustice, stand up for their beliefs, even at great personal cost.

These are all traits Poe Dameron has in spades.

So yes, you muse to yourself just before sleep claims you, he is a good man.

He always was one and he always would be one. You just hope that one day soon, he’ll come to believe it himself.

[polpoka]

Neighbor Au

Characters- Kim Rok Soo, Alberu Crossman, Lee Soo Hyuk, Choi  Jung Soo

Ratings- K+

Shippings- Kimrokberu

Type- (Fluff)

Part 4

The symbol did indeed look like a small sun encompassed in a gigantic moon which made the sun pale in comparison, yet the pale yellow shade stood out more than that of the moon which made Kim Rok Soo’s eyes first fall on the sun. The moon on the other hand was as white as milk, with grey spots that resembled craters, or perhaps that’s what the splotches of orange juice gave an illusion of. The starry midnight sky that adorned the outer gap of the sun-filled moon occupied less space and created a small background that faded out, causing the entire mark to look like a cartoonish sketch of an eclipse. It had its own charm of homeliness and peace, yet it felt unnecessarily regal. It was as if his soulmate was once a king... Wait... didn't his neighbour—now soulmate, say that he had his name plastered on several...broadcasts. 

Kim Rok Soo took a moment to let the realization sink in, the same way the orange juice had seeped through the shirt. 

“Haaaaa…”

Kim Rok Soo sighed deeply. A famous person. That was something he’d never wanted to be, nor be with even in his wildest dreams, nor as an impossible to get Christmas present. Well, to be fair, he didn’t expect to have a soulmate in the first place, but look where that got him.

Even though many would assume otherwise, all he ever wanted was a slacker life, an early retirement, that’s all and nothing more. A tiny, and easily attainable dream. Being the soulmate of a rich person wouldn’t hamper his dream but it would put people’s unwelcome attention on him and that was an unnecessary trade off, especially when he could pave his own way to the desired slacker life.

He would rather go unnoticed than be put under the everlasting spotlight of fame. Money did interest him, however being well-known or being the latest hot topic did not. 

That was one of the reasons why he left Deruth and the entire Henituse estate without a fight. It wasn’t like there was any place for him there any way. He got his inheritance which he had in his savings just in case.

Thus he decided that he would just join his hyungs, though that had immediately backfired and he became one of the most famous musicians where everyone wanted him to play the instrument. 

Willingly choosing fame was inherently never part of his nature, he was more of a money oriented person. Yet his soulmate had to be really damn famous, huh.

How did he even get himself into this soulmate mess in the first place?

He always told himself to be as smart as a badger yet he overlooked such a crucial detail. Was it because the man had made him so relaxed that he had completely lost track of his words and was too focused on the sound of his low, gentle and overall lovely voice? 

It made sense, the man in question was his soulmate after all. It would only be natural for Kim Rok Soo to immediately drop his usually high guard down. 

He splashed more water on his face, deciding that he would think about this awkward and unpleasant situation as he was going home. He had a long drive to look forward to anyway. 

He trudged out of the bathroom, his eyes were bloodshot as the result of the orange juice getting in his eyelids and his jacket was neatly folded and tucked under his arm. He was greeted by an extremely dejected and worried man at the door. The man could also be called the one responsible for the sweet and sour liquid going in his eyes.

“Hyung?”

Lee Soo Hyuk turned to him. Kim Rok Soo could tell that the elder man was concerned. He walked in large strides and patted Kim Rok Soo’s body down, looking straight into Kim Rok Soo’s eyes, examining the damage he had done. He frowned, “Should I get you eyedrops?”

“Hmm? Is it really needed? It doesn’t hurt that much.” Kim Rok Soo asked, since his mind was preoccupied with the soul mark he wasn’t really paying attention to the throbbing pain in his eye.

“They might be infected,” said Lee Soo Hyuk while he was examining Kim Rok Soo’s eyes.

Kim Rok Soo realized there were streams of tears as a reaction to the citrus juice only after Lee Soo Hyuk pointed it out.

“It really got everywhere, huh?” Lee Soo Hyuk said, looking at the utterly soaked shirt and the removed jacket in Kim Rok Soo's hands.

He removed a handkerchief and wiped the streaming tears along with the dried ones from the younger man’s face. 

“It’s not that much, they’ll dry up soon enough.” Kim Rok Soo grumbled, only for the disagreement to be pushed aside, like all the other oppositions that had taken place that day.

Lee Soo Hyuk sighed, looking at the tear-stained face. Though it wouldn’t be proper to call them ‘tears’, it was more of a mere reflex, “My bad. I should’ve been less...startled when you told me that your neighbour was The Alberu Crossman of the Crossman family.” he looked at the blank faced man and tilted his head, “Do you know exactly how famous that family is?”

“No,” Kim Rok Soo said, definitely not revealing the fact that Alberu had told him that he was indeed a famous man, and the fact that his words had completely slipped Kim Rok Soo’s mind only because Kim Rok Soo was only paying attention at Alberu’s voice. Little did he know his vacant look was giving him away to the person he’d known for a long time.

Lee Soo Hyuk looked at the other, inspecting his dongsaeng’s reaction,

“Do you even watch the news anymore?”

Kim Rok Soo fell silent for a while,

“I stopped when they started showcasing me as one of the most popular men.” He felt a rough hand on his cheek which then gently tapped Kim Rok Soo there.

“You should really get over that,” Lee Soo Hyuk said as he wiped the other man’s face one last time. It was gentle despite the coarse hand. Kim Rok Soo knew that his hyung was genuinely trying to help him and nuzzled the hand in an unnoticeable fashion.  

“He’s the CEO of the Roan company.” Kim Rok Soo immediately remembered the Roan company. He had heard of it, “The Crossmans are the founders of one of the big corporations with several branches which are humongous even when counted on their own. Recently it was also branded as the longest lasting one.” Lee Soo Hyuk patted Kim Rok Soo’s cheek again and exaggeratedly sighed, “What are we going with you, Rok Soo-ya? You even forgot who runs the company your nephew currently has a branch in.”

Kim Rok Soo’s face turned stoic from the previously blank face at his hyung’s over-the-top reaction, “Henituses were known for their marble and wine branches. But I didn’t know that it was the Crossmans who were in charge. I just remember the Roan Conglomerate. It didn’t concern me after all.”

Lee Soo Hyuk looked at Kim Rok Soo’s now clean yet somewhat red face,

“Do you want to go home? I’ll be driving.”

Kim Rok Soo nodded, since he didn’t want to decline the offer, especially being drenched head to waist in orange juice.

Lee Soo Hyuk led him to their table, as they finally reached there lay a passed out Choi Jung Soo with the three empty glasses and Lee Soo Hyuk’s card accompanied by a paid check on the table. 

Lee Soo Hyuk looked at the younger man, and chuckled, “Look at this rascal.”

He draped Choi Jung Soo over his shoulder, turning to Kim Rok Soo before informing him, “Wait for me in the car. I'll just drag this guy over.”

Kim Rok Soo nodded and exited the restaurant and walked over to the parking lot, and gently slid into his car’s passenger seat since his hyung was driving. He reclined in his seat and shut his eyes, turning the faucet to his thoughts and letting them slowly drip which quickly escalated to a waterfall. He started to think about the entire soulmate thing. He knew very well that even though he had a soul mark, there weren't any requirements for him to date the person in question. He knew several people who had met their soulmate yet never crossed the line of friends. It was wholly possible that even if he didn't get together with Alberu right now, Alberu could find his own love somewhere else, and not with him, yet that thought pricked him. Kim Rok Soo also knew that if he did get with the man, everyone's attention would fall on him. On the other hand, there was also the fact that Alberu was completely his type, not to mention Alberu had a pleasing personality. Even though they were the same kind of people, Alberu somehow felt purer than himself. 

He remembered the panic attack he saw Alberu experience, just this morning. 

He remembered the younger man’s franticness. 

He remembered the other’s anxiousness.

He remembered the desperate way Alberu held onto his hand, as if Kim Rok Soo was his only grip on reality.

He remembered how Alberu’s dark eyebags that adorned his face always sunk deep into his cheeks, even though he had been asleep a minute before.

He remembered how fragile Alberu looked.

 He remembered how he quickly recovered, like he had been subjected to these sorts of attacks for ages. Even though Kim Rok Soo had experienced such attacks a couple of times himself, he could never get used to the feeling of fear overwhelming him like an overflowing cup.

Alberu looked like a broken mirror to him at the time. A broken mirror who no one wanted to spend their time on fixing. Alberu reminded Kim Rok Soo of himself, before he met his hyungs. 

But the brokenness of his soulmate was not the only thing Kim Rok Soo remembered about Alberu. 

He remembered how Alberu’s dark skin and hair shimmered under the moonlight, it was like the moon was calling its brethren. 

He remembered how cute Alberu looked when he was sleeping on that bench, so adorable Kim Rok Soo was tempted not to wake him up.

He remembered Alberu's embarrassed and red face when he decided to call after him that night.

He remembered the way Alberu’s hair wildly and freely flew open when he was on his balcony. It reminded him of a bird that had finally attained its freedom.

He remembered the sensual way the olive puffer jacket refused to slide down Alberu's arms. 

He remembered how inviting Alberu looked glistening with sweat, sitting on his sofa, wearing that pink turtleneck. 

He remembered Alberu's unending laugh at his short and ordinary words, at least that’s what Kim Rok Soo thought. 

He didn't understand why Alberu laughed, but he did remember the sound. It was like a pleasant tune that played on his mind as he sat in the car.

He remembered the relaxingly cool touch of Alberu’s calloused fingertips. 

He remembered everything about this man. 

This astoundingly alluring neighbour of his. It was as if Alberu drew Kim Rok Soo towards himself, like a craftsman would be drawn to the right materials. If Alberu was a cracked mirror then Kim Rok Soo would be more than glad to collect the broken shards and create a mosaic that would resemble a stained glass painting. 

At that moment Kim Rok Soo knew that he was captivated by this man. Honestly, who wouldn’t, it was a terribly attractive offer. To be the significant other of this wonderful person would be an honor. Though a nagging thought pulled at his mind. Would his affection be-  

“-Rok Soo-ya? Are you there?”

Kim Rok Soo’s eyes flew open in surprise. He had fallen too deep into his thoughts, not realizing that the car’s door had opened and closed twice already. He could also see Lee Soo Hyuk’s face painted with a cheeky grin.

“Hyung.” Kim Rok Soo said, rubbing his eyes trying to fall out of the daze .

Lee Soo Hyuk knew that this was an unusual occurrence since Kim Rok Soo wasn’t the type that used to take this much time to respond to his call. Especially since he was alone. Lee Soo Hyuk also knew what Kim Rok Soo would most probably be thinking about right now. He himself had noticed the soul mark but didn’t say a word as he was too busy taking care of his dongsaeng's tears. 

“Are you thinking about your dark skinned neighbour and-” he glanced at the now dried and translucent shirt before he continued, “possible soulmate?”

Kim Rok Soo, still in a muddled state, managed to let the words come out of his mouth, without any filter before promptly catching himself, “Ye- I mean no.”

This mixed reaction made Lee Soo Hyuk chuckle. He hadn’t seen such a slip in ages, especially when it came to matters relating to love. 'It was only a couple of years ago he decided to leave the estate.’ Lee Soo Hyuk sniffled, ‘They grow up so fast.’ He swerved into Kim Rok Soo, giving the younger man a hug and dramatically cried, “You grew up too soooonnnn. Three years ago you didn’t even think you’d ever have a lover, and now you have a soulmate. I’m so prouddddd of youuu,” whilst Kim Rok Soo sat in the passenger seat, stiff at the sudden wave of affection he was receiving, but of course he reciprocated it by letting his free arms gently wrap themselves around his hyung’s back. Kim Rok Soo gently nuzzled Lee Soo Hyuk’s neck. 

He loved Lee Soo Hyuk. His eldest brother, his respectable mentor who had taught him how to play, his elder brother figure, ever since he was young, his only escape from that excruciatingly stuffy residence. He was someone he knew he could confide in, one of the few people he held the closest to his heart. That was a fact.

Lee Soo Hyuk was a respected person, no matter how you thought about it, wherever you go in the opera world,  you would have to hear his name being mentioned whether you liked it or not. He was a famous conductor whose name echoed through the entire opera world with admiration and jealousy.

When Lee Soo Hyuk let Kim Rok Soo go, Kim Rok Soo was sure he could tell Lee Soo Hyuk about the soulmate situation, not that Lee Soo Hyuk didn’t know what Kim Rok Soo was thinking. They knew each other for a long time and naturally had gotten so close to each other that they pretty much guess what the other was thinking. 

Lee Soo Hyuk could clearly remember the first time he saw that small ball that he could tell was filled with gloom sitting in the corner of a classroom. Lee Soo Hyuk remembered passing the middle school class while he was a highschool student by the hallway before that ball of gloom caught his eye. The child was thin as if he hadn’t been fed in days. Lee Soo Hyuk also remembered pulling that tiny hand out of that corner desk and asking whether the boy wanted to eat along with him. And when the other accepted, he remembered the way the boy’s stoic face that was barely ticking out of his arms had changed itself to a more startled expression, that was before it changed back to a less animated one.

He remembered how their seemingly small friendship had continued until his college years where Kim Rok Soo had met Choi Jung Soo. Choi Jung Soo, Kim Rok Soo and him got along well enough. He also remembered how Kim Rok Soo’s eyes shone when he saw the saxophone play in a school band for the first time. Even though Kim Rok Soo would never say it out loud, Lee Soo Hyuk knew that his dongsaeng loved the instrument. The same went for Choi Jung Soo, excluding the fact that Choi Jung Soo was more vocal about his love for the flute. Lee Soo Hyuk too loved conducting operas, even more so when he saw his dongsaengs playing every single time. They were his motivation and his younger brothers that he cherished more than anything in the world. He couldn't believe his ears when he found out that one of them, especially the more antisocial one had found someone. Of course, he didn’t think it was a bad attribute of Kim Rok Soo’s to be antisocial but he was overjoyed that someone as humble and emotionally choked up as Kim Rok Soo had got someone who could love him just the way he was. “Hyung,” Kim Rok Soo said as his arms were wrapped around the other.

“Hmm?” mused a happy Lee Soo Hyuk, finally letting go of Kim Rok Soo.

“I need to tell you something.” Kim Rok Soo’s hands slipped down the man’s back as the man shuffled to return back to his seat. 

“I’m listening,” he muttered, trying to make himself comfortable in the driver’s seat.

Kim Rok Soo knew that Lee Soo Hyuk was indeed paying attention to his words, even though he wasn’t looking at Kim Rok Soo, and so continued speaking, “So, I think you may have already figured it out but I have a soulmate.”

“Mhmmm,” the other hummed, finally sitting without moving around.

“He’s my neighbour, Alberu Crossman.” Kim Rok Soo’s voice was calm, as if he had already understood what was going to happen.

“Figured as much.” Lee Soo Hyuk remarked. He had known ever since Kim Rok Soo told him that his neighbour was Alberu. 

He was surprised, to say the least but he still knew that Kim Rok Soo was not done with the even more eye opening comments on his situation.

“I also need your opinion on something.” Kim Rok Soo said as he seat belted himself.

“Go ahead.” Lee Soo Hyuk said as he started the car. 

Choi Jung Soo had already been strapped in so there was no problem if Lee Soo Hyuk took him to his house.

“Should I date him even though he’s famous?”

Somehow Lee Soo Hyuk wasn’t surprised at his words even for a bit. “Does his fame really matter?”

Kim Rok Soo deadpanned but Lee Soo Hyuk could see his eyes sparkle, “My slacker life takes the first place in life.”

Even if Kim Rok Soo said that, Lee Soo Hyuk knew that the words were superficial, since many a times Kim Rok Soo was prone to choosing the opposite nevertheless, Kim Rok Soo was a contrary man, but a man that kept his promises. That in itself was contrary.

“Wouldn’t a famous person as a lover have higher chances of leading a successful slacker life?”

Kim Rok Soo looked out of the window and spoke, “I would be put under the public eye, and it would be far worse than it is now.”

Lee Soo Hyuk knew the reason why Kim Rok Soo disliked being the centre of attention. He’d been to the Henituse residence a couple of times. And one thing that had struck him so hard that could remember was Deruth’s picturesque display of hospitality. For some petty reasons, some going along the lines of jealousy and disgust of the limelight placed on Kim Rok Soo, the reason for that was the fact that Kim Rok Soo was delicate and the youngest, not to mention, the adopted one and the one who was chosen. 

Lee Soo Hyuk also remembered how the younger brother, who had just been adopted and was clueless about the house’s atmosphere, was admonished and humiliated several times, sometimes even appearing bruised. He remembered seeing Kim Rok Soo’s eyes grow dim whenever he talked to the elder sibling, or even made eye contact with the elder. 

Their age gap was large, spanning about over 10 years, yet it had always surprised Lee Soo Hyuk how Deruth acted. He acted in such petty jealousy of the attention Kim Rok Soo received from their father, he left Kim Rok Soo utterly  traumatized of ever receiving things, so traumatized that he left the house and thought that he was the one at fault, that he was the one who was intruding, that he was better off with receiving an allowance every year without returning to the place of his birth, well not that Kim Rok Soo would want to. The allowance was large, as if it was consolation money. Maybe it was.

Lee Soo Hyuk wasn’t sure but he thought that was why Kim Rok Soo was so obsessed with his early retirement to be peaceful and mainly, not attract any attention. Perhaps, it was because of the years he had spent in that hellhole. 

Lee Soo Hyuk knew Deruth, not that well, but well enough to decide that he didn't like the child’s personality, despite it becoming a little more amiable when he had married his first wife. Only when his first child was born did Kim Rok Soo decide that he wanted to accept the long time invitation of reestablishing contact. It was not much so of regaining contact than it was not wanting his nephew to go through the same things he did, not that he would admit it.

Lee Soo Hyuk and Choi Jung Soo shared some things in common one of them being their extreme dislike towards Deruth, not his children of course, those little rascals were adorable. Lee So Hyuk still remembers the day when Kim Rok Soo had volunteered to babysit the two sons; Basen and Cale.The reason being the fact that  Violan, Deruth’s second wife, went on a vacation to get herself some rest for her upcoming pregnancy, along with her husband, of course. Basen was eight and Cale was eleven. Cale was rather annoyed all the time, until Kim Rok Soo gave him a lollipop, after that his face lit up like a firework on a starry night. Lee Soo Hyuk remembered the small pale child, with flushed cheeks sitting only next to Kim Rok Soo. Cale said that it was because Kim Rok Soo had the lollipops, which he absolutely loved, but everyone knew that wasn’t the case. 

Basen liked Kim Rok Soo because the elder man fascinated him, and he liked the way he played the saxophone. He had all these memories stored in his brain solely because these were joyful instances, some that continued even today. Even when the small Cale had grown up to be a splendid twenty five year old, even when the curious Basen seemed to have matured into a calm adult, they both seemed to revert back to the way they were when they were kids in front of Kim Rok Soo. It was also known how overprotective Kim Rok Soo was of the duo, which then evolved into a trio as Lily was born.

Lee Soo Hyuk was genuinely glad that his dongsaeng had gotten a soulmate, albeit unexpected who the soulmate was, it was good to have his thoughts take form in reality and that someone other than people close to Kim Rok Soo, who all had their own partners to worry about, had dug deep enough to find that the stoic man made a splendid companion. 

Even though it didn’t take that much time for Alberu to crack this seemingly tough nut.  

“So,” Lee Soo Hyuk asked, “Are you going to ask him out on a date?”

Kim Rok Soo looked out of the side view mirror for a second before answering,

“Yes.”

**

Alberu returned to his seat on the couch, after feeding the two cats and washing the cup, still dazed and trying to register what he just saw. 

‘That- that was a soulmark, right? Really? I’m not that sleep deprived, am I?’ He raised his sweater once more to see the mark.

‘So it wasn’t a hallucination.’ 

He sighed in defeat, until he felt a small head purring under his hand, which made his downcast gaze shift and meet the grey cat’s gleaming yellow eyes, “Hmmm?” he hummed in confusion.

The grey cat’s beady eyes seemed to twist into a more annoyed way each time Alberu saw them, or perhaps that was just his imagination.

Alberu leaned over his shoulder, “What should I do about this now?”

‘I do like the idea. Should I just see how it goes before jumping to any more conclusions.’

“What the hell should I do-”

His lamenting was cut off by the shrill sound of the doorbell, which made him scramble to his feet, leaving the two cats startled at this unexpected noise.

When Alberu opened the door, he was finally greeted by the long awaited and familiar face of his college friend and secretary. Alberu looked at the other with a half irritated expression, “You really took your time, huh?”

The taller man, tanned and adorned with two small black stars under his eyes, had a look of nonchalance, his short sun-kissed hair with beach wave nature bobbing gently alongside the wind.

He spoke with little or no care of the standing between the two individuals, despite the other being the superior, with an audible british accent.

“Sir, I was called by Mistress Angelina and Sir Choi Jung Gun for tea a while before you called me to retrieve your keys, which I presumed was an easy thing to not forget, but I suppose even the greatest minds can slip up-”

He was cut off with an annoyed shush by the other, “Could you please stop with the unpleasant pleasantries of yours.”

Taerang took a pause, before scanning the younger man, “How did you manage to get so wet?”

Alberu sighed, “It’s a long story.” 

He heard a small mew near his leg, which prompted him to look down to see the red cat rubbing itself on his ankle. Alberu looked back at Taerang, motioning that they should move locations, preferably to his home, in response to which Taerang simply nodded.

After a sorrowful parting with the cats, Alberu shut Kim Rok Soo’s door and turned to look at Taerang who looked a bit surprised. 

“What’s wrong?” Alberu asked, walking through the hallway.

Taerang’s head slightly tilted, walking at an equal pace, “You’re quite close to your neighbor. Did you already tell him who you are?” 

Alberu flinched, “Not at all.”

Alberu flinching would normally not be noticeable to other people, but Taerang knew Alberu, so he could easily see through him. “Really? I’ll have to report to Miss Tasha either way. You do remember the repercussions of disclosing your identity, right?”

Alberu was silent until they reached his house, “We’ve reached. Let’s talk here.”

**

When Kim Rok Soo returned, he saw his hall exactly how he had left it. He felt the two cats mewling at his feet. He picked the red one up and sat down on the sofa, the other following him and laying herself on his lap.

The rest of Kim Rok Soo’s day was uneventful, except the fact of him planning the confession before he slept. He decided to talk with the other person for a while, and see whether the other thought the same. Going slow would be the best for now, he thought, turning to his side.

But you know life had always been cruel to him, always raising his expectations, only to let him see them come crashing down like a child’s sandcastle built too close to the sea. Again, and again, without any pause. This time was no different.

The next evening  Kim Rok Soo decided to visit Alberu, he wasn’t greeted with the annoyed expression he’d expect from the darker man, instead, he was greeted by a paper stuck on the door that read in big font, 

‘Now on sale! Buy a new flat-’ 

Kim Rok Soo didn’t bother reading the rest. He was too shocked to comprehend the words plastered on the face of the flyer.

[dreamingofscully]

Grey Canyon 14/?

Rating: Current Chapter: PG, Series: up to Mature Categories: Western AU / MSR / WIP WC: 2546 / Total WC: 23,827 Updated on Mondays and Fridays.

Thank you to @ceruleanmilieu for the beta! ❤️ Tagging: @impulsive-astrophile @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved @sculderfan​ @today-in-fic (let me know if you want to be tagged when I post!)

all chapters in order: ao3 / tumblr

CH 1 / CH 2 / CH 3 / CH 4 / CH 5 / CH 6 / CH 7 / CH 8 / CH 9 / CH 10 / CH 11 / CH 12 / CH 13

CHAPTER 14: “Sunrise/sunset”

Grey Canyon, Colorado 1885

Nothing frustrated Mulder more than inaction. It was his biggest strength, and yet also his weakness. He would not shy away from doing what was needed, except when it came to waiting. And yet, waiting has been imposed on him in two ways. First, by the circumstances involving Dana’s brothers. He did not know if they were close, or if they had no idea where she was. He would not take the chance to investigate, to expose her, or to leave her alone for longer than an hour or two. Second, the impasse he’d placed upon himself regarding his relationship with Dana, upon furthering their intimacy. He would do what was right, it was important. But what did that look like? He didn’t know, it was only a feeling he had, deep in his gut.

His mind kept turning back to yesterday morning’s pathetic proposal. Then, to awakening next to her, the smell and feel of her body next to his as she clung to him in sleep. The way her hair shone against the backdrop of the sunrise through her window, a cloud of golden-red. When she awoke, the smile she gave him, secret and special. And the gentle kiss she’d pressed to the hand that rested on her shoulder. He would have that future: living through every sunrise with her next to him. He didn’t know why he could not let himself stay, to enjoy her entirely. To avoid her disappointed gaze when he left, over and over.

So, he brooded. Sat at the bar, chin on his fist, staring at the wall but not seeing it. He felt some solution was within his reach, just out of his grasp. The idea floated just underneath his consciousness, fuzzy and unclear.

Suddenly, a vague shape coalesced.

“Melvin!”

The barkeep sauntered over to him after pouring Walt a drink, frowning and silent.

“What was that story you told me a while back about your aunt?”

***

Early evening descended upon the Gilded Hall. The sun was well on its way to setting, the sky turning from bright blue to a more muted tone, hints of gold in the west along the ridges of the Rocky Mountains. Mulder shielded his eyes and watched from his vantage up on the roof of the hall. He paced, wiping his sweaty palms on his best trousers, checking to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything in his preparations.

After speaking with Melvin, he made quick work of his plans, invigorated by his idea. Madam had supplied him with the scarf, blue silk embroidered prettily with yellow daisies along the edges. Melvin, who was waiting inside, had washed his face and looked quite out of place in his suit, hair stuffed underneath his somewhat-cleaner black bowler hat.

The blanket he’d retrieved from Nellie, as she watched their preparations curiously. It was something she kept in her chest, a present from a former life, and she wanted Dana to have it. She handed it over, shyly remarking “Make sure to treat her right, Fox.”

He’d hoped this would do it. That she’d finally be treated right, as she deserved.

The tapping of the ladder summoned him from his reverie. He removed his hat, placing it on the blanket and cushions spread over the freshly swept roof. A couple chairs, an oil lamp for when the sun fell from the sky, and a covered dish with their dinner completed the picture.

The top of Dana’s hair poked out from the hole in the roof. Not meant to be commonly accessed, the open hatch, which Mulder discovered earlier in the afternoon, was the perfect final touch. The sunset, some stargazing, and something else that would finally allow him to explore the rest of his future with her.

“Some help, please!”

He rushed over and bent downwards, grabbing her arms and lifting her up onto the roof. She looked back down through the hatch and waved at Melvin.

“I think he got quite the show,” she said, quirking her eyebrow.

“I’m sure he’ll never forget it.”

She chucked and dusted off her blue gown where some dirt had clung to it in her climb. Then her eyes took in the view, her expression turning from amusement and curiosity to wonderment. It really was spectacular up here. Distant enough from the street to avoid the offensive smells and sounds. The plains rising up into mountains in the west, far enough away that the sun hadn’t yet disappeared behind them.

“What’s all this, then?” She turned to face him.

“A surprise. Something nice,” he said, guiding her to the blanket and chairs with a hand on her lower back.

“Well, all right then,” she said, her face flushing with pleasure and a smile peeking onto her lips.

They sat and ate, feeding each other bits of fruit and cheese and tearing off pieces of fresh bread. A few birds landed near them, and they shared their crumbs. He was happy to see her enjoyment, but as the backdrop of their dinner transformed into the painted hues of purple and red and orange, he felt his heart flutter, his hands start to sweat.

“Do you know why I prefer the sunset?” she asked, after their conversation went silent.

He shook his head, wiping his hands on his knees before taking the nearly-empty plate from her and placing it away from them.

“The stars,” she said. Her face tilted upwards at the sky, a few sparkling dots appearing in the canvas of deep blue above them. “My father would take me sailing, sometimes. Tell me stories about the constellations, the myths surrounding them. I feel as though he is here when I look upwards at night.” She lowered her gaze to him. “I don’t get much opportunity nowadays.”

“I know.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand, then got up from her chair and pulled him down next to her on the blanket. Sitting along her side and facing him, she leaned against the cushions on an elbow and looked skyward once more. Once he’d settled near her, his thumb brushing along her wrist, she began to speak again.

“You have heard the story of Andromeda?”

He nodded. “But I would hear it from you.”

“Let me show you, first,” she said, leaning close to him and pointing out a particularly bright set of stars. “You see those stars there, that form a square?”

He followed her finger, tearing his gaze from her face. “Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s Pegasus. Follow it there, upwards slightly…” She directed his gaze, and at first he could not see anything except a chaotic mess of white lights against an inky backdrop. But then it came together, and he could see the pattern as she spoke, the rest of the stars fading to insignificance.

“I see it!” he exclaimed.

She smiled, and continued, telling him of the story of how an innocent daughter was abandoned by her family, chained to a rock and left for a beast, until a stranger came along and changed her fate. As she spoke, a wistful expression on her face, he could not help but make the comparison. He wouldn’t claim to have saved her, not yet at least, but he would certainly do whatever he could against the monster that was coming.

He no longer looked skyward. Her expression softened as she told the story, eyes shining as she not only remembered the tale, but the memory of the person who told it to her. He wanted to give her that, again, give her something from which she could look back and think only of warmth, instead of regret.

Trailing his hand along her arm, folded between them, he grasped her hand.

“You’re not looking at the stars,” she said, peering at him out of the corner of her eyes.

“I am looking at what is most important,” he said, making her blush. “And I am listening.”

She touched his face, her thumb dragging along his bottom lip, eyes turned serious. “I wish you could have met him.”

“Your father.”

“He would have liked you.”

“A military man liking someone with outlandish ideas and designs for his daughter? I am doubtful.”

She laughed. “He would have seen you, as I do.”

“And what do you see?”

“A good man,” she said, leaning forwards and kissing him softly on his lips. She was very convincing.

She moved closer, leaning her head on his shoulder and continuing her search of the night sky, and within her own mind for happier times, he thought. His heart sped up, not only due to her proximity but of the question he still needed to ask her.

“Would I be Medusa, in that story, or perhaps the flying horse?” he joked.

She smiled widely at him, laughing freely. He slipped out from beside her and lit the oil lamp, the moon and stars their only illumination; they were draped in shadows and he wanted to see her. When he returned to her side, she grasped his hand within hers, pulling it to her mouth and kissing his palm.

“This… whole thing is lovely. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly very warm despite the chill of the night air. He twisted his collar, loosening it slightly and fidgeting next to her.

“What has gotten you so nervous, Mulder? You do know that these stories are only myths, right? Or do you also believe in sea monsters?” she teased.

He bowed his head. “I admit, I, uh, have an ulterior motive to all of this…” he said, waving his hands at the setting he’d created for them.

“Well, if it’s to get into this dress, you already know where I stand, so it must be something else,” she said playfully, her head tilting at him. “Out with it.”

“So, I’ve been thinking about our situation...” he started.

“‘Situation’?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He flushed, laughed nervously. “I have another story to tell, and you can thank Melvin for it, although perhaps he’d already been paid with a good view.”

Dana smiled and nodded, patting his hand.

“He’s part Irish, like yourself, also part Scot. A mix of many things I suppose. Cherokee, too, he claims, though he lacks the height for me to believe that,” he said. He clasped her hand within his, squeezing it. “His aunt Katie told him the story about how she met her husband. There’s a tradition, over there, where they choose their mates through a wall, only having seen the woman’s hand. They are bonded then, for a year and a day…”

He stared at their hands, having no doubt he would know hers.

“It started a long time ago, when a priest was not available.”

When he looked back at her, her head was bowed as she waited, quiet and still.

“Once chosen, they would fasten a scarf around their hands, and they would live together as if married, for the year and a day, or until a child came, or a priest came by.”

He brought the scarf the Madam gave him from inside his pocket and placed it next to their hands.

“It only requires a witness, and Melvin agreed--”

“Stop,” Dana interrupted, withdrawing her hand. She stood up quickly and backed away a few steps.

“If he is too offensive, perhaps the Madam would agree…?” He stood as well, taking the scarf in one hand, reaching out to her with the other.

She shook her head, and he saw the glistening of tears in her eyes. “All of it, Mulder.”

“But--”

“The answer to your question is no, and I should have been clear before,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

Mulder’s shoulders slumped. “Of course… I shouldn’t have assumed that you wanted this, that I was… the marrying type.”

“Look at me,” she said, her voice sharp.

He did, massaging the back of his neck. This wasn’t turning out how he’d envisioned, the exact opposite, in fact. Instead of a happy Dana, kissing, and… perhaps more, she stood in front of him, upset and perhaps a little angry, for a reason he could not fathom. He waited, feeling the weight of guilt already settling on his shoulders.

“I do not need a fancy ring, or a scarf, or anything else to know how I feel about you. How you feel about me,” she started. Her eyes softened slightly, but she did not approach. “If my circumstances had been any different, if I’d ended up like one of the girls here, would I be any less worthy of your love, of your commitment?”

“Of course not,” he said.

From the look on her face, he guessed she did not believe him. “I am so tired of other people thinking they know what is best for me, or, as you say it, what I deserve.”

“Dana, I… do not mean it that way." He bowed his head, unable to look at her. Not wanting to fight, to turn this into something ugly, but the right words escaped him. He found his anger starting to build as well. How could she think such a thing? Then the doubt. Have I really made her feel that way?

“Maybe so. But that is not my only reason for my refusal,” she said. “I have seen what happens, when a woman gets married. My mother, my sister, my friends at college. A wife is treated as even less of an individual. Even if she fights against it, as my sister did, it changes her."

She stepped closer, pointing her finger at his chest but not quite touching it. Her cheeks were red and her eyes blazed.

"When I marry, I will no longer be myself. I become your wife, your property, not my own person. If you cannot understand that, then we are finished speaking."

"Dana I do not want a wife, I want you." He clenched his hands into fists, twisting the delicate scarf in his grasp.

"Even if you did not mean to change me, it would happen. And I do not mean to lose myself," she said, pursing her lips, and turning away from him.

He grabbed her arm to prevent her from moving away, his anger rising. "You say I am ridiculous, that I have crazy ideas, well yours is the most absurd idea I have ever heard. Just because we are together in some official capacity does not mean that anything changes!"

Dana stared at his arm, then looked up at his face, her eyes cold and furious. She spoke harshly. "No offense, sir, but you are not a woman. You do not know what it is like--”

“Dana--”

“I am not finished. If whatever object you conjure to bind us together does not change anything then why is it so important to you? Why do you insist on it before we take things further. It means something, to you at least... and I cannot give that to you."

Wrenching her arm away from his grasp, she stalked towards the hatch in the roof and climbed down as fast as her dress would allow. She did not look back.

Mulder stood there, shocked, the delicate scarf falling from his hand onto the dusty rooftop.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Hunting”

Here is another story requested by a few of you (my lovely readers). Forgive me if I am not entirely accurate on this one. While I grew up where hunting was a thing, I never got around to actually participating, though I wish I would have tried at least once. 

The leaves overhead rattled in a chilled autumn breeze. On Earth, the plants had adapted to the harsh winters, and so shed their leaves going sort of…. Dormant....through the cold season, assuming they had leaves instead of needles, and the forest floor was blanketed with the decomposing remnants bright red and orange on the top layer, and a dark moldering brown on the lower layers.

It was just barely warm enough for Krill to be outside of his enclosure floating softly through the air tethered to one of his human companions who crouched in the leaves. He was very silent predatory eyes facing forward into the trees. When he moved he moved unfathomably silently despite the leaves placing his booted feet on patches of open earth.

Two other humans ranged out to their sides slowly moving through the trees barely visible to krill, who couldn’t make them out against the backdrop of foliage, especially not with the confusing patterned clothing that they wore which broke up their bodies and caused them to blend backwards into the foliage. He only caught a glimpse of them every so often as they moved silently through the trees.

Adam came to a knee on a mossy patch of rock hand braced against the ground. 

Krill shivered as he watched the other humans fall into a similar position. He had always called humans predatory, and science had proven that long ago, but he had never expected to see it in action. Though it may have seemed unbelievable, on their planet, humans were some of the slowest weakest , and arguably the most useless creatures, but mentally there was no foil, and the evidence of that showed in the technology used to aid their hunting ventures. Camouflage to help them be unseen compasses to help them find the way, and the lightweight carbon-fiber contraption gripped lightly in his left hand.

The human crouched on the ground peering through the trees and adjusted the contraption to rest over his knee. It was strange, an oddly shaped length of carbon fiber, aluminum and fiberglass ending in a set of pulleys which secured a fibrous length of cord between the two extreme ends. 

Slowly and with very deliberate movement, the human reached back and drew a long black shaft from an open tube on his back. The back end of the shaft had three foam patches on it two in orange and one in white, and the other end…. Had a flittering set of blades reaching an apex at a single point. The human slowly moved his hand down and set the back end of the shaft against the cord.

The two other humans with him turned and he motioned the one to the left with a wide turn of his hand motioning him to flank around to the side.

Krill watched in great fascination and unease as the hunting human slipped into the brush. Adam stuck a finger in his mouth and held it up to the air “Checking the wind” as he had explained earlier. From the slight drift Krill was getting, he would say there was a slight breeze heading towards them. Adam seemed satisfied and turned to motion his other brother, Jeremy, off to the other side.

David was nowhere to be seen.

Krill hid behind a tree staring around at the strange alien landscape, and the strange human hunters. He really had not wanted to come with them into the hostile landscape even less so when he learned he was going to watch them hunt and kill another creature, but curiosity had gotten the better of him, so he had accompanied the humans as they had made their way into the woods.

 At first, nothing had seemed particularly off about the situation. The three men had walked together talking and laughing, Adam somewhat less than normal considering he was still recovering psychologically after a very hard few months, but still all had seemed well, and then, after a couple hours of aimless wandering, the group of men had stopped on the open side of a ridge peering downwards into a valley with contraptions allowing them to see further.

The moon had changed significantly after that.

It was as if a switch had flipped , and the three men grew very, very quiet. They had slowly fanned out over a distance of twenty yards to either side knees bend slightly shoulders hunched eyes facing forward stalking through the trees with near silent footsteps as their, once strange, clothing began to demonstrate a new purpose as their bodies began to shimmer and vanish, to Krill’s eyes, against the background of trees and dying leaves.

Humans weren’t generally this quiet, and it unsettled Krill as he watched them stalking through the trees.

And then they sait waiting ten minutes turned into twenty twenty became thirty and thirty grew towards an hour of just watching as the humans sat perfectly still and in place unwilling to move a muscle. He had never seen a human hold so still in their life, much less Adam, but there he sat crouched on the ground as a chill wind blew past him through the trees. Out of morbid curiosity, Krill inflated himself a little bit more elevating himself towards the middling branches of the trees. Through the shedding branches he could just make out a clearing up ahead.

It was large and spacious with gently swaying grass fading from a light green to a dusky yellow color, and in that clearing, he could just make out a clump of brown shapes. It was difficult to make out from here, seeing as he did not have the best eyesight…. In comparison to humans, but he animals standing before him were strange beasts, quite large about the height of a human or more…. Some of the larger ones anyway. They had tan to brown coats, and the larger one’s head was crowned with a strange branching of bone.

It was a rather eerie sight. The creature lifted it’s head and sniffed at the air, easily supporting the great branches atop its head points glistening in the dim overcast light of the sky above. Its large ears flickered, and it’s wide, dark eyes scanned the trees about them. Around it, the smaller creatures, without the strange protrusions, lifted their heads as well turning towards the opposite end of the clearing.

Krill wouldn’t have been able to tell the creatures were prey animals if it wasn’t for the lateral positioning of their eyes. To him the beasts were terrifying, especially the large one which would have used it;;s horns to gore him in half if it really wanted.

Surely the humans weren’t after these things.

The large one sniffed the air again and pawed at the ground in agitation. As if on quq, the group of animals began making their way closer towards the hiding humans. A few broke out into a light trot and padded through the tall grass. Their agitation had not yet broken into full blown panic, though it definitely should have.

Krill could see the human now crouching in the bushes eyes locked upon the large thorny creature at the head of the pack. He inched forward taking a knee against the ground. The creature had turned its head facing backwards, but from what Kril Could tell, it’s line of sight would have been blocked by a set of branches just to the front of its face. The human took this opportunity lifting the contraption before his face and drawing the cord back. One hand held out straight forward and the other one drawn back to his cheek thumb delicately brushing against the side of his mouth. The weapon did not quiver. 

The animal lifted its head.

The human let out a slow breath going very still and let go of the cord. There was a loud TWACK! And then a shrill scream as the animal bucked kicked and then fell over writhing in place. Its shrill cries echoed through the valley stirring the rest of the herd into a terrified frenzy, and together they bolted through the trees with the thundering of hooves. 

The three humans converged from the woods breaking cover and no longer attempting to silence their footsteps. One broke from the left one broke from the right, and Adam ran straight up the middle. Krill watched in abject horror as the three humans surrounded the dying animal. The creatures wide dark eyes stared up at the surround predators in fear. David stepped forward drawing back another arrow, from a few paces away, put a shaft through its eye.

The creatures cries were silenced fading slowly into a dying echo as he lowered his bow, and the three humans morphed back into their earlier selves.

“Nice shot.”

“If it was a nice shot, I would have killed it.” Adam retorted. Uneasily KRill lowered himself form the sky staring in fearful fascination at the creature lying dead on the forest floor. The humans had done it, they had just…. Killed it. 

And now they planned on eating it.

Jeremy dropped to one knee handing his bow off to Adam, “Tell your little alien friend he might want to turn away for this part.

Adam turned to look at Krill his single green eye flickering in the dying light of the sun, “We aren’t planning on dragging the entire thing out…… which means we have to gut it.” Krill didn’t need more prompting and turned away. Despite that, he could still hear the sound of rending flesh as the humans tore the creature apart into its component parts. The thought struck him with abject horror, and he wondered how it could be like this. Adam, a usually mild and unaggressive creature capable of stalking, hunting and dismembering something, but a lot fo humans were like that seemingly mild and unaggressive until they weren’t.

“Why dod you do this.” Krill wondered in shock 

David took this one coming around to face Krill wiping his hands on some disinfecting wipes, “Depends, we used to do it for survival, and then we did it for sport, and we’ve always done it to eat because they taste good, but the reason we do it now has to do with population control. Last couple of years some sort of disease has been tearing through the predator population, especially wolves. IN turn the deer population saw a MASSIVE increase. They are having trouble feeding all of them, and grazing habits have caused issue with other species and wildland. Generally nature would take care of the issue, but it's been affecting some families and homes in the nearby area. The government gives out tags to hunters to take down the males to reduce population growth and control. Once the disease dies down, and the predator population goes up, they will be giving out wolf tags.”

Behind him one of the humans laughed, “I know you don't like the idea much Krill, but humans are hunters always have been always will be. The difference now is, we understand the kind of impact we have, and we know how to use what we kill to the best of our ability.”

Adam dusted off his hands.

Krill looked back at them expression unsure trying to ignore the caracc laid at their feet. Looking in their eyes, he didn’t see anything different, no signs of sadistic pleasure or a change for the worst, but perhaps that is what bothered him. The fact that killing something really didn’t change the way they felt, didn’t change anything about them. This was something that they did, and something they had done for thousands of years.

Perhaps he would never understand it.  In comparison to creatures on their planet, he had more in common with the trees than he had in common with animals, so his species would never understand consumption for survival.

But still there was something about the way they moved that day, the way they had circled and sluk through the trees that would always stick with him.

It was a reminder.

A reminder that man had grown up in a harsh world.

A reminder that man was at his core.

A hunter

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Seven

@rock-n-roll-fantasy I wish I could take credit for a single original idea in this part, but I’ve literally stolen it all from my favourite dramatic space nerd: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SI4g0Sxs1jA 😉 

This is technically the last part before the epilogue which should hopefully be posted soon! There may or may not be another hug in this one...

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

*****************************************

Consciousness returns to him slowly, expanding in tiny increments over what feels like hours.  

It starts with a bone-deep chill settling over his flesh like crystallised ice, followed by a soft breeze ruffling hair which feels longer than he remembers. He finds that he still has fingers, which surprises him somewhat, and he flexes them experimentally against the shifting surface beneath his prone form. Fine grains of sand cling to his palms in the process, though he lacks the strength to wipe them clean. Acute awareness of his shirt clinging to his chest sends a flurry of discomfort through his spine, and a choked-off groan escapes his lips when he becomes all-too-aware of the many layers of sweat coating his skin. The only thing that doesn’t return is vision. All other senses creep back to him with a pace that would rival a snail’s, but his surroundings remain as black as an endless void, and he lets the darkness carry him off into a doze once or twice.  

It occurs to him that he appears to be alive, despite having prepared for an entirely different outcome. He can’t say he knows how to feel about that. There had been something so peaceful about the notion of simply fading away, comforted by reclaimed memories of home, and this current uncertainty is far more terrifying than finality could ever be.  

And yet, there is no denying his survival. The first sound to return to his ears is his own heartbeat; slow at first, only to quicken as anxiety infects his brain. Shallow breaths fill his lungs with precious oxygen, and before long his discomfort at being curled up like an overgrown child force him to stretch limbs which feel arthritic in their creaking stiffness. Eventually the sound of his thudding heart is muted by the rush of crashing waves and the hiss of a cool breeze kissing the earth. It takes longer than it should for his mind to paint a picture – to comprehend the impossibility of hearing ocean waves on the place he now calls home – and his breathing only grows more rapid when he opens his eyes.

The pervading darkness doesn’t abate.  

He can’t see.  

Alex blinks several times in quick succession, consumed by panic, but no light invades his retinas no matter how desperately he tries to focus. A harsh gasp rips through him, only to erupt into painful, hacking coughs as his mouth fills with sand, choking him with the taste of earth and salt. With trembling limbs, he lifts his torso from the ground and retches in an attempt to clear his throat, feeling hot tears stream down his face as his airway clears at an agonising pace. When he can finally breathe again, the cool sea-air soothes his lungs and has him closing his eyes in newfound bliss. A shaky hand comes up to feel his forehead and he frowns as he becomes all-too-aware of an unseen vice squeezing his skull, as though trying to force his brain out through his ears. The frown only deepens when his fingers trace smooth metal instead of warm skin.

Before any ridiculous notions can fill his head - no doubt concerning cyborgs - he traces the curve of metal downwards until he reaches a groove resting just below his eyes. The vice is a helmet. A tight one, certainly, but no more a part of him than his battered shirt. Further exploration reveals a conspicuous lack of visor or straps, or even wires plugged into god knows what. The sheer unfamiliarity of the device grows with every second it remains fused to his skull, compounded by the absolute certainty that he wants it off.

Before he can second-guess the logic of his decision, he tugs on the helmet with all the force he can muster. Meeting more resistance than expected, he lets out a cry of frustration before easing both palms underneath the groove and shoving upwards with all his might. The force of the device pressing against his skull has stars bursting behind his eyes and nausea rising in his gut. A shock of pain followed by the sensation of wetness implies that blood has been spilt, but he eventually manages to free himself from the helmet’s clutches with his skull somewhat intact, and a choked sob escapes his throat as colours flood through his vision, revealing his surroundings at long last.

Still heaving from a mixture of nausea and elation, he watches as a stiff breeze scatters sand over the sleek surface of a device which resembles his old virtual reality mask too closely for comfort. Matt’s birthday gift had been considerably less confining, but the resemblance is still close enough to have Alex shuddering. Warm wetness trickles from his temples into his thoroughly mussed hair, and he reaches up only for his fingers to come back coated in red. The flow of blood is sluggish, however, and the pain little more than a negligible throb. The wound is no more than a scratch.  

A small price to pay for the view that greets him when he turns his head seaward.  

The sunset is a brilliant collage of pinks and oranges spread across an endless sky like broad paint strokes, occasionally interrupted by thick clouds shifting like ghostly shadows over calm waters. The sun rests just above the water’s surface, its outline vibrating as the ocean spreads its golden glow like a halo. Closer to home, calm waves wash up against a golden shore, leaving masses of seaweed and froth in their wake. The resounding crash as they batter the hardened sand before politely receding tugs his lips upwards into a dazed smile. He never thought he’d see the ocean again. Never thought he’d feel sand beneath his feet or watch the sun from afar or idly gaze upon overhanging gulls scouting the waters for prey. The hotel pool had been a poor substitute. As tempting as its waters always looked, he cannot recall seeing them so much as ripple in all the time he’d observed them. Had he ever taken the plunge himself and dived beneath the surface? He honestly can’t remember now. Nor can he recall any guests disturbing the water’s calm surface either. In comparison to the sight which greets him now, the only significant body of water on the moon had been a positively dull affair.

It occurs to him far too late that he knows this beach. As he casts his eye along the seemingly endless shoreline, disturbed by scattered driftwood and craggy cliffs, he recalls several early-morning runs along the adjacent paths and quickly-terminated attempts at surfing. In theory, the gaudy comforts of Los Angeles should lie just behind him, barely miles away from the shore. When he turns to look, however, he finds that such hopes are quickly dashed. The coast may be familiar, but the colossal sand dunes stretching beyond it are an entirely new finding. What little greenery remains is brittle and broken, swaying stiffly in the breeze with little resistance.  

Not that that’s the most striking thing to befall his eyes. The lifeless remains of a landscape he once called home appear almost unremarkable in the face of the half-buried monstrosity peering directly at him from beneath a rounded helmet.

The creature appears to be dead. At the very least it remains unmoving, jaw locked in an eternal snarl as it leers towards the clouded sky. One towering, skeletal hand pokes out from the sand to point at an unseen insult with a single extended phalynx. Beneath metal plates which appear rusted by the humid sea-air, the creature is little more than faded bone held together by silver ligaments; its gaping mouth and nose consisting only of empty sockets. Alex can’t even bring himself to fear it. Perhaps he did once. A pang of recognition gnaws at him, and it occurs to him that the reason his heart hasn’t stopped is because this particular image no longer has the power to frighten him. The only emotion he can muster for it now is misguided pity.  

The helmet encircling the creature’s skull is the spitting image of the device lying dejected by his side. Is that what Alex would have looked like eventually? Had he remained within the confines of the hotel for all eternity, would some future remnant of humanity have stumbled upon him half-buried beneath the sand, with nothing left of him but discoloured bone?

He suspects he already knows the answer to that, and he rejects the mental image with a shudder.  

The evening is growing cold and he isn’t exactly dressed for it. Glancing down at his attire, he notes a torn pair of jeans and a faded white shirt resting beneath a blue cotton jacket. He remembers this get-up all-too-well. It’s the last thing he ever wore on Earth; the mismatched outfit he’d pulled on when the call to evacuate tore him from his rest. The outfit he’d been wearing when he and Miles navigated their way through a desperate crowd, before being torn apart and left drifting in spite of their efforts to crawl back to each other.

Miles... He needs to find him. The others too; Jamie, Nick, Matt and anyone else who has ever remotely mattered to him. He’s well aware that doing so is likely impossible. God only knows how long he spent trapped in that carefully crafted lie; millions of years may have passed for all he knows.

Only, he has to try. Has to believe there was a reason for coming home, otherwise what was the point of waking up at all?

Forcing himself to his feet with all the elegance of a newborn foal, he casts a glance in all directions only to find himself incapable of picking one. Whichever way he looks, the road ahead appears to be endless. A couple of experimental steps is enough to bring back recollections of stumbling through hotel corridors - real and imagined - drunk out of his mind and craving unconsciousness. His mind feels out of sync with his limbs; his synapses reduced to a tangled mess, with all the instructions winding up at the wrong destinations. Even standing still doesn’t spare him from swaying in the breeze like a weightless leaf.  

His weakness should bother him, maybe even frighten him a little, but he’s too tired for that. Perhaps if he lets sleep claim him he will wake up in his own home, cradled in the arms of someone he loves, to find that this whole mess has been an elaborate dream. He may even get a few songs out of it. Paul McCartney had used that technique once or twice, he recalls, though he imagines his dreams didn’t revolve around space hotels and simulated realities.  

That line of thinking sends a huff of laughter shooting through him, and he shakes his head before directing his attention back to the ocean. He feels like he’s going mad. Who knows, maybe he is? It certainly wouldn’t surprise him at this rate. As he watches the surface of the waves shimmer beneath the light of a tangerine sky, he cannot help but think there must be no better place to lose one’s mind. Perhaps waking was a mistake. There would certainly be worse fates than being unknowingly buried beneath the shifting sands while his consciousness remained lost on the moon.

He shakes his head to rid himself of such morbid thoughts and closes his eyes, just for a moment. Just long enough to embrace the coolness of the breeze sending goosebumps across his flesh; the familiar sensation of sand between his toes; the taste of salt in the air and the strong tang of seaweed hitting his nostrils. Sensations which are simultaneously alien and familiar to him. Sensations which help him believe that, despite any lingering doubts, he must surely have made his way home.

Whether hours or minutes pass in his sightless haven, he cannot say. Time no longer appears to have meaning; the only indication of it passing at all is the growing fatigue in legs which are still unused to supporting his weight. Even that mild discomfort is dismissed easily enough, and when his reverie is ultimately shattered, the culprit lies much further afield. A small frown creases his features before he can begin to process the new interruption, but eventually he hones in on the sound of a distant thudding, gaining volume with each passing second. It doesn’t take long for his heartbeat to join the fray, but he buries any panic and opens his eyes as the rhythmic hammering starts to resemble hoofbeats, of all things.

Sure enough, he’s left gaping as a sleek black shadow approaches from the distance, hooves battering the sand relentlessly. The lone horse doesn’t claim Alex’s attention for long, however, for that is quickly snatched by the lit beacon carried upon its back. Vibrant against the darkening sky, the rider appears to be sheathed in the broken remnants of a disco ball. Shifting reds and purples emanate from what Alex presumes to be a torso, while a pair of glowing blue eyes scan the horizon like a lighthouse beam encircling the coast. The sight is ridiculous and unexpected all at once, but Alex hardly needs to be told who the new arrival is before the details become clearer. As the horse draws closer, it becomes evident that the shifting lights originate from illuminated LEDs adorning a ludicrous nylon jacket; that blazing blue eyes are in fact a pair of neon sunglasses, and that the lone rider who looks like he just leapt off the set of a sci-fi western is the very same man who dragged Alex into this mess in the first place.

Matthew draws his equine companion to an abrupt halt with a tug on a set of makeshift reins, responding to the horse’s harsh admonishment with a gentle “Woah!” before patting its mane with an ungloved hand. The hand still holding the reins in a death-grip is concealed by a clunky silver contraption which appears to be a strange mix of metal glove and animatronic limb. Alex doesn’t let himself focus on it for too long, lest the sheer unrelenting oddness of everything he’s seeing finally break him. The only emotion he can summon as he watches Matt dismount with unexpected grace is a vague acceptance – too tired to be shocked by anything anymore – followed by a twinge of fear as the jet-black mare regards him with a distrusting gaze.

“Alex?” Matt asks with thinly veiled disbelief, and Alex pulls his gaze away from the idle horse to face the new arrival.  

The sunglasses have been removed and the LEDs shut off without him noticing, possibly to spare his retinas. Without all the showy effects, Matt looks as small and lost in the world as Alex feels. His blue eyes are wide, as though distrusting the image before him, and a tiny broken smile tugs at his lips before being discouraged by that very same distrust. It almost looks like he wants to say something but cannot bring himself to for fear a spell will break.  

Alex can relate to that much at least. Any attempt to respond is cut short as his throat closes off, and he’s forced to settle for a sharp nod instead.

The gesture is confirmation enough, it seems. Matt’s face brightens as a wide grin stretches across his cheeks, his eyes sparkling in the light of a fading sun, and the sheer force of his relief is so palpable that Alex feels his own heart being lifted by it.  

“I was starting to think I was alone,” Matt utters, almost as a whisper. While his smile doesn’t fade, Alex can sense the other man’s residual terror all too clearly. The same thought had crossed his own mind, though he’d refused to contemplate it for fear his sanity would snap like a dry twig.

It occurs to him that he’s still gaping, despite the fact that he’s hardly surprised to find Matt of all people standing right in front of him. Who else would it be? Matthew uncovered the falsehood of their reality long before Alex could even remember his own name. No doubt there’s a direct correlation between Matt’s actions following his brief stint at the hotel and Alex winding up on this very beach. The exact details may remain a complete mystery to him, but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that everything that’s occurred since that night at the bar is Matt’s fault, directly or otherwise.

Alex doesn’t know whether he wants to punch him or kiss him.

He settles for neither, which is less a conscious decision and more a choice thrust upon him by instinct. Turns out the only thing he can do as Matt starts to approach is laugh. Wild, hysterical laughter tears from his chest with so much force that it hurts. Tears gather in exhausted eyes and he’s forced to curl in on himself as his muscles cramp from the sheer force of his hysteria. He cannot help but wonder if this is the point of no return; the point where his mind finally shatters into fragments under the weight of all it’s been forced to endure. Barely five feet away, Matt freezes and his face falls with what might be terror, sending a pang of guilt shooting through Alex in the process. He can only imagine what he must look like now - a lone barefoot lunatic with unkempt hair, cackling at the sunset.

“I’m fine,” he manages to choke out with some difficulty, though he doubts he sounds convincing. His laughter abates eventually, though aftershocks continually threaten to send him into a fit of giggles at any moment. Matt hardly looks relieved by his self-assessment, not that Alex can blame him for that. “I’m fine, it’s just... Do you have any other clothes?”

Matt freezes, momentarily stunned, and Alex can’t help but feel proud that he’s been able to stump Matt rather than it being the other way round. Matt recovers quickly though. A choked laugh erupts without warning and he runs his bare hand through his reliably wayward hair, mouth gaping with the force of his relief. 

“Oh, thank fuck for that!” he exclaims, the words carried on another shaky laugh as he finally deems Alex safe to approach. His outfit does look rather ridiculous up-close, Alex notes with a sense of validation. When they’re not lit up like a Christmas tree, the LEDs pasted onto his jacket are little more than a mass of wires and unlit panels. “I thought you were off your rocker for a second there.”

“Give it time,” Alex responds with a weak smile, casting his eyes to the soft sand beneath his feet before he can erupt into another bout of shaky laughter. No doubt the madness will come eventually, but the longer he can put it off, the better. It’s a bad sign that Matt seems to be the reasonably sane one out of the pair of them. That said, a frustrated whicker from the nearby horse is enough to remind Alex of the other man’s rather dramatic entrance, so the outcome of that particular contest may yet be undecided.  

Without thinking, Alex staggers the rest of the way towards Matt and proceeds to pull him into a forceful hug, burying his face in the crook of his neck and closing his eyes in contentment. He’s not usually in the habit of hugging random people at will. Friends yes – often enthusiastically – but strangers less so, unless they specifically ask. That said, Matt hardly feels like a stranger anymore. Alex can probably count their total encounters on one hand, but that hardly matters in this moment. His relief at being reunited with another human being is too suffocating to ignore.  

Matt freezes in his arms like a frightened statue, releasing a gasp as Alex clings to him with childlike desperation. Before Alex has the chance to free him, however, he feels a pair of arms wrap hesitantly around his torso before squeezing him gently.

“It’s good to see you,” Alex whispers, surprised by how strongly he means it. He feels Matt’s arms grip him tighter in response, all prior hesitation gone, and he sighs at the comfort of being able to hold a solid human being again. It nags at him that the act of embracing Matthew feels little different than hugging Jamie or Nick or his Matt had felt back at the hotel, but he casts such thoughts aside. This has to be real. He won’t accept anything else.

“It’s good to see you too,” Matt says, his voice dripping with such earnest sincerity that it feels like they truly have been friends for decades.  

They remain like that for several minutes, clutching each other tightly like lost children huddling for warmth. Matt is the first to break the hug, pulling away with a hint of reluctance, but he keeps his hands glued to Alex’s shoulders as he casts his eyes over him with burning scrutiny. “Can’t say I rate your fashion sense either. I much preferred you as a swanky hotel manager.”

“Oh, come off it!” Alex scoffs, not bothering to mask a shy smile. Compared to Matt, he imagines he must look like he just stumbled out of a rundown vintage charity shop, though his outfit probably looked far more appealing before he decided to take a nap on the beach.

With considerable reluctance, he breaks away from Matt’s hold – the sudden absence of human warmth settling upon him like a stone – before turning to observe the horizon. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Matt doing the same, as though only now acknowledging his surroundings. Together they watch as the sun makes its final descent beneath the waves, leaving a fiery streak upon the water’s edge as an echoing golden glow lingers in the distance. Alex can’t recall the last time he watched a sunset, never mind the last time he allowed himself to fully appreciate one. How he ever thought he could live without this view is beyond him, and the vital question hanging over his head tugs at his heart with newfound insistence.

“Is this real?” he asks, with a tremble in his voice which cannot be masked no matter how hard he tries. Not that he needs to. Matt of all people must surely grasp the gravity of his question. He’s also the only one likely to know the answer with any degree of certainty. “Are we home?”

His desperation isn’t lost on Matt it seems, for he turns to Alex with an expression which appears almost apologetic in the light of a dying sun.

“I wish I knew,” he admits, running a hand through his hair in a gesture which betrays his anxiety. The lack of a solid answer makes Alex’s heart sink, but he supposes that was inevitable. By this point he trusts Matt not to lie to him. “Honestly, I thought I’d be dead by now.”

The words are carried on a disbelieving sigh, followed by a nervous chuckle as Matt drops his gaze and frees his hand from his unruly hair, letting the strands dance willfully in the breeze. If Alex had to guess, he would wager that Matt is currently trapped between the two lines of emotion that he himself is still battling; torn between utter relief at being alive and bone-chilling terror with regard to the uncertainty of their situation. He can’t help but wonder if Matt’s story mirrors his own. If he too had awoken one day to find his world trembling in the wake of an unseen force, before watching it all crumble before his eyes. Or had he taken a more active role in his reality’s destruction? Had the quake which ultimately claimed Mark’s identity, along with the hotel itself, been a by-product of Matt trying to fight his way home?

He should be upfront and ask him, Alex thinks, but something in the man’s demeanor stops him and all he can utter is, “Yeah, you and me both.”

The admission draws Matt’s gaze back to his own and Alex feels himself shrink at the sudden scrutiny. A momentary flash of sheer misery passes over Matt’s face; so infinitesimal that Alex can’t help but wonder if he’s merely projecting his own grief onto the other man. It appears to have been genuine however, for even when Matt’s lips tug upwards to form a weak smile, his eyes refuse to reflect any sense of lightness.  

It strikes Alex that, in many ways, Matt is still a stranger to him. While he could read every miniscule detail of Miles’ face or the expressions of his bandmates as clearly as he could read a book, Matt’s true emotions remain buried behind a lock for which he does not possess a key. As grateful as he is for the other man’s presence – and he is – his traitorous mind cannot help but wish that the person standing before him now was more familiar; more beloved.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says eventually, as though having read his mind, and deep blue eyes bore into Alex’s own with an intensity that must pain him.

“What for?” he asks, though he doubts there’s a clear answer to that. Alex is sorry too, for a great many things. No doubt trying to list his failures at this point would only result in a very muddled list: ‘I’m sorry for allowing myself to lose my mind. I’m sorry for not realising that my friends weren’t real until it was too late. I’m sorry for letting myself get tricked for so long. I’m sorry I forgot you. I’m sorry I lost my grip on your hand...’

Matt appears to be caught in the same predicament. His mouth opens as though he means to say something, but he clenches it shut before any noise can escape, settling for shaking his head instead. His eyes glance towards the ocean for a moment, watching the distant waves crash against jutting rock, leaving mist and spray in their wake, but disinterest claims him quickly. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to point in the opposite direction, and he stills, only momentarily, at the sight of the hulking beast lying buried beneath the dunes.  

If the creature surprises him, he does an excellent job of masking it. Given how easily he recovers - settling himself upon the cool sand and casually drawing his knees up to his chest - Alex doubts this is Matt’s first rodeo with the dead creature.

“Ugly fucker, isn’t he?” Matt utters with a twinge of sharp malice which doesn’t suit him.  

Alex doesn’t respond. The question strikes him as rhetorical anyway, yet he can’t help but agree as he slumps inelegantly next to Matt. With the light beginning to fade, the intricate details of machinery latched onto the oversized exoskeleton are beginning to conceal themselves from view, leaving only the impression of a sad, lonely creature reaching out for solace it will never be granted.

“I remember seeing him on the news, not long after the wildfires got bad,” Matt says, not seeming to care if Alex listens to him or not. The mention of wildfires is enough to have Alex flinching however; even if he’d wanted to tune Matt out, his mind would refuse to allow it. Through Matt’s casual utterance, he’s just been handed proof that his broken memories from before the hotel – memories of heat and panic and being ripped away from his one beacon of hope – are genuine. Or rather, he now knows that those memories are shared with at least one other human being. “Figured it was just another hoax. It’s not like we had a shortage of those at the time.”

Alex tries to cast his mind back to those final days. To the build-up preceding the calls to evacuate; to the anxiety-inducing news broadcasts which stopped wielding the power to surprise him by the fifth apocalyptic declaration. Much as he tries, he cannot summon a clear recollection of anything beyond a mounting sense of dread. Casting his mind back unveils only a thick fog in the stead of clear memories, and he cannot help but begrudge Matt for sounding so certain when discussing the past.  

And yet, something does appear to be clicking. He’d noticed it earlier, hadn’t he? When faced with the creature back in his suite, his shock had ultimately been compounded by a vague sense of recognition. If he clears his mind and closes his eyes, holding the image of the creature’s broken body in his head, he manages to capture a flicker of recollection; a still image of a towering robotic skeleton on a television screen - the photograph blurred and taken from a distance - while a bedraggled newscaster mutters something about mass disappearances. His resigned delivery had been interrupted by a Scouse accent, breaking in with a disbelieving, “Oh great, even more bollocks!” which had made Alex laugh before changing the channel.  

If only Miles had been right on that count.

“That’s the thing that’s been controlling us all this time?”  

Alex knows as soon as he utters the words that he already knows the answer. The momentary glimpse he’d stolen of the creature hadn’t been a trick of the light, or an exhaustion-induced hallucination, or even a computer glitch. It had been Murphy all along, intentionally letting the mask slip as punishment for Mark’s attempts at resistance. It had been the actions of a watchful tormenter letting him know, in no uncertain terms, who was truly in control. No doubt he had done so with the intention of making Alex believe he was going mad; the jury still appears to be out on whether he succeeded or not.

No wonder Murphy always appeared as a broken amalgamation, never fully adding up to a cohesive human being. What could a creature like him possibly understand about being human?

“Us and a million other poor sods, I reckon,” Matt confirms with a grim nod, hands clenching tightly as he wraps his arms around his knees. His jacket creaks awkwardly with every movement and his ridiculous glove gives a soft whine as it’s moulded into the shape of a fist. “That’s what he does, you see. He takes control of people’s minds and traps them in a never-ending game for his own amusement. Or at least that’s what I gathered. He tried to make his intentions sound nobler than that but trust me, that’s the gist.”

A lone brow rises in response to Matt’s admission, but Alex thinks better of questioning him about it. The fact that the creature supposedly confronted Matt head-on is hardly an earth-shattering revelation.  It had spoken to Alex too after all, on a fairly regular basis at that. They’d had appointments and everything; allotted moments in time to allow Murphy to keep him compliant. True, Murphy had never exactly been upfront with Mark about his true nature, but given that Matt cracked the code long before Alex realised there was even a code to crack, he supposes it makes sense that the beast had been more direct with him.  

Perhaps that encounter is what ultimately killed it? It seems so unlikely given Matt’s unassuming stature, but at this point Alex is willing to believe that nothing is truly impossible anymore.

“I just wish I could remember how he did it,” Matt continues, a trace of palpable frustration seeping into his otherwise conversational tone. “Last thing I remember is Elle waking me up when the sirens started and running to get the kids out of bed. Everything after that is just...gone.”  

Though he forces his expression to remain neutral, Alex can’t mistake the feeling of ice slipping into his veins. Matt’s experience mirrors his own far too closely for comfort. He can barely remember the call to evacuate emanating through the city, but he remembers the frantic aftermath clearly enough. He can still taste the ash and poison in the air; can hear echoes of Miles’s desperate reassurances as they forced their way through a panicked horde. While the memories preceding that moment are partially concealed behind a shifting fog, the events that followed may as well lie beyond a brick wall. There’s nothing to latch onto. No half-forgotten sights or smells, not even vivid emotions. His final hours on Earth before waking up in Mark’s skin are as unreachable as they are unknowable.  

All Alex can determine with any certainty is that whatever happened to him and Matt and those million other poor sods, it must have been terrible.

His stunned silence stretches to the point of becoming uncomfortable, and he can feel Matt’s worried gaze turning in his direction, but he cannot bring himself to break the spell. He tries to re-orientate himself; focuses on the cool sand beneath his feet, the scattered grains sticking between his toes. Focuses on the ever-present rush of water behind him; the occasional huffs from the patient black horse strolling nearby; the sounds of Matt’s jacket crinkling with every movement. Focuses on the unmoving creature before him and tries not to let hatred consume the tattered remains of his heart.  

There’s a chill in the air now which sends a shiver through his thin frame. Night is beginning to fall. Already the last traces of orange are starting to fade, making way for deep blues dotted with shimmering pinpricks. There are certainly worse places to be, he thinks, though he can’t help but long for a warm embrace instead of the bone-chilling breeze.

Matt’s voice, when it eventually returns, is a fair substitute however. The reminder that he’s not alone does more to lift his spirits than he could ever have deemed possible.

“I got sent back to the Battle of the Bands,” Matt explains, eyes downcast as long fingers play distractedly with scattered grains of sand. “We were back in Teignmouth, performing in clubs to audiences consisting of one man and his dog. We were even calling ourselves ‘Rocket Baby Dolls’ like a bunch of twats,” he adds with a warm smile, and Alex struggles to hold back a grin of his own. He supposes he’s in no position to judge. He’d actually committed to his silly band name in the long run instead of discarding it in his teens. “Wasn’t quite as fancy as your hotel, but it had its moments. Almost felt like the good old days, only for some reason it was the eighties and we still looked like old geezers.”

“Guess that explains the clothes then?” Alex interjects, and a warm sense of pride flows through him when Matt releases a surprised chuckle before conceding Alex’s point with a bashful shrug.

Alex’s smile doesn’t fade despite the heavy exhaustion which stubbornly clings to his bones. He can certainly relate to Matt’s experience in a sense. Among the madness that characterised his own customised reality, he’d found solace in playing regular shows with the lads by his side. It had been a much-needed strand of consistency to keep him grounded when everything else in his life was so fundamentally different. A taste of normality in an environment where normality was an increasingly rare commodity.

“It was nice for a while,” Matt continues, a wistful smile resting on his lips. “Maybe I could have stayed there forever. There was something so pure about being able to play with my mates like we were teenagers again, y’know? But I always sensed that something was wrong. Took me fucking ages to figure out what, but I always knew that something important was missing.”

The smile fades and Alex feels a familiar discomfort nagging at his chest. He’d become accustomed to that very feeling. Despite the constant buzz of activity in the hotel and the fact that his friends were always a mere phone-call away, the most pervasive emotion he’d experienced was a deep, all-consuming loneliness. His days were spent surrounded by other human beings – many of them perfectly warm, friendly people – but his heart had grasped onto his crushing isolation long before his mind had a chance to catch up. No doubt the absence of several key figures like Miles and his parents had played a part in that, but he’d spent his days surrounded by convincing replicas of his lifelong friends and even they hadn’t been capable of filling the void.  

“I missed Chris and Dom,” Matt goes on, and not for the first time Alex wonders if the man is capable of reading his mind. “Which was fucking ridiculous. I mean, they were always with me. We’d spend hours playing shows together, or getting pissed and having a laugh, but none of that changed how I felt. I still missed them so much it physically hurt. It was like my instincts were trying to tell me that they weren’t real before I had the chance to figure that out for myself.”

He stops tracing circles along the sand, wiping his grainy hand on crimson jeans before staring up at the unmoving creature with weary eyes. For the first time since their unexpected reunion, Alex realises that Matt is as thoroughly drained as he is. Despite the fact that his eyes are fixed upon the creature which sentenced them both to a broken falsehood, there’s no longer any rage simmering in their depths. It looks like Matt is staring straight through the creature, its presence barely registering as a blip on his radar. Only the tension gripping his shivering frame gives any indication that he’s still orientated to the present and not lost a million miles away.

“How’d you get out?” Alex asks with newfound curiosity. It isn’t lost on him that there are still major gaps in Matt’s story. He didn’t simply come to the conclusion that his world wasn’t real and then sit back quietly; he’d fought the notion tooth and nail. He’d wound up in Alex’s reality - and no doubt countless others - and used the opportunity to plant seeds of doubt in Mark’s head, ultimately orchestrating his mental unravelling. On at least one occasion, he had been forced to escape while armed caricatures of his best friends set out to hunt him down and kill him. Had they followed him wherever he went? Had the creature been so frightened of this one man that he’d sent assassins in the shape of his friends to mentally torment him?

Did Matt kill the creature as revenge for all the pain it had caused him?

“It’s a long story,” Matt confesses evasively, and Alex feels his heart sink a little.

“That’s alright,” he says, trying to hide his eagerness before it can become obnoxious. No doubt many aspects of Matt’s story will be as painful as his own, and he has little desire to pry into details which are none of his business, but he settles for honesty regardless. “I’d like to hear it.”

Matt’s eyes meet Alex’s own, studying him intently before a soft, sincere smile takes hold. There’s a bittersweet quality to it, marred by lingering exhaustion, and Alex suspects he will not get his wish. Not tonight anyway. The lack of outright refusal or hostility carries a certain promise, however, and he’s able to bury his disappointment easily enough once Matt confirms those suspicions.

“Maybe one day,” Matt says, and against his better judgement, Alex believes him. “A lot of it doesn’t even make sense to me yet. I still need time to sort my head out. But I’ll tell you all about it one day, if you still want me to.”

Alex doubts there will ever come a time where he doesn’t want to hear a firsthand account of Matt’s adventures, if only to help him join the dots between the hotel and this beach. Maybe then everything will start to make sense for him too. He doesn’t say as much, but his small smile and earnest nod must be convincing enough to assure Matt that he won’t be interrogated further tonight.

“Besides,” Matt continues, voice loaded with sudden conviction as he stretches his legs out in front of him. “We should head off before it gets dark.”

“And go where?” Alex interjects, with more force than he intends. “Where the hell do we even go from here?”

“I suppose that depends,” Matt says, seemingly unfazed by Alex’s outburst if the amused smirk tugging at his lips is any indication. “Assuming we really have made it home and this isn’t some cruel trick, where do you wanna go? What’s next on the agenda, Turner?”

The question is asked so flippantly, rendered even more so by Matt’s rapid-fire delivery, that Alex finds himself throwing his head back in a startled laugh. Planning ahead when the future is so unknowable and the world so fundamentally alien is a tall order, but he supposes Matt’s right. They can’t stay here forever.

“You’re giving me way too much credit if you think I actually have an answer to that,” he admits once his fitful laughter has died down. Matt seems to agree if his high-pitched giggle and muffled utterance of “fair enough” is any indication.

It’s still a valid question though, and one he’ll need to ponder sooner or later. If he truly has made it home and is no longer confined to a reality consisting of algorithms and complex coding, what is there left for him to do? He’s fairly certain he’s in Los Angeles, but based on appearances alone there’s little remaining of the city to go back to. Any bolt-holes of his have likely been razed to the ground and subjected to the ravages of time. Safety is no longer guaranteed to him, and if the world is as ruined as he remembers, he may never feel safe again.

Of course, none of that truly matters. He knows exactly what he wants to do. Whether it’s actually achievable remains to be seen, but he knows he would rather die than give up without at least trying.

“I wanna go home,” he admits, more so to himself than to Matt. His voice is small and fragile to his ears, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I want to find my friends. I have to know that they’re safe.”

Matt doesn’t say anything, not immediately anyway, but Alex doesn’t miss the almost imperceptible change that overcomes him. The signs are subtle enough. A minute clench of the jaw, a brief downwards twitch of the lips, the fact that despite being rather personable all evening, Matt suddenly can’t bring himself to look Alex in the eye. Alex could pry and ask what’s wrong but he suspects he already knows. He can’t help but silently wonder just how closely Matt’s agenda aligns with his own.

The spell breaks quickly. Matt forces a smile back onto his face and drags himself to his feet with little fanfare, brushing sand from his clothes with visible distaste. Alex doesn’t follow, not trusting himself to stand on his own two feet without stumbling. Instead he simply watches Matt approach his four-legged companion, attempting to appease her in spite of her displeasure at having been ignored for so long, and the sight sends a certain thrill through him. He cannot ascertain if it’s a thrill of excitement or fear. Most likely it’s both. It occurs to Alex that if he wants to leave here with Matt, he’ll most likely end up joining him on horseback, and he wonders if the night is going to end with him falling and breaking his neck mid-canter. It would certainly be an anti-climactic end after all he’s endured, and the mental image has him releasing a huff of laughter, but when Matt returns with a slightly calmer horse in tow, the overwhelming emotion flowing through him is one of terror.

“Shall we?” Matt proposes, offering a hand to Alex which he takes gratefully.  

He still feels unsteady when he’s guided to his feet, like a recently awoken coma patient who no longer remembers how legs work. Matt stays close by however, offering help where needed, and the reassurance has an immediate calming effect. Some trepidation must still linger on his features, for when Matt spots him staring at the hulking black shadow, he releases an amused giggle before clapping Alex on the shoulder. “I promise Midnight won’t bite. Not unless you piss her off.”

“I weren’t planning on it,” Alex mutters warily, but he swallows down his fear easily enough.

Maneuvering onto the horse is a rather clumsy affair given the makeshift equipment and the fact that the saddle is clearly designed for one person only, but he succeeds with significant help from Matt. Any protests the mare may have to his presence are hushed by Matt’s surprisingly soothing influence, and the smaller man soon joins Alex with relative ease in spite of the monstrosity adorning his left hand. Alex will need to ask him what it’s for one day, but right now they have an uneasy journey ahead of them. Random curiosities can wait.

With the flick of a concealed switch, Matt lights up once again like a Christmas tree, and Alex has to avert his gaze to avoid being blinded. The light is somewhat comforting given how dark the night has become however, and he doesn’t need to be prompted into wrapping his arms securely around Matt’s waist. They take off at a steady trot at first, easing their way carefully along the sandy beach, but as the mare grows more comfortable, she carries them away with a brisk canter along an untrodden path.  

An overwhelming sense of freedom pulses through Alex’s veins, as the world passes by in a blur and the wind flows through his unruly hair. Though he can hardly say he feels particularly secure, the thrill is intoxicating nonetheless. He glances back towards the spot where he awoke, casting one final look upon the broken creature who manipulated his mind, until Midnight turns a sharp corner and the shadow is lost from view.  

Good riddance, Alex thinks. He hopes the sand covers Murphy entirely, erasing any trace that he was ever here.

As the horizon becomes more difficult to interpret beneath the darkening sky, Alex allows his gaze to aim upwards. The view that greets him is fundamentally different to the one he’s grown accustomed to, but the warm sense of comfort which fills his chest is exactly the same. In the absence of clouds or pollution, the sky is ablaze with stars, scattered across a vast canvas like sparkling polka dots. Some shine brighter than others, and Alex spends some time trying to determine if they’re actually planets before deciding it doesn’t matter. The sight is beautiful either way, and he honestly didn’t expect to ever lay eyes on it again.  

The crowning glory steals his attention before long, as she guides them onwards with her luminous glow. It’s a full moon tonight, and the sight sends a bittersweet ache through his heart. It’s been a long time since he saw her from this angle, yet her beauty remains untarnished. He allows himself to imagine being back on her surface when times were simpler. Imagines the smooth walls of the hotel and the delicate blues of the pool and the inviting neon interior of the casino. Imagines the elevated highway splitting the youthful town in half as it stretched towards the towering station. Imagines the rockets flying to and fro above his head, while he watched from his perch on the hotel balcony.

No doubt the moon’s surface will be barren now, but it’s easy to pretend that his tiny civilisation still rests upon her surface. Alex knows he shouldn’t miss it, but the sight of her gazing down at him instils an overwhelming sense of nostalgia nonetheless. It was home once. If he casts his mind back far enough, he can even remember being happy there. His existence within the hotel had certainly carried moments of isolation and exhaustion, but ultimately it had felt safe. No doubt that safety was as much a falsehood as everything else around him, but now that he’s returned to this earthly plane, it strikes him that he may never acquire that level of contentment again. Even in exhilarating moments like this, he is doomed to always be looking over his shoulder for signs of danger, waiting for the end to sneak up on him unannounced. It’s one of the major drawbacks to consisting of flesh and bone after all; his newfound freedom has rendered him breakable.

None of that matters though. Not in this precise moment. The heart-stopping fear will come with time, no doubt accompanied by a generous dollop of grief, but in this precise moment it feels as though nothing can truly hurt him. Casting aside any lingering doubts, Alex rests his head against Matt’s curved back and lets his mind go blank; carried away by the rhythmic beat of hooves against the sand and the soft light of the moon’s pale glow.

[wincore]

could u maybe write something for jungwoo from that kissing prompt list? anything, i just missed my baby so much

im going with on the sidewalk + confessing feelings!!

theme: rapunzel!au (not exactly, more like prince locked away in a tower au)

A long time ago, there was a beloved prince. 

He was kind, they said, with his smile wrung with sunlight and eyes swirling with the shapes of stars and galaxies. He was loved by the people, by his family and everyone around—so much that they couldn’t bear to see him hurt. He was warm and precious, and he was loved. So loved.

So like all things precious, they locked him away, in a tower reaching the hazy skies and walls made of cold stone. 

That’s how the story goes. A children’s story you can’t quite recall.

Jungwoo smiles although the sun has bid goodbye. When you agreed to break out this pretty boy with hair spun of gold and a smile warm as day, you were promised a hell load of money. Money a boy hiding in a tower shouldn’t be having. You believed him nonetheless. After all, it was the secret gold your boring old town spoke of, the only rumor interesting enough to catch your ears.It was that mythical treasure he promised you in exchange for something, he said. An adventure, he whispered.

There was no reason to go through with it, you’d realized halfway through your little escapade. The gold was easy to steal. It had always been easy to steal for you. And yet, you don’t regret being here with him.

You hadn’t expected side effects, though. You hadn’t expected the rapid beating in your heart at his gazes and touches, or the soaring of your chest at his laughs. No, you were in no way prepared for this. You’re not supposed to be the one paying up.

“So when do the lights go up?” Jungwoo whispers, excitement laced with his voice. He doesn’t look too different in his disguise. Its only saving grace is the hood covering that lovely golden hair of his. It shines even at night, soft and in perfect waves. His outfit however, isn’t as clean as the day you met him (which is partly your fault, you’ll admit). The cuffs of his sleeves are rolled up, still muddy from the river water and the golden thread decorating the blue fabric of his overshirt is rather ripped and mostly gone. You giggle remembering the way he slipped right into the river, scared of a frog.

“They’ll be here soon,” you respond. You lean against the wall of the alley. The guards won’t find you here. Certainly not during evening time, when they’ll be over at the ceremony. The candles are out and the stars accompany the city sidewalks like the one you’re by. It’s going to be peaceful for at least this moment.

The streets are empty, calm and yet, in a trance of what is to come. In barely ten minutes, all the lanterns will fly over this part of the kingdom and your precious prince will get what he bargained for. Is it bad that you wish the week lasted longer? There’s a stone weighing down your chest at the prospect of tonight’s end.

“You know…thanks for this.” Jungwoo smiles.

Stop that. 

“Oh, you’re thanking me now?” You laugh. “You almost broke my back when we met! When you shoved me against that wall, remember? That hurt like hell.”

Jungwoo’s cheeks tinge pink. “You know it’s not how it sounds, right?”

You feel a jolt of realization through your chest, face heating up. “I- I didn’t- what I meant was-”

“Yeah, yeah, I tried to kill you. But that’s because you were trespassing.”

“What a terrible crime.” You roll your eyes. 

Time passes slowly yet quickly. You want to keep these moments with you. You want something more from these moments passing by. You should tell him, a voice rings in your head. Should you?

“Jungwoo—”

Jungwoo gasps. “It’s started!”

And sure enough, the damned lights had started flowing into the purple hues of the night sky. They’re pretty—they’re pretty every year. You breathe out, the invisible strain in your tired body soothing out. Why do they always melt away your worries? You hum the lullaby your mother used to sing to you, the songs and stories of other lifetimes, a thief’s respite. 

Jungwoo doesn’t speak—in fact, the only other sounds to accompany the silence are those of the last few birds returning home and the wind, their companion. 

You turn to look at Jungwoo and you wish you hadn’t.

The light is bare down here, but his eyes shine as softly yet surely as the lanterns. His lips are ever so slightly parted, light pink and quirking up at the corners. And his hair, the first thing you noticed about him; golden strands woven by a queen’s tailor no doubt, but soft, elusive to your fingers and as alluring as the rest of him. It stays parted to the side, although tousled by the wind and neat in no way from the sweating and running. And still, it looks so soft, so lovely.

You find yourself reaching to pet it before you quickly retract your hand. Jungwoo seems too dazed to notice and you sigh in relief, holding your hand in the other. The breeze is light, not enough to sway the lanterns. It’s refreshing.

“(name).“

You jolt up. Jungwoo looks down at you with quiet eyes. You want to caress his cheek and this time, you manage to press your palm against the warm, rosy skin. He doesn’t shy away, an awkward rhythm disrupting the business of your heart. Has he always been so handsome? 

“Can I tell you something? Is this the right time?“ Jungwoo whispers.

There’s no one around.

“Go ahead,“ you whisper back.

Jungwoo gulps, taking a step back. The lack of warmth on your hand unnerves you.There’s an inexplicable tug on his lips downwards, a look unsuited to a boy of light. He takes a hold of your hand and pulls you off the sidewalk. He takes a few turns you would recognize if you weren’t feeling the beating of your heart so loud.

Jungwoo comes into a darker part of town, the candlelight dimmer here. Of course, on this day, the light everywhere is as dim. A few alleyways later, Jungwoo stares up at a dead end, the wall no longer grey stone.

The old graffiti. The Queen had it removed. Or so you thought.

The King and Queen of old stand behind the young prince, the lost prince, his smile brighter than his hair. The painted stars and curtains of the palace window behind them pales in comparison, and even if the colors are older than you’d guess, it stays held together by something unseen. It’s an ancient work, made generations ago about the lost prince, a children’s tale now. You found it fascinating how the paint never faded.

“It’s me, isn’t it?�� he says, voice low. “I mean, it has my name on it. And my birthday.“

You never thought of it. Could it be…? He can’t have lived that long.

“Did- did you know?“

You turn to look at him, his eyes downcast and an indescribable sadness across his being.

“Is that- is that why you agreed? Were you paid to bring me here?“

You find your voice. “No! Of course- of course not!”

“But you’re a…you’re a thief. I believed you! How could I-“

“Jungwoo, you’ve got this all wrong! I promise- I promise…“

You feel yourself frown. This won’t work. He won’t believe you. You are a thief.

Jungwoo keeps his distance from you, the look on his face breaking your heart.

“Please believe me,“ you find yourself saying. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.“

“That’s what they said! That’s what everyone said before they- before they locked me up there. Because…they…wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I remember.“

You take a step forward carefully but he doesn’t move. You sigh. He has to believe you.  

“Jungwoo,“ you begin, “I’m not locking you up in any tower. I helped you because I wanted you to be free…with me. I wanted to show you everything.“

Jungwoo visibly softens. You continue, “And also because I…I think I…”

He looks at you curiously. No, words would fail now.

Jungwoo scoffs. “Your using your words again. You can’t mean them, can you? I thought I…meant something. You’re just—”

You take another step forward till you’re face to face somewhat flustering him, and before you know it, you’re holding his face in your hands and your lips are on his. He flinches at first, his body stiff, but soon, he holds the back of your head with a shaking hand, his lips eager against yours. You feel him sigh into the kiss, arms steadying you by the waist as you feel yourself relax. You pull away and he has trouble parting, his lips chasing yours. But he regains his senses, standing upright with a hint of rose splashed across his cheeks and ears.

“You could’ve told me,“ Jungwoo says, a shy yet devious smile across his face. “Or did my face distract you? How long have you been thinking about kissing me?“

You turn pink, glaring at him. “It certainly did, my prince! You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get His Royal Pain in the Ass to listen.”

Jungwoo laughs, the sound lulling as your heart relaxes into rhythm. The freedom he tries so hard to find, you don’t understand, it’s right there within him. In his laughter, his jokes and the stars and moons inside his head. You stay there for a while, Jungwoo wrapping his arms around you and a hand petting your hair, his scent overwhelmingly joyous as you keep him in your embrace. 

It’s going to be fine when it’s this way. It’s going to be fine after a long time.

“The lanterns were prettier than I thought,“ he says, but he looks at you, only you. 

You smile in return.

[joshuascurls]

make up | j.b.

IN WHICH: y/n goes out with ricky, ricky’s teasing is too much for y/n’s parents so she gets upset with a very turned on ricky.

INSPIRATION: y u gotta b like that - audrey mika

WARNING: oral, fem receiving, dom and switch. full on sex.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget your name.” After these words left Joshua’s mouth, I swear I had to practically contain myself from throwing a hand down my pants and touching myself in front of him. God, Josh’s dominant side is the hottest thing in the universe. Unconsciously, I said, “hmm.” Joshua smirked and turned to move even closer to me. He smelled impossibly amazing, and it was not helping that the first few buttons of his button-up were undone, exposing his chiseled chest and defined collarbone. “Yeah? You like hearing about how hard I’m going to thrust into you? How I’m going to make you so incredibly wet for me that my dick will slide in with ease…” I glared daggers at him, I wanted him so fucking badly but I wasn’t about to let him know that. “Okay, play hard-to-get baby, I think I’ll just,” he starts to unbutton his dress shirt even more, “make this game a little bit harder for you, what do you think?” At the sight of his abs, I wanted to pin him against the wall that I was staring at, however I stared ahead, poker face on.

Behind me, I heard him shuffle so that he was in my line of sight. Right when I blinked, I heard Josh’s belt quickly unbuckle, and the unzipping of his pants. Well, fuck. I thought. When my eyes opened again, there stood my boyfriend in all his glory, fully naked and pumping his shaft in front of me. At this I couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan. “Well, are you going to help me out here, or am I going to have to finish by myself?” Joshua asked me, pouting beautifully with that face of his. Damn, he knew I couldn’t resist him when he does that. “fine, but I’m still mad at you.”

“You won’t be when I’m through with you,” Josh said suggestively. I rolled my eyes, and got up from the couch, kneeling in front of him. He looked annoyed that I was still wearing my clothes, but since I was still mad, I didn’t really care. I pumped his shaft somewhat aggressively so that his pre-cum would come out quicker, then licked it clean. Above me, Josh had his head thrown back in pure ecstasy, he was mumbling words of encouragement for me, saying things like, “oh god, baby, just like that, you’re so good to me, don’t stop.” I bobbed my mouth up and down his now fully erect member, and I felt him relax as he reached his climax. Joshua moaned my name as loudly as ever. See, what he didn’t know is all the while I was giving him head, I was also rubbing circles on my now throbbing clit, maybe he’d been right about him being able to slide into me easily. “Y/N.. have you been touching yourself this entire time?” Joshua seemed amused but not surprised. “god, how do you expect me not to when you look like that?” Irritated at his amusement, I gestured to his fit, immaculate body. Josh pouted again, “c’mon babe, don’t be like that, besides, have you seen yourself?”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Bassett.” On any other night, I would have blushed and melted into his embrace, however, tonight regardless of how turned on I was, I was insanely mad at Joshua. “Why are you denying the fact that we both know you’re horny right now, and could be having mind blowing make up sex right this instant?”

“Because, Joshua, you kept teasing me at dinner with my parents! Do you know how badly that paints you as my boyfriend in their eyes? They probably think you just want me for my body!” He blinked a couple times, seemingly hurt. “How could you say that? You know how much I love you.”

I sighed and ran a hand through my messy hair, “I know you do. I’m just saying, if you wanted to tease me you could’ve waited until we got home, baby.”

Joshua nodded and said, “okay babe, you’re completely right I am so sorry. Please let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything you want.” Josh was kissing my neck as he said this. For some stupid reason, my mind was telling me to go the fuck to bed already because it was late, but the ache in my clit needed sex, now. “I guess we could go upstairs and finish what we started… But you’re in charge, I need dominant you right now.” Joshua grinned. “Deal.”

He picked me up and carried me up the stairs, bridal-style, laying me on our bed. “Take off your shirt.” Joshua said huskily and darkly. I did as he commanded me, which left me in my red bra and dress pants. He admired my boobs in the bra for a minute or so before saying gruffly, “lose the bra, I want to see those beautiful breasts of yours.” I took off my bra, my nipples hardening against the cool air. Upon seeing this, Joshua’s usually hazel eyes darkened brown with lust. “Pants and underwear now,” Joshua said while stroking himself. I obeyed him silently a third time. Once I was completely naked, Joshua leaned forward onto the bed, inches away from my own body, he was supporting himself with his strong arms. He closed the distance between us, gingerly kissing me lovingly and then when I met his kiss with more force, he responded by slipping his tongue in my mouth to fight for dominance. I let him win, and he smiled against the kiss. “that’s a good girl,” Josh said approvingly. I felt one of his hands grab my left boob and his dominant hand travel down my curves resting on each spot leaving goosebumps behind. He traced circles on my abdomen, getting slower as he reached my pussy. I moaned his name and I felt him harden against me, he took a staggered breath as he composed himself and continued to rub circles on my clit. “You’re so fucking wet for me, baby girl.” I nodded vigorously and said, “please just fuck me Joshua.”

Josh smiled wickedly at me and said, “as you wish, baby.” Removing his hand from my clit, he lined himself up with my entrance. “Ready?” Josh asked me, as caring as ever. I merely moaned in response. With a sexy chuckle, he slipped easily inside me, and as he thrusted into me, I threw my head back, moaning Joshua’s name over and over. As each thrust grew messier and sloppier, the pleasure and intensity grew, until I was panting so hard I could hardly breathe. “Please don’t stop, you’re so fucking good to me,” I managed to whisper out, until he slammed into me once more and as my orgasm caused me to explode, I screamed his name so loudly, it echoed throughout the apartment.

I gasped as I came down from my high, and Joshua asked me, “you okay, babygirl?” he waited for my silent nod, and then he proceeded to leave kisses down the entirety of my body, in just the way that drove me absolutely insane. When he was done, he asked me, “do you want me, my fingers or my mouth?’” Given the fact that I hadn’t had his mouth today, I said quickly, “your mouth.” Josh chuckled and said, “someone’s eager,” I giggled while I looked at him, doe-eyed and innocent. While his face traveled down my body, his mouth leaving kisses in random places, he said lustfully, while kissing the spot above my belly button, “you’re gonna be the death of me one of these days.” I could feel his hot breath against my clit, and once he started to kiss the inside of my thighs, I swore I was actually going to lose my mind. Joshua loved to tease me, but he forgets that two can play at that game. In my head, while he kept teasing me, I could only think of so many ways to tease him and drive him absolutely wild, but once he finally started to lick at my pussy, specifically targeting my clit, I simply said, “oh my sweet Lord.” Joshua chuckled against my heat and I could feel his eyebrows flicker up as if to say, “babe, not the time to bring the Lord into this.” I mean true, I thought.

While Josh’s tongue lapped at my core, I rubbed at my breasts to make them hard, since for some reason they were completely soft. I groaned when I realized he hadn’t done what he had promised: to make me forget my own name. Sure, his oral skills were fucking great, but not as amazing as they usually were... Josh’s head snapped up as if sensing my thoughts, “you’re not into this are you?” I shook my head and said, “I mean, it’s great but you’ve done better before. What’s up?” I asked, concerned. Joshua sighed and said, “I feel bad about earlier, I wanted to make it up to you, but I keep picturing your dad shaking his head at me when I kept teasing you at dinner.” I gave him a weird look. “You’re picturing my dad while you’re giving me head?” Josh wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Ew, Y/N! No! I mean, yes, but out of guilt not cause I’m gay for your dad.” I grinned at him, and said, “I know, silly, I’m just teasing.” “Okay, good. Now come here.” Josh commanded me. I smiled at him, as invitingly as I could, and swung my long legs around his bare waist. “You know, that I love you regardless of what happened tonight, right?” I said. Josh melted into my embrace and responded, “I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t know that. I love you, princess. You’re my everything, my sun, my moon, my stars. My whole fucking universe.” I couldn’t help but kiss him after he said that.

The whole world seemed to fade into nothingness as our lips embraced; our tongues both fighting for dominance. When Joshua and I kissed, it felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. It was just what it was supposed to be: a declaration of love. Even though we were both naked, it was just as pure and chaste as if we were clothed. It was like that one scene from the Lion King, the one where Simba and Nala fall in love, kind of, forgive me for the odd comparison. We could both literally feel the love in the room, even though we were completely lost in the other, we could feel that this was a love that would last a lifetime. There were quite simply, fireworks.

When we finally came up for air, Josh was the first to speak. “That kinda felt like our first kiss, didn’t it?” I nodded, smiled with all the love I had in me, and said, “it did. But this one was better.”

“When and how on earth did I get so lucky?” Joshua asked me. “You’re telling me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” I nuzzled into the crevice of his neck. He laid his head against mine, and said, “not to totally wreck this beautiful moment but uh, I’m really horny.” I laughed out loud, and said, “not surprised at all.” I pinned him down on the bed, and said, “I let you have your turn, now let me make you feel good.” Josh licked his lips, stared at me, more specifically my body, with passion and lust. I looked down at his twitching cock, which was starting to look painfully red. I knew he needed some relief and quickly. I positioned myself over his length and slowly but surely slid onto it. Thankfully, I was still pretty wet, so it wasn’t painful really, and the expression of bliss on his face made any pain go away. Once he was fully inside me, I started to bounce up and down on his dick, which obviously made him get more turned on, seeing my naked breasts jiggle. His facial expressions were pure joy and love, and it made my heart grow with even more love for him, which I didn’t think was possible. Eventually, he started to twitch more, and then I saw it on his face that he was going to come. “baby, I’m gonna come, do you want to-“ I shook my head no, “Shh, it’s okay, just let loose. You forget I’m on the pill.” Josh groaned my name as he shot his hot cum into me, in four quick bursts. Once he was done, I slid off him, and lied down next to him. Josh put his arm around me, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. “I love you so much, baby.” I said, and he said, “I know. But I love you more.”

[star-birthmark]

Uncertainties (4taro x Deb) (Gods!AU)

Sorry it’s been a couple days since the event started (I’ve been busy with college work), but here’s my entry for @lostinthe-jojos​ god AU event.

CWs: blood, injury, somewhat nsfw because I have no self control. 

Also I realize that my name is Deborah, but Devorah seems holier idk. 

Anyway, without further ado: Uncertainties (4taro x Deb) 3.4k words

When man first began to walk the earth, there were very few certainties. There were so many variables unable to be grasped by mankind. But one thing that humans remained able to expect each day was the magnificent changes in the sky. The sky would lighten in the dawn and darken in the dusk. And born from the darkness of dusk and the light of dawn, the winds and planets arose, toppling over man and establishing dominance within the stars. Eos of the dawn and Astraeus of the dusk led their children in controlling the skies. Helios god of the sun flew across the sky during the day, Selene goddess of the moon danced across the sky at night. 

Such a system produced a calming presence looming over their inferiors, making man docile, making man pure. She was entirely unknown to her fellow gods in the heavens.  From such purity was born its personification, Astraea. The embodiment of peace, justice, and calm. Astraea walked among the people, a goddess among the mortal, content to guard their innocence and prevent war. But Earth comes with such uncertainty, such unrest. Mankind couldn’t rely on her for much longer.

“Who is that father?” 

One day, the youngest of Eos and Astraeus’ children, Mercury, glanced down at the surface of the Earth, finding Astraea sitting withing a town square, mankind taking no notice of her, walking past and through her form. 

“She’s a goddess, she would have to be.” 

An observation from Mars caused young Helios to take notice. The deities watched from their high place in the clouds as Astraea kept on moving, slipping past those in her way, a peaceful calm radiating from her glowing form. She was almost ghostly… her long blond hair spilled down to her back, her unfocused green eyes failing to look ahead of her. 

“It looks as if she’s doesn’t know where she’s going…”

Eos muttered worriedly, clinging to her husband’s arm. Helios watched closely, his gaze fixated on her, a large weight being placed upon his shoulders. What incredible responsibility she must have. As long as she remains on Earth, mankind will not know war or injustice. Helios soon discovered her secret. 

“She walks aimlessly for peace and justice are blind to bias. She was born from man’s peace and justice, so she must be blind as well. She can’t see because she must not be persuaded. She can’t allow Man to be persuaded either.” He explained solemnly. Venus huffed. 

“Pity. If she’s blind she can’t see how beautiful she is.”

The planets and winds looked amongst each other, their hearts aching for their companion’s pain and handicap. The southern wind was the first to turn her gaze back to the surface, her audible gasp causing a sharp breeze to sweep over the land. 

“Look there!” She exclaimed. 

Born from the initial uncertainty of the universe, a young god named Pallas arose from the Earth and began to roam. Unlike Astraea, who wandered aimlessly, Pallas moved in sharp turns, direct at his targets. His blinding complexion, his sharp teeth and the bright glint of his weapons all shown brilliantly as he made quick work of mankind, his blades unmeant to cause harm, but to instill fear and hatred into their hearts. 

Helios watched closely as the mental wounds Palmas attempted to give had no effect. Mercury climbed upon his father Astraeus' shoulders.

"She won't let him do anything…"

They all watched the giant glow radiating from Astraea as she walked away from the crowd, her haze filling the ears and eyes of mankind around her, leaving them docile and kind. Helios began to panic as Pallas noticed the goddess’s presence, his very opposite. In a split second, Pallas charged his blade forward, the planets and winds crying out for him to stop. Without warning, the war god plunged his blade into Astraea's chest, knocking the blind personification of good forward and leaving her bleeding. The golden hue quickly faded and without much thought given, man soon turned on himself. Violence, unlike the Earth had ever seen sprung forth as Astraea was left in the dirt, her defective eyes scattering to find anything to cling to in the eternal darkness. She collapsed forward, Eos above her clung to her husband. 

"Astraeus, we must do something!" Helios scoffed at the group's inaction. 

Running to his chariot, his purple robes waving in the wind, Helios was soon ready to save the fallen. 

Venus called out to him. “Helios, you can’t go! Selene has already brought in the night sky!”

“Well none of you are coming to save her are you?”

For a brief moment on Earth, the Sun shown in the dark evening sky, blinding all those that saw it. Helios dropped down near Astraea, frantically looking around for Pallas, not seeing him, Deciding to not invite trouble, he soon fled with the wounded goddess in his arms. Astraea tried desperately to cling to the Earth, fearing she would never return to her home again.

• • • • • • • •

“Come Helios, you must get ready for the daybreak.”

“Just a moment!”

It had been several hours since the wounded goddess was last awake. She laid in bed, slowly healing. At first, the planets and winds took their turns watching over her. When it was finally Helios’ turn, he found himself entranced by their guest. It was a shame she had no idea what she looked like. How badly Helios wished for her to see her own beautiful blonde waves, her vacant hazel eyes, her porcelain complexion, and delicate form. She seemed so… peaceful, in stark comparison to the Earth after her disappearance. On the surface, Pallas reigned, allowing humans to weed themselves out of the planet’s ecosystem. 

“Helios! You must begin your flight this instant! Selene has returned!” 

But the young titan barely heard the other’s words. He felt his heart soar as he stared down at her resting body. Such purity was rarely seen in their world. But still, it was his job to uphold his share of the world. Day had to follow after night. As he stood up from the bed, Helios felt a gentle hand grip unto his wrist. 

“You’re going back to Earth aren’t you?” 

He turned around, shocked at Astraea’s sudden awakening. He was sure she had been  asleep only a moment ago. 

“Yes, I’ll send someone to come and watch over you. Don’t worry.” 

“I want to come with you Helios.”

He eyed her curiously. “How do you know my given name?” 

“I’ve always known it. That’s what the humans call you, Helios, god of the sun. I always knew you were this beautiful as well.”

The god’s breath quickened. “But you can’t see me…”

“I don’t need to. I could picture you every day as you rode across the sky to bring in the dawn. I feel the warm rays of the sun on my skin and I can picture the golden chariot that you wield, as well as the golden tone of your skin. I feel the ways the sunflowers grow upwards in your direction and I picture you’re a god of tall stature. I feel the way you enrich the soil with your power and know that you have deep black hair. You reflect off the water so I know you have these deep blue eyes as well.  And to hear your voice for the first time, it sounds exactly like the booming rush of energy and emotion that mankind experiences every day with the rising of the sun. Please, tell me your real name, not your given one.”

Helios listened to her intently, watching as she fidgeted with her fragile hands as if trying to feel what she used to feel when still on Earth. He turned back to her. 

“It’s Jotaro…” 

“Please take me back Jotaro. The people need me.”

Helios leaned in, his eyes steeling as he considered his options. He wanted so badly to do the right thing, to have her return to her place so that she may bring life where Pallas had brought death. But life has so many uncertainties, so many variables. The only reason that she wished to remain on Earth was that she didn’t have anything else. If she could only see herself as he saw her, she would stay with her kind. She should stay with him, the young god who’s quickly fallen in love with her. 

“Helios you must go now!” 

He was warned a third time, by the other gods. Night’s effects were soon fading. Jotaro nudged his wrist out of Astraea’s grip running quickly at the room. The blind goddess felt around for calling out. 

“Jotaro wait! You don’t know my real name, only my given one!” 

Helios turned around, looking at her with a softness uncharacteristic of his kind. 

“Yes? What is it?” 

“It’s Devorah. Named after a prophetic judge from the East.”

“Well… I’ll be back shortly Devorah. I’ll see you at nightfall.”

As Helios raced across the sky that day to bring in the dawn that Eos had left behind, he saw the horrors of the Earth before him. Mankind had lost his justice, its members killing one another in conquest and bigotry. Touching down to the ground, he walked around before spotting Pallas. Quickly concealing himself, he stared blazingly at the war god. His wine-colored robe looked as it had been stained heavily in the blood of his victims. His blond hair was nothing like Devorah’s. Instead, it was spikey, almost white, and fell to his shoulders in messy, unkempt knots. His sharp teeth shown hanging from his mouth, the chilling bone a brilliant white. Jotaro rushed to make his escape before Pallas saw him, knowing what the other is capable of. He was much stronger than the god of the sun. Soon, nighttime fell and Helios rushed back to Devorah’s side. 

Weeks would pass. It wasn’t long until Astraea was fully healed. Her simple peasant robes had been destroyed in Pallas’ attack, so Eos, along with Venus and Selene, dressed her in their finest materials. Donned in a flowing gown of serene olive and gold, Devorah only managed to capture the god of sight’s attention further. 

During the night, when Jotaro was free to roam the skies without responsibility, the two of them rested together in each other’s company. Shyly, Helios would coax Astraea to identify him further. Her hands would trace over his cheekbones and jaw. Over his broad neck and through his black curls. Over his arms and legs, feeling the different definitions in his fit form. Over his chest and back, her fingers finding his cape and the platinum buttons of his robe. Once, Devorah burned her fingertips on his aureole of sunshine, the rays extending out from his head like a crown. She flinched back, the stinging pain unfamiliar to her. Jotaro quickly grasped her hands in his and kissed along the burns, Devorah feeling her cheeks heat up at the contact. 

“I’m sorry Jotaro. I haven’t lived amongst gods for very long. There are still so many things I need to feel and experience.” 

She whispered anxiously, her hands rushing to adjust the sleeves of her gown as they fell to reveal her soft shoulders. Helios tried his best to steady himself, his whole body ready to throw itself at hers. But he mustn’t scare her. 

“...May I offer one more thing for you to experience?”

Astraea nodded slowly, blushing as Helios tucked a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear, his face inching closer to hers. The straps of her dress fell once more off her shoulders, Devorah now realizing how sensitive her skin had become under Helios’ rays. Jotaro moved in closer, his hand placing down on her leg, gently nudging the fabric closer. He leaned in the last stretch, his lips crashing upon hers. Devorah’s blinded vision scattered to make sense of what was happening. Her burnt hands came up to cradle Jotaro’s head, bringing him in closer. When they broke for air, Helios lovingly began to scale his kisses down Astraea’s graceful neck, her head turned to gaze out into the sky. The young god had become entirely lost in her. Her breath quickened, her whole body trembled from the foreign feelings the god of sight was corrupting her with. Then it suddenly dawned her. This love she was feeling… it wasn’t right. The goddess began to panic. This isn’t right. Justice is meant to wander aimlessly, without bias. 

Devorah began to feel the cold of night fade away and the warmth of dawn begin, her hand reaching up to grab Jotaro’s robe tightly as he had placed a kiss right at her jaw, leaving it marked as his. His hand inched higher up her leg. 

“Helios… dawn is breaking.” She breathed out. 

Jotaro looked up at her, confused, his eyes still hazy from her dreamy penumbra and heady perfume. She never calls him by his given name anymore, usually only Jotaro. He stared into her vacant eyes, forgetting at that moment there was no sight behind them. He then turned to the sky, huffing a little. 

“Nonsense… there’s still time until I must depart, Devorah.” 

He reassured her, his lips returning to hers, lowering down to kiss her shoulders as well. Astraea shuddered before stiffening. She had lost sight of what was truly important. He would be around forever, but at this rate, Man wouldn’t be around for another year. Her hand rushed to pull her lover off of her. She flinched slightly under his touch, fighting herself to not sink into his advances. 

“Jotaro you must get ready I-”

“Helios. Selene just returned from her post. Go.”

Both gods looked at the doorway to Devorah’s bedroom, seeing Eos, the elder goddess having just brought in the dawn. 

“We won’t have you be late again.”

Helios stood up from Astraea's bed and combed his fingers through his black hair, straightening himself out. Devorah stayed behind, readjusting her gown. Watching him leave, the young deity's plan took its final form.

Fully healed from Pallas' wound,  Astraea reached the gates to the heavens and carefully descended down, her feet touching down on Earth, her peaceful energy filling the land once more. Humans across the world dropped their weapons, a distinct calm took over. Astraea felt truly at home once more. Feeling the grass she walked on,  she began to wander aimlessly as she had before. A smile came to her face,  soon interrupted by a sharp blade touching her throat. Devorah gulped back, stiffening herself. Pallas leaned in to whisper into her ear. 

"So you've come back? The moment you step down you immediately threaten all the hard work I've done."

Devorah clenched her fist. "Dio… you can kill me, but you won't make it out alive after that. Helios has gotten stronger, and he will surely kill you if you end my life here. Especially under the gaze of the noon sun."

Pallas considered her words, soon letting her go. 

"Doesn't mean I can't harm you though!"

With a diabolical laugh, Dio swung once more, slashing Devorah's arm. Man returned to violence in that split second,  then back to leave as Astraea got back on her feet. Retreating, Devorah extended back up to the sky, healing herself before the evening came and Helios returned to her. She sighed in relief as Jotaro didn't notice any sort of wound on her. 

A deadly cycle ensued. While Helios was busy during the day, Astraea would travel to the Earth every day, undoing the damage that Pallas had done. Mankind became a deeply troubled species; there was no longer any black or white. They had come to appreciate the blonde goddess' efforts, lusting for her freedom from useless bloodshed, but still, every noon, Pallas would leave her with another scar and she would be forced to retreat and heal herself before Helios had to return for the night. 

One such night, Deborah laid lazily in Jotaro's chest, feeling the magnificent heartbeat as he calmly slept. It was during that moment that she made her decision. Slipping on her gown, she stood from the bed, giving Helios one last kiss before descending down to the sleeping Earth. 

When dawn broke that morning, Jotaro awoke to find himself alone. Looking around for his love, he found her gown gone as well. A knock came to the door. 

"Helios! Selene has returned to her post! Go!"

Jotaro rushed out of bed, slipping his purple robes on. On his way out, he spotted the planets and winds conversing in the garden. 

“Where’s Astraea? Have you seen her?” They all looked amongst each other. 

“No I haven’t,” said Venus. 

“I haven’t,” said the north wind.

“Neither have I,” said Mars.

“Not a sight of her,” said the eastern wind. 

“Why do you ask?” asked Saturn.

Helios gulped down his worries and rushed to his chariot to fly over Earth. Over the past few nights, he noticed the scars dawning his lover’s body, wondering if she was returning to Earth. He feared finally that she had decided to do so. Floating over the land, Jotaro finally spotted his beloved Devorah. His eyes wept at the sight before him. Kneeling in the dirt, Astraea cradled a fallen man’s head in her hands, her blind eyes sensing no life from him. Pallas had sent out his minions to corrupt the very last people that followed her and her peaceful ways, and with all of his attacks, she had only grown weaker. But Justice must remain selfless and unbiased. How badly she wanted to escape to the skies, ignore the carnage before her. But Justice is blind and she unable to ignore her duties. Or so she thought. Devorah felt a familiar hand place down on her shoulder. She let out a heavy sigh, her tears landing on the dead man’s cheek. 

“Mankind isn’t worth saving, Devorah…” 

Jotaro muttered, understanding her concern, but they both knew he was right. Devorah calmly stood, a wound from Pallas’ men still visible on her arm. 

“You’re right. But there’s still good in them Jotaro. I can feel it. I can’t abandon them.”

“I beg you to! Please, be selfish. You’ll end up dead if you keep coming down here.”

After deep consideration, Astraea finally nodded. Taking Helios’ hand, she stood up on his chariot, about to take off. Suddenly a hand grabbed unto hers. The goddess turned, sensing a man was holding pulling her down. Another human, a woman was pressing down with all her might to keep the chariot from leaving. A third human groveled on his knees before them, D evorah could hear his whimpering. 

“Please don’t go! You must be the one bringing peace to this dark world! We beg you! Don’t leave us!”

“You’re the last one left on Earth to guard us!”

“Please… we’ll die…” 

Astraea felt an incredible ache in her heart, preparing herself for her harsh words. She couldn’t help them anymore, but they could help themselves. 

“You don’t need me anymore. From all this violence, you now know the true meaning of peace. Now, live through it. Bring others to your side, fight against the evil of this world. Honor me and I will never be far from you.”

Letting go of the man’s hand, Astraea and Helios rose into the sky, painting it in daylight. 

And mankind honored her words. She became the model of serenity she had always been. They honored her in their lust for peace. They honored her in their humanly courts. Sculptors placed statues of the young goddess near Man’s places of legal worship, a blindfold draped over the eyes of the marble figures, a scale in hand. For Justice is truly blind. And every morning, those that recalled the day Justice flew into the sky with the god of the sun, honor her for being the last deity to see the potential in mankind. The last deity to embrace mortal life, even with all its variables and uncertainties. During the nights, Helios and Astraea would hold each other, and Helios would be her eyes until the end of time. 

And Justice would wander aimlessly no longer. 

Anyway time for the questions. 

What type of god would your f/o be? Why? 

Jotaro takes the form of Helios, god of the Sun. I figured it would be a cool reference to the fact that he’s related to hamon users. 

Would they become a god one day or have they always been one?

He’s always been a god. 

Which part do you play in this narrative?  

I play the part of Astraea, the goddess of justice, innocence, purity and precision. The last part of the fic is inspired by this painting, as she is notably the last goddess to remain on Earth, still believing in the human race. She is also blind to hark back to those statues of Lady Justice, blindfolded near court houses. 

If you and your f/o were gods would you be part of the same pantheon or different ones?

We are gods from the same pantheon, different groups. Helios is born to be a god of the sky, while Astraea is born as the personification of man’s good, born on Earth. 

What type of myth would you be the protagonists of? 

We are the protagonists of how mankind became a morally grey species, and why they place such an important on justice and purity in their legal systems. 

[thirteenthspirit]

Not a Very ‘Organized’ Organization (XIII)

I thought hard about this week’s topic of choice. Brexit was on my mind - I pondered about doing a comparison between parliament’s never-ending struggle with delays and failed agreements, vs Harvest Moon’s unending gameplay, farming and shipping and eventually marrying and digging in the mines and COLLECTING ALL THE DAMN SPRITES in that DS one. But that’s as far as it goes… I didn’t think I’d be able to milk it like those cows (hey!).

Speaking of Hey, I still want to get Space Channel 5 in there somewhere, those Chu’s and Hey’s have been on my mind like crazy…

So I settled on writing about one of my favorite topics – Organization XIII!

Organization XIII was always one of my favorite parts of the Kingdom Hearts series. They are cool and mysterious and (debatably) heartless, ranging everywhere from the mute heavyweight champions (*cough* Lexaeus *cough*) to the twink rockstar wannabes.

So, Organization XII is, like the name implies, a group of 13 nobodies – wait, scratch that – a group of 14 nobodies (eyeroll) who have banded together to… um… depends on who you ask. And in which game. Their primary goal was to be whole, to be granted a heart/soul, even if practically EVERY ONE OF THEM had a different agenda and there was a whole underlying separate reason for the creation of the Organization. NO WORRIES, let’s stick with that, because it’s more fun.

Ok so, breaking down the members, should we go by number? Order of appearance? Relevance? Element of choice? Maybe click (you know, high school clichés)?

Well – first you have the Mains. Roxas (no. XIII), is the counterpart of Sora, the main character in the whole series. So you know he’s gotta be pretty high on the list. The most interesting thing about Roxas is surprisingly NOT that he’s voice by Jesse McCartney, but the duality of elements he controls. Light and Darkness are everywhere with this guy – his outfit has chess squares on it and he wields both Oathkeeper and Oblivion, not to mention having an incredibly sad and traumatic origin story! He’s like, a slightly smarter and moodier Sora. I like Roxas, I’m sad they didn’t give him anything to do in KH3. Dual-wielding keyblades is pretty awesome and his light attacks can hit pretty hard. One of my favorite moments of the series will always be his fight with Riku in the secret ending of KH1, over 10 years ago! Seeing Roxas clash with Riku in mid-air in front of that clock tower (not to be confused with the one from Neverland – I mean England) really made my heart race as a kid. He can also boast to having shared quite a couple of awesome struggles (go Vivi), with Sora in that “Station of Awakening” place where Destati usually plays, and then with both his best friends - while trying not to be kidnapped by his “Flurry of Dancing Flames”, best friend Axel, and when dispatching Xion.

Xion (no. XIV) is a “puppet”, made to take over Roxas’s place and role in the Organization, should anything happen. She is an interesting character, tragedy befalls her and her journey with coming to the realization that she must sacrifice herself for Sora’s behalf (in order for him to become whole again) is a beautiful one to see. Vector to the Heavens plays when you’re fighting Xion for the last time, ending with Roxas effectively killing her and is a beautifully crafted piece. Xion suffers a bit from that ‘unintentional retcon’ where she didn’t really have a place, story-wise, and was created solely for 358/2 Days. So she was effectively written-out of the main storyline until the later games, with every character practically forgetting about her (literally losing their memories of her).

Rounding out the trio is one of everyone’s favorites – bad-guy good-guy Axel (no. VIII). Axel’s portrayal changed throughout the series. In CoM, he is responsible for unmasking a conspiracy and dispatching rogue members of the organization. He is the de-facto assassin. With not a hint of remorse. As his friendship with Xion and Roxas builds, he regains access to some degree of emotion – perhaps it’s caused by the (stick with me on this one) Lea-Ventus-Sora-Roxas-Axel connection, or perhaps he grows a heart, sitting on that clock tower overlooking the (ALWAYS SETTING) sun of Twilight Town and eating sea-salt ice cream. Eventually he turns on the organization, proving his loyalty is to his friends and even joins the main cast as a Keyblade wielder, turning the tides on some occasions (he really makes the end of DDD worth it). It helps that he has a wicked-cool design. His element is Fire and he wields twin Chakrams, boasting two tear tattoos and incredibly spiky hair. His relationship with Kairi is a cute element to the story, I wish (aside from some more combat or like ANY AT ALL) they had more scenes together and overall relevance to the main storyline. My favorite moment, aside from him rescuing Sora from his peers in DDD, has to be when he executes Vexen in Castle Oblivion.

From Axel, the most closely linked member, aside from Roxas and Xion, is SaÏx (no. VII). SaÏx is a warewolf. The moon sends him into a trance and he is often plagued with anger management issues. Berserk is his Nirvana. Him and Axel go way back and there is still a storyline to be uncovered there, judging from the secret reports found in KH3. In the end, his motivations aren’t really clear and fully explored, so his presence is not much more than Axel’s right arm, who happens to have a big “X” scar on his face. Sorry SaÏx – maybe see a therapist. At least you got a happy ending! SaÏx was one of the last Organization members to fall, in KH2. One of the last defenders of the Castle in (one my my all-time favorite KH worlds), The World That Never Was.

Another of the final defenders and members of the Organization to be vanquished at Sora’s had is – *drumroll* arguably MY FAVORITE OF THEM ALL, the incredibly hot and suave Luxord (no. X). Now – this guy is blonde. Has facial hair. Earrings. A British accent (maybe that’s just in my mind) and makes me look up his voice actor just to drool over that sweet sweet voice. He is the “Gambler of Fate” and shows up in the POTC world to basically taunt you and play a few games. Everything’s a game to this guy, even fighting. Which I can’t say he is great at… For someone able to control the element of Time, he’s kind of a pushover. But he’s still got a place in my heart – and maybe we’ll get to see him again, since he was the one who gave Sora that “wild card”… “Parlay!” more like “Let’s play strip poker pls”.

Who next… well let’s round out the oddballs with this guy. Ladies and gents, fans of the underground metal, garage bands and mohawks – I give you… Demyx (no. IX)! The Melodious Nocturne! …although there is nothing ‘nocturnal’ about him. This guy irradiates happiness and excitement and joy. I suppose he is just pretending, since Nobodies can’t really feel, rather they remember what it was like. Dem-dem too is a fan favorite. He is very young and has a different disposition than the rest of the members, he’s just your lazy, average Joe that just wants to spend his days jamming out on his Sitar. He is the first Organization member to fall in KH2, and is considered “not much of a fighter”. I would obviously disagree with this BECAUSE DANCE WATER DANCE MOTHERF***** is hell. Hell! Still, Dem-dem brings some lightheartedness to the game and the entire group, so he is a welcome addition. He is shunned even in KH3 but that’s just a side note of his… personality traits, I suppose. Never forget when he ‘drops the act’ just before turning on Sora, before what would be his final battle. Demyx controls the element of Water.

And since when it rains, it pours; and when it pours, usually it thunders (at least here in Portugal), that seems like a decently-crafted segway to the next member – Larxene (no. XII). Larxene is… a bitch. I don’t say that lightheartedly, I consider myself a feminist and I never forget that quote “when a man is assertive, he’s called a Boss. When a woman is assertive, she’s called a bitch.” But Larxene is just MEAN. She’s the mean girl of the bunch – together with her GBF Marluxia. Larxene poses some of the hardest fights in CoM but sadly, and like most female characters in this series, she’s shunned in favor of other members. This is a critic I have with the entire KH series – Aqua is virtually my favorite character but she’s really the only female character that is given storyline, relevance and overall strength. And like most fans I was DYING to see Kairi kick ass in KH3, but… we all know how that went. Not much to say about Larxene, her lightning-fast attacks and knives give her a pretty sharp demeanor and she’s not afraid to play every trick to her advantage. Standout moment is, unfortunately, her demise in CoM, fading into darkness. Oh and that laugh.

Larxene’s ‘somebody’ appears in KH: Unchained, together with Marluxia’s somebody. Marluxia (no. XI) controls the attribute of Flowers.

Yes.

Flowers.

He also boasts pink hair and – the best part – a huge pink scythe. His nickname is “The Graceful Assassin” but aside from plotting to overthrow the Organization and posing as the main antagonist in CoM, he doesn’t really do a lot of killing. The fights against him in KH2: Final Mix are among my favorites, especially with that countdown as he swings about the field. It seems he has quite a role in the Mobile game, so maybe we’ll get to see more of his backstory in the future. His final parting words were somewhat mysterious. Together with Larxene and a sneaky Axel, Marluxia betrays the Organization and his fellow members in Castle Oblivion, for his own agenda.

The assignment to Castle Oblivion introduces us to 3 other members of the organization – Vexen (no. IV), Lexaeus (no. V) and Zexion (no. VI). And 3 character tropes. The mad scientist, the jock, and the emo kid.

Vexen, aka “The Chilly Academic”, controls my favorite element, Ice. He is, ironically, killed by Axel in a flurry of flames, in a very dramatic moment in CoM. Vexen merely wants to conduct his experiments in peace – he doesn’t care who rules, what happens to the worlds, even who might or not be possessing him. He only cares about his “Replica” program. The Replica program consists on the creation of “puppets”, bodies able to function who are only missing a heart. He plays quite the role in KH3, effectively redeeming himself. Vexen is one of the creepiest characters around – he has long blond hair and green eyes, but really that ‘mad scientist’ vibe is all that transpires. Shout-out to his English voice actor, Derek Stephen Prince, for giving him a creepy vibe. He’s not much of a fighter, with his weapon of choice being an icy shield called “Frozen Pride”.

Zexion is one of the younger members of the Organization – perhaps even younger than Demyx. He is also arguably one of the smartest. Like Vexen, he cares mostly about his research and specific topics of interest *cough* Riku *cough*. However, his young demeanor reflects some innocence – he is the only member you don’t fight against in CoM, ending up murdered at the hands of Axel (with a little help from a Replica…). I really like Zexion, to battle he wields a book (the Lexicon) and would rather dazzle the opponents with some crafted illusions than hit them hard. He is one of the most prominent figures in KH3 and his reunion with his Master, Ansem the Wise, is very touching and reveals once again his innocence. He is often accompanied by Lexaeus, who is essentially a shadow of Zexion, a silent guardian to the smaller member. It is suggested he has been protecting Zexion since the latter was a small child.

Lexaeus fights Riku at one point, effectively forcing Riku to unleash the darkness in his heart just to defeat him. The Organization member is a towering figure and barely ever talks – he is just muscle, but emanates a safe and caring feel outwards, especially in his interactions with Zexion. To battle he wields a huge hammer-like weapon (which totally reminds me of Rikku’s weapons from FFX) called the Skysplitter and commands the element of Earth.

These 3 members are one half of the initial 6 apprentices, who formed the Organization. These founding members all worked together under the tutelage of Ansem the Wise and range from the scientists like Vexen and Zexion to the guardians like Lexaeus and Xaldin.

Xaldin (no. III) is very much… wasted. His virtually only appearance is in KH2, in his vain attempts to turn The Beast into a heartless. His most evident feature is his sideburns. Xaldin’s sideburns are thick, dark and intimidating. He also wields a lot of lances – like, more than 3, which he uses his wind powers to attack you with. He has a really cool attack where he forms a dragon out of wind and blows you to pieces with. Other than another “werewolf” look, that’s pretty much it. Mickey to the rescue!

Then we get to Xigbar (no. II). Xigbar, or Braig, or Luxu, OR ONE-EYED PIRATE, I’m not sure there is much of a difference, became a usual presence throughout the series. Apparently he’s been around for a loooooong time, ever since the forgotten time of the mobile game. He is a cool dude. His “As If” will go down as a pretty cool quote. Xigbar’s nickname is The Sharpshooter and he immediately stands out from the bunch. We are still unaware of his agenda and interests, not knowing to what extent he is controlled or, rather, he is controlling the narrative. He is overall an awesome character, essentially sniping you from afar with his stylish gun-like weapons. He even fakes his own death in KH3! In what is one of the best moments from the final act. His interactions with the rest of the Organization are always funny to watch, especially with his on-and-off younger lover, Demyx. The standout moment against him is undoubtedly that moment during his fight where he corners you and forces you to run around trying to avoid the millions of blue bullets being aimed at you. One of the best members overall.

And then there was I. Mr. Xemnas (no. I) aka “The Superior of the In-Between” (seriously bro, that’s the nickname you’re gonna pick?) aka “MANSEX” among the fans, aka “Xehanort’s nobody”. He is the man behind the Organization, the one really pulling all the strings. I’m gonna skip the part behind his motivations, they’re murky and the writers decide to change them between games, and I’ll get right down to the cool bits – THE SWORDS. Yes, Xemnas wields two red lightsabers. No, he is not Darth Maul, just a fan. He is calm and has a raspy voice, never really getting too flattered (that one’s yours, Axel). The coolest interaction with Xemnas is the final battle against him. Besides his black and white coat, he eventually summons a plethora of red projectiles which surround Sora and Riku, as they (in a very realistic, grounded and believable moment), deflectem with their respective keyblades. Xemnas ends up falling a bit short when compared with Ansem, Seeker of Darkness… He was just never that menacing of a villain, especially with his always calm behavior.

And that’s it. That’s the full list of the organization members. This turned out to be more of an exposé on each of the members, than anything else. I thought about trying to find real-life personalities to match each of the members, but eventually came up short on that. Organization XIII’s struggle to “be whole” and regain the part of their humanity they had lost – their soul, the ability to feel, always struck me as a really interesting motivation. For quite some time, the idea that you could shed the part of you that is able to “feel” struck me as something good, something to be envious of. I was, of course, wrong – even the dark feelings within us are what gives us the ability to connect and empathize with others.

So be sure to deflect those projectiles, and someone PLEASE give my number to Luxord,

                                                                                               -João A. (Pachiren)  

[misaki-yunyun]

For @klashta-neali,

Xiyao

-Everything burnt down-- And Lan Xichen has ran away, leaving no explanation for his younger brother or uncle.

-Lan Xichen wasn't one to regret, but it pained him to remember that he left Lan Wangji to suffer alone (No, not alone, but Lan Qiren was far too strict on them even though Lan Xichen knew he genuinely cared for himself and his younger brother) as their home was burnt down.

-But then, even for the tragedy that happened to their home, escaping to Yunping was something he came to think as one of his best choices.

-Why? Because he met him there; a youth dressed in plain robes, a young, handsome and attractive face shining on him like the sun itself.

-Lan Xichen soon learned his name was Meng Yao (even though he was the one alongside his brother called The Twin Jades, the name ‘Jade’ was a fitting name for Meng Yao in his mind) and he helped him hide from the authorities in Yunping.

-Meng Yao lived and worked at the brothel there, and he seemed fearful if Lan Xichen would disapprove of him being at… such a ‘dirty’ place, specially because he was a cultivator, an immortal!

-But Lan Xichen didn't mind in the slightest, rather, he was worried that Meng Yao was helping him so much and he couldn't do much in return.

-Meng Yao was starry-eyed. Not only was he the most beautiful looking man he had ever met, but also the kindest.

-After being looked down at and belittled for so long for being a prostitute’s son, Meng Yao felt like Lan Xichen was a blessing from the heavens; he never once had even remotely treated him bad and genuinely saw him as an equal.

-For Meng Yao, that was the best reward he could ever ask for.

-(Albeit he had to admit Lan Xichen was rather useless in any kind of chores he tried help at. Meng Yao never thought someone could tear their own clothes accidentally through arm strength alone. But aside from that, he looked at everything with wonder at the Brothel, even at the simplest things, as if he never saw all that before.) (“Young Master--” “Please, you don't need to call me that. Meng Yao is more than enough.” “I find it disrespectful to not refer to someone who risked himself so much with equal respect, but if it is your wish, I won't question it. But, look at this comb I found isn't it pretty--”)

-(Of course, Lan Xichen returned it to its owner, a medium-ranking prostitute with light eyes and high cheekbones, but he was so impressed he just had to show it to Meng Yao, who was amused at this display of… child-like curiosity. He almost wondered if all the immortals were like that, but-- Lan Xichen was Lan Xichen, so of course he was who he was.)

-For Lan Huan, Meng Yao was someone to be admired, no matter the circumstances of his birth.

-He was a hard-working youth with bright eyes and a brilliant mind, someone that could see so much more than the dirty floor of the Brothel he had always to clean (not that Lan Xichen found it dishonorable by any means; Meng Yao was capable of things Lan Xichen couldn't and knew much, even if they were simply or meaningless in Meng Yao’s own opinion. But Lan Xichen had said that no knowledge was meaningless and Meng Yao become silent for a few moments, only to then smile and say he was right), and Lan Xichen wanted to help Meng Yao, not simply because he was indebted to him, but because he liked him.

-Lan Xichen liked, because how could he not? Meng Yao was gentle, kind, fierce, strong-willed and smart-- but it was not a friends or siblings’ like, no, it was different.

-His brotherly love for Lan Wangji was much stronger, he was his younger brother he watched grow up and cherished since an infant after all, but the feelings he had for Meng Yao were different, but no less beautiful.

-Lan Xichen found himself staring dreamily at Meng Yao’s face, when he washed clothes, or when was speaking, or when was smiling joyfully, or when he was laughing freely, rather than the reserved chuckle he normally used.

-Lan Xichen knew there was something… strange with this, at the way his eyes followed Meng Yao’s figure or when his eyes would became half-lidded in fondness as his cheeks would be dusted in a light pink.

-He didn't particularly care. If Meng Yao was the one, man or not, son of a prostitute or not, why should he push those feelings aside? He was more than glad in being a part of Meng Yao’s life, even if briefly, even if he would eventually just become just a memory.

-He didn't want to abandon Meng Yao, no, not at this point. But he would eventually have to, his Sect, his brother and uncle were waiting, after all.

-It hurt, to have to choose, but he had only been with Meng Yao for such a short time in his life (for he was a cultivator, and years were nothing than a small time, and so were months), and he had been at his Sect his whole life until then.

-Surely, Meng Yao knew this. But… did he notice his romantic feelings for him? Meng Yao was a perceptive person, after all.

-But Meng Yao ever did notice, then he never once spoke about it, always meeting his eyes in a lightly fashion and blinking, asking if there was something wrong.

-Lan Xichen would calmly smile and say no, there was nothing wrong.

-Accidentally taking a sip of a cup must have been a… bad idea, perhaps. The (in)famous Lan’s (almost non existent, to be entirely fair) tolerance to alcohol was inconvenient in a situation like that.

-Of course, Lan Xichen thought it was water, but even that was enough to make him drunk.

-It was night, stars shining brightly on the sky, moon round and silver as it gave its light to the darkest of the places.

-So, when Meng Yao walked in after a while and saw a dozing, oddly cheerful Zewu-Jun with fair cheek pink, he didn't held back his thoughts.

-“A-Yao…” “Zewu-Jun? Just what…?” “Don't worry!!! I am alright, alright!!!”

-To say Meng Yao was confused was a given, but soon his confusion turned in amusement.

-“Are you…” “Hey, hey!!! A-Yao, I think you're beautiful!!!” “... What did you say?”

-Meng Yao was fairly shocked, but not because of someone praising his looks (no, he was self-aware enough to know his face was handsome enough even if it didn't do much for him), but because Lan Xichen of all people said so. After all, no looks could ever surpass those of Zewu-Jun’s, surely, and why would he acknowledge it, at all?

-“You know, I really like you!!! I don't want to-- to leave you!!!” “Ah…” “Will A-Yao forgive me? Surely, someday, I will return to you, if I live--” “Don't say that. You will live.” “...Yes.”

-Lan Xichen suddenly looked strangely down. Meng Yao wondered if the alcohol was making him feel strange, because now he very sure the other was drunk, but... how much did he drank to reach this point…?

-The evening passed in silence, then, and Meng Yao helped Lan Xichen reach the bed.

-Meng Yao thought it better to not comment about the previous night when morning come and Lan Xichen woke, offering him some herbs to help with possible hangover.

-Lan Xichen smiled and said it was fine, but Meng Yao insisted.

- “Young Master Meng…” “I told you, Meng Yao is alright and---”

-Didn't you call me A-Yao last night?

- “???” “... No, it's nothing.” “By looking at your eyes, it doesn't seems to be nothing. Tell me, are we not friends?” “It’s…”

-Meng Yao shook his head.

- “Please, don't concern yourself over it, Zewu-Jun. It's nothing important, really.”

-Lan Xichen didn't look convinced (Meng Yao swore there was a hint of sadness in his eyes), but let it go, if just for now.

-“I thank you for all of your help and time, Youn- Meng Yao.” “No, I should be the one to thank you. All the time I spent with you is something I won't ever forget in this lifetime.”

-Lan Xichen smiled, eyelids lowering in half-fondness, half-sadness.

-“I am glad to have met you, Meng Yao.” “... Call me A-Yao.”

-Lan Xichen blinked, then looked back at the youth, hair half tied up in a ponytail (so short in comparison to Lan Huan’s own waist-length hair) and robes in the colors of plain brown and slight grimy white.

-Lan Xichen placed the smiled back on and walked towards Meng Yao, taking the other’s hands on his own two and covering them, almost in a confession-like fashion.

-“... A-Yao, meeting was like a blessing to me. Never I knew someone like you before and I won't know someone else in the future. I… have to leave now, but I will return to you, one day. So, for now, have this.”

-Lan Xichen placed a white jade stone on Meng Yao’s hands, then took one of his hand and covered the stone with it.

-“I am aware it is not much, but if you ever can, it will grant you passage to the Cloud Recess.”

-Lan Xichen helds the other hands tightly, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then, he let out a breath, smiling (always the friendly, approachable smile, but this time there was something different about it, something… more passionate), Lan Xichen brought Meng Yao’s hands to his lips, then kissed then tenderly.

- “A-Yao… I won't say those words now, but in the future, I promise I will pay you back.”

-Meng Yao’s eyes widened, and he could only observe as Lan Xichen slowly let go of his hands (calloused and somewhat rough from all the housework he did at the brothel), and turned on his heels, painfully slowly parting their ways then as Meng Yao could only watch Lan Xichen’s back, figure fading aways as he moved on.

-Meng Yao let one of his arms fall to his side, his other hand tightly gripping the stone Lan Xichen had gifted him with, but he smiled.

-Meng Yao raised the hand close to his chest, mumbling words only himself could hear then.

-“Zewu-jun, I am eternally grateful to meet you.”

-He was the reason he decided to ally himself to the QingheNie Sect and raise himself to become someone worthy to be with Lan Xichen, even if it just one of the reasons.

I hope you can enjoy it! ^^''

[long-cosmos-overhead]

Walk with me

Story: Reader is injured and left bedridden for months with the company of Elrond who askes her for a walk

Pairing: Elrond x reader

Hues of of silver moonlight ghosted your face in the crisp Autumn air. An unsettling fog of confusion lay heavy in the atmosphere as silk bedding brushed your palms. It felt as if going back to a sleep you never remembered taking was better than facing the pressing issues at face. You arose your body, slowly, like a cat analysing a foreign area. Your head spun like you’d been led down for days, probably the most logical answer you could’ve reached. Suddenly, a flaring pain shot through your right leg halting all movement queued to make.

You feebly pulled back the silken sheets to rest eyes on your leg. From the knee upwards to your thigh had been woven tightly with gauge, scented like herbs to assist healing. Panic welled in your throat and in the moment you wished to see someone familiar, that you knew and trusted, someone who had answers. You let out a throaty, mangled cry, sounding gritty from dehydration. Several healers rushed over overwhelming you with questions of how you were feeling. Some beginning to remove the gauze wrapped upon your leg. The second you saw the vicious wound you wished you stayed in slumber for a bit longer; it wasn’t the blood or flesh that bothered you but the pain and disorientation of it all. The wound stretched from a swords width plunging deep through muscle and blood was soaking through the dressing past the inflamed red skin around it. The more people bustling around you the more scared you felt yourself getting, letting out whimpers of fear.

“Enough.” A smooth voice spoke firmly yet with a tone of appreciation. The nurses began to part from your bedside returning back to their business. A much needed familiar face came to view one who could give you answers and one of whom set your worries to rest. Elrond sat in the chair perched beside the bed you lay in, a hand reaching out to cup the side of your face. “Oh y/n.” He spoke, his hair falling at the sides of his face, the silver crown he wore piecing together with the moons modest glow. “I have anticipated this day for months tiresome, how could you do such a thing. A simple wound could not suffice the years I would spend grieving for you, Mellon.” Crystal tears built up in the depths of his eyes. His worry lines ever visible from creasing his brow in thought and sorrow.

“Elrond, forgive me.” Shame struck each nerve and your head lowered out of instinct. “I do not remember such tragedies.” Elrond took a long sigh of relief and pain. Moving his hands to grip yours before starting. “We were fighting, y/n, to save our people, I told you to stay here where it was safe but it seems you defied my best intentions and went out.” He breathed outward a pained small smile momentarily twitched his mouth. “I was in danger, not enough to maim or kill me but you ran infornt and took the full hit. The filthy orc plunged its blade right through you. There was so much blood, when I got you to a healer they didn’t know if you’d make the night. I was so worried, Mellon.”

“Elrond, I don’t know what to say.” Your voice was weak and a sense of helplessness washed your body. “Say nothing, my dear, for you must rest. I assume the healers took to re-dressing your wound” He looked saddened every part of his body was lesser than in comparison of the months previous. “How.. long was it, Elrond, how long was I asleep?” His face changed from sorrowful to pitiful and he looked down. “You left us for a month, my dear, these halls have been so very isolated.” Your mouth dropped a little. “A month.” You we’re getting quite overwhelmed. “Elrond, I should be out I have duties.” You swivelled your legs as best you could in an attempt to jump out the bed and catch up your list of overdue duties. Elrond gently caught you, ever careful not to cause more damage and moved you back into the sheets countless others had ached in. “Mellon, it pains me to see you so please allow yourself a rest I will see your duties are taken care of.” You would’ve protested but the sorrow in his grey eyes suddenly made you feel a lot heavier. “For you.” Your voice still gritty and laced with exhaustion.

Countless nights you had awoken led in your own blood, crying in pain. Elrond was always there coaxing you to calmness and distracting your pain with tales of old while healers scrambled to your assist. He brushed your tears astray until you fell into the cove of sleep. He never cared what time it was neither did he for the work. He sensed your boredom growing with each hour in the same room, he himself had royal duties to attend therefore only allowing a fraction of his day to be spent with you. Elrond did his best as a healer to speed along the process but it would be at least another month before you could properly walk again. He stayed through your frustration, anger and sorrow whether you were weakly hitting his chest or crying into his shoulder.

It was late in the day, where the sun began to set welcoming a new night. You had been awake for a few hours having taken a short rest around midday. You lay staring at the wall in front of you until the door swung open somewhere between hastily and somewhat slowly leaving Elrond to pass though. His cloak reaching out behind his nimbly fighting the breeze that pushed it back. He sat in the chair which had been allocated to him like an unspoken rule. “Mellon.” He said tenderly. “How are you feeling?” You reached out to touch his dark hair and ran your delicate fingers through it before letting your hand rest at your side. Elrond loved your fingers combing through his hair it fuelled the warm feeling that grew in the pit of his stomach and it left him always wanting more. “Better though I do feel rather bored laying in these halls watching the vast sun set once again.” You stared out wishing to be soaking up the suns rays. Elrond seemed to pick up on your feelings, he too glancing at the golden streaks. “Then perhaps a walk, y/n.” You turned around to properly face him, excitement bubbling within you. “I do believe a walk would suffice, my lord.”

Cautiously, you maneuvered your body with Elrond’s warm hands to support you over the side of the bed. Your bare feet touched the cool ground and for a moment you felt different as if it wasn’t real and you’d fall down through the abyss back to the start of it all. You gripped the the top of Elrond’s arm finding purchase in the soft fabric before easing yourself down until you stood upright. Immediately you leant on Elrond who wrapped an arm around your waist. A warm feeling grew in your stomach that left you wanting something more.

The first step was the hardest a heavy limp powered your leg and it took a long while until you even made it to the door. Hope started to dwindle by the time you reached outside the medical wing but if the view wasn’t worth it. The halls were empty coated in golden shine, each glance was more than you could’ve asked for and you felt such happiness. It seemed like years since you had last seen what lay outside. Your limp prevented most movements below your hip and for a moment it felt like walking alone was a far fetched fantasy. “Stray your thoughts, Mellon, in a few moons you may be able to walk alone.” The pair of you walked further stopping in between to take a rest. Neither realising the elves behind the corner watching their king clutch the wounded agreeing you had broken the walls to his heart.

The gardens were beautiful woven with radiance, such love it had seen in its ages. The sinking sun kissing your starved skin as Elrond helped you down onto a stray bench, the pain was more manageable now than before something about Elrond’s presence was calming, it left a fuzzy feeling whenever he fretted over you. His voice was alluring. You watched the elf sit down beside you. Your mind raced though everything he has done for you through any pain and sorrow you felt. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me y/n, I should be thanking you, without your noble sacrifice I would be under care and the people should be without their lord.” He didn’t really look at you out of shame he despised seeing you so weak. “Lord Elrond, forgive me for asking but why are you doing all this for me?” Something flashed in his eyes only for a split second, he turned his head to look into your eyes his hair falling gracefully past his shoulders before parting his lips.

“Y/n when you fell, I immediately felt all the worlds break down around me. It hurt me so to know I inflicted this pain upon your body and I felt I could not live with myself if you left me you see your kindness, bravery and love awoke a desire within me and then I knew I could not sit and watch you waste away in a healers wing. You deserve far more than I can give, this small act is a mere fraction of the love I hold for you. Please tell me if the love I feel for you is requited or you wish to rid of my incessant ways.” He pleaded.

You stared wide eyed at the beautiful eyes in front of you watching them gloss over with tears fearful of rejection. “Elrond.” Your voice fading before it had the chance to be spoken. “You’ve captured my heart.” He placed a loving hand on your cheek pulling you in before halting giving you an option to pull away. You leaned in closer fluttering your eyes shut.

His lips were wondrous more than you ever imagined. He kissed with such love and passion ghosting his hands to tilt your face up to his. You couldn’t think in the moment only feel love radiating between two bodies sparking a flare in your stomach making your heart race like a great stallion. After what seemed like a blissful eternity, you pulled back for air. His scent of mint and books all over your body.

“Meleth nin.” He whispered.

“Elrond.” He wrapped an arm around you pressing your sides against each other, leaning your head onto his shoulder. The sun had since fallen below the horizon leading in a new night. And that was how you stayed side by side until the crescent moon welcomed a new sun.

[deathhasnomeaning-blog]

Even Celestial Bodies Wither in the Face of Eternity

     Maple leaves are swept into a cyclone in miniature with each gust of wind, the distillation of violence and disorder into something that might be mistaken for beauty. You can faintly make out the pained yelps of your neighbor’s 16 year-old bichon frise as it struggles to make it down a flight of stairs. Poor thing, you think. Maybe one day that’ll be me.

     It is October 27th, and the block on which you live is in repose, save for the neighbor’s dog, which suffers in solitude. But you can hear it, so is it really alone? you ask yourself. But what do we weigh more strongly when pondering the existence of loneliness: the mere presence of others, known or unknown to the self, or the degree to which these others are perceived as playing some role in our day-to-day? The dog doesn’t know that you can hear it. Your reality and its reality don’t intersect, at least not at this moment.

     But anyway, it is October 27th. The sun lurks behind the veil of cumulonimbus, as your block languishes in silence, supine in the face of its treachery. The din of machinery churns somewhere far beyond the hills that mark the end of your hometown. You can recall nights spent with friends in that abandoned factory district, which even now remains caught up in some sort of simulation of life, perpetually grinding along with no beginning or end. Your old friend Daniel, who you had known since the first grade, once accompanied you to the building that decades prior had been known as the L’Oreal Factory. You didn’t know what L’Oreal was, but you insisted that the two of you check it out regardless. So you snuck out of your homes, crept through side streets and alleyways, and eventually arrived at this brick-and-mortar mausoleum. The two of you not-so-nimbly made ingress via an empty window-frame.

     You found yourself in what used to be the product-testing room, not that you were aware of this. Most of the supplies were still there, frozen in time, waiting to be acted upon by a motley crew of frustrated chemists. Daniel and you took everything in, silently making note of any details that caught your interest. Satisfied that you had done this, you turned to him and caught him looking at you with such profound, tangible sadness. Do you remember what he said? He kept his gaze level with yours and told you that he had recently dreamed of his father’s house burning to a crisp. He was riding his violet mountain bike, coming home from baseball practice, choking on the foul tendrils of smoke before he even knew that something was amiss. Then suddenly, there it was. His father’s house, reduced to a fine black ash. Daniel said he couldn’t stop weeping or smiling, and that each response only magnified the other. He was visibly holding back tears as he told you this. You hesitated for a moment and then grabbed his hand before asking yourself whether that was appropriate, partly because you didn’t know what else to do and partly because you had been in love with him for so long, so very long. Four years later he drowned in the reservoir behind the local library. Love having faded into little more than unpredictable pangs of longing by then, you wanted to cry but couldn’t produce anything more than a whimper. Your closest friends apologized to you, as if you had suffered a great loss. In some ways, maybe you had.

     The weather where you live is all sorts of fucked up. It was 80 °F two weeks ago. Today saw a high of 48 °F with a substantial wind chill.

     Putrefied garbage litters the front porch of a semi-abandoned house down the street. Semi-abandoned in the sense that it is now occupied by a corpse. The cleaners don’t come until Monday. It is currently Thursday. You wonder how much temperature affects the decomposition process, if at all.

     In the room over, a light-bulb wavers in and out of existence. You look out the window and see rays of light briefly explode through holes in the clouds, and suddenly it dawns on you that you haven’t left the house in a year. And maybe that’s because there’s a real risk in that, walking down those steps and out your front door, because you know that once you leave you won’t be able to control the outcome. But how many times have you relied on that very same lack of control as a viable exit strategy? Our rationalizations are so malleable, wouldn’t you agree? They are wonderful evidence of our adaptability. They attract and repulse us in equal measure.

     To your left sits an orange spiral notebook, its pages a distinct Joycean yellow. Near the back rests your proudest moment. During the final weeks of your Junior year in college, after you had stopped taking Xanax and started running ten miles a day, you wrote a poem that linked the Nietzchean concepts of eternal recurrence and Amor Fati to the central tenets of Tantra Yoga, because you are an intellectual first and foremost. Your creative nonfiction professor loved the way it conveyed our need to take solace in our mortality. You loved that you stumbled upon a more academic way of writing about dying.

     After some gentle prodding on the part of your classmates, you submitted it to your school’s poetry journal. What was it called? The Tribune? Something like that, I think. As always, you both loved and loathed your creation, somehow convinced that a) in comparison to the fluffy nonsense your peers had submitted, your poem was an undeniable masterstroke of subtle brilliance, and b) it was the long-sought after piece of evidence that would finally reveal you for the fraud you always suspected you were.

     The truth typically residing somewhere in the middle, what ended up happening was 25 or so of your peers picked up that copy of The Tribune(?!?), skimmed through it once, and promptly forgot about it. Everyone expect one student that is, a trans woman named Marcie who will one day go on to become a well-respected writer and activist. She read your poem night after night, lost in the throes of staggering depression and dysphoria, letting every syllable linger on her lips the way one glides their fingers across the back of a lover that is drifting off to sleep. You will never know that Marcie exists, and surely enough, one week after first reading your poem she couldn’t even remember your name. So maybe you were right all along. Maybe your intuition was spot on, and you’re really a fraud. But Marcie, the only person in the history of the universe that will ever commit your words to memory, would beg to differ.

     By now the sky has grown a dark, somber shade of blue. The lights from the nearby city ensure that you will never be lost in that perfect darkness you desire. Didn’t one of your teammates on the tennis team say something to that effect? It was late one evening, if memory serves. You were walking home from practice. You were standing on the corner of Valley and Styles, waiting for the light to turn red, when they observed that you seek a perfect darkness in which to submerge yourself. You looked at them with what I’ll call feigned surprise. They knew what it was too, because they continued, saying that nothing less than perfect darkness will ever do. Of course, you know damn well that nothing of that caliber will ever truly manifest, because in the innermost recesses of your consciousness you will always be scared to die. But what did they know? you ask yourself while staring at the branches of your neighbor’s evergreen. They moved to California after saving up money that they had earned working at the local food court, only to die a week later when their brakes gave out on the highway.

     Our rationalizations attract and repulse us in equal measure, but at all times they are just a form of system justification. The self, being a system first and foremost, and a fragile one at that, must remain properly insulated at all times, lest the universe tear it to shreds.

     You think about this for a moment. You pour yourself into something that you hope will be remembered as a work of beauty. Like all acts of creation, this process involves a mixture of performance and genuine out-of-body flow, and...well, maybe it isn’t entirely fair to paint the creative process with such broad strokes. But if creativity is an extension of the self, and the self is a constantly generated performance, why would it be unfair to characterize creation as, at the very least, a somewhat performative thing? And at any rate, if........but anyway, you spend all this time cultivating a very particular product, expecting - well, expecting what, exactly? Should people hold their breath because you’ve created something? Might the noosphere become a unified consciousness that subsequently anoints you its sole philosophical and artistic voice?

     No. No, things limp forward as always. And fuck, even if something did happen, then what? Will that make any difference when your body starts breaking down? You put something into the world. Well, what about it? Sooner or later you will die, regardless of whatever faux-profound drivel you deliriously dredge up. You never had any control. Before you know it, all traces of your existence will make their bed amongst the stars. And that is but a temporary state, for even celestial bodies wither in the face of eternity.

     A motorcycle tears down your street like an elemental force. Concrete melts away, revealing a profound, unending void where the core of the world ought to be. Now the houses aren’t connected to anything. They just hover, seemingly untouched by the passing of time. The moon presides over all of this, but only partially. It is utterly disinterested. You wish you could be such an impartial observer.

      Across the way there emerges a simple chord progression. ii-V7-IV-vi7, or something like that - your ear was never the best. But your ears perk up nevertheless, and now the drums are coming in with a steady beat. The synth is playing a familiar melody. A voice intones something in a language you don’t understand, but for the love of god you feel like you know what’s being said.

     What do you think this voice is saying? It’s saying you never had any control, and you never will, but there’s a hell of a gap between domination and passive observance. You don’t want either of these things. You know that life is nothing but a series of potentialities. Though it is tempting to believe that these potentialities can only be realized under strict conditions, the truth is we only believe this because we know these conditions will likely never come to pass. And we don’t want them to. Anything less than perfect won’t do, and perfection is an artificial construct. Comfortable with these facts, we sit stock still and don’t do a god damn thing because we are scared. You are fucking terrified of putting yourself out there because you want to preserve this image of yourself that you didn’t do shit to earn. You pay lip service to perfection and cling to the chaos that keeps it from being, because that lack of control shields you from the sting of failure, even as it opens you up to the much longer-lasting pain of regret. Maybe you want to believe that you won’t become that person whose final days are consumed by an endless litany of what if’s. But that will be you. Rest assured, if you continue to sit still that will almost certainly be you.

     So you take a deep breath and stand up. The quarter note pulse of the drums shakes the walls of your bedroom. You stand up, brace yourself, and leap out the window because by now the ground has disintegrated completely and there’s no longer such a thing as gravity. You float above that infinite void, that imperfect darkness, and before you know it the music has become a cyclone in miniature that envelops you. One year removed since you last left your house, you swear it feels like your flesh is being stripped off the bone. The air is toxic. With every breath you burn from the inside-out. But the music doesn’t mind this. Each chord cuts through the toxicity. So what do you do? You dance. For the first time in your life you dance like you are truly comfortable with yourself. There won’t be many moments like this going forward, though truth be told, there will be more of them than you probably expect. The beat persists and you keep dancing, hovering above the imperfect darkness while the sliver of moon impassively looks on, a truly impartial observer.

[vinyloftheyear-blog]

VotY 2015 and Summer 2016 catch-up

A little more than a year ago now, I was diving headfirst into all of the top-albums lists that the internet music world had to offer. It was the first year that I began to stay on top of music as it came out, following online reviews and community discussion. So, naturally, I figured I would throw my own two-cent hat into the ring, in the form of Vinyl of the Year--but it wasn’t really until now that I wanted to have a place to dump opinions while thinking about my own personal favorites to go along with it. It’s a win-win situation: It will help me remember what I like about music as it gets released, and you, the reader, can more easily tell me why I’m wrong!

So without further exposition, here’s a look back on what I liked in 2015 (in order of release date):

Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp a Butterfly

Listen here

Throughout this whole record, Kendrick shows how much he’s grown from Good Kid, M.A.A.D City, from the amazing, complex production and instrumentals to the hilarious, heavy, and hard-hitting lyrics. Even the overarching theme of the album is centered on growing to his full potential, through the metamorphosis from the Compton streets to the Grammys--and the way this album sticks together to show that is one of the best parts about it. The monologue that builds up through the album takes the listener through various points in Kendrick’s development, and he’s able to seamlessly change the mood across tracks to match his perspective then--from triumphant, to suicidal, to arrogant, to enraged, to confident. With To Pimp a Butterfly, Kendrick gives us a complete view into how he got to the top, and if he keeps this quality up his reign is sure to continue--and hopefully he won’t get robbed of AOTY at the Grammys again when that happens.

Modest Mouse - Strangers to Ourselves

Listen here

In their sixth album, Modest Mouse turn their trademark cynicism up to 11, while expanding in their musical style and using sounds that are a far cry from the band’s early days of guitar-centric rock. The change isn’t out of nowhere; a good chunk of the songs wouldn’t sound out of place if they were on previous records--and then there’s tracks closer to Pistol (A. Cunanan, Miami, FL. 1996), which completely push the boundaries of Modest Mouse’s musical niche with a mixed bag of criticism to go along with it. In a way, this album is also one of growth, showing that the band has not only expanded their repertoire of instruments and production tricks, but also the very subject of the album--for the first time the band criticizes society on a global scale, addressing humanity as the wasteful, malicious, selfish, and unbelievably short-sighted entity that it can seem to be. And yet, as the band’s views seem to strengthen, the way they’re conveyed seems for the most part weaker--Brock’s voice no longer punches you in the guts like it once would, and instead takes the easier way there by making the whole message easier to swallow with gentler, smoother production. Modest Mouse has ventured further into new territory than ever before with Strangers to Ourselves, and I think travelling back to their aggressive roots--and taking the tools and styles they’ve found back with them--would be the best next step.

Sufjan Stevens - Carrie & Lowell

Listen here

Carrie & Lowell is an album inspired by the passing of Sufjan’s mother Carrie in 2012, written and recorded as part of the grieving process he went through, and one can really hear the album progressing through its stages from shock through to acceptance, while using a healthy dose of nostalgia and memories to tie the feelings together. There’s a real beauty in the way everything flows and fades gently, even in the album’s darkest moments, easily making it one of the best albums to cry to. This album was my first experience with Sufjan, and after hearing his other work I think it would have been better to start elsewhere. On its own this album is immersive, gentle (almost to the point of sounding muffled), and depressing as hell--but after his earlier album Illinoise, which is much grander and brighter (and closer to baroque-pop), it becomes even more gripping and emotional in the very things it lacks by comparison. Sufjan’s tragedy is one that likely everyone will have to go through at some point in their lives, and I thank him for sharing his cathartic journey, and hope that he’s feeling better now.

Alabama Shakes - Sound & Color

Listen here

To most, southern rock is a genre that grew, blossomed, and wilted long ago--but Alabama Shakes continue to thrive from their southern rock roots, especially now that they’ve stepped out of the shadow of their influences (to borrow phrasing from Anthony Fantano) and made it to their own place in the sun. Their previous and first full album Boys & Girls was a delight of a rock record that is fully steeped in its inspirations, to the point where it wouldn’t sound out-of-place in a stack of ‘60′s-’70′s rock vinyls. This record, meanwhile, expertly keeps its feet planted while reaching out to modern, more complex production at the same time. From the more-monotone guitar-based tunes bloom some awesome dynamics, from the light and cheery melodies rise straight-up groovy and passionate songs, to show just a couple examples. Overall, Sound & Color leaves me excitedly wondering where the band’s talent will take them next, and whether they’ll end up uprooting some of their southern-rock core to continue branching further out.

Everything Everything - Get to Heaven

Listen here

I love this band, and I continue to be surprised that more folks don’t know about them (at least in America). Their third album continues the constantly-dynamic, instrument-rich, vocally-powerful, and lyrically-clever-and-intense style they’ve adopted and takes it to new, terrifying heights. Get to Heaven features punchy percussion, intricate guitar work, and grandiose soundscapes to push the central message of terrorism and the desperate actions of the disenfranchised (borrowing phrasing from Pitchfork’s review of this album). The album jumps around in its musical tone, but the lyrical themes don’t shy away from the message of doom even when the instruments seem to do so: songs range from extreme depictions of police riots and false prophets to downright groovy tunes about being desensitized to the atrocities of terrorism or growing to inevitably make the same mistakes as your forefathers. I am delighted that Everything Everything took their style to such a hot, era-defining topic and pulled no punches while doing so, and would love to see more concept albums like this from them in the future.

Tame Impala - Currents

Listen here

In the wake of their breakout hit album Lonerism, Tame Impala took their characteristic psychedelic sound and reworked it to become more poppy and much less rock-oriented or guitar-based. This caused Currents to get somewhat mixed reviews, with harsher critics claiming they diluted their sound to broaden appeal (similar to what I think Strangers to Ourselves was criticized for), and others simply pointing out that there are less good, memorable songs in this record among the repetitive pop style that band leader Kevin Parker utilizes. There are definitely a couple of yawners here (I don’t think Past Life is anyone’s favorite track, for one), but overall I still call this a fantastic album. Tame Impala’s production has finally left the garage and entered the studio proper with Currents, and the extra synths and instrumentation that come with it are composed with satisfying precision. Lyrically, the core theme of working through life’s changes is an almost painfully candid continuation of the saga that Lonerism began, with entire verses--hell, entire songs--that hit close to home. If nothing else, that’s proof that this album is far from diluted, and that Kevin is at least maintaining his composing/songwriting expertise, and at most vastly improving for this and future records.

Half Moon Run - Sun Leads Me On

Listen here

Another band I don’t think gets enough attention, Half Moon Run released this album a couple Octobers ago, their second record after their debut Dark Eyes. Listening to both albums in order feels like a long night followed by a sunny, pleasant morning, which the album titles almost imply by themselves. The atmospheric production and crisp vocals don’t contrast as much with darker lyrics and intense ambiance as they were in Dark Eyes, and instead they seem to fit perfectly with Sun Leads Me On‘s more light-hearted tone. What’s more, the few outlier songs that don’t fit this trend stand out nicely as experimental landmarks across the record--one moment you’re listening to a more traditional-sounding folk diddy, the next it’s a synth-centric pop song, and everything else seems to fall between those two extremes of the album. Half Moon Run has broadened their sound like several of the other artists I discussed, but unlike them I’m not sure which way I want Half Moon Run to go. Whichever musical path they take, be it more folk or more pop, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.

And now, onto the VotY picks! You can probably already guess from the way the blog looks, but 2015′s Vinyl of the Year is:

Vinyl of the Year 2015: Tame Impala - Currents

2015 was a big year for me: I graduated high school, had my first semester of college, and went through several other major life changes either at the same time or as a result. For that reason especially, the way that Currents illustrated change and living with/through it really got to me. I played Yes I’m Changing probably every day that summer, and even louder on the drive to school--it and the rest of the album just felt like the perfect thing to listen to, and the perfect album to sum up 2015 for me.

Now, come summertime, I had an idea to also get a vinyl halfway through the year--but it couldn’t also be the last year’s worth of albums, or it’d overlap with the regular VotY. I’m still torn on what the criteria should be--”favorite album that I listened to in the past year regardless of release date”, “favorite album from exactly 10/15 years before”, and “favorite albums of all time” are all strong candidates. For summer 2016, I settled on the first one, and got a vinyl copy of:

Summer Vinyl 2016: Everything Everything - Get to Heaven

This album officially released over the summer in 2015, and I listened to it on YouTube on repeat for a while then while it wasn’t on Google Play Music. For some reason it had taken seven months or so for it to appear there, so I really grew to enjoy this album during this past year. Even more so, the album’s terror-based themes became more evident in 2016 with the increase of attacks and tragedy that this past year brought (especially over the summer when I bought the vinyl). Regardless of the terror it seemingly foretold, Get to Heaven is a fantastic record that I’m glad is now in my collection. (This album will also stay with the Summer Vinyl collection even If the criteria changes before summer 2017).

Okay, now that we’re all caught up to 2016, the end-of-year post will be on its way soon. Thanks for reading, and happy listening!

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Self Destruct.”

Lol, wrote this one because I was thinking about it and it seemed liek aliens would find it sort of weird. Also they are totally stupid if they don’t take advantage of it :) 

The club was dark, an electronic human beat thundered through the floor as neon lights flashed and faded in time with the music. They kept it like that to keep off unwanted visitors. Generally only humans, Drev and Tesraki were willing to come into such an establishment. It tended to keep away all the goodie goodies who were to logical or law-abiding to see the true value of running under the radar.

Plus the music was loud enough, ad the humans were strange enough that they tended to draw the attention away from other aliens, and as far as the humans went, you just made sure to have half naked humans, and that generally dealt with anyone else who might be eavesdropping. Kinda hard to concentrate when your baser instincts are taking over.

It was with these rules and precautions in place that the syndicate met with each other, under the throbbing pulse  of the club’s beat, and the glowing light of neon.

There were five of them all together.

There were two Tesraki. One a young female with velvety black fur sitting cuddled close to a serious-faced dark-skinned human. He didn’t seem to notice her clinging to his arm as she was. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice much, a distant far-away look in his eyes either the product of cortical damage or the ravages of drugs though he was big, and acted as a good deterrent for anyone, human, or otherwise who might think about approaching uninvited.

Just to the side of them were two drev, one of them a mysterious pearlescent silver, and the other a rare sheen of black run up and down with strange rainbow light. He kept quiet his head down towards the table.

The last figure sat at the head of the table. A tesraki, tawny in color. One of his ears was rather mangled flopped constantly to one side and unable to move as the other was. He was missing a finger on his left hand leaving him with only three fingers, though all seven of his remaining digits were covered in rings and jewels. His beady black eyes blinked int the strobing of the neon lights.

“Well, do you have it.”

The dark furred Drev glowered at him while stroking her large human companion’s arm, “Payment first.”

The tesraki snarled, “Like I would trust you with payment.”

“Then at least let me make sure you have the credits.” She patted the human’s arm. If you don’t I will be forced to ask Z to deal with you, and he doesn't like having to deal with people.” 

Noctus snarled, but pulled a bag of credits from his belt and tossed it onto the table, a few of them spilling out onto it’s clear reflective surface dancing with the blue and pink neon lights overhead.

She reached out a hand beady black eyes wide with greed, but her hand was slapped away, “Now my information.”

She sighed but leaned back in her chair, “What do you want first, the object or the other information.”

“Why not talk about the object first.”

She shrugged, “No big deal. You’ll be able to find it in one of the shops on fifth three days from tomorrow. At that point it will be at its most vulnerable, and you will be able to take it without too much difficulty. Between the times of high sun, and a first moon low, security will be minimal, and anyone talented enough will be able to get in and take it. Now ... coming into the real problem, is actually getting out.”

Noctus crossed his arms, “Go on.” A group of loud drunken humans stumbled into the room adding a greater degree of chaos to the room.

“The GA has caught wind of our activities….”

Noctus groaned head thudding against the table as he rested his forehead against the cold glass.

“Expect to see some old friends of yours, Noctis.” The silver drev teased her yellow eyes squinted with amusement and pleasure at the Tesraki’s expense.

The dark female nodded, “Expect it. I heard rumors that they have THOSE humans working on it while they do repairs in our port. Usually I wouldn’t agree to something this dangerous now that THEY are involved, but…. That was before I heard about this thing.” She patted the big human’s arm.

“Well go on, don’t leave us in suspense.”

She grinned, “My informants have given me words, about something that could change the way we interact with humans. A last resort against their power and speed when all else is lost. It is guaranteed to work on at least fifty percent of the human population.”

“Only fifty percent.” Noctus demanded.

She frowned at him, “that’s fifty percent of humans YOU don’t have to deal with. Now let me finish.” She adjusted herself and continued, “I am told that this simple trick CAN incapacitate a human for up to an hour. You see, the way that some humans are built its like they have a natural…. Self destruct button, and if you can hit it, you win. Granted it isn’t likely to kill them, but making and injuring is a possibility.”

“And how does this help. If you are that close to a human than you are probably already dead anyway.” 

She waved a hand, “that is not the important part.” She reached behind her back and pulled out a little devie, something like a drone but not quite, “You remember this little gadget don’t you.”

“Isn’t that one of those self defence items for use against humans.”

She grinned and nodded, “This one is specific to the use of pressure points on the body as you will recall.” 

“Yeah, but it's not lethal, and my colleagues have shown that most humans can fight through it. And the way it was programmed immediately has the authorities raining down on us if we try to program it for more LETHAL things.”

She grinned at him, “Oh, but that is the beauty about this little piece of information. It isn’t lethal, but it has an extremely high incapacitation rate,  AND because it is not lethal, or even known to most of the GA, nothing is sanctioned against it. In essence, we have found a loophole.”

There was a pause around the room, “And has it been programmed into this device?”

She nodded another smug grin pushing it across the table, “Already done. Now it is up to your dark friend there to get things done.” She glanced towards the black Drev who sa brooding in his corner.

Slowly, and with one of his four arms, he reached out and picked up the object  kneading it in his four fingers, “Do you think you can do it?” Noctus demanded.

“Think, no. I know.”

***

The alarm sounded behind him as he slithered through the gap between two buildings and into a back alley. His dark carapace shimmered in the neon lights from billboards overhead, and he could hear the roaring of voices from down the street.  He recognized most of them as human.

He glanced over his shoulder having expected to be pursued, but he didn’t see anyone.

He turned back to the front alley breaking into a jog over the cold metal feet thudding quietly. He was almost there when, a shadow moved into the gap in front of him. In comparison to himself it was rather small, but the bipedal two armed nature of the creature made him pull to a stop.

He had expected this.

The human stepped from the shadows. He was tall for a human, but short compared to even the shortest Drev. He had tawny yellow fur atop his head, and was missing an eye. If what they said was true, he was also missing a leg. His face was mottled with the blue green luminance of the UV light playing along invisible stripes within his skin.  That same blue green glowed inside that single green eye. 

The fact that he was here didn’t exactly bode well for their little operation.

“Jeeajish daeen! Neh’hastish!” 

He was momentarily shocked into stillness surprised at hearing the drev language spoken by the squishy creature. 

He paused in place, “I have never met a human who could speak Drev before.”

The human stepped forward blue neon light highlighting the right side of his face, pink neon light lighting the left, “Well, now you have. I suggest you get on the ground and put your hands in the air before I am forced to do it for you.”

“Only you?” He wondered

“Je, zhe s nee tadi.” 

He turned in a sharp circle towards the second alley to his right to find the small female Drev stepping from the shadows, her beautiful luminescent blue dampened somewhat by the fluorescent yellow light at her back.

The human stepped closer, “I don’t suggest trying her unless you want to be humiliated.” 

The Drev turned back to the human reaching discreetly behind his back, “Oh, I don’t plan on it.” he pressed his finger into the trigger, and the little drone shot out from his hand.

***

Adam felt the impact a good five seconds before the pain set in. He had even gone to take a step thinking he would be ok, but knew he was wrong when his vision faded to grey.

***

The Drev thought it hadn’t worked at first. The human looked surprised , and then his skin slowly went white the rosy undertone fading from his face before he collapsed to the ground. He didn’t bother to look back racing forward and leaping over the human’s fallen body.” 

***

Death, death was upon him. He was going to die…. He wanted to die. It came in throbbing waves of agony through his innards. Like getting the wind knocked out of you but worse because at the same time he felt the overwhelming need to vomit. He barely recalled hitting the ground, but there it was right next to his face as he gagged and gasped curled into a ball on the cold metal of a filthy back alleyway. His vision was fuzzy and dark around the edges, so he barely noticed as a dark for leaped over him and raced into the crowd. He heaved again nears springing to his eyes with the horrific pain as if all his bowels were about to go shooting out of his body while his lungs refused to expand.

***

Sunny didn’t see what happened, one minute Adam had been facing off against the dark Drev, the next moment he had been on the ground while the other drev was escaping. She raced after him, but stopped upon coming to her fallen companion. Adam lay on the filthy ground curled into a tight ball. A high pitched sort of keening was breaking from his mouth as he rocked back and forth on the ground. That was only occasionally broken by the coughing and gagging. He was as pale as a sheet and tears were dripping from his exposed eye, which was squeezed shut. Little beads of sweat were rolling from his hairline and clinging to his skin. 

Sunny stopped in place and keyed her mic in frustration, “Man down! He’s getting away. He did something to Adam.” She tried to place a hand on Adam’s shoulder, but the human snarled at her swiping away her hand before curling back into a ball. Sunny leaned back in shock and surprise. She had never seen a human go that feral before.

“Maintaining pursuit.” Maverick panted over the radio.

Boots thundered against the ground down the alleyway, and sunny looked up to find team 2, headed by ramirez run into the alley.

The olive-skinned human pulled to a stop upon seeing the scene eyes going wide and then grimacing, “Oh shit.”

“What is going on.” Sunny demanded.

Ramirez walked over, “Ur…. he will be ok… hopefully.” he grimaced as he watched his friend writhe on the ground at his feet. Sunny saw his hands twitch, and he had gone almost as pale as Adam. Sunny had never seen an empathy reaction that obvious before.

***

He took another corner grinning to himself. It had worked, it had worked like a charm, the creepy little Tesraki hadn’t been wrong, and now he was pretty sure he had lost his pursuit. He turned another corner and skidded to a halt as another human blocked his path. This one was even shorter than the first by almost a foot, practically puny, compared to a drev. She too had a sort of white tawny hair and glittering hazel eyes. 

“Go on, try it. I'll kick your ass either way.” He smirked reaching behind his back and pressing the little button on the drone.

The human staggered back curling forward and yelping in pain, “SHIT!”

He waited for her to go down, but after a moment she straightened up face twisted into an expression of anger, “Ouch…” She snarled, and then ran at him.

***

Andam was getting ready to beg god to end him right there, when the horrific pain started to dull. He no longer needed to throw up, and he could breathe again. But walking was out of the question. Uncurling form his ball, he saw he was surrounded by a group of grimacing marines. 

Ramirez knelt next to him, “You ok.”

He grimaced trying to make a coherent thought, “They…. Know.”

He sighed, “They were bound to figure it out at some point.”

***

They were expecting Maverick, and for such reason were not surprised one she showed up dragging the incapacitated Drev behind her in power restraints. Her face was sort of twisted into an expression of mild discomfort and she threw the drev onto the ground at their feet, “I caught him.”

Adam looked up from where he was sitting, still looking green, on a discarded crate in the side of the alley.

“What do we know.” Ramirez asked

She smirked, “Apparently, dipshit here was told that his little device here.” She held it up, “Had the power to incapacitate fifty percent of the human population, apparently he didn’t stop to tell hi WHICH fifty percent of the population it wouldn't work on.” She grimaced again, “Not that it didn’t hurt, bastard.” 

Adam lowered his head with a groan.

Maverick patted his arm, “hopefully you don’t lose anything.”

“My pride…. My dignity.” He moaned.

 “Too late.”

Too bad the aliens hadn’t figured out who it would work on. It’s not everyday you learn a weakness that applies to fifty percent of a species. 

However now fifty percent of the human population was in…. Mild to moderate danger. 

Is not everyday that aliens have power over humans