#Usually it bangs two rocks together and calls it intelligence

[miriclebunny]

Quick Genloss Theory

So. After watching EP 3 and sitting on it for a bit, I had a quick brain moment and things just clicked into place.

So, what we know so far about showfall media is that they actively wipe the memories of their cast members and manipulate them into doing what the company needs / desires for their show. gl!Ranboo was manipulated by the mask, but not by the showfall mask like Sneeg was.

Sneeg was reprogrammed by a different mask than Ranboo was being controlled with.

Assuming that Sneeg and Ranboo went through the same process, it wouldn't make sense for Ranboo to be manipulated, unless he is able to break free of his programming very easily. Even then, when people do break free, they are easily reprogrammed. Why is Ranboo different?

I think that he is either the founder of Showfall or before he was programmed, he was a great enemy of showfall. That is why he was treated differently. Showfall can not afford Ranboo to break free as his old memories might come through, and it could potentially destroy everything showfall built.

Additionally, the mall Showfall inhabits is in disrepair. It looks like it was falling apart. What if Ranboo caused it? What if, as the founder, he created something that ended up with the complany looking the way it is. Or, he did something that caused the facility to look the way it is due to sabotaging the company.

If he is the founder, what if a member of the company deposed him and took over. What if the new CEO of showfall is trying to recreate something that Ranboo created but can never seem to get it right. What if they decided that the only way to keep the magic that Ranboo created was to keep Ranboo in the show.

Ep 3 ends with Ranboo being killed. I think, no matter what he was going to die.

Showfall can ressurect him anyways, whats stopping them now? They just needed to teach him a lesson, that they are always in control.

[sketchp00ch]

I DEFINITELY see this Dynamic between The Riddler and Miss Tuesday

(Mainly because I ship her better with Jonathan Crane but that’s another cringy thing about me, please don’t tell anyone)

Also, please remember that (again), this version of Miss Tuesday is NOT from the original canon, she is strictly a personal reinterpretation on how I think she would fit in different adaptations/continuities

More on their dynamic down bellow 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

(Add more to the lore if you like lol)

— They are the platonic version of Sheldon and Amy from Big Bang Theory

— They partake in parallel play on their free days (he reads his books while she paints her miniature as soft jazz plays in the background)

— They both live in his apartment with their own separate rooms

— Sometimes Miss Tuesday would sing a Greek hymn and Riddler enjoys hearing her sing as he tries to relax after a long day (he usually asks her to do so)

— They enjoy playing chess together (Tuesday lets him win because she doesn’t want to deal with him crying like a sore loser)

— Riddler often calls Tuesday his “Delphi” because she always know what he needs/wants and what he’s saying/thinking, and she responds by calling him “Apollo” as a joke

— When they’re discussing private matters they discuss it in Greek

— Ari (Miss Tuesday) was a child prodigy with picture perfect memory and is essentially smarter than Edward but he’d rather not acknowledge that notion, while Ari would rather keep her intelligence to herself when she’s not working

— They often have tea with Oswald and (sometimes) Jonathan on Wednesday afternoons where they “take a break” from villainy and just spend that time bantering, gossiping, and have deep conversations on philosophy, theories, and morality— typical girlie pop stuff

— Whenever Edward goes on a business trip for longer than a week, he orders Ari to spend three of her work days to go to Arkham to keep Dr. Crane company for at least two to three hours at most (which totally didn’t lead to anything *cough-cough*)

— Query and Echo adore Miss Tuesday and would often yell at Riddler for even raising his voice at her whenever she gets a lecture

— Edward makes sure Ari’s isn’t overstimulated to he brings emergency noise canceling headphones to calm her down whenever they’re in a larger social gathering

— Ari is the master of grey rocking mainly because she often tunes out Edward whenever he goes on one of his narcissistic tantrums like he’s a chihuahua yapping for attention

— They LOVE watching iceberg conspiracy theory videos together

— Edward sometimes jingles his keys in front of Ari to regain her attention whenever she looks away from him as he goes on another of his hour long lectures (“Okay so, back in the day- JINGLE JINGLE JINGLE!! Back in the day—!!”)

[crystallion12]

No clue how to do Tumblr so forgive me, gotta save this tho. If only to remind me when I think to myself how lonely it is down here. IM JUST SO?? I want to say excited but don’t want to overreach?? I’ve been pining over this OT4 for MONTHS, have a gigantic fic noted down and 😭😭 I just think they’re NEAT, Atsuhina (ngl nothing else would’ve probably happened if not, the other two aren’t exactly the forthcoming kind) turns into Atsukagehina over the Tokyo Olympics, and slowburn Sakatsu afterwards (I think of how Atsumu doesn’t cope well with TWO long distance BFs) brings him into the fold. Omi fears it’ll be extremely awkward at first, but Kagehina don’t give a crap if he’s “fourth-wheeling” (he and Tsumu have time alone, yes, and so do Kagehina, but they get along fine as a group so…) so he just. Finds himself getting comfy with them both despite it all, and comes to genuinely love the other two, so he’s just like, cuddling with Shoyo (who is, p unintentionally, yet again seducing vb players like it’s no biggie. He’s just glad it’s not another setter, they pointed it out to him that he’s a setter magnet and he’s been in CRISIS ever since) one night and goes “Hey. Wanna just all be… a thing? We don’t have to be boyfriends, but I like all of you?” “Yeah sure” “Cool beans” “How TF am I going to explain this to my parents…?” (I like to HC Omi is somewhere on the greysexual scale (can be into s*x with one of them at a time, all of them, or none of them/repulsed by it, for days to months at a time). He loves all three of them deeply, including Kags, who he’s fine being in the room w/ when it’s time for the occasional B*tchin Bedtime Bash n’ Bonking session (it’s a small party, a, I’d say monthly event at this point. They schedule it, snack breaks and movies n all. Omi sleeps through most of it usually which, frankly, is impressive) but like, I agree with the other reblogger. Omi and Tobio are pretty platonic, but I like to think they really do get close, esp bc I HC they’re both hard on more demi and questioning spectrums — whenever Shoyo and Atsumu sees someone pretty they’re sat there like, what do they see? What do you mean you just saw them and would bang? We took MONTHS, YEARS, to even think about kissing you idiots!! (Atsumu: At least y’all didn’t have to suffer through the bi crisis I had bc of Shoyo in HS. It sucked, worth it tho)

Also, Shoyo absolutely has the most power over ALL of them and it’s a good thing bc he is, by far, the most emotionally intelligent. Honestly it’s barely even a competition, he’s the miracle holding them together 😂 Someone asks “Oh so who wears the pants, y’know lol” “Pants…? Omi or Tobio probably. They’re both completely dressed usually, or naked. Tsumu either wears underwear but no pants, pants but no underwear, no inbetween, always shirtless, and then—” “NO PLS OMG I MEAN WHO’S IN CHARGE” “Oh! Oh that’s honestly me. They rarely say no to me, if I want something someone’s at my beck and call. Sometimes I feel like I’m a shojo harem MC… but I’m the best cook. You bet they listen to who feed them and gives the best cuddles, smh” (The other three: *begrudgingly nodding* He has too much power…)

(Also makes me consider angsty routes where, if Shoyo ends up angsting, or is threatened somehow, it rocks the entire boat. Those three having to work together harmoniously without that steady, warm little thing winding his way between them, brightening otherwise gloomy spots of miscommunication, would be trying. I do have angsty ideas related to the AU but not settled on anything, and they don’t quite feel right, really, so… idk).

While they’d probably keep it to themselves bc god knows irl Japan would have an aneurism seeing them (it seems polyamory is. Nonexistent in their public views?) but boy does it generate the funniest drama. Haikyuu verse shippers going HARD on Twitter, little do they know they skipped all that BS and bought the biggest bed they could (hardest thing to work out honestly, like… that’s three 180+ tall athletes plus Shoyo whose hardly small, and moves a lot— defying all logic, often starting on one side and ending up on the other. They’ve given up on permanent arrangements. Sometimes a dog pile seems easier. Like, Omi and Tobio prefer the furthest ends respectively but Tsumu is a fussy boy who decides he needs snuggles from EVERYONE and then. Shoyo is probably making the pilgrimage to Omi’s side at 3am, apparently, bc Tobio kicked him muttering something about sexy ninjas and nope, not tonight. Yes, when one of their phones goes off it’s an effort getting it to the right destination.

As you might be able to tell I have all too many feelings and thoughts here 😭 It’s the most severe brainrot… and I just KNOW I could make the biggest fic but my motivation’s so bad, I need soundboards to help bounce ideas off. Would be v happy to have someone to ramble to about these four (somehow functioning) idiots in love if anyone’s made it down here and still interested.

Signing off over here in poly rarepair hell 😞🫡 Maybe I’ll write that fic someday! Also, maybe I’ve figured out tagging?

i enjoy sakuatsukagehina but oh god they’d be insufferable. three of them are assholes at least 40% of the time (intentionally or unintentionally) and all four of them getting competitive over the same thing might result in actual radioactive fallout.

[redsbrainrot]

Gruvia Week - Discovery

This is my first time positing on here lol - go easy on me please

Warning: minor smutty themes

_ _ _

"Juvia, you feeling alright?" 

Juvia, sat on a bench in the guildhall next to Levy and Gajeel, continued to rock back and forth in her seat with her arms clenched around her stomach. In Levy's lap was placed one of the twins in her hold, giddy and babbling while the one Gajeel was cradled into his shoulder and fast asleep. Therefore their conversation had to remain quiet or the six month old baby would awake screaming. 

"Juvia's okay," She mumbles, "I think I just ate something weird." 

Levy and Gajeel glance at each other, "Do you feel sick?" Levy asks. 

She nods, "A little." 

"Weren't you feeling crappy yesterday?" Gajeel adds. 

"A bit." Juvia would bend her truths to save her friends from worrying too much. 

For the past four days, Juvia had been experiencing mild nausea. Every day it appeared to be more frequent, this day being the worse. 

"Come on," Levy stands up and carefully hands over the twin she had to Gajeel, "I'll take you home."

Levy walks Juvia down the sunsetting street to the apartment Juvia shared with her boyfriend, who was currently out on a long lasting job, leaving Juvia with a feeling of absence in her apartment, and peacefully waiting for him to return in a months time. 

Juvia frantically gets out her keys to unlock the door, a sensation of rush bursting through her veins. As soon as she enters, her direction is in a locked path directly towards the sink as it was the closest thing for her to unleash half digested food from her stomach. 

Levy quickly grabs a chunk of Juvia's wavy blue locks to save them from being stuck together by portions of puke while her hand eases her by rubbing circular patterns on Juvia's back. After Juvia retracts her position from over the sink, she sinks to the ground, exhausted and somewhat hungry again. 

"Juvia, how long have you been feeling like this?" Levy questions, dropping next to her. 

"A few days." 

"Are you sure it's something you ate?" 

Juvia's eyes widen a little, peering up towards Levy's face. She hadn't exactly thought what it could be. Truthfully, she was denying what it most definitely was. Juvia's an intelligent woman, and can tell the difference between an illness and... the other topic. 

Juvia begins to twiddle her thumbs in nervousness as her nose buries into the skirt of her dress on top of her knees, "Juvia's not exactly sure..." She confesses. 

Levy's next query would for sure strike something, "Is your period late?"

That one didn't actually enter Juvia's mind. She mutters a sequence of dates and numbers to herself, counting on her fingers in concentration. "Shit!" Juvia cursed on rare occasions. 

"Is that a yes?" 

Eyes wider than ever, she nods. "Two weeks late!" 

Levy knew all these symptoms. Juvia had been oversleeping and coming to the guild at later times in the day, the nausea, the missed periods... It wasn't hard to calculate. She pushes herself from the floor and taking Juvia's hand with her, taking her towards the bedroom and implying her to sit on the bed, as this will be pretty heart stopping. 

She takes her hands into hold, and kneeling in front of the puzzled blunette, her voice gentle and calm, in attempt to keep things light hearted, "Juvia, I think you're pregnant." 

Her eyes slant to the side, taking in the life changing information that may be a high possibility. "No..." She says under her breath, "Gray-sama and Juvia aren't even married yet... not even engaged." Juvia likes to keep traditions in mind.

"Doesn't mean it's not a possibility. All the evidence is right in front of you, you can't possibly deny it. Plus you've always dreamed of having kids with Gray. This can be a good thing if you want it to be. If not, that's totally fine too." 

Juvia and Gray hadn't discussed kids more than once. At least alone together and not in a teasing situation surrounded by their guild-mates. 

"Have you got any pregnancy tests here?" 

Juvia shakes her head in reply. 

"I'll go out and get you one." She breaks the contact, exchanging a smile with her as she heads out the door. 

Juvia falls into her bed, glaring at the ceiling as she processes the situation. The chances of it being true were actually quite high. The two of them were very sexually active, yet also taking precautions. Most of the time. Once or twice, Gray may have relied on the withdrawal method. A few weeks before Gray left for his job along with Natsu, Lucy and Erza, the two of them went out to stargaze. Mere touches were grazed on each others skin. Those touches becoming more lewd, lewd gestures forming into kisses, and eventually, the kisses leading to sex under the midnight sky. 

Juvia's hands slap to her face in utter embarrassment, and stupidity flowing through her mind. No contraception which was one hundred percent effective existed, and they increased the chances of conceiving by using the worst method possible. 

Juvia unconditionally loves her Gray-sama, and even though it took some time, the feeling was completely mutual. However, Juvia had planned out her life with Gray. First moving in together, which had already been achieved. Second, waiting for the day he proposes (she doesn't have the guts to do it herself). Third, the day the two lovebirds finally get married. Last but not least, babies. 

Juvia had strong mother instincts, she was born to be a mother. What made her dream bigger about it was the fact Gray would one day be a father to them. 

Ten to fifteen minutes later, Levy returns with a plastic bag. Containing some comfort food and of course a pregnancy test. 

Juvia hesitantly takes the test, and heads inside the bathroom. 

She follows the instructions while her heart beats worryingly fast. In fear of the answer, she slaps the test into Levy's hand while they wait a few minutes for the result, not wanting to see for herself. 

"Juv..." Levy calls after a few minutes. 

Juvia peaks up from her slouch as she sat on the end of the bed, her teeth grinding with anticipation. 

"It's positive." 

Juvia had trouble believing it. She was actually pregnant? Even though she was going to beat herself up for not being more careful, a hint of joy sprung out of nowhere. Hormones, perhaps?

A brief smile emerges on Juvia's round, porcelain face, while her eyes are screaming. She's actually, after all these years, going to have a baby with the man she's wanted to the most. Just a little bit earlier than she had originally planned.

Gray doesn't return for another month. After this, she wouldn't be able to bare another moment with him not knowing. 

"When does Gray get back?" 

"Just over a month... I don't know what I want to do..." 

_ _ _

On the couch, dressed in her boyfriend's shirt and a pair of shorts, Juvia sat in peace and comfort while skimming the pages of one of her favourite books to pass time. Gray's arrival was due that day. Juvia had a burst of anticipation to see her boyfriend after so long, but coated with fear in addition. 

Juvia slams her book as she catches the sound of keys turning the locks. After discovering she's pregnant with her Gray-sama's baby, she'd spent the previous month reading pregnancy books, making space for the baby in the spare bedroom, which was previously used as a storage room which would grow like mould. For the majority, she'd be sleeping and having naps three times a day, and throwing up anything that'd enter her body. Her cravings were wild, her tongue rejected almost all of her favourite foods, including her most adored Gray buns. 

Juvia'a smile lightens Gray's life up as he opens the door. His jacket is immediately stripped without a thought and his arms around her body, first pulling her closer to him and their lips briefly locking for a sweet moment. Juvia's hands crawl up to his neck, she retracts her lips for a second and tugs him back for an even deeper, more tender one. 

"Fuck," Gray curses in a breath, "I've missed these lips," He kisses her once more, "I've missed you." 

He makes her squeak as he grabs her thighs. Juvia loops her legs around his waist as an immediate reaction, giggling and melting into the strong, hungry kisses. Gray's tongue surprises her as he licks her bottom lip, needing to meet with hers. By how he was moving towards the bedroom, tugging his teeth at her lip and occasionally licking, his crotch pressed right against hers, she knew what he wanted and was aware he wanted it now. 

"Gray..." She pants, breaking the kiss. 

Gray ignores her, assuming her words are more of a moan and slips his tongue inside her mouth. She allows his tongue to take control of her mouth, being distracted by his taste and moving into a moment of bliss. Then reality slaps her in the face as her back hits a door. 

"Gray, I need to talk to you." Worried and out of breath, her usual third person switches to first. 

Gray's lips halt their work, his eyes opening and hands becoming looser, dropping her to the ground delicately. 

"Are you okay?" His fingers brush through her bangs, tracing to the side of her porcelain face. 

She nods, retaining a smile and she takes his hand, turning around and opening the door to their bedroom. She takes them to a bed, this time for conversational purposes, not making hot, sweet love. 

Holding his hand, her eyes flutter close, mouth intaking a deep breath, releasing a sigh a second after. "Remember that time, you and Juvia were out in the fields outside of town, stargazing?" 

Gray's smirk startles her, "Oh yeah, I remember that night." He recalls the sex immediately. 

"You also remember making love then?" She urges the memory, and a possible yearning sensation in Gray's boxers. 

"Yes?" He took note something was wrong rather quickly. 

"And how you had to pull out since Juvia wasn't on the pill that week, and we didn't have a condom?" 

He nods, eyes narrowing. 

"Well," She chokes on her words, unable to confess immediately, "you may have pulled out a moment too late..."

She pressures herself inside her own head "Spit it out, Juvia!". She'd had the perfect pep talk from Levy, and was convinced she'd have no trouble revealing her pregnancy. 

Luckily, words didn't have to be used. A more convenient way was also possible for her. 

Juvia lifts up her sweater, having a tighter t-shirt underneath. She holds the top of Gray's hand, and guides it to her stomach, having him feel her bump, confessing her pregnancy in a nonverbal way. 

Gray's eyes break from hers, darting to her stomach and widening, his reaction unreadable from Juvia's perspective. 

Juvia's concern over his reaction rises, as he wasn't uttering a sound. About to panic, scream of how she had the worst feeling in the world she knew he'd be against it, Gray's free hand holds the other side of her small bump. The anxiety in his eyes had faded, and gazing with awe in replacement. 

"Gray-sama?" Juvia says, after many silent moments of listening to each others breaths. 

"There's actually... a baby us in there?"

Having him say "a baby us" melted Juvia's heart. Out of all the possible ways Gray could've responded it, that she was not expecting. "Yes. What do you think?" 

He doesn't respond straight away, continuing to gaze at her bump, his hands trailing over it and lightly caressing. He catches Juvia off guard when his lips swiftly kiss hers. He places excited, soft, joyful kisses from her lips, to the corner of her mouth, cheeks and forehead. Juvia's unable to contain a smile, giggling into the final heartfelt, impassioned kiss. Her arm loops around his neck, deepening their kiss, while his hand is at the back of her neck and one staying on her bump. 

"Gray-sama is happy?" Her eyes widen with joy.

"Yes!" He exclaims while kissing her once more. 

She pulls away, out of breath with a hyper voice, "Gray-sama wants to have a baby with Juvia?" 

He pushes himself further back, regaining some control, taking her hands into his, "Well... Yeah. We've been together for two years. I know we both thought marriage would come first - I'll be honest, having a baby right now will be scary as we weren't trying for one and it's just happened. I know I don't bring up the thought of us having a child together often, as it's more of a you thing..." He pauses, nervously taking a bite at his lip, "But I knew we'd end up having one eventually. If you're happy with one now, so am I." 

Juvia's face had blushed immensely red throughout his words. There's no way in hell Gray would confess that in front of the entire guild. Having him say it to her face, while holding her hands, was just enough for her. 

_ _ _

Two days had passed. Gray and Juvia spent the weekend together, discussing their excitement over the baby, and mainly catching up on the past two months apart. 

First night back, Gray's sleep was muddled and would wake up at least three times during the night. His emotions were complicated to explain, but he could sum them up and admit his happiness. The news may have not fully kicked in, and he was shocked of how Juvia seemed to be able to relax, sit peacefully on a couch and read books. Yet again, she had just spent a month by herself well aware of what was growing inside her. 

The two agreed they'd wait a few weeks before fully announcing it to the guild, plus Gray's shyness. However, an infamous dragon slayer had other plans. 

Juvia was clothed in baggier clothes than normal, concealing her bump as her tighter dresses were incapable of that. Gray, Natsu and Lucy were sat at a table in the centre of the guild. Natsu throwing unintentional flirtatious comments at Lucy, and would receive relatively harsh slaps in the bicep in return. 

"Hi everyone." Juvia sweetly announces herself as she slides beside Gray, discretely grasping his fingers as she's sat down. 

"Hey, Juvia." Natsu grins, which soon disappears as his nose begins to twitch. 

"Something wrong?" Gray questions. 

He nods, his sniffing becoming more obvious, "Can you smell that?" 

"I can't." Gray shrugged, raising an eyebrow at Juvia. 

"We don't have the nose of a beast like you," Lucy giggles, "What is it?" 

Natsu leans forward, following his scent with his sight in attempt to locate it, which his glare ends on Juvia. "It's you!" 

She jumps at his forwardness, gripping Gray's hand firmer. "Huh?" 

"There's something different about you... new perfume?" She shakes her head in response, "It may be the dress, never seen you in something so loose." 

"Watch your mouth, pervert." Gray growls as he takes Natsu's innocent comment more crudely. 

"You're calling me a pervert!?" Natsu immediately bites back. 

Lucy slaps her hand to Natsu's shoulder, pushing him back into the seat, "It doesn't take much for you to get riled up, does it?" 

"Seriously though," He flounces out his hands towards Juvia, "Something is different! I can smell it!" Lucy sighs and hushes him as his bellowing was grabbing the rest of the guilds attention. 

Juvia and Gray eye each other in fear. Natsu may not have the IQ of a genius, however his nose is powerful enough to sense any form of change. Lucy quickly takes note of the glance they exchange, figuring out by the scent and the stares, something is certainly up. 

"Wait..." Her eyes narrow in query, "Is something actually different, Juvia?" Her choice of tone more calm than Natsu's, easing the two of them. 

Juvia's eyes slant as her leg bounces in anxiety. Announcing her pregnancy five days earlier than planned would certainly drive Gray crazy. He hasn't mentally prepared himself for the attention and congrats as he's soon to be a father. 

"Well..." 

"Juvia!" Gray objects. 

Juvia releases a frustrated breath, "Gray-sama, there's no harm-" 

"I'm not ready to tell yet!" 

"You're pregnant." 

Juvia and Gray's heated stare breaks as Natsu points a finger at them, shockingly figuring out their secret much quicker than expected. 

Lost for words, the two gape like blank minded sheep. 

"I'm right, right?" 

Gray's opinion on Natsu is still pretty low, even though over the past years it had risen. How on earth did he figure it out in the snap of his fingers!? 

In Juvia's head, it made sense. He wouldn't ask if they were engaged as her scent would remained the same. With the evidence of looser clothes, the scent, secrecy, there's no hiding her pregnancy from him! 

"Yes... Juvia is pregnant." Getting it off her chest to her closest friends, minus Gajeel who already knew, was a relief. Her confession initiated a smile to tug at her delicate lips, watching the two with stars in their eyes as they take in the information, while Gray slams his face into the palms of his hands. 

"You sneaky little fucker!" Natsu's method of congratulations are somewhat unique, "Nice!"

"Oh my god!" Lucy squeals in delight as her hands hyperly applaud, "I'm so happy for you!" 

"Thank you," Juvia caresses her bump under the table, "We weren't planning on one of course. But Juvia thinks she's ready for a baby, and so does Gray-sama." 

Gray pulls himself up from the grave of his hands, admitting a smile to Juvia, taking her hand and placing his lips on her knuckles. He may not express his love for her much in public, but that tiny gesture said it all. 

"Yeah... I am."

_ _ _

[alpacaparkaseok]

Where you should be

Chapter 1: Prevaricate

Genre: Hobi x oc 

Warnings: this series contains stalking, blackmail, and similar stressful/fear inducing situations. Also unrequited love, which is perhaps the most terrifying of all.

Word Count: 5.6k

Prevaricate (v.) : to speak or act in an evasive way

Present Time  

There’s a reason why I’ve been working under a pseudonym for the entirety of my career at Bighit and never show up in photos that are going to be sent out on social media. There’s a reason why the very people I work for have hardly seen me.

After Bang Si-hyuk met me as a junior producer at another agency and saw that I was hardly working enough hours a week to survive, he gave me a one-time opportunity to prove myself. I would work at my agency in the mornings and then head out to the Bighit building in the evenings to meet up with Pdogg and Slow Rabbit who were more than happy to give me a shot behind the producer’s chair.

In the end, Adora was my biggest advocate. I heard her the day I was waiting for the verdict, speaking firmly with Bang PD in his office.

“If you let her go you’ll be screwing yourself over. I’ve seen her work, she’s a machine. I haven’t seen anyone like her. She’d be an asset to this team and we both know that we need that right now.”

It was the beginning of 2018 when Bang PD marched into Pdogg’s studio where I was working with him and told me the plan.

My contract at the other agency still had six years left on it, there was no way out of it. That had been Bang PD’s main concern, but when he looked at his star studded BTS and saw just how badly they needed a fresh perspective, he decided to go all in. So what did he do?

He bought out my old agency.

Naturally.

Source entertainment, the previous house of GFRIEND, still had their logo and a hand in their decisions. However with Bang Si-hyuk their new CEO they really didn’t have much of a say in my promotion.

Two and a half years later, life is pretty good. Well, besides the fact that I’m still living under a rock.

Let me explain: Source entertainment gladly sold their company to Bighit entertainment...under one condition. They didn’t want anyone to know why they were bought out in the first place. Not being able to keep a hold of a young female producer sounded pretty pitiful to them.

It just so happened that my name was starting to circulate around the different agencies around the time Bang PD took me in, and a few were out shopping for a new producer. Once word got out that I was the one behind “Navillera” things started to go downhill.

Sometimes I really feel like I can empathize with Rapunzel, locked up in her tower. At least my tower has a sweet stereo system. Equipped with a pseudonym and surrounded by speculation, I live an interesting life.

You see, nobody actually knows that I bailed Source for Bighit, although many suspect as much. When ‘trackers’ from other agencies began to snoop around for my whereabouts, Bang PD gave me a choice.

Either work so far behind the scenes that I would never see any action but would stay safe from prying eyes, or adopt a pseudonym and be alert for people showing up at my door offering me a higher salary.

There are a lot of things I wish I’d known before I began my career. However, there is one thing in particular I would have liked to known before jumping over to Bighit: cameras have never been able to capture Jung Hoseok in his full glory, and I doubt they ever will.

Mid July, 2018

“Have you eaten?”

Hoseok’s voice is muffled through my headphones, but I quickly slip them off my head and turn to see him standing in the doorway.

“Me?” As soon as I ask the question I know that it isn’t the most intelligent. The room is empty except for me.

Hoseok doesn’t tease me too much, instead stepping into my small studio that I share with a couple of other producers. “Yes, you.” Producing a giant bag of takeout, he lofts it up in the air. “You’ve been here all day and I’m pretty sure you haven’t left this room once.”

I’ve begun seeing Hoseok more frequently around the company building, he’s taken up the habit of stopping into Slow Rabbit’s studio more often during the day. We’ll make some small talk, talk about work and upcoming plans. But this? Just showing up at my small studio with food? That’s definitely never happened before. We’re not even on a first name basis.

I didn’t even know he knew where my studio was. If we’re ever in the same room together it’s either in a big staff meeting with all the producers or in Slow Rabbit’s studio.

Taking a long look between the food and my workload, I sigh and push some of my stuff away, creating a space for the food. Hoseok hollers and grabs a chair for himself, wasting no time in plopping down beside me and pulling out the cartons.

I must be staring at him like he has three heads, because he’s freezing in his tracks when he catches my eye.

“What?” He asks innocently.

I laugh lightly, hoping that he doesn't misinterpret what I say next. “I just wasn't expecting to see you, much less with food.”

“Oh,” he hesitantly passes me a carton. “Yeah, kind of weird, I know. I just thought you might like something to eat. I know how grueling work can be when you’re just starting out, and you’ve got a lot of competition here. No matter how hard it all gets you can’t forget to eat and sleep, alright?”

I nod slowly, watching as he looks utterly unfazed and begins slurping up his food. That’s when I realize that we’ll be eating together.

It’s oddly quiet in the studio that’s usually filled to the brim with music, but it’s nice. “How did you even know that I’d be in here?”

Hoseok shrugs, glancing my way. “Slow Rabbit said that you haven’t showed up for your usual lunch with him all week; I figured today would be the same.”

He talked to Dohyeong about me? Somehow that thought leaves me feeling a little off-balance.

“Thank you.”

Giving me his award winning smile, Hoseok nods. “Hobi. Just call me Hobi.”

Busying myself with my food, I nod. “Thank you, Hobi.”

“You’re welcome...” He looks at me expectantly and I realize that he’s not interested in calling me by my stage name, Sunny.

“Oh. Ha-rin.”

He nods, satisfied for the moment. Diving into his food again, he clears his throat. “Mind if I come back tomorrow?”

January 2019

Lunch with Hobi becomes the new normal. Whenever he has a free spot in his schedule he just shows up at the studio. Sometimes we have lunch around 12, other days it’s more like 8. Either way, he always sends me a text asking me if he can eat lunch in the studio, and chances are I’m still hanging around. He gives me a tentative time, and I always find a way to say yes.

I don’t think I’ve paid for lunch for six months straight. To be honest, it’s really nice. On the other hand, I feel a little guilty. Whenever I bring it up, Hobi just waves me off.

Nearly on the verge of tearing my hair out as I struggle with the title track of TXT’s debut  album, Hobi sends me a text telling me that he’s on his way over with the goods. It doesn’t take him long to show up, plopping down beside me and placing the food in front of me before I can even take my headphones off.

“I’ll order next time?” I ask tentatively. We’ve had this conversation several times already, but I can’t quite seem to win.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hobi says as he continues on in his meal. I glare at him.

“Well, I do worry about it. You don’t need to keep doing this, Hobi.”

Now he sets down his food and turns to look at me. He’s wearing a white t-shirt today, and his hair has been recently dyed with honey-brown highlights. When I first saw him in the doorway of the studio with his usual bag of food, I had to remind myself to breathe.

He looks good.

“Yes I do.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I nearly agreed with him before stopping.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, a little annoyed. “I’m not some pity case that you have to foster until I make a name for myself, you know.”

As soon as I say it I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. Hobi blinks before starting to laugh, applauding my bravado.

“Wow!” He says through his laughter. “You think that’s why I’m here?”

I just shrug, too mortified to say anything else. Heaven knows I’m too high-strung at the moment to be trusted to say anything else.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but you’re not a pity case. Do you feel like you’re a pity case?” Hobi turns what should have offended him into a shovel to dig around my brain a bit.

Shaking my head, I sneak a peek over at him. He’s sitting with his legs and arms crossed, looking at me intently.

“...no.”

I don’t sound that convincing, that much is clear on Hoseok’s face. Leaning forward in his chair, he looks like he’s thinking over something important but remains silent for a moment. I take the temporary silence to eat a bit more of my food, only then noticing that it’s ramyeon.

The thought of Hoseok taking some of the packets of ramyeon from the break room and sneaking down here with them makes me want to laugh and cry.

“Pdogg said you’re working on TXT’s title track. It’s your first big project here; how are you feeling?”

The question takes me off guard, and I slurp up the rest of my noodles before I respond. “Alright, I guess. It’s been a while since I had to start on a track from square one.”

A look of understanding dawn on Hoseok’s face. “That’s stressful. But that also says a lot that you’re trusted with so much.”

Shrugging, I drink the last bit of the broth before tossing my cup in the trash. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think Bang PD is trying to kill me.”

“Really?” J-hope frowns before also finishing off his ramyeon. “I could help you, if you want.”

I shake my head firmly, watching as he laughs as though he’d expected as much. “No, I need to do this on my own. I think I’m nearly there, anyways.”

“So that’s why you never leave the studio these days,” he muses.

“Exactly.”

Normally Hoseok is pretty quick in his visits; we eat and he leaves as soon as he’s finished. I’m honestly surprised that he has enough time to eat with me nearly every day. Today though, he lingers. I can tell that he’s chewing on a thought, and I turn to him, raising my eyebrows.

“Are you about to tell me I can get us food next time?”

He blinks at me, laughing. “No, not that. I know you won’t let me help you with producing; that’s fine. But will you at least let me listen to the track when you feel like it’s good enough?”

Hoseok and I are at a strange crossroads in our acquaintanceship. Are we friends yet? From the consistency of his lunches and willingness to help me, I believe we are. But then again, this feels completely unbalanced for a friendship. After all, isn’t he the one putting in all the work?

“That sounds like work, though.” I fold my arms in front of me. “You already work all the time.”

“You won’t even let me listen to it?”

Looking at him, I see how sincere he is in his intentions. Maybe that’s what makes me loosen up a bit, letting go of my insecurities just enough to let him in.

“You promise to tell me if it sucks?”

He giggles, the sound of his little laugh making me smile. “Oh, absolutely.”

Giving him a curt nod, I grab my headphones, ready to get back to work. “Ok.”

He hesitates. “Ok? That’s it?”

My chair swivels to face him, one side of my headphones off my ear so I can hear him. “That’s it. I’m kicking you out now so I can come up with a track decent enough for J-hope to listen to.”

Cackling at my behavior, he holds his hands up in surrender and makes his way out of the studio. “See you tomorrow, Rin-ah.”

I don’t hear him, my headphones firmly planted on my head. Chuckling to himself, Hoseok closes the door on his way out.

Two weeks later

“I think that one’s my favorite,” Hoseok says as he slips the headphones off. I raise my eyebrows.

“Really?”

He nods, smiling softly as he hands the headphones back to me. I put them on, immediately beginning to toggle with the track before me.

“Really. Why, do you not like it?”

I shake my head, eyes glued to the monitor. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...I think that’s the song I hated producing the most. It was by far the most challenging.”

“I can see why. But it sounds like your hard work paid off.”

I forget to breathe for a moment as he reaches out and gently removes the headphones from my head. Placing them on the desk, he crouches beside me and saves the changes I’ve made before closing down the computer.

“What are you doing?” I ask once I’ve remembered how to expand my lungs again. Hoseok straightens up, patting his thighs as though checking he has everything he needs in his pockets.

“That was the final track, right?”

I nod slowly, not catching on. “Yeah, but I’ve still got to review everything and-”

“No.” He looks serious as he shakes his head. “Not tonight. You’ve been locked up in this studio for over a month, I swear.”

Frowning, I turn my swivel chair in a slow circle, glaring at the wall and then Hoseok. “You make it sound like I never leave.”

“Well, do you? I’ve only ever seen you in a studio.”

Scoffing, I stop spinning and face him. “I go home at the end of the day! I shower! Do you really think I don’t shower?!”

Laughing, Hoseok extends a hand out to me which I stare at. My brain is completely fried.

“Sure, ok. You shower. But you leave here late and come back early. You’re finished - you’re practically finished, don’t give me that look - with the album and if you really want to review it, you can tomorrow. But I’ve listened to all the tracks and you deserve a break. Come on.”

He keeps his hand out, waiting for me to take it. Groaning, I grab my phone off the desk and take his hand. Hauling me up and out of the chair, I realize that his hand is larger than I thought it was. And warm.

“I can’t believe you’re kicking me out of my studio- it’s only 9 o’clock!” I shout as I see the time. I haven’t been out of the studio before 9 in weeks, usually opting to leave around 1 or 2 in the morning. Hoseok chuckles before me, looking at me over his shoulder until he slows down enough to walk beside me.

“When was the last time you were actually outside for longer than it takes to walk to your car?”

I shrug. “I take the bus. Can’t relate.”

“Whatever, you know what I mean.”

Squinting up at him, I curse those honey-brown highlights that are still prominent in his hair. He looks like some sort of model that got lost in the agency building, not my friend that sits with me and offers unsolicited advice.

“I don’t know…” I pout as he opens up the door and we head out into the night air. “A while?”

Laughing, he nods his head. “Yeah, I bet. Here, I’ll give you a ride.”

Stopping in my tracks, I shake my head. “No, that’s fine. I’m ok to take the bus, it stops right in front of my street and everything.”

Hoseok stops with one foot hanging off the curb, ready to head into the parking lot. He tilts his head to the side in that cute habit of his. Struggling to maintain an innocent expression, I watch as he marches back over to me.

“First off, do you consider me a friend?”

I’ve never seen Hoseok’s intense professional side before, but I can see that same tamed fire lurking behind his eyes as he draws nearer.

“I...yes?” I assume that’s the correct answer.

He nods his head before moving on to the next question. “Good. Secondly, I don’t remember saying that I’d give you a ride home. Did I?”

Blinking up at him, I shake my head. “No...but then where are we going?”

In an instant his intense gaze turns into the happy-go lucky expression I’ve come to associate with Hobi. “To celebrate! You just finished producing almost an entire album with only Pdogg for company; that’s a feat in and of itself.” He pauses, looking at me with a soft gaze. “You’re ok with that, right?”  

Once I nod Hobi jumps off the curb and leads me to his car. Where I’m expecting a sports car I’m pleased to see a normal, albeit nice, car waiting for us. Opening the door wide for me, he gives me a big smile as I reluctantly get in.

Once he buckles up and starts the car, I turn to look at him. He looks a bit worried behind the driver's seat.

“Are you ok?” I ask. He quickly nods.

“I’m fine...I just don’t tend to drive that often. It’s not my favorite.”

I can’t help but laugh a little at his concerned expression. “Right, I forgot.” He eases out of the parking lot at a slower speed than necessary, but I let it slide. “Why did you drive today?”

He shrugs. “Just felt like it. Are you hungry yet?”

I raise my eyebrows. “I think I could eat again.”

“Great,” Hobi smiles at me before returning his full attention to the road. “I think the boys ordered pizza.”

Heart dropping to my toes, I nearly smack him before I stop myself. “The boys? What are we doing?”

He’s too focused to laugh at my obvious worry, but the ghost of a smile flits across his mouth. “Well, you don’t really seem like the type to hit up clubs and stuff to celebrate, and I figured you’d be tired after everything. So we’re heading to my apartment to eat and maybe watch a movie or something.” He spares me a quick look. “Unless you’d rather go home. Really, I don’t want you to feel pressured. I can just drop you off.”

A part of me wants to shrivel up with embarrassment at the thought of hanging out with the rest of BTS tonight; I’ve only ever seen them at work. Unlike with Hobi who I see nearly every day, I’ve only seen the other boys a handful of times.

I doubt they even know my name.

The small part of me that has kept me up staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment spent with Hoseok; his warm smile and soft eyes, the way he says my name and seems so kind...that part has me smiling at the man in the driver’s seat.

“If you can get us all the way to your apartment without crashing this car, I’m down to watch a movie with you guys.”

His eyes light up with something I can’t quite catch before he’s focusing on the road again.

“Perfect. Here, can you figure out how to call Jungkook on this car phone? Tell him what kind of pizza you want.”

Hobi’s apartment can be summarized in one word: clean. When he mentioned going to his apartment, I thought he meant the apartment he shares with the other six members. Instead, we’re at his own apartment. I didn’t even realize he had one of his own.

I say as much when we pull up.

“I tend to split my time between both apartments,” he says, opening up the front door. “However, the floors are being rebuffed at the shared one. So for tonight we’ll be here.”

The smell of pizza intercepts my thoughts as I kick my shoes off and watch with no small amount of amusement the way Hobi delicately places his shoes on the rack. I make sure to follow suit, grinning as he lets out a sigh of relief when I appear to be tidy.

“Helloooo,” Hobi calls as he leads me into the dining area. Jungkook already has his mouth full of pizza when he spots me.

“Oh- mmf...Sunny!” I smile at the boy I just spoke to on the phone. I guess they remember who I am, after all. “Your pizza is...oh, Jimin’s got it.”

Sure enough, Jimin is opening up a pizza with pineapple, olives, and chicken on it. He raises his eyebrows upon seeing my strange assortment of toppings.

“And this is good?”

I laugh a little at Jimin’s attitude, surprised to see him so at home with me.

Instantly feeling more comfortable around them, I grab one of the plates sitting on the table and make my way over to the pizza. “Of course it’s good. Haven’t you ever tried it before?” Hobi follows suit, looking over the options with a sharp eye.

“Can’t say I have. Mind if I steal a piece?” When I shake my head Jimin reaches over to ease a slice out of the box. “Thanks. Also, congrats on surviving the debut album. Hoseokie hyung said you were crazy busy with it.”

My eyes widen a bit as I look to the man in question. Hoseok gives me a guilty smile before returning his attention to the pizza.

“You talk about me?”

The question leaves my lips before I can stop it, and I once again chalk it up to the lack of sleep, fresh air, nutrients, and peace of mind that I’ve been getting lately. Jungkook immediately starts laughing, nearly choking on his pizza.

Hobi shrugs, giving Jimin a brief look that details his plans for his murder. “I’ve mentioned you a couple of times. It’s been a while since we’ve had a new producer under our roof- much less one that works so hard.”

While the compliment doesn’t fail to make me blush, I also can’t get over the fact that J-hope has told Jimin and Jungkook and probably the rest of the boys about me.

“In his defense,” Yoongi says, striding into the dining room wearing a large hoodie, “we did grill him for questions when he kept skipping out on meals with us.”

“Especially when he was smuggling ramyeon out of the break room,” Jungkook adds.

I’m not sure where to look as Hoseok’s face goes bright red under the chandelier. Either way, I can’t hold in my laughter.

“I was wondering where you got all that ramyeon,” I muse. The other boys chuckle, grabbing the last few things before heading out into the living room. I wait for Hobi who’s currently staring holes into his pizza.

“You coming?”

He jumps a little at the sound of my voice, looking up at me with his mouth in a small frown before smiling. He dips his head to the side in that way he always does.

“Right behind you.”

February 2019

Things slowly begin to change. The debut album is reviewed and accepted, and suddenly I’m no longer eating in my studio with Hobi. Instead, I’m showing up at his apartment after work for dinner.

His schedule has gotten busier since mine has relaxed now that TXT is debuting in less than a month. Unfortunately I can’t just show up on set or in his studio or wherever it is he’s working for the day, so instead I begrudgingly accepted his offer of dining in at his apartment.

He’s never alone, our meals now consist of Jin usually choking on something or Yoongi making sly comments under his breath. Namjoon has only been there once, according to the rest of the boys he’s a workaholic. It doesn’t surprise me at all.

Jimin is a constant at Hobi’s apartment; apparently he’s none too happy about his roommate spending more time at a separate place. Jungkook and Taehyung usually tag along, although Jungkook has a bad habit of wandering about and leaving early.

Dohyeong has come over a couple of times as well, he made sure to make fun of me for no longer stopping in at his studio.

“You’re busy these days,” I say as I try to defend myself. “I don’t want to be a distraction.”

Dohyeong shrugs, completely ignoring the dark circles under his eyes. “We’re not too busy. And you could honestly be a big help to us, if you bothered to drop in.”

I’m in the middle of rolling my eyes when Hobi speaks up from where he sits beside me. “Actually, you really should. I was talking to Bang PD about it and-”

“You talked to Bang PD about me?” I shriek, dropping my spoon in my soup and turning my full attention to the man beside me. “Are you trying to get me fired or something? Jeez, Hobi, you’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!”

Hobi looks like he’s not certain if he wants to run off screaming or burst into laughter at my sudden outburst. He holds up his hands in an innocent gesture. “Hey, all I did was mention the fact that you’ve been working very hard and that you show a lot of promise. If we could get you on a project of ours, it might really open up a lot of doors for you. You know, more than the occasional song.”

I stare at him, the table completely silent as I study out his face. He’s casually eating his food, keeping one eye on me as though waiting for me to start beating him up. He straightens up and grabs a bit of the meat from his soup, blowing on it before extending it out to me.

Glancing between him and the meat, I sigh before leaving forward and biting it.

Later that night, as we’re watching “Inception” and everyone is lounging about the living room, I look over to Hobi who sits between Jimin and I. The light of the movie dances across his face, leaving me a bit starstruck as I mull over his words.

I’ve worked on a few small parts of songs with the other producers for BTS before, but I’ve never headed a project for them. Granted, I’ve only been at Bighit for a short amount of time. I was thrilled to know that Bang PD wanted me to be one of TXT’s main producers. It’s a big deal, especially for someone as young as I am.

So why is Hobi trying to get me to jump onto some project for BTS?

He must sense my stare, because he’s crinkling his nose before looking over at me a moment later. I stare at him with wide eyes, caught red-handed.

Apparently the dark room doesn’t show him how red I am, because he simply looks at me and raises his eyebrows, silently asking me what I’m thinking.

Scooting in a little closer until my head is resting against the back of the couch near his shoulder, I whisper my worries to him.

“It was nice of you to mention me to Bang PD, but I don’t feel comfortable just jumping in on a project with you guys. That feels...wrong, somehow.”

He nods slowly, bringing his arm around my shoulders and giving me a comforting squeeze. “Ok...you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I really think you should talk with Pdogg or Dohyeong about it. I just think we could really use your help.”

Once I agree to talk with Pdogg about it, Hobi removes his arm and focuses on the movie again. I close my eyes for a moment, fighting the pounding in my chest as I replay how it felt to be so close to him.

Just jumping in on a project with Hobi doesn’t feel right. I know he’s doing it out of friendship, but I also know myself. The world tends to open doors for people based off of who they know, and I refused to use that to my advantage a long time ago.

Looking around the room at the people I’ve begun to call friends, I wonder if I’ve inadvertently sabotaged myself before I could even begin.

♟

After the movie ends Hobi wastes no time getting up and driving me home like he usually does. It’s quiet inside the car, I lean my head against the window and watch the city lights stream past.

I hear Hobi’s intake of breath before he speaks. “Did you like the movie?”

Glancing over at him, I can’t help but smile. He’s nearly buried in his oversized sweatshirt, his nervous eyes flitting all over the road almost as though waiting for a bear to amble out in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s a good one. I’ve seen it before.”

He frowns. “You didn’t tell me that. We could’ve watched a different one, you know.”

I shake my head, eyes drifting down to where his hands clutch the steering wheel. “No, it never gets old.”

He turns onto my street, starting to let off the gas. “If you say so.” Coming to a stop before my apartment building, he turns to face me. “Hey, about earlier...I know it probably seemed really weird for me to just say that out of the blue, but-”

“Lock the doors.”

“What?”

I lean across him to lock all the doors, grabbing his arm out of fear when I see a burly man edging closer to the car. “Hobi…” I whisper, a sudden shot of fear coursing through my veins.

Hoseok catches sight of the man, who has bent over and is trying to see who’s inside the car. We’re both frozen as he comes ever closer, until he suddenly pounces at the passenger side door, making me scream.

“I see you!” He shouts, his hood dropping from his face. “I see you, you little-”

I don’t get to listen to his colorful language before Hobi throws the car into drive and takes off. I’m still clinging to him, staring out the passenger window. Blood is pounding through my veins, making me see stars even as I gasp for air.

“Do you know him?” Hobi asks, keeping his eyes glued to the road. His voice is exceptionally calm, despite the fact that I know he scares easily.

Finally detaching my hands from his arm, I rub my eyes. “I...I don’t know…?” We pass a speed limit sign, and I jump up in my seat. “Hoseok, slow down!”

He doesn't listen to me, and I swear he almost speeds up. I watch people’s faces as we speed by, a few staring after the nice car with a sneer. If it weren’t for the terror in my system I would have been making fun of Hobi. For a man so terrified of driving, he sure does know how to floor it.

Pressing a few buttons on the steering wheel, the sound of a phone ringing fills the car. A glance at the dashboard shows that Hobi’s calling one of their full-time bodyguards.

My jaw appears to be locked as I can’t even bring myself to open my mouth to ask him what’s happening.

“What’s going on?” The bodyguard, Do-yun, immediately asks. It’s rare for him to receive a call this late at night; it can only mean one thing: trouble.

“Do-yun?” Hoseok’s voice is ice-cold as he begins to deliver instructions. “I’m going to send you an address, I need you to stop by my apartment to retrieve a key and then bring some of Sunny’s items over.”

I perk up a little when he calls me Sunny. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him refer to me by my pseudonym. The bright name coming from his lips somehow makes me feel cold.

“Yes, sir. Are you alright?”

I don’t miss Hobi’s gaze as he glances over at me with fire in his eyes. “We’re fine. See you soon.”

When we pull up outside of Hobi’s apartment again, I stare up at his darkened windows with wide eyes. He must sense my confusion, because he waits before getting out of the car. Gingerly unbuckling my seatbelt, his icy exterior melts enough for me to see to Hobi that I’ve grown close to over the past six months.

“Rin-ah,” he starts, and I instantly relax upon hearing my name from him. “Did you recognize that man?”

I immediately begin to shake my head. “I told you, I don’t...I don’t know.”

“Have you seen him before? Even just hanging around your apartment, down in the street or something.”

Looking into Hoseok’s eyes, I can see the unending depths of his patience. But there’s something more there, now. Something I’ve never seen before.

A sharp blade hides behind his eyes, one that I’ve never seen him wield. Watching how his hands curl up into fists against his jeans, I realize that I’m not sure I want to see that weapon at work.

Perhaps I’m at my limit, the memory of that man hurling himself at the car and attempting to claw his way inside too much for me to handle. Whatever it is, something pushes me to do something I immediately wish I didn’t.

Looking straight into Hoseok’s eyes, I lie.

Chapter 2

join the taglist! Message me or drop a comment!

taglist: @taylorroe3 @dreamcatcherjiah @diorhoba​

[still-busy-being-mortal]

the rising of the moon

word count: 4544

rating: G

fandom: the mechanisms

warnings: major character death

summary: They've lived so long together, perhaps it is only fitting they die alone.

story notes: so this came about as a result of wanting to cry MORE about the mechs. don't ask me why.

features raphaella spouting unnecessary science jargon, ivy being emotionally repressed/depressed, drumbot brian holding a conversation with himself, and the toy soldier being actually emotionally intelligent.

——————

JONNY

It’s a quiet day aboard the starship formerly known as The Aurora. Most of the crew is out, and she’s drifting slowly through a dusty asteroid field. Ivy has stayed aboard to read, and Drumbot Brian was designated ship-sitter, so he’s stayed on as well. When enough time has passed (Is it days? Or decades? No one knows anymore, and no one cares. They are all so tired.), Brian hits the alert switch that will tell the Mechanisms to come home.

Ivy feels the gentle vibration in her brain --the pulse of The Aurora’s beacon-- and she puts her book down before walking slowly to the navigation bridge. Marius’ hand starts to buzz, messing up his note-taking; he apologizes to the rather fascinating asteroid-dweller he’s interviewing and takes his leave. Ashes feels their chest hum, and they turn away from their beautiful, fiery meteor shower.

[read more on ao3, or continue below!]

One by one, the Mechs find their way home. It takes some longer than others, but they all return eventually. Or they should; right now, there are only seven crewmates in the navigation bridge.

“I’m sick of waiting--where the hell is Jonny?” Tim whines.

“I guess he decided to stay in the asteroid belt?” Marius says.

“Woulda been nice to let us know,” mutters Ashes, “So we’re not all sittin’ here for ages.”

Brian stands and raises his hand. “All in favour of leaving and returning in a few decades?” They all agree, so he pilots Aurora away from the asteroid field.

Time goes by, and they do not hear from Jonny. Of course, members of the crew sometimes stay away for long periods of time, but that doesn’t mean their absence is not felt. And Jonny hasn’t appeared to try and contact them at all.

After a while, they vote to return to the asteroid belt. When they arrive, they split up, communication devices in hand.

Ivy combs through her memory, trying to summon any knowledge she has on Asteroid Field 01.18.20. The Toy Soldier moves methodically from meteor to meteor, searching for their lost comrade. Raphaella interviews any inhabitants she comes across, axially coding their qualitative responses to identify patterns in the data. Tim goes to a bar for a drink, irritated at Jonny’s latest antic.

He walks into some nameless, backwater joint and sits at the counter, flagging down the bartender with a lazy wave. He orders and waits, mechanical eyes roving the establishment. And then he freezes.

On the far wall hang a few dozen photographs, all dusty and poor quality. Above the photos is a crudely-done banner that simply reads “Cheers to Our Past Patrons.” One of the pictures is of Jonny.

When the bartender returns, Tim asks: “What’s the deal with the wall of fame, then?”

“Oh, that,” they answer tiredly. “Just sum dark joke the old owner thought up. Them’s the folks who kicked it in this here bar, you see.”

Tim was confused. “You mean those people died here? That can’t be right; my friend’s up there, and he can’t d--he’s alive.”

The barkeep shrugged. “Don’t know, pal. We had to bury most of thems out back, if you reckon you want to check.” He chuckled darkly and went back to drink-making.

Tim quickly finished his drink and went out the back door. He debated alerting the other Mechs about this development, but decided he might as well see for himself first.

He found the makeshift graveyard quickly, small rusty mounds amid the equally rusty asteroid outback. Some displayed names on roughly carved wood planks, but obviously none of them said “Jonny d’Ville” (Tim laughed at the idea of Jonny carrying around an ID). Most were unmarked, however, so he started to dig.

He used his hands, too impatient to try and find a shovel. He came across bodies and bones in various stages of decay, but none that had any chance of being Jonny. About fed up with this ridiculous idea of his, he decided to dig up one more grave. He shovelled dirt and rocks out of the way, until his hand hit something hard and cold. Something metallic. He pulled on it, and came away with a belt. Christ , he thought.

He quickly scooped away the rest of the dirt, revealing the corpse of Captain First Mate Jonny d’Ville. Dead. Tim stumbled backward, hand fumbling for his comm. “Um, mates, I-I found him.”

The Mechanisms were different after that. Yes, Nastya had gone Out long ago, but they had never actually come across her dead corpse , so it wasn’t the same. Marius had examined his body and declared him fully, completely, and irrevocably dead. They had held a funeral, but they were all too much in shock to really remember it. All they knew was that they were down a crew member, without a captain first mate, and terribly aware of their own mortality.

ASHES

About half the crew was in Raphaella’s lab, helping her with some complex kind of experiment. Raph was mixing two viciously green liquids together, while Marius was unspooling wire from a large bobbin. The Toy Soldier was holding an ultraviolet light against a motherboard, and Ashes connected the motherboard to the chartreuse concoction using the wires. After pouring all of the chemicals, Raphaella pulled on some rubber gloves and pulled out a small pocketwatch from her shirt. “Are we ready?” she asked gleefully. Without waiting for an answer, she started the countdown. “Five! Four! Three! T--curses!” The pocketwatch slipped from her gloved grasp and fell into the churning beaker. All at once there was a flash and a bang, and the lights went out. They stood in complete silence for a minute, before the backup generators flicked on.

The Toy Soldier clapped its hands, “That Was Jolly Good! Can We Do It Again?”

“No, TS, look, I got goop on my--wait!” Marius shouted, “Where’s Ashes?” They all turned to look at where the quartermaster had been just moments before. The floor where they’d been standing was a scorched, intricate, dark pattern of swirls. “What the hell is that ?”

“I Do Not Know, But I Will Go Get The Archivist!”

TS returned with Ivy, who took one look at the patterns on the floor and asked: “Who is it that has been time travelling?”

“Time travelling?!” Raph exclaimed.

“Yes,” Ivy said, “Those marks are a perfect exemplar of the evidence left behind when one has been forcibly transported forward or backward in the time continuum. Which one of you did it? Did you happen to bring back any books?”

“It wasn’t us: it was Ashes.” Marius said, “And we don’t think they’ve come back yet.”

Ivy grew very pale. “That is highly alarming. There’s a less than 0.1% chance that a time traveller ever comes back if they do not return instantly after the outset of their journey.”

“Y-you mean Ashes might not...” Marius trailed off, “...Wait a second! That doesn’t make sense! We don’t experience time linearly!”

“That may be true, but we are not forcibly moved through it either. We are at the whim of the narrative flow, and any alteration to that usually produces negative results.”

The Toy Soldier flashed through many emotions at once, though its face never changed. “So Quartermaster O’Reilly Is...Gone?”

“We can’t prove that yet!” Raph cried, fluttering around the lab and grabbing various scientific instruments. “Maybe if I can pinpoint when exactly they’ve been transported to, we can...we can bring them back.”

“That’s quite a long shot,” Marius said.

“What is science if not a shot into the ignorant dark?” Raph replied, rigging up a technological monstrosity. She aimed the thing at the charred spot and clicked a button, causing the machine to emit a pulsating, whirring sound. “Oh, you all might want to close your eyes.”

With a burst of green and a harsh dial tone, the thing spit out a strip of paper. Raph grabbed it and read it intently. She dropped it suddenly, eyes distant and empty. “They are gone.”

The room burst into a cacophony. (“What do you mean?!” “Gone How? Gone Forever ?” “It was statistically unlikely that they could have returned.”) Raph picked up the paper and pressed it onto the lab table. Most of it was meaningless words and numbers, but Raph pointed out a string in the center: “RESULT) DATE: %& INFINITE ROUNDING ERROR $! _ LOCATION: SINGULARITY!UNIVERSAL IMPLOSION. ANALYSIS) CHANCE OF TERMINATION: 100.0% +-0.0 R = 1.0”

“They’re gone.”

RAPHAELLA

The crew was far more disorganized after Ashes left. With no one to maintain inventory or keep the crew in line, The Mechanisms started to fall apart. Raphaella tried for a while to build some kind of time-travelling device, some way of defying the inexorable march of the story, but it was in vain. She was left with only one option; one experiment she hadn’t tried yet.

She carefully laser cuts some metal from the starship once known as the Aurora. She sits in Nastya’s former workshop for hours, bending and twisting and fabricating until she is left with wings; wings more breathtaking than any she has possessed before. Once on, they fan out behind her in a starburst of blue and metallic grey.

But her crew will never see them. In the cover of darkness, she steals away to the airlock. The ship is currently sailing past a black hole (Raphaella has the Messier number and NGC identification memorized, but that’s not her concern now). With one final look backward at the place that had been her home for millennia --the place she thought she would call home forever -- she casts herself into the black hole.

Ivy finds the note she left, succinct and unmincing as ever:

“Addressed to whoever finds this first:

After a brief review of prior literature, I have found extensive holes (no pun intended) in the study of singularities, specifically as it relates to a singularity’s effect on a humanoid body and mind. I seek to rectify this, as well as explore the possibility of horological manipulation, though perhaps my methods are not entirely replicable. It is every scientist’s dream to be on the cutting edge of research, and so I initiate this experiment joyfully. Also, black holes are hypothesized to have magnificent magnetic fields!

Yours,

Dr. Raphaella La Cognizi”

TIM

Tim, Marius, the Toy Soldier, Brian, and Ivy wait. They do not wait together, and they do not know what exactly it is they’re waiting for, but they wait nevertheless.

Time passes.

Brian pilots the ship towards various planets, pointless battles, dying stars. One day, the remaining Mechs arrive at a lawless sea-based war occurring on a planet composed entirely of liquid obsidian. They commandeer a ship (which they dub the ‘Dawn’) and spend decades wreaking havoc as the most formidable group of pirates. But Tim knows something is wrong.

“Tim, take out that vessel off the starboard side.” Brian orders from the prow of the Dawn.

Tim smoothly preps, loads, and positions a cannon to aim directly at the enemy ship in question. He lights the fuse, and the cannon fires. The crew watch as the projectile hurls through the air, arcing like a cold meteor into the distance. They watch it come down towards the enemy vessel. And they watch it miss.

The crew turns to stare at Tim. He’s not nearly as mortified as they expected. In fact, he’s perfectly serene.

“Um, Tim…” Marius starts slowly, “D-did you know you, uh...missed?”

“Yep.” he responds, popping the ‘p’.

“Did you mean to?”

“Nope.”

“And...you’re not upset by that?”

“Not especially.”

(“That’s a fascinatingly abnormal psychological response,” Marius mutters under his breath, jotting something down in a notebook he appears to have produced out of nowhere.)

The crew continues to stare as Tim goes below deck to his bunk, humming slightly.

Tim has known something was off for a long time now. His aim started to err by nanometres, then by millimeters, then more, until he was missing entire ships like today. He’d panicked at the beginning, of course, but now? Now, he was ready to be done.

He’d felt the pressure building up in his head, behind his eyes. He got spurts of tunnel vision randomly, and sometimes his vision just went to static. He gradually lost the ability to see some colors, as the electronic rods and cones went out one-by-one and refused to self-repair. But he wasn’t nervous or distressed or alarmed; he was excited.

You see, he’d been saving something for a special occasion. He didn’t know what ‘special occasion’ entailed, since the Mechs never consistently celebrated holidays or birthdays, but permanent death seemed like a pretty good one. He rooted around in his rucksack, and withdrew a set of shiny silver keys; keys he’d stolen a long, long time ago. These were the ignition keys to the largest gunship existence will ever see, and Tim planned to go out with a bang. That evening, he told the crew he wanted them all to return to the starship so he could be dropped off somewhere. They all agreed, since they didn’t have any real cares anymore, and they set off for the planet Tim had etched into his memory.

Tim sits in the cockpit of the gunship, the planet itself already ruined and smoking from fighting his way to get here. The Mechanisms were long gone, as he’d told them to leave without him. He hadn’t exactly said he wasn’t planning on coming back, but he thinks they understood. With one last grin of pure, unadulterated madness, he kicks the gunship into gear and blasts off.

The ship goes too fast to comprehend, and in an instant he’s shooting across the cosmos, shattering stars and razing entire systems of planets. The universe has never before witnessed such complete and utter desolation. Tim doesn’t process much during this rampage...until he starts to die.

He doesn’t know what he hit, but something has jolted the gunship just right, and he’s flung out the front glass. He knows he should die instantly, and he is, but his eyes are moving faster. They’re replaying his life, backwards, and he wants to groan with the cliché-ness of it all. But then it’s over. Or, almost over. At the very end, so fast, so short compared to the millennia he has lived, he catches sight of a young man in a trench. Bertie. A face he will never forget no matter how much longer he could have lived. And in the moments of blackness before he stops forever, he thinks about Bertie, about what comes next.

Faith is a moot point when you’re immortal, since you’ve quite literally come into contact with gods and demons, eldritch horrors and cosmic powers. But here, at the end of his wretchedly long existence, Tim wonders if he will ever see Bertie again. If he will ever see Jonny, or TS, or Ashes, or anyone ever again.

He dies blind, with their names on his lips.

IVY

Exposition: Ivy is quite spectacular at suppressing her emotions. She’s also skilled at identifying patterns, so by the time Raphaella left, she knew what was going on with 98% certainty. Without much fanfare, she packed her bags (5 for books and 1 for everything else), said goodbye to Marius, Brian, and the Toy Soldier, and left.

She rifled through her memory archives for the quaintest library she knew of, and headed there.

Rising Action: And so time passed.

Ivy read, and organized, and wrote, and...existed. Nothing happened, and nothing changed. Carmilla must have made an error in her mechanization because she’d never been the best at processing feelings, but she was happy, she thought.

Climax: A war came, and her library was attacked. With the numbest, most detached sense of purpose imaginable, she loaded an escape pod with random books she thought should be preserved and fired it out into the void. She didn’t even know she’d been hit until she’d fallen to the floor, blood streaming from a massive wound. She knows she is dying; she’d seen the patterns.

Denouement: Her brain whirs slower and slower, until it stops. The end.

MARIUS

They are not a crew any longer. Brian has firmly rooted himself on the bridge, more robot than man now. The Toy Soldier wanders the ship, searching for its friends who are playing the best game of hide-and-seek that the universe has ever seen. Marius putters along, doing some maintenance, writing down his thoughts, and waiting for his death.

He’d always known this life of theirs couldn’t last. Besides the conceptual and moral implications of an eternal existence without consequences, it didn’t even make sense physically . There was no such thing as a perpetual motion machine, and he was surprised his more rational-minded crewmates didn’t question it more. But now his theory had come to fruition, and his crew, his family , had slowly dropped off one-by-one, like leaves from an autumnal tree.

He’s at a bit of a loose end now. With no people left to talk to, no minds to pick, he doesn’t feel any sense of purpose. It’s not depression--he knows that; it’s more of a...cosmic futility.

He feels one last pull, one last tug of the all-pervading narrative, a tide of finality, urging him towards a certain door. He knows this door, knows what it means when he opens it. But he also knows all things come to an end eventually, so why not go out doing what he always did? Providing the comic relief.

“Time this for me, will you, Aurora?” he calls out. He turns the handle and steps inside.

BRIAN

Since Jonny’s death, Brian has been at war with himself. He supposes he’s always been at war with himself though, and his current moral quandary reminds him uncomfortably of his first.

Sitting on the bridge alone, he decides to have a conversation.

“So the crux of the problem is that we can bring people back from the dead, correct?”

He flips his switch. “Correct.”

He flips it back. “But the dilemma is whether we should bring the Mechs back or not.”

“Also correct.”

“Which we shouldn’t, because they wanted to die.”

“No, we should. We want them alive, right? Using magic is definitely the easiest way to achieve that.”

“But we need our family to be happy. God knows how long it’s been.”

“Is the end goal their happiness or our happiness?”

“If I answer that, will I change your mind?”

“Is altering the end goal really the moral way to win this argument?”

“You know what? Damn you.”

Time passes, and each crewmate’s departure only makes Brian’s contempt for his own inner hesitation grow. He spends years staring out into the cosmos, thoughts whirling just as fast as the dust and gases beyond the glass. He wonders if he will ever die and join his family, or if the degree of his artificiality will render him truly immortal. He hates that thought more than most anything else.

He stops smelling the smoke of Ashes’ fires one day, and wonders if his olfactory systems are shutting down.

He stops feeling the rumble of Raphaella’s experimental explosions, and wonders if his nerve endings are rusting.

He stops seeing the flash of Tim’s gunshots bounce around the corridors, and wonders if he’s gone as blind as the gunner himself.

He stops hearing Ivy’s narration, and wonders if his auditory fluids have finally trickled away.

One day, the lone violin that has been echoing throughout the empty starship fades out, and Brian feels his heart stop.

It restarts of course, but Brian knows.

He knows that it’s finally, finally time. Soon, very soon, there will be no more life aboard this ship. No life, where there had been life for eons. No life, where there had been life immortal.

His sense of taste has never come into doubt, because he can still taste the acridness of the Toy Soldier’s cooking wafting on the air. He decides it’s only right to bid goodbye, so he makes his way back to the kitchen. On the way, he passes the Doctor’s old laboratory. He briefly considers destroying it, bringing down the whole ship in a blaze of fire and brimstone, but he knows that isn’t right; it wouldn’t fulfill anything.

In the kitchen, the Toy Soldier is pulling something pink and grey and on fire out of the oven. “Hey, TS,” Brain says gently, leaning against the doorframe as his heart falters again. “I-I’ve got to talk to you.”

The Toy Soldier spins around. “Drumbot Brian!” it shouts joyfully. “How Have You Been, Old Chap! I Have Been Playing Hide-And-Seek With The Rest Of The Crew For A While Now, And They Are Definitely Winning! Have You Seen Them?”

“Oh, TS,” Brian says sadly, “We’re all who’s left now. Don’t you know? The others have gone.”

He sees the Toy Soldier’s wooden eyes soften, betraying an agedness he’s never seen before. “Of Course I Know, Bean. But What Have We Been Doing This Whole Time, If Not Pretending?”

Brian smiles sorrowfully, and TS matches it. “I just wanted to let you know, TS, that now it’s my turn to go.”

“I Know.” It salutes him. “Goodbye, Drumbot.”

Brain gently returns the salute, and leaves.

He stumbles through the ship, heart failing rapidly now, but he makes it to the airlock. He knows deep down that there’s only one way his story could end. His whole existence has been framed by empty solitude, with his family providing the best aberration one could wish for. With his body more an empty metal frame than a robot now, he opens the airlock and casts himself back into the cosmos, from whence he came, and where he would die.

THE TOY SOLDIER

Its friends are all gone away now, and it knows this. There is no more laughter aboard the starship once known as the Aurora. There is no more gunfire or explosions. There is no more music. The cold mass of metal drifts through the void of the uncaring cosmos, with no living being aboard.

But The Toy Soldier has to be sure; it has to guarantee that it is truly all alone now. So it visits its friends’ final resting places.

It spends some years gazing out the front windows of the ship. The thrusters have been broken for a long time now, and the Toy Soldier doesn’t know how to repair them, so it just sits and watches. It wants to see the Drumbot, so it pretends that it does. Soon enough, out the starboard porthole, it spies him. His metal is rusted and warped, frost rendering most of his face unrecognizable. A drum is still looped around his shoulder. The Toy Soldier tethers itself to the ship and goes outside for a moment, drifting towards the robot. It lays a wooden hand on his deformed chest, and feels that his heart beats no longer. It carves off a long curl of wood from its side, and places it in Brian’s frozen hand.

It returns to the ship. It hadn’t known where Marius had disappeared to, but now it feels the force of the narrative driving it towards a certain room. It opens the door, and a handful of mangy octokittens hiss at it and scurry away. There’s nothing in the room besides a pile of crumpled clothes, a broken violin, and a metal hand, but the Toy Soldier could recognize that style anywhere. It gently twists one of its own wooden hands off, and lays it on the mound.

The Toy Soldier knows that Ivy went somewhere far away, so it closes its eyes and pretends that it’s there. When it opens them again, it finds itself in the charred ruins of some great marble building. At its feet lay bones, a metal flute, and a mess of circuitry, untouched by the ash. The Toy Soldier reaches up, removes a piece of wood from the back of its head, and lays it besides the flute.

The Toy Soldier has a harder time finding the gunner. It’s drawn this way and that, chasing an intangible trail through the stars and galaxies. All of the planets it passes are devoid of life. Finally, finally, it stumbles across an enormous, gaping wreck of a starship, all mangled and smashed to pieces. The ship is so large, it’s drawn smaller asteroids into an orbit around it. On one of these rocky satellites, the Toy Soldier spies a body: a skeleton covered in a long brown coat with a guitar slung across it. A pair of mutilated, metal eyes rest in the skull. The Toy Soldier smiles sadly, removes one of its own wooden eyes, and slips it into the pocket of the coat.

It knows it cannot follow the science officer into a black hole. It does manage to find the sketches of the wings Raphaella designed, so it gathers them up, takes two chunks of wood from its back, finds Raph’s keyboard, and casts everything into the nearest singularity.

After pretending to be at the end of space and time, it finds itself there. There is nothing, absolutely nothing. It removes two segments of wood from deep within its chest and places them in the nothingness, along with the strings of an old electric bass it had found. As it winks back to the ship, it catches the faintest scent of gasoline.

It returns to the asteroid Jonny had died on, the start of their ignoble demise. It visits his grave, in the taupe dirt of the desert behind the backwater bar, and sees all of the trinkets and mementos the crew had left behind. It knows none of them left anything during their makeshift funeral, so that means each of them must have slipped away at some point to come here on their own. Ashes has left their best lighter, Tim a pair of dogtags. Marius left behind all of his notes of Jonny’s disaster of a brain, and Brian has deposited some sun-scorched piece of space station. His harmonica has also found its way here, somehow. The Toy Soldier slowly, slowly reaches into its chest and removes its wooden heart, laying it down atop the mound of dirt and memories. It walks away, and knows that it can finally, finally stop pretending.

AURORA

There is no record of where the Toy Soldier went next. It certainly did not return to the empty ship once known as the brilliant Aurora. The lifeless, soulless, music-less ship drifts on alone through the cosmos, rusting and warping until no one could tell it had ever been a ship at all. Eons pass, and whatever memory the universe might have had of The Mechanisms has been utterly lost.

Until the misshapen mass gets stuck in the orbit of a planet. Molded and formed by the planet’s gravity, the ship is reborn as a moon. And all at once, she comes to life.

As dawn washes over her, the young moon hears a voice. “Hello, dear,” a woman coos, “My name is Dr. Carmilla.”

[csnews]

'I've never seen or heard of attacks': scientists baffled by orcas harassing boats

Susan Smillie - September 13, 2020

Reports of orcas striking sailing boats in the Straits of Gibraltar have left sailors and scientists confused. Just what is causing such unusually aggressive behaviour?  

When nine killer whales surrounded the 46ft boat that Victoria Morris was crewing in Spain on the afternoon of 29 July, she was elated. The biology graduate taught sailing in New Zealand and is used to friendly orca encounters. But the atmosphere quickly changed when they started ramming the hull, spinning the boat 180 degrees, disabling the autohelm and engine. The 23-year-old watched broken bits of the rudder float off, leaving the four-person crew without steering, drifting into the Gibraltar Straits shipping lane between Cape Trafalgar and the small town of Barbate.

The pod rammed the boat for more than an hour, during which time the crew were too busy getting the sails in, readying the life raft and radioing a mayday – “Orca attack!” – to feel fear. The moment fear kicked in, Morris says, was when she went below deck to prepare a grab bag – the stuff you take when abandoning ship. “The noise was really scary. They were ramming the keel, there was this horrible echo, I thought they could capsize the boat. And this deafening noise as they communicated, whistling to each other. It was so loud that we had to shout.” It felt, she says, “totally orchestrated”.

The crew waited a tense hour and a half for rescue – perhaps understandably, the coastguard took time to comprehend (“You are saying you are under attack from orca?”). To say this is unusual is to massively understate it. By the time help arrived, the orcas were gone. The boat was towed to Barbate, where it was lifted to reveal the rudder missing its bottom third and outer layer, and teeth marks along the underside.

Rocío Espada works with the marine biology laboratory at the University of Seville and has observed this migratory population of orca in the Gibraltar Straits for years. She was astonished. “For killer whales to take out a piece of a fibreglass rudder is crazy,” she says. “I’ve seen these orcas grow from babies, I know their life stories, I’ve never seen or heard of attacks.”

Highly intelligent, social mammals, orcas are the largest of the dolphin family, and behave in a similar way. It is normal, she says, that orcas will follow close to the propeller. Even holding the rudder is not unheard of: “Sometimes they will bite the rudder, get dragged behind as a game.” But never with enough force to break it. This ramming, Espada says, indicates stress. The Straits is full of nets and long lines; perhaps a calf got caught.

But Morris’s was only one of several encounters between late July and August. Six days earlier, Alfonso Gomez-Jordana Martin, a 31-year-old from Alicante, was crewing a delivery boat near Barbate for the same company, Reliance Yacht Management. They were proceeding under engine when a pod of four orcas brought their 40ft Beneteau to a halt. He filmed them – it looks more like excitement and curiosity than aggression – but even this bumping damaged the rudder. And the force increased, he says, over 50 minutes. “Once we were stopped, they came in faster: 10-15 knots, from a distance of about 25m,” he remembers. “The impact tipped the boat sideways.”

The skipper’s report to the port authority said the force “nearly dislocated the helmsman’s shoulder and spun the whole yacht through 120 degrees”.

At 11.30pm the previous night, 22 July, Beverly Harris, a retired nurse from Derbyshire, and her partner, Kevin Large, were motor-sailing their 50ft boat, Kailani, just off Barbate at eight knots, when they came to a sudden standstill. It was flat calm, pitch black. They thought they’d hit a net. “I scrambled for a torch and was like, ‘Bloody hell, they’re orcas,’” says Harris. The couple checked their position and found the boat pointing the opposite way. They tried to correct several times, but the orcas kept spinning them back. “I had this weird sensation,” Harris says, “like they were trying to lift the boat.” It lasted about 20 minutes, but felt longer. “We thought, ‘We’ve sailed across the Atlantic, surely we’re not going to sink now!’” Their rudder was damaged but got them to La Línea. It was a long night. “Kevin said I should get some sleep. I said, ‘Are you joking? I’m having a gin and tonic,’” recalls Harris.

While enjoying her drink, Harris could have spared a thought for Nick Giles, having a sleepless night alone after an almost identical encounter off Barbate just two and a half hours earlier. He was motor-sailing, and playing music when he heard a sudden bang “like a sledgehammer”. The wheel was “turning with incredible force” as the vessel spun 180 degrees, dislodging the autohelm and steering cables. “The boat lifted up half a foot and I was pushed by a second whale from behind,” he says. While resetting the cables, the orca hit again, “nearly chopping off my fingers in the mechanism”. He was pushed around without steering for about 15 minutes before they left him.

Catastrophic encounters between whales and boats are not unknown – the best-known events all took place in the Pacific. In 1972 the Robertson family from Staffordshire were shipwrecked off the Galapagos Islands after an orca strike (their book, Survive the Savage Sea became a classic). The following year, also on the way to those islands, Maurice and Maralyn Bailey’s 31ft boat was holed by a sperm whale. In 1989 William and Simone Butler lost their boat as a huge pod of pilot whales rammed them. In these and all other known cases, the mammals ignored the humans who took to life rafts; it was the boats that attracted their ire. More usually in encounters, the whale is left dead or injured. The International Whaling Commission records these strikes – more collisions are occurring with private boats as technological advances increase performance speeds.

The encounters described around Barbate were certainly frightening for the crew, who understandably felt targeted, but it’s unlikely they were meant as aggressive attacks. At least two other boats had harmless encounters. On 20 July Martin Chambers, a yacht master for Allabroad Sailing Academy, was unconcerned when they were joined by a pod near Barbate. One individual ���had hold of the rudder and stopped us moving the boat”, he says. “That’s the first time I’ve seen them do that.” It seems the encounters increased in intensity, but it’s also worth considering that different boat constructions can suffer different outcomes – rudders on some modern boats can be quite fragile.

“These are very strange events,” says Ezequiel Andréu Cazalla, a cetacean researcher who talked to Morris. “But I don’t think they’re attacks.” Orca specialists around the world are equally surprised, agreeing the behaviour is “highly unusual”, but are cautious, given that the accounts are not from trained researchers. Most agree that something is stressing the orcas. And when it comes to sources of stress, there are plenty to choose from.

“The lack of tuna has led these orca to the very edge with only 30 adults left”

The Gibraltar orcas are endangered – there are fewer than 50 individuals left, with a continuing decline projected – adults and juveniles are sustaining injuries, suffering food scarcity and pollution. Their calves rarely survive. The Gibraltar Straits is, Cazalla points out, “the worst place for orcas to live”. This narrow stretch of water is a major shipping route. And the presence of orcas attracts more marine traffic – highly profitable whale-watching. Theoretically, it is regulated, but some operators flout rules about speed and distance to chase the animals. Constant harassment by boats affects the orcas’ ability to hunt. Which brings us to the biggest stress of all: fishing.

The orcas return to this noisy, polluted stretch of water for one reason – to feed. They specialise in hunting bluefin tuna, also highly prized by humans. The near collapse of bluefin tuna between 2005 and 2010 “has led this orca population to the very edge, with about 30 adults left”, says Pauline Gauffier, who has studied them.

The Straits is an important migratory route for the tuna. It has been economically crucial to this region for thousands of years – the Romans produced coins in Cadiz depicting the once bountiful fish. Local fisheries still use an ancient technique – almadraba, a complex system of trap nets. Each spring, the bluefin arrive to spawn in the Med; many find their way into the nets instead. In July and August, as the tuna leave for the Atlantic, the fishermen switch to drop lines – baited with fish and lowered with rocks. These artisanal techniques are far less harmful than trawling, purse seining or driftnets – and than the reckless sport-fishing boats speeding at 10 knots, trailing long lines.

“They target the orca, because they think there must be tuna under the pods,” says Jörn Selling, a marine biologist for Firmm whale watching and research foundation with 17 years’ experience in the Straits. “They go right through the pods, their hooks cutting the dorsal fins”.

In the past, the orca chased the bluefin to exhaustion, but with fewer and smaller fish available, and the pressures from human activity, some have adapted. As a result, there now exists what biologists call “depradation” – a complex balance between the orca, tuna, and humans – and what the fishermen call “stealing”.

Since 1999, two of the Straits’ five pods have learned to take tuna from the drop lines, leaving the fishermen pulling up the tuna head alone. It’s infuriating for the fishermen, but for the orca, this is high risk. Several have sustained serious injuries. “We see marks caused by fishing lines,” says Selling. “We hear about young orca getting hooked.” There are two females with severed flippers – “Lucia”, Selling says “lost her baby together with her flipper, due to the interaction with tuna fishermen”. Gauffier points out that “there is little the fishermen can do to avoid line or hook injuries” when orca interact; and it’s not known what caused the injuries. But many conservationists suspect some fishermen retaliate violently.

“The fishermen hate the killer whales,” says Selling. The orca are protected, but “unobserved, the fishermen do what they want. They see them as competitors.”

Stories persist of fishermen stunning orca with electric prods, throwing lit petrol cans, cutting dorsal fins. Cazalla has seen two orca with recent injuries (Morris thinks there was an injured individual at her boat). “One has a significant scar – you can see white tissue so it’s deep.” This, he thinks, is unlikely to be from a propeller, which would cause multiple scars.

Selling points out that the orca interact with the almadraba as well as drop-line fishing, and talks of a male which worked out how to navigate the labyrinth of submarine nets to take tuna in Barbate years ago. This orca was later observed with serious injury to its dorsal fin. It hasn’t been seen since.

But the orca have endured harassment for decades. What explains the new behaviour? Was there reduced noise during the Covid lockdown? Selling says yes. “No big game fishing, no whale watching or sailing boats, no fast ferries, fewer merchant ships.” He’s intrigued by the idea that the orca had two months with reduced noise – “Something most of them probably never experienced before” – and considers the possibility they felt angry as the noise restarted (Gauffier thinks this unlikely, but notes that the Barbate pod still actively chases tuna, “for which they need a quieter environment”).

There is one very unscientific phrase I hear repeatedly from several researchers: “Pissed off”. Some speculate that the multitude of stresses these highly sentient cetaceans have endured – years of grieving lost calves, injuries, competition for fish, coupled with a pause and reintroduction of human activity, could have affected their behaviour. There is a great deal we don’t yet know about orca, which, like us, have evolved complex cultures and different languages around the world. A couple of years ago Ken Balcomb from the Center for Whale Research talked about endangered orca being dependent on scarce chinook salmon in the Pacific Northwest. “I’ve seen them look at boats hauling fish. I think they know that humans are somehow related to the scarcity of food. And I think they know that the scarcity of food is causing them physical distress, and also causing them to lose babies.”

Sounds like anthropomorphising? Lori Marino, neuroscientist and president of the Whale Sanctuary Project found in orca brains an astounding capacity for intelligence. “If we are talking about whether killer whales have the wherewithal and the cognitive capacity to intentionally strike out at someone, or to be angry, or to really know what they are doing, I would have to say the answer is yes. They are likely defending a territory or resources.”

Meanwhile, Nick Irving from Reliance is wondering if he should send clients’ boats out after the last three sustained damage: “Is it reckless?” Neither of us say it, but we’re both thinking he doesn’t want to be the mayor in Jaws – the obvious, if lazy stereotype that comes to mind. Word is starting to get out, frustrating Espada. Friends call, asking about the “attacks”, if it’s safe to swim. “Are you mad?” she asks. “Of course it’s safe!” As shark conservationists know all too well, it’s difficult to protect endangered animals with a bad image.

This tiny population’s presence is of huge importance, and if human activity is affecting their behaviour, human activity must be regulated. Gauffier has presented the Spanish Environment Agency with a conservation plan proposing that in the Barbate area, “activities producing underwater noise should be reduced to a minimum”. This is the very least that should happen. Each sailor I spoke to was concerned that their activities had stressed the orca. Victoria Morris, who has been searching for a specialist subject when she returns to study marine biology in autumn has found her topic. The Gibraltar orca has one more ally – which is good because these majestic, beleaguered mammals need all the help they can get.

[straykidsupdate]

Stray Kids & Their Fans Are Growing Up Together

Adulthood has its side effects.

Strobe lights flash like firing synapses; Synths wobble and throb like a pounding headache. “머리 아프다!” — my head hurts — yell the members in Korean, pounding their fists erratically in different directions in the air. Stray Kids dance over the EDM-trance beat as a stern voice recites a string of aliments: “Common side effects include: nervousness, insomnia, nausea, agitation, anxiety, sweating, vision problems, numbness, psychosis, dizziness, headaches, weight loss.” 

From the crowd of nearly 5,600 in New York’s Hulu Theater, the refrain to “Side Effects” rang out passionately from the K-pop group’s diverse fanbase, called Stay, caught somewhere between a battle cry and a cry for help. Stray Kids know that this feeling they’re communicating with “Side Effects” — one of disorientation, fear, and confusion that goes hand-in-hand with growing up — is one they share with Stay. After all, that’s what makes Stray Kids (who range in age from 19 to 22) so beloved by their passionate fans — they write and compose straight from their own experiences, painting a vivid picture of the feelings that young people share all over the world. And now, for everyone gathered in this dark theater, singing together is a catharsis.

Since their debut with JYP Entertainment nearly two years ago, Stray Kids’ discography has weaved a narrative that serves as an allegory for the joys and pains of coming of age. They begin as prisoners in the fictional dystopia of “District 9,” but even after making their escape, they must enter a labyrinth to face internal battles as they question their identities and their goals throughout each three-part I Am…  and Clé EP series. 

“In Clé 1: Miroh, we went into the maze really confidently,” Stray Kids’ animated Austrailian-Korean leader Bang Chan tells Refinery29 in our office ahead of their New York City tour stop. Even in more serious moments, the 22-year-old rapper and one-third of Stray Kids’ producing unit, 3RACHA, holds a warmth and playfulness in his eyes. “And then after that, in Clé: Yellow Wood, we asked ourselves, ‘Was this the right decision? Do we have regrets? Did we choose the right way?’ ‘Double Knot’ [off of Clé: Levanter] was where we said, ‘We're going to keep on doing what we're doing. We'll just keep going.’ But then with [our most recent single] ‘Levanter,’ we stress how you can't always just really focus too much on one goal. Maybe you might need to take a break to see the other options.”

There’s a certain rebelliousness that seems to run through Stray Kids’ music — if they’re not fighting against a higher power, then they’re warring with themselves. But rapper Changbin, another 3RACHA member along with rapper and vocalist Han, is clear that their mentality isn’t “us against the world.” 

“There's not this big, crazy thing that we’re fighting against, right?” says Changbin, the chains on his shirt clinking together as he gesticulates. Changbin’s duality on and offstage is one of the most pronounced in the group — though he’s not the youngest, he’s known affectionately as the “baby” by his members. Catch him performing, however, and he turns into a growling menace as he spits bars.

“But just like in daily life, there are things that you're facing — issues, or roadblocks when you're on your way to a dream and things that you want to do in life. The theme of our music is that we want to overcome that together.”

Hyunjin, a striking rapper and dancer beloved by fans for his emotional intelligence, lays out what he feels people his age today feel they are most often up against: “There are two types of people. One is somebody who doesn't really know exactly what they want to do with their life. They don't really have a dream, so they're trying to find themselves and decide what they want to do. And then there are people who do have a particular goal or dream, and they're trying to wrestle with how exactly they’re going to achieve it.”

It’s not simply that Hyunjin and the seven other members of Stray Kids (a ninth, Woojin, left the company suddenly late last year for unknown reasons) are guessing what’s on Stay’s mind — they know firsthand, thanks to their uniquely close relationship that they’ve taken care to nurture over the past two years in a few ways. The first, and in many ways the most important, is by connecting through their music, which they’ve self-produced even before they officially debuted as a group. This creative license allows them to speak directly to their fans and reveal themselves  in a truly authentic way. It is also the reason why Stray Kids’ music — often a creative mix of EDM, rap, and rock —  sounds so distinctive in the K-pop landscape, and even beyond Korea’s borders. “All eight of us have different preferences and tastes in music, so we can each bring a different color to the music we make,” says Changbin. “It lets our music be more diverse and it allows us to try new things.” 

They acknowledge that there’s a tension between wanting to take risks in your music and needing to make a chart-smashing hit, which is something that despite their overall success, the group has yet to achieve. But the goal is to always try to push boundaries, and not sacrifice their integrity. 

You don’t usually see this kind of adventurous spirit in a newer group: usually, musicians start by imitating what they know and love. In Stray Kids’ case, that could’ve meant reflecting artists who Stay likely also share passion for: A bit of Ed Sheeran (courtesy of Bang Chan), Ariana Grande (Changbin), or maybe even Day6 (Seungmin). But they resisted the urge to copy, and instead created their own signature style. “Even if it might be a bit weird, I think we all really enjoy that, because it really excites us to try new things,” says Bang Chan, dimples punctuating his broad grin.

"I feel like our fans are really just close friends, to the point where they’re like family" - Stray Kids’ Bang Chan

Beyond music, they also communicate with Stay directly. The members share their thoughts in short video series such as Two Kids Room and One Kid’s Room, behind-the-scenes vlogs about their travels on tour, and often take time to talk to fans on VLive, a live-streaming app popular with K-pop idols. But they take it a step further: Bang Chan goes live once a month (it used to be once a week) in a segment he calls “Chan’s Room,” where he shares updates about his life, what’s been on his mind, and music recommendations. Hyunjin started a series called “Hyunjin’s Counseling Center,” where he addresses both his and Stay’s various inner thoughts and feelings, as well as give advice.

“I feel like our fans are really just close friends, to the point where they’re like family,” says Bang Chan. “I love spending quality time and just being like, ‘I'm doing this. I'm thinking about this these days. I want to show you guys this. I got my ukulele and am going to play something for you guys.’ I think the whole live system is really great because it makes us feel so close. It just tightens the relationship.”

“I think the best way for Stay to take care of themselves is to stay healthy and eat a lot of delicious food and listen to our music,” adds the affable and dynamic vocalist Seungmin, “so this is a way we check in and help them with that.”

It’s a beautiful symbiotic relationship. While fans certainly benefit from Stray Kids’ care, the artists readily admit that they’ve learned a lot about themselves since becoming idols and gaining fans.

“People think that it’s weird to be a celebrity if you’re an introvert,” says blonde Han, who opted for a seat in the center of the half circle, though a bit behind his bandmates. On stage and with his members, his charisma and sense of humor know no bounds, but the sole MBTI-certified introvert of the group usually takes a while to get comfortable in new environments. “I usually keep to myself, but when I’m on stage with the other Stray Kids members, I find this courage and strength that I didn’t even know I had,” he says, a smile widening on his face as he compliments the others in the room. “I get strength from my fellow members and the enthusiasm and energy of the fans, so that I can be confident and not come off as too introverted.”

“The feedback from fans has helped us grow so much,” says Australia-born dancer Felix, whose deep voice and shock of red hair counterbalance his lithe stature. His deep sincerity and good nature ratidate as he speaks. “We're always trying to show better work. So using all this direct feedback, I do try to improve as an artist and as... I guess it helps me try to be a better person in general.”

I.N., the youngest, self-proclaimed fox-faced vocalist of the group, as well as passionate dancer and cat-lover Lee Know, have both been more motivated to stick to their goals thanks to fans. I.N. explains his lack of willpower using cool slang (“작심삼일”) that stumps even the interpreter. “Basically I give up on things within three days,” he says. “I’ve been trying to overcome that.” For Lee Know, it’s a bit more simple: “I want to bulk up. So, consistency is so important. Stay are good at keeping us accountable.”

Hyunjin, ever-contemplative, sees the growth he’s gained from being an idol with fans as more introspective. “I’ve experienced a lot of feelings and emotions I didn’t have when I was a trainee,” says Hyunjin. “Being a celebrity or an idol, you're in the public eye and you're one person who is constantly interacting with and meeting many, many people. While talking to so many fans, I started realizing how much impact the words of a few people can have on a large number of people. It made me more thoughtful of what I say and I feel more responsibility for our music and performances. I want to do my best because of my fans. I feel that it’s made me grow into a more mature person.” 

And while that seems like a lot of pressure to put on a 19-year-old, he maintains that he sees it as a responsibility he’s more than happy to take on. “I don’t really see it as a burden because the way I see it, you could say just one little thing, but that could really make a person's day or really change their mind for the better.”

[perspective-series]

Vampire Perspective (11/17)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: death threats, depressed thoughts, etc. also talk of starvation

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

————————————————————————————

Earlier that evening...

Virgil got up early for a second evening in a row, for what felt like the first time in decades. But, he couldn’t sleep. His anxious thoughts kept going back to the cage hanging only a few feet away. Virgil had gathered another handful of berries yesterday for Logan, but this was getting ridiculous. With his hunger even slightly sedated, it was clear he wouldn’t be able to eat Logan anytime soon. Virgil was just too pathetic to commit to such a basic act.

But then, that meant Logan would be staying a while, and if Virgil didn’t want Logan just dying on him he needed to start working out more consistent living arrangements. As the sun faded the vampire rose, heading into his horde to look for something suitable to what he had in mind.

 Logan awoke to the sound of Virgil waking up. Once again, his sleep had been restless but at least he had slept a little. He looked over at Virgil, confused at what the vampire was doing, rummaging through his things. He thought about calling out the Virgil but decided against it, wanting the vampire’s eyes off of him for as long as possible.

Virgil gave a small noise of triumph, pulling out two old ornate small bowls he had stored away. The vampire turned, startled to see the borrower up and awake. Perhaps he had been a bit too invested in his task if he hadn’t heard Logan shift. “Oh...hey.”

 “Good evening.” Logan nodded to him. He looked at the two bowls he held with confusion. “What are those for?” He asked.

“Berries, water.” Virgil lifted each bowl in turn to reference which was intended for which. “I figure this will be easier than going gathering each night, or limiting you to just eating once. Now you can graze and not bug me about it. And not die.”

 Logan stared at Virgil, trying to read his features and figure out what Virgil’s motives were. Why would Virgil care about that, if he was going to die soon? 

 Answer? Logan wasn’t.

 Which meant...Logan swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He had thought about it but he had been hoping it wouldn’t be the case. Even if the alternative was being eaten. But it seemed that Virgil had made his decision. 

 “You aren’t going to eat me.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. A fact.

If Virgil’s face showed his surprise, it quickly morphed back into his usual cruel snarl. “Awfully confident for someone with such sweet smelling blood, aren’t we? No, not tonight, because yesterday I was a fool and now I’ve got to keep this dumb charade up a few more days to truly savor the experience.”

 “No, you aren’t going to eat me at all.” Logan’s voice held a confidence that surprised himself. “I was wondering why you had ‘forgotten’ to eat me yesterday but the truth is, you didn’t. I’m not sure what happened while I was still asleep but I think maybe you tried but couldn’t. And now you are still lying to me and maybe even yourself that eventually you will eat me, even though it won’t happen.” Logan said.

Virgil froze, certain that if any blood were flowing through his veins it would have turned into rivets of ice. Had he truly been so transparent? Could borrowers read minds?

“I’m not lying.” Virgil snapped as he stormed closer, growing a bit enraged as the negative emotions of yesterday began to resurface. “I can eat you. I will eat you. Believe whatever makes you sleep at night, but it was a lapse of memory, not a moment of weakness. And with the way you keep prattling on it will be my greatest pleasure when I do.”

 Logan sighed. He no longer found fear in the empty threats. “Alright. If lying to yourself is what you wish to do, I can not stop you.” Although Logan had to wonder why Virgil was lying to himself in the first place.

Virgil felt a growl deep in his throat, and one of his hands banged on the cage so hard the bowl in his hand threatened to shatter. “Why aren’t you frightened?”

 Logan felt his heart race as he fell down. He caught his breath before sitting back up slowly, looking at Virgil warily. “I am...still afraid. But not of you eating me. Not anymore.” Because he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

“Why?” Virgil insisted, purposefully putting his full set of fangs on display. Even if he couldn’t do it in a proper state of mind, Virgil knew if he starved himself enough the beast inside would make quick work of Logan. It didn’t matter that Virgil was weak; if he was just patient, he could still be successful.

 “Because for some reason...you can’t do it.” Logan said, biting his lip. He should probably just stop talking but he found he couldn’t. “I’m not sure why. I would say it’s some of your old humanity shining through but you were never human to begin with...however, it may be possible that you still have some humanity in you despite that.”

“What the hell did I say about comparing me to them?” Virgil snarled, his brow knitting together.

 Logan flinched back. “M-My apologies. But...I can’t ignore the facts of the matter.” Logan glanced away. “Humans are...worthless, I agree with you on that. But their humanity...would it be so bad to share that with them?” 

“Humanity is a flawed race by nature.” Virgil crossed his arms. “Those that are vicious are nothing but a thorn in my side. Those that are soft are destroyed by this world. Mercy is weakness. I’m a creature that exists solely by leeching off the lifeblood of others, and such a creature has no place to care for others.”

 Logan frowned. “Alright...but several things I have seen contradicts that. For one, you very clearly care about Patton, if no one else. And two...you seem to care a lot about whether or not I die. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be feeding me and you probably would not have ‘forgotten’ to eat me yesterday.” Logan crossed his arms. 

“...Patton is different.” Virgil turned his head to the side, not meeting the borrower’s eye. “And I don’t care about you, I just care about your blood.”

 Logan sighed. “You keep telling yourself that, if it helps you sleep at night.” He repeated Virgil’s own words.

“I sleep during the day.” Virgil deadpanned. “And quit acting like you’re something special.”

 “Day then.” Logan corrected. “And I know I am not special, which is why I am confused about this whole thing.”

“Wrong place, wrong time.” Virgil muttered, for once stumbling upon the truth. “And now you get to suffer for it.”

 Logan’s lips went into a thin line. “You know, I thought being on the menu was the worst thing that could happen...but the way things are going…” Logan sighed, trailing off and looked away.

“What?” Virgil chanced a glance at the borrower, feeling that familiar sinking rock of guilt. “You’re actually upset by the thought that I'm not going to gobble you up like a leftover chicken nugget?”

 “No, not particularly but in comparison to...becoming a pet, I…” Logan trailed off again, not knowing how to finish. He didn’t want to die, as he kept saying but being a pet...it was almost worse. He may be better off dead at this point.

“...you need to sort out your priorities.” Virgil ordered, but he knew better. He understood that it was better to die quickly than to live in suffering, and of course this was all his own fault. Too weak to eat Logan, but also too weak to resist the primal urge to keep such a morsel close.

 Logan hummed. “I see you didn’t try to deny that that is what I am becoming.” Logan noted.

Virgil gave a half-hearted shrug. “Gotta call you something until feeding time arrives.”

 “I see…” Logan looked down, having no idea how to feel. “And when...I’m sorry, if that never happens? What then?”

“I don’t know!” Virgil snapped, and it was the most honest thing he had said all night. “I’m not a seer, I don’t know the future. I don’t even know what’s happening now. You- you’ve screwed everything up.”

 Logan blinked. “I’ve screwed everything up? I wouldn’t even be here if not for you.” Logan pointed out, glaring at the vampire.

“Well, I wouldn’t have been there to catch you if it wasn’t for your little friend being caught.” Virgil argued, a bit of venom in his voice. “Blame him for your fate.”

 “I will blame him for nothing.” Logan said, still glaring and standing his ground. “You and the other vampires are the ones who hold the power. The two of us have nothing. We are at your mercy, for any and all decisions. Whatever has happened here is nowhere close to my fault. Or Roman’s.”

“Then blame the balance of nature.” Virgil changed tactics. “Circle of life, will of the world, whatever you want to call it. You said it, we hold the power. You’re nothing in comparison.”

 Logan met Virgil’s eyes for a moment before looking down and closing his. “...I am aware of my place.” Logan sighed. “No matter how much I wish that wasn’t the case...despite the fact that I am far more intelligent than the average human...I am insignificant.” He had come to terms with that quite a long time ago.

“...right.” Virgil said, but even as he said it Virgil felt himself wince. “No, I- you’re not.”

 Logan blinked, head snapping up to meet Virgil’s eyes. “I’m...sorry?”

Virgil sighed, placing the bowls on a little table before heading over to his bookshelf. He pulled the dusty volume from the shelf, turning to the correct page of the dictionary. “Insignificant: too small and unimportant to be worth consideration. Meaningless.”

 Logan winced. “I know the definition.” Logan spoke, peeved that Virgil seemed just be rubbing it in. “I know how well it fits.”

Virgil snapped the book shut with a slight glare. “It’s pretty insulting you think I’d waste all this time on something unimportant and meaningless.”

 Now Logan was confused again. “I don’t understand. You just called me nothing. You were the one to bring it up.” Why did he have to get stuck with such a confusing vampire.

“You’re nothing in comparison to me.” Virgil corrected. “You’re weak and you’re tiny and you’re clearly meant to be overpowered and used as a snack. But...that’s still a purpose.” Virgil supposed it wasn’t exactly an encouraging one, but it was at least something.

 “...I wouldn’t exactly call that a worthy purpose.” Logan sighed. “And if that’s all I’m good for, I’d rather it be nothing.”

“Look, I’m not good at this stuff.” Virgil cringed, putting the book back on the shelf. “Maybe you’ve got a greater purpose. I don’t know. I’m not all-knowing. Again, not a Seer.”

 “Even if I did,” Logan started, looking away. “It doesn’t mean much now, does it? Not with me trapped here. Serving as your pet for amusement.”

Virgil cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Stop… don’t say it like that.”

 Now Logan was just getting annoyed. He crossed his arms, looking back up at Virgil. “And how do you want me to say it? Hm? Because that is what this is. Unless you are lying to yourself about that as well.”

“Shut it.” Virgil growled. He didn’t like how mouthy Logan was getting. It made him uncomfortable.

 Logan flinched back but otherwise held his ground. “I am just speaking the truth.”

Virgil swallowed, tugging his own hair a bit tighter. “I think I liked it better when you were trembling.”

 Logan hummed. “I’m sure.” It was in that moment that his stomach growled. He looked down at it briefly before looking back up at Virgil. “May I have some food?”

“You sure?” Virgil raised an eyebrow, a bit mocking. A bit sad. “You’re talking as though you’d prefer to starve.”

 “Honestly? I am unsure at this point.” Would it be better to simply die then to be a pet to a vampire? Logan used to think it wasn’t worth dying for anything but that was before he knew things like vampires even existed. “But at this moment, I would prefer to eat. And drink, if you are willing to give me water as well.”

“Maybe I’m not.” Virgil slowly crossed his arms. “With how you’re acting, perhaps I shouldn’t respect your wants. Might be a bit more amenable tomorrow.”

 “Well, it’s more of a need than a want but...you are the one in charge. Though I feel the need to remind you I can only last three days without water.” Logan said, ignoring his stomach and his dry mouth. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it.

Virgil paused, giving Logan a considering look. In the blink of an eye he was gone, returning a minute later with one of the bowls filled with water from the sink downstairs. “How long without food?”

 Logan really didn’t wish to tell Virgil but he knew the vampire would get it out of him eventually. “Technically three weeks, though there will be health problems if I go even a week without food.”

Virgil shifted, opening the cage and putting the water dish inside. “What sort of health problems?” And why do you know that? Virgil thought to himself, feeling a pang of worry for Logan’s past.

 Logan went to the dish and took some generous gulps of water before answering. “Nausea, dizziness, a slow heartbeat, and the possibility that I would faint.” Logan listed off. Memories came back to him but he pushed them away.

“Has that… happened?” Virgil asked.

 “...Yes.” He answered simply. “I know all this from experience. I never said being a borrower was...easy.” Far from it, in fact. 

“...better here, then.” Virgil reasoned aloud. “If I can keep you from starving.” Poorly, based on his record so far, but it was something.

 “I am not so sure about that.” Logan muttered. Even if being a borrower was hard, it was still his life. He still had his freedom and he was doing better for himself now that he had Roman.  Though...he supposed neither of them had a choice anymore.

“What a stupid sentiment.” Virgil scoffed. “And here I was beginning to think you were logical.”

 Something in Logan snapped. “I am logical. You want me to walk you through my thought process? Fine. Being a borrower is tough, yes, even tougher when by yourself. When I almost starved in the past I was alone and already injured. But then I found Roman and we helped each other out. I haven’t been without food in a very long time.” Logan took a breath before continuing.

 “Being here, on the other hand, is completely unpredictable. First, my death was absolute. You were going to eat me. Then you decided that you couldn’t and now want to keep around as some pet. Fine, irrelevant. But you have already been known to forget about my basic needs. You also have a temper on you and if I happen to trigger that temper or you just happen to be in a bad mood, you may decide I don’t deserve to eat or drink. Or, even worse, you may find yourself done with me in general and kill me or kill me in a fit of rage. Either is likely.” Logan explained himself, glaring up at Virgil and adjusting his glasses. 

 “So, in conclusion, though you offer up a better arrangement. It is, indeed, not.” Logan raised an eyebrow. “How’s that logic for you?”

[lunaschild2016]

No Ordinary Love

An Eric Coulter / Original Character Romance (Formerly Take Your Time)

Rated M: Explicit, Smut, Romance, Angst, Language, Implied Abuse and Addiction

Character Inspiration/Face Claims:

Eric Coulter: Jai Courtney

Lacey Matheson: Phoebe Tonkin (Hayley from Originals)

Summary: Theirs was not an ordinary love. After all, you’re not supposed to fall in love with someone you consider as family, even you don’t share the same blood. But they were in each other’s veins too deep. They only had one night together. One night to be shameless and to finally act on the feelings that had haunted them for longer than either could admit. Afterward, the only thing left to do was to pick up their pieces. Eric/OC AU No War No Divergents

[Sorry in advance if the read more glitches and shows entire post]

A/N: This was previously under the title Take Your Time but during an edit, I changed the title of the story as well as the different parts/chapters to reflect the music that inspired each. Story title, No Ordinary Love, inspired by Sade’s song of the same title.

Disclaimer: I own naught but my own plot and the cherry bombs I throw within. V Roth owns the rest.

                                                    **********

Part  - Pieces

There's too much smoke to see it

There's too much broke too feel this

Well, I love you, I love you

And all of your pieces

Eric

Eric cradled the young woman closer to his body as they huddled together. The slight shelter the formation of boulders and the crag in the rocks they were currently in provided some protection from the storm raging around them. If he could mentally will some warmth into her he would will it all. Every single ounce he had. He would gladly give it all.

“We were able to get the call for help out. They’ll be coming soon.” He murmured close to her face where he held her pressed against his chest. “You just have to hang in there for me, Lacey. Do you hear me? You need to stay with me.” He tried to command her but it came out broken and harsh from the tears threatening to break free.

She groaned but didn’t reply. Eric knew she was fading. Lacey’s lips were tinged with blue and her skin was like ice from rapidly losing what little body heat she had. He was losing her and it was all his fucking fault. “Baby please.” He whispered harshly against her cheek and the tears he had been holding back finally break free but it’s too cold and they seem to freeze in place, joining with the rest of the frozen spots on his skin.

His training and survival skills tell him that moving might help and he found himself rocking her in his arms, hoping that it will stimulate her enough to wake up. He needed to do something, to busy himself so he didn’t feel so helpless or give in to the grief and pain that threatens to consume him.

All those years wasted with a million excuses that he used to stop him from admitting his feelings and crossing every line he believed stood in the way of them ever being together. He had always loved her, that much he never denied. What he did deny was how deep that love went. What it really meant to and for him. It took this storm and the events that brought them to this moment for him to realize there was nothing wrong or shameful about how he felt or what he wanted with her. 

If only he had realized this before it was too late. Before he made the biggest mistake of his life and allowed her to come with him when he left the shelter of the truck to radio for help. But he had just been so damned relieved she was okay after the accident where the transport they were in lost control on a patch of black ice and flipped over twice. She looked fine, a little banged up, but able to walk away with only minor scratches. 

When the crash happened it wasn’t his own life that flashed before his eyes, it was hers. She was all he could think of and he sent up prayers that him ordering her to strap in would be enough to keep her safe. He couldn’t help but be thankful that he insisted on it so much that he even secured her himself. She gave him lip about it, of course, and insisted that if she had to be belted in that he needed to be too. 

That was how the two of them made it out of it in the best condition to make the hike and get high enough to make the call for help. There had been too much interference where the transport had ended up after the crash. The canyons and small mountains for this sector of Amity resided didn’t always provide the most reliable signal. He knew that the only way to get a signal out would be to make it to higher ground.

Eric should have known that just because she looked fine didn’t mean she was fine. 

He also hadn’t accounted for a goddamn blizzard to roll through. Not when a small snowfall was predicted after he checked the weather status before leaving Amity. The storm slowed them down and made the hike much harder on her. About halfway into it, when they were too far to turn back but still had so much further to go, her condition changed and she all but passed out. He could only press on and carried her while she cried in pain and couldn’t walk anymore. He did his best to remain calm so he could make the call and then find them shelter where they could hunker down and wait. 

“They have our position, baby. They’ll get here in time.” He refused to think they wouldn’t. He also knew if they didn’t make it in time to save her then they might as well let him die on this fucking rock with Lacey because there would be nothing left for him.

Why had he fought so hard against what he felt, what they both felt, and wasted so much time? At the time the reasons had seemed so important, so insurmountable. Lacey had been in his life from the time he transferred to Dauntless. He was sixteen and she was just nine. He watched her grow up. 

She was family to him. 

Her sister, Henley, was Dauntless-born and became one of his best friends when he transferred and they were initiates together. Deacon was his other best friend and he transferred over from Erudite with Eric. Henley and Deacon fell in love during initiation and married shortly after it finished. They formed their own family then and included Eric into it. 

There was always this connection between him and Lacey that felt separate, different, than the one he shared with his two best friends. He considered them his brother and sister in all but blood. As time passed his feelings for Lacey changed from how they started. His role changed from protector and friend but he never thought he could or would do more than love her from afar and watch as she grew from an amazing girl into a beautiful young woman. He couldn’t risk losing her or his family and was positive that would happen if he did anything about how he felt, so he never tried for anything. 

When it came down to it, when it mattered most, Eric Coulter the most feared Dauntless leader, was a coward. 

Eric cups the side of her face and strokes his thumb over her cheek as he loses himself in memories of her, of them. His mind drifts back to when it all began. 

                                          ~~No Ordinary Love~~

Visiting day of Eric’s initiation. 

Eric didn’t want to go. He had no reason to go to the Pit where all the friends and families of the initiates would be waiting to meet up. His family would be unable to make it and they had agreed before he ever transferred to wait until after he finished initiation and got settled before they would visit. 

Henley is insisting that he join her and Deacon in the pit where her younger brother and sister will be waiting for her. Henley was right. They are there.  She’s  there. 

Lacey stands proudly in the pit, with her back straight and her chin squared. Wade, their younger brother has his hand clenched tightly in hers. Her rich chestnut hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail but even with it up like that it hangs all the way down her back. The sisters resemble each other enough that Eric can tell Lacey will one day be as pretty as Henley is. Maybe even more so with her unusual eyes. 

It was the first thing that he noticed about her since they are completely different than her older sister's chocolate brown. Lacey’s are a warm, melting caramel color. The pupil is ringed by a light green while the iris is ringed by darker green. It was apparently a trait that skipped Henley but both her younger siblings shared from some grandparent on the dad’s side. Eric would come to find later on that those greens expand or shrink depending on her mood and would tell him more about her feelings than she would ever let show or voice. 

The second thing he noticed was the pride and intelligence radiating in her eyes. He almost got so lost in them that he failed to notice the bruising along her cheekbone and that was exactly what she wanted. Eric wasn’t the only one that didn’t see it right away. When Henley finally noticed all cheerful greetings stopped and she went quiet before hissing out to her sister, demanding to know what happened. There was something in his friend's tone that suggested she already knew what happened. 

Henley never mentioned why she was so worried about how her siblings were doing but it was clear there was some kind of tension at home. He didn’t think it was abuse...but it was something.

Lacey just looked her sister square in the eyes, chin lifted, and lied through her teeth. She told Henley she had gotten in a fight at school. It was a completely plausible story and he could have accepted it, but for two things. Tiny things that neither Henley or Deacon picked up on but Eric did. Her eyes changed as she told this lie. The bright green flared in them right when she squeezed her brother's hand tightly and he looked like he was about to say something. But he didn’t and he looked away from the group to stare at the ground while shuffling his feet.

“What was the fight about, Lace?” Henley asked in concern. 

“The usual. Dad’s a drunk. Mom’s a whore. It’s nothing new, Henley. Nothing I haven’t grown thick skin against.”

Eric found it interesting how intelligently she responded, using a bit of the truth so that her sister would be more likely to believe it. While it gave him insight into her home life and the reason his friend was always so worried about Lacey and Wade, he knew there was more to this story and he found he needed to know.

“Then why did you fight about it?” He ground out the words, eyes narrowed in anger because he could guess what really happened.

She locked eyes with him while he tried to intimidate the answer from her. She never gave in though and didn’t answer. That little nine-year-old girl stood her ground against Eric, who was already gaining a reputation for his intimidation tactics and his training wasn’t even done yet. 

Henley broke the tension, clearly embarrassed by her sister's revelation of their home life, and suggested they all head to the dining hall to eat and have some cake.

He didn’t understand why he was so agitated...why he felt so protective of a girl he just met. His friendship with Henley couldn’t explain everything. Maybe it was because Lacey and Wade were the exact same age as his youngest brother and sister? 

Maybe that was why he made the vow he made as he sat across from them at the dining hall table to always care for them. To always protect them. 

To protect her.

                                         ~~No Ordinary Love~~

Eric almost broke the promises he made to her and himself.

He couldn’t do much for her while he was still in initiation and right after that, he went straight into his training for leadership. He began working non-stop in an effort to achieve the rank of a full leader. He had the goal to become the youngest Dauntless leader and to do so in the quickest time of any leader before him. Henley was just as busy in the clinic being trained as a nurse. Something that was in short supply and that meant long hours for her too. Instead of going back to live with her parents, she moved in with Deacon with Lacey and Wade's blessing and her younger sister's insistence for some reason that neither shared with Eric. So much slipped their notice but Lacey was very good about not letting on that anything out of the normal for them was going on.

It was normal for their Dad to be absent most of the time just like it was normal for her mom to make even fewer appearances than he did. They were both well-known drunks. The father did just enough of his duties in Dauntless so he didn’t get in trouble and he would receive his pay so he could support his habit. And the mother, she earned enough for her’s by having  ‘friends’  that were willing to  ‘gift’  her for the privilege of her company. No matter how disgusting Eric found the entire situation neither of them were doing anything illegal and as long as her father did his job and her mother’s real activities weren’t being reported, Eric’s hands were tied.

It wasn’t until he noticed Lacey behaving oddly and looking sick that he realized something was wrong.

The first time he saw Lacey slink into the dining hall he didn’t think anything was really wrong. He only found it slightly odd that she kept to the shadows and mixed in with a big group so she could avoid detection until she made it to the kitchen doors. He watched as she knocked then waited until someone came out to speak to her. They disappeared back into the kitchen for a minute or so then came back out with a small box that they gave to her. She scampered off faster than he could react to find out what might be in the box, but at the time he suspected it was nothing more than some cake. Dependents were well known for frequently attempting to wheedle the famous Dauntless cake from some of the pushover cooks. Some were more successful than others but in general, they weren’t ever refused. Hell, Uriah Pedrad once managed to talk one of the cooks into giving him an entire sheet cake pan full of cake and Lacey has always been much more charming and persuasive than that little pest could ever be. 

So who could blame him for thinking that’s what Lacey was up to? Who could blame him for thinking that she had been getting some cake for herself and her brother as a treat? Henley had once mentioned that it often took finding ways to motivate Wade to get him to do his homework. Eric hadn’t realized at the time that school had already been dismissed for their yearly break. 

It wasn’t until he saw her doing the same thing almost two weeks after the first time that he knew there was something else going on. He got a better look at her, a closer look than from the far side of the room and with so many people in between them. He noticed things that he couldn’t before. Like how she seemed to have lost weight, the dark circles under her eyes, and how weak she seemed.

Eric knew he needed to get answers about what was going on. He couldn’t approach Henley without worrying her and if he confronted Lacey she would just lie just like she had previously the few times they had spoken. 

So where should he start?

He went to the kitchen staff first since they seemed to know something about the situation and her being there to get anything besides cake was cause enough for him to start with them anyway.

 While dependants aren’t barred from eating in the dining hall it is also very rare that they do. The people that generally eat there are the single adults, initiates during that time of year, or people who are on duty and just grabbing a quick meal on their breaks. Meals in the dining hall are free but the menu is limited and often is a first come first serve basis for the popular items.  Dauntless also has a few places in the main compound where food can be purchased, ready-made, by points. Things like deli sandwiches, burgers or pizza are things that are primarily sold. It was more common to see kids in one of those places by themselves or with their families than it was in the dining hall. 

Because the family living quarters are located in another building that is at least a fifteen-minute walk from the main compound where the dining hall is located it was impractical for them to take the majority of their meals there. Family housing is equipped with full kitchens in the flats and Dauntless has stores where they can buy and stock up on food to prepare their meals.

Eric found that his reputation is both a blessing and a curse. Even the staff in the kitchen had become aware of him and knew how hard Eric could be, how ruthless he was, to those who crossed him. While the cooks and staff could be pushovers he also found out first hand they could be fiercely loyal and brave. They hadn’t wanted to tell him anything that could get Lacey into trouble. No amount of intimidation or veiled threats could get anything from them. Eventually, they told him everything but it took him admitting to them how much he cared for Lacey for them to believe he wouldn't be punishing her. It turned out that Lacey was getting food from the kitchens at least twice a day, from whatever they had readily available and of what they could spare.

The next question he needed to get an answer to was why Lacey and Wade weren’t eating meals at home. Why was she having to go to the dining hall to get meals from there instead of making them something or at the very least going to grab something from one of the ready-made places? It took him using the master key and physically investigating the apartment before he got an answer and even then all he discovered was there was absolutely no food to be found in the flat. Not even a single jar of condiments one would usually find even if everything else had already been eaten. Even Eric’s apartment had those and he never ate there since being given the apartment after initiation. 

At this point, Eric was debating with himself on if he wanted to include Henley when he confronted Lacey about things but he decided he couldn’t. He knew she would feel responsible and guilty for not realizing sooner how bad things were and she was already under so much pressure and stressed out from work. But if Eric was being completely honest with himself he didn’t want to bring her into it. He wanted to be the one to deal with things. Besides, he had a feeling that his investigating what was going on with Lacey would lead to bigger issues and he needed to be able to handle them in his own way. 

There would come a time he would feel that he had never hoped to be wrong about something as much as he did about what he found. But that was a few months in the future.

One morning he ambushed Lacey at her apartment, letting himself in and waiting for her to return from one of her early morning excursions to the kitchens. He learned she would go there at 5 am to help take out the trash, clean, and just get ready for the day in general in exchange for food. 

It was during this confrontation that he found out the true extent of how bad things had gotten.

By this time it was going on two months that they had no food in the apartment and couldn’t get anything from the stores either because she was cut off from being able to access any of the accounts her parents had for things like that. At first, it was because the points account for both parents was empty when she attempted to buy food at the store. Then it was because her father put a block on anyone being able to use the accounts besides him after he gave the excuse that it was actually Lacey and Wade that had burned through the points without him knowing about it. 

It wasn’t as bad for them when they went to school. The lack of food in the apartment was offset by the fact that they could eat there at least for breakfast and lunch. That left Lacey only needing to find things for dinner. When school was dismissed for the year she had been forced to find enough to feed them both at least three times a day and there was never enough to do that, so what she did gather she gave to Wade and went without herself. 

He couldn’t understand why she didn’t just tell someone what was going on and she wouldn’t give him a straight answer why she hadn’t, but he got the impression she was equal parts scared to say anything and also too proud to admit that something was wrong. Eric put a stop to that shit right then and there, even though it was like pulling teeth to get Lacey on board with his plans. 

She was stubborn and independent, insisting she wasn’t going to take charity and that at least the arrangement she had with the kitchen allowed her to work for what she got there. The first thing he did was a little underhanded. It took him reminding her that she promised Henley that she and Wade would have at least two dinners a week with her and Deacon if her older sister moved in with him like Lacey encouraged, even begged, her to do. The only reason those dinners hadn’t happened was that her sister hadn’t had a chance to have dinners with the way her work schedule kept her busy. Eric told Lacey a small lie and said that Henley asked him to take over the dinners with her brother and sister until her work schedule slowed down. Not wanting to upset and worry Henley, Lacey agreed. 

His next agenda was to make sure they had food in the house for her to make them whenever they weren’t eating with him but to do that he had to agree to let her come clean his apartment in exchange for him buying them food himself. Which he did only grudgingly. He still had no plans on letting things ever get so bad again and if that meant they ate all their meals at his place, then that was what he would do. His buying them food to keep at her apartment was more of a backup plan in his mind.

By the end of the ordeal, Eric found his respect for the young girl growing even more than he already felt. While he hated the situation and that she had suffered at all, he was proud of how she had handled herself and how determined and how much ingenuity she had shown in trying to handle things on her own. As much as he admired and respected that side of her he also vowed that he would never again get so caught up in his own ambitions that he forgot her.

                                        ~~No Ordinary Love~~

Eric did exactly as he planned to do and more often than not the Matheson kids were at his apartment, even when he himself wasn’t at home. They became a constant fixture in his day to day life and he didn’t feel right if he didn’t see or talk to them at least once a day. He found himself looking forward to going home for lunch and Lacey being there, already having something ready so his break could be spent relaxing. 

The more time they spent together the closer they got and the harder it became to just allow things to slide with her parents even though he knew Lacey didn’t want to make a big deal of things because she felt so ashamed of them. He knew he was risking upsetting Lacey and making her angry with him, but it had to be done.

His investigation into why Lacey and Wade didn’t have food turned into investigating her father’s claims of his points being stolen and misused. Eric’s first discovery was that there were significantly fewer amounts of points being added to the family account. This turned out to be because Janice Matheson, Lacey’s mom, hadn’t made any point contributions in a long time. In fact, Janice Matheson has disappeared altogether. He had a bad feeling about where it was headed but he couldn’t not investigate. As a leader, it was his duty but even more important to him as the Matheson kid’s self-appointed protector it was something he refused to fail them on. 

His first thought was that Janice had left for the factionless. This conclusion came to him after discussing things with someone who went through the same initiation as him, Four, and who also had recently discovered that the mother he thought died during childbirth when he was really young had actually abandoned him and fled the abuse of her husband and his father. One of the well-known facts about Lacey’s parents aside from their addictions was that they had a very volatile relationship. It wasn’t uncommon for Janice to be sporting bruises or for them to engage in very public physical fights with each other. Could she have had enough and decided to do the same thing as Evelyn Eaton? This was quickly dismissed after questioning and searching revealed Janice wasn’t among the factionless. Even more investigating revealed that she hadn’t even left the compound in years.

When all was said and done Eric’s investigation led to one man, Edgar Matheson, and one conclusion. Under questioning with the truth serum, he admitted that he killed Janice in a drunken rage over something he couldn’t even remember and then he had disposed of her body by hiding it in with the trash that was set to be incinerated. 

Eric hadn’t wanted it to end the way it did. Not with Lacey losing both her parents in one fell swoop. Certainly not with him having to be the one to break this news to her and have been the one to arrest her father. He could only hope any pain for her loss and anger at the role he played would be lessened or made better by Henley and Deacon being awarded guardianship of her siblings, as well as the two of them, marrying and then all moving into a new place together as a family. 

                                       ~~No Ordinary Love~~

Bit by bit and over time it did seem to fade for the three siblings and this new family grew stronger and closer than ever. Henley finally got on a normal schedule and the entire family, Eric included, had at least one meal together every week. On the days when Henley or Deacon needed to work later, Lacey and Wade could be found at Eric’s place or he would just come to their apartment and eat there. 

The family he found in Dauntless by no means replaced his family in Erudite and he remained in contact with them as much as being in a different faction would allow. Lacey seemed to understand the most that while Eric never mentioned how much the distance and restrictions bothered him, he did miss them. She helped ease that for him by befriending his brother and sister who attended school with her, becoming a bridge that connected his two families. 

When he looked back later he would realize that this was the first step in his feelings for her changing and falling in love with Lacey Matheson.

But the only kind of love Eric had ever known was the kind he felt for his family. He hadn’t ever felt about anyone the way Henley and Deacon felt for each other. Growing up he didn’t even have his parents to look to for that kind of relationship either. They got along well enough and were decent parents but they were far from warm to their children and definitely looked at each other as acceptable partners and companions rather than lovers. 

There were many occasions where Eric realized he cared for Lacey a little more than he should but he was always able to explain it away. He was able to rationalize it in his mind that he felt so much more for Lacey because of all that she had been through, what they went through together, and how protective that made him of her.  

Things started to change as she got older though. 

It was around the time she turned sixteen. It seemed like the years passed by in a blink and now the day of her choosing was suddenly coming up. He wasn’t prepared for it and was in disbelief that it could be happening so soon. Eric had noticed that she was growing up and maturing but only in a general kind of way. It was more him recognizing her emotional and intellectual maturity. Their conversations and interactions had changed as she got older and he started seeing her as more of an equal or even a peer instead of the little girl he needed to protect. As far as the physical changes she definitely started to go through, he put blinders on to those. Refusing to see or acknowledge them in any kind of way. Denying even the slightest hint of his body responding to her in ways that he found highly inappropriate. 

The day of the ceremony Eric was calm. Confident that her choice would be Dauntless. Her test had only been a preliminary to what he already knew, that no matter how intelligent she was or how kind she could be, she was much more Dauntless than either of those things. Just this morning he waved away her joking around with him that just because the test had said Dauntless didn’t mean she had to pick it, or that she would. 

“I’ve heard Amity is beautiful in the fall and we both know how much I’ve always loved my visits there.” Lacey slyly remarked over the breakfast table. 

“Nah, you would never make it past the first night with that bunch of hippies.” He muttered with a cocky smirk.  

Now he watches her as she waits for her name to be called and a feeling of overwhelming panic and dread come over him so suddenly it would take him to his knees if he weren’t already sitting. 

What if she really did leave him? What if she picked somewhere else other than Dauntless? 

Lacey had become very close to his sister and brother over the years...would she choose to transfer to Erudite to be with them? 

Then there was that Amity boy that always seemed to be hanging around her at school when he went to pick her up and it was clear he had feelings for her. Did Lacey feel the same enough to want to be with him? 

No way. He couldn’t lose her!

It was then all his willful blindness, all his denial, was ripped away from him and he realized what he had been thinking. He realized the panic and the dread also contained jealousy and hurt at the thought of her ever being with anyone...or at least...being with anyone but him.

It was like unlocking Pandora's box. Now that the thought and realization was there it wouldn’t go back in that damn box. 

It only grew and got worse...and then one night, he was too weak to fight it anymore.

[hollenius]

Super long interview that I wanted to show a friend earlier but was unable to...so I am hiding it under the cut. Covers everything from Forrest Gump to the influence of television to rock critics never escaping their English Major roots.

Rock Criticism and the Rocker: A Conversation With Peter Buck

(originally appearing in Anthony DeCurtis, Rocking My Life Away, 1998)

IN SEPTEMBER 1994 R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck kindly took time off from promoting R.E.M.'s Monster to do an interview with Anthony DeCurtis, who wanted an artist's perspective on rock criticism.

"Peter was an ideal candidate for the job," DeCurtis wrote in his introduction to the interview, "both because R.E.M. is the very definition of a critics' darling and because he has a sharp critical sensibility himself. He keeps up with the music and with the writing about the music and loves to talk about both. In addition, I've known Peter since before the release of R.E.M.'s first independent single in 1981, and have always held his intelligence, humor and passion for music in the highest regard. It's a pleasure to have any excuse to speak with him."

Buck and DeCurtis met in the bar of the Four Seasons Hotel in Manhattan, drank a glass of wine or two and talked for about an hour. "This conversation proceeds the way so many of our talks have. It begins with a focus, wanders through a variety of related topics and eventually meanders back to our original subject. It was a fun trip, and I hope you didn't have to be there."

*

ADC: You read a lot of rock writing. It must be a different experience to read about yourself than it is to read about other bands or to read a review of somebody else's record. What's the difference between what you want to see when you're reading something about R.E.M. and what you want to see when you're reading about somebody else?

PB: I do read a lot of music stuff, and I always have – it's not simply because I’m "in the business." And of course I always like to read about people who say controversial things and admit to drug problems and ornate sexual peccadillos. That's what you want to read – it just is. It's fun and exciting – and it's the last thing I want to have anything to do with my band.

The English press, especially, is focused completely on the personal. With the English magazines, it seems that if you sit in a room and you just want to talk about the music, they'll find a way to make it not about the music. Maybe it's because the magazines come out every week and you have to appeal on a flash level. I mean, a lot of the English press are closer to the Enquirer than to The New York Times. So every three years you get this generation of English bands who make absolutely great copy, and maybe not necessarily such great records.

Of course, when I read about R.E.M., I always want the writer to be a seasoned, knowledgeable person who respects and loves us and gives us the benefit of the doubt every step of the way – which isn't really what rock criticism is about.

What do you think it is about? What do you think it can do? Is it different from other kinds of criticism, like movie reviews or a book reviews?

I think it's closer to movie reviews. With book reviews, most likely the writers aren't going to be much more literate than the readers. But the readers of rock criticism are definitely different. The person who reads Rolling Stone or Melody Maker isn't the person who reads The New York Times Book Review. I read them both, but I'm one person.

Rock & roll is first and foremost kids' music. Even though most of us are adults and we write about adult things, the records are bought and the reviews are read by teenagers who don't necessarily know who Kafka is – or even which college they're going to go to. So rock criticism tends to be about minutiae in a lot of ways. It's about small things. Especially the English reviews – you can read reviews of a record without ever finding out what kind of music it is. That always blows my mind. They’ll review an album, talk about the lyrics and personalize what they want to make of the record, and not say, "And by the way, it's an album of polkas." You just don't know. Sometimes I'll read a review and think, "Gee, that sounds pretty interesting – this record is about alienation and identity." Then I'll actually listen to it and go, "Whoa, it sounds like the Doobie Brothers."

What kind of impact do you think rock criticism has?

Again – I could be completely wrong – but with book reviews, there's kind of a received critical opinion about things that people tend to stick to. I'll read several reviews of the same book and they won't differ that much. People know good writing and bad writing. Whereas with rock & roll, sometimes bad playing is good playing. I mean, you would never find a guy who writes books the way the Ramones make records. And if you did, you certainly couldn't appreciate it. And yet the Ramones made pretty perfect records. So with rock criticism, there aren't rules and laws that can be followed. It's basically "Do I like it? Do you like it?" As for the audience, I think three quarters of them just look at the picture and the headline and see how many stars it got. You get to the point where you wonder how many people are influenced to go out and buy the record because of what they read.

I think it's cumulative. I think that most seventeen-year-olds won't go out and buy a record they never heard because they read one article. But if they see articles everywhere, the picture everywhere, they heard the single – you know, that’s how Guns N' Roses happened. They were just everywhere all of a sudden. It's fascinating – I think about it all the time: What does this mean, the fact that we do these interviews, and they appear in the press, especially when it's in something like People, something that isn’t necessarily for people who like music. You wonder, who does this reach? Does anyone say, "God, I have to buy that record because these guys talked about their personal lives."

Do you approach those kinds of interviews differently? What is your preparation? Do you think, "This is going to appear here, and these people might be interested in this and might not be interested in that?" You're obviously not going talk about what kind of guitar strings you use to People.

No, not really. We have never actually talked to People – I don't know why. Generally we talk to the music media, although lately we've been doing things with Vogue and GQ and places like that. Still, the journalists for those stories seem to come from the same perspective – they're people who like music and get hired by those magazines to write about music. They tend to have to write more generally there. In Vogue, you have to explain when we got together and all that. So, for me, it's about understanding that it's going to be just the simple facts. Whereas Rolling Stone or Melody Maker has interviewed us every year since 1983, and I don't have to cover biographical data. I can feel a little freer free associating about what's going on with the new record or the new tour or whatever.

But we've never done a lot of press that was not music-oriented. I mean, Rod Stewart is a celebrity, and he gets celebrity things. We tend, at this point, to still get articles about music. Then there also are the specialist magazines, the guitar-player magazines, and that's something totally different. It's all right in those places to talk about effects and strings and picks, stuff that is boring to everyone in the world except the people who buy those magazines.

You were very influenced by rock criticism as a young person, but the cultural environment is different now from the way it was when you were growing up. Young people are much more likely to get most of their information from MTV and to a lesser extent maybe radio, and then magazines. Certainly when I was growing up, just to see a picture of a band was amazing. Now you've seen them a hundred times before you've heard three of their songs. Talk about the kind of impact that reading rock criticism had on you.

When I was growing up I lived in Georgia, and bands just didn't come down there. I mean, they really didn't. On TV – this is parenthetical – I remember when the New York Dolls were on Don Kirshner's rock concert in 1973. It was such a big event that a band I liked was going to be on TV that I had my three friends who also liked T. Rex and the Dolls over to my house. My parents had a basement, and we took old mattresses down there and brought the TV down and smuggled in a case of beer. I was about 16. We got drunk and watched the Dolls and it was an epochal event – real music on television. It wasn't just the usual suspects. Back then there were like two rock shows, and, you know, Helen Reddy would be hosting one. I remember that pretty specifically.

So I got a huge amount of information from the print media. I subscribed to the Village Voice for a couple of years, luckily enough for me, right when punk started happening in about '74, '75, '76. I always had access to the Voice. So I was reading Robert Christgau, and Lester Bangs writing about Blondie – I think he reviewed the first Blondie record. I found out about Television. I was buying those records the day they came out, which for Georgia was pretty different. I read Creem magazine. I hadn't discovered the English papers yet, because I don't think they came to Georgia in those days. Creem was a big one, because they liked Iggy and the Stooges. So I got turned onto a lot of stuff .

I lived in California for a year and a half when I was 12 and 13. There was a writer named John Mendelssohn, who was also in a band called Christopher Milk. He wrote for a magazine called Coast, which doesn't exist anymore, and he wrote articles about Iggy and the Stooges. I went out and bought the Christopher Milk records. This was like 1971. So I became a fan of Iggy, the Velvet Underground, the Nazz, Crazy Horse. I'd be the only 13-year-old on the block going, "I think I need to buy this Iggy and the Stooges record." The guys at the counter would be like, "You better wear rubber gloves when you hold this album, kid." So I got turned onto a lot of stuff that was really foreign to me through print.

Mendelssohn actually was a big influence on me, as well. He was one of the first writers whose byline I learned to recognize. Much later, he said something nice about me in print, while disparaging a number of people I know, which only made it better, of course.

Of course.

In real life we tried to work together a few times, but it didn't really work out.

He wrote like what he thought he was: a rock star. I bought the Christopher Milk records when I was 14, and thought they were kind of cool. And they are kind of cool, but you can read their influences pretty easily. He reviewed for Rolling Stone in the old days – I've seen his stuff in the collections. I started reading Rolling Stone when I was 13, but still that was 1971 or whatever. But his stuff in the collections is really fascinating.

But criticism helped me elucidate a lot of things. Living in Roswell, Georgia, in 1971, everyone liked the Allman Brothers. I can't tell you why – that’s all there was to it. It was a law. I didn't really have friends who could tell me why they liked something. I had two friends in Roswell who liked T. Rex, because they looked cool in make-up. I don't think it had anything to do with the way it sounded. It helps to have some kind of critical acumen about things when you're in a vacuum. I mean, completely in a vacuum. I had to define for myself why I thought T. Rex was cool and Sweet was less cool.

What do you think about the situation now? Does it make a difference if kids are not getting information from print, that they're getting their information visually, from television? At the same time, coverage of rock & roll is ubiquitous. Every newspaper has a rock critic, every TV show covers it, every news program covers it. Bands like Pavement play on the Tonight Show. How are people making sense of what's coming at them?

It seems that kids now are a lot more knowledgeable about the processes. MTV goes "backstage with so-and-so." I must admit to having been really naive about that kind of stuff. When I’d see a band open for another band at a place in Atlanta that held 300 people, I just assumed that the opening band had a Lear jet.

Right. Exactly.

And that a limo would pick them up and they’d probably have an orgy with teenage girls in the back of the car on the way to the show. That's what I assumed. Now I realize that the headliner probably arrived in a station wagon. Kids today have a real understanding of the mechanics of the business. They know about sound-checks. I didn't know about sound-checks, I figured you just played. They know how people make videos, how people make records. They understand what demo tapes are. I had never met anyone who had been in a band who had even had a single out, ever, until the mid-'70s, '76. I knew people who played in bands, but it was such a huge gap from playing Foghat covers to being one of the guys actually making records. You just assumed that gap was completely unbridgeable, that that would never be you or your friends. In a way it's really great that there's so much coverage now, because while the machine eats people up and spits them out, it still means that, well, Pavement is on Leno.

That wouldn't have happened 10 years ago. We were never on Johnny Carson. They would never take us. They would never take us right up until Jay was on. In '89, when everyone was fighting for us, they were like, "No, we're not really interested in having R.E.M. on." I can't say I blame them – we really weren’t that big and Johnny Carson had no knowledge of us. We weren't right for their audience. But Jay Leno probably listens to Pavement, or at least has heard of them. Still, I do think it's odd. When I was 13, 45-year-old guys didn't listen to what teenagers listened to. They just didn't. 45-year-old guys, their experience was 1953 or something.

Along those lines, it was pretty amazing a while ago when MTV threw a party for R.E.M.'s work for Rock the Vote and President Clinton sent a videotaped message to the band.

Yeah. I know.

I mean, the president...

...knows who we are.

An unthinkable thing.

You've got to remember that up until George Bush, you can guarantee that he never listened to anything. He didn't know who any of us were. He thought that Boy George was in U2.

Or even more incredibly, he denounced Elvis at the 1992 Republican convention. Who does this guy think his audience is? He's from Texas. Everybody in every state that is crucially important worships Elvis. And he referred to U2 as teeny-boppers, when they were calling the White House from the stage during the Zoo TV tour.

I guess U2 met with Clinton, and Bush said, "Well, George Clinton... " – great, George Clinton – "Well, Bill Clinton can talk to Boy George all he wants to." I'm sure someone thought that was a funny line, but it showed how out of touch he is. It's going to be a long time before I'm as old as the president. But it's really weird to think that those guys grew up and probably dated people who listened to the Grateful Dead and dropped acid.

Getting back to the earlier question, there's a sense now that everybody knows everything. Everybody knows what producers do. Everybody knows how a studio works. Everybody knows the kind of stuff that used to be specialist knowledge.

It's funny how that works. I was reading some article, this was years ago, it might have been in Rolling Stone. I think Ahmet Ertegun was cutting some record in Memphis, and he thought, "Let's get some kids off the street to hear what they think," and they brought some kids off the street. The first guy goes, "Man, I think this mix is EQ'd wrong. I think it's too high-endy." Ahmet says, "What the fuck are you talking about, mix, EQ? I pull some kid off the street and you tell me how to EQ a record?"

That is certainly the way it is now. In a way it's good. It demystifies it a lot. Kids understand more of what's going on. Think about Green Day for a minute – they're 22 and this is their 3rd record. They were in bands when they were 14 and put out their own record when the lead singer was 17. They're heirs to a tradition: you're 16, you're a punk, you write punk songs, you make your own record on a small label, you tour. I think they’re all just legal-age for drinking now, after 5 years in the business. I just didn't have any awareness that you could do that when I was that age. I was kind of trying to write songs when I was 17, but I didn't know what I was doing.

The flip side of everyday people having specialist knowledge is that cult phenomena become totally mainstream. So someone like William Burroughs has become like a rock star.

That blows my mind, and this gets back to the media thing. William Burroughs is not the best writer in the world. People have a teenage fascination for his writing. I think he's interesting and has said some interesting stuff. He's gay or at least bisexual, a guy who was a junkie for 40 years, way outside of society. And he's selling sports shoes right now! You turn the TV on and go, "What marketing whiz decided that an octogenarian ex-drug addict avowed homosexual beatnik is the guy to sell tennis shoes to 17-year-olds?" For me, it's totally great. But that was unthinkable 20 years ago. 20 years ago, if they did sell tennis shoes on TV–

It would be a tennis player–

Or a basketball player. And he would have to be white, of course.

Well, we've drifted off from rock criticism to the media in general, though, obviously, they are connected. But it simultaneously seems that everything is closed down and everything is wide open. In a sense, there really does seem not to be any outside anymore. There's no real underground or counterculture that's thriving and really represents some kind of alternative stream. Maybe there never was. But on the other hand, it seems like consequently you do get William Burroughs in an advertisement. Everything is all up in the air, and no one knows exactly where things are.

Again, I hate to go back to when I was a kid, but all through the '70s, Patti Smith was considered weird and scary, and she wouldn't have been in People no matter how many records she sold. Part of the reason for that is that the generation in control of things in the '70s grew up in the '40s and '50s, and they just didn't get it and didn't understand it and felt threatened by it. Anyone who's involved in the music industry now grew up in the '60s or the '70s even, and a lot of barriers did come down in those times. David Geffen is not going to be terrified of something new. He's seen it all. He probably dropped acid and ran around naked at Woodstock. David Geffen, what is he, maybe 52? When I was a kid, a 52-year-old man would send you off to Vietnam and get you killed. Now 52-year-old guys, they're probably listening to whatever's happening and going, "God, that's really great. I wish I'd signed them."

So in a way it's good, because since everything is acceptable, the only thing that gradates things is cash. Everyone knows you can make money off this stuff, and anything can get in the back door. Anything. So GG Allen would have been on the cover of People if he'd sold a million records – it has nothing to do with how good or bad you are. And he would have made great copy. I'm actually surprised they didn't do an article about him.

Rock & roll is a demented, mindless business where there aren’t principles you can follow. Rules that you think are hard and fast all of a sudden go right out the window. I think that's great. The fact that there is no outside anymore is cool because anything can really influence the culture then. Of course, most of the stuff that sells millions and millions tends to be lowest common denominator.

That's true of anything, though. That's true of books or movies, as well. Underground now has almost nothing to do with style; it only has to do with content. So if you're writing about some alienated 25-year-old kid who's a junkie, even if you're the most cliched writer who ever lived, you're underground. Whereas somebody who's stylistically adventurous but writing about a more conventional subject is regarded as mainstream. It's become almost a more conservative environment than in the past in a funny way, because then it was about stylistic innovation. So James Joyce writes Ulysses, and it's just about a guy walking around Dublin, except in terms of its style and language. And that's a revolution. Whereas now, it's solely content-driven.

Having gone through my teenage years, I know that the writing that appeals to teenagers tends not to be of the highest order. I can't tell you how many 20-year-olds I know think Charles Bukowski is the best writer ever.

Perfect example.

He is the one. And I've read most of his stuff. I don't care for the poems. But I like it for what it is. But what it is is just kind of–

It's one riff.

Yeah, it's the same book. I've read a couple of books, and I go, "Is this the same one I read before? Is he still working at the post office now?" I like the stuff near the end of his life when he was just this old drunken sot celebrity. Hollywood was pretty interesting. But all these kids will routinely name people who are not great writers, but who write about alienation or drugs or homosexuality or whatever. Whereas it's funny, any bookstore you go to now, there's a gay novelist section, which is totally fascinating and cool. Gay kids aren't reading it because it's not about being alienated. Most of it has to do with the past it seems to me, the things I've read. It's making sense of –

Finding your identity as a gay person.

And putting yourself in perspective. A lot of the ones I've read seem to deal with childhood. That doesn’t seem revolutionary and wild. You get these teenagers as often as not gay or bisexual and they're going to read Bukowski, who’s really kind of an old fart reactionary. And they’ll go, "Man, this guy is totally wild." Why, because he drank and worked at the post office? I drink. I was a janitor.

Talk about the first times you were written about? Did it throw you to see yourself represented and discussed in that way? How is it different from seeing your picture or seeing yourself on tv?

I remember our first reviews. We’d just played around Georgia, so college juniors were writing about us and I was like, "This isn't the real deal." We were being written about in the Red and Black, the University of Georgia newspaper, and then the hippy alternative paper. We weren't on the cover of Rolling Stone. But I remember the first time I actually read an article about us, and I looked at it and I was like, "This is weird." I read it a couple of times and I was like, "God, I was there. I remember that." It was a review of the show that we did the day before. It's kind of off-putting.

Some of the English things were kind of odd. Those were around '83. We just came out of nowhere and we got really amazing reviews. Nobody should get reviews like that. One magazine reviewed our album twice, because the first guy didn't say it was the best album ever made. The editor went back and said, "I just want people to know how good this really is." And the first guy had given it the highest rating you could get – but that was not quite good enough. I appreciate that, because they were really on a mission to find new things to be excited about. But I had read these magazines, and I always tended to think that the people in them were to some degree – not special – but somehow validated. This must mean they're famous and big.

Someone sent me the Allan Jones review of Murmur in Melody Maker, which was really good. But I was driving a van with no air conditioning to be 6th on the bill to the Police in Philadelphia. It was 110 degrees and we were also doing a gig that night somewhere else. I was like, "God, this doesn't validate us, because we're still poor and starving." I remember, we played Philadelphia, it was 100 degrees, and there were 90,000 people there. We went on, I think it was 1:00 in the afternoon, and it was so hot I threw up afterwards. And then someone gave me the Alan Jones review and I'm reading it in the van on the way to the next gig and I was like "Man, I wish I had an ice cold beer right now." In a way it's kind of distancing. Immediately, I thought, "Well, this isn't like the stuff I read when I was a kid." Because once you're in that position, unless you're a really shallow person, when you see yourself on the cover of a magazine, you don't feel validated. I mean, I don't. I try not to even read them anymore. I don't want to read about myself that much. It's just like anything else. You want something really bad, and then when you get it, you realize that it doesn't mean as much as you think it should.

The first time I published something in Rolling Stone, I literally thought that people would recognize me on the street. And then you realize it's on the stand for two weeks, a few of your friends see it and then it's over.

And you go on.

It was strange.

You know, what validates people to the outside world is television. When I was living in Athens, I used to walk downtown by the Coca-Cola plant everyday, and everyday there were the same fat guys with pot bellies. I had short hair and I'd wear sunglasses and a trench coat, and they'd be like, "Hey faggot, hey faggot, blow me, faggot." And I'd blow them kisses as I walked by – I wasn't going to let them drive me off the street. Then we appeared on David Letterman. I was home about a month later, walked down the street. The same guys who'd been going, "Hey, faggot," were like "Hey, I saw you on David Letterman. Way to go man, hey, cool." I liked it better when they were yelling "Hey fag."

At least it was sincere.

Yeah, it was real. Now it's like I'm a famous guy who was on David Letterman. And, again, being on TV, we did David Letterman that afternoon, then we played Maxwell's the next night. I was glad we were on TV, though. I thought it was kind of cool.

I remember seeing that performance.

I was the first person I knew who had ever been on TV – I guess maybe the B-52s were on Saturday Night Live. This is when there wasn't a world of difference between us and Pylon and Love Tractor. We all had record deals, we all had records out. R.E.M. worked harder.

And all the Athens bands got written about all the time.

Yeah, it wasn't that big of a difference. We'd go to parties, and if you liked Pylon better, then Pylon were the coolest people at the party. And then all of a sudden, being on Letterman made a big difference. We were perceived as big-time because we got on TV. To me, again, we were in the middle of a tour – taping that TV show was like having a night off. We played two songs and were done by 6:00, and then we played Maxwell's the next night. But to the world, by which I mean, people on airplanes – because you always get "Who are you guys?" Obviously we're not a bowling team. In an airport, you always get people who walk up and ask, "Are you a band? Do we know you?" "Well no, not really." "Have you done anything I might have heard on the radio?" "No." "Have you been on TV?" "Well, yeah, we were on David Letterman once." And they'd go, "Wow!" They don't know who we are, never heard any of our songs, but I was on David Letterman.

I remember the first time I appeared on one of the morning shows. To the superintendent of my building I had just been another tenant – I might get my faucet fixed 6 months from now if I asked politely. But that night I was coming in at about 1:00 in the morning from being out, bleary-eyed. The super comes out of his apartment with his wife – they had waited up for me to get home, because they had seen me on Good Morning America. I had no idea how significant television was. The degree to which it penetrates is amazing.

TV does penetrate in a way that print never does. Nobody remembers the TV shows, though. I remember reviews of things that made me go out and buy the record. Steve Seimels used to write about Patti Smith with a mission. He wrote for Stereo Review, which my father subscribed to. We didn't even have a stereo, basically, but we subscribed to Stereo Review. We had a mono, and I had a little Close'n'Play. But I think the Patti Smith piece was in 1973, because he was just raving that this woman was going to be bigger than god. So I was fascinated. I had Horses on order before it was out, because I'd read reviews of the shows. I was 17. I was like, "Maybe I'll run away and go to New York." In a way, I wish I had. That kind of stuff can reach into your life – criticism can really change something and give you a perspective. Whereas with television, well, there it is. It is what it is. So with TV, it's almost like a celebration of celebrity-hood. You're not going to get any depth out of it. It's just a flat image. Whereas with print, I mean, I've read reviews that are better than the records.

Oh, well, that's very often true.

I'll buy the record, and go, "This guy loved this record so much that he produced a piece of art about it that is better than the record." I remember a review of Prefab Sprout that was just great. I bought the record and I kind of liked it. But if I hadn't read that review – let's just say I didn't get what the reviewer got out of it.

I assign and edit reviews all the time, and when they come in I often find myself thinking, "If only the record were as good as this." Rather than write what we think of as a review, they, as you say, create a piece of art about it. Since a magazine is about writing, I feel torn. Part of me is a person who, for so many years, was reading magazines and going out to buy those records with my spare money, and coming back and saying, "Man, this is disappointing." But then I'm also thinking, "Well, this is beautifully written, it's got some interesting ideas in it. It's 75% true." It's something I struggle with. I remember I had somebody review a Madonna record, and she attributed all these sophisticated cultural motives to Madonna. I said, "Look, I've spoken to Madonna, and I can tell you that none of what you're saying would ever have occurred to her in a hundred years. You can say that her record affects you in a certain way, or functions in the culture in a certain way, but it doesn't mean that she intended that. Your response is perfectly valid, but I'm not going to let you say she intended it because I know for a fact that that's not true."

I must say, we get away with that sometimes. When I feel the worst about the band, I think, "We're not as good as people think we are." Inevitably, then I'll read a review and someone will get something out of one of our songs that is totally unintentional. This is a good example: on Monster, 'I Don't Sleep, I Dream'. That's not an unintentional song, it's about sex and identity. I think it's supposed to be a little funnier than people think it is, but whatever. We couldn't think of a way of ending it, and for some reason we decided the bridge should be at the end of the song and we didn't want to fade it, so we just cut the tape. And Vic Garbarini was explaining why the song ends that suddenly, and he says, "The song is a dream state and when the tape gets cut, that's when you wake up." And I went, "You know, Vic, that's totally great. I never would have thought of that." I guess unconsciously, we knew we wanted a fast ending to jerk you out of it, but I would never have associated that with sleeping and waking.

But I think that's a valid reading.

It's a valid point, and I said, "Vic, you can say that if you want to, but you'd be imputing more conscious motive than we put into it. We couldn't think of a way to end it, so we just cut the tape."

It seems to me that that's one of differences between art and criticism. An academic friend of mine once said that he was sure that Bob Dylan had read all of Ezra Pound. I said that I thought he had probably read the table of contents and flipped through a collection of Pound's poems while hanging out at Allen Ginsberg's apartment one day. Artists, people writing songs or poems, don't really have to be responsbile to anything else when they're writing. What you want is something that gives you a vibe, something you can then take and do what you want with. So in a certain way critics both overvalue and undervalue what artists do. They overvalue it by attributing every conceivable intention to it. And they undervalue it because, essentially what they're saying is, that person thinks exactly the way I do. But they don't.

I would say probably 80% of the people who write rock criticism went to college and majored in English.

So their writing centers totally on lyrics.

And they are more comfortable finding meanings than letting things be. In academic circles, you can't write a paper that says, "Well, it is what it is." So you tend to explicate things that should just stand as they are. Every lyricist, every single one, throws in lines that don't mean anything to flesh out a space, or just because they sound good. Like, in 'Crush With Eyeliner' on Monster, there's that line "My kiss breath turpentine." That doesn't mean anything. I mean, it's evocative. It sounds great. It's stuck in there to fill the space. It doesn't take away from the song, but it doesn't have any literal meaning. If you were to find some literal meaning in it, that's your literal meaning. But English majors tend to think that everything means something.

One of my favorite discussions about that was in James Joyce’s Ulysses apparently they found – do you remember reading this a few years ago? – they found some proofs? It turns out that people had been explaining what certain sections meant that turned out to be misprints. They had attributed full meaning to them – and that was not what was on the page. They had managed to explain typos as part of the process. You can just go too far with that.

Again, in academic circles, letting things be what they are is not a concern. You're either into the semiotics aspect of it, or you're deconstructing it. I've read real clever deconstructions of TV shows. I mean, like, the Village Voice has a TV critic. But I've met the people who do TV shows, and I know they're sitting there thinking, "We can sell a million dollars worth of Buick ads if we do this." That is what it's about. I'm not saying there isn't some good work on TV occasionally. But I've learned never to watch television, because what's on TV sucks. But I do read TV criticism, and every year I'll read something about a show that says, "This is a ground-breaking innovative show." And you turn it on and you go, "Wait a minute. It's a television show about cops." I just don't care if it's a really good television show about cops. There's a million of them.

Still, you can analyze television from a cultural perspective, even though attributing anything to the writers of those shows is ridiculous. There are reasons why a studio would spend tens of millions of dollars to make a particular kind of movie, for example. Take Forrest Gump. It's brilliant, in a certain way. It's not brilliant as a work of art, but it manages to hit every hot button of American culture for the last 25 years without coming down anywhere or taking any positions at all, thereby not alienating one person who would be willing to spend 8 dollars to see it. So you get the Vietnam war, race, child abuse, AIDS – all of these things that you would think, "No one could ever do that without alienating somebody." It's perfectly nuanced.

I had some real problems with that movie – it's a feel-good movie about the most horrific catastrophes that have befallen the country. And the guy who gets through it is really stupid, and it's all OK with him. He just walks through, leaving a pile of dead bodies every step of the way. Not that any of it's his fault, but the fact is here's this millionaire who's happy in his stupidity. How many people have to die for him to get to that place? How many people have to be victims of really awful circumstances?

The ultimate conservative message of the movie is that knowledge only fucks you up. The message is, "Your mother's aphorisms – that's all you need to get through life, Hallmark Card messages." Still, can you imagine the script meetings as that movie was being put together? Somebody must continually have been saying: "If we show the protesters this way, we also have to show the protesters that way. If we show this kind of political figure, we need to show that kind of political figure." Even down to the end where the question is raised, "Are we drifting through life without any kind of destiny? Or do we really have something that we're being propelled toward? Well, the answer is both." Well, of course it's both. Because, from a marketing perspective, you don't want any one person who believes one way or the other to leave the theater and not tell 20 of their friends to go see the movie – and that goes for every other issue in the movie, too.

It's certainly an odd movie. The messages in it were kind of scary. It's like, "Don't worry, be happy. Things will work out OK." And the fact is, they don't work out OK. There's a whole other movie in the Louisiana kid who gets killed in Vietnam and his family. What did they do? They were lucky enough that someone gave them a check for 10 million dollars, but does that ever happen in real life? No. For me, the movie also didn't really work as entertainment, so philosophically, it doesn't really matter what it is. Forgetting all the theories about what the movie's about and why, I think it should have been 30 minutes shorter. That's my main critical carp about it. After Vietnam, it just started to get real slow.

Early on, before you began to sell a lot of records, R.E.M. were sustained by the response you were getting, both from critics and also just people who would go to your shows. How do you respond to writing about you now? You said before that you don't necessarily read all of it. What are your feelings about it?

It is different. When we started out, we didn’t make any money, and we didn't really care. The critics who were in our peer group at the time – they were 21, and we were 21 or 22, or whatever – could write these long passionate stories that would reach the 30 people in Pittsburgh who wanted to see us. And when you're not getting any financial rewards and have no comfort level, it makes it worthwhile to have your fans, whether they're critics or the people who come to the shows, as few as they are on occasion, to be really intense about it. I was always proud that we might get 40 people, but they'd be like, "Wow, you're the best band in America – I can't believe you're only playing to 40 people." That is sustaining. I have a lot of friends who've quit bands that were doing OK because they were nobody's favorite band. That was probably what happened to Guadalcanal Diary. They were slogging all over the world making OK money, but it wasn't like a celebration. The critics only gave the records 3 stars. Fans would come and maybe leave before the encore. It's hard to sustain it if you don't really feel that you're reaching people.

At our level, it's such a huge machine. It's odd, because I know it really affects some people, but if you sell 10 million records, the odds are a huge portion of those people are gonna play it a couple of times, then file it under R. I mean, you can't change every person's life. It's different now. We get really good reviews, but the stakes are not as high. The record company’s stakes are higher, because we're talking about millions of dollars in marketing. But they're not as high for us, because we're being compensated financially – which is not the main reason we do this, by any stretch of the imagination. But we're making these records, we know their worth. The reviews now for us, all they can do is hurt the sales marginally. If every reviewer says, "This record really stinks," we'll still sell several million.

But, I mean, I want to get good reviews. I'd prefer to get good reviews and maybe sell a few less copies, because critics still tend to be my peer group. They're the people who listen to the same amount of music I do and get excited about new discoveries, but also have some kind of critical acuity to put things in perspective. That's why I get a kick out of the English mags, because they're always hiring a new generation of kids to write. They always have 23-year-olds who've never heard of the Beatles.

There's actually an economic reason for that. Those publications pay so badly that only young people will write for them.

It changes the way the music business is over there. Here people still can remember Talking Heads when they were a brand new band. I mean, forget the Beatles – Talking Heads. Over there, they'll review things that are in every conceivable way not all that important or exciting, but they're brand new, and the writer is 21 years old and going nuts, so the Manic Street Preachers are the best band ever. Which is kind of good – you get people excited. But there is a lack of critical background. You read these things – "This performance by the Manic Street Preachers was the best performance ever." You read a real lot of those. Guys who are third on the bill get that. And then you buy the records and go, "This is second-rate Clash."

In a way, it's nice to have the press have an adversarial relationship to the bands because it keeps you on your toes. You can't get away with doing the same-old. The criticism you could make about American criticism is that established favorites get more latitude in making not-good records. I don't think that's happened to us yet, because we don't have any bad records. But certainly there are plenty of artists who make records that nobody really cares that much about, but because they’re who they are, they'll get 4 stars and a big treatment and a big article about their personal lives. Whereas if it was a first record by a new band, it would be, "This is pretty OK. It’s not that great." You don't tend to get that in England so much. Since they're a bit younger, they're totally willing to say how awful and old-fashioned we are.

I'll tell you why it works the way it does over here. Critics get excited about the opportunity to say something about a band they've loved for a long time and maybe rarely have had the chance to write about. So even if the new album by R.E.M. or U2 or whomever isn't their best work, it may well be that writer's best chance to say something about them. So between their desire to hang a bunch of major ideas on the album and their general enthusiasm about having the chance to do it, the review sometimes ends up sounding more positive than even the writer believes it should be.

It's understandable, and, certainly, history tends to color the present. I can't tell you how many records I've got where, if I were to divorce the band from its past work, I would go, "This isn't very good." But if you're fond of what the band does and willing to find the things you like – even if what you say is, "Well, there's two good songs, and the rest just sounds pleasant" – you're letting them get away with a lot.

It's also true that if you really like a band, almost nothing they do is uninteresting to you. You might like it or not, but after a while, if you're inside it, everything reveals something. And sometimes, because the bad records are less artful, they're more revealing. They open things up in a way, because the good stuff transcends category, and you don't necessarily know where it came from. But when you hear the 3 bad versions of a song, you go, "Oh, right, that was an attempt to do this, and that's how they failed, and that's how it works when it works." So if you like the best stuff, even the bad records can be intriguing.

Again, in England, they tend to go the other way. They don't have a lot of perspective on the past. You read reviews of solo records from guys in bands that never were all that good, and they treat it like this is the most amazing thing in the world. And you listen to it and realize, "It sounds kind of like Tom Waits." And yet Tom Waits was totally unhip over there until recently. Again, I'm one of those guys who buys records because of reviews, and I can't tell you how often there is a disparity between the rave review and the actual record that you listen to and go, "Well, that's just not there. This is a second-rate selection of imitative songs that sound kind of like Nick Cave."

Right. Or Van Morrison. Or the Velvet Underground. I wanted to ask you one last question about R.E.M. Ever since you began to sell records, there's been a subtheme of negative writing about the band, a small backlash. But, apart from that, you've always been treated very generously by critics. Even in the English press, you've been immune to the kinds of attacks virtually every other band that's attained your level of success has undergone. Obviously, you believe the albums are good, but, as you know, that sometimes has nothing to do with it. So, setting aside the quality of the albums, why do you think R.E.M. have been treated so well?

In 1989, there was a period there when some magazines stuck by us, but a couple, one of which is not in business anymore, looked for someone who didn't like the record to assign it to. I talked to people who told me about this, and I'm not saying it's bad. It's fine, because the editor didn't feel it was a strong record. But I was talking to someone who told him, "I like that record." And there were plenty of people who would have written good reviews of it. They consciously wanted someone who wouldn't. They sent the non-believers to the shows. And that's fine. If we can only show people who like us that we're good, then maybe we're not that good. But they picked people who didn't like us. I accept that. I understood it, and I don't mind.

Funnily enough, then we stayed off the road and consciously turned our backs on what people expected us to be – a multi-platinum, billion-dollar touring machine. We could have turned into Pink Floyd if we’d done a tour after the Green tour. I think it was surprising to people that we just said, "OK, we're going to make a couple of weird acoustic records, and we're not going to tour." We then sold a boatload of records. But the idea is that we thought we were kissing our career good-bye to take some time to do what we wanted to do. Every record has been something we wanted to do. But we wanted to distance ourselves from the machinery a bit. And I think that was such a surprising move that we got a fair amount of respect for it.

I mean, Automatic for the People, for instance. It's a really good record. It's maybe the best that we've done. But it sold for almost two years in England. For like a year and a half it was on the charts, in the top ten. Everyone used it as a hallmark. I think we won Band of the Year in some magazine, and we didn't even do anything. We didn't tour, we did videos, we didn't do press, hardly. I think part of it is just that we took the unexpected choice at a point when most people would have gone for the throat and done a huge triumphant stadium tour, and the big rock record. I think it was great for us not to do that, but critically, I think that's why the press has stuck with us. Because at the point when amost any other band would have said, "OK, now, this is gonna be the big moment," we walked away from it.

It turns out record-wise it was the best thing we could have ever done. Band-wise it was the best thing we could have ever done. But that's not what everyone told us at the time. Our manager had meetings with us about how we were going to have to lay people off. We have a pension plan; were we going to have to cut our pension plan? The record company people were like, "Well, you're not going to sell a million records ever again if you don't tour." And, you know, they loved the records. But it was not the way to go about it. And we all made the decision, "We'll take a salary cut if we need to. We'll cut the pension this year, if it comes to that, that's cool." Then we sold 10 million records. In part, that's why we've been seen as pretty hip, because we didn't embrace success. I like it, I like being successful. But I did it exactly on my own terms.

One last question: You have plenty of friends who are writers and critics, which contradicts the idea that that relationship is adversarial. What do you have in common?

I do have a lot of friends who are critics, because our interests are the same. If you name a band that's at our level, I doubt there are that many of them who buy as many records and listen to as much different music and read as many fanzines as I do. It’s just something I'm fascinated by. I still read those mimeographed fanzines – there's a bunch of them that are really cool. I look for 7-inches on obscure labels and go to little punk clubs to see bands. And at the shows I go to, I see music critics. In Seattle, I see two of the four critics really often. I don't see the guys from Mudhoney or Nirvana there. Those are my friends and my peer group, but musicians tend to not go out and do this kind of stuff so much. Thurston does, I see Thurston Moore at shows, and we have a lot of things in common. But I see critics all the time. It's part of the world I'm involved in. It has to do with getting advance cassettes and being excited about new bands and seeing what's happening. So it's natural that you’d be friends with these people. Not all of them – there's a lot of people I disagree with. But especially in Seattle, I keep seeing the same two critics at every show I go to. I think it's interesting that they're there. They'll write a review, and I'm there because I'm digging it. But we're there for the same reason.

© Anthony DeCurtis, 1998

[cruciatusxxcervus]

Who the Heck is Eden?

Warning: The backstory contains parental death, child death, and gore.)

Disclaimer: For those who have seen my DBZ verse for my other RP blog, ambereyedcetra, you’ll notice they are the same. I started off with an AU for Eden’s original blog but it has developed to the point that I would be more comfortable giving this AU a blog of its own. I am the mun and creator of both blogs, no worries about character theft!

While the blog is currently focused on the DBZ verse, I am open to interacting with muses of other verses, especially fandom-less muses!

In verses that are not DBZ-related, Eden's backstory is very much the same. The only differences being that Shihab is a celestial realm instead of a planet, and it is an unnamed force that destroyed her world instead of Freeza.

This page is under construction, the story needs revamping. Forgive me for such a long wait for the change. I hope to get the backstory and information rewritten soon.

Name: Eden of the Draconids

Many of the characters in the Dragon Ball franchise have unusual names, often associated with food. However, since Eden was originally a Final Fantasy muse and her roots are based off Biblical stories, her name won’t be as humorous. Her father gave her the name Eden, in hopes she would be as beautiful and bountiful in blessings, but he had no intentions in her falling into sin like those within the Garden. Eden is to represent the Garden of Eden in that sense. As the story progresses, Eden gradually becomes corrupted with her inability to move past her loss and the frustration in her struggle with her heritage and identity, she betrays the planet, the stars, and what she holds dear, thus resulting in her losing that spiritual light.

Not only she represents the fall of Eden, but her story is to illustrate Judas Iscariot, the disciple who committed betrayal out of greed. Ultimately, her story is to reveal that even the most faithful can fall. However, her story is to also show the radical power of forgiveness, how it can revive the dead spirit.

Her last part of her name relates to her clan name. Clan names come from that of the meteor showers: Draconids, Perseids, Leonids, and Ursids. A kirinite’s membership of their clan can be determined by the color of their scales (described below). Their native planet, Shihab, bears an Arabic name, as a large part of Eden’s inspiration comes from the Middle East and Northern Africa and its meaning, “Shooting Star” refers to the Kirinites’ celestial nature.

Age: Mid to late 20’s during the Dragon Ball Z timeline, late 40’s during the Dragon Ball gt timeline.

Species: Kirinite (DBZ), Kirin (Other verses) 

The kirinite name is based off a mythical creature with a similar appearance: the kirin. Many of their physical characteristics (description on this page) resemble the creature.

Kirinites are known for their agility, intelligence, and spiritual power. Much of their strength comes from their lower body, and are capable of cracking bone (of those who lack intensive training) with their rock-hard hooves.

Their senses are incredibly sharp, heightened by their connection to their planet. This is strongly linked to their ability to hear the voices of souls passed and can help them detect the aura of living creatures (unless those targeted are trained to hide their energy level). Though they lack the ability to fire ki directly from their bodies, they can harvest crystals from the earth and use their energy and rituals to inflict damage and potentially status-related problems (such as sleep, pacifying, or for those who master the skill, copying an enemy’s skill and create illusions).

Kirinites can also call upon an ability of the Celestial Beast. This creature is believed to be the totem of all born of Kirinite blood. This ability is similar to that of Yamcha’s Wolf Fang Fist, except the aura takes form of a large, maned antelope-like creature as the fighter charges. This empowers their melee strikes, as well as have a chance of burning the opponent with their energy. This power, however, is very risky as it drains much of the user’s energy reserves and can leave them vulnerable if they are not able to dispose of the foe before time runs out. Another limitation is the need to use crystals taken from Shihab’s meteorites to channel their energy and awaken their totem.

Kirinites feel connected to their planet and believe they can commune with the spirits. They place great reverence to the stars, viewing them as creators of their world and embodiments of all souls that were born upon it. With the use of crystals, Kirinites connect with the ghosts that whisper guidance to them and unlock their powers. The ancient belief was cast into doubt, however, as the Kirinites saw invading ships scream past the stars and collide into their home.

Description:

Kirinites have a humanoid appearance, with several physical traits resembling that of a sable antelope and gemsbok. All members possess cloven hooves for feet, often with feathering on the back of them, with the short bristly fur covering the tops of these hooves and melding into the skin at mid-calf.

Though members of the Draconid Clan bear long, ridged horns that gracefully sweep back from the head, Eden’s horns resemble antlers, a trait inherited from her mother’s clan: the Persids. All Kirinites possess large deer-like ears; claws; heavy, thick, fang-like teeth with large prominent canines (elder, higher-ranked Kirinites will have even larger canines that slide over the lip); long lion-like tails; mohawk-like hairstyles (mohawks are usually more prominent on males); and small, light-colored speckles scattered over their skin and scales.

Kirinites also have scales present on the fronts of their hooves and lower leg, hips, base of their tail, the tops of their hands and up their forearms, and up their back. The scales on their backs are thickened and raised like a crocodile’s spines; these are believed to help protect their spines during hunts and battles. These scales are often dark in color, yet have small glistening speckles, similar to stars.

With Eden’s Draconid Clan, the scales are similar to those of the sunset (coming from the preferred time to view the Draconid meteor shower). Her scales are a gradient of a dark, muted reddish-purple fading into rosy gold at the bottom of the scales, with the silvery speckles being most prominent in the darkest colors. Her scales are in the common places, listed above.

Eden stands at about 5’ 3’’ and has a lean, toned figure. Her skin is a very dark tan, and has a subtle rosy tint to it. Silvery cream speckles are visible all over her skin, with them being most prominent on her shoulders, upper arms, shoulder blades, thighs, and down her sides and hips along the dorsal scales, and down her tail.

She also has various scars from her hunts and battles. While shallow cuts litter her entire body, there are three distinct scars: Three claw marks are seen on her left collarbone; four huge, jagged scars rip over her left rib cage, reach down her side, and end just above her left hip bone; and a messy web of gashes, bite marks, and dimples where flesh and scale had been torn off is seen on her right forearm.

I based her appearance loosely on the Egyptian and Middle Eastern backgrounds. She bears the purplish-black tattoos around her eyes and on her cheeks that are iconic of Egyptian relics, and wore three piercings on both ears (a golden ring, silver stud, and silver ring), the ivory fang gauge once seen only on her left ear. Two thin, silver lip rings were on her bottom lip. Her piercings are forcibly removed during her drafting into Frieza’s army, leaving two rips on her bottom lip and her ears tattered.

There is also a tattoo on her left wrist, a small symbol of the silver sun with two black-tipped feathers. It’s to honor her late mother.

Her long, straight, thick hair reaches down to her hip. It’s a very dark brown, with some streaks in her bangs and on the ends of her hair fading to a dusky purple-brown color.  Four thin braids also adorn her mane, each braid held together by a tarnished gold band.

The fur covering her ankles, ears, and tail are a dark rosy-brown; purpleish-black markings rim the edges of her ears and around the hooves. Like all Kirinites, Eden also has horizonal, rectangular pupils; her irises are still a deep amber.

During the DB gt timeline, Eden’s seemingly endless wandering and fighting against her heritage and spiritual connection has impacted her. Her ribs become visible due to restricted access to food, and dark circles and bags can be seen beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. Though Kirinites has long lifespans and youthfulness, she appears older and more tired due to her difficult lifestyle. More scars are also visible on her body.

During Eden’s time in the Planet Trade Organization and her intergalactic escapades, she wears black and champagne gold armor, baggy black pants, and a marroon belt as seen below.

On Earth, however, she can be seen wearing midriff shirts to show off her midsection (Kirinites view scars as a sign of beauty, as they prove one is capable to guarding their clan and their mate and children). The tops are usually dark colors. Her favorites being a dark gray midriff shirt with a knotted hem and a wide collar to show off her shoulder (and thus the scar on her collar bone), and a charcoal heather top with a smilodon skull graphic. She also wears acid washed jeans, or ripped denim capris. She also develops a fondness for hemp chokers and tribal-inspired jewelry. Her usual attire for life on Earth can be seen below:

( Full size images and detailed reference sheet can be found [HERE] !! )

She is always wearing a crystal of pale gray and pale gold  around her neck. This crystal comes from Shihab and is what she uses to channel her ki for attacks and summon the Celestial Beast totem.

Abilities:

Eden is no exception and possess the standard kirinite abilities as described above, along with being able to let out a thundering bestial roar (sounds like an angry mix between a red deer stag’s and a lion’s) that can echo for miles. However, the blessing of hearing ghosts becomes a curse the day she forsakes her faith in them. If she were to return to Shihab, they would become distorted, distressing wails. Though she may be a great distance away from them, they still tug deep in her mind like a silent, persistent haunting.

When she lands on other planets, this ability becomes even more unnerving as she cannot understand the souls tangled whispers. This only strengthens her fear and hatred towards hearing them, and is further convinced that the stars of her home have cursed her. She is at risk of losing focus, becoming entranced, or reacting wildly midst the most severe hallucination phase. All these can make battle extremely dangerous for the lost Kirinite.

Though during times where her vigilance becomes exhausted, she does let the voices stream through her for a time. Her corrupted view and dark intentions for the use of her people’s powers will occasionally make the scramble of strange tongues make sense. Like a devil whispering temptation to heartbroken ears, the words take form of spells, of rituals beyond her former knowledge. To seek and perform these rituals were strictly forbidden in Kirinite law, but with these discoveries, the last Kirinite decides to abolish the law and commit these rare incantations to memory.

Over time she practices the dark arts, and more and more she seeks to uncover the greatest ritual that dark words promise will endow her with the power to rain flaming justice upon all who wronged her. She still searches for the ultimate crystal, said to be buried within a planet, beneath the graves of countless sacred souls, conflicted with the desire to finally seize that power and her need to discover the truth about the stars and her people. The most common of these is her ability to conjure sleeping crystals, meant to lull the threat or target to a deep sleep, allowing her to escape or steal from them. Due to her corruption, however, they are filled with negative energy and can inflict pain, or blinding fury, on anyone within its proximity (including herself), rather than just the opponent.

My aim for Eden is for her to learn and grow stronger gradually through training. She will likely lose in battles, especially against powerful opponents, though this is dependent on the verse, where our muses are in their interactions, and what my RP partner is comfortable with. The fun in Dragon Ball Z is watching a character work hard with others to overcome challenges, not winning everything effortlessly.

Personality:

Eden can be cunning, and she relies on this trait when facing a troubling situation; often choosing to stick to the shadows and tricks rather than facing someone head-on. Eden can’t stand the thought of losing control and is known to fight viciously and dirty when cornered. Preferring to be quiet and simply observe, she struggles with social interactions, especially first time meetings. She is paranoid towards others, thus she doesn’t trust easily. The woman is also victim to envy, as she can become very jealous towards those who are more skilled or more blessed than she is. She broods quietly instead of talking about her problems; and can seem dishonest, selfish, and stubborn.

However, towards those who grow close to her heart, she becomes protective and does her best to be dependable. The Kirinitw becomes more playful to those she loves, often sneaking up and catching them by surprise (mostly by pouncing on them). She’ll even goes as far as become touchy-feely with them. She is rather insecure, due to her fear of the ancestral stars and belief that she is cursed, and often looks towards intimacy as a means to help combat with her insecurities.

Parents:

Her father’s name is Cassiel, which is the name of the archangel of tears and solitude in the Kabbalah. He is considered withdrawn, quiet, and has a cynical view towards most things. He questions and fears of what the voices will do to him. Because of his fear, He tries not to get involved with the stars’ and Planet’s troubles, despite their urgings for him to act. He was a hunter for the Draconid clan.

Her mother’s name is Nizhoni, which I found means “Beautiful” in Navajo. She was a merchant for her natal Persid clan before her marriage to Cassiel. She’s always been headstrong and takes pride in being seen as “a rebel for the right reasons”. Nizhoni is very set in her ways, and is always determined to act for the greater good. This is where her and Cassiel get into arguments, particularly when tensions on Shihab begin to mount. The clans began fighting for the sacred lands, with the Draconids and Persids allying with one another, and Leonids and Ursids joining on the opposing end. Nizhoni spends much of her time travelling between clan territories to give supplies to her natal clan as they are on the front lines. Though this wears on her, especially when she is pregnant, she remains determined to do all she can to save both her natal clan’s and her current clan’s livelihoods.

The extent of her exhaustion became starkly apparent as she struggles to give birth to Eden. Cassiel’s dying faith in the spirits finally came to an end when Nizhoni passes away after delivery. He believes the spirits of the stars and planet truly betrayed him, and thus sows the seeds of hatred towards them. He is a distant and gruff father, spending his waking hours away hunting to meet his daughter’s needs, only to check in when necessary. He begins training her to become a hunter as soon as she was able to hold a dagger.

Though Eden admires her father’s resilience, she quickly learns not to ask about her mother and the spirits’ words as it often brings about buried anguish. As she grows, Cassiel’s inner resistance to the spirits’ influence begins to wear on his mind. The once powerful man she knew slowly deteriorated to a feeble lost soul, becoming disconnected with reality and unable to carry about his duties.

Now a young adult, Eden patrols the clan’s hunting grounds and boundaries to support Cassiel and herself. She starts questioning her own faith as she watches how the spirits are affecting her father. Distortion ripples through once familiar voices, she and the others start to grow restless. There is a persistent, eerie feeling in the air, like the calm before a violent storm.

It was that night, as metal and murderous intent fell from the skies instead of rock and fire, that the spirits, stars, and earth fell silent.

The invaders of different shapes and sizes claimed the planet in the name of Frieza and began slaughtering most of the inhabitants. The terrified Draconids came to the conclusion that the stars have betrayed them, and they could no longer trust the spirits’ words. The last survivors plotted their escape, with Eden and the ailing Cassiel being among them. They attempted an ambush to steal the invaders’ space pods, only to be caught and murdered.

Being only a lowly hunter and guard, Eden swallowed her pride and submitted. She spoke velvet words, despite her trembling voice, playing up her strength and skills honed by years of surviving within the badlands and fighting the monstrous beasts of the land.  It was by the sheer grace of whatever deity was left to care that they conceded to let her live, only on the condition that she devotes her life to servitude.

The worst was yet to come, as training within the Planet Trade Organization held no mercy for a mere foot soldier. Though bones were broken and tears spilled, the Kirinite held onto her lust for vengeance. She vowed to tear the entrails of these monsters and their tyrannical ruler, just as they have done to her people, to her family. She vowed to show the celestial guardians, who left her kind to die, that she would overcome their betrayal and inflict the same suffering upon them. So she waited, she watched, learning who were integral to this force, and their weaknesses…

(Thank you @crownprincefreeza for letting your muses become part of mine’s story!!)

Her already turbulent life in Frieza’s forces took a turn for the worse after a failed conquest over a targeted planet. The soldiers stood at attention fearful and frozen before the enraged prince, dreading for what was to come. Eden was no exception, drowning in the quiet, yet surging rise of death’s cold approach. Yet to endure abuse, from the very creature that brought destruction upon everything she had known and loved, to be beneath the heel of her enemy fueled a storm of fiery rage. In her foolishness she bit down at Freeza’s pointed finger, earning her a scream and a brutal swat of his tail.

Once sliding across the floor from his strike, Eden laid paralyzed, waiting for the painful judgment to come upon her. Malevolent ideas on what to do weaved and clashed in the imperial mutant’s mind, and to Eden’s surprise, he offers her an opportunity to receive redemption. Desperate to remain alive, Eden accepts, not knowing the price of her pardon would cost until moments later.

Amazingly, few of her people, members of her late mother’s clan, hid well enough to survive the onslaught. As images of once proud warriors digging through the garbage of the planet’s new occupants and the deadly clashes between them flash by, Frieza gave her the choice: Lure out the last of the Kirinites and pay her transgression with their blood or die. The torn woman wrestled within herself. Would she dare betray her allies, her own kin, just so she might live another day? Morals and instinct warred within her, and ultimately through her tears, her yearning to survive, just long enough to make Frieza and all the spirits suffer for their crimes, overcame the more noble of choices. She accepts, and with the towering equine soldier, Yuut, being commanded to follow her, Eden returns onto once familiar soil, the soil that no longer bore the warmth nor recognizable voices.

With her armor cast aside, sand scratching and clinging onto hands and skin, and letting Yuut break one of her precious antlers, Eden approached the last of the Persids. Eden spoke of escaping the invaders’ prison and stole a space craft that could save them all. Her pleas for them to join her were eventually believed, and they followed Eden away from the last of their strongholds, only for their blood to stain the hooves and shadows of both soldiers.

Once conquered, Eden stared at the eyes of dead kin. Wide with fear, with otherworldly agony of being betrayed, becoming like dead ice, devoid of any life. The spirits no longer held comfort to her, and with a sudden, brutal crash of her head against the rocks stained by unrelenting violence; her last antler fell, broken dark shards among limp bodies, before turning away with Yuut.

[goldenavenger02]

Lost Boy

So I came up with this idea in March/April, and thanks to the fabulous editing of Clover-Rose on Wattpad, this is not only a reality, but my longest one shot ever, so I hope you enjoy!

•••••••••

Peter knew he had to stop going after every single armed robbery he saw. But, he also knew the potential of getting hurt, as he'd been lectured by Mr. Stark and his aunt about the same issue, and —even then— he still couldn't stop himself. People could get hurt, and maybe—just maybe—that included him too, but keeping Queens safe was his main priority at the moment, and he wasn't about to stop protecting others, even if it meant putting himself directly into the face of danger.

That being said, he was just starting his after-school patrol when he heard the commotion from twenty alleys over (super hearing seriously rocked sometimes). Quickly webbing his bag to a nearby wall, he shot out a web from his wrists (Okay, he admitted that he had no problem with walking, but webbing himself was always faster and could get him to the danger quicker. Plus, it was kinda fun) and swung through the towering buildings and skyscrapers, before coming to a stop and dropping himself directly into scene with one of his cool "superhero poses" (as Ned liked to call it).

Seeing four masked men cornering a woman and what looked like a five year old girl (who was probably her daughter. He could tell that easily, thanks to the matching blonde hair and blue eyes), the superhero immediately sprung into action and yelled, "Hey, criminals! Pick on someone else, why don't you?!"

The men, of course, like he knew they would, turned around and looked him dead in the eyes, but didn't speak. Instead, all they did was smile from under their ski masks and raise the weapons they held in their arms before focusing all of the attention on the fifteen year old vigilante, rather than the mother and daughter.

Peter, however, had a plan, and launched a web from his left hand around the awning of a small convenience store to hoist himself in the air, while using the web shooter on his right to shoot a stream of something white and string-like, as he wrapped the thin web around the four men.

Seeing as the men were finally secured in the webs, the teenager hopped off the metal awning and quickly scribbled a note together for the police to read once they came to pick up said criminals.

When they were secured in the webs, he came down from the metal awning and quickly scribbled a note together, attaching it to the webs before going over to the mother and daughter, who had been watching the whole time and were clearly shaken up.

"Are you two okay?" He asked the pair, with concern for their safety.

"Yeah, we're okay. Thank you, Spider-Man." The mother told him gratefully, which had him blushing under his mask.

"You're welcome, Ma'am. Call the police to pick up these goons, and then you should head home, just to be safe."

The woman nodded, and reached into her pocket, while Peter felt a strange sensation of his spider sense tingling again. Sending a shiver throughout his body, he turned around, quickly seeing a fist coming at him, and caught it midair.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," He stated, shooting a quick kick near the guy's neck, while he twisted his wrist. Unfortunately, the conscious criminal arranged himself to avoid the attack, and ultimately hit the superhero across the back of his head, with the gun that was previously tucked away in his belt.

His vision spinning, the teenager did the best that he could to attack the masked man, with the headache he had. Luckily, it didn't take too long, and only took a few minutes, as he kicked the guy in the center of his chest, and got the gun a good fifteen feet away from him.

"Yeah, you better run!" The vigilante shouted, as the guy did as he said and took off running around the corner. Leaning against a wall to catch his breath, the superhero did the best he could to calm his breathing and regain his vision, as he felt the edges of it going blurry and black.

"Spider-Man?" He heard from below him. Looking down, he came face to face with the same little girl as he had earlier. "Are you okay?" She questioned, her blue eyes wide with worry, as she tried her best to get the teenager's attention by tugging on the tight suit.

"Y-Yeah…" Peter breathed in reply, though his breaths were still coming in short, erratic huffs and puffs. And was it just him, or did his vision happen to be getting darker? "I-I'm—" Falling straight down on the ground, Peter was vaguely aware of a slight pulling on his fingers, as he lay sprawled out on his stomach, and a yell of "Mommy, call a hospital!" before his eyes fully closed and he was enveloped in darkness.

•••••••••••••••

"How is he?" was the first thing Peter heard as he started to come back to reality. Vaguely, he had an odd memory of hitting his head on something, and it sounded like a man's voice that was speaking, but he couldn't really place it and it didn't help that both things felt so familiar, yet so far away, as well. "Is he okay? Has he woken up yet?"

"No. The doctor said he should be alright, though. I think he just hit his head a little too hard after school." He heard May's loving voice, trying to reassure the other one, as he came back to consciousness, and felt a hand softly squeeze his own.

"Are you sure?" Another voice spoke and, this time, it sounded like a girl. But, he didn't know many girls besides Liz (who moved away), MJ, Sally and Cindy, so that didn't make any sense. "It's been hours. I thought we should've taken him to the hospital, or called an ambulance, but Flash—"

Then, upon hearing that, hearing about an ambulance, because there was no, absolute way he was going to a hospital, unless he wanted to be experimented on and turned into a human lab rat, Peter finally found the strength inside to pry open his eyes. As soon as he did so, though, lights—all too bright lights—flooded them, and he found MJ sitting on the edge of his bed, brushing his bangs away from his face, before he snapped them shut.

"Hey babe," She said, welcoming her boyfriend back to consciousness with a bright smile. "How you doing?"

"Uh, good?" The teen answered, as he opened his eyes again, though his sentence came more out like a question than it did a statement. Sitting up slowly, Peter pushed himself to lay with his back leaned against the pillows, but stopped when he felt Michelle lie him down again and place him flat on his back. "My—My head kinda hurts, though…"

Michelle let a small laugh slip past her lips, but kept it quiet to help soothe her boyfriend's threatening headache. "I'm not surprised." She smiled. "Flash said he found you beaten up in an alley. Apparently, you hit it pretty hard, considering you were out for, like, five hours."

Now, Peter really wanted to focus on the rest of what Michelle said; though, that was mainly the part about him being unconscious for five hours, because that was enough for Flash to find out he was Spider-Man, take a selfie of him, all unconscious, with the suit on, and use it as blackmail. But, instead, he found himself focusing on the part where Flash found him in an alley, and actually called someone to help. Or, in other words, the part where Flash actually acted like a living, breathing thing, with intelligence and emotions.

"Wait, what?" He asked, disbelief laced into his own tone. "Flash?! Like, the guy you wanna slap every time he walks into a room? That Flash?"

"Um…" Suddenly Michelle stopped and paused, making a rush of worry run through the boy's mind. "As far as I'm aware," She said, slowly. "There's not two Flash's at Midtown, Peter, and the only one that is has been your best friend since seventh grade. How hard did you hit your head?"

Peter wasn't really sure if that was a rhetorical question or not, but he decided not to answer it either way. Instead, he frowned as he ran a hand through his hair, and felt a sizeable bump on the back on his head. Pulling his hand away, he saw a bit of blood on his fingertips, but figured it must've been cleaned or tended to, as there wasn't much.

"Your head was bleeding a bit," Michelle spoke, as she saw the teen looking at his hands, and Peter took the chance to look up at her again. Instead of wearing her usual combination of dark colours and clothes, she wore bright, feminine ones; currently, she was wearing a knitted pink sweater, a pair of blue jeans with gold embroidered along the pockets, and a pair of white and blue Adidas shoes. Her hair, though, was also different, as it wasn't in her usual low ponytail, and was rather curled and cascading down her back. And, while Peter didn't know much about fashion, he did know Michelle's style, and what she wore, and "every teenage girl ever" wasn't it.

"May and I had to clean it, since it kept bleeding and your blood kinda refused to clot, but it should scar soon, and you should feel better in a few days," Michelle continued, and only then did Peter direct his attention back to the girl on the edge of his bed. "Anyway, I'm going to go get your aunt and let her know you're awake. Maybe lie down for a while, 'kay, babe?" Softly squeezing her boyfriend's hand and placing a quick kiss on his forehead, Michelle had then walked away to find May, and left Peter to figure out what was going on as well.

'So, Flash,' He thought. '…is my best friend, and I'm assuming by Michelle's use of the word "babe" that we're dating. It sounds like Aunt May is… still my aunt, thank goodness, but where's Ned? And Mr. Stark?' Then, looking down, Peter had then noticed that his suit had been replaced with one of his white pajama shirts, and that he was wearing a pair of grey sweats instead. And, unless Michelle and Flash actually took initiative to get him into more comfortable clothes, that also meant his suit was gone.

…Which also meant it was out there, somewhere in the world, with someone who knew his identity and, not only that, but the fact that he was Spider-Man.

Feeling a panic attack start to arise within him, the teenager, feeling his hands shake and his chest beginning to get heavy, swung his legs off the bed and stood up quickly. However, it seemed as if he stood up too quickly, as his vision began to spin, and the teenager had to close his eyes and grab on to the desk nearby to steady it and stop himself from toppling over.

"Oh, Peter, sweetheart…" A worried voice filled his ears as the teen felt two pairs of hands gently sit him back on his bed. Opening his eyes, he saw MJ wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close, so he could rest his head on her shoulder, and his aunt, May, crouched in front of him, which lead him to release a breath of relief. She was still the same Aunt May, with no distortions or differences to her appearance, which was just what he needed in this weird, confusing time of his life.

"You okay there, sport?" He heard a voice ask, and the teenager turned his head, only to see his mentor in the doorway. However, instead of wearing a suit or his Iron Man armour, he was wearing a shirt displaying some band called AC/DC and jeans, which, Peter thought, was definitely a step down from his usual style choice.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asked, as Michelle brought up an ice pack in her hands and settled it against his head (which was still in the crook of her neck). "What are you doing here?" He questioned, confused. "Shouldn't you be back at the compound? Or tower?"

"What tower, kid? And, are you sure you're feeling alright? You haven't called me Mr. Stark since your aunt and I—" At the sound of her name, May came closer to her husband and smiled brightly. "—Got married."

"Uh, what?" That made Peter's jaw drop as he looked wide-eyed at the two adults in front of him, before he began to shake his head (which was a bad idea, considering his vision wasn't doing so great today). "B-But…" Taking his head off of Michelle's shoulder, the teen stared at the two who just told him this sudden news. "Didn't you—Didn't you two hate each other? Or, don't you, I mean? I'm pretty sure the last time I checked…"

"I have to admit, I didn't really approve of him at first, but after he saved your life, I couldn't help myself and fell head over heels for him," May insisted, before standing on her toes to wrap her arms around her husband's neck, and kiss him.

Turning his head into Michelle's shoulder with a sound of annoyance and disgust, Peter had tried to shake the weird image of his aunt, and not Pepper, kissing his mentor, but it didn't do any good. In fact, all it did was make Michelle move her hand so she could rub small circles on his back, and force the teenager to open his eyes (because, he did still need to see). But, then, the teen watched as May turned to the side, and he, feeling queasy, almost threw up from shock at what he saw.

"A-Aunt May? A-Are you…" He couldn't even get it out. But, she seemed to understand, as she smiled and wrapped an arm round her belly.

"I meant to tell you after school... But, we're having a baby!"

Unfortunately, though, that was all it took for Peter to fall forward, slipping from Michelle's grip, as he hit his head on the uncarpeted floor, and fell unconscious once more.

•••••••••

"—eter... Peter, can you hear me, sweetie?"

"Ugh..." Letting a small groan slip past his lips, the teenager squeezed his eyes tighter as he felt himself come back to consciousness. Behind his eyes, there was this constant, painful pounding, but atop his body was something soft. A blanket, maybe?

"M-May?" He muttered, voice coming out like a croak and sounding like he had a frog in his throat.

"Oh, thank god." Her voice came again, sounding soft and soothing, but washed out and far away, almost as if it was underwater. "I thought we'd have to call a doctor, or take you to the hospital."

"H-Hospital?" He echoed, a small tinge of fear within his own tone.

"Yeah." May nodded as Peter finally opened his eyes, only for her concerned ones to pour into his. Holding an ice pack against his head, she was smiling sadly and brushing a curl away from his face. "Do you remember what happened?" She asked.

"Yeah." Peter nodded as he began to answer, but stopped as he did, since his vision was still spinning. "I..." Stopping, the teenager took a moment to pause, his brain searching for the words while his mouth tried to form them. "I passed out, right?"

"For five minutes," May finished, a look of relief placed on her face. Setting the ice pack on the nightstand, she had then went to dim the lights, figuring they were too bright for her nephew's photosensitive eyes. "Guess we gave you too much information all at once, huh?"

The teenager didn't answer. Instead, Peter just sighed quietly and allowed his body's tension to lessen as the lights dimmed, giving him a better view of the room. Just like his old (or, rather, actual) one, the walls were blanketed in a light blue, while the heavy bedspread was the same colour, if just a little darker. But, as Peter scanned the area, all he took in was that someone specific was missing.

"May?" He asked, sitting himself up in the process. "Where's Michelle and Flash?"

Rushing over to the teenager, May gently laid him down again, as she took her seat back at the edge of the bed. "I sent them home," She answered, at last. "Since they have an early decathlon practice tomorrow. They wanted to stay and see if you were okay, but I told them it was getting late and I wanted you to have as much rest as you could get."

"So... I take it I'm not going to school tomorrow then?" Peter questioned.

May shook her head, brushing another hair away from the boy's face, as she took the ice pack and rested it back against his head. "Nope. As much as I don't like keeping you home, I already talked it over with Tony, and he agrees with me. The last thing we need is to send you to school, only to find out you passed out in class."

"But—But May!" Peter protested, as he bolted back up. Expecting his aunt to lie him down again, the teen was partially surprised—but mostly glad—when she didn't do so and, instead, fluffed his pillows so he could reposition himself against them as he spoke, before handing him the ice pack so he could nurse his wound. "I–I want to go to school! And I have a Spanish test tomorrow, and I can't miss it!"

May raised an eyebrow at this. "Spanish? Peter, you're taking French..."

"Spanish, French, same thing—"

"It's really not, sweetie."

"—Just let me go to school tomorrow! Please, May..." Peter pleaded, as he did his 'puppy dog' eyes. Big and full of innocence, he used them whenever he wanted something as a child, and it often worked out pretty well. Hopefully they worked as well in this universe as they did in the past one. "Please...?"

May sighed, as she gave in. "Fine," She agreed. "But you have to stay with Michelle and Flash all day, and I will be telling your teachers that you still have a concussion, or to notify me if they suspect something's up. Understood?"

Peter nodded, excitedly, as he wrapped his arms around his aunt and pulled her close. "Got it! Nothing will go wrong, I promise!"

May let out a chuckle as she pulled back from her nephew, smiling. "Alright," She said as she ran a hand through his hair. "I want you to finish up your homework—assuming you have any, that is—and then head to bed, okay? The last thing we need is for you to stay up all night and overexert yourself, only to find out you're too tired to go to school tomorrow."

"Got it, Aunt May," Peter responded with a smile, as he watched his aunt stand and begin to leave his beside. "Thanks."

"No problem, sweetie." Standing up, May had then ruffled her nephew's hair once more, before she left him to rest. "Now, feel better, okay? I love you, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Love you, too," Peter replied, just as the door closed and he was left alone. "And goodnight, Aunt May."

•••••••••••••••••••••••

"Dude, I still can't believe your aunt and uncle let you come to school," Flash ranted, as the teen took out his Chemistry textbook from his backpack, before stuffing it on the bottom shelf of his locker. "Seriously," He continued. "They are the most overprotective, helicopter adults I know—and that goes for your uncle more than your aunt, man."

"To be fair," Michelle said, as she tilted her head. "His aunt is pregnant, and his uncle probably doesn't want him to stress her out. I mean, just look at what happened yesterday."

Peter, in response, shot a look at the two, absolutely baffled. "Okay, first of all," He cut in. "That's not true! And second of all, I don't even remember what happened yesterday, so you can't use that as an excuse."

"Dude," Flash deadpanned. "You were mugged. How do you not remember that?"

Peter shrugged, as he switched his science binder out for his English one. "I don't know," He spoke. "I just don't, okay? And I probably won't even remember this conversation later, so it doesn't even matter."

Flash looked confused, but Michelle just responded to Peter's quip by coming up behind him and kissing his cheek.

"It's alright, Flash," She assured the boy, as she cast a glance over in his direction. "Even though this is a genius school, some of us just aren't able to comrephend information, or witty remarks, as much as others. It's okay."

Flash looked offended, and maybe a bit more confused than usual, but decided he had enough. Opening his mouth, the black-haired boy intended to reply, but couldn't; mainly because someone cut him off before he could.

"Hey look!" A teenager jeered at them, as he shifted the strap of his backpack and passed the three friends. "It's the geek squad!"

"Really? Then what does that make you and your friends?" Michelle shot back, making a shocked look appear placed on their classmate's face. Seeing as he was too stunned to reply, Michelle had then flipped him off, before flipping her hair, and turning back to her boyfriend and best friend.

Peter chuckled. Even stuck in an alternate universe, at least some things were the same; and one of them was Michelle didn't take shit from anyone.

"Hold this for me?" He asked the girl to his left, to which Michelle nodded in response. Taking a step back, she had then opened the textbook and began skimming through it, while the teenager tried to figure out what else he needed for his next class.

Taking a notebook out and exchanging it for another one, the teenager had then tried to close his locker, only to find someone had done it for him. The metal door slammed shut in a rush as Peter jumped back just as fast, so his fingers wouldn't get injured in the process.

Unfortunately, Peter didn't get very far, before a hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and pressed him up against the lockers, so that his feet weren't even touching the ground now. Blinking in shock, Peter had then tried to process what was happening as someone who surprised him by this behaviour, slapped him.

"Ned!" He yelled. "Dude, what the hell?"

Struggling against the older boy's grip, Peter had then tried to push Ned off of him, to no avail. Feeling his head bang against the lockers, the boy had then winced, feeling an explosion of pain near his right eye, before Michelle's voice rang out and interrupted the two.

"Ned!" She screamed. "Get off him, you idiot!"

"Yeah!" Flash added. Somehow, in the middle of everything, he had made his way to the front of the crowd that surrounded the fight, and was watching with wide eyes. "Come on, man! Peter hit his head yesterday! The least you can do is leave him alone!"

That seemed to do the trick. Raising an eye brow in suspicion and slight concern, Ned had then huffed, before dropping the boy and leaving him sprawled at the bottom of the lockers. Muttering a threatening "this isn't over yet, Parker", he had then left and walked the other way, leaving Michelle and Flash to run to the teenager in worry.

"Peter," Michelle called, softly, as she shook her boyfriend's shoulder. Lying slumped against the lockers in what she hoped was exhaustion and not unconsciousness, a dark purple bruise was beginning to take over his eye, along with his right temple as well. "Peter," She repeated. "Baby, can you hear me?"

"Michelle...?" The teenager muttered, as his eyes slowly opened and connected with her own. They were a bit unfocused, and somewhat foggy, but at least his eyes were actually open now and he wasn't unconscious. After all, Michelle would take the best she could get. "My—My head hurts..."

Michelle started to smile at the sigh of her boyfriend okay and injured, but otherwise alright, but stopped and frowned as he mentioned his headache. "I know," She responded, as she met Flash's eyes in the corner of her own, but kept her gaze on the boy in front of her. "Flash and I think you hit your head again," She said, taking a deep breath. "So we're going to take you to the nurse, okay? And then we'll call your aunt to let her know what happened, and that you might be absent from class."

Peter nodded slowly, a lazy smile placed on his face, but stopped when his vision tripled and he could now see three Michelle's instead of one. "M'kay," He mumbled, without a second of hesitation.

"Alright. Flash?" Michelle had then asked, turning to the other boy. Just a few steps away from them, he looked just as worried as her, if not more. "Think you can help me out here?" She hinted at helping the teenager up.

"Yeah, sure." Taking Peter's backpack from him, Flash had then swung it over his shoulder, before swinging the teenager's arm over it as well, while Michelle did the same on the opposite side. And it wasn't like it was hard, considering Peter was pretty light, but it was concerning when Peter didn't even try and protest, as the two helped him to the nurse's office.

'Oh well.' Flash thought he heard Michelle sigh. 'Hopefully Peter would be alright.'

••••••••••••••

"Well, I don't think you have a concussion," the nurse said, as she shone a penlight into Peter's eyes. Holding an ice pack to his head, the teenager was seated on a cot, while Michelle rubbed his back and Flash called his aunt. "But, I did get an email from your aunt, saying you got hurt the other day, so I'll be sending you home anyway. Just sit tight while Flash calls your aunt, alright?"

"Okay." The teenager nodded as he continued holding the ice pack to his temple, while his head rested in the crook of Michelle's neck. From a few feet away, he could hear Flash's phone call and could try to pick up pieces of sentences like "head injury" and "You need to come get him immediately..." but that was if he tried to focus on the words; and, at the moment, the only thing Peter could focus on was how much his head hurt. "Th-Thanks..."

"No problem, Peter." Clicking off her penlight, the nurse had then tucked away said item in her jacket pocket, before she began to stand. "Now, get some rest. If you wanna sleep, then you can, but just have Michelle here—" Casting a glance at the girl, the nurse shot her a bright smile. "—Wake you up every few minutes, okay? Otherwise, your aunt should be coming to get you soon."

"Alright." Peter nodded with a polite smile of his own, as he shut his eyes for a quick second. His head was still settled in Michelle's neck so he could hear her whispering random words of nonsense and unimportant issues, until she caught sight of the darkening bruise.

"Hey Pete?" She questioned quietly, in order to help soothe her boyfriend's head injury. "Can you look at me, please?"

Raising his head so that it wasn't taken off her shoulder, but he could still look at her, the boy did as he was told, but that didn't mean he liked it. In fact, he hated it when Michelle took his head in her hands and brushed her thumb over the tender skin, but that was more because of the pain he was in, rather than her accidentally hurting him.

"Sorry," She apologized, as her boyfriend pulled away and brought the ice closer to his eye.

"It's alright," Peter replied, as he took his head out of Michelle's hands, so he was sitting up on his own and no longer leaning on the girl. "I just know that I'm going to be cooped up in the apartment all week, with May stressing over me..."

Finally joining in on the conversation, Flash looked up from where he sat in a maroon swivel chair and was scrolling through Instagram. He was sitting the wrong way, with his legs sticking out the sides and his arms crossed on top, but he looked comfortable, so Peter didn't question it. "Too bad you're not Spider-Man," He added. "Did you guys see that video of him yesterday? He beat up, like, five guys."

"And, anyway..." Michelle spoke, as she ignored Flash's comment about the superhero. "At least she cares about you."

"Wait..." Shaking his head, Peter tried to comprehend the confusing information he took in, rather than Michelle reassuring him. "I–I'm not Spider-Man?" He asked.

Flash, knowing confusion was probably a symptom of concussion and that Peter probably wasn't thinking properly, refrained himself from laughing and, instead, shot the teen a stunned expression. "Dude," He deadpanned. "Even if you were Spider-Man, I think I'd know by now. You kinda suck at keeping secrets..."

Michelle let a laugh slip past her lips, as she smiled brightly. "It's true," She agreed. "It's why I didn't tell you about my internship at Oscorp Industries."

As Flash laughed and Michelle shared another example of Peter's horrible secret-keeping, the teenager tuned them both out, and looked down at the ground.

It all made sense now; why May had been so intent on having him stay home, why his head was still pounding like he'd been hit with a fire hydrant, and why he wasn't able to push Ned off him with his superpowers.

Because, as reality sunk in... Peter realized he didn't have any.

•••••••••••••••••••

Flash had went back to class, sending his well wishes before doing so, while Michelle continued to sit beside him and stroke his hair as they waited on May or Tony to show up.

"How do you think it's gonna go?" Peter asked, hoping for some optimism from his "girlfriend".

"Your aunt and uncle are gonna wrap you in caution tape or something."

"Geez, thanks."

"I'm kidding, babe." She chuckled just as May came in, smiling sympathetically at her nephew.

"Thank you, Michelle." She smiled, which was her cue to leave, and the pregnant woman turned to her nephew. "Think you can stand up, sweetheart?"

Peter nodded, pushing himself onto his shaking feet before following her toward the car.

"Hey, actually, can I get a drink real quick?"

"Sure. I'll be in the car. " May told him, going to the parking lot and he got a drink before walking out of the school.

That's when he saw Ned retreat into a alleyway, a familiar red and blue suit poking out of his backpack. Peter, being confused, knew he couldn't immediately assume Ned was Spider-Man in this weird, twisted world, and he also knew he couldn't investigate until tomorrow or May would get worried. Not to mention, he really just wanted to sleep off his headache, so he got into the car, and laid his aching head against the window.

••••••••••••••••••

"No. Absolutely not." May insisted, poking at the Thai takeout spread across the table.

"She has a point, kid. Who said that this won't happen again tomorrow?" Tony added, glancing at his nephew from his spot at the table.

"What are the odds that I'm gonna hit my head into a locker again?" Peter questioned as he shoved a fork full into his mouth.

"Pretty high."

"Aunt May!" Peter whined to her. "Michelle and Flash will wrap me in caution tape if that makes you feel better. Plus, I have decathlon tomorrow, and I have to go to that, or I'll be suspended from the next competition." Peter lied, but that could've been very true, for all he knew.

"I just don't know." May sighed, turning to Tony. "What do you think, Babe?"

"Just be careful. Don't stress your aunt out more."

" Yes! " Peter pumped his fist just as May looked at her husband with wide eyes in shock.

"Tony, are you serious?" She demanded. "He's lucky that I don't take him to the E.R with that head wound!"

"Hey." Tony told her, kissing her cheek. "I'll make it up to you later."

"How?" She demanded, clearly impressed with him at that moment.

All it took was for Tony to wiggle his eyebrows and wink at her for Peter to leave, storming off in disgust.

"I'm done!"

•••••••••••••••

AfAter school that day, Peter decided to use his imaginary decathlon practice to figure out what the heck was going on with Ned in this weird universe, but it was NOT easy.

He trudged around several alleys, stores and even thought about checking the next county over when he stumbled into a particularly dark alleyway and was immediately cornered by ten guys.

What he wouldn't do for Karen in that moment giving him a battle plan.

He raised his fists in order to fight, knowing it wouldn't go well, when a web latched onto one of the men, causing him to call on the ground, before the Spider-Man of that universe landed in the most awesome pose ever, quickly returning to his face, and started to fight them, while Peter did something he thought he would never have to do after getting bit, which was retreat to a different part of the alley and watch as Ned took the guys down.

However, he knew that one person, superpowers or not (with the exception of Bruce Banner or Thor) couldn't take down the guys at once.

So, he looked beside the dumpsters, a hobby he didn't have much time for anymore, and found a broken wooden baseball bat leaning against them.

He picked it up, adjusting his grip on it, before making the stupidest decision ever, and running towards them while yelling, flailing his arms.

Several of the guys ran, as Spider-Man webbed them up before Peter felt something slam him in the back of the head.

His vision blurred and spun immediately, and he stumbled to the ground.

He heard a slight 'woosh' noise before seeing a very blurry Ned hovered over him.

"Oh, god, dude. I'm calling a ambulance, alright? Thanks for your help, by the way."

Peter couldn't even nod as his vision fully went dark.

•••••••••••

Peter quickly returned to consciousness, feeling that instead of pavement under him, he felt the comfort of a mattress, which caused him to sit straight up, fearing he had been taken to the hospital.

He looked around once his vision cleared from the fast-paced movement to see that he was in his own room, with May sitting beside the bed and Tony standing in the doorway in casual wear, which caused Peter to groan.

"I'm still in a parallel universe!" As he flopped back down on the pillows dramatically, causing May to ask.

"Peter, what are you talking about?"

"How hard did you hit your head?" Tony added, before explaining. "After that criminal hit you in the head with his gun, and that little girl convinced her mom to call the hospital, I had to pull so many strings so you didn't get taken to Oscorp cause it was their spider that bit you. You've been unconscious for nearly four days. So, after Helen gave you the all clear, we got you cleaned up and sent you home, while I added some adjustments to your mask."

"B-but I wasn't Spider-Man, Ned was. And he hated me, but Flash was my best friend, and Michelle was girly and we were dating, and you two were married and May was pregnant with my cousin sibling."

Peter and Tony shot each other a disgusted glance before they returned both their gazes back to Peter.

"I think you just had a bad dream, sweetheart." May tried to rationalize , but Peter wasn't having any of it as he protested.

"But I was taking French! No one takes French voluntarily!"

"Just relax. You're back, and you're okay, and no one is pregnant." May insisted. " do you want some dinner?"

"Maybe later." Peter insisted. "I'm not that hungry."

May nodded, before she stood up, and started escorting Tony out of their apartment, while Peter picked up his phone, and quickly texted Ned.

Peter: dude, I had the wildest dream. Also, I'm not dead.

[mrsacklesevansmgk]

Cursed - Chapter 1: Lana

Cursed Series.

TW: Stranger danger in dream (working on these, sorry!)

Word Count: 3998

All mistakes are my own, as this hasn't been reviewed by anyone.

You do not have permission to copy my work anywhere. This is an original story written by me.

******

Chapter 1: Lana

“We ran as if to meet the moon.”

― Robert Frost

I lay in a daze. Where am I? I thought, as I tried to open my eyes and blink away my dreams. I was in that in-between stage, where you’re trying to wake-up, but you’re still cemented in your dream, and you can’t quite tell what is real and what isn’t. I blinked again and moved my hand to try and push myself up. Oh! I thought as began to realise. I felt the soft green mossy grass that I lay on as I continued to look up towards the blue sky through the trees and branches that made pretty patterns; the sun was on my face, blanketing my whole body in warmth and I could hear the nearby stream trickling over the rocks and the birds chirping away as they flew in and out of the trees above me. I felt…safe, content, happy. I felt at peace, as if this was the place that my soul was most content.

I’d felt this way ever since I had found this small, hidden meadow on one of my hikes about three years ago. I had come across it simply by chance, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like I was drawn here. I’d never seen anyone else here and no matter who I asked about it, no one seemed to know this clearing existed. It was like I’d found a hidden pocket of time that only existed for me.

Ever since that first afternoon three years ago, it had become the one place I knew I could retreat to when the world got too heavy, too loud and too busy and I needed space and time to think. And, for a teenage girl, that was practically every single day. There was something about being surrounded by nature, hearing nothing but the water running down the stream and the birds singing; it made me realise that while I feel like the world is on my shoulders, the reality is my teenage high school problems meant nothing in the grander scheme of things.

As I continued to lay in the most peaceful and serene place on earth, the sound of the flowing stream and the chirping birds were interrupted by the sound of branches snapping under foot.

Silence. SNAP! Silence.

The silence was deafening. Now I couldn’t even hear the stream or the birds, nor could I see them in the trees. It was like time stood still and everything was gone.

I sat up quickly, glancing around the clearing, trying to gage where the sound had come from. It sounded like it’d come from behind me, from the direction I had walked into the clearing…had someone been following me? I squinted in that direction but couldn’t see much beyond the treeline.

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

I snapped my head around, following the sound…it wasn’t coming from any one direction. It sounded like it was coming from all over the place, like I and the clearing was surrounded. After three long years, no one had ever stumbled upon the clearing, to my knowledge, let alone while I was there.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears, getting louder and louder, almost deafening me. The noises were getting more and more frequent and were now coming from at least four definitive directions. It was no longer a question of ‘what’ was out there, but rather ‘who’ was out there? And why were they surrounding me?

I had no time to think. I stood up slowly, still taking in my surroundings and trying to figure out the best direction I should run in when the loudest SNAP! came from the treeline just behind me. Immediately I broke out into a sprint in the opposite direction, legs pumping, arms swinging…I’d have to back track to get back to the safety of my back yard, as the most direct route was the path behind me. I made it to the treeline and glanced behind me, just in time to see a dark shadowy figure emerging from the trees.

MOVE!! I urged myself to run faster than I’d ever run before. I’d never felt more scared before in my whole life. I had to get out of there…I had to get away from whoever it was now chasing me. Adrenaline flowed through me. My legs pumped harder; my arms swung faster but he was still gaining on me.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

******

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I opened my eyes and sat up with a jolt! The shadowy silhouette burned into my brain. It took a few moments to realise where I was. The bright red numbers from my alarm clock flashed in front of my eyes, bringing me back to reality and back to my bedroom.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

7.00AM! I reached over and pressed the snooze button, rolling over to glance out the window. I was in my room, in my bed. I was safe. It must have been a dream, but it felt far too real to have been ‘just’ a dream. My heart was still beating fast, I had sweat across my brow, the faint smell of the forest lingered in the air around me. It couldn’t have been a dream, it felt so real.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

7.05AM! I pressed snooze again, 5 more minutes to calm myself down and prepare for the very busy day ahead. I longed to go back to the good ol days, when I could run around bare-footed and have no worries aside from if Mary was going to be my friend or not. I took some deep calming breaths, slowly but surely it was working, and I was beginning to feel better.

I heard a noise from the hallway and turned just in time to catch the end of my sister, Eleanor’s long blonde hair flit past by bedroom door as she made her way to the bathroom. Hmm, I thought, I swear I closed my door last night. Weird. I threw back my heavy blankets and swung my legs over the side of my bed and into my furry black slippers waiting on the floor. Today WILL be a good day, I said to myself. If I said it enough, surely, I’d believe it, right?!

I made a beeline for my desk where a rather large pile of clothes awaited me. I hadn’t quite managed to put everything away the night before. Rummaging through the pile, I found something half decent that I could throw on, then made my way to the bathroom. I had timed it perfectly so that I could slip in as my sister exited. I turned on the shower and waited for it to warm up. Looking in the mirror, I noticed that my dark brown hair was in dire need of a haircut, although I wasn’t really too fussed about it. I was the average high school girl, who, being the younger sister of the hottest girl in school, meant that I was hardly noticed. I wasn’t complaining though, being popular was not on my list of things to achieve in high school. I was scruffy, bit my nails and had an annoyingly large birthmark on my right hip bone, which made wearing anything other than high-waisted pants impossible.

I got into the shower and grabbed my body wash – lemon verbena and pomegranate – and lathered up. My morning showers were typically the only time I really had to myself, outside of my visits to the clearing, so I liked to enjoy every single minute of it.

Bang! Bang! “Lana! Will you hurry up in there!?! I need to get my make-up”, screeched Eleanor. I tried to ignore it. This happens every single day. The morning fight for the bathroom was an everyday occurrence with three teenage girls in the house. Eleanor is my older sister, by 11 months. She was 17 years old, had long blonde hair and was the picture-perfect popular girl at school. Ariane is 13 years old, light brown hair, fiercely independent, a book-nerd and incredibly intelligent! While I was 16 years old, I had dark brown hair, was not perfect, nor popular and I was a solid B+ student. Sometimes I wondered how the three of us could be sisters, but all be so completely different from one another.

Usually, she gives up when she realises that I am not going to answer, but today was not one of those days. She banged on the door again and again until I finally gave up, turned off the water, wrapped a towel around myself and yanked open the door. I didn’t even get a thank-you; Eleanor just pushed past me and hogged the mirror.

Gathering my things, I went back to my room to get ready for school. I yanked my clothes on, ran a brush through my hair and stuffed a few books into my school bag as I made my way downstairs to the kitchen. Sitting at the table was my father Peter reading the morning newspaper, with a coffee in his hand. Ariane was crunching loudly on her cereal. The age gap between Ariane and I was about three years, but we got on a lot better than Eleanor and I did. I found my mother Christie at the stove trying to cook my father some breakfast before she herself scooted off to work. My parents had been high school sweethearts, married as they graduated from university with their respective degrees and children followed soon after. My mother glanced up at me as I had entered the room and I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as I grabbed myself a bottle of orange juice and an apple then headed out the door. “Have a good day at school honey”, Dad called out after me. Yeah, sure I will Dad, it just keeps getting better every day, I thought to myself.

As I bit down on my apple, I plugged my headphones into my phone and put the earpieces into my ear, as I pulled up the Spotify app, the music picking up where I’d paused it the night before – midway through a Halsey song. I had two blocks to myself before I got to Justin’s house, and we’d walk the rest of the way to school together. Justin was one of my closest and oldest friends, we’d known each other since kindergarten when he found me waist deep in a muddy hole. He was gobsmacked that a girl was willingly getting so dirty. And we’ve been best friends ever since. Justin was tall-ish (newsflash, everyone was considered ‘tall-ish’ to someone who is 5 foot 3), with perfectly dishevelled mousey brown/blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He wasn’t overly muscly, but he kept fit through his work at his parents’ land-scaping business. Justin could have very easily been a part of the ‘cool’ crowd at school, hanging out with Eleanor and her clique, but his unique group of friends and his weird obsession with the hippy lifestyle kept him on the out-skirts.

I managed to listen to a full five songs before I made it to Justin’s letter box, where he was impatiently waiting and making a nuisance of himself. I gave him the nod as he fell into step beside me, and we walked in silence for half a block – all the while music still blasted in my ears. We had the kind of friendship where we were very comfortable around each other – we could spend hours talking, or hours in silence and completely understand what the other needed in that moment. It wasn’t far from Justin’s house to the school gates – two blocks and a shortcut through a field and we were there. Conversation flowed between us – mostly just catching up on any school ‘gossip’, rehashing our lives from the last twelve hours since we’d parted and making plans for the coming weekend. We spent most Saturday nights hanging out with our group of friends either at one of our houses, or at Dillon’s cabin by the lake.

We met Dillon, Felix and Tegan at the school gate. We were a close-knit group of friends who had pretty much gone through school together since our first day of primary school. I was close to them all and considered them to be family, but it wasn’t a typical friendship – not like one of those teenage movie friendships, where the girls are crushing on their guy friends or vice-versa, or where it was ever a high maintenance friendship. We were there for each other and knew that we could always fall back on each other.

As we made our way to our lockers, there was a chorus of “Hey’s” from students as we walked past. As I got to my locker and opened it, the realisation of my first period class dawned on me. English. Oh, how I loathed having English first thing on a Monday morning! My brain was never fully functioning at this time of the week, let alone this time of morning! I unloaded my bag into my locker and put my empty bag on the hook at the back…no point carrying around an empty bag! I grabbed out my folder, the textbooks for English and History, my favourite four-coloured pen, slammed my locker shut and headed to class with Tegan, leaving the boys to discuss their after-school plans.

******

As Tegan and I made our way to class, I listened to the chatter going on around the halls. Monday mornings were always rife with gossip from the previous weekend’s parties and events. The latest gossip revolved around my sister Eleanor – she’d be happy to know that her name was on everyone’s lips. There was no such thing as bad publicity according to Eleanor. She could put a positive spin, even on the most controversial rumour. Apparently, just this past Saturday night, she had turned up to a party hosted by St. Ibis High’s resident mean girls – Lydia and Marie – with a college boy on her arm, and not just ANY college boy, but the son of some Hollywood actor. It was the first time I’d heard about it…but I knew it wouldn’t be the last! I managed to make it to my classroom door without being pulled into anyone’s conversation. I sighed and gave myself an imaginary pat on the back and headed towards my seat at the back of the class…only to be stopped in my tracks when I came to see that my usual seat for this class was occupied. We had an unwritten rule at St. Ibis High, you sat where you always sat and you didn’t change seats…no one dared to break the golden rule, until today. I stared, for a moment, I didn’t recognise him but that didn’t mean much. I didn’t recognise most kids at school.

Just as the rule-breaking stranger was about to look up, I changed my step and headed towards the desk to his right; if I couldn’t have my typical corner of the classroom seat, then I was going to have the next best thing; Tegan took the seat to my right and quickly busied herself in her books. I slumped into my seat, hoping I wouldn’t draw the strangers’ attention. I opened my textbook and folder and found a blank page of refill and began doodling in the upper right-hand corner. I came to school to ‘learn’ and by learn, I meant that I sat through the classes, did the work. I was smart enough to do half the work in my sleep if I wanted too. But I didn’t want to actively participate in class life or be one of those A grade students that had their hand up for everything. I was just biding my time until I could graduate and get out of here.

As I continued to doodle on my paper, I pulled out my phone and changed the song on Spotify. I had multiple playlists, depending on my mood and the ‘event’ I was attempting to drown out. I changed the playlist from a heavy, emo playlist to an 80s rock/pop playlist. 80s rock/pop always helped me get in the zone to ‘people,’ as the songs were typically sooo cheesy you couldn’t help but smile and smiling meant that I appeared to be sociable and open to conversation. I took a moment to steal a glance towards the stranger sitting next to me. He was sitting there, very calm, taking in his surroundings and the other kids in class, doing well to ignore the near constant staring and the whispers of ‘Who’s that?’ Just as I was about to look away, he looked in my direction and I quickly looked back down at my doodling. My plan of fading in the background and not drawing his attention had obviously failed and while I wanted to appear sociable and approachable, I also wanted to give off the vibe that I was the person you just didn’t speak to.

I could see him out of the corner of my eye, he was still looking at me, with the beginnings of a smile pulling on his lips, you could tell he was building up to say something and that was the last thing I wanted. I put on my best ‘blank face’ and turned up the music a little bit louder, just loud enough so that he could hear so he’d know I wasn’t open to having a conversation.

“Uh, Hi there”….you could hear him saying over the music.

You continued to ignore him, pretending that you didn’t hear as you continued doodling on your paper. He sat there, waiting…still staring.

Why can’t this guy take a hint? You thought to yourself. You were very obviously giving off major “DON’T SPEAK TO ME” vibes, but this guy was trying his hardest to have a conversation with you. You could still see him out of the corner of your eye and that smile that had been pulling at his lips, was now a full-blown smile and he was chuckling away to himself.

And still, he waited.

What was he waiting for? Well…that’s a very good question. Because if he was waiting for me to want to talk to him, then he’d be waiting an awfully long time. But no, he wasn’t waiting for me to look at him, to want to talk to him. He was patiently waiting for a break in the music so that he could gently tap on my desk, pull on my headphone cord to pull out the earpiece as he says “Hi, my name is Adam Newport. I’m new here. What’s your name?” This all happened within a matter of seconds. I was halfway to responding to him – and not in a friendly way – when I was saved by the bell when Mr Lord walked into the classroom.

I pulled the other headphone out and paused my music, placing my phone next to my folder. “Well Good Morning class!!! Nice to see you all awake and ready for class this fine Monday morning. Now, let’s start on Shakespeare!!” As he said the word ‘Shakespeare,’ a loud groan escaped from the lips of practically everyone in class except the newcomer and my-self. I had already read all the set texts we were to study this year, so it was no surprise to me that it was ‘Shakespeare month.’ It was then that I noticed that the newcomer, Adam, had nothing on his desk bar a blank notebook. Which, now that I think about it, made sense because he was a new student. He patiently sat there, looking towards Mr Lord with a content look on his face while literally everyone else pulled their textbook out of their bags. I took this time to steal another glance towards the stranger, the newcomer…towards Adam. He was quite good looking and had incredibly nice green eyes…or wait, were they hazel? I couldn’t quite tell. It’s like they changed colour as he moved. His face seemed almost perfectly chiselled from a piece of clay. He had dark caramel coloured hair that was short and sat nicely around his face. He had a pair of sunglasses hanging from his collar and a black leather jacket sitting across the back of his chair, paired with a dark blue pair of jeans and a black, mid-arm sleeved ‘dress top’ – casual enough to fit in with the crown here and not stick out like a sore thumb. I felt incredibly under-dressed sitting next to him and I tugged at my oversized jacket.

As if he could read my mind, he looked up at me and looked straight at my hand tugging on my jacket. It was then that I realised I had been staring and I got caught! I tried to turn my head away as quickly as I could, but it wasn’t fast enough. He caught my eyes, and I couldn’t look away. We were only interrupted by Mr Lord walking between us and introducing himself to the new student. Adam made a good recovery and was able to reply to him without sounding too flustered or unprepared. While he conversed with the teacher, I couldn’t help but watch him. He was very graceful and elegant-like. I only started paying attention to the conversation when I heard my name being mentioned. And then it took me a few seconds to realise I was being spoken to and they were waiting for an answer. I looked up at the teacher, “You’ll share your textbook with Adam here until he gets himself sorted, won’t you Lana?” Mr Lord smiled down at me, “Oh, and won’t you be so kind as to show him around the school and make him feel welcome.” And with that, Mr Lord walked away, not even waiting for an answer. I looked up at Adam who was watching me now, studying me it seemed. I managed a small smile, “Hi Adam, I’m Lana, nice to meet you,” I said.

I managed to pay very little attention during English class. Having someone this close to me, for a long period of time that wasn’t a member of my family or one of my close friends, felt incredibly strange. It’s not that I didn’t spend time with other people regularly, it’s that I had spent years building up a wall around me – only letting certain people in…and definitely not letting strangers who I had just met in. And because we were sharing my textbook, we had to be in close quarters to one another, in each other’s bubble, so to speak. I could hear his breathing, smell his hair products and feel the warmth radiating off his body.

The hour went by so fast, faster than usual for a Monday morning class. As the bell rang, I packed up my books and stood up, almost colliding with Adam. He instinctively reached out a hand to grab my arm to steady me, “Are you alright?” he asked. “Fine thanks,” I replied as I pulled my arm out of his grasp, “I’m just really clumsy.” I turned and walked away only glancing back when I was about to exit the classroom. He hadn’t moved. Not even an inch. He remained standing next to the desks we had just sat at for an hour, staring at the spot I had been standing in only seconds earlier. Weird, I thought, maybe he’s just trying to make friends, I suggested to myself. I shrugged it off and walked out of the room. I had completely forgotten that Tegan had been sitting next to me during the whole class. I was so caught up in Adam and having him in my bubble, that no one else existed. She was standing opposite the door, waiting for me and we walked to class together.

[thefmcdatul-blog]

home.

It is the same day,

But then I looked at you guys,

It is the same day, but not the usual.

I am sitting like a Maria Clara on the table (shy kasi ako eh :<) and observed you guys. 

I couldn’t help to stare at laughing Micah, Ysabelle and Zach. I always treasure you three. Thank you for lifting me up this Grade 10. I hope for more laughs, rants and photoshoot with you guys.

Then my eyes darted to Chastine (sana okay na tiyan mo hehehe) who is actually reviewing (wow teh). But I’m still serious about this, whenever you are not good or fine or okay at all, I, the most amazing person ever, am here for you.

Right beside you is Erica, NAKAGOSURF KA NANAMAN SIGUROO!!! I know that you are a quiet person like me (ehem) but I know there’s a lot going on in you too (like me hehe). Keep fighting!

Cyril, the greatest model of all (bayad ko!) started rambling things with Nicole. I don’t know what they are arguing about but you guys made me smile for 3 seconds. To you Cyril, USL ka at magpakabait ka na. More singing “singing sessions” with you! Stay fab! And Nicole, more arguments and corny joke with you neng!

A cap and face mask, ALLAANN!! I know that we are not that close and actually hated each other back then but I’m still grateful for all the jokes and “knowledge” about “ano things”. Stay intelligent!

Then rocking her pink watch, Queenalynn! How could I forget you! I know that sometimes we are not in good terms lalo na every periodic sa English. Thank you for the memories (good or bad) and I hope we will be able to laugh about them someday.

There’s you, Angie! You are busy reviewing (ang sipag mo na huhu) and it actually made me happy to think that you are there since Grade 8 and you actually may know things about myself more than me. Galingan natin sa SHS! Love you!

Janina!! You are my classmate since Grade 7 and I saw transformation in you. Until know I don’t know if USL k aba or hindi (laughs). Math tests are “not hard” because of you.

Aby, I don’t know why you are sitting in front… I think nawalan ka yata ng upuan hahahaha but I remember Grade 7 life with you. You are one of the “kalog” girls I know. Stay funny!

I jumped out of the table and walked in front of the mirror to check myself. Then there you are Cambri (sanay kami sa last name mo hehehe). Half  of the mirror is consumed sa ulo mo hahahaha. You are so tall! Thank you for the “load” ehem and funny jokes. See you around sa SHS because you are actually going to St. Paul.

I roamed my eyes then I saw you Kemi (?) and Daniella. You guys are also busy reviewing (naks naman, you two!). I still remember Grade 8 with you two hahahaha and also your bangs hehehehee. Stay diligent and smart.

Zoned out ka yata Kuya JB! You are quietly sitting at the back. Lately I’ve been reading your GMs. Tell us about that! Stay tall!

Aira, you and your earphones hahahaha. We make good chemistry pala ehem. I still can’t fathom you at all. Continue with your poems and may sadness be you motivation to be strong. Accept mo na kiss ko!

Kaycel, my one and only seh. You are sitting quietly not seeing me and my efforts for you seh. Joke lang! You are havey and kalog na huhu so proud of you. Love you and your jokes hihhihihi. Stay pretty!

I looked at the three boys sitting together and honestly, I don’t have any ide what you three are doing…. Heheheehe (sorry na). But Alexis, Naiza and I talked about you smart brain, you are smart. Aivan, pakopya sa Maaathhh! You have one of the best skills in Mathematics! Keep pushing forward! Suyu you are actually funny for me without doing anything, I think it is because of you and you actions hahaha. Agahan mo na din gaya ko! Dapat bibo ka!

I ran at Jaber who is holding a plastic full of quail eggs. Hingi ako!!! I smiled at the thought that your hands are so big unlike mine. You are holding a plastic that is so small compared to your palm. I don’t have many things to say to you but galingan mo sa SHS!!

I started eating my 2nd hinging-itlog-pugo and about to throw away the shells and I saw these two people, Alpo and Jelai, who are not even finished peeling the shells of their first one. (ilang mins na silang nagbabalat huhuhu). I laughed at them especially Jelai. You are always the cute and huggable one. And let me say this, your secrets are safe with me *winks 10x* and that, I’m here no matter what. Looking forward to more dramas, chikas and jokes with you!

Alpo, who just finished peeling hahahaha. I can’t say all things about you here but I’m very thankful for the comfort and warmth (ewan ko din bakit warmth). You are cute and cool naman kahit di mo na sabihin. You are still my master no matter what. And you are stronger than what you think. Stay cool master!

It is quite unusual but Gadds is sitting and watching quietly. I still don’t know why I had a crush on you back then…. Wala ako sa tamang pag-iisip. But here’s my message: Let’s be serious! Lalong lalo na sa SHS! Stay strong to you and Janine. Looking forward to more jokes!

Adrian, the mood maker. Silver isn’t the same without you. I know that we are not that close even if we are classmates back in elementary but I know one thing: you are smart. I still remember all of your stories about science. Keep it up!

I can’t help but to notice Lester who is very noisy. I don’t actually know how we two got close. You are a good friend and a Kuya after all. Looking forward to more news about you and Y and also, more tricycle rides!

I don’t know if it is unusual but Gaci is quietly watching. We knew Gaci as an “out of ordinary” guy but I know that there’s a lot going on in you too and we can’t fathom that either. But I hope for your genuine happiness!

There’s someone missing and I almost forgot. AIAAN! You weren’t in the room that time hehehe but know that you are busy processing you certifs and all. Even if we don’t share the same humor, secrets and inside jokes, I am very happy to become part of your high school life.

Danica and Joriza, how could I not notice you two. You guys bloomed your friendship since I-don’t-know when but I’m grateful to find people like you. Danica, I saw your passion in science more than anything and I hope you will continue that. Joriza, even if nasa phone ka lagi (kahit sa science time hehe) I know that you are good at English, verbally and all. Keep shining you two!

Jansen babe! I don’t know when we started calling each other babe kahit madami ka naang babe. I adore how you actually laugh at my jokes and sinasakyan mo all of my craziness. Let’s continue our “long walk” story neng!

Eds, you became addicted to Kpop and it is quite unexpected. We aren’t that much close but you always had that laugh whenever I joke. I’m still wondering why you don’t have any blemishes or visible pores on your face (inggit kami ni jelai huhu). Stay beautiful!

I looked beside Eds and smiled at Clare. This cute little fluffball! HAHAHAHA. I’m your most loyal customer and I haven’t changed at all (alam mo na yan). Looking forward to us dancing Bboom Bboom perfectly!

Leaning against the window, hahahaha si Raquel to. I still want you height more than ever. Let’s be real, you should eat more! And you may be an introvert but once you bloom, you will shine!

Then the first row of cute cinnamon roll hehehehe. Angeline, you are “maldita” sometimes and may be savage but I see kindness in you. Punta pa rin kami every fiesta ha?

I tried to run to have some kikiam from Biccan who is holding a cup-full. I can’t help to notice how you cutely turned you back against me (alam mo yata na hihingi ako hahaha). But seriously, thank you for all the foods ha? Nabusog ako!

Krisha, hehehe, you are sitting beside Gelli talking about I don’t know. I think that you two are busy reviewing. But Krisha, I know that you are one of the savages in you group and sometimes I wonder what have I done to deserve all of the “pambabara” from you but I know that we jokingly say those things. Hanap ka lang ng oppa!

Gelli, the tall one, I know that back then we are not always in good terms but I’m happy to see you change and joke with me. I still remember singing “oshiete oshiete” then you sang along because you also knew that song. Keep fangirling!

I was about to snap some pics of you guys but a quick James posed and stole the scene. A quick, “joke lang sensei” came out from his mouth. I almost forgot you, seriously hehehe. But I hope that we won’t lose our “alipin-sensei” bond. Stay strong sa inyo ng bebe mo!

They say high school life is the best years of your life,

And I looked at you all,

They are true.

And silver,

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

How could we grow so much in the past 2 years?

I tried to make my messages simple and easy to read

And you are worth every word, letters and tears.

YOU GUYS ARE MY HOME.

And since I’m a chicken,

LET’S ALL FLY HIGH, SILVER.

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 Day 20 - Shield

Summary: Liara and Alistair catch up post Therum. What’s up with his barrier anyway?

---

Nothing like getting the shit beat out of him to make him appreciate the times when things didn't hurt.

Alistair Shepard sighed as he finally left the medbay, rubbing his sore neck. To say things hurt was putting them mildly – he had just gotten slammed into a wall by a krogan battlemaster. The fact he had bones to break was a miracle, by physics alone he should have been turned into meat jelly. Thankfully he wasn't, because that was kind of gross.

Two broken ribs, a broken arm, and some severely sprained ankles. Dr. Chakwas had patched him up while he lay there, hearing about updates from Therum. Triggering a seismic event was putting it mildly – they had caused an eruption.

His bad? Maybe? Probably? At least there had been nobody there when they were running for their lives.

“Guess I should check on our newest friend...”

He frowned at the thought. Liara was... interesting to say the least. Honestly, he wasn't sure what to make of her yet besides a strong biotic and an intelligent academic. Both were things he needed in this hell that was trying to track down Saren, but apart from that he didn't know what to expect from her. His experience with asari had been somewhat... limited.

Being in the Alliance didn't exactly give you a chance to meet a lot of other Council races...

Whatever, it was his job as the CO to make sure everyone on his ship was settled in. That was the thought he was going for as he continued his walk to where he knew the asari was going to be. She had mentioned doing some research, and there was a good place on ship for it. If he needed to do some reading in quiet, that's where he'd be.

Naturally, he knocked on the door when he got there.

“Liara? It's Shepard.” He paused, then added, “Uh, not the big one. I just wanted to check in on you to make sure you were ok.”

Someone on the other side of the door shifted around, and then it slid open. Liara was standing on the other side, looking as though she had just been distubed from some serious research. That annoyance melted away, thankfully, when she realized who it was.

Phew, that was good...

“Oh, Commander Shepard.” She nodded, “I didn't expect a CO would knock on the door to his own ship.”

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, feeling color enter his cheeks as he did. “I'm still pretty new to this being a CO thing. Besides, it's just being polite.”

If he was known for nothing else, it was for being polite. It's why they'd called him a boy scout so much when he had been enlisted. Well, that and the fact he was really good at rigging up random things to work. It was kind of a double-sided omni-blade.

At least she nodded and moved to the side. Soon they were both seated – she because research, and him because his ribs were still tender. He couldn't help but massage them a little as he settled in. Normally they wouldn't hurt... but he broke his ribs a lot.

Just living that trans life, he supposed.

“Is everything alright, Shepard? You look like you're in pain.”

He offered a somewhat awkward smile as he kept his hand there. “I broke my ribs back on Therum. They're just taking a little longer to settle in.”

The asari definitely looked concerned, so he held up his hand. “Don't worry, it's not the first time and it's definitely not the last. Chakwas fixed me up, so I'm fine now.”

Fixed him up, and lectured him about top surgery. Again... if he had time. And since he was kind of the fucking CO of a freighter now going up against a rogue Spectre... that didn't exactly give him much healing time. Maybe he could use that as motivation for catching Saren faster. You know, besides the saving the universe from Saren and his geth pals...

Something about a mix of inside and outside motivation? Heck if he knew, he just fixed tech and people.

“I had no idea human ribs were so fragile.”

He chuckled. “Just mine I'm afraid. Anyway, I wanted to make sure you were settling in ok. The Normandy is probably a little more chaotic than Therum.”

After all, more people and all. Then again, the ground wasn't rumbling under their feet (because no ground) and their krogan battlemaster was probably on their side. So maybe it was a moot point – they probably equaled out.

He was pretty sure Wrex was on his side... maybe he should ask him later.

“It's certainly louder, but your crew has been welcoming to me.” Liara smiled a little at that. “It's strange, I wouldn't expect an Alliance ship to have other Council races on it.”

That he chuckled a little at. “Yeah that... would be on me too. I need all the help I can get out there with Saren.”

After all, he had a turian sharp shooter, a quarian genius, and a literal fucking krogan battlemaster. Add in Liara's biotics and the Normandy's new crew was looking just as capable as the humans already on the ship. Maybe they were a little unconventional, but he figured that was probably what they needed to catch Saren. Besides, a little cooperation never hurt anybody.

He just had to tell the Alliance that the next time they breathed down his neck about it.

At his words, the asari chuckled. As far as Alisair knew, he hadn't said anything particularly funny to prompt it. So, without really meaning to his head cocked to the side. There went part of his vision, but it was pretty much gone in the right eye anyway.

“Something funny?”

Liara's cheeks turned a darker blue as she stopped laughing. “No, it's just... you seem more than capable based on what I saw on Therum.”

“Look, I know I'm not the best driver, but the Mako's kind of-”

This time, she stopped him. “No, I meant your biotics. For a human, you are remarkably skilled with defensive maneuvers. I think you could possibly even take trained asari down.”

Oh. Well, at least she wasn't making fun of his driving. He had already gotten an ear from the crew about that when they got the Mako back full of dents and space rocks. Excuse him for being a little cautious about lava and geth turrets... if he hit a rock once in a while, it wasn't too big of a deal. He did his best for someone without a license...

The biotics, though? Yeah, he had been told that a lot.

“Oh, thank you. Barrier's always been the one that came easiest to me.” Just mentioning it made his amp tingle. Right then it was cool, but back on Therum it had been running hot trying to keep the krogan and geth at bay. Honestly, it was a miracle he didn't have a migrane right then. Pushing it too far often led to bad headaches.

Maybe his body had been so hot it had ignored the overheating. Being so close to lava was a little overwhelming.

“Is defense your specialty then?”

He nodded, feeling that amp again. “Pretty much. Bo usually covers the offensive when we're together and I keep things from blowing up or hitting the rest of us. It's worked out pretty well so far.”

“That's a practical approach.” Still, she didn't seem finished. “But that last one... didn't feel like a barrier, if you mind me saying that.”

No, he didn't... he had been thinking the same thing.

It happened sometimes. When Alistair's amp overheated and things were getting crazy, sometimes his biotics did odd things. Usually it involved his barrier holds – normally he could guess the strength and how much they would hold. In those moments, they felt heavier like he was holding an actual shield in front of his squad. It was stronger, but... it was exhausting to hold for too long.

Unfortunately for him, the battlemaster he had been going up against hadn't cared his arms hurt. He had still slammed head-on into his barrier, forcing him a near foot back and against the wall. Had that not been there... well, it probably would've been further.

He had seen the cracks in the barrier, the red light of the alarm sirens showing through the blue of the shimmering hue keeping him alive. For a brief moment, he had worried it was going to break and what his backup was going to be. Thankfully, someone – he hadn't seen who – had shot the krogan in the head right at that moment.

It hadn't killed him obviously, but that temporary distraction had been enough to take the heat off and allow him to reform the barrier just in time to keep from geth fire tearing him apart.

“Shepard?”

Alistair shook his head, suddenly feeling the hum of his amp again. “Sorry, guess I'm more worn out than I thought.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess mine are just weird. My instructor always said I had an odd way of forming them.”

Honestly, he didn't have the time to really think too hard on it. Saren was out there somewhere, and as long as his barriers worked then he didn't care why they felt strange. He could worry about it later, when there weren't geth trying to kill them and the universe was safe.

If it wasn't broke, don't fix it as the ancient mantra went.

“Well, I have to say I'm glad they're odd. It seems likely we would have died without it.” Liara was smiling again. “Maybe when you have time later, we can discuss it more.”

Something about her tone made his stomach shift uncomfortably. Alistair could already feel the panic bubbling in his gut. Here was an area he was well aware of, and one he found himself in plenty of times over the years.

Please, just let this one stay platonic. He was very tired and very gay.

“Maybe. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were settling in. You looked like you were pretty into your research. Sorry for interrupting, Liara.”

He stood, careful not to bang into anything as he looked towards the door. With a lack of depth perception, his shins were often a shock breaker. Lucky for him, it looked like a clear shot for the door for once.

Hooray for military precision.

“I'll let you know if I find anything relevant to Saren. Thank you for stopping by, Shepard.”

Alistair nodded, and then he was out the door, sighing in relief when the door slid shut behind him. Then he straightened up and continued on his way. There were still plenty of things to do before they made it to their next stop, and standing around wasn't going to finish any of it.

Still... he looked down at his hand. Sometimes, he could still feel the humming of another barrier just beneath his skin. Right then it was quiet, but in a heartbeat it could bloom to life with just a snap of his fingers.

Nobody in boot camp had managed that. Just him.

“Maybe the asari will have something on that... I'll ask Liara later.” Much later.

With that in mind, he headed off. His XO had broken her omni-tool again when they had fought their way off Therum. Lucky for her, he had plenty of spare parts this time around to bring it back to full condition. That would keep him plenty busy until they exited FTL space.

Hooray for busy work. If only he could get it without Bo breaking shit...